The recent deaths of Booth Level Officers (BLOs) in Uttar Pradesh have exposed a deeply troubling crisis within India’s electoral framework—one that hides behind targets, deadlines, and digital compliance. The suicide of Moradabad BLO Sarvesh Singh and the heart-attack death of Bijnor BLO Shobha Rani are not isolated incidents. They are symptoms of systemic stress, administrative insensitivity, and unrealistic expectations imposed on grassroots election workers.
Sarvesh Singh’s heartbreaking final note—“I want to live, but what can I do?”—is not merely a personal cry of helplessness. It reflects the mental state of thousands of BLOs who navigate the daily burden of door-to-door verification, digital uploading, time-bound tasks, and constant threats of disciplinary action. Many BLOs report working 12 to 14 hours a day during the Special Summary Revision (SIR), with barely two to three hours of sleep. After physically visiting households, they spend their nights entering data into online portals plagued by technical glitches, poor network, or server issues. In such conditions, anxiety, exhaustion, and fear naturally spiral into a health and mental-health crisis.
The death of Shobha Rani highlights another alarming dimension—BLOs who continue working despite illness because they fear reprimand or job insecurity. Reports suggest she had managed to complete only a third of her target when a heart attack struck her. Her family maintains that the pressure of SIR work aggravated her condition. These two cases are part of a larger pattern: at least seven BLOs in Uttar Pradesh are reported to have died during the current SIR period —some by suicide, others from sudden medical emergencies likely triggered by stress.
The core question emerges: Is the accuracy of voter rolls more important than human lives? Must election workers endure dehumanizing pressure to the point of psychological breakdown or fatal exhaustion? Authorities cannot wash their hands by claiming these deaths are unrelated to SIR responsibilities. When deadlines, digital mandates, and punitive warnings become overwhelming enough to push workers towards self-harm or collapse, the system—not the individual—has failed.
Immediate reforms are essential. First, the Election Commission and the state government must rationalize targets and eliminate unrealistic daily quotas. Electoral integrity cannot rest on the shoulders of exhausted workers. Second, there must be a structured stress-management and mental-health support system, including helplines and counselling for field staff. Third, independent inquiries should be mandated for every such death to determine whether administrative pressure contributed, and accountability must follow where negligence is evident.
Democracy is often described as a grand machinery of institutions, processes, and public participation. But at its foundation are ordinary workers—teachers, clerks, and contractual staff—who serve as BLOs to ensure that every citizen’s name is correctly recorded. Their lives, dignity, and wellbeing are not collateral in the pursuit of electoral precision. Sarvesh Singh’s final words should haunt us. If the system continues to ignore them, India risks building its democratic record-keeping on the silent suffering of its most invisible workers. True democratic strength lies not just in correct voter rolls, but in protecting the humans who create them.DD
