The vibrant city of Bengaluru, known for its technology, culture, and cricket fever, was left reeling in shock on June 4 when a celebration meant to unite the city turned into a tragic stampede. Held outside the iconic Chinnaswamy Stadium, the IPL victory parade for Royal Challengers Bengaluru (RCB) ended in disaster, with 11 people losing their lives and over 56 injured. As the dust settles, political blame games have overshadowed accountability, and questions mount about how such a tragedy could unfold in the heart of the city.
Karnataka Chief Minister Siddaramaiah has come under intense scrutiny for the government’s handling of the event and its aftermath. In a press statement, he said he was informed about the deaths only at 5.45 pm, despite hospital records showing fatalities were reported as early as 3.50 pm. “Until that point, I was not aware of deaths taking place due to the stampede,” he said, while distancing himself from the event's planning. He maintained that it was organised by the Karnataka State Cricket Association (KSCA) and that he merely attended after being invited.
Critics argue that the state government’s response was lethargic and detached, especially when lives were at stake. The Chief Minister did not attend the event at the stadium, but Deputy CM DK Shivakumar did, despite having allegedly been informed about crowd issues. Ironically, as the crowd panicked and tragedy struck, celebrations continued elsewhere, with firecrackers worth ₹1 crore being burst at another venue—prompting many to ask: where was the humanity?
A day prior to the stampede, a warning letter from Vidhana Soudha’s security officer MN Kariasavana had already red-flagged the lack of security personnel for such a high-profile event. “Making arrangements will be difficult,” he warned. This concern, however, went unheeded.
In the political aftermath, the Bharatiya Janata Party (BJP) launched scathing attacks against the Congress-led government. Opposition leader R Ashok, alongside other BJP MLAs, demanded the immediate resignation of Chief Minister Siddaramaiah, Deputy CM DK Shivakumar, and Home Minister G Parameshwara. “You cannot rule the state on the dead bodies of eleven people,” Ashok declared, calling it a "government-sponsored murder."
The BJP has also taken a stand against the suspension of police officers, including Bengaluru Police Commissioner B Dayananda. According to BJP leaders, the police had earlier denied permission for the parade, implying that the responsibility lies squarely with political leaders. “The police are being made scapegoats,” said MLA Prabhu Bhamla Chavan, asserting that the real culprits are those in power.
One of the more stinging remarks came when Ashok rebranded the popular RCB acronym—from “Royal Challengers Bengaluru” to “Real Culprits of Bengaluru”—referring to Siddaramaiah and DK Shivakumar. It's a political jab that has quickly gained traction online, reflecting growing public outrage.
Siddaramaiah, for his part, rejected calls for resignation by referencing past tragedies where top leaders did not step down. “In Kumbh Mela, 58 people died—did the Prime Minister resign?” he asked. While his comparison may have merit on a technical level, it does little to console the grieving families or restore public trust.
At the core of this tragedy lies a larger systemic failure—of communication, coordination, and crisis management. The IPL celebration, a predictable crowd magnet, was greenlit despite warnings, and authorities appear to have grossly underestimated the risks. The government's post-event response has come across as defensive and evasive, leading to further erosion of public faith.
Beyond the politics and press conferences, 11 lives have been lost. Families shattered. Children orphaned. And yet, no minister has taken moral responsibility. Instead, junior officers are being suspended, as though the problem were operational and not systemic.
It’s a moment of reckoning—not just for the Karnataka government but for every public institution involved. Who plans these events? Who signs off on security protocols? And most importantly, who takes responsibility when things go catastrophically wrong?
If there is any lesson to be learned, it is this: governance is not about attending celebrations—it is about ensuring that those celebrations are safe, secure, and inclusive. The people of Bengaluru deserve more than finger-pointing. They deserve transparency, accountability, and justice.
The BJP has now announced plans to meet with Governor Thaawarchand Gehlot to seek his intervention. Whether that leads to tangible action remains to be seen. But one thing is certain—this tragedy, and the government's response to it, will remain a defining political issue in Karnataka for months to come.
As we mourn those who died, we must also demand a system that values life above spectacle. Accountability must not be buried under garlands and loudspeakers.
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