Telangana | Special Court for MPs/MLAs at Hyderabad acquitted MLA Raja Singh in a case registered under Sections 153A(a)(b), 295A, 504, 505(2) and 506 of the IPC.

Raja Singh was arrested by the Mangalhat Police. After the learned Magistrate declined to grant police remand, he…

— ANI (@ANI) June 30, 2026

The controversy that sparked nationwide outrage

The origins of the case can be traced to August 2022, when stand-up comedian Munawar Faruqui was scheduled to perform in Hyderabad. Raja Singh, then a BJP MLA representing the Goshamahal Assembly constituency, publicly opposed the event, accusing Faruqui of repeatedly insulting Hindu deities during his comedy performances. Anticipating possible law-and-order issues, the Hyderabad Police placed Singh under preventive house arrest on August 20, 2022, while providing extensive security arrangements to ensure that Faruqui’s performance could proceed peacefully.

Detailed report may be read here.

Within days, however, the controversy escalated dramatically. Raja Singh uploaded a video on his YouTube channel responding to Faruqui’s show. During the course of the video, he made a series of derogatory remarks concerning Prophet Muhammad, including references that many Muslims considered deeply offensive and blasphemous. The video spread rapidly across multiple social media platforms, provoking immediate condemnation from religious organisations, civil society groups and political leaders.

The remarks came at an especially sensitive time. Only weeks earlier, India had witnessed a diplomatic crisis after controversial comments about Prophet Muhammad by former BJP spokesperson Nupur Sharma had triggered protests across several countries and sharp criticism from governments in the Gulf and other Muslim-majority nations. Against this backdrop, Raja Singh’s statements were viewed as another flashpoint capable of inflaming already fragile communal relations.

Hyderabad witness widespread protests

Public anger against Raja Singh’s remarks was swift and intense. Thousands of people assembled across different parts of Hyderabad, particularly in the Old City, demanding his immediate arrest. Large demonstrations were organised outside the office of Hyderabad Police Commissioner C.V. Anand, while protest marches and public gatherings took place in several neighbourhoods including Shalibanda, Mangalhat and Charminar.

The protests continued for several days, with demonstrators alleging that repeated instances of hate speech by political leaders were being met with inadequate legal action. Protesters raised slogans, burnt effigies of Raja Singh and demanded strict criminal prosecution.

The demonstrations eventually turned volatile in certain areas. Reports indicated incidents of stone-pelting, clashes between sections of protesters and the police, and the use of baton charges by law enforcement to disperse crowds. Several protesters were detained. Authorities deployed additional police personnel, Rapid Action Force contingents and paramilitary forces to restore order. Educational institutions, commercial establishments and fuel stations in parts of Hyderabad remained closed as a precaution amid fears of communal violence.

The scale of the protests reflected the seriousness with which the Muslim community viewed the remarks and underscored the potential of inflammatory political speech to disturb public order in communally sensitive environments.

Criminal proceedings initiated

Following multiple complaints, the Mangalhat Police registered a criminal case against Raja Singh under several provisions of the Indian Penal Code dealing with communal hatred and public disorder.

The charges included:

• Section 153A IPC for promoting enmity between different religious groups;
• Section 295A IPC for deliberate and malicious acts intended to outrage religious feelings;
• Section 504 IPC for intentional insult likely to provoke breach of peace;
• Section 505(2) IPC for statements promoting hatred, enmity or ill-will between different communities; and
• Section 506 IPC relating to criminal intimidation.

These provisions constitute the principal statutory framework under which hate speech prosecutions have traditionally been pursued in India. Their application generally requires the prosecution to establish not merely that offensive words were spoken, but that the speech satisfied specific statutory ingredients such as deliberate intention, malicious conduct or promotion of communal hatred.

Arrest, release and preventive detention

Raja Singh was initially arrested on August 23, 2022. However, a magistrate declined to grant police custody owing to procedural deficiencies in the remand application, resulting in his release shortly thereafter.

The Hyderabad Police subsequently took the unusual step of invoking the Telangana Preventive Detention Act. On August 25, 2022, Singh was re-arrested under preventive detention on the ground that his repeated speeches and activities posed a continuing threat to public order and communal harmony.

The invocation of preventive detention against a sitting legislator attracted significant public attention. Preventive detention laws are ordinarily reserved for situations where authorities believe that ordinary criminal law is insufficient to prevent imminent threats to public order. Their use against an elected representative underscored the seriousness with which the administration viewed the potential consequences of Singh’s speeches.

Raja Singh remained in detention for approximately seventy-seven days before the Telangana High Court quashed the detention order in November 2022 and directed his release on bail.

BJP distances itself

The controversy also produced immediate political consequences. Within hours of Raja Singh’s arrest, the Bharatiya Janata Party suspended him from the party and issued a show-cause notice. The suspension came amid intense domestic and international scrutiny over inflammatory remarks concerning Prophet Muhammad by BJP leaders.

Party spokespersons publicly stated that the BJP did not endorse hate speech or statements capable of hurting religious sentiments. Political commentators widely viewed the suspension as an attempt to contain the growing controversy, particularly in light of the diplomatic fallout that had followed earlier controversies involving party spokespersons.

Despite the suspension, Raja Singh remained politically influential within Telangana. Before the 2023 Assembly elections, the BJP revoked his suspension, renominated him from Goshamahal, and he successfully retained his Assembly seat. In 2025, however, he resigned from the BJP following disagreements over the appointment of the Telangana state party president.

Trial before the Special Court

The criminal proceedings continued before the Special Court designated to hear cases involving Members of Parliament and Members of Legislative Assemblies.

Over the course of nearly four years, the prosecution examined witnesses, produced documentary material and relied upon recordings of the disputed speech. The defence, on the other hand, challenged both the evidentiary basis of the prosecution and the interpretation of the statements attributed to Raja Singh.

Following the judgment, as reported by ANI, defence counsel Advocate K. Karuna Sagar stated that the complainant himself had acknowledged during cross-examination that certain portions of the disputed speech referred to material found in Islamic literature. According to the defence, after evaluating the witness testimony and documentary evidence, the court concluded that the prosecution had failed to establish the ingredients of the alleged offences. The court consequently acquitted Raja Singh of all charges after holding that the prosecution had failed to prove its case beyond reasonable doubt.

#WATCH | Hyderabad, Telangana: Karunasagar, High Court advocate says, “Today the Special MP/MLA Court has acquitted MLA Raja Singh from the 2022 case which was registered by PS Mangalat for allegedly commenting on the life of Prophet Muhammad. The complainant in the case has… https://t.co/Ds7zQyzt3U pic.twitter.com/YqltQwRjkE

— ANI (@ANI) June 30, 2026

Raja Singh’s response

Following the acquittal, while speaking to ANI, Raja Singh described the judgment as a “victory of truth, justice and the rule of law.”

He maintained that he had never intended to hurt the religious sentiments of any community and alleged that the criminal case, along with his preventive detention, had been initiated under political pressure exerted by the AIMIM upon the then Bharat Rashtra Samithi (BRS) government.

He further claimed that several other criminal cases registered against him under successive governments were politically motivated and expressed confidence that he would eventually secure acquittal in those proceedings as well.

#WATCH | Hyderabad, Telangana: BJP MLA Raja Singh says, “A case was registered against me in 2022, alleging that I had made comments about someone’s deity; under pressure from the AIMIM, the then BRS government and police invoked the PD Act (Preventive Detention Act) and kept me… https://t.co/Ds7zQyzt3U pic.twitter.com/9EMfAnjsvE

— ANI (@ANI) June 30, 2026

A history of inflammatory speeches

Although acquitted in this particular prosecution, Raja Singh continues to remain one of India’s most controversial political figures because of his long history of inflammatory communal rhetoric.

Over the past decade, numerous FIRs have been registered against him alleging hate speech, promotion of communal enmity and incitement. His speeches have frequently targeted Muslims and other minority communities and have repeatedly attracted criticism from civil society organisations and human rights groups.

On July 16, 2024, Citizens for Justice and Peace sent three separate complaints to relevant authorities of Maharashtra against three separate incidents of hate speeches delivered by BJP MLA Raja Singh in the month of May. In all the three incidents highlighted in the complaint, BJP MLA Raja Singh can be heard delivered provocative and inflammatory statements against the Muslim community at events organised by the Sakal Hindu Samaj.  Details may be read here.

A dedicated profile of Raja Singh may be viewed here.

The broader legal questions

The acquittal illustrates one of the most persistent challenges in hate speech litigation in India. Public outrage, widespread protests or even deeply offensive speech do not automatically translate into criminal conviction. Criminal courts remain bound by the foundational principles of criminal jurisprudence, requiring the prosecution to establish every element of the alleged offences beyond reasonable doubt through admissible evidence.

At the same time, the judgment should not be understood as judicial approval of the speech itself. The court’s conclusion is confined to the evidence presented during trial and the prosecution’s inability to satisfy the high evidentiary threshold required for conviction under the Indian Penal Code.

The case therefore exposes a broader structural issue within India’s legal framework. Existing provisions such as Sections 153A and 295A IPC—now substantially reflected in the Bharatiya Nyaya Sanhita—continue to be the principal statutory tools used to prosecute hate speech.

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The post From Outrage to Acquittal: The Raja Singh hate speech case comes to a close appeared first on SabrangIndia.

In these places, people from diverse backgrounds and different faiths stepped forward to actively participate in local customs that have been preserved for generations.

Uttar Pradesh: a Dalit family’s 35-year-old Muharram tradition in Balrampur

In Chahatwa village, under the Gumdi Gram Panchayat in the Shridattganj block of Balrampur district, Uttar Pradesh, a unique tradition has been alive for over 35 years. Here, a Dalit Hindu family prepares and installs a Tazia every single year for Muharram. The tradition started with the family elder, Asharam. It was later passed down to his son, Shiv Prasad, and is now being carried forward by his grandson, Kamal Kanojia. Three generations of this family have kept the practice going without a single break, making it a key part of the village’s Muharram activities.

The dedication of the family has been covered by local journalists and media platforms, showing how a personal family promise turned into a symbol of community unity.

35 साल से मुहर्रम पर ताजिया रख रहा बलरामपुर का दलित परिवार, बना सांप्रदायिक सौहार्द की मिसाल –#BreakingNews #Muharram #Dalit https://t.co/MrNL20PFiT

— Journo Mirror (@JournoMirror) June 29, 2026

According to Kamal Kanojia, the practice started because of a personal milestone. Decades ago, the elders made a vow to honour a special family wish. When that wish came true, they promised to install a Tazia every year during the holy month of Muharram. Since then, the family has followed this custom with deep faith, as reported by Dainik Bhaskar.

Every year, the Kanojia family works together to build the Tazia. Once it is ready, people from nearby villages visit Chahatwa to see it and pay their respects. What began as a private family vow has grown into a major regional event that brings different communities together.

Asharam often tells visitors that the family believes this tradition brings peace, blessings, and well-being to their home. His son, Shiv Prasad, agrees, noting that the family saw good changes in their farming, business, and daily life after starting this practice. For them, continuing the custom is a way to respect their elders’ faith and keep the village’s identity alive. Local neighbours say the family is a living example of how mutual respect keeps harmony alive in rural areas, as reported

Bihar: a century-old legacy led by a Hindu family in east Champaran

In Bihar’s East Champaran district, the village of Patahi has followed a unique Muharram tradition for more than a century. As soon as the month of Muharram begins, the entire village gets ready. The most unique part of the procession is that it is led by members of the Singh family, who are Hindus.

For generations, this family has held the responsibility of leading the Tazia procession through the village streets. The community spirit of this annual event has been recorded on video, showing the close bonds between the neighbours.

During Muharram, the courtyard of Shiv Shankar Singh’s house becomes the main centre for preparations. Family members gather to build and decorate the Tazia before taking it out through the village. As the procession moves along, participants perform traditional lathi (bamboo staff) displays to remember the historic events of Karbala. Shah Mohammed, a resident of nearby Padumker village, remembers watching the Singh family lead the procession every year of his life. Other locals also see the family as an essential part of the town’s history, as reported

When asked how it all started, current members of the Singh family say the exact details have been lost over time. However, they know the practice dates back to their great-grandfather, Devi Singh, during British rule. Back then, official permits were needed for public processions, and the license for this Muharram event was issued directly in the name of the Singh family.

Today, the younger generation hopes to keep this tradition alive for years to come. One family member shared that while people may follow different religions in private, when they stand together for the procession, they represent the true spirit of India.

Bihar: crafting traditions in Gaya’s Atri village

In Atri village of Bihar’s Gaya district, community cooperation is visible through local art. During Muharram this year, five out of the seven Tazias in the village’s main procession were built and carried by local Hindu families. According to village elders, these families are simply following a practice they inherited from their ancestors. Making a Tazia takes time, patience, and team effort. Families spend several days shaping bamboo frames, cutting colored paper, and assembling the decorative structures.

Even though the event marks an important chapter in Islamic history, participation in Atri goes beyond just one community. Residents describe it as a normal, long-standing social tradition rather than something unusual. For these families, building the Tazia is a shared responsibility passed down from one generation to the next.

Madhya Pradesh: five generations of devotion in Vidisha

In the town of Vidisha, Madhya Pradesh, the Kushwaha family is central to the annual Muharram activities. For decades, this Hindu family has served at the shrine of Bawdi Waale Baba, which sits right across from a Hanuman temple in Khai Mohalla. Because the shrine and the temple face each other, people regularly visit both places to pay respects, showing the shared heritage of the town.

Every year during Muharram, the Kushwahas manage the arrangements for the Baba’s procession. Today, the fifth generation of the family is continuing this work with deep dedication. The sacred symbol of the Baba is carried on the head of the oldest male member of the family. Decorated with fresh flowers and garlands, the symbol is carried through the main market, drawing thousands of people from Vidisha and nearby areas.

“I have seen my elders serving Baba since I was a child, and the same tradition continues today. There was a time when our family was very poor, but our service never stopped. With Baba’s blessings, our family prospered, and today our children and grandchildren are carrying on this legacy.” — Chhoti Bai Kushwaha, oldest family member. As a report in ETV.

Bihar: a century of unity in Gurdaspur, Begusarai

While news stories about unity often focus on big cities, the small village of Gurdaspur in Bihar’s Begusarai district has spent nearly a century showing how brotherhood works in daily life. The Hindu and Muslim residents of this village, which has about 500 families, celebrate Muharram together as one large family.

For nearly 100 years, a small village in Bihar has quietly done what the rest of the country still struggles to achieve.

Every Muharram, Hindus and Muslims come together to keep an extraordinary tradition alive.

The story of Gurdaspur, Begusarai, is one every Indian should… pic.twitter.com/XabdDJDlVK

— FOEJ Media (@FoejMedia) June 26, 2026

The foundation of this tradition was laid by the late Bal Govind Mahto. Decades ago, he became the President of the Muharram Committee and took care of all the arrangements. From the first day of Muharram to the tenth day (Ashura), he managed the rituals and got the official permits for the procession. When he grew old, he handed the responsibility to his grandson, Vishnudev Mahto, who served the committee for nearly 30 years. Today, his nephew, Pankaj Kumar Mahto, carries on the work.

Evolution of the Gurdaspur Muharram committee Leadership

The ritual side of this tradition has also been kept alive by a local woman named Kushma Devi. The daughter of Bal Govind Mahto, she performed the Muharram rituals with care for years. When her health declined, she passed the duties to her daughter, Urmila Devi. Today, along with her daily housework, Urmila Devi performs all the traditional ceremonies from the first to the tenth of Muharram according to local customs.

Assam and Jammu & Kashmir: regional expressions of solidarity

Further east, in the tea town of Margherita in Assam, Muharram draws many different communities together. The annual procession sees active participation from local Muslim families, Assamese Hindus, Bengali residents, and tribal communities living near the tea estates. The procession moves through the green landscape with local instruments, making the day a shared reflection on justice and regional unity.

Meanwhile, in Srinagar, Jammu & Kashmir, Muharram focuses on community service and mutual support. Along with the traditional mourning processions, people from different communities work together to set up Sabeels (free stalls offering water, milk, and tea) for the public.

Joint blood donation camps are also organised across the city, where youth from various backgrounds donate blood side by side to honor the message of humanity.

Shared traditions passed across generations

The long-standing Muharram traditions across India show that harmony is kept alive through the simple, daily actions of regular families. Whether it is the Kanojia family in Uttar Pradesh keeping a 35-year vow, the Singh family in East Champaran holding a century-old license, the Kushwahas in Vidisha managing a shrine, or the Mahto family in Begusarai leading a committee, these practices continue because of mutual respect.

By treating these customs as a shared responsibility, these villages have kept close ties over the years. Passed down from parents to children, these old rituals continue to thrive, showing that respect and humanity are the true elements of their shared culture. Given the high voltage hate generated by politicians and political outfits holding power, this simple yet powerful assertion by ordinary Indians stands out. And sends a strong message.

Related:

Hindus, Muslims Unite to Protect Rajasthan Border Mosques

When Citizens Say No: The quiet revolt against hate in India’s streets

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The post Shared Muharram Heritage: Hindus lead Tazias, Sikhs serve water appeared first on SabrangIndia.

This grassroots movement emerged as a direct response to a vast administrative anti-encroachment campaign officially designated as “Operation Sweep.” The Rajasthan’s Bharatiya Janta Party (BJP)-ruled state government’s demolition drive had recently resulted in the demolition of several Islamic religious structures i.e. Mosques/Madrasas and the issuance of hundreds of legal eviction notices to such, reportedly without providing any reasonable opportunity of hearing. In response to these administrative actions, the assembled protesters submitted formal memorandums to local authorities, demanding an immediate suspension of the demolition drive and strict adherence to established legal processes, and the prevention of alleged selective communal targeting of minority religious sites.

सर्व धर्म शांति सभा, बाड़मेर।
“जहाँ सत्य, अहिंसा और धर्म का पग-पग लगता डेरा,
वो भारत देश है हमारा…”
सर्व धर्म शांति सभा में शामिल होकर आपसी भाईचारे, सामाजिक सौहार्द, संविधान के सम्मान और देश की एकता-अखंडता का संदेश दिया।
हमारी विविधता ही हमारी सबसे बड़ी ताकत है। सभी धर्मों, सभी… pic.twitter.com/1SqELVvewY

— Ummeda Ram Beniwal (@UmmedaRamBaytu) June 26, 2026

Background

The tensions in the region originated from a large-scale anti-encroachment and security drive initiated by the Rajasthan government in coordination with border security agencies. This enforcement campaign, named “Operation Sweep,” that began on spans a massive 1,050-kilometer border belt that physically separates India from Pakistan. Pursuant to directions issued by the Union Home Ministry, a joint team comprising the district administration, police, and the Border Security Force (BSF) undertook an operation concerning “alleged illegal constructions within 15 kilometres of the India–Pakistan border in Rajasthan’s Barmer district”, from June 18, 2026 onwards.

Rajasthan Bulldozer Action: Barmer में Operation Clean के तहत Ind-Pak सीमा की मस्जिद पर गरजा बुलडोजर #Rajasthan #BulldozerAction #OperationClean #LatestNews pic.twitter.com/PZHZMN0FxK

— Punjab Kesari (@punjabkesari) June 22, 2026

The operation covers four major administrative districts that contain significant Muslim populations, namely Barmer, Jaisalmer, Bikaner, and Sri Ganganagar. The state government and the associated security apparatus classified the drive as a highly necessary procedural measure designed to clear unauthorised constructions and reinforce critical security infrastructure within a highly sensitive strategic military corridor. However, the execution of these orders quickly drew allegations of systemic bias from local communities.

According to precise data released on dated June 23, 2026 during a press conference by the Association for Protection of Civil Rights (APCR), approximately three hundred and fifty mosques and various Islamic religious structures situated across these four border districts were served with administrative demolition notices. Prior to the major public mobilisation, the regional enforcement drive had already resulted in the direct demolition of four separate mosques within the Barmer sector, alongside the destruction of an ancient mazaar, or shrine, in the Jaisalmer district. Local community activists and non-governmental organisations subsequently filed public complaints, asserting that the administration was selectively penalising Muslim places of worship while simultaneously ignoring similar documentation anomalies in the religious and residential structures of other communities.

Demolition of Mosques and Attack on Religious Freedom in India
23 JUNE 2026 | 3:30 PM | PRESS CLUB OF INDIA pic.twitter.com/D4RLnmwAY2

— APCR-Association for Protection of Civil Rights (@apcrofindia) June 24, 2026

In direct response to the sudden executions of these demolition orders, community members from both major religious groups organised public demonstrations to systematically de-escalate potential communal friction and demand immediate legal interventions.

Peaceful public mobilisation across Barmer and Jaisalmer

According to the Maktoob Media, the major public assemblies were recorded in the village of Badbir within the Barmer district, as well as in multiple commercial and residential locations across Jaisalmer. Hundreds of local residents gathered collectively outside the Barmer District Magistrate’s office to conduct an interfaith peace assembly.

The primary objective of these localised rallies was to challenge the execution of the demolition orders through entirely peaceful, constitutional means rather than through civil disobedience. The gathered protesters formally submitted a collective memorandum addressed to the President of India, urgently requesting an immediate pause on the entire demolition drive until transparent, unbiased legal verifications could be executed by the judiciary.

Local community leader demands equal treatment

Surtaram Meghwal, a two-time elected Dalit Sarpanch of Paradia village, emerged as one of the primary figures directing the local public response and articulating the grievances of the unified communities. Meghwal openly challenged the statutory validity of the state’s actions, stating his belief that the demolitions were an extrajudicial exercise being carried out without following any due legal process. He argued that if mosques were being actively checked and demolished by the state, then temples should also be examined under the exact same legal standards to ensure absolute administrative fairness.

Rajasthan: In #Barmer, Advocate Surtaram Meghawal, the Sarpanch of Paradia village, publicly warned the BJP govt against what he described as the selective demolition of #mosques while sparing #temples.

He urged the govt to uphold the Raj Dharma advocated by former PM Atal… pic.twitter.com/cQDPoQB8yB

— MuslimMirror.com (@MuslimMirror) June 25, 2026

Meghwal further detailed the ground realities of the public mobilisation that took place in Badbir following the destruction of multiple religious sites. He communicated to Maktoob that the villagers protested against the demolition of these religious structures to oppose the government actions and convey their collective message peacefully. He noted that since the protest began, the region had witnessed even greater brotherhood with more citizens coming forward in mutual support and reflecting a shared belief that there was still ample time to resolve the administrative issue through dialogue. Addressing the underlying socio-political dynamic of the border region, Meghwal explicitly blamed external political factors for generating artificial friction.

He questioned the procedural fairness of the drive, asking why only mosques and religious structures of Muslims were being targeted and reiterated his stance as a two-time Sarpanch that Hindus and Muslims harbor no inherent issues with each other in the region. He concluded that institutional politics would not break the unity of the people of Rajasthan, as they would consistently stand in solidarity with their Muslim neighbors, as Maktoob Media reported

Dialogue over division

The events in Barmer and Jaisalmer are illustrative of how local leadership and resistance is the best and most effective anti-dote to what is perceived as targeted injustice. Such moves are effective and pre-emptive and preventive, an antidote to communal conflict. Hindu and Muslim residents in these districts have come together to hold joint protests, submitted memorandums to the authorities, and sought legal remedies through constitutional processes. Their actions reflected a shared belief that disputes should be addressed through dialogue, fairness, and the rule of law.

The interfaith assemblies also highlighted the long-standing bonds between the communities living in the border region. Despite facing difficult living conditions and administrative challenges, residents chose to stand together and protect the harmony that has existed in their villages for generations. While the legality of the demolition drive will ultimately be decided through judicial and administrative processes, the peaceful response of the local people demonstrated the value of maintaining communal harmony during times of uncertainty. The events serve as a reminder that equal application of the law, respect for due process, and continued dialogue between communities and public authorities are essential for preserving public trust and social harmony.

Related

When Citizens Say No: The quiet revolt against hate in India’s streets

CJP’s 2025 intervention against ‘Digital Hate’: Holding television news channels accountable before the NBDSA

Public Resistance and Democratic Assertion: India through protests, 2025

The post Brotherhood in Rajasthan: Hindus, Muslims Protect Border Mosques appeared first on SabrangIndia.

That challenge from citizens has now reached the Bombay High Court. This week, the People’s Union for Civil Liberties (PUCL) and the Forum Against Oppression of Women filed a writ petition challenging the constitutional validity of the Maharashtra Special Public Safety Act (MSPSA), contending that the law violates fundamental constitutional guarantees and grants excessive, unchecked powers to the executive. The challenge marks the beginning of a legal test for a legislation that has generated sustained opposition from civil liberties organisations, trade unions, academics, lawyers, students’ groups, political parties and democratic rights movements across Maharashtra.

Importantly, many of the arguments now being advanced before the High Court closely mirror concerns that were repeatedly raised during the legislative process itself. Among the organisations that consistently opposed the legislation was Citizens for Justice and Peace (CJP), which submitted detailed objections to the Joint Select Committee examining the then Bill, participated in the broader state-wide campaign against the legislation, and warned that the law’s vague provisions could become a tool for suppressing dissent rather than addressing genuine security threats.

A constitutional challenge to the heart of the law

According to the petition filed before the High Court, the Act suffers from a fundamental constitutional defect: it authorises severe restrictions on freedoms of speech, expression, association and assembly without incorporating the procedural safeguards that constitutional jurisprudence requires when the State seeks to limit such rights.

The petition argues that the law violates Articles 14, 19 and 21 of the Constitution and undermines broader constitutional principles of liberty, equality and democratic participation. It further contends that the Act creates a framework through which organisations can be declared unlawful on the basis of broad executive discretion, while insulating those decisions from meaningful scrutiny.

Particularly significant is the challenge to the Act’s definitions of “unlawful activity” and “unlawful organisation.” According to the petitioners, these definitions are so broad and vague that they can potentially encompass trade unions, social movements, human rights organisations, political opposition groups and individuals engaged in peaceful dissent.

The challenge therefore strikes at the central architecture of the legislation rather than merely isolated provisions. It asks whether a law ostensibly enacted to combat extremism can constitutionally employ language so expansive that ordinary democratic activity may fall within its ambit.

A warning raised long before the Act was passed

The constitutional challenge did not emerge in a vacuum. For months before the legislation was enacted, Maharashtra witnessed one of the most extensive civil society mobilisations against a proposed law in recent memory. More than 12,750 objections and suggestions were reportedly submitted to the Joint Select Committee examining the Bill, making it one of the largest public responses ever received by the Maharashtra legislature. More than ninety percent of the submissions reportedly opposed the legislation.

Citizens for Justice and Peace was among the organisations at the forefront of this campaign. In April 2025, CJP submitted a detailed objection memorandum to the Joint Select Committee, warning that the legislation posed a serious threat to constitutional freedoms and democratic dissent. CJP argued that the Bill’s framing around the idea of “Urban Naxalism” rested on an inherently vague and politically charged concept that lacked clear legal meaning. Significantly, the organisation pointed out that the Union Ministry of Home Affairs itself had previously stated that it does not use the term “urban naxal” as an official category in dealing with Left-Wing Extremism. CJP warned that a law justified through such an indeterminate concept risked becoming a mechanism for targeting journalists, activists, artists, civil society organisations and political critics rather than genuine security threats.

Today, many of those concerns have reappeared in the constitutional challenge before the High Court.

The battle over “unlawful activity”

One of the most striking parallels between the writ petition and earlier civil society objections concerns the Act’s definition of unlawful activity.

The petition before the High Court argues that the definition is overbroad and vague, allowing the State to invoke the law against a wide range of lawful democratic activities.

CJP’s earlier objections had similarly focused on Section 2(f), arguing that phrases such as conduct that creates a “danger or menace to public order” were left undefined and provided no clear legal standards. According to CJP, terms such as “menace” were capable of subjective interpretation and could permit authorities to categorise ordinary activities as unlawful according to their discretion. The concern was not merely semantic. Constitutional law has long recognised that vague criminal provisions create opportunities for arbitrary enforcement. When citizens cannot reasonably determine what conduct is prohibited, enforcement becomes dependent on the discretion of the executive rather than the rule of law.

That concern now sits at the centre of the High Court challenge.

The question of executive power

The writ petition also challenges the breadth of powers conferred upon the State government to declare organisations unlawful. Again, this reflects a recurring theme in earlier objections raised by civil liberties groups.

CJP argued that the proposed framework granted extraordinary authority to the executive while providing inadequate independent oversight. It questioned the composition of the Advisory Board established under the legislation, noting that members need only be qualified for appointment as High Court judges rather than serving judicial officers. Because appointments are ultimately controlled by the government itself, CJP warned that the mechanism lacked sufficient institutional independence. The broader concern was that a law designed to regulate political organisations and associations should not depend primarily upon executive opinion.

The constitutional challenge now similarly questions whether the legislation creates a system in which governmental discretion is insufficiently constrained by objective standards and procedural safeguards.

Existing laws already covered the field

Another criticism repeatedly advanced by opponents of the legislation was that Maharashtra already possessed an extensive arsenal of security laws.

CJP argued that provisions dealing with terrorism, organised crime, unlawful activities and threats to national security already exist through laws such as the UAPA, the Bharatiya Nyaya Sanhita and the Maharashtra Control of Organised Crime Act. It questioned why an additional statute with even broader powers was necessary at all. The constitutional challenge raises a related issue. If existing criminal law already addresses violent extremism and organised criminal activity, what precisely justifies a separate law empowering the State to declare organisations unlawful through broad and vaguely worded standards?

This question becomes especially important because the Act itself repeatedly invokes concerns regarding Left-Wing Extremism while failing to define key terms such as “naxalism” or “left-wing extremist” within its operative provisions.

A state-wide democratic resistance

The present litigation is also the culmination of a much broader political and civic campaign. In April 2025, protests against the Bill were organised across Maharashtra, bringing together civil liberties organisations, workers’ groups, farmers’ organisations, students’ groups, political parties and grassroots movements. Demonstrations took place across dozens of districts and reflected an unusually broad coalition united by concerns regarding civil liberties and democratic freedoms.

CJP played a visible role in that mobilisation, participating in a wider coalition that argued the legislation threatened constitutionally protected rights of speech, association, assembly and protest. The campaign consistently maintained that the law’s vague language created the risk that peaceful political opposition could be conflated with threats to public security. The filing of the writ petition therefore represents not the beginning of resistance to the law, but the latest stage of a struggle that has been unfolding for over a year. The formal objections raised by CJP have been detailed and may be perused here.

Why the High Court’s decision matters

The challenge before the Bombay High Court extends beyond the future of a single state law. At its core lies a constitutional question that has repeatedly confronted Indian courts: how far can the State go in the name of security before constitutional freedoms are impermissibly compromised?

The petition asks whether a law can authorise severe consequences, including the declaration of organisations as unlawful, through definitions that have been described as vague, subjective and susceptible to political misuse. It raises concerns about executive overreach, procedural fairness, access to justice and the protection of democratic dissent.

For organisations such as Citizens for Justice and Peace, the issue has never been whether the State can act against genuine violence or armed insurgency. Rather, the concern has been whether legislation drafted in the language of security can ultimately be deployed against lawful political activity.

The complete dissent note by CJP may be read here.

Detailed reports may be read here, here and here.

Related:

Public Resistance and Democratic Assertion: India through protests, 2025

Dissent Note: The alarming scope of Maharashtra’s Special Public Safety Bill, 2024

Censorship After NEET: A substitute for accountability

The Supreme Court in 2025: When procedure trumped principle

Assam, the third state to pass UCC: Gender justice or targeted communalism the aim?

The post From Protest to Petition: Maharashtra’s Public Safety Act in the dock appeared first on SabrangIndia.

Cases emerging from Assam’s citizenship determination regime

The petitions arise from Assam’s unique citizenship adjudication framework, under which Foreigners Tribunals determine whether a person is an Indian citizen or a foreigner who entered the country after March 25, 1971, the cut-off date fixed under the Assam Accord.

Persons referred to these tribunals are required to establish their citizenship by proving linkage with ancestors whose presence in India can be traced to electoral rolls or other admissible records predating the cut-off date. Tribunal orders are challengeable before the Gauhati High Court and thereafter before the Supreme Court.

For years, rights groups such as Citizens for Justice and Peace have criticised the functioning of the tribunals, arguing that citizenship claims are frequently rejected on the basis of minor discrepancies in names, ages, spellings, or documentary inconsistencies that are common in rural records. Questions have also been raised regarding the treatment of illiterate and economically vulnerable persons who often struggle to navigate complex evidentiary requirements. The cases before the Supreme Court appear to bring many of these concerns into sharp focus.

Saleha Khatun: Citizenship claim rejected despite multiple lineage documents

One of the petitioners, Saleha Khatun, a 50-year-old illiterate woman, has been lodged in the Goalpara detention centre since March 2 after being declared a foreigner by a Foreigners Tribunal in Darrang district, a finding later affirmed by the Gauhati High Court.

According to her petition, reported by Livelaw, she had produced extensive documentary evidence to establish that she is the daughter of Indian citizens Ahsan Ali and the late Korpuljan, whose names appear in electoral records predating 1971 from Nagabandha village in Nagaon district.

Her evidence reportedly included NRC legacy records relating to her father, voter lists, certificates issued by the Gaonburah and Gram Panchayat authorities, family electoral records and oral testimony from her sister intended to establish lineage and continuity of residence.

Despite this, the Foreigners Tribunal rejected her claim in December 2018, citing discrepancies relating to family particulars, age and other collateral details. The Tribunal also declined to rely on linkage certificates because the authorities who issued those certificates had not been examined before it.

The case raises questions regarding the weight that should be accorded to documentary evidence when discrepancies are not directly connected to the core issue of citizenship. AoR Fuzail Ahmad Ayyubi has filed the SLPs for this case.

The Supreme Court order may be viewed here:

Sarbhanu Begum: Spelling variations become grounds for rejection

The petition filed by Sarbhanu Begum presents another example of citizenship claims allegedly being defeated by inconsistencies in official records, according to LiveLaw. Sarbhanu, an illiterate domestic worker aged around 50 years and currently detained in Goalpara, contends that she is the daughter of the late Mia Hussain, whose name appears in pre-1971 electoral records from Barkur village in Darrang district.

According to her plea, she produced documentary evidence and independent witness testimony to establish both lineage and continued residence in Assam. However, the Tribunal reportedly rejected her claim primarily because of variations in the spelling of her name appearing as “Sarbhanu”, “Sorbhanu” and “Saharbhanu” in different records. An additional discrepancy concerning an electoral entry relating to her husband’s name was also relied upon against her.

Her petition raises a recurring issue that has appeared in numerous citizenship cases in Assam: whether spelling variations and clerical inconsistencies in documents prepared over several decades should be sufficient to discredit an otherwise supported claim of citizenship. AoR Fuzail Ahmad Ayyubi has filed the SLPs for this case.

The Supreme Court order may be viewed here:

Nureza Begum: Challenge to ex-parte declaration

The case of Musstt Nureza Begum centres on allegations of procedural unfairness. Nureza Begum, as per LiveLaw, who describes herself as an illiterate woman living below the poverty line, contends that she was declared a foreigner through an ex parte proceeding.

According to her petition, after receiving notice from the Tribunal, she appeared before it and signed a register as instructed. Believing that she had complied with the process, she left the premises. She later discovered that the Tribunal had proceeded ex-parte and declared her a foreigner.

Her challenge before the Gauhati High Court was unsuccessful. The High Court held that once notice had been served, she could not avoid the consequences of failing to properly participate in the proceedings. The Court observed that the responsibility to defend the case rested upon her and concluded that judicial intervention could not be granted merely because she had been negligent.

The petition before the Supreme Court raises broader concerns regarding access to justice, particularly for illiterate litigants who may not fully understand legal procedures or the consequences of procedural defaults. AoR Fuzail Ahmad Ayyubi has filed the SLPs for this case.

The Supreme Court order may be viewed here:

Basiram Nessa: Alleged non-consideration of documentary evidence

Basiram Nessa’s petition centres on allegations that crucial documentary evidence was ignored. As per LiveLaw, she claims to have produced electoral rolls from 1965 and 1989 containing the names of her grandfather and father respectively. She also relied upon certificates issued by local authorities certifying that she was the daughter of Zakir Hussain and had subsequently married Osman Gani.

According to her plea, the Tribunal nevertheless concluded that she had failed to establish her parental linkage and therefore failed to discharge the burden of proving citizenship. The matter has a long procedural history. Basiram previously approached the Supreme Court, which in January 2020 permitted her to seek review before the Gauhati High Court. However, those proceedings also failed to provide relief, leading her to once again approach the apex court.

Her case highlights concerns regarding judicial scrutiny of documentary records and the extent to which tribunals must expressly engage with evidence produced by persons facing the risk of detention and deportation. AoR Fuzail Ahmad Ayyubi has filed the SLPs for this case.

The Supreme Court order may be viewed here:

Aklima Khatun: Citizenship claim questioned despite NRC and electoral records

The Supreme Court also issued notice in the case of Aklima Khatun and directed that status quo be maintained. Aklima was declared a foreigner on the allegation that she entered India after the statutory cut-off date of March 25, 1971. The finding was subsequently upheld by the Gauhati High Court, reported LiveLaw.

Her petition asserts that she relied upon NRC 1951 records relating to her parents, electoral rolls from 1966, 1970, 1985, 2006 and 2016, as well as her voter identity card demonstrating continued residence in Balarchar village of Bongaigaon district.

Despite these documents, the Tribunal allegedly relied upon discrepancies in the names of her grandparents to reject her claim. Advocate Ujjaini Chatterji appeared for this case.

The Supreme Court order may be viewed here:

The Supreme Court’s own warning against hyper-technical citizenship determinations

The present cases acquire added significance because they echo concerns that the Supreme Court itself has previously expressed about the manner in which citizenship claims are assessed in Assam. Several of the petitioners before the Court contend that their claims were rejected because of spelling variations, inconsistencies in family particulars, discrepancies in ages, or other defects in historical records, despite the production of legacy documents and electoral records intended to establish their Indian citizenship.

In this regard, the Supreme Court’s decision in Sirajul Hoque v. State of Assam assumes particular importance. In that case, the Court set aside a Foreigners Tribunal order that had treated spelling variations in ancestral names as fatal to the petitioner’s citizenship claim. The Court recognised that documentary records prepared across different decades, by different authorities and often in different languages, are naturally susceptible to variations in spelling, transliteration and clerical recording.

The judgment acknowledged a reality that has long characterised citizenship litigation in Assam: names appearing in electoral rolls, land records, NRC documents and village certificates frequently undergo changes in spelling when translated between Assamese, Bengali and English. Such variations, the Court indicated, cannot automatically be treated as evidence of foreign origin or as grounds to discard an otherwise credible claim of citizenship.

When documentary imperfections become grounds for exclusion

The allegations raised by the present petitioners appear to mirror precisely the concerns identified in Sirajul Hoque. Sarbhanu Begum’s citizenship claim, for instance, was reportedly rejected because her name appeared in different records as “Sarbhanu”, “Sorbhanu” and “Saharbhanu”, alongside a discrepancy relating to her husband’s name. Saleha Khatun’s claim was allegedly defeated by inconsistencies relating to family particulars and age, while Aklima Khatun’s case turned substantially on discrepancies in the names of her grandparents.

Viewed collectively, these cases raise questions about whether tribunals are giving disproportionate weight to clerical inconsistencies while overlooking the broader evidentiary record. Citizenship proceedings often involve individuals from rural and economically marginalised backgrounds whose records span several decades and have been generated by multiple authorities. In such circumstances, minor inconsistencies may be inevitable rather than indicative of fraud or foreign origin.

A question of evidentiary standards

The Supreme Court’s intervention therefore goes beyond the individual facts of the petitioners’ cases. At its core lies a broader legal question: what standard should govern the evaluation of citizenship claims in Assam? Should tribunals focus narrowly on isolated discrepancies, or should they assess documentary evidence holistically, considering whether the overall record establishes lineage and residence?

The reasoning in Sirajul Hoque suggests that citizenship determinations cannot be reduced to a mechanical comparison of names and spellings across decades-old records. Instead, tribunals must examine whether discrepancies are material enough to undermine the substance of the claim. Where multiple documents consistently point towards the same family lineage and place of residence, minor variations may not be sufficient to justify a declaration of foreignness.

Against this backdrop, the present batch of petitions may provide the Supreme Court with an opportunity to further clarify the evidentiary principles governing Foreigners Tribunal proceedings. The Court’s interim decision to stay deportation suggests a recognition that the issues raised warrant closer scrutiny before irreversible consequences such as detention and deportation are allowed to follow.

Detailed report on evolving jurisprudence on documentary evidence in Assam citizenship cases may be read here.

Related:

Gauhati HC upholds foreigner declaration, reasserts harsh reverse burden under colonial-era Foreigners Act

The Immigrant Expulsion from Assam Act, 1950: Re-evaluating executive powers in light of judicial pronouncements and due process

CJP Assam: A journey without parallel, evolving & expanding rights jurisprudence

Assam’s “Doubtful Citizens”: CJP secures justice for Anowara Khatun, declared Indian citizen after decades of state persecution

Dead Voters, Forged Forms, and Political Interference: CJP flags systemic manipulation in Assam’s electoral roll revision, seeks ECI probe

“Premier agency?” SC slams Assam Police for “appalling” two-year UAPA detention without chargesheet

Assam’s New SOP Hands Citizenship Decisions to Bureaucrats: Executive overreach or legal necessity?

The post Declared Foreigners, Facing Deportation: Supreme Court grants interim relief appeared first on SabrangIndia.

In January 2026, CJP had documented in detail this phenomenon, a report that had been used widely in the public interest litigation that resulted in the May 2026 judgement. That detailed exploration may be read here. In all the documented cases, the photos and videos of accused were shot and shared on social media to embarrass them further. In essence, the police started a social trial against the accused and violated their dignity.

Defining public shaming could be a tricky task as it manifests itself in various forms. It could be through sharing photos online, parading in public, making accused do undignified acts, or simply—by publicly flogging the accused. However, the essence of the act remains, i.e., humiliating or punishing the accused in a manner that in the eyes of society they turn into criminals before the Court pronounces them to be so.

Public shaming does not refer to a single act of physical or mental torture but instead is a broader term wherein the accused is ridiculed (by being publicly paraded, or by having their degrading photos shared online), beaten up, and socially becomes a criminal before the trial ends (in most cases, before the trial even starts). It can be construed to be an umbrella term for violent offences that police inflict upon accused publicly.

Public shaming by police has been on the rise in the last few years. In the recognition of this rise, one has to see who has been affected by such incidents the most. Unsurprisingly, it is Muslims and Dalits, who are at the short end of the stick. As per a report tiled “Status of Policing in India Report 2025” published by Common Cause India and Lokniti empirically shows that more often than not the victims of police brutality have been from these marginalised communities. The specific act of public shaming is not any different, a perusal of the petitioners in all the cases that are analysed below makes it abundantly clear that public shaming by police unfairly affects the already marginalised. Ergo, the matter of Public Shaming has to be understood as a manifestation of State Violence as an instrument to marginalise. By perpetuating a form of violence that induces shame in the victim and ridicule in the observer, the State is further marginalising the already marginalised. Therefore, Public Shaming by police is clearly part of the phenomenon, State sanctioned violence against the minorities.

The act of public shaming is fundamentally Kafkaesque. Kafka in his famous short story In the penal colony talks about a society where accused’s body is inscribed with the alleged offence using needles. This act is carried out by a commander who happens to be the police, the judge and the executioner. The various instances of public shaming as happening in India are the similar if not the same. The police usurp the role of the judge and violates the dignity of an accused by beating and shaming them publicly. It contravenes inter alia, doctrine separation of powers and fundamental rights of the individuals—the salient features of a constitutional democracy.

In fact, in hitherto settled Indian criminal law jurisprudence, even convicts who have been convicted of serious offences are accorded –or should be accorded at least—fair if not humane treatment.

In the face of increase in public shaming by the police in Rajasthan (a detailed report on such incidents can be found here) the State’s High Court in the 2025 Islam Khan judgement laid down several guidelines that have to be followed by the police to curb such instances. It further held the act of public shaming to be violative of the fundamental right to privacy.

This primer will first breakdown the recent, year-old Rajasthan High Court judgement (Islam Khan and Others v. State of Rajasthan and Others) and analyse various aspects of it, including the final guidelines that were pronounced.

The second half of the primer shall deal with other judicial decisions pronounced by other constitutional courts, that is several other HCs and also the Supreme Court.

Lastly, we will attempt to demonstrate that there is an inconsistency in how courts have adjudged this issue. Considering the legal, social and psychological ramifications of public shaming, there is clearly a need for a sounder legal framework that can mitigate such occurrences. 

2025: Islam Khan and Others v. State of Rajasthan and Others

On the face of increase in acts of public shaming in Rajasthan (read a report on such incidents here), the High Court delivered a comprehensive judgement that laid down certain guidelines with the aim of stifling the practice. In the instance under examination here, the police had arrested the accused, degraded and humiliated them. Their photos and videos were shot and shared on social media. The judicial pronouncement came in response to this.

The judgement does a commendable job in grounding the prohibition of public shaming in three distinct constitutional features—doctrine of separation of powers, presumption of innocence, and respect of individual dignity. On the aspect of separation of powers, the Court starts with emphasising that the rule of law cannot be maintained without a functional separation of power. The invocation of this doctrine is important and novel, for it tacitly collapses the difference between a convict as per the court and a convict as per the media trial instigated by the police. The Court defines such a media trial engineered by the police to be “…a State-engineered narrative, wherein the police machinery, through press conferences, orchestrated disclosures, circulation of photographs, and at times even staged representations of arrest, seeks to project an accused person as culpable even before the due process of law has had an opportunity to unfold” (Paragraph 14)

The Judgement further reads, “Any transgression by the police into the judicial sphere, whether by declaring an accused guilty in the public domain, conducting actions that prejudice a fair trial, or exercising powers not sanctioned by law, would not only be without jurisdiction but would also strike at the very heart of due process” (Paragraph 13.2)

The Court by holding that media trial by police disturbs the constitutional doctrine of the separation of powers, implicitly held that media trial’s declaration of an accused as guilty is equally socially isolating and harmful as that of a court trial’s declaration, i.e., the mental or psychological effect is similar. Regardless of what the trial later proves, the accused in the eyes of the society becomes a criminal because of police actions that portrays them as convicts–or worse, sub-humans. The Court pegged the police action to its constitutional mandate of administrating law, not pronouncing guilt. The Court’s holding that merely showing an accused to be guilty amounts to a usurpation of judicial duties is crucial: in the context of public shaming particularly so; because the Police has repeatedly portrayed “accused” to be criminals in the eyes of the public. Such unprofessional, often partisan police conduct reduces public confidence in both the Police and Courts, eventually.

Making a logical extension of the aforesaid argument –separation of powers, the Rajasthan High Court went further to hold that criminal declarations vis a vis the accused by the police impacts the cardinal principle of presumption of innocence (until proven guilty). Media trials by the police displace the concept of presumption of innocence and whip up public prejudice and anger. Punishment precedes the conviction, and completely displaces the presumption of innocence.

Last not least, the force of this judgement lies in its assertion that the act of public shaming is a violation of human dignity. The Court recognises that acts of public shaming are ipso facto in contravention of human dignity. Dignity is the cornerstone of human rights. This is how dignity is acknowledged as a manifestation of human rights. The Preamble of the Constitution contains a solemn promise to secure the dignity of the individual as its framers were aware that the Constitution is an outcome of a long arduous struggle, which must value the dignity of an individual, independent of his social status.

The Court here grounded the inappropriateness of public shaming not just in Article 21 of the Constitution, but went a step further in the right direction, and held it to be violative of dignity itself. The effect of such a finding is that no law, circumstance, judicial pronouncement (that are often marred with legal hula-hoops to justify abhorrent actions) can justify public shaming by police. Its very existence is held to be impermissible. This is a crucial finding by a constitutional court.

However, it is the guidelines that the judgement lays down that sets it apart and hence its import. These guidelines are aimed to restrict if not stop public shaming from happening.  It is the first judicial pronouncement that explicitly lays down directions that ought to be followed by the police in the context of public shaming specifically. The guidelines require every police officer to follow the Standard Operating Procedures (SOPs) prescribed by the authorities. It further emphasises that no arrestee shall be subject to misbehaviour, mishandling, manhandling, harassment, or any form of coercion under any circumstances.

Crucially, the Court held in these guidelines that “any act of social media condemnation orchestrated or facilitated by police authorities, which results in public humiliation of an individual, shall be construed as a form of punishment” (Paragraph 18[iii]).

By construing public shaming as a form of punishment itself, the Court effectively made sure that no police officer can engage in the same because it would contravene both presumption of innocence (as it would lead to punishing before conviction) and doctrine of separation of power (as it would lead to police usurping the judges’ roles of sentencing a punishment).

While the judgement— specifically the guidelines, prima facie, lay down what appears to be an effective deterrent to public shaming, a closer look at it reveals no concrete steps—an absence of enforceability. A logical extension to the guidelines could have been a) compensation for the accused subject to such acts; b) institutional correction and actions against offending police officers and c) any other.

Post May 2025, less than a month after the Islam Khan judgement, the Rajasthan High Court was again asked to adjudicate on an incident of public shaming by police (Puranmal vs State of Rajasthan and Ors.). The accused was arrested, and before producing him before the competent Court, the police forcibly shaved his head, dressed him in women’s clothes, and paraded him through a crowded market, while photographs and videos of the incident were circulated on social media and news channels. Unfortunately, unlike in the case of Islam Khan findings in the Puranmal judgement were diluted. The same court that had the benefit of the guidelines laid down in Islam Khan, (both were single judge benches), the Court in Parunmal held that police’s promise of not repeating such incidents hereinafter, is sufficient. No action was taken. Even in the previous Islam Khan, despite laying such guidelines, the Court had merely asked the police to remove the videos where the accused is degraded from Social Media sites and other platforms. No proceeding was started against the police. Therefore, while the guidelines are welcome, their effectiveness remain in question.

Similarly, various High Courts and Supreme Court over the years have given different judgements on the same issue of public shaming.

Other Judicial Responses to Public Shaming

The case of public shaming was also discussed by the Supreme Court in its 2012 judgement of Dr. Mehmood Nayyar Azam Vs. State of Chattisgarh and Ors. The Court was called to decide whether compensation should be granted to a victim of such public shaming, the Court held in affirmative and made a distinction between defamation and public shaming.

The Court held that public shaming is distinct from defamation, public shaming causes mental and physical agony. The Court added that “[because of public shaming] the hurt develops a sense of insecurity, helplessness and his self- respect gets gradually atrophied” (Paragraph 40).

Further, the Court held that, “The payment of compensation in such cases is not to be understood, as it is generally understood in a civil action for damages under the private law but in the broader sense of providing relief by an order of making ‘monetary amends’ under the public law for the wrong done due to breach of public duty, by not protecting the fundamental rights of the citizen. The compensation is in the nature of ‘exemplary damages’ awarded against the wrongdoer for the breach of its public law duty and is independent of the rights available to the aggrieved party to claim compensation under the private law in an action based on tort, through a suit instituted in a court of competent jurisdiction or/and prosecute the offender under the penal law” (Paragraph 43)

Later, in In-Re Banners Placed On Road Side In The City Of Lucknow (2020), the Allahabad High Court took suo moto action against the banners placed by the UP Police on the streets of Lucknow which contained several individuals’ photographs, name and address. The context is/was the the Uttar Pradesh government’s controversial “name and shame” billboards that had publicly displayed the names, photographs, and residential addresses of individuals accused of vandalism during the anti-CAA protests in December 2019. The administration demanded compensation for public property damages, threatening to seize assets if unpaid!. The Allahabad High Court had, in a judgement, strongly condemned the actions, ordered the removal of all banners that ‘named and shamed’ holding that these acts were a violation of privacy; when the matter was carried to the Supreme Court of India, the court without staying the HC’s finding referred the matter to a constitutional bench. A report may be read here. Clearly, however this judicial rap means little to the UP state administration that had in December 2024 revived this practice that was condemned by the Allahabad HC in 2020 and which, moreover targets privacy and due process. During the violence in Sambhal in western UP, incited because of the controversial attacks on the Shahi Jama Masjid there, the administration had publicly named and shamed over 400 so-called accused! A report may be read here.

In another ruling delivered in January 2021, the Allahabad High Court condemned the act of displaying a list of so-called ‘top criminals at different police stations in various districts of UP (Jeeshan and Ors. Vs. State of U.P. and Ors.) The Court not only took a dignitarian approach and condemned the State authorities, but also granted compensation for the violation of public shaming. Moreover the Court directed all the Police stations to remove the list, and warned them that if such action is repeated, criminal proceedings and monetary compensation shall follow.

The matter of public shaming has been dealt by Gujarat High Court differently.

In the case of Bhautik Vijaybhai Bhatt Vs Director General Of Police & Ors. (the case involved a bunch of instances of public shaming) in 2019, the Court deferred to the powers of the executive. The Court further held that since departmental actions for the offence had been already initiated by the higher authorities against the police officers, this was a sufficient remedy. As opposed to such a deferential attitude, the same court in the 2023, Jahirmiya Rehamumiya Malek Vs State of Gujarat judgement, held the officers in contempt. In this case, police officers had arrested the accused, tied them to a public pole and beaten them up. Recordings of these offences by the police were uploaded on social media sites. The Court held that such arrest was a violation of the DK Basu judgement (1997), and as the police officers violated Supreme Court guidelines, they ought to be held in contempt

The Madhya Pradesh High Court took a unique approach altogether. In the case of Sangram Singh Rajoot v. State of Madhya Pradesh, the petitioners were forced to walk from police station to Court on foot. The Court held that this act cannot be considered ipso facto, an act of public shaming. The Court gave a wide margin of deference to the police when it instructed the same authority (police) to “internally inquire” about the incident and find if “malice” can be attributed to the police officers! The Court observed that the representations submitted by the accused indicated that a grievance was raised before the authorities, mere non-action on such representations would not automatically warrant issuance of a writ of mandamus for initiating disciplinary proceedings, unless a prima facie case of misconduct is established. The Court delegated all its duties to the executive and did not even issue a writ of mandamus honouring the higher judiciary’s role in checking misuse of power and authority by the executive/administration.

A perusal of this catena of judgements around public shaming from 2012 (SC) to 2025-26, we observe no consistent discernable pattern. While constitutional courts have, in recent times, in some states like Uttar Pradesh, Rajasthan and even some orders from Gujarat, held the act of public shaming to be condemnable and directed corrective measures, social sanction for such shaming persists. The phenomenon of social media and its intrusive, sometimes unregulated character adds more complex dimensions. There appears a greater imperative on the Court, to intervene not just clearly but swiftly to restore the balance —in favour of the Rule of Law.

Conclusion

The foregoing analysis makes it evident that the practice of public shaming by the police is no more an aberration but has increasingly become a baton wielded by an overarching, often authoritarian and unaccountable executive. ‘Elected governments’ are choosing to use this as a  systemic feature of India’s law enforcement architecture. The legal, social, and psychological harms it engenders are profound, recurring, and largely unaddressed.

Decades ago, when such practices certainly existed but were considered an aberration not the norm[1], did the Courts rule more assertively? The Supreme Court in Prem Shankar Shukla v. Delhi Administration (1980) was categorical in holding that handcuffing is prima facie inhuman, unreasonable, over-harsh, and arbitrary, and to inflict irons without fair procedure is to resort to zoological strategies repugnant to Article 21. The Court’s ruling was clear that freedom from handcuffs during transit between the prison and the court must be the rule and not the exception. Public shaming, in its various forms, is a direct descendant of the very practice Prem Shankar Shukla condemned. The DK Basu guidelines (1997) compounded this protection by laying down that custodial violence including torture and physical assault infringes Article 21, and that interrogation, though essential, must be conducted on scientific and humane principles, with third-degree methods being totally impermissible.

Yet, as the analysis of the Rajasthan, Gujarat, and Madhya Pradesh cases demonstrates, these guidelines are honoured more in their breach than in their observance. What the Prem Shankar Shukla and DK Basu guidelines could not anticipate was the peculiar, performative nature of public shaming in the age of social media, where the degradation of an accused: these acts are not merely incidental to an arrest but are part and parcel of the deliberate and orchestrated objective of the police action itself.

The social and psychological ramifications of this practice are equally severe, and they do not resolve themselves once the accused is acquitted. The Supreme Court in Dr. Mehmood Nayyar Azam observed that because of public shaming, the individual “develops a sense of insecurity, helplessness and his self-respect gets gradually atrophied.” Public humiliation, particularly when state-orchestrated and digitally disseminated, produces lasting trauma. The accused is no longer merely a person under trial. In the eyes of his community, employer, and family, he has been declared a criminal. His social reintegration becomes near impossible, irrespective of what the trial later concludes. The damage is therefore permanent, and the law currently has no instrument to make the victim whole. Monetary compensation, while progressive, cannot undo the viral spread of a degrading video.

The empirical picture is no less alarming. The incidents are not isolated and they are increasing. In Rajasthan alone, police officers in Sikar, Udaipur, Nagaur, Jhunjhunu, and Dausa have repeatedly forced accused men into women’s clothing, half-shaved their heads, and paraded them before crowds, with these unlawful acts being visually documented through 2025. The problem is not geographically contained. In Jammu, within a single month in 2025, there were at least two widely reported incidents of public shaming, one involving a theft accused being made to sit on the bonnet of a moving police vehicle with his hands tied and shoes garlanded around his neck, and another involving three men being publicly thrashed by police personnel after arrest, reigniting debate over the increasing tendency of law enforcement to resort to performative justice. The situation has deteriorated to such an extent that a group of advocates in Jammu lodged a complaint with the National Human Rights Commission alleging that law enforcement authorities are bypassing constitutional safeguards and replacing lawful investigation procedures with performative public punishment, leading to irreversible damage to the dignity and fundamental rights of the accused.

In light of all of this, the conclusion is inescapable. Indian criminal jurisprudence (analysed above related to Islam Khan 2025 and other verdicts) needs to be widely discussed, even as citizens, civil rights groups and the media discuss and deliberate on the serious ramifications of this deliberate executive-police fracture and capture of the ‘Rule of Law.’ What are the steps that need to be taken so we return the debate to conduct accountability by the Indian Police?

Is then what is needed is a centralised statutory or Supreme Court-mandated framework that defines public shaming exhaustively, prescribes mandatory consequences for violations including automatic contempt proceedings and compensation, and places a structural obligation on States to train and supervise their police forces accordingly? Without such a framework, the courts will continue to pronounce guidelines that are ignored, and the accused will continue to be paraded, shamed, and broken, long before any verdict is returned.

Relevant Judgements

[1] The 1979-1980 “Bhagalpur blindings” refer to a horrific series of human rights abuses in Bihar, India—when the Police deliberately blinded 31 undertrial and convicted prisoners by puncturing their eyes with needles and pouring acid into the sockets

(The legal research team of CJP consists of lawyers and interns; this resource has been worked on by Hamzah Patel)

Related

Rajasthan’s Public Shaming: Police humiliation practices defy law and human dignity

CJP writes to NHRC over Police brutality against teaching candidates in Lucknow, UP

CCTV in Police Stations: From judicial directives to constitutional accountability

Custody, Camaraderie, and Cover-Up: Supreme Court transfers custodial death probe to CBI, slams MP police for “shielding their own”

Dalit boy’s death in police custody and arson attack on Dalit homes: A dual crisis of justice in BJP-ruled states

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Published by the Human Rights Advocacy and Research Foundation (HRF), The Elusive Search for Justice: 30 Year Review of the SCs & STs (PoA) Act brings together the work of former civil servants, lawyers, academics, human rights defenders and Dalit rights activists to assess how India’s principal anti-atrocities legislation has functioned over three decades. Across its chapters, the report paints a troubling picture of rising atrocities, persistently low conviction rates, and poor implementation of victim compensation schemes, weak monitoring mechanisms, and widespread institutional failures that continue to undermine access to justice. The report’s central conclusion is that while Parliament has repeatedly strengthened the law through amendments and expanded protections for victims, the institutions responsible for implementing these safeguards have largely failed to match the law’s ambition.

Among the most revealing contributions to the volume is a chapter by activist, writer and human rights defender Vidya Bhushan Rawat, who examines the functioning of the Act in Uttar Pradesh, Uttarakhand and Haryana. While the broader report identifies national trends of weak implementation and institutional apathy, Rawat’s chapter shows how these failures manifest on the ground, in police stations, district administrations, courts and villages across northern India.

Unlike chapters that focus on legislative history or national statistics, Rawat’s contribution is rooted in lived experiences. Drawing on field investigations, case studies, Right to Information disclosures and years of engagement with Dalit communities, he examines the obstacles faced by survivors seeking justice under the PoA Act. Rawat’s account suggests that the greatest barriers often emerge not in the courtroom but much earlier, at the stages of complaint registration, investigation and administrative response.

Rawat’s central argument is that the crisis confronting the PoA Act is no longer one of legislative inadequacy. Over three decades, Parliament has progressively strengthened the law, expanded the list of recognised offences, enhanced victim protections and introduced new accountability mechanisms. Yet the effectiveness of these provisions ultimately depends upon the willingness of police officers, prosecutors, district administrations and local governments to enforce them. It is at this level, he argues, that the law repeatedly breaks down.

The result is a system in which the formal existence of legal rights often bears little resemblance to the realities experienced by Dalit survivors attempting to access protection, accountability and justice.

The hidden crisis behind atrocity statistics

Rawat begins by challenging a common assumption that official crime statistics adequately capture the scale of caste violence.

For many observers, NCRB data provides the principal measure of atrocities committed against Scheduled Castes and Scheduled Tribes. Rawat argues that these figures reveal only a fraction of the reality. The larger problem, he suggests, lies in the vast number of incidents that never enter official records at all.

Across Uttar Pradesh and neighbouring states, Dalit complainants frequently encounter resistance at the very first stage of the criminal justice process. Police officials may refuse to register FIRs under the PoA Act, dilute charges, classify incidents as ordinary criminal disputes, or encourage parties to arrive at informal compromises. In many villages, survivors must navigate local power structures before they can even reach a police station.

The consequence is that official statistics may reflect only those cases that successfully overcome multiple layers of institutional resistance.

Rawat argues that any assessment of the PoA Act that relies exclusively on registered cases risks overlooking the structural barriers that prevent countless incidents from being formally recognised as atrocities in the first place.

Uttar Pradesh: The limits of legal protection

Among the three states examined, Uttar Pradesh occupies a central place in Rawat’s analysis. The state has long recorded some of the highest numbers of crimes against Scheduled Castes in the country. Yet Rawat contends that these figures tell only part of the story. The deeper problem lies in the persistent inability of victims to secure meaningful justice after a case is reported.

According to the chapter, many police officials continue to approach caste atrocities through the lens of local disputes rather than recognising them as manifestations of entrenched social discrimination. Complaints are often discouraged, investigations delayed, and statutory provisions under the PoA Act either ignored or improperly applied.

Rawat argues that this administrative response reflects a broader reluctance within state institutions to confront caste power directly. Rather than functioning as neutral enforcers of the law, institutions frequently mirror the social hierarchies that the legislation was intended to challenge.

The Case of Shivam: A child, a crushed arm, and a system that failed

To illustrate these dynamics, Rawat recounts the case of Shivam, an eight-year-old Dalit child from Jaunpur district whose arm was allegedly crushed in a sugarcane-crushing machine owned by an upper-caste family in December 2015.

The incident should have triggered an immediate legal response. Instead, according to the account presented in the chapter, the family encountered resistance from law-enforcement authorities when they sought to pursue the matter. Efforts to register a complaint were allegedly met with indifference, while those assisting the family reportedly faced hostility from officials.

What makes the case particularly significant for Rawat is not merely the injury itself but the social environment surrounding it.

The family belonged to a community economically dependent upon dominant-caste landowners. Villagers were reportedly unwilling to speak openly about the incident, fearing repercussions. The imbalance of power was such that even seeking justice carried social and economic risks. Ultimately, concerns for safety and survival reportedly forced the family to leave the village.

For Rawat, the episode demonstrates how caste violence cannot be understood solely as a criminal act. It is sustained by relationships of economic dependence, social exclusion and institutional indifference that make accountability exceptionally difficult to achieve.

Hundreds of cases, no convictions

Perhaps the most striking evidence presented in the chapter comes from information obtained through Right to Information applications in eastern Uttar Pradesh. Seeking to understand how the PoA Act functioned in practice, activists requested data from police authorities in Deoria and Kushinagar districts regarding cases registered under the Act between 2015 and 2019.

The responses revealed a startling pattern. In Deoria district, 568 cases had reportedly been registered under the Act across seventeen police stations during the five-year period. Yet not a single conviction had been secured. In neighbouring Kushinagar district, 754 cases had reportedly been registered across thirteen police stations during the same period. Again, there was not a single conviction. For Rawat, these figures are among the most compelling indicators of institutional failure.

The issue is not merely that convictions are low. Rather, the complete absence of convictions despite hundreds of registered cases raises fundamental questions about investigations, prosecutions, witness protection and judicial outcomes. Such figures suggest a justice system in which the formal registration of cases does not necessarily translate into accountability.

The chapter argues that marginalised communities such as Mushahars and Doms—among the most socio-economically vulnerable groups in the region—face particular obstacles in sustaining legal battles against socially and politically influential perpetrators.

Haryana and the Bhagana struggle

The chapter also revisits the Bhagana movement in Haryana, one of the most prominent Dalit rights struggles in recent years. The Bhagana episode became emblematic of the vulnerabilities faced by Dalit communities confronting dominant-caste power structures. Rawat argues that despite national attention and public mobilisation, many affected families continued to face displacement, insecurity and uncertainty long after the initial incidents.

The chapter questions whether state institutions have meaningfully addressed the grievances of survivors or ensured accountability for those responsible. Years after the events, the promise of rehabilitation and justice remained largely unrealised.

For Rawat, Bhagana exemplifies a recurring pattern visible across many atrocity cases: public outrage may generate temporary visibility, but institutional follow-through remains weak.

Uttarakhand: When administrative structures complicate justice

Rawat’s discussion of Uttarakhand focuses particularly on the Jaunsar region, where he raises concerns about the interaction between social realities and administrative classifications.

According to the chapter, the widespread Scheduled Tribe classification in the region has created complex challenges for the implementation of the PoA Act. Rawat argues that social hierarchies and discriminatory practices continue to exist despite official classifications that often obscure these realities. The chapter points to continuing experiences of exclusion faced by communities such as the Kolta and Bajagi. Practices associated with untouchability, restrictions on social participation and entrenched caste hierarchies, Rawat argues, remain part of everyday life in many areas.

Rawat’s broader concern is that administrative categories sometimes fail to reflect the actual distribution of social power on the ground. When legal frameworks are built upon such classifications, opportunities for accountability may be weakened. The Jaunsar example thus serves as a reminder that the effectiveness of anti-discrimination laws depends not only on legal provisions but also on the accuracy with which institutions understand social realities.

The Larger Lesson: The problem is enforcement

Running through the chapter is a consistent theme. The PoA Act has not failed because Parliament neglected to create legal protections. Successive governments have expanded the law, strengthened penalties, increased compensation, established monitoring mechanisms and introduced procedural safeguards.

Yet none of these measures can succeed when the institutions responsible for implementation remain unwilling or unable to act. Across Uttar Pradesh, Uttarakhand and Haryana, Rawat identifies recurring patterns: reluctance to register cases, weak investigations, pressure on victims to compromise, social and economic intimidation of witnesses, delays in prosecution and negligible accountability for officials who fail to perform their duties.

The cumulative effect is the creation of a justice system that often places the burden of enforcement upon the very communities it was designed to protect.

Thirty years after the enactment of the PoA Act, Rawat’s assessment is sobering. The greatest challenge facing India’s anti-atrocities framework is no longer the absence of legal safeguards. It is the persistence of caste power within the institutions responsible for enforcing them.

As long as that reality remains unchanged, the chapter suggests, the promise of justice embodied in the PoA Act will continue to remain beyond the reach of many Dalit survivors.

The complete chapter may be read below:

The complete report may be read below:

Detailed story on the complete report may be accessed here.

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The post Thirty years on, justice remains elusive for Dalits in Uttar Pradesh, Uttarakhand and Haryana appeared first on SabrangIndia.

In a detailed representation submitted to the authorities, the organisation has argued that the residents of Kandapara Longjap Taungya, Padumoni Taungya, Hatijur Taungya and 9 No. Kheroni Taungya cannot legally be treated as ordinary encroachers on forestland. According to the representation, these villages were established under the Taungya system—a forest management arrangement created and administered by the Forest Department itself—which settled families within forest areas in return for their labour in forestry operations. The organisation has further contended that any attempt to evict these residents without first recognising and verifying their rights under the Forest Rights Act would violate both the statutory protections contained in the legislation and repeated directions issued by the Union Ministry of Tribal Affairs.

At one level, the dispute concerns four villages facing the threat of displacement. At another, it raises far-reaching questions about the implementation of one of India’s most significant social justice legislations. The controversy unfolding in the Lutumari Longjap Reserve Forest goes to the heart of a long-standing tension in India’s forest governance framework: how should the law treat communities that were settled in forests through state policy, contributed labour to the development of forest landscapes for generations, and yet never received formal recognition of their rights over the land they occupied?

The issue is particularly significant because the Forest Rights Act, 2006 (The Scheduled Tribes and Other Traditional Forest Dwellers (Recognition of Forest Rights) Act, 2006) was enacted precisely to address what Parliament described as the “historical injustice” suffered by forest-dwelling communities whose customary and occupation-based rights were either ignored or never formally recorded. Far from excluding Taungya settlements from its protection, the legislation expressly recognises them as a distinct category of forest villages and provides mechanisms for the recognition of their rights and, ultimately, the conversion of such settlements into revenue villages. Yet nearly two decades after the enactment of the law, residents of many forest villages in Assam continue to exist in a state of legal uncertainty, vulnerable to eviction despite the protections ostensibly guaranteed by Parliament.

The present controversy therefore extends beyond the immediate fate of the affected villages. It raises fundamental questions about whether communities specifically recognised under the Forest Rights Act can be subjected to eviction before the statutory process for recognition of rights has been completed. It also exposes a deeper contradiction within forest administration itself. The families presently facing eviction are not alleged to have recently occupied reserve forest land. Rather, they belong to settlements whose origins lie in a state-sponsored forestry system that depended upon their labour and permitted their occupation for decades. The attempt to now classify these communities as illegal occupants invites scrutiny not only of the legality of the eviction notices themselves, but also of the larger failure to resolve the historical status of forest villages in Assam.

To understand why the AIUFWP has described the proposed evictions as unlawful, it is necessary to revisit both the history of the Taungya system and the legal protections that Parliament sought to create through the Forest Rights Act.

A forest department that created settlements now calls their residents encroachers

For more than a century, the people living in Kandapara Longjap Taungya, Padumoni Taungya, Hatijur Taungya and 9 No. Kheroni Taungya in Assam’s Nagaon Forest Division have occupied a peculiar position in India’s forest governance framework. Their villages were not spontaneous encroachments. They were settlements created and sustained under the colonial and post-colonial Taungya system, a system designed by the Forest Department itself to secure a stable labour force for forestry operations. In fact, here it is appropriate to mention that they were brought in by the Forest Departments under a colonial power mainly for vast cultivation/plantation and other manual activities. Yet today, these very communities are being served eviction notices and labelled “encroachers.”

The contradiction is stark. A state institution that historically settled families inside forests for the purpose of forest management is now seeking to remove their descendants by treating them as unlawful occupants. The legal problem is even more serious. The proposed evictions appear to be directly contrary to the provisions of the Scheduled Tribes and Other Traditional Forest Dwellers (Recognition of Forest Rights) Act, 2006 (FRA), a legislation enacted precisely to remedy such historical injustices.

The controversy unfolding in the Lutumari Longjap Reserve Forest is therefore not merely a dispute over land. It is a test of whether the Forest Rights Act will be implemented in Assam in the manner Parliament intended, or whether communities specifically recognised by the Act will continue to face displacement despite statutory protection.

The forgotten history of the Taungya system

Understanding why these evictions are problematic requires understanding who the Taungya residents are.

The Taungya system was introduced by the British colonial administration as a method of forest management. Landless peasants and shifting cultivators were settled in forest areas and permitted to cultivate land while simultaneously providing labour for forestry operations, timber extraction and plantation work. The arrangement supplied the colonial Forest Department with a dependable workforce while reducing the costs of forest management.

In Assam, Taungya settlements were established throughout the colonial period. Historical studies show that these settlements functioned primarily as labour colonies for the Forest Department. Residents were expected to perform forestry work in exchange for limited cultivation rights and habitation. Over time, however, these temporary settlements evolved into permanent villages as generations of families continued to reside there.

Professor Chandan Kumar Sharma and Indrani Sarma, in their study on forest villages and forest dwellers in Assam, explain that forest villages and Taungya settlements were integral to colonial forest governance. They were not illegal occupations of forest land but settlements consciously established by state authorities to support forestry operations.

The history of the Lutumari Longjap settlements is consistent with this broader pattern. Indeed, official records produced by the Assam Government itself demonstrate that families were deliberately settled under the Taungya system in the Kaki and Lutumari Reserved Forest areas. A June 7, 1974 communication from the Assam Forest Department directed authorities to provide temporary shelter to hundreds of evicted families under the Taungya system in Kaki Reserved Forest and Lutumari Longjap Reserved Forest after proper screening by designated committees.

This document is critically important. It shows that occupation of these areas was not clandestine or unlawful. The state itself facilitated settlement under an official policy framework.

The present attempt to classify residents of these villages as encroachers therefore raises an obvious question: how can people settled by the Forest Department under a recognised Taungya scheme subsequently be treated as illegal occupants?

The Forest Rights Act, 2006 explicitly recognises Taungya Villages

The Forest Rights Act leaves little ambiguity on this issue. One of the most significant features of the FRA is that it expressly recognises forest villages and Taungya settlements. Section 2(f) defines “forest village” to include settlements established by Forest Departments for forestry operations and specifically includes “all types of Taungya settlements.”

This inclusion was not accidental. Parliament enacted the FRA to address what the statute itself describes as the “historical injustice” suffered by forest-dwelling communities whose customary rights were never recognised during colonial rule and continued to remain unrecorded after independence. The Act acknowledges that state forest policies systematically excluded forest dwellers from legal recognition despite their long-standing relationship with forests.

Taungya communities were among the clearest examples of this injustice. For decades they supplied labour to the Forest Department, helped create and maintain forest landscapes, and lived under state supervision without ever receiving secure tenure over the lands they occupied. The FRA was designed to correct precisely this situation.

Consequently, the law not only recognises Taungya settlements but also creates a pathway for their legal transformation. Section 3(1)(h) specifically recognises rights relating to the “conversion of all forest villages, old habitations, unsurveyed villages and other villages in forests” into revenue villages.

The legislative intent is therefore unmistakable: forest villages and Taungya settlements are to be regularised and recognised, not erased through eviction.

AIUFWP’s case against the evictions

According to the representation submitted by the AIUFWP, the affected families possess a range of documentary evidence demonstrating their long association with the settlements, including Taungya allotment records, annual khiraji pattas, electoral documents and other official records. The organisation argues that these documents, read alongside the historical record of state-sponsored settlement under the Taungya system, fundamentally undermine attempts to characterise the residents as illegal occupants of forest land.

The organisation has also drawn attention to a June 7, 1974 communication issued by the Assam Forest Department relating to settlement under the Taungya system in Kaki Reserved Forest and Lutumari Longjap Reserved Forest. According to the AIUFWP, the document demonstrates that the state itself facilitated the settlement of families in these areas and therefore cannot now ignore the historical basis of their occupation while pursuing eviction proceedings.

Most importantly, the representation argues that the Forest Rights Act creates a statutory bar against eviction until the process of recognition and verification of rights has been completed. Since the affected villages fall within a category of settlements expressly recognised under the legislation, the organisation contends that any eviction undertaken without completing this process would be unlawful.

The complete document may be read here.

The Most Serious Legal Problem: Section 4(5) absolutely prohibits eviction before rights recognition

Even if there were disputes regarding individual claims, the FRA contains a clear statutory safeguard. Section 4(5) states: “No member of a forest dwelling Scheduled Tribe or other traditional forest dweller shall be evicted or removed from forest land under his occupation till the recognition and verification procedure is complete.”

This provision is central to the architecture of the FRA. It recognises that forest dwellers historically faced displacement before their claims could be heard. Parliament therefore prohibited eviction until the entire process of recognition, verification and adjudication of rights had been completed.

The legal consequence is straightforward. Before any eviction can lawfully occur:

• Forest Rights Committees must be constituted.
• Claims must be invited.
• Claims must be verified.
• Appeals must be exhausted.
• Rights must be finally determined.

Only after completion of this statutory process can questions of removal arise. According to the representations made regarding the four Taungya villages, no meaningful FRA implementation process has been initiated and no recognition exercise has been completed. If this is correct, eviction notices issued at this stage would be fundamentally inconsistent with Section 4(5).

The Ministry of Tribal Affairs (MOTA) has repeatedly clarified that no evictions are permissible

The legal position becomes even clearer when one examines official directions issued by the Ministry of Tribal Affairs, the nodal ministry responsible for implementation of the FRA. In April 2015, the Ministry expressly directed State Level Monitoring Committees to ensure that Section 4(5) is implemented “in letter and spirit” and that no forest dweller is evicted or removed until the FRA process is complete.

The Ministry also repeatedly expressed concern regarding wrongful rejection of claims, lack of communication of rejection orders, failures in appeals processes and improper implementation by state authorities. It instructed states to review doubtful rejections and ensure that rightful claimants are not denied protection.

Subsequent communications reiterated that implementation cannot be rushed, procedural safeguards cannot be bypassed, and recognition of rights is incomplete until appeals are exhausted and records of rights are created.

These directions are highly relevant in Assam because the state has historically faced criticism for weak implementation of the FRA. The current dispute appears to arise precisely because rights-recognition processes have either not commenced or remain incomplete in the affected villages.

The Supreme Court’s 2019 intervention strengthens the protection

The legality of the proposed evictions must also be examined in light of developments before the Supreme Court. In February 2019, the Supreme Court initially issued directions concerning claimants whose forest rights claims had been rejected. However, following widespread protests and more than a dozen legal interventions in the ongoing Wild Life First case, interventions that high-lighted the misconceived framework of the original order, the SC the Court subsequently stayed the eviction-related consequences of its own order! In fact, Sokala Gond, Nivada Rana, AIUFWP backed by Citizens for Justice and Peace, were among the first who filed an Intervention Application in the Supreme Court to prevent the mass eviction of Adivasis and traditional forest dwellers. The application argued that the FRA vests independent rights in Adivasi women, and that evictions violate their constitutional rights. Finally, MOTA itself supported these contentions (the matter is ongoing). Reports on this crucial legal intervention may be read here.

The Ministry of Tribal Affairs thereafter circulated a detailed communication to all States explaining the Court’s stay order and reiterating the necessity of reviewing wrongful rejections, ensuring proper procedures, communicating reasons for rejection, allowing appeals and preventing evictions before completion of statutory processes.

The significance of this history is often overlooked. The central concern before the Supreme Court was that thousands of claims across India may have been rejected without proper adherence to FRA procedures. The Court’s intervention effectively reinforced the principle that forest dwellers cannot be removed merely because authorities assert that they lack recognised rights.

In the case of the four Taungya villages, the issue is even stronger because these communities belong to a category specifically recognised under the FRA itself.

Historical records undermine the “encroacher” narrative

The language of “encroachment” occupies a powerful place in public discourse. Yet its application to Taungya villages is legally and historically problematic. An encroacher is ordinarily understood as a person who unlawfully occupies land without authority.

The residents of the four villages claim the opposite: that they possess long-standing documentary evidence demonstrating their lawful association with the settlements. According to representations submitted to the Assam government, residents possess Aadhaar cards, voter identity cards, Taungya allotment documents, annual khiraji pattas and even historical records linked to wartime service.

More fundamentally, the historical record demonstrates that Taungya settlements were established by state authorities themselves. Academic research on Assam’s forest villages documents how generations of landless peasants were settled within reserved forests to serve as labourers for forestry operations. These communities were denied secure tenure despite their contribution to forest administration and conservation.

The FRA was enacted precisely because Parliament recognised that such communities had suffered historical injustice.

To describe them today as encroachers without first determining their statutory rights risks reversing the very objective of the legislation.

Assam’s longstanding failure to implement the FRA

The present controversy also exposes a larger governance problem. Nearly two decades after enactment of the FRA, implementation in Assam remains deeply uneven. There have been documented persistent difficulties in recognising the rights of forest dwellers, especially among non-tribal forest village residents whose historical circumstances differ from those in central India.

Forest villages across Assam have long existed in a legal limbo. Settled by the state, dependent on agricultural cultivation, and often possessing decades of documentary evidence, many residents nevertheless remain without formal tenure security. The result has been a recurring cycle of uncertainty, conflict and eviction threats. The four villages in Lutumari Longjap Reserve Forest appear to be the latest manifestation of this unresolved problem.

The constitutional dimension

Beyond statutory violations, the issue raises constitutional concerns. The Supreme Court has consistently interpreted Article 21 of the Constitution as encompassing rights to livelihood, dignity and shelter. Communities that have lived in officially recognised settlements for generations cannot be dispossessed through administrative action that disregards statutory protections.

The FRA itself is a welfare legislation enacted to realise constitutional commitments to equality, social justice and protection of vulnerable communities. Any interpretation that permits eviction of Taungya residents before recognition of rights would undermine these constitutional objectives.

What the law requires now

The legal position emerging from the FRA, Ministry guidelines and Supreme Court proceedings is clear. Before any eviction can occur:

1. Eviction notices should be withdrawn or kept in abeyance.
2. Forest Rights Committees should be constituted in the affected villages.
3. Individual and community claims should be invited and processed.
4. Historical records relating to Taungya settlements should be examined.
5. Claims must be verified through the statutory process.
6. Appeals must be exhausted.
7. Revenue village conversion under Section 3(1)(h) must be considered.
8. No coercive action should occur until the entire process is completed.

Anything less would defeat both the text and purpose of the Forest Rights Act.

Conclusion: A test case for the Forest Rights Act in Assam

The eviction notices issued to residents of Kandapara Longjap Taungya, Padumoni Taungya, Hatijur Taungya and 9 No. Kheroni Taungya are not merely administrative notices. They represent a collision between two competing visions of forest governance.

One vision views long-settled forest communities as encroachers whose presence must be removed. The other—the vision embodied in the Forest Rights Act—recognises that many of these communities were settled, used and controlled by the state itself, and that their continued insecurity is the product of historical injustice rather than illegality.

The FRA was enacted to resolve that injustice. It specifically recognises Taungya settlements, provides for their conversion into revenue villages, and unequivocally prohibits eviction before recognition and verification of rights are completed. The Ministry of Tribal Affairs has repeatedly reaffirmed this position, and the Supreme Court’s interventions have further underscored the need for procedural safeguards.

The question before Assam is therefore not whether these communities should be evicted. The question is whether a law enacted by Parliament to protect forest dwellers will finally be implemented in the state in the manner intended. Until that process is completed, the attempt to remove residents of these Taungya villages stands on deeply questionable legal ground and risks perpetuating the very historical injustice that the Forest Rights Act was enacted to undo.

Related:

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Inside India’s forest lands a battle for land and resources: Adivasis & Forest dwellers

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The post A test for the Forest Rights Act in Assam appeared first on SabrangIndia.

The findings emerge from The Elusive Search for Justice: 30 Year Review of the SCs & STs (PoA) Act, a 267-page report published in 2020 by the Human Rights Advocacy and Research Foundation (HRF), a Tamil Nadu-based human rights organisation that has extensively documented caste discrimination, atrocities, and the functioning of the PoA Act. The volume brings together contributions from a wide range of experts, including former civil servants, lawyers, academics, Dalit rights advocates, human rights defenders, and international observers working on caste discrimination and access to justice.

Among those contributing to the review are P.S. Krishnan, former Secretary to the Government of India and one of the country’s foremost authorities on Scheduled Caste and Scheduled Tribe rights; Paul Divakar, Convenor of the Global Forum on Communities Discriminated on Work and Descent; Gerard Oonk, Ambassador of the International Dalit Solidarity Network (IDSN) and former director of the India Committee of the Netherlands; Sandra Claassen, Director of Advocating Rights in South Asia (ARISA); senior advocates, grassroots activists, researchers, and organisations that have spent decades documenting caste-based discrimination and the implementation of protective legislation.

Published to mark three decades of the anti-atrocities law, the report is both a historical review and a contemporary assessment of the Act’s functioning. Drawing on government records, National Crime Records Bureau (NCRB) statistics, court data, implementation reports, policy documents, and field-level experiences, it seeks to answer a fundamental question: why, despite one of the strongest legal frameworks against caste violence in the world, do Dalits and Adivasis continue to struggle for justice?

The answer offered by the report is stark. While Parliament has repeatedly strengthened the law through amendments, expanded victim protections, increased compensation, created monitoring mechanisms, and established special courts, implementation has lagged so dramatically that the law’s transformative potential has been severely undermined. According to the review, the crisis facing Dalits and Adivasis today is no longer primarily a legislative one. It is a crisis of enforcement, accountability, and institutional will.

Across its chapters, contributors describe a system marked by rising atrocities, low conviction rates, massive case pendency, poor investigations, dysfunctional monitoring mechanisms, delayed compensation, and widespread impunity for perpetrators. The report’s central contention is that while India has created an impressive legal architecture to combat caste violence, the institutions responsible for enforcing these protections have repeatedly failed those they were intended to protect.

Why the PoA Act was considered necessary

The report places the Act within the broader historical context of caste oppression and the limitations of earlier legal protections. Although the Constitution abolished untouchability through Article 17 and guaranteed equality before the law, violence and discrimination against Scheduled Castes and Scheduled Tribes continued largely unabated in the decades following independence. The Protection of Civil Rights Act, 1955, was intended to address practices of untouchability but proved incapable of tackling the growing incidence of organised violence, social boycotts, land-related attacks, sexual violence, economic coercion and collective punishment directed at Dalit and Adivasi communities.

The report notes that atrocities frequently occurred when members of historically marginalised communities sought to exercise rights formally guaranteed to them. Assertions of dignity, attempts to access public resources, educational advancement, economic mobility, political participation or resistance to exploitative labour arrangements often provoked violent backlash from dominant caste groups. Rather than being random criminal acts, such violence frequently functioned as a mechanism for maintaining entrenched social hierarchies.

It was this recognition—that caste violence was systemic rather than incidental—that ultimately led to the enactment of the PoA Act in 1989.

A stronger law, but not a safer reality

One of the report’s most significant findings is that the strengthening of legal protections has not been accompanied by a corresponding decline in atrocities. Over the years, the PoA Act has been repeatedly amended to address gaps in implementation and expand protections for victims. Amendments in 2015 and 2016 broadened the list of offences, strengthened victim and witness protections, increased compensation amounts, imposed stricter timelines for investigations, and expanded state obligations towards survivors. Further amendments in 2018 restored automatic registration of FIRs and removed procedural barriers to arrest that had been introduced through judicial interpretation.

Yet the report argues that these reforms have not translated into meaningful protection on the ground. Drawing on National Crime Records Bureau data, the review notes that registered atrocities against Scheduled Castes and Scheduled Tribes continued to rise throughout the decade. The report cites figures showing 44,946 cases in 2015, 48,679 in 2016, 51,712 in 2017, and 50,749 in 2018. Far from indicating a decline in caste violence, these figures suggest that atrocities remain widespread across the country. The authors caution that the real scale of violence is likely much larger because many incidents are never reported or formally registered.

The report rejects the argument that rising registration necessarily reflects greater awareness or improved reporting alone. Instead, contributors argue that persistent violence, combined with weak enforcement, continues to create conditions in which dominant caste perpetrators often act with confidence that punishment is unlikely.

The Central Problem: A justice system that rarely delivers justice

At the heart of the report lies a devastating critique of India’s criminal justice response to caste atrocities.

According to the review, the problem is not merely that atrocities continue to occur; it is that survivors rarely see justice even when they approach the legal system. The report points to chronically low conviction rates and massive case backlogs across the country. Referring to national data and official observations, the review notes that conviction rates in atrocity cases have remained alarmingly low while pendency rates have hovered around 80 percent. In practical terms, this means that a large proportion of cases either remain unresolved for years or end in acquittal.

Contributors argue that these outcomes cannot simply be attributed to false complaints, as is often alleged by critics of the Act. Instead, they identify a range of systemic factors that undermine prosecutions from the outset. These include delays in registering FIRs, improper invocation of PoA provisions, poorly conducted investigations, failure to collect evidence, hostile witnesses, intimidation of complainants, prosecutorial negligence, institutional bias within law enforcement agencies, and inadequate legal support for survivors. The cumulative effect is a justice system that frequently fails long before a case reaches trial.

The report warns that every acquittal secured through institutional failure reinforces a broader culture of impunity. When perpetrators repeatedly escape punishment, the deterrent value of the law erodes and confidence in legal remedies diminishes.

Tamil Nadu: A disturbing example of impunity

Among the most striking sections of the review is its detailed examination of Tamil Nadu’s implementation record. The report describes the state’s performance as a cautionary example of how strong laws can be rendered ineffective through administrative neglect.

According to the findings cited in the review, Tamil Nadu recorded an acquittal rate of 92.21 percent in cases under the PoA Act, substantially higher than the already troubling national acquittal rate of 74.3 percent. Approximately 94 percent of accused persons were acquitted. Even more alarming, the report notes that the State government did not file appeals against a single acquittal during 2015 and 2016.

The implications of these figures are profound. If acquittals are neither challenged nor reviewed, the report argues, the criminal justice system effectively communicates that caste-based crimes carry little risk of punishment.

The review identifies several additional implementation failures in Tamil Nadu:

• Less than 10 percent of survivors received compensation despite statutory entitlements.
• Only six of the thirty-two mandated Exclusive Special Courts had been established.
• Barely 55 percent of District Vigilance and Monitoring Committees were functioning.
• None of these committees conducted all mandatory meetings required under law.
• No action was taken against police officials accused of negligence despite explicit provisions enabling such accountability.

For the report’s authors, these failures demonstrate that the crisis lies not in the text of the law but in the state’s unwillingness to enforce it.

The Implementation Gap: India’s most persistent problem

Throughout the review, contributors repeatedly return to what they describe as India’s most enduring governance challenge—the gulf between legal promise and administrative reality.

The PoA Act creates a comprehensive framework for accountability. It mandates special courts, special public prosecutors, relief and rehabilitation measures, district-level monitoring bodies, state-level review mechanisms, time-bound investigations, and compensation schemes. Successive amendments have only expanded these protections.

Yet the report argues that many of these mechanisms exist only on paper. Monitoring committees frequently fail to meet. Compensation payments are delayed or denied. Investigations exceed statutory timelines. Exclusive courts remain unestablished in many districts. Police officers often fail to invoke relevant provisions. Survivors are left without meaningful support throughout the legal process. Several contributors describe this not merely as bureaucratic inefficiency but as evidence of deeper structural prejudice operating within state institutions. The report repeatedly suggests that caste bias continues to shape the functioning of the police, bureaucracy and judiciary, undermining implementation at every stage.

Untouchability has changed form, not disappeared

A particularly important intervention made by the report concerns the changing nature of caste discrimination in contemporary India. The review argues that while the PoA Act addresses many forms of physical violence and overt discrimination, large areas of everyday exclusion remain either inadequately addressed or entirely outside the law’s reach.

Contributors point to discrimination in access to public services, exclusion from marketplaces, discrimination in recruitment and employment, caste segregation in private institutions, barriers within educational institutions, workplace discrimination, and violence associated with inter-caste relationships. These forms of exclusion may not always manifest as spectacular acts of brutality, but they continue to shape the lives of Dalits and Adivasis in profound ways.

The report argues that while the legal framework has evolved from addressing untouchability to addressing atrocities, many contemporary manifestations of caste hierarchy remain insufficiently recognised within the legal system.

As a result, the review calls for a broader understanding of caste discrimination—one that moves beyond criminal incidents to include structural barriers affecting education, employment, housing, public participation and social mobility.

The Report’s Broader Argument: The crisis is structural

Perhaps the most important contribution of the review is its insistence that the crisis cannot be understood solely through the lens of criminal law.

Writing in the report, international human rights advocate Gerard Oonk argues that the struggle for justice must be viewed within a larger framework of caste hierarchy, economic inequality, social exclusion and institutional discrimination. According to him, expecting a single law—even a powerful one like the PoA Act—to transform social realities is unrealistic when the broader structures producing discrimination remain intact.

Oonk argues that what is missing is a shared societal commitment to dismantling caste-based inequality. He contends that meaningful progress requires equal access to education, healthcare, land, public resources, government institutions and the justice system itself. Without such structural changes, legal protections alone will remain insufficient.

The report repeatedly emphasises that caste discrimination intersects with class, gender, religion and economic vulnerability. Dalit women, Adivasi communities, informal workers and other marginalised groups often face multiple layers of exclusion that compound barriers to justice.

Thirty years later, the promise remains unfulfilled

The report ultimately presents a paradox. The Scheduled Castes and Scheduled Tribes (Prevention of Atrocities) Act remains one of the strongest legal instruments enacted by the Indian state to protect historically oppressed communities. Over three decades, Parliament has expanded its scope, strengthened its enforcement mechanisms, increased relief measures, and responded to judicial attempts to dilute its protections.

Yet the report’s findings suggest that legal reform has consistently outpaced institutional commitment. Atrocities continue to rise. Conviction rates remain dismal. Compensation is frequently denied. Monitoring bodies are dysfunctional. Special courts remain absent in many areas. Officials rarely face consequences for negligence. Survivors continue to encounter barriers at every stage of the justice process.

For the authors of The Elusive Search for Justice, this is the central lesson of the last thirty years: India’s challenge is no longer simply creating laws against caste violence. The challenge is ensuring that those laws are implemented with the seriousness, urgency and political will necessary to make justice a reality rather than a promise.

Three decades after the PoA Act came into force, the report concludes, the struggle against caste violence remains not merely a legal battle but a test of the Indian state’s commitment to equality, dignity and constitutional justice itself.

The complete report may be read below:

Related:

UP: 14-Year-Old Dalit Content Creator Ashwamit Gautam faces arrest, FIR over strong dissenting social media videos

‘We Were Promised Rehabilitation’: Gurugram’s oldest Dalit settlement bulldozed after decade long battle; police violently beat and detain residents for protesting

CJP flags casteist, anti-Dalit videos on YouTube targeting CJI Gavai; seeks urgent takedown

Unending Violence: Caste atrocities haunt Uttar Pradesh’s Dalit communities

Custodial Death of Dalit Law Student Somnath Suryawanshi: FIR registered after Supreme Court upholds Bombay HC directive

Dalit Justice Demanded: CJP exposes 30 brutal anti-Dalits atrocities, urges NCSC to confront nationwide caste violence under Article 338

The post Three decades after the PoA Act, justice remains elusive appeared first on SabrangIndia.

These were not routine disputes. They involved some of the most fundamental questions a constitutional democracy can confront.

• What happens when citizenship is assessed through imperfect documents? How should courts respond to allegations of extra-judicial killings by state agencies?
• Can access to reservation be denied despite an undisputed claim to social disadvantage?
• Does privacy survive within the intimate space of marriage?
• To what extent can environmental violations be regularised after the fact?
• How much power can unelected constitutional authorities exercise over the decisions of elected governments?
• And how far may the State intervene in the administration of minority religious institutions?

The answers offered by the Court reveal an important judicial trend. In several of the year’s most consequential judgments, the Court displayed a marked preference for procedural rigour, institutional finality and administrative deference. Questions of substantive justice frequently became secondary to questions of compliance. Structural inequalities often received less attention than formal legal requirements. Concerns about accountability were sometimes met with faith in existing institutions rather than the creation of stronger oversight mechanisms. In matters involving citizenship, reservation, police violence, environmental governance and constitutional accountability, the Court often chose restraint where intervention was sought and certainty where contextual flexibility was urged.

To be sure, judicial restraint is itself a constitutional value. Courts cannot govern, administer or legislate. Yet constitutional adjudication has always demanded more than technical legal reasoning. It requires courts to recognise the unequal realities within which law operates and to ensure that constitutional guarantees remain meaningful for those who possess the least social, political and economic power. It is against this backdrop that the Supreme Court’s major decisions of 2025 must be understood—not merely as isolated rulings on discrete legal questions, but as judgments that collectively illuminate the Court’s evolving understanding of rights, accountability, state power and constitutional governance.

Reintroducing three years bar practice raises concern on deepening structural inequality in judicial recruitment

In All India Judges Association v. Union of India, the Supreme Court delivered their judgment in May 2025, restoring the requirement of prior legal practice as a condition for appearing in lower judicial service examinations, effectively overturning the position adopted in the Third AIJA judgment (1999), which had removed the practice mandate. The Court justified the move on the ground that newly recruited judicial officers often lack practical courtroom experience and familiarity with litigation processes. Relying on the views of several High Courts and earlier observations in the Second AIJA case, the Court held that three years of practice at the Bar would better equip candidates for the responsibilities of trial court adjudication from the very first day of service.

The judgment also clarified that the three-year practice requirement would be calculated from the date of provisional enrolment, and candidates would need certification from an advocate with at least ten years’ standing or from a presiding officer to verify actual legal practice. The Court viewed practical exposure to litigation, client interaction, drafting, and courtroom procedure as indispensable for improving the quality of the subordinate judiciary. In doing so, it sought to standardise eligibility conditions across States and strengthen institutional competence at the grassroots level of the judicial system.

However, the ruling has attracted significant criticism for creating structural barriers that disproportionately affect first-generation lawyers, economically weaker aspirants, women, and candidates from marginalised communities. On of the criticism is that the requirement risks reinforcing nepotism and inherited privilege within the legal profession, as candidates from established legal families are far more likely to secure stable chamber placements, financial support, and meaningful litigation exposure during the mandatory practice period. By contrast, many young graduates—particularly from Dalit, Adivasi, OBC, minority, and rural backgrounds—often struggle to survive financially in the initial years of litigation practice, which remains deeply informal, underpaid, and dependent on personal networks.

The impact on women candidates may be especially severe. Litigation spaces in many parts of India continue to be male-dominated, insecure, and institutionally exclusionary, with persistent concerns regarding harassment, lack of mentorship, unequal briefing opportunities, and unsafe working conditions. For many women aspirants, direct entry into judicial service after graduation had become a relatively stable and dignified avenue for professional advancement and financial independence. The mandatory practice requirement may now force them into precarious professional environments for several years before they can even compete for judicial posts, potentially discouraging participation and reducing diversity within the judiciary itself.

The judgment fails to justify why exactly three years of practice constitutes the appropriate threshold for judicial competence. The Court did not provide any empirical or institutional basis for fixing this duration, raising concerns of arbitrariness under Article 14. It can be further argued that instead of excluding fresh graduates altogether, the Court could have strengthened judicial academies and post-selection training mechanisms, as earlier recognised in the Third AIJA judgment. Additionally, the possibility of exploitation during the mandatory practice period and the emergence of informal “certificate” systems, where young advocates may become dependent on senior lawyers for proof of practice, thereby creating new forms of gatekeeping within judicial recruitment.

Citizenship by Technicality: When documentary perfection trumped substantive justice

The Supreme Court’s decision in Rofiqul Hoque v. Union of India, also delivered in May last year, reflects a deeply formalistic approach to citizenship adjudication in Assam, one that places overwhelming emphasis on documentary precision while paying insufficient attention to the realities of record-keeping, migration, poverty, and bureaucratic inconsistency. While the Court correctly reiterated the legal principle from Abdul Kuddus that inclusion in the NRC cannot override a prior declaration by a Foreigners Tribunal, the troubling aspect of the judgment lies in its treatment of evidence and its unwillingness to contextualise documentary discrepancies.

The Court accepted the Tribunal’s rejection of the petitioner’s evidence based on variations in age, village names, and familial details appearing across electoral rolls spanning several decades. However, such discrepancies are hardly uncommon in rural India, where voter lists, land records, school certificates and identity documents have historically been riddled with clerical errors, transliteration mistakes, inaccurate age recording, and inconsistent spellings. Previous Supreme Court jurisprudence had generally recognised these realities and assessed citizenship claims by examining the cumulative credibility of the evidence rather than demanding documentary perfection. In Rofiqul Hoque, however, minor inconsistencies were elevated into determinative defects without sufficient consideration of whether they actually undermined the core claim of lineage.

Particularly concerning is the Court’s treatment of the village discrepancy. The judgment faulted the petitioner for not explaining the movement of his family between villages and districts over time. Yet migration within Assam for work, river erosion, floods, displacement, marriage and economic necessity is a common social reality. Expecting individuals to produce documentary proof of every movement made by previous generations places an extraordinarily onerous burden on those already struggling to establish citizenship. The Court’s reasoning effectively transforms the burden under Section 9 of the Foreigners Act into a near-impossible evidentiary standard for many poor and rural residents whose lives were never documented with administrative precision.

The consequences of this approach extend far beyond the individual petitioner. Citizenship proceedings in Assam disproportionately affect economically vulnerable communities, linguistic minorities, Muslims, women, landless labourers and persons with limited access to education and documentation. Women, in particular, often face severe documentation gaps because their identities are frequently recorded through male relatives, marriage results in changes of residence, and formal educational records are absent. By treating documentary inconsistencies as fatal without adequately accounting for these structural realities, the judgment risks reinforcing existing inequalities in citizenship determination.

Equally troubling is the Court’s failure to interrogate the broader reliability of the documentation regime itself. Electoral rolls prepared by the State, school records maintained by public institutions, and official identity documents are all products of government processes. When inconsistencies emerge across these records, the burden is placed entirely upon the individual to explain them, while the systemic deficiencies that produced such discrepancies escape scrutiny. The judgment therefore shifts the consequences of administrative failure onto those whose citizenship is under challenge.

While the Court was legally justified in holding that NRC inclusion cannot nullify a Foreigners Tribunal declaration, the judgment ultimately reflects a narrow and technical conception of citizenship adjudication. In a context where the stakes involve detention, statelessness, family separation and loss of fundamental rights, constitutional courts are expected to adopt a more humane and contextual assessment of evidence. Instead, Rofiqul Hoque signals a move towards documentary rigidity, where minor inconsistencies can outweigh the broader evidentiary picture and where procedural exactitude risks eclipsing substantive justice.

Detailed report may be read here.

Reservation reduced to a technicality

In this judgment, delivered in May, the Supreme Court adopted an extremely formalistic approach to reservation by holding that a candidate belonging to the OBC category could be denied the benefit of reservation solely because he submitted a caste certificate in the format prescribed for Central Government employment rather than the specific format required by the Uttar Pradesh recruitment advertisement. The Court held that compliance with the prescribed format was mandatory and that candidates could not seek relaxation merely because they genuinely belonged to a reserved category.

The ruling prioritises procedural compliance over substantive justice. There was no dispute about the candidate’s social identity, caste status, or eligibility for reservation. The rejection was based entirely on the format of the certificate rather than the authenticity of the claim itself. By treating reservation as a matter of paperwork rather than a constitutional mechanism designed to remedy historical disadvantage, the Court effectively elevated bureaucratic requirements above the objective of ensuring representation for marginalised communities.

The judgment is particularly troubling because it ignores the realities faced by many applicants from socially and educationally disadvantaged backgrounds. Recruitment processes are often complex, highly technical, and difficult to navigate. Minor mistakes in documentation are common, especially among first-generation applicants, rural candidates, and those with limited access to legal or administrative assistance. Instead of requiring authorities to verify an admittedly genuine caste claim, the Court endorsed a rigid approach that permanently excludes candidates on procedural grounds.

The consequences of such reasoning fall disproportionately on members of reserved communities, including OBCs, Scheduled Castes, Scheduled Tribes, women from marginalised backgrounds, and economically vulnerable applicants who rely most heavily on affirmative action measures. By reducing access to reservation to strict compliance with technical formats, the judgment risks transforming a constitutional guarantee of substantive equality into a bureaucratic exercise where form prevails over social justice.

Passing the buck on encounter accountability in the Assam fake encounters case

In June, the Supreme Court’s decision in the Assam fake encounter case represents a missed opportunity to enforce meaningful accountability for allegations of extra-judicial killings and police violence. The petition placed before the Court was not based on a handful of isolated incidents but on as many as 171 alleged encounter cases, many of which raised concerns regarding compliance with the safeguards laid down in PUCL v. State of Maharashtra. These guidelines were intended to ensure that every encounter death or serious injury is subjected to independent scrutiny precisely because the police cannot be allowed to investigate themselves in cases involving the possible use of unlawful force.

While the Court acknowledged that allegations of fake encounters, if proven, would amount to grave violations of the right to life under Article 21, it stopped short of exercising its own constitutional authority to secure an independent investigation. Instead, it transferred the matter to the Assam Human Rights Commission for inquiry. This approach is difficult to reconcile with the extraordinary nature of the allegations. The very basis of the petition was the claim that existing institutional mechanisms had failed to adequately investigate encounter cases over several years. Referring the matter back to a state-level body, without constituting an independent judicial commission, Special Investigation Team, or court-monitored inquiry, risks reproducing the same limitations that prompted the litigation in the first place.

The judgment is particularly striking because the Court appeared to undertake a preliminary assessment of the allegations and observed that, barring a few cases, it was difficult to infer widespread non-compliance with the PUCL guidelines. Such observations sit uneasily with the Court’s simultaneous decision to direct a fresh inquiry. If the allegations required independent scrutiny, there was little reason for the Court to make broad prima facie observations appearing to endorse the State’s version of events. Conversely, if the material was insufficient to warrant further intervention, the matter could have been dismissed. The judgment attempts to occupy both positions simultaneously, thereby diluting the force of its own concerns.

More fundamentally, the Court declined to confront the structural reality of encounter policing. Allegations of extra-judicial killings involve the most serious exercise of state power—the taking of life without judicial process. In such circumstances, constitutional courts have historically acted as guardians of civil liberties, particularly where victims or their families may be unable to challenge state narratives. The Court recognised that fear, intimidation and power imbalances often prevent victims from coming forward. Yet having acknowledged these realities, it refrained from creating a robust mechanism capable of overcoming them.

The consequences of this restraint are particularly significant for marginalised communities. Encounter killings and custodial violence disproportionately affect poor persons, religious minorities, Adivasis, Dalits, migrant workers and those accused of crimes who lack social or political power. These are precisely the groups least capable of securing independent investigations against the police. By declining to establish a stronger accountability framework despite the unprecedented scale of allegations before it, the Court left unresolved the central question raised by the petition: whether constitutional guarantees against arbitrary deprivation of life can be meaningfully enforced when the alleged violator is the State itself.

In the end, the judgment acknowledges the seriousness of the allegations but avoids the constitutional consequences that such seriousness demands. Faced with claims involving 171 alleged encounter cases, the Supreme Court chose institutional deference over judicial intervention. For a case that raised profound concerns about the rule of law, the decision ultimately places responsibility elsewhere rather than exercising the Court’s own extraordinary powers to uncover the truth.

Privacy sacrificed at the altar of matrimonial litigation

In a judgment with far-reaching implications for privacy within intimate relationships, the Supreme Court in July held that secretly recorded conversations between spouses are admissible in matrimonial proceedings. While the Court framed the issue as one of balancing privacy against the right to a fair trial, the decision arguably weakens one of the most significant constitutional developments of recent decades—the recognition of privacy as an intrinsic part of dignity, autonomy and personal liberty under Article 21.

The Court’s reasoning proceeds on the assumption that once a marriage has deteriorated to the point where one spouse is secretly recording the other, the relationship has already broken down and concerns regarding privacy lose much of their force. This logic is troubling. Constitutional rights do not disappear because a relationship is strained. If anything, privacy protections become more important in situations of conflict, where surveillance, coercion and monitoring are most likely to occur. The judgment appears to reduce privacy to a matter of marital harmony rather than treating it as an independent constitutional value that survives even within family relationships.

Equally concerning is the Court’s reliance on Section 122 of the Evidence Act. The provision was intended to create limited exceptions to spousal privilege in litigation between spouses. It was not designed as a broad endorsement of covert surveillance or secret recording within marriage. By treating admissibility as a natural extension of the statutory exception, the judgment blurs the distinction between permitting evidence in court and legitimising the way that evidence is obtained. The result is that evidence procured through intrusion into private conversations may now be rewarded with evidentiary value, potentially incentivising greater monitoring between spouses.

The practical consequences of the ruling are likely to be felt unevenly. Women, who continue to face disproportionate levels of surveillance and control within domestic relationships, may be particularly vulnerable. In abusive or coercive marriages, phones, messages, and conversations are often monitored as tools of domination. By validating secretly recorded conversations as admissible evidence, the judgment risks normalising forms of conduct that are frequently associated with domestic control rather than legitimate evidence-gathering. The Court does not meaningfully engage with these realities or with the gendered dimensions of privacy violations within the home.

The implications extend beyond women. LGBTQ+ persons, individuals in interfaith marriages, and members of socially marginalised communities often rely upon privacy as a shield against social stigma, family interference, and discrimination. The judgment’s expansive acceptance of covert recordings may create anxieties about whether intimate conversations, personal disclosures, or private vulnerabilities could later be weaponised in litigation. In privileging evidentiary utility over informational privacy, the Court offers little guidance on where constitutional limits to such surveillance should lie.

At a broader level, the judgment sits uneasily with the privacy jurisprudence developed after the Supreme Court’s recognition of privacy as a fundamental right. Rather than asking whether secret recordings constitute a disproportionate intrusion into personal autonomy, the Court approached the issue primarily through the lens of evidentiary necessity and fair trial rights. The result is a decision that substantially expands the admissibility of privately obtained evidence while offering only limited protection against the growing possibility of surveillance within the most intimate sphere of human life—the family itself.

Stray dog verdict undermines animal welfare protections and established legal frameworks

In August, In Re: Menace of Dog Bites and Rabies (2025), the Supreme Court adopted an unprecedented approach to stray dog management by directing authorities in Delhi, Noida, Gurugram and Ghaziabad to immediately pick up stray dogs from public spaces and detain them in shelters without releasing them back into their original locations. The Court further warned that individuals or organisations obstructing the exercise could face legal consequences and contempt proceedings. Emphasising the need to protect children from dog attacks and rabies, the Court declared that “no sentiments should be involved” in addressing the issue.

The judgment marks a significant departure from India’s existing animal welfare framework. The Animal Birth Control Rules, framed under the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals Act, are based on the principle of capture, sterilisation, vaccination and release of dogs back into the same locality. This framework was developed after years of scientific and policy deliberation and has consistently been recognised as the governing legal regime for stray dog management. By directing that no captured dog should be released under any circumstances, the Court effectively displaced the statutory scheme without engaging with the rationale underlying it. In doing so, the judgment elevates a judicially crafted solution over a legislatively enacted framework designed to balance public health concerns with animal welfare obligations.

The ruling is also troubling for its treatment of animal welfare voices and participatory decision-making. The Court refused to entertain intervention applications from animal welfare stakeholders and expressly stated that no sentiments should be involved in the matter. However, questions concerning stray animal management have long involved competing interests, including public safety, animal welfare, municipal governance and scientific expertise. By excluding welfare organisations and discouraging contrary perspectives, the judgment narrows the scope for informed and evidence-based policymaking. The result is a highly securitised approach that treats stray animals primarily as a threat rather than as living beings protected under existing legal frameworks.

The consequences of the judgment are likely to fall disproportionately on both animals and vulnerable communities. The Court’s directions require the creation of large-scale shelter infrastructure capable of housing thousands of dogs indefinitely. Yet many municipal bodies already struggle to implement existing sterilisation and vaccination programmes due to resource constraints. The absence of a clear roadmap regarding shelter capacity, funding, veterinary care and long-term maintenance raises serious concerns about overcrowding, neglect and institutionalised confinement of animals. At the same time, poorer localities—which often face the greatest deficits in public health and municipal services—may bear the burden of implementing an expensive and administratively demanding model that lacks demonstrated feasibility.

Viewed more broadly, the judgment represents a retreat from the rights-based and welfare-oriented jurisprudence that has characterised much of India’s animal protection law over the past two decades. Rather than strengthening implementation of existing legal mechanisms, the Court opted for a sweeping solution that effectively side-lines statutory protections in favour of indefinite detention. In a year that witnessed several progressive rulings expanding constitutional protections for vulnerable groups, this judgment stands out as a notable exception—one that prioritised immediate executive action over legal consistency, scientific evidence and established principles of animal welfare.

Sealed Covers, Finality and the Silencing of Scrutiny: The Vantara judgment

The Supreme Court’s decision accepting the SIT’s clean chit to Vantara raises serious concerns about transparency, accountability and the future of public interest litigation involving powerful private actors. While there is nothing inherently objectionable about the Court relying on an independent investigation, the troubling aspect of the judgment lies in the extraordinary degree of finality it accords to a process that remains largely shielded from public scrutiny. In September, the Court accepted the SIT’s conclusions, directed that the detailed report remain confidential, and simultaneously declared that no further complaints or proceedings based on the same allegations would be entertained before judicial, statutory or administrative forums. In effect, a matter involving wildlife conservation, animal welfare, imports of endangered species and alleged regulatory violations was brought to a conclusive end without the public ever gaining access to the material on which that conclusion was reached.

The judgment reflects an uncomfortable reliance on the sealed-cover method, a practice that has repeatedly attracted criticism in recent years. Although the Court made the summary public, the substantive report, annexures and supporting material remain inaccessible. This makes meaningful public evaluation of the findings impossible. Wildlife regulation, environmental governance and animal welfare are matters of significant public concern. When allegations are dismissed on the basis of evidence that remains hidden from public view, confidence in the process inevitably suffers. The issue is not whether Vantara is ultimately innocent or guilty of the allegations; rather, it is whether the adjudicatory process itself remains transparent enough to inspire trust.

Equally concerning is the Court’s decision to effectively foreclose future proceedings based on the same allegations. Such a direction goes beyond merely accepting the findings of an investigation. It creates a near-impenetrable shield against further scrutiny, even though new evidence may emerge in the future or different complainants may possess material that was not previously examined. Public interest litigation has historically played a crucial role in uncovering environmental harms, wildlife trafficking networks and regulatory failures. By declaring that no further complaints based on the same allegations should be entertained before any judicial, statutory or administrative forum, the Court risks chilling future whistleblowing and discouraging legitimate public oversight.

The judgment also adopts a notably deferential approach towards regulatory authorities. One of the central allegations raised by the petitioners was not merely that violations occurred, but that multiple regulatory bodies had failed to adequately discharge their responsibilities. Yet the Court’s reasoning appears to treat the existence of permits, approvals and official clearances as sufficient answers to many of the concerns raised. Environmental and wildlife jurisprudence in India has historically recognised that formal compliance does not always guarantee substantive compliance. Regulatory approvals themselves may warrant scrutiny, particularly in matters involving endangered species, conservation and large-scale wildlife transfers. The judgment leaves little room for such questioning.

Perhaps most strikingly, the Court not only dismissed the allegations but expressly left open the possibility of defamation actions and criminal proceedings against those responsible for what it termed misinformation. While litigants who make knowingly false allegations should not be immune from consequences, such observations in a public interest matter risk creating a chilling effect on activists, researchers, journalists and conservation groups seeking to raise concerns about powerful institutions. Public interest litigation often operates in spaces where complete information is unavailable to outsiders. If unsuccessful challenges are followed by the threat of defamation or criminal proceedings, legitimate watchdog activity may be deterred.

Ultimately, the judgment signals a shift away from the openness and continuing oversight that have traditionally characterised environmental and wildlife litigation. The Court may well have been satisfied that Vantara committed no legal violations. However, by relying on confidential findings, granting sweeping finality to the investigation, and discouraging future scrutiny, the decision raises larger concerns about transparency and public accountability. In a sector where independent oversight is often the only mechanism through which concerns reach the public domain, the judgment appears to prioritise closure over continued scrutiny.

A deferential approach to the Waqf amendments raises concerns for minority rights

The Supreme Court’s interim judgment on the Waqf (Amendment) Act, 2025, delivered in September, represents one of the most consequential judicial responses to a religious freedom challenge in recent years. While the Court stayed certain provisions relating to executive determination of property disputes, it declined to suspend most of the legislation, effectively allowing a far-reaching restructuring of waqf governance to operate pending final adjudication. In doing so, the Court adopted an approach marked by substantial deference to legislative policy, even where the amendments alter long-settled understandings of waqf administration and management.

Perhaps the most contentious aspect of the judgment concerns the Court’s treatment of waqf by user. For centuries, numerous mosques, dargahs, graveyards and charitable institutions acquired recognition not through formal deeds but through uninterrupted public use and community acceptance. The doctrine evolved precisely because many religious endowments predated modern systems of land registration and documentary record-keeping. By accepting the legislative decision to effectively eliminate this category and by placing considerable emphasis on the failure of mutawallis to register properties despite statutory opportunities, the Court privileges formal documentation over historical reality. Such an approach risks exposing a significant number of longstanding religious properties to future disputes, particularly where documentary evidence has been lost, destroyed, or never existed in the first place. The judgment appears to assume that the absence of registration necessarily reflects neglect or misuse, rather than recognising the complex historical circumstances under which many waqf properties evolved.

The Court’s endorsement of the requirement that a person must have practised Islam for five years before creating a waqf also raises difficult constitutional questions. While the Court accepted the State’s concern regarding potential misuse of waqf protections, it did not sufficiently grapple with the implications of empowering the State to scrutinise the sincerity, continuity, or duration of an individual’s religious practice. Questions regarding who determines religious observance, what evidence would be considered sufficient, and whether such inquiries are compatible with constitutional protections of religious freedom remain largely unanswered. The temporary stay granted by the Court is procedural rather than substantive; the constitutional concerns underlying the provision remain unresolved.

Equally significant is the Court’s acceptance of provisions that narrow who may create waqfs and the circumstances under which waqf claims may be asserted. Historically, waqf law in India developed through a combination of religious principles, community practices and statutory regulation. The amendments shift this balance decisively toward bureaucratic control and formal compliance. By treating these changes primarily as matters of legislative policy, the judgment pays relatively little attention to the broader question of whether the cumulative effect of these provisions alters the essential character of waqf as a community-based religious institution.

The Court’s approach to the inclusion of non-Muslim members in Waqf Boards similarly reflects caution rather than rigorous constitutional scrutiny. While numerical limits were imposed through interim directions, the larger question—whether bodies entrusted with administering specifically Islamic religious endowments can be substantially reconstituted through state intervention—was effectively deferred. This issue strikes at the heart of debates concerning religious autonomy under Articles 25 and 26. Yet the judgment stops short of engaging with these concerns in any meaningful manner.

To its credit, the Court intervened where executive power threatened to displace adjudicatory functions. The stay on provisions permitting revenue officers to determine whether disputed properties constituted government land recognises that questions of title cannot simply be resolved through administrative fiat. However, this intervention also highlights a broader inconsistency within the judgment. While the Court was willing to act decisively when executive encroachment upon judicial functions became apparent, it displayed considerably greater restraint when confronted with concerns regarding religious autonomy, community rights, and the historical protection of waqf properties.

The larger concern arising from the judgment is not merely the fate of individual provisions but the constitutional vision it appears to endorse. The amendments collectively move waqf governance away from historical usage, community recognition and institutional autonomy, towards a framework centred on registration, documentation, state oversight and administrative control. The Court’s refusal to substantially intervene at the interim stage allows this transformation to proceed even before the constitutional validity of the amendments has been conclusively determined.

The significance of the judgment lies not only in what it stayed, but in what it permitted. By largely accepting Parliament’s framing of waqf reform as an exercise in transparency and accountability, the Court afforded limited weight to concerns that the amendments fundamentally alter the legal and institutional foundations upon which waqf administration has historically rested. The result is a judgment that, while cautious in form, may have profound consequences for the future of religious endowments, minority institutional autonomy, and the constitutional relationship between the State and religious communities.

Environmental Compliance Diluted: Supreme Court revives post-facto environmental clearances

In Review in Vanashakti v. Union of India (2025), a 2:1 majority of the Supreme Court recalled the landmark Vanashakti judgment delivered only months earlier, which had prohibited the Union Government from granting post-facto environmental clearances (ECs) to projects that commenced operations without obtaining prior environmental approval. Through the judgment delivered in November, the majority, led by Chief Justice B.R. Gavai and Justice K. Vinod Chandran, held that the earlier judgment had failed to consider certain coordinate bench decisions permitting post-facto clearances in exceptional circumstances. As a result, the Court reopened the question and restored the possibility of regularising projects that began operations in violation of environmental law.

The judgment represents a significant setback for environmental governance in India. The principle of prior environmental clearance lies at the heart of the country’s environmental regulatory framework. Environmental impact assessments are intended to evaluate risks before a project begins, not after ecological damage has already occurred. By permitting the continued use of post-facto clearances, the Court weakens the deterrent effect of environmental law and effectively rewards non-compliance. Instead of treating prior clearance as a mandatory legal safeguard, the judgment risks reducing it to a procedural hurdle that can be cured retrospectively once investments have already been made.

The majority’s reasoning placed considerable emphasis on economic costs, infrastructure investments and the practical difficulties associated with halting or dismantling projects. However, this approach shifts the consequences of illegal environmental conduct away from project proponents and onto affected communities and ecosystems. Once a project is operational, authorities and courts are often reluctant to order closure due to sunk costs and employment concerns. This creates a powerful incentive for developers to proceed without clearances and seek regularisation later. As Justice Ujjal Bhuyan observed in his dissent, it cannot be left to violators to invoke the consequences of their own unlawful conduct as a reason for avoiding legal accountability.

The impact of such a dilution is felt most acutely by marginalised communities. Large infrastructure, mining and industrial projects disproportionately affect Adivasi populations, forest-dwelling communities, fishing communities, small farmers and rural residents whose livelihoods depend on land, forests and water resources. Environmental impact assessments and clearance processes are often the only institutional mechanisms through which these communities can raise objections and participate in decision-making. Permitting post-facto clearances weakens these protections by allowing projects to become fait accompli before meaningful consultation can occur. Women within these communities frequently bear the heaviest burden, as environmental degradation directly affects access to water, fuel, food security and household livelihoods.

The judgment also signals a broader judicial shift from precautionary environmental protection towards regulatory flexibility and economic pragmatism. The original Vanashakti ruling reaffirmed a long-standing environmental principle: that development must comply with environmental safeguards before, not after, ecological harm is caused. By recalling that decision, the Court has created uncertainty regarding the enforceability of environmental law and weakened one of the most important checks on unlawful development. In a year marked by several constitutional decisions expanding rights and accountability, this judgment stands out as a significant retreat from the principles of environmental justice, precaution and sustainable development that have historically guided Indian environmental jurisprudence.

Detailed report may be read here.

Presidential reference dilutes judicial checks on governor and presidential delays

In November, in the Presidential Reference concerning Articles 200 and 201 of the Constitution, the Supreme Court substantially altered the position it had adopted earlier in the Tamil Nadu Governor case. The Constitution Bench held that Governors enjoy discretion while acting on Bills under Article 200 and are not bound by the aid and advice of the Council of Ministers when choosing whether to assent, withhold assent and return a Bill, or reserve it for the President’s consideration. The Court further held that neither the Governor’s decision under Article 200 nor the President’s decision under Article 201 is ordinarily justiciable. While courts may issue a limited mandamus in cases of prolonged and unexplained inaction, they cannot examine the merits of the constitutional functionaries’ decisions.

The Court also rejected the idea of judicially prescribed timelines for Governors and Presidents to act on Bills. Overruling key aspects of its earlier Tamil Nadu judgment, it held that the Constitution deliberately preserves flexibility in the legislative process and that courts cannot impose rigid deadlines where the Constitution itself is silent. The Court further clarified that the concept of “deemed assent” has no constitutional basis and that neither Article 142 nor any other constitutional provision permits courts to substitute the constitutional role assigned to the Governor or President in the legislative process.

The ruling significantly weakened democratic accountability and judicial oversight over constitutional authorities. By recognising broad governor discretion and removing enforceable timelines, the judgment arguably creates space for Governors to indefinitely delay legislation passed by elected State legislatures. This effectively revives the possibility of a “pocket veto” in practice, even if not in name. Given the increasing frequency of political confrontations between opposition-ruled States and Governors appointed by the Union Government, the judgment is seen as tilting the constitutional balance away from representative institutions and towards unelected constitutional offices.

The decision will have critical implications for Indian federalism. Earlier judicial interventions had sought to prevent Governors from obstructing legislative agendas endorsed by democratically elected governments. By treating governor’s discretion as largely insulated from judicial review and rejecting timelines altogether, the Court has weakened one of the few constitutional safeguards available to States against executive delay. It can be contended that the judgment places excessive faith in constitutional morality and convention despite repeated instances where constitutional offices have become sites of political contestation. In doing so, it may leave State legislatures with limited remedies when legislation concerning welfare, education, social justice, reservations, or other state policies remains stalled for prolonged periods without any meaningful constitutional accountability.

Detailed report may be read here.

Conclusion

Viewed together, the Supreme Court’s most consequential judgments of 2025 reveal a Court increasingly inclined towards institutional deference, procedural discipline and constitutional restraint. Again and again, the Court was confronted with opportunities to expand accountability, deepen rights protections or scrutinise the exercise of public power. Just as often, it chose a more cautious path.

In citizenship adjudication, documentary inconsistencies were allowed to outweigh the realities of poverty, migration and flawed record-keeping. In reservation jurisprudence, bureaucratic form triumphed over undisputed social identity. In the Assam encounter litigation, allegations involving the possible unlawful deprivation of life were acknowledged as grave, yet responsibility for investigation was ultimately shifted elsewhere. In the privacy judgment, constitutional concerns about surveillance within intimate relationships gave way to evidentiary considerations. In environmental law, the deterrent value of prior clearance requirements was diluted in favour of practical accommodation. In matters concerning waqf governance and gubernatorial powers, the Court displayed significant deference to legislative and constitutional authorities even where concerns regarding minority rights and democratic accountability were directly implicated. And in the Vantara litigation, finality and closure were prioritised over transparency and continuing public scrutiny.

What emerges is not a Court abandoning rights altogether, but one increasingly reluctant to place itself in direct confrontation with institutions of power. The recurring judicial instinct was not to aggressively police the boundaries of executive authority, administrative action or legislative policy, but to trust existing structures to function within constitutional limits. Whether in relation to the State, regulatory authorities, constitutional officeholders or investigative processes, the Court frequently preferred supervision at a distance over intervention at close quarters.

The difficulty with such an approach is that constitutional rights are rarely tested when institutions function perfectly. They matter most when institutions fail, when power is exercised disproportionately, when vulnerable communities cannot protect themselves, and when procedural neutrality masks deeper inequalities. It is in these moments that constitutional courts have historically played their most important role—not merely as interpreters of law, but as guardians against arbitrariness and as protectors of those who stand furthest from centres of power.

The lasting significance of these judgments therefore lies beyond their immediate facts. Collectively, they raise a larger question about the direction of constitutional adjudication in India. Is the Court entering an era defined primarily by restraint, deference and institutional trust? Or can constitutionalism continue to demand a more searching engagement with questions of inequality, accountability and rights protection? The answer will shape not only future jurisprudence but also the lived experience of citizenship, liberty, equality and democracy itself.

For that reason, the major judgments of 2025 should not be read merely as legal outcomes. They should be understood as constitutional signals—revealing how the Supreme Court increasingly sees its role in relation to power, governance and the protection of rights. Whether that vision ultimately strengthens or weakens constitutional democracy remains one of the most important questions these decisions leave behind.

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