The petitioners did not dispute that Doyjan Bibi had once been declared a foreigner by a Foreigners Tribunal. What they questioned was the legality of the State’s subsequent conduct. When a person who had been living on bail pursuant to judicial orders suddenly disappears from custody, and the State claims that she has been “sent back” to another country, the most basic requirement of constitutional governance is that the State demonstrate, through documents and procedure, that this removal was lawful. The petition asked the Court to insist on that minimum. Besides, the petition pointed out that it was only economic marginalisation that had precluded Doyjan from appealing the verdict of the Foreigner Tribunal. She had been granted bail post Covid-19 and as per conditions appeared regularly before the police station to record her presence for years.

Every week, CJP’s dedicated team in Assam, comprising community volunteers, district volunteer motivators, and lawyers, provides vital paralegal support, counseling, and legal aid to many affected by the citizenship crisis in over 24 districts in Assam.  Through our hands-on approach, 12,00,000 people successfully submitted completed NRC forms (2017-2019). We fight Foreigner Tribunal cases monthly at the district level.  Through these concerted efforts, we have achieved an impressive success rate of 20 cases annually, with individuals successfully obtaining their Indian citizenship. This ground level data ensures informed interventions by CJP in our Constitutional Courts. Your support fuels this crucial work. Stand with us for Equal Rights for All #HelpCJPHelpAssam. Donate NOW!

From Tribunal declaration to sudden disappearance

Doyjan Bibi’s legal trajectory was typical of thousands of cases in Assam. She was declared a foreigner through an ex-parte opinion of the Foreigners Tribunal, Dhubri, in August 2017. That opinion was later interfered with by the Gauhati High Court, which granted her a final opportunity to contest the proceedings. When she failed to appear within the stipulated time, the ex-parte declaration revived. Yet, this declaration did not result in immediate deportation. Like many others, she was released on bail pursuant to directions issued by the Supreme Court and the Gauhati High Court during the COVID-19 period, when constitutional courts ordered the release of long-term detainees to decongest detention centres.

For years thereafter, she remained at liberty. There was no allegation on record that she violated bail conditions or absconded. Her sudden re-arrest on May 24, 2025 therefore marked a decisive rupture. When her husband approached the Court, the State initially stated that she had been lodged in a holding centre in Kokrajhar. Acting on that representation, the Court even permitted the petitioner to meet her and obtain her signature for the purposes of legal proceedings. However, when the petitioner went to the holding centre on June 25, 2025, he was informed that she was no longer there.

The explanation offered by the State was that she had been handed over to the Border Security Force and “sent back to Bangladesh” on May 27, 2025 from an area under the control of an ad hoc BSF battalion. No contemporaneous record of this process was placed before the Court.

What the Petition sought—and what the state did not produce

The petition did not proceed on conjecture. It identified a glaring evidentiary vacuum and asked the Court to address it. If Doyjan Bibi had indeed been deported, the petitioners argued, there ought to exist some documentary trail—proof of nationality verification, a deportation order, a record of handover, or at the very least, an acknowledgment of acceptance by Bangladeshi authorities. In the absence of such records, the only plausible inference was that she may have been illegally pushed across the border.

The State’s response did not deny the absence of documentation. Instead, it relied on affidavits asserting that she had been deported. The judgment records these assertions and accepts them as sufficient. At no stage does the Court direct the State to produce any material to substantiate its claim. The legal question—whether a court can be satisfied about the legality of deportation without seeing a single document—remains unanswered.

The Judgment’s Core Move: Executive assertion as conclusive proof

The fulcrum of the judgment is its treatment of executive power as effectively unreviewable once a person has been declared a foreigner. Drawing extensively on Hans Muller of Nurenburg v. Superintendent, Presidency Jail (1955), the Court reiterates that the power of the State to expel foreigners is “absolute and unfettered.” From this premise, it proceeds to hold that the Court need not inquire into the manner in which that power is exercised.

What the judgment does not confront is that Hans Muller itself imposed limits. The Supreme Court made it clear that an expelled person must leave the country as a free person and cannot be handed over in custody to another State. Nor did Hans Muller suggest that deportation could take place without procedure, documentation, or accountability. By extracting the language of plenary power while discarding the safeguards that accompany it, the judgment converts executive authority into something approaching discretion without record.

Deportation without documents, “pushback” without consequence

One of the most troubling aspects of the judgment is its refusal to meaningfully distinguish between formal deportation and informal pushback. Deportation, in law, is a structured process involving identification, verification, communication with the receiving State, and a documented handover. Pushback, by contrast, is an informal and often violent practice in which individuals are forced across borders without acknowledgment or acceptance.

The petition explicitly raised the spectre of pushback. The judgment, however, treats the State’s use of the word “deportation” as dispositive. Once that label is accepted, the absence of documents is treated as immaterial. This approach effectively collapses the distinction between deportation and pushback, granting judicial cover to practices that would otherwise be legally indefensible.

Bail, judicial protection, and executive override

Another unresolved tension in the judgment concerns the status of judicial bail. Doyjan Bibi had been released pursuant to directions of constitutional courts. Her liberty, fragile though it was, was judicially sanctioned. Yet she was re-arrested and removed without any application for cancellation of bail or judicial oversight.

The Court acknowledges that COVID-era bail orders were temporary in nature, but this observation sidesteps the real issue. The question was not whether deportation was permissible in principle, but whether the executive could override subsisting judicial protection without returning to court. On this, the judgment is silent.

Neither does the Guwahati High Court, a constitutional court, question what it means for an individual not to be able to access all four tiers of justice, available for all. True that the Foreigner Tribunal order of 2017 had not been adequately agitated by Doyjanbi in the High Court, but can this lapse –given the Indian judiciary’s overall approach on delays and condonation thereof—be enough to seize from a woman her very right to agitate citizenship?

From legal adjudication to ideological framing

The judgment goes far beyond what was required to decide the petition. It contains extended references to demographic change, migration narratives, national security concerns, and alleged misinformation about persecution. These observations, while politically charged, do little legal work. Their presence, however, is not neutral. They shift the frame of the case from one about individual liberty and State accountability to one about perceived civilisational threat.

Once that shift occurs, procedural safeguards appear expendable. The petitioner’s wife is no longer a person whose liberty demands justification, but an abstract figure within a larger narrative of migration and security. In such a frame, asking the State for documents begins to look unnecessary, even indulgent.

The Consequence: Petition emptied of content

By dismissing the petition without demanding proof of deportation, the Gauhati High Court sets a troubling precedent. It signals that in cases involving declared foreigners, executive assertion will suffice; records are optional; judicial scrutiny is limited; and families may never know how or where a person was removed.

Habeas corpus petitions have historically existed to prevent precisely this situation—to ensure that the State cannot answer the question “where is this person?” with little more than an affidavit. When courts stop asking for proof, the writ loses its meaning.

Perhaps the most consequential aspect of the judgment is the degree of deference it accords to the executive.

The Court accepts:

• Executive affidavits as conclusive proof
• Absence of documentation as immaterial
• Non-production of records as inconsequential

This transforms habeas corpus from a searching judicial inquiry into a ritualistic exercise. Once the State says “we have deported her,” the Court treats the matter as closed.

Is there an established procedure for deportation?

Deportation in India, though grounded in statutory powers, was largely operationalised through internal administrative mechanisms and Standard Operating Procedures (SOPs) by state authorities. (See here, here and here) following directions from the Centre.

Typical deportation process is as follows:

1.  Identification/Completion of Sentence: A foreign national is declared a foreigner or completes a prison term for violating applicable laws.
2.  Notification: Jail authorities notify relevant police officials (e.g., Superintendent of Police) about the impending release.
3.  Custody and order:

• If the government decides on deportation, a formal order is issued.
• Upon release, the individual is taken into police custody and served with the deportation order.

4.  Physical Removal: Arrangements are made for their removal from the country, often under police escort. The serving officer reports the execution of the order back to the government.
5.  Consular notification (Vienna Convention):

• As per Article 36 of the Vienna Convention on Consular Relations, Indian authorities must inform the consular representatives of the foreign national’s country about their arrest or detention.
• Indian practice (MEA Office Memorandum No. T.4415/1/91 (CPO/CIR/9)) requires:
  • Asking the arrested foreign national if they wish their consulate to be informed.
  • Immediately notifying the Ministry of External Affairs (MEA) and the Ministry of Home Affairs (MHA).
  • Providing detailed particulars (name, nationality, passport details, offence, arrest details, location) to Joint Secretaries at MEA and MHA, and state authorities.

6.  Deportation for minor violations: In cases of brief overstays or delayed registration, prosecution might be withdrawn with court approval, and the individual directly deported under delegated powers of Section 3(2)(c) of the (now-repealed) Foreigners Act. A record is submitted to the MEA.

Detailed report may be read here.

Conclusion: A quiet but profound Constitutional retreat

This judgment will reverberate far beyond one case. It lowers the threshold of accountability in deportation proceedings and normalises undocumented removals. In border regimes, where power is most concentrated and individuals most vulnerable, such a retreat from scrutiny is especially dangerous.

If this reasoning is followed, it means:

• Deportations can occur without paperwork
• Families need never be informed
• Courts need not verify State claims
• Pushbacks acquire judicial cover
• Habeas corpus becomes ineffective precisely where it is most needed

This is not a minor doctrinal shift. It is a structural weakening of constitutional oversight. The Constitution does not cease to operate at the border, nor does it become optional when the person involved is labelled a foreigner. By refusing to insist on legality through proof, the Court has allowed executive power to move beyond effective constitutional control.

That is the enduring, and deeply unsettling, legacy of this decision.

Details of the proceedings of the said case in Gauhati High Court may be read here, here, here and here.

The order of the High Court may be read here:

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The post Removed Without Process: The Doyjan Bibi case and the Gauhati High Court’s Retreat from demanding deportation records appeared first on SabrangIndia.

The complaint underscores how Shingla’s speech—delivered from the stage of a Hanuman Katha organised by Dayanidhi Dham Seva Sanstha—constituted a deliberate attempt to weaponise religion, gender, and fear to polarise the electorate and vitiate the electoral atmosphere in one of India’s most diverse and politically sensitive cities.

A religious platform turned into a site of electoral polarisation

According to the complaint, the Model Code of Conduct came into effect on December 15, 2025, following the announcement of municipal elections. Despite this, Shingla used a religious congregation to propagate the discredited and incendiary conspiracy theory of “love jihad”, making sweeping allegations against Muslim men and publicly demeaning Muslim women in language that was both communal and gendered.

At the event, she claimed that her organisation or associates had “brought back 2,500 women in Mumbai from Abduls”—a statement that uses a Muslim name as a proxy for criminality and casts interfaith relationships as coercive, conspiratorial, and inherently illegitimate. The complaint notes that such assertions are not only entirely unverified, but mirror a pattern of rhetoric repeatedly rejected by courts and investigating agencies for lacking any factual basis.

Gendered hate speech and the public shaming of Muslim identity

One of the most disturbing aspects of the speech, as highlighted by CJP, was Shingla’s exhortation to the crowd through the slogan: “Be Durga, be Kali, never be a ‘burqewali.’”

The complaint explains that this slogan operates on multiple levels of harm: it pits Hindu religious symbolism against Muslim identity, portrays Muslim women as objects of shame, and urges the rejection—indeed erasure—of Muslim identity in public life. By instrumentalising women’s bodies and choices to advance a communal narrative, the speech amounts to gendered hate speech, intensifying religious hostility through misogyny.

The video of the speech, now widely circulated online and annexed with the complaint, shows Shingla repeatedly mobilising fear and suspicion by invoking religion, gender, and an imagined Muslim threat before a public audience.

Clear and multiple violations of the Model Code of Conduct

CJP’s complaint details how the speech violates core prohibitions under Part I of the Model Code of Conduct, including:

• Appeals to religion to influence voters
• Use of religious platforms and events for political mobilisation
• Statements that promote hatred and aggravate differences between communities
• Campaign practices that corrupt the free and fair electoral environment

Importantly, the complaint stresses that the MCC applies not only to candidates, but also to any individual whose actions are intended to influence the political climate during elections—a principle repeatedly affirmed by the Election Commission in past cases.

Offences under the Representation of the People Act, 1951

Beyond the MCC, the complaint invokes serious statutory violations under the Representation of the People Act, 1951, including:

• Section 123(3): Appeal to religion, through the invocation of Hindu deities in opposition to Muslim identity
• Section 123(3A): Promotion of enmity and hatred between religious communities
• Section 125: Promoting enmity in connection with elections, a penal offence

CJP argues that Shingla’s speech squarely falls within these provisions, as it was delivered during an election period and was designed to reshape political consciousness along religious lines.

Assault on constitutional values of equality, dignity, and secularism

The complaint situates the speech within a broader constitutional framework, warning that such rhetoric strikes at the heart of India’s constitutional order. By collectively stereotyping Muslims, demeaning Muslim women, and legitimising religious exclusion, the speech violates:

• Article 14 (Equality before the law)
• Article 15 (Non-discrimination on religious grounds)
• Article 21 (Right to dignity, particularly of women)
• The secular, egalitarian, and fraternal values enshrined in the Preamble

CJP notes that the Supreme Court has consistently held that inflammatory speech and incitement cannot be shielded by free speech, especially in the electoral context where the stakes involve democratic participation and social peace.

Threat to free and fair elections in a plural city

Mumbai’s religious diversity makes it particularly vulnerable to the consequences of such polarising rhetoric. The complaint warns that speeches like Shingla’s:

• Create fear and mistrust between communities
• Intimidate minority voters and suppress participation
• Normalise communal hostility as a political strategy
• Risk triggering social tension and unrest

Allowing such conduct to go unchecked, CJP argues, would erode the level playing field essential to democratic elections.

Accountability of event organisers

The complaint also flags the role of Dayanidhi Dham Seva Sanstha, the organiser of the Hanuman Katha, for allowing a religious platform to be used for communal mobilisation during the election period. CJP reminds the Election Commission that organisers of religious events cannot abdicate responsibility when their platforms are used to violate electoral norms.

CJP’s demand for immediate and decisive action

In its prayer, CJP has urged the State Election Commission of Maharashtra to:

• Take immediate cognisance of the complaint and video evidence
• Initiate proceedings under the Model Code of Conduct against Kajal Shingla
• Restrain her from making further communal speeches during the election period
• Examine the role of the organising body
• Issue a general advisory reaffirming that religious platforms cannot be used for communal propaganda during elections.

The complete complaint may be read here.

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The post Complaint exposes misuse of religious event to inflame fear and violate electoral norms in Mumbai appeared first on SabrangIndia.

The complaint, dated December 23, 2025, comes nearly a month after CJP’s initial representation of November 25, 2025, which documented how a politically affiliated individual publicly targeted Muslim vendors through religious profiling, forced identity checks, and inflammatory accusations. The absence of any visible deterrent or corrective action, CJP notes, has emboldened the perpetrator and enabled a series of fresh incidents — transforming hate speech into administrative and police action on the ground.

A pattern, not isolated incidents

At the heart of CJP’s follow-up complaint is a critical assertion: what is unfolding at Malabar Hill is not a series of sporadic outbursts, but a continuing and aggravated course of conduct.

Across multiple dates — November 13, December 6, and December 17, 2025 — the same individual has repeatedly targeted Muslim street vendors by appearance and presumed religious identity, invoking communal conspiracy theories such as “land jihad,” “illegal Aadhaar,” and “national security threats.” Each time, these public accusations were followed by immediate and tangible consequences: removal of vendors’ stalls, disruption of livelihood, and police intervention.

The cumulative effect, the complaint argues, is the systematic conversion of a public marketplace into a site of religious policing — where Muslim citizens are publicly cast as illegal, dangerous, and undeserving of economic survival.

Details of the previous complaint may be read here.

December 6: “Land jihad” and the criminalisation of livelihood

On December 6, 2025, a video widely circulated on social media captured the accused individual publicly accusing Muslim hawkers at Malabar Hill of engaging in “land jihad” — a loaded communal trope that frames ordinary economic activity as covert territorial aggression.

Soon after these statements, the vendors’ stalls were removed and the vendors themselves were handed over to the police.

The complaint underscores that such rhetoric is not casual or rhetorical. By deploying conspiratorial language in a crowded public market, lawful vending activity was reframed as an anti-national act, effectively legitimising coercive action against an entire religious group without any due process.

December 17: “Illegal Aadhaar” and national security paranoia

Barely eleven days later, on December 17, 2025, the same individual returned to Malabar Hill to once again target Muslim vendors — this time alleging, without evidence, that they possessed “illegal Aadhaar cards” and posed a threat to national security. He openly declared his intent to emulate extremist campaigns against so-called “illegal Muslim immigration.”

Once again, these statements were followed by the removal of Muslim vendors’ stalls.

CJP highlights the gravity of such allegations: claims of “illegal Aadhaar” directly impute fraud, foreignness, and criminality, placing individuals at immediate risk of detention, harassment, and vigilante violence — particularly when made by politically connected actors in public spaces.

Vigilantism enabled by silence

The follow-up complaint raises serious questions about preventive policing and institutional accountability. When a private individual can repeatedly:

• Declare members of a religious community “illegal” or “anti-national”
• Publicly demand police action
• Successfully trigger eviction, detention, or livelihood loss

— without restraint or prosecution, it signals the emergence of a parallel system of authority, where hate speech substitutes for lawful governance. This silence, the complaint warns, does not merely fail victims; it actively legitimises communal intimidation and encourages imitation — both within Mumbai and beyond.

Markets as sites of exclusion

Street vendors are among the most economically vulnerable groups in urban India. Repeated eviction and public humiliation based on religious suspicion strike directly at the right to livelihood and dignity protected under Article 21 of the Constitution.

CJP’s complaint powerfully situates these incidents within Mumbai’s fraught communal history, warning that branding Muslims as “security threats” in crowded urban markets risks triggering panic, retaliation, and public disorder. When shared civic spaces are transformed into zones of surveillance and exclusion, they cease to be neutral — becoming theatres of majoritarian dominance.

Economic punishment as communal control

What emerges from the Malabar Hill incidents is a form of targeted economic punishment — where Muslim citizens are made to understand that their right to earn a living is contingent on communal acceptability. Such practices amount to collective penalty based purely on religious identity, enforced not through law, but through intimidation, spectacle, and administrative complicity.

The complaint identifies a range of serious offences under the Bharatiya Nyaya Sanhita, 2023, including promoting enmity between groups, imputations prejudicial to national integration, criminal intimidation, public mischief, and unlawful assumption of public authority. The repetition and continuity of acts, CJP notes, satisfy the threshold for continuing offences.

Constitutionally, the incidents amount to serial violations of Articles 14, 15(1), 19(1)(g), 21, and 25 — eroding secularism, equality, and fraternity as lived principles.

A call for urgent intervention

Through this follow-up complaint, CJP has urged:

• Immediate registration of a comprehensive FIR covering all incidents
• Accountability for any police or civic officials who acted on unlawful verbal directions
• Clear prohibitory orders against private identity checks and religious profiling
• Restoration of livelihood and protection for affected vendors
• Robust intervention by the National Commission for Minorities, including summoning the accused and issuing national advisories

At stake, CJP warns, is not merely the fate of a few vendors — but the integrity of constitutional governance in everyday life. Allowing hate speech to translate into state action normalises religious vigilantism as governance, hollowing out citizenship from the ground up.

Unchecked, such practices threaten to make exclusion ordinary — and injustice routine.

The complete complaint may be read here.

Image: jernih.co

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The post Unchecked Vigilantism, Repeated Harm: Why CJP has filed a fresh complaint on Malabar Hill incident appeared first on SabrangIndia.

CJP’s complaint is not an isolated intervention. It situates the latest instances within a longer history of complaints, FIRs, and prior representations against the same individual, including a detailed complaint submitted in August 2024. Despite this record, Kalicharan Maharaj has continued to occupy prominent public platforms—often at religious or media-sponsored events—where his rhetoric has grown increasingly explicit and dangerous, underscoring what CJP describes as a systemic failure of deterrence.

Previous complaints sent may be read here, here and here.

A pattern of escalation

The complaint centres on three specific public events. The most striking took place on January 8, 2025, at the “Rising Madhya Pradesh” event organised by News18 in Bhopal. From a widely publicised stage, Kalicharan Maharaj openly called for the exclusion of Muslim vendors from the Kumbh Mela, promoted fabricated conspiracies such as “spit jihad” and “urine jihad,” claimed that Muslims do not belong in India, and portrayed Muslim population growth as a form of violence against Hindus. He further accused Muslims of plotting to destroy the Ram Mandir and invoked the conspiracy of “Ghazwa-e-Hind,” casting Indian Muslims as internal enemies engaged in civilisational warfare.

CJP emphasises that this was not coded or metaphorical speech. The language was categorical and absolutist, denying Muslims any legitimate claim to equal citizenship and encouraging their removal from shared civic and economic spaces.

Earlier, on December 8, 2024, at a Shri Devi Bhagwat Katha in Nallasopara, Maharashtra, Kalicharan Maharaj advanced a series of demonstrably false claims—asserting, among other things, that 40,000 Hindu women fall victim to “love jihad” every day, that 100,000 temples were destroyed by invaders, and that 100,000 cows are slaughtered daily. According to CJP, these fabricated figures were presented as facts with the clear intent of generating fear, anger, and hostility towards Muslims.

At a Ganesh Janmotsav event in Pune on October 25, 2024, he warned that Muslims intended to turn India into a Sharia nation within 15 years, engaged in demographic alarmism, and explicitly legitimised cow vigilantism—suggesting that extra-legal action by private individuals was justified and even necessary.

Why this is hate speech in law—not opinion

CJP’s complaint draws a clear legal and constitutional distinction between protected speech and punishable hate speech. It argues that the speeches in question attribute collective guilt to an entire religious community, deny Muslims their right to belong to the nation, portray them as conspirators and existential threats, and actively advocate exclusion from public spaces and livelihoods. The repeated endorsement of conspiracies such as love jihad, demographic warfare, and Ghazwa-e-Hind, CJP contends, demonstrates ideological consistency and intent rather than isolated exaggeration or rhetorical excess.

The complaint further stresses that such speech does not need to contain an explicit call to violence to be dangerous. By legitimising vigilantism and repeatedly suggesting that State institutions are inadequate or complicit, the rhetoric creates an enabling environment where discrimination and violence become socially acceptable.

Threats to public order and constitutional fraternity

Beyond individual culpability, CJP situates the issue within a broader constitutional crisis. The complaint warns that sustained hate speech of this nature manufactures social panic, normalises discrimination, and places religious minorities at heightened risk. Calls to exclude Muslims from religious congregations or marketplaces, when made from public stages and circulated widely online, transform prejudice into an actionable social programme.

CJP also highlights the exponential amplification of harm through digital circulation. Videos of the speeches have been widely shared on social media, extending their reach far beyond the physical audience and intensifying fear and vulnerability among minority communities across regions.

Most critically, the organisation argues that such rhetoric strikes at the heart of the constitutional value of fraternity enshrined in the Preamble. By repeatedly asserting that Muslims do not belong in India, the speeches seek to convert citizenship from a constitutional guarantee into a conditional status—contingent on religious conformity.

Legal violations and state accountability

The complaint identifies multiple cognisable offences under the Bharatiya Nyaya Sanhita, 2023, including provisions relating to promoting enmity between religious groups, imputations prejudicial to national integration, criminal intimidation, intentional insult, and statements likely to cause public alarm. The repetition of such speeches across time and locations, CJP notes, aggravates criminal liability and establishes a continuing course of conduct.

Invoking binding Supreme Court directions, CJP underscores that police authorities are constitutionally obligated to act suo-motu against hate speech, irrespective of the speaker’s social or political standing. Inaction, the complaint argues, amounts to dereliction of constitutional duty and signals institutional acquiescence.

A call for urgent and visible action

CJP’s intervention is, at its core, a warning against the normalisation of hate speech in public life. Allowing serial hate speakers to repeatedly occupy prominent platforms without consequence, the organisation cautions, lowers the threshold of acceptable discourse and erodes public confidence in the neutrality of State institutions.

Calling for prompt, transparent, and legally grounded action, CJP stresses that this is not merely about one individual, but about safeguarding constitutional secularism, equality before law, and fraternity itself. Failure to act decisively now, it warns, will only deepen impunity and further entrench communal hatred in India’s public sphere.

The complete complaint may be read here.

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The post From Media Stages to Religious Gatherings: CJP moves NCM against Kalicharan Maharaj appeared first on SabrangIndia.

In a significant order, the Foreigners Tribunal, Dhubri District, has declared Akurbhan Bibi, a marginalised Muslim woman from Assam, to be an Indian citizen in her own birthplace. The decision brings closure to a process that subjected her and her family to prolonged anxiety, uncertainty, and the constant fear of statelessness.

For Akurbhan Bibi, the Tribunal’s declaration is more than a legal outcome—it is the restoration of a life interrupted by suspicion.

Akurbhan Bibi stands with her husband outside their home

Roots in the Borderlands: Birth, marriage, and belonging

Akurbhan Bibi was born in 1982 at Sonakhuli Part II village, under Golokganj Police Station, in Dhubri district, Assam. She grew up on Indian soil, studied at the local school, and lived an ordinary life shaped by the rhythms of a rural border district.

She later married Nur Mohammed, a resident of Ramraikuti village, under the same police station (now under Agomani). Ramraikuti lies in a highly sensitive border area, where the Indo–Bangladesh international fencing stands just a few metres away from residents’ homes.

This region has endured the aftershocks of the 1971 war and Partition-era displacements, yet families like Akurbhan’s have remained rooted here for generations. Their presence is not accidental or recent. As many residents of the border villages assert, they are not Indian by chance, but Indian by choice.

Citizenship by Participation: A voter turned “suspect”

Akurbhan Bibi’s name was enrolled in the electoral rolls in 2005 at her matrimonial home. From that point onwards, she remained a regular voter, exercising her democratic rights year after year.

During this entire period:

• She was never summoned for verification
• No police officer visited her home
• No doubt was raised about her nationality

This long-standing civic recognition was suddenly overturned when she was served a “Suspected Foreigner” notice issued through the Border Branch of the local police station, summoning her before the Foreigners Tribunal.

The notice demanded that Akurbhan Bibi prove her Indian citizenship, placing the entire burden of proof upon her—a requirement that disproportionately devastates poor and marginalised communities in Assam.

A familiar pattern of targeting

Akurbhan Bibi’s case is not an exception; it reflects a broader pattern. Foreigners Tribunal proceedings in Assam frequently target economically vulnerable, Bengali-speaking Muslim families, many of whom lack easy access to archival records, legal assistance, or bureaucratic support.

In Akurbhan’s case, there was no new evidence, no triggering incident, and no intervening conduct that could justify the suspicion raised against her. The notice emerged solely from institutional suspicion—untethered from her lived reality as a voter, resident, and daughter of the soil.

A family history that predates suspicion

Akurbhan Bibi’s paternal lineage is firmly documented. Her father, Saher Sheikh, son of Sonauddin Sheikh, has records tracing back to 1951, with his name appearing in the 1951 National Register of Citizens (NRC)—a foundational document for determining citizenship in Assam. Despite this, Akurbhan herself was forced to defend her nationality, highlighting the intergenerational insecurity imposed on families even when documentary proof exists.

The Notice Arrives: Fear, Absence, and Urgency

When the notice was served, Nur Mohammed was not at home. Like thousands from Assam’s border districts, he survives as a migrant worker, travelling to other parts of India for employment.

Left alone, Akurbhan Bibi carefully read the notice. Understanding its gravity, she acted immediately. Without delay, she contacted CJP’s community volunteer, Hosen Ali, who belongs to her village and is known for assisting families facing such proceedings.

Fear was palpable. The threat of detention, separation, and statelessness loomed large—particularly for a woman with limited means and support.

Akurbhan Bibi and CJP Team Assam

CJP Steps In: Legal Counselling and Ground Support

CJP promptly examined Akurbhan Bibi’s documents and counselled her on the Foreigners Tribunal process. The emotional toll was severe. When Nur Mohammed returned home the very next day, he was visibly shaken.

Detailed consultations followed. CJP assured the family of consistent legal and logistical support, and began the painstaking task of document collection and verification.

The Documentary Challenge: Searching for 1966 records

One of the most critical challenges was tracing Akurbhan Bibi’s father’s name in the 1966 electoral rolls. Given that her father was 23 years old at the time of the 1951 NRC, it was reasonable to expect his inclusion in the 1966 voter list. However, repeated searches yielded no result—not even the Election Office in Dhubri could locate his name.

Importantly:

• The names of her paternal uncles (her father’s brothers) were present in the 1966 voter list
• This reinforced the family’s long-standing residence in the area

While pursuing these records, CJP gathered additional crucial documents, including land records, which later became decisive evidence before the Tribunal.

The legal battle before the Foreigners Tribunal

On behalf of CJP, legal team member Ishkander Azad represented Akurbhan Bibi before the Foreigners Tribunal, Dhubri.

The legal strategy focused on:

• Establishing pre-1971 ancestry
• Demonstrating linkage between Akurbhan and her father
• Corroborating residence through multiple independent documents

After evaluating the evidence, the Tribunal passed an order declaring Akurbhan Bibi to be an Indian citizen.

What the Tribunal Order holds

In its order, the Foreigners Tribunal, Dhubri, inter alia:

1. Accepted the 1951 NRC entry of Saher Sheikh, father of Akurbhan Bibi, as a valid and credible legacy document
2. Accepted the linkage between Akurbhan Bibi and her father, based on documentary evidence placed on record, establishing that she is the daughter of the person whose name appears in the 1951 NRC
3. Took note of supporting documents, including land records and collateral family documents, which corroborated continuous residence and ancestry in Assam
4. Did not draw any adverse inference from the absence of the father’s name in the 1966 voter list, particularly in light of:
   • the presence of close family members in the 1966 rolls, and
   • systemic gaps in archival records
5. Held that the proceedee had successfully discharged the burden of proof cast upon her under the Foreigners Act and Tribunal procedure
6. Declared Akurbhan Bibi to be an Indian citizen, and accordingly dropped the reference against her

 
Akurbhan Bibi and her husband with CJP Team Assam

Justice Delivered: A cup of tea and a quiet smile

The order copy was personally handed over to Akurbhan Bibi by CJP’s Dhubri district community volunteer, Habibul Bepari, along with Assam State In-charge Nanda Ghosh. Holding the order in her hands, Akurbhan Bibi smiled—a rare, unguarded smile of relief. She requested the team to wait for a while. She wanted to prepare tea.

It was a simple act, but one that spoke volumes.

She thanked CJP repeatedly. Her husband stood beside her, visibly lighter, as though a long-standing fear had finally loosened its grip.

CJP stood with her—when it mattered most.

Why the Tribunal’s order matters

1. Burden of proof and structural inequality: Foreigners Tribunal proceedings place the burden of proof entirely on the individual, often ignoring the realities of poverty, displacement, and archival gaps. Akurbhan Bibi’s case demonstrates how this burden disproportionately impacts marginalised women.

2. Recognition of legacy documents: The Tribunal correctly acknowledged the probative value of:

• The 1951 NRC entry of her father
• Land records and collateral family documentation
• Linkage evidence, even in the absence of a 1966 voter record for her father

This reflects judicial consistency with established FT and High Court jurisprudence.

3. Absence of adverse inference: Importantly, the Tribunal did not draw adverse inference from the non-availability of the 1966 voter list entry—recognising systemic record gaps rather than penalising the proceedee.

4. Gendered vulnerability in citizenship proceedings: The case highlights how women—especially migrant workers’ spouses—are uniquely vulnerable when notices are served in the absence of male family members.

5. Constitutional significance: The declaration reaffirms:

• Article 14 (Equality before law)
• Article 21 (Right to life and dignity)
• The principle that citizenship cannot be stripped through suspicion alone

The complete order may be read here.

Related:

Humanity over Technicalities: SC ensures return of pregnant woman and child deported in June sweep

“All I Wanted Was Peace”: How 55-year-old widow Aklima Sarkar won back her citizenship

When Erosion Stole Her Home, a Foreigners’ Notice Tried to Steal Her Citizenship: Hamela Khatun triumphs over foreigner tag

From Despair to Dignity: How CJP helped Elachan Bibi win back her identity, prove her citizenship 

The post Born in the Shadow of the Indo–Bangladesh Border, Raised as Indian, Questioned as a Foreigner: The citizenship battle of Akurbhan Bibi appeared first on SabrangIndia.

Recent judicial interventions—particularly the Supreme Court’s directions to High Courts to furnish data on pending acid attack trials and the Allahabad High Court’s decision to convert a long-pending PIL on acid sale regulation into a suo moto proceeding—underscore that the crisis is no longer doctrinal but institutional as per reports in LiveLaw. Despite pathbreaking jurisprudence laid down after a decade long legal battle in the Laxmi case, the Supreme Court was compelled, in 2025, while hearing a petition highlighting a 16-year delay in an acid attack trial, to describe the situation as a “shame on the system” and a “mockery of justice”. The SC then directed all High Courts to furnish data on pending acid attack cases.

This Legal Resource examines acid attack jurisprudence not as a static body of law but as a pattern of repeated judicial correction, necessitated by persistent failures of implementation. Drawing from case law, legislative history, policy frameworks, and scholarly critiques, it argues that acid attack jurisprudence today reveals the limits of law when administrative and procedural systems fail to internalise constitutional mandates.

Laxmi v. Union of India: Constitutionalising Survivor-Centric Justice

The jurisprudential foundation of acid attack regulation in India was laid by Laxmi v. Union of India, a public interest litigation (PIL) filed in 2006 by survivor Laxmi Aggarwal. Laxmi was 15 yrs old in 2005 when a 32-old man, Naeem Khan, approached her with a marriage proposal. After she rejected him, nearly ten months later, Naeem again proposed to her; upon her second refusal, he attacked her by throwing acid on her face, with his brother Kamran aiding him in the act.

Argued consistently by Senior Advocate Aparna Bhat, the petition reframed acid violence as a failure of State regulation rather than an isolated criminal act. The Supreme Court accepted this framing, holding that the unrestricted availability of acid, absence of medical support, and lack of compensation mechanisms violated Article 21 of the Constitution (see Laxmi v. Union of India, (2014) 4 SCC 427).

Across multiple orders, the Court issued structural directions mandating the regulation of acid sales, free medical treatment for survivors in both public and private hospitals, and minimum compensation of ₹3 lakh. These directions were significant not merely for their content but for their constitutional logic: dignity, bodily integrity, and rehabilitation were recognised as enforceable rights, not discretionary welfare measures.

This shift has been closely analysed in legal scholarship. The NLS Law Journal notes that Laxmi represents a rare moment where Indian courts explicitly connected criminal law reform with long-term socio-economic rehabilitation, recognising acid attacks as producing lifelong disabilities requiring sustained State intervention rather than one-time relief (see Ajita Tandon, Acid Attacks in India: A Judicial and Legislative Response, NLS Law Journal, Vol. 13, available here).

From Judicial Directions to Statutory Reform: Codification Without Capacity

Following Laxmi, the Law Commission of India was impleaded and submitted Report No. 226 (2008), recommending a distinct offence for acid attacks and stronger regulation of corrosive substances (report available here). These recommendations later informed the Justice Verma Committee Report (2013), which acknowledged acid violence as a gendered crime requiring specific legislative recognition.

This culminated in the Criminal Law (Amendment) Act, 2013, which inserted Sections 326A and 326B of the IPC, along with Section 357B of the CrPC, mandating compensation in addition to fines. On paper, these provisions created a comprehensive framework combining punishment, deterrence, and victim relief. The specific recognition of acid attacks introduced via Sections 326A and 326B of the IPC has been largely preserved in the Bharatiya Nyaya Sanhita (BNS) to maintain the gravity of the offense. These translated into Sections 124(1) and 124(2) under the BNS, 2023, which read as –

124.  (1) Whoever causes permanent or partial damage or deformity to, or burns or maims or disfigures or disables, any part or parts of the body of a person or causes grievous hurt by throwing acid on or by administering acid to that person, or by using any other means with the intention of causing or with the knowledge that he is likely to cause such injury or hurt or causes a person to be in a permanent vegetative state shall be punished with imprisonment of either description for a term which shall not be less than ten years but which may extend to imprisonment for life, and with fine:

(2) Whoever throws or attempts to throw acid on any person or attempts to administer acid to any person, or attempts to use any other means, with the intention of causing permanent or partial damage or deformity or burns or maiming or disfigurement or disability or grievous hurt to that person, shall be punished with imprisonment of either description for a term which shall not be less than five years but which may extend to seven years, and shall also be liable to fine.

However, scholarship consistently highlights that legislative codification did not translate into institutional readiness. As Ajita Tandon’s analysis points out, while the law “responded swiftly in text,” the administrative machinery required for compensation disbursal, rehabilitation, and prioritised trials remained fragmented and uneven across States.

Trial Delays and the Right to Speedy Justice: A Systemic Breakdown

The most severe manifestation of this institutional failure has been the extraordinary delay in criminal trials involving acid attacks. In 2025, the Supreme Court, while hearing a petition highlighting a 16-year delay in an acid attack trial, described the situation as a “shame on the system” and a “mockery of justice”, and directed all High Courts to furnish data on pending acid attack cases, reported by LiveLaw.

This intervention is constitutionally significant. Acid attack cases engage the right to speedy trial under Article 21 in its most aggravated form: survivors suffer irreversible physical harm, prolonged psychological trauma, and social stigma, all of which are compounded by procedural delay. The Court’s insistence on national data collection implicitly acknowledges that delay itself functions as a form of secondary victimisation.

The consequences of such delay are visible in outcomes. In a 2009 acid attack case, a Delhi court acquitted the accused after nearly 16 years, citing evidentiary weaknesses that had emerged over time—an outcome widely reported as emblematic of systemic delay undermining prosecution itself, as per a report in The Times of India.

While the recent SC directives may we welcome, the issues and failures are systemic. One after another of human rights issues, whether it be the transparency within police conducts in police stations (SC directive on installation of CCTVs in all Police Stations)[1] or right of the accused to fair trial (directives laid down in DK Basu)[2], the police and administration have consistently ignored the breakthroughs made by the court. This amounts to institutional amnesia or downright defiance.

Regulation of Acid Sales: Judicial Supervision in the Face of Executive Inertia

Despite unequivocal directions in Laxmi, regulation of acid sales remains inconsistent. This failure came sharply into focus when the Allahabad High Court converted a decade-old PIL on acid sale regulation into a suo motu proceeding, holding that issues of acid regulation and survivor compensation implicate continuing public interest and cannot be abandoned due to petitioner withdrawal, reported LiveLaw.

The Court also reiterated that compensation cannot be made contingent on the identification or conviction of the offender, reinforcing the constitutional principle that survivor relief flows from State obligation, not prosecutorial success. This episode exemplifies a recurring pattern in acid attack jurisprudence: courts are repeatedly forced to re-enter regulatory terrain they have already mapped, due to executive inaction.

Compensation and Rehabilitation: Between Entitlement and Administrative Apathy

Compensation has remained central to acid attack jurisprudence since Laxmi, yet its implementation has been deeply uneven. The Ministry of Home Affairs’ 2024 guidelines reiterate that acid attack survivors are entitled to a minimum compensation of ₹3 lakh and free medical treatment (guidelines available here). However, High Court interventions reveal persistent delays and bureaucratic indifference.

For instance, the Allahabad High Court has censured the Uttar Pradesh government for delays extending over a decade in disbursing compensation to acid attack survivors, describing such conduct as insensitive and violative of constitutional obligations, reported by The Times of India.

Socio-legal scholarship criticises this model for reducing rehabilitation to symbolic monetary relief, often divorced from the realities of lifelong medical care, psychological counselling, loss of livelihood, and social reintegration (see IJLMH, A Socio-Legal Analysis on Acid Attacks in India, available here).

NCRB data provides only a partial picture of acid attack violence. While annual figures record reported cases, they offer little insight into trial duration, pendency, or access to compensation. Recent analyses indicate that a substantial majority of acid attack cases remain pending for years, while conviction rates remain low.

Scholars caution that these figures significantly understate the scale of the problem due to under-reporting driven by stigma, fear, and lack of institutional support—concerns repeatedly flagged in academic literature.

The Cultural Lens: Chhapaak

The 2020 film Chhapaak, while a significant cultural milestone in sensitising the public to the horrors of acid violence, also became a focal point for a profound legal debate regarding the “moral rights” and visibility of legal professionals. Advocate Aparna Bhat, who represented Laxmi Agarwal for over a decade—from the initial trial at Patiala House Courts to the landmark Supreme Court PIL—approached the Delhi High Court when the filmmakers failed to acknowledge her contribution in the credits. This omission raised a critical ethical and legal question: can the labour of a lawyer, which provides the very documentary and procedural backbone of a “true story,” be erased in its cinematic retelling? The Delhi High Court, invoking the doctrine of promissory estoppel, ruled in Bhat’s favour, noting that her assistance was provided on the assurance of recognition. Bar and Bench reported that the court directed that the line, “Inputs by Ms. Aparna Bhat, the lawyer who represented Laxmi Agarwal, are acknowledged,” be added to the film. This intervention was not merely about a “thank you”; it was a judicial validation of the role of legal activists in translating personal trauma into transformative constitutional reform.

Conclusion

The trajectory of acid attack jurisprudence in India reveals a striking pattern. Courts have articulated robust constitutional principles, legislatures have codified them into law, and yet survivors continue to face delay, neglect, and regulatory failure. The problem today is not doctrinal uncertainty but institutional inertia.

Without administrative accountability, procedural reform, and sustained investment in survivor rehabilitation, even the most progressive jurisprudence risks becoming symbolic. Acid attack law in India now stands at an inflection point: its future efficacy will depend not on further judicial creativity, but on whether the State finally honours the constitutional commitments already laid down by the courts.

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

[1] This earlier resource explores the suo motu by SC in September 2025 action highlights how weak compliance with its own (SC) 2020 CCTV directions has left detainees vulnerable and accountability elusive.

[2] Another judicial directive that spanned decades, DK Basu,but which directives stand un-implemented.

Related:

When ‘Marginal’ Means Massive: The invisible weight of gendered violence in NCRB crime statistics 2023

Disfigured but not defeated: Hajida, an acid attack survivor, ensured the culprit does not get away. Now she needs your help

Jharkhand HC expresses dismay over Govt.’s lack of response to compliance orders for Acid Attack survivors

The post Acid Attacks: The judicial struggle to regulate acid violence in India appeared first on SabrangIndia.

The complaint brings together incidents from diverse regions to highlight a recurring pattern rather than isolated excesses. CJP has emphasised that these acts, frequently recorded and circulated on social media, operate as public demonstrations of intimidation that erode constitutional guarantees of equality, dignity, and religious freedom.

Vigilantism and physical violence

One major cluster of incidents documented in the complaint concerns vigilante violence carried out in the name of cow protection, moral policing, or religious assertion. These include assaults on cattle transporters, attacks on vendors selling non-vegetarian food, and instances where individuals were beaten or publicly humiliated while being forced to chant religious slogans. In several cases, the violence was carried out in public spaces and filmed by the perpetrators themselves. Despite the visibility of these acts, information regarding prompt police action against those responsible was often unavailable or unclear at the time of reporting.

Economic intimidation and livelihood disruption

The complaint also highlights repeated instances of economic harassment targeting minority livelihoods. Muslim shopkeepers, street vendors, and contractors were confronted at their places of work, accused of religious or ideological wrongdoing, and pressured to shut down businesses or comply with identity-based demands. Such actions, undertaken without any lawful authority, effectively imposed informal economic boycotts and restrictions on the right to carry on trade, raising concerns about the unequal access to public spaces and livelihoods.

Raids on prayer meetings and religious disruption

Another set of incidents detailed in the complaint involves the disruption of Christian prayer meetings held in private homes and community spaces. Organised groups entered prayer gatherings alleging unlawful religious conversions, leading to intimidation, physical violence, and the destruction of religious texts. In some cases, police action followed complaints made by these groups, resulting in questioning or detention of worshippers rather than action against those who initiated the disruption. CJP has pointed out that such incidents reflect a pattern of interference with the peaceful practice of religion, accompanied by selective enforcement of law.

Identity policing and forced compliance

The complaint further records incidents of coercive identity policing, including demands for documentation, accusations of being “illegal” or “foreign,” and the forced chanting of religious slogans. Elderly individuals, clerics, migrant workers, and vendors were stopped in public spaces and subjected to threats or humiliation when they refused to comply. CJP has noted that these acts function as mechanisms of public intimidation, reinforcing exclusion and fear among targeted communities.

Evictions, demolitions, and state-led actions

In addition to vigilante actions by private actors, the complaint draws attention to large-scale eviction and demolition drives carried out by state authorities that disproportionately affected Muslim communities. While these actions were officially justified on grounds such as encroachment or administrative necessity, the scale of displacement, the manner of execution, and the absence of adequate rehabilitation measures raise serious concerns regarding due process, proportionality, and the protection of vulnerable populations.

What the complaint underscores

In the complaint submitted to the NCM, CJP has underscored that the situation reflected in these incidents is neither episodic nor accidental. As the complaint states:

“The incidents documented herein, when viewed cumulatively, disclose a disturbing and recurring pattern in which private individuals and organised groups assume the role of self-appointed enforcers of law, identity, and morality. These actions, ranging from physical violence and public humiliation to economic coercion, religious disruption, and large-scale displacement, have frequently unfolded in the absence of timely or impartial state intervention. Such patterns risk normalising vigilantism, eroding constitutional guarantees, and fostering an environment of fear and exclusion for minority communities.”

CJP has further pointed out that in several instances, police action appeared to follow pressure or complaints from vigilante groups, while unlawful acts by private actors went unaddressed. This, the complaint argues, not only emboldens vigilante behaviour but also undermines public confidence in the impartial application of law.

What CJP has urged the NCM to do

Through its complaint, CJP has urged the National Commission for Minorities to take cognisance of the pattern emerging from these incidents and to exercise its statutory mandate to seek accountability from state authorities. The complaint calls for the Commission to seek detailed action-taken reports from concerned state governments and district administrations, particularly with regard to the registration of FIRs, investigations conducted, and steps taken to prevent further incidents.

CJP has also urged the Commission to emphasise the obligation of states to ensure impartial enforcement of criminal law, so that victims are not criminalised following vigilante complaints while perpetrators evade accountability. The complaint seeks directions to prevent economic intimidation, protect the right to peaceful religious practice, and ensure that eviction and demolition drives comply with due process and provide adequate rehabilitation.

Reiterating that the complaint is not directed against any religion or community, CJP has stated that its concern lies with the misuse of public platforms, private coercion, and state inaction that threaten constitutional values, communal harmony, and the rule of law. The organisation has urged the NCM to intervene to prevent further normalisation of such conduct and to safeguard the rights of minority communities across the country.

The complaint may be read here:

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

Related:

CJP complaints to NCM over alarming surge in hate speech against Bengali-origin Muslims

CJP calls for action by NCM against hate speeches at Dharam Sansad and Trishul Deekha events, files 2 complaints

CJP moves NCM against arms training camps, weapon distribution events in Assam and Rajasthan

CJP complains to NCM over Uttarakhand Muslim exodus; seeks urgent action

CJP moves NCM against Shiladitya Dev for targeting the ‘Miya Muslim’ community of Assam

The post CJP moves National Commission for Minorities over vigilante violence, identity policing, and targeted evictions across states appeared first on SabrangIndia.

The judgment did not come out of thin air. It followed months if not years of ‘instant justice’ enabled by bulldozers, in well-publicized incidents as far back as 2021 in Uttar Pradesh, Madhya Pradesh, Gujarat, Delhi, and Haryana, almost always following communal incidents or protests. Many, most obviously in the named jurisdictions, were occurring at night, without rehabilitation, and impacted Muslim, Dalit, and migrant communities disproportionately.

A year has passed. The question to ask is whether these guidelines changed state practice, or whether bulldozers continued to operate in ways that undermined the rule of law – often ways that reinforced reports that we, at CJP and Sabrang India have already documented.

The Judgment that Promised a Reversal

When it rendered its decision in November 2024, the Supreme Court intended to firmly ground demolition practices within constitutional limits. The Bench reiterated that demolitions cannot occur without a statutory basis and must abide by the basic tenets of due process: individuals should be given a notice tailored specifically to them, an opportunity to respond promptly to the notice, a hearing at which to be heard in a meaningful way, and a speaking order evidencing the administrative rationale.

It also spoke to the absurdity of dealing with rehabilitation as an afterthought, especially when it involves vulnerable communities. While some of these principles had stalked Indian law before the decision, the judgment unified them all in one framework during a time when bulldozer-led punitive state action was becoming more commonplace. It indicated we would be seeing efforts to recalibrate the conduct of state institutions in the following year, while signalling to us that we should expect greater adherence to procedural safeguards.

A Year on the Ground: Patterns of Demolition Post the Gavai-Viswanathan verdict

Although in November 2024, the Supreme Court reiterated that demolition cannot take place without notice, a hearing, or rehabilitation, the next twelve months were characterised by a number of drives across states which showed a decidedly different reality on the ground: Demolitions were limited by varying degrees in reliance of this judgement and occurred in urban renewal, and post-arson and riot punitive acts, as reflected in CJP’s and Sabrang India’s reporting, the list below illustrates how state practice was inconsistent, replicating the very failure of procedures the Court had attempted to rectify.

• March 2025

Prayagraj, Uttar Pradesh

A key legal development in the aftermath of the judgment occurred in Prayagraj when the Supreme Court awarded ₹10 lakh in compensation each to six residents whose homes were demolished without due process. As reported by Sabrang India in “Supreme Court slams Prayagraj demolitions…”, the Supreme Court found that the Prayagraj Development Authority did not adhere to the statutory due process when demolishing the homes, thus confirming the long-held position of the demolished families. While the Supreme Court’s intervention was valuable, it occurred years after the demolitions happened, indicating a trend where judicial relief is only provided after the damage has already been done.

• May 2025

Madrasi Camp, Delhi

In Delhi, the demolition of Madrasi Camp in Jangpura has once again raised questions about whether the municipality is conforming to the Supreme Court’s guidelines. As Sabrang India’s article, “Madrasi Camp demolition: CPIM Delhi demands halt…” states, residents asserted that they did not receive a substantial notice and were neither promised nor consulted about rehabilitation. The demolition was carried out with a significant police force present, raising apprehensions that evictions continued in the capital even after the verdict, without full compliance with procedural requirements.

• April – May 2025 

Chandola Lake, Ahmedabad

Ahmedabad’s anti-encroachment drive around Chandola Lake was one of the biggest demolitions in the post-judgment year. In Sabrang India’s coverage of the same event (“Gujarat HC refuses stay…”), it noted that the Ahmedabad Municipal Corporation was clearing structures that were predominantly occupied by Muslim residents, under the Gujarat High Court judgment, as it pertained to reclaiming the lake. Though the recourse to the Gujarat High Court challenged the practice, it did not specifically cease the demolition of the houses, nor addressed the rehabilitation of families or just a simple notice.

• March – April 2025 

Nagpur, Maharashtra

The destruction of Fahim Khan’s home in Nagpur highlighted anxieties over punitive administrative action; residents of Nagpur argued that the short notice period of 24 hours did not provide adequate due process. Sabrang India’s report, “Demolition of Fahim Khan’s home…” noted the demolition was significant in the local political climate and raised even more questions over the motive and process in a post-judgement political landscape.

• January 2025 

Dwarka District Islands, Gujarat

In the Dwarka district, clearance operations ordered by the administration after floods impacted fishing communities and places of religious worship. As Sabrang India reported, houses, community shelters, and several mazars and a dargah were demolished. Residents reported that all notices received came too late to counter the action adequately, which instead made it one of the most significant coastal demolitions this year.

• November 2025 

Gurugram, Haryana

In Haryana, the demolition of a longstanding Dalit settlement located on Old Delhi Road exemplified how marginalized communities are still subjected to abrupt unilateral administrative action after the Supreme Court’s ruling. Residents argued that they had not been given the promises regarding rehabilitation, and that they were not given sufficient opportunity to contest the eviction.

• May 2025 

Ujjain, Madhya Pradesh

In Ujjain, the Ujjain Development Authority initiated a demolition campaign along Mahakal Road. Despite official claims that a notice had been issued months ahead of time, residents affected by the demolition vehemently disputed the timing and sufficiency of the notice. Although the High Court had engaged in surveillance of certain aspects of the proceedings, details of the operation also highlighted the disparity of attention to due process in these matters throughout the state.

• Other States Across 2025 

In addition to these key events, there were many additional demolitions, albeit smaller in scale, that further complicated the patterns of uneven compliance with the judgement safeguards. In Delhi, several slum clusters in Mangolpuri, Seemapuri, and near the Yamuna floodplains were partially demolished from June to September 2025. Residents in these areas contended that municipalities referenced notes in affidavits that had never been served individually to residents. Additionally, in UP, families were told that demolitions after flooding in Prayagraj and Varanasi were justified as “emergency measures.” Families maintained that, especially in Prayagraj, there appeared to be selective enforcement and confusion about categorizing the land as within the floodplain or “vacant.” In Kashmir, demolitions after counter-insurgency operations in the Pulwama region. Although families claimed there were no formal charges against them, the demolitions left families without a home, which drew civil liberties objections. Finally, in Punjab, demolitions associated with NDPS-related investigations were conducted, which resulted in a troubling blurring of the lines between crime-control and punitive administrative action. This suggests that bulldozer governance had begun to arrive in new legal categories, disjointed from purely communal-based incidents.

Cumulatively, these expanded incidents along this timeline show that although some agencies claimed procedural compliance, the reality in most cases still demonstrated the same post-incident demolitions, disputed notices, crude procedure, and inadequate rehabilitation, all features that were squarely inconsistent with the principles reaffirmed in the judgment.

Due Process and Rule of Law: What the Year Revealed

The demolitions conducted across states during the year following the judgment demonstrate how the gap between constitutional protections and public administration remains intact. The Supreme Court upheld the paramount importance of notice, hearing, and rehabilitation, yet in most reported drives the involuntary responses relied on notices that were either insufficiently raised, or disputed, sometimes delivered to affected households on the night before demolition or after machinery had arrived.

Hearings were virtually absent, and affected families were united in reporting that they were not afforded any opportunity to present a defence to an allegation of encroachment or illegality. Rehabilitation – outlined specifically by the Court for vulnerable groups – was rarely planned, and never actualized. The judicial responses, when they occurred, were often post-facto rather than pro-facto: the most direct orders, such as the imposition of the Supreme Court’s admonition of the Prayagraj demolitions, and the Orissa High Court ruling on the Cuttack community centre, came months, if not years, after the demolition. The High Court made efforts to call for affidavits or provide interim stays on demolitions, but without a method of enforcement, these steps amounted to little more than symbolic acknowledgment of demolition abuses. The judiciary did not have a mechanism for monitoring the demolitions or following up on the assurances to protect vulnerable families. In the absence of enforcement and in the absence of a court interceding pro-facto, routine use of bulldozing remains an option for administrative attention.

All of the incidents throughout the year show that while the courts have provided clarity of law, process continues to be treated by executive branch actors as a process of ritual and not of constitutional obligation that depends on and can range from excesses of the political or administrative context of where a demolition occurs to focusing on the time and nature of the demolition process, such as while in progress, an act undertaken to restore public order through law enforcement, through ordinary adjustments, including diminished due process for the loved ones of the deceased.

Judicial vs Executive Approaches: A Deepening Divide

In the year following Gavai, we saw an increasingly divergent distance between judicial statements of due-process standards and the executive branches’ practices of adhering to those standards. Courts certainly exhibited, especially in a few notable cases, a willingness to hold state actors accountable: Justice Abhay Oka’s Supreme Court Bench, for example, not only condemned Prayagraj’s unlawful demolitions, but also awarded damages and called for an inquiry to hold the officials accountable. Further still, the Orissa High Court ordered to recovery from the former officer in the Cuttack community-centre case. What emerged among a few courts was the express judicial acknowledgment that demolitions without notice and hearing were not simply “administrative” violations, but constitutional violations. Courts, however, did go so far as to issue contempt notices, such as was seen in the proceedings following the demolitions of the Goalpara community centre, in Maharashtra, and in Delhi, indicating that litigants and judges were considering the guidelines proposed in the judgement, as enforceable obligations. Exceptionally, of course, given how rarely an executive agency is sanctioned for non-adherence to due-process protections.

For most of the demolitions and drives in Madhya Pradesh, Gujarat, Haryana, and parts of Delhi and Uttar Pradesh, no disciplinary investigations, prosecutions, or public censures were found. In a few cases, officers were transferred soon after a disputed demolition, but these were simply transferred and not punitive. Even when courts demanded accounts from officials or demanded affidavits, the lapses began to fade into the mass of administrative inertia without consistency or follow-up. The unpredictable but frequent comparisons between the court’s occasional harsh language and the executive branch’s nearly total impunity show the central tension of the post-Gavai year: the words could be said and stated clearly from the Bench, but they could easily be replaced by immediate political, policing, or developmental goals on the ground without a structural mechanism to enforce them.

Constitutional Lens: Articles 14, 21, and 300A

The demolitions conducted across states in the post-judgement timeframe repeatedly placed strain on the constitutional protections outlined in Articles 14, 21, and 300A. Article 14 had more visible effects, where enforcement patterns appeared uneven with bulldozers appearing fastest in Muslim-majority bastis, Dalit settlements, migrant clusters, and other communities with precarious housing. The patterns of the law, particularly the selective invocation of laws regarding encroachment, often within hours of community violence, politicians, and other events, suggested that the police powers were used in a discriminatory manner, informed less by planning considerations and more by the social makeup of neighbourhoods.

Article 21, which underpins the right to life and dignity, is equally undermined. Eviction of temporary structures without any notice does more than involve the destruction of premises; it obliterates the social architecture of family life—livelihoods, safety, and considerations of community. Reporting in The Indian Express of demolitions in Nagpur, Ujjain, Prayagraj, and Delhi were made in consideration of families rendered homeless overnight, with a complete lack of accommodation, with implications for precarious living conditions and a vulnerability to other harms, and dispossession, especially without provision for hearing or rehabilitation in cases of demolition, implicitly indicates a constitutional injury.

Article 300A of the Gavai judgment was arguably the most consistently breached. While state authorities cited legislative authority for demolition, the lack of a fair process, advance notice, and transparent decision-making weakened the “authority of law” mandated by the Constitution. The year’s data suggest that, notwithstanding a robust judicial restatement, the constitutional principles that seek to constrain state authority remain tenuous in the face of administrative urgency or political pressure.

When Landmark Judgments Remain Symbolic

The post-judgement reality reflects a larger trend in a defraying Indian constitutionalism, where even the most impactful judgments risk being reduced to mere symbols. The doctrine implemented in D.K. Basu did not stop custodial torture; Tehseen Poonawalla did not stop lynching; Shreya Singhal did not stop the ongoing usage of Section 66A years after its invalidation. Likewise, the decision, which celebrated the re-centering of due process in demolition practice, has not transformed the habitual behaviour of entrenched administratively.

One reason for this is structural: Indian courts, as a general rule, only intervene when something is brought before them, typically well after demolitions have occurred. As a number of petitions noted by LiveLaw in 2025 highlight, families only arrive in court because their homes are gone – effectively turning the judiciary into an after-the-fact remedial body instead of a preventative one. High Courts occasionally interject with some stern words, but even orders with some public interest stay orders only deal with the facts and circumstances of the individual case.

The political context is also important. In electoral and police discourse, bulldozers have gained a symbolic meaning, viewed as a form of “decisive/aggressive governance” against a select section, India’s marginalized, especially Dalits, Adivasis and the Muslim minority. This symbolism lessens the normative weight of judicial reasoning, giving officers the belief that constitutions are secondary to political mobility. In this context, even a decisive and pathbreaking judgment is susceptible to becoming a citation rather than a restraint.

What Will It Take to Replace the Rule of Bulldozer with the Rule of Law?

A significant transition from bulldozer-led governance to rule-of-law-based governance necessitates more than occasional judicial reprimands. It requires institutional mechanisms that facilitate the provision of procedural safeguards before building demolitions occurring, not after the fact. Mandatory reporting protocols, both before demolitions and immediately following demolitions, that include documentation of public notices, hearings, and rehabilitation plans would create a minimal record of accountability. The reports could be subject to audits by judicially appointed committees or independent agencies.

Courts may also be able to use some form of structured monitoring (as exists in certain environmental and prison-reform litigation) of the state parties in future cases. The state government could make periodic affidavits of compliance, with the threat of civil contempt for systemic non-compliance, and the high courts do registry tracking of demolition cases and violations of the judgement framework by the agency.

Furthermore, executive accountability should reach beyond symbolic shifts of power to committees that was entirely outside of the executive altogether; the state approximate automatic inquiries into demolitions that lack documented due process, the recorded public findings, along with other penalties, serve as deterrents. States may also want to consider codifying the norms in Statutes or regulations, or using agency policies, making these administrative actions defined offences for non-compliance. It is also necessary that rehabilitation be planned and adequately funded. Due process will only be administratively seen as part of the professional duty when officers are routinely and predictably held accountable for the compliant or non-compliant forms of their practice.

A Strong Judgment met With Structural Impunity

The judgment in November 2024 reiterated the core constitutional guarantees: no demolition without prior notice, an opportunity for a hearing and a fair process. It was a principled and timely expression of limits on the powers of the state, especially in the moment when bulldozers had been commonly adopted as some form of immediate administrative response. Yet the following year will demonstrate how even strong jurisprudence may wither away in a context of systemic impunity.

Policies of demolition continued across the states, with at times uneven practices or minimal respect for due process. In a great number of cases, the courts provided relief only after homes had been demolished or schools were turned into rubble. What usually accompanied these rulings were strong observations from the Supreme Court and some High Courts, and an order of compensation, but those decisions were usually either limited in nature or retrospective. State agencies suffered virtually no immediate consequences for their actions, and without institutions capable of monitoring enforcement, the guidelines remained aspirational.

The judgement also highlights the growing disconnect between constitutional principles and everyday executive decision-making. Without continued monitoring, transparent accountability, and meaningful legislative frameworks, a robust ruling cannot control entrenched bureaucratic practices. The promise we have enshrined in the Constitution is hanging in doubt so long as the bulldozer can demolish traditional patterns of adherence to due process.

The judgment may be read below –

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

Related: 

Encroachment or erasure? India’s demolition wave and the law

‘An eye for an eye’- new law of the land for the Muslim minorities in India?

Muslims in the new India: How one week showcases their escalating persecution

Bulldozer Justice: How Unlawful Demolitions are Targeting India’s Marginalised Communities

The post When the Rule of the Bulldozer Outpaces the Rule of Law: One year after this landmark judgment appeared first on SabrangIndia.

According to the latest available data, in 2024 alone, a comprehensive survey by India Hate Lab (IHL) documented 1,165 in-person hate-speech events targeting religious minorities across India, marking a 74.4 percent rise from the 668 incidents recorded in 2023. A significant number of these incidents occurred in states governed by the ruling coalition, underlining the geographic and political concentration of communal hate mobilisation. Many of these hate-speech events including rallies, processions, public speeches, and nationalist gatherings were accompanied by social-media amplification, transforming offline aggression into widely visible and shared public spectacle. At the same time, India is entering a high-stakes electoral cycle in 2025–2026, with state assembly elections scheduled in key states such as Delhi, Bihar, Assam, Kerala, West Bengal, Tamil Nadu, and Puducherry. This convergence of rising hate speech, online amplification and election-era mobilisation has created a volatile environment in which ordinary citizens increasingly act as self-appointed enforcers of identity and morality, often targeting religious minorities under the guise of vigilante zeal. Reported NDTV.

These dynamics now play out not only through speeches or online rhetoric, but through direct interference in everyday life. Across markets, highways, neighbourhoods, schools and private homes, civilians have increasingly taken on roles that mimic policing functions. They stop individuals from demanding proof of citizenship or religious identity, supervise what businesses may sell or display, disrupt prayer gatherings inside homes or churches, compel public chanting of religious slogans, and enforce boycotts against minority traders. In several cases, these acts escalate into physical violence, public humiliation, or forced displacement. The presence of cameras and mobile phones has added another layer to the intimidation; confrontations are recorded and circulated as proof of ideological performance, converting harassment into spectacle. Police responses frequently blur the line between enforcement and endorsement, with officers either standing by during mob action, detaining victims after vigilante complaints, or acting only once public pressure mounts. Within this landscape, the distinction between civilian vigilantism and state authority weakens, leaving targets without clear avenues of protection while aggressors operate with growing confidence that their actions fall within tolerated political behaviour.

The incidents documented across states fall broadly into six categories: vigilante violence; economic harassment and boycott; raids on prayer meetings; identity policing and forced slogans; evictions and demolitions; and patterns of state response and police complicity.

Vigilante violence

Across states, groups identifying themselves as cow-protection or majoritarian outfits have moved from episodic intimidation to repeated physical enforcement on public roads, markets and transit routes. These actions take several common forms. Perpetrators intercept transporters and vendors, they detain and humiliate people on the spot, they physically assault those who resist, and they record and circulate the confrontation to amplify the act. The incidents collected here show that such attacks are not isolated. They recur in different states, follow similar scripts, and often end with victims being punished while perpetrators face little immediate consequence.

In Maharashtra on September 24, 2025, two cattle transporters – one Hindu and one Muslim – were intercepted and assaulted; a later video shows the victims forced to apologise as their cattle were taken away. In Sambhajinagar on November 10, 2025, a vigilante named Shobhraj Patil is recorded slapping and kicking a Muslim cattle transporter and verbally abusing others who were made to sit on the ground; other Bajrang Dal members restrained Patil only after the violence escalated. On November 12, 2025, In Balikuda, Jagatsinghpur, members of the Bajrang Dal and Hindu Sena entered a Muslim neighbourhood armed with sticks and, following their complaint, police confiscated meat for “investigation”; there is no contemporaneous record of action against the groups that forced entry.

Vigilante attacks also target traders. On November 2, 2025 in Ludhiana, Gau Raksha Dal members raided a biryani shop on beef allegations, detained the owner and handed him to police. In Hisar on November 4, 2025, a Bajrang Dal activist identified by local reporting assaulted a meat vendor for opening on a Tuesday and forced the vendor to chant “Jai Shri Ram,” an episode that was filmed and circulated – The Tribune reported. In Indore on November 10, 2025, Members of the Bajrang Dal assaulted a Muslim gym trainer after seeing him driving with a Hindu woman, accusing him of “luring” Hindu women. Despite the woman defending him and no formal complaint being lodged by her, the police allegedly transferred the case between police stations citing jurisdiction issues and ultimately sent the gym trainer to jail under restrictive legal sections. No reported police action against the vigilante attackers was available at the time of documentation.

The interplay between vigilante coercion and state action is evident in Damoh, Madhya Pradesh. On November 2, 2025, following pressure from far-right groups and cow vigilantes, police publicly paraded nine Muslim men accused of cow slaughter, despite statements from local butchers that the animal involved was a buffalo. In the local butcher market, vigilantes allegedly attacked with sticks while accusing traders of cow slaughter, leading to clashes. Police action was taken only against the Muslim men, who were jailed under provisions of the Animal Cruelty Act, even as officials later described the slaughtered animal as a buffalo calf. No action against the vigilante attackers was reported at the time of documentation. That sequence shows how vigilante pressure can shape law enforcement responses and how public parading becomes a tool of humiliation rather than a neutral investigatory procedure.

Legally these incidents implicate offences such as assault, criminal intimidation, trespass and unlawful assembly. These attacks also raise serious constitutional concerns about arbitrary deprivation of liberty when arrests follow vigilante complaints rather than independent police inquiry. The recorded habit of filming and broadcasting confrontations converts private violence into public spectacle, and that publicity frequently insulates perpetrators by forcing rapid public narratives that favour the aggressors. Across the documented cases, police responses range from delayed intervention to actions that appear to prioritise complaints lodged by vigilante groups rather than protecting those they have attacked. That pattern underlines why vigilante violence in the present period cannot be treated as random crime. It must be understood as a coordinated set of practices that enforce ideological norms through force, humiliation and selective use of formal law enforcement.

Harassment, Economic Intimidation and Boycott

Across multiple states, economic life has become a stage for enforcing majoritarian identity rules. Markets, roadside stalls and ordinary workplaces have turned into sites where Hindutva groups and sympathisers dictate who may trade, which foods may be sold, what symbols may be displayed and how Muslim vendors must present themselves in order to remain in business. These interventions do not involve claims of law and order. They operate through intimidation, accusations of deception and appeals to communal purity, all of which seek to restrict the economic presence of Muslims in public spaces. The incidents recorded here show that harassment often comes first, followed by pressure on police or local authorities to legitimise the exclusion.

In Ludhiana on November 2 2025, members of the Gau Raksha Dal stormed a biryani shop, accused the shopkeeper of selling beef and detained him before handing him to police. The manner of the raid reflects a broader trend in which Hindutva groups conduct their own inspections and arrests, treating Muslim-run establishments as inherently suspect while assuming the authority to punish on the spot. Police treatment of the incident focused on the allegation of beef sale rather than the unlawful detention and intimidation carried out by the vigilantes.

Economic policing is even more overt in Dehradun, where on November 14 2025, Kali Sena leaders publicly confronted a Muslim contractor who managed a dry-fruit stall. The men accused him of engaging in what they termed “mungfali jihad,” claiming that Hindu vendors and a calendar displaying a Hindu deity were being used to deceive customers. The language deployed in the confrontation draws directly from Hindutva propaganda that imagines Muslim economic activity as a covert threat. No action was taken on the leaders who staged the intimidation, although the harassment was filmed and circulated.

In Mapusa, Goa, on  October 3, 2025 far-right men harassed a Muslim shopkeeper and his staff, insisting that they present themselves as visibly Muslim by adopting green colour, changing their names and refraining from touching the picture of a Hindu deity displayed in the shop. That episode shows how Hindutva surveillance extends into everyday bodily behaviour and demands that Muslims perform identity as perceived by majoritarian norms. The threats were issued in the presence of staff and customers, yet there is no record of police intervention.

In Delhi’s Gokulpuri area on November 27, 2025, Hindu nationalist supporters forcibly shut down meat shops on the grounds that a temple was nearby. The idea that Muslim vendors should not operate in proximity to Hindu religious sites has become a recurring argument in Hindutva campaigns that seek to push Muslims out of mixed localities. The forced closures left vendors without income for the day and reinforced the message that their right to livelihood is conditional on the whims of majoritarian groups rather than equal protection under law.

These incidents illustrate a pattern in which economic activity becomes an arena for enforcing communal boundaries. They reflect a deliberate strategy within Hindutva politics to curtail Muslim economic visibility and participation. The absence of police action against harassers and the willingness of authorities to act on vigilante complaints further institutionalise these informal boycotts. Through repeated intimidation and public humiliation, these groups attempt to reshape markets into spaces that mirror and reinforce majoritarian social control.

Raids on Prayer Meetings and the Criminalisation of Christian Worship

Across several states, Christian prayer gatherings have become one of the most visible targets of Hindutva surveillance, reflecting a climate in which routine worship is increasingly cast as suspicious activity. Civil society reports show that the portrayal of Christians as agents of coercive conversion has become a central plank of Hindutva mobilisation, creating an atmosphere where even small home-based gatherings are vulnerable to intrusion and violence. This narrative has normalised vigilante entry into private spaces and produced situations where state institutions appear more responsive to the allegations of disruptors than to the rights of Christians who are attacked.

The incidents documented here show three recurring elements. Hindutva groups repeatedly enter private houses to disrupt worship, often accompanied by assault or the burning of religious books, as seen in Rohtak where, November 9, 2025 Christian participants were beaten and their Bibles burnt. These forced entries are justified through claims of “illegal conversion,” a narrative that has gained wide circulation in political speeches and local mobilisation campaigns, reinforcing the idea that Christian worship should be monitored rather than protected. The allegations themselves become tools that shift suspicion onto victims, making the act of prayer appear as evidence of wrongdoing.

A second pattern emerges through state response. In Rohtak, police allegedly questioned the victims rather than the perpetrators and later monitored their calls, reflecting a deeper institutional assumption that those who pray are the ones who require investigation rather than protection. This inversion of victim and accused also appears in Uttar Pradesh, where on November 16, 2025 members of the Bajrang Dal raided a Christian prayer meeting, alleging that illegal religious conversions were taking place. They claimed that poor Hindu women were being offered money to convert to Christianity. Following their complaint, police reached the location and arrested three individuals on charges related to unlawful religious conversion. No action against the vigilante group was reported. Similar patterns have been documented nationally wherever anti-conversion rhetoric is deployed to justify interference in Christian worship.

A third pattern concerns how the state frames these incidents. When on November 8, 2025 Hindu nationalist groups confronted a Christian gathering in Korba, Chhattisgarh, the disruption escalated into clashes after outsiders entered the residence and accused attendees of conversion. Official accounts framed the situation as a two-sided confrontation, obscuring the fact that the meeting was peaceful until disrupted. This framing aligns with rhetorical strategies that recast minority communities as sources of instability, even when they are the ones targeted.

In Agra, on November 23, 2025 members of the VHP–Bajrang Dal raided a private Christian prayer meeting and filed complaints alleging inducement to convert. Police detained a man and several women for questioning but did not act against the raiding group, entrenching the perception that majoritarian actors can intrude upon religious spaces with impunity. This is consistent with research showing that police often absorb the assumptions of vigilantes, reinforcing structural bias in how minority religious practice is policed.

Taken together, these episodes reveal a pattern in which prayer is treated as potential evidence, faith is framed as a threat and Christian worship becomes subject to the approval of hostile majoritarian actors. Hindutva groups position themselves as regulators of religious life, while police responses often validate their claims through investigation of the victims and neglect of the perpetrators. The result is a message that Christian communities can neither rely on privacy in their own homes nor on equal protection from the state.

Forced Slogans and Identity Policing

A striking feature of the current wave of communal hostility is the policing of Muslim identity in everyday spaces. These incidents do not involve allegations of crime or conversion. They revolve around humiliation, coercion and the demand that Muslims publicly affirm majoritarian slogans as proof of loyalty. National reports show that such practices have increased alongside online hate campaigns that dehumanise Muslims and frame them as permanent outsiders requiring discipline. The pattern is not incidental. It reflects a deliberate cultural project in which asserting Hindu nationalist symbols becomes a test of citizenship.

The confrontation of a Muslim fruit vendor on October 25, 2025 in Doimukh, Arunachal Pradesh, where locals accused him of being Bangladeshi and demanded NRC documentation, illustrates how identity policing collapses into racial profiling and suspicion of illegality. Research shows that “Bangladeshi” rhetoric has frequently been used to target Bengali-speaking Muslims, turning documentation status into a tool of exclusion . The vendor was forced to close his stall despite no official verification, demonstrating how communal assumptions override legal process.

Forced sloganeering further reveals the psychological dimension of this violence. In Uttarakhand, a Muslim cleric was stopped on the road and threatened when he refused to chant “Jai Shri Ram,” a moment intended to remind him of his vulnerability in public space. India Today reported that in UP, on November 25, 2025 an elderly Muslim cab driver, Mohammad Rais, was harassed near the Taj Mahal parking area by a group of young men who demanded that he chant “Jai Shri Ram.” When he initially refused, the men threatened him. The incident was filmed and later circulated on social media. Local police at Tajganj Police Station registered an FIR and said they are investigating the video evidence, though no arrests had been made at the time of the report.

Identity policing functions as a low-threshold form of violence. It does not require large groups or organised campaigns. It relies on the everyday assertion of dominance, the demand for symbolic compliance and the threat of punishment for refusal. These incidents demonstrate how Hindu nationalist mobilisation penetrates ordinary life. The pressure to chant slogans, produce documents or justify one’s presence signals a shift in which Muslim identity is treated as suspicious unless actively performed in ways that satisfy majoritarian expectations.

Evictions and Demolitions as Instruments of Displacement.

The most far-reaching form of exclusion documented in this period appears in state-led eviction and demolition drives. These actions are carried out through legal and administrative mechanisms, yet their impact falls overwhelmingly on Muslim communities, raising questions about selective enforcement and the absence of safeguards. Research on eviction patterns in Assam and Gujarat has shown that state narratives of encroachment often overlap with political rhetoric that casts certain communities as illegitimate occupants.

In Goalpara, Assam, more than 580 Bengali-origin Muslim families were displaced during a large-scale eviction operation in the Dahikata Reserve Forest on 9 November (Incident 17). Officials stated that the drive was aimed at addressing human-elephant conflict and was conducted pursuant to Gauhati High Court directions, and notices were reportedly issued fifteen days earlier. Heavy machinery entered the area under substantial police presence and demolished remaining structures. No immediate rehabilitation or resettlement measures were announced, leaving hundreds without shelter. Protests were minimal and swiftly contained, with some residents detained. Reporting from the region CNN has noted that eviction drives disproportionately affect Bengali-origin Muslim settlements and often lack clear post-eviction planning.

The Wire reported that in Gujarat’s Gir Somnath district, demolitions on 10 November focused on Muslim-owned homes, shops and a dargah (Incident 18). While several structures were removed without resistance, the attempt to demolish the dargah triggered confrontation. Residents opposed the demolition, leading to clashes with police who used crowd-control measures to disperse them. No rehabilitation measures were reported for those who lost homes or commercial property. Coverage from previous years shows a sustained pattern of demolitions in the region that disproportionately target Muslim religious structures.

A second demolition sequence that same day saw tensions escalate further when locals attempted to prevent the removal of another dargah near the Somnath Temple area. Police responded with lathi charges and tear gas and arrested thirteen people who were later paraded publicly (Incident 19). Authorities described all demolished structures as illegal constructions on government land. Details of any resettlement process were absent.

These cases demonstrate how eviction functions not only as an administrative measure but also as a tool of dispossession when applied without safeguards or rehabilitation. The selective concentration of demolition activity in Muslim neighbourhoods reinforces perceptions that state power is being deployed unevenly.

State Complicity and Biased Policing

CNN reported that across multiple states, the line between vigilante activity and state response becomes increasingly difficult to distinguish. The incidents documented here show repeated patterns in which police act on the allegations of vigilante groups while neglecting the rights of the victims. Human rights analyses have noted that policing in communal situations often reflects underlying majoritarian assumptions, leading to disproportionate scrutiny of minorities and minimal accountability for aggressors. This dynamic is visible in cases involving Christians, Muslims and those accused of violating religious norms.

In Rohtak, Haryana, on November 9, 2025 police reportedly interrogated Christian victims after an Arya Samaj group assaulted them, burnt their Bibles and injured a pastor during a prayer meeting. Rather than treating the attack as a criminal intrusion into a private residence, officers shifted attention onto the victims and monitored their phones. This reflects a broader pattern identified by rights organisations, where anti-conversion rhetoric shapes police behaviour and legitimises scrutiny of Christian gatherings.

In Uttar Pradesh, on November 23, 2025 police acted on the complaint of Bajrang Dal members who raided a Christian prayer meeting and alleged inducement to convert, arresting three attendees while declining to take action against the vigilantes. The same reversal appears in Agra, on November 20, 2025 where VHP and Bajrang Dal members entered a private home to disrupt another Christian meeting. Police detained a man and several women for questioning, again treating the accused vigilantes as complainants rather than aggressors.

In Madhya Pradesh, state complicity took a more punitive form. In Damoh, on November 2, 2025 police publicly paraded nine Muslim men after allegations of cow slaughter, even though local butchers stated that the animal was a buffalo and not a cow. No action was taken against the vigilantes who attacked the butcher market. In Indore, on November 10, 2025 a Muslim gym trainer assaulted by Bajrang Dal members was jailed despite the Hindu woman involved not filing any complaint, while no action was initiated against the attackers.

These incidents show how policing becomes aligned with vigilante narratives. When state institutions absorb the assumptions of majoritarian groups, minority communities lose access to impartial protection. The result is not simply inadequate investigation but a structural failure in which victims are recast as suspects and unlawful violence becomes socially sanctioned through official inaction.

Legal Framework: Constitutional Protections, Criminal Law and Supreme Court Guidelines

The incidents documented in this report engage multiple areas of Indian law, including constitutional guarantees, criminal prohibitions under the Bharatiya Nyaya Sanhita (BNS), procedural obligations under the Bharatiya Nagarik Suraksha Sanhita (BNSS) and binding Supreme Court directives on mob vigilantism. At their core, these cases reflect violations of the rights to equality, non-discrimination, personal liberty and religious freedom under Articles 14, 15, 19, 21 and 25 of the Constitution. Article 25 protects the right to freely profess and practice one’s faith, which extends to prayer meetings held in private homes or neighbourhood spaces. Evictions and demolitions without rehabilitation trigger concerns under Article 21 and the prohibition against arbitrary state action.

As per a report in the LiveLaw Under the new BNS, many of the acts witnessed here constitute clear criminal offences. Assault and causing hurt are covered under Sections 124 and 125, which penalise physical injury regardless of motive. Criminal intimidation is defined under Section 351, which applies to threats used to instil fear or force compliance. Forced entry into homes, including raids on Christian prayer meetings, falls within the definition of criminal trespass under Sections 329 and 330. The public parading of detainees undermines the constitutional guarantee of dignity and violates custodial safeguards linked to Article 21, which has been repeatedly upheld in Supreme Court jurisprudence.

Communal incitement and hate speech are addressed under Section 194 of the BNS, which criminalises acts that promote enmity between groups or deliberately provoke violence on grounds such as religion or race. This provision is directly relevant to forced slogans, threats and the circulation of humiliating videos, which mirror the trends identified in recent national analyses of hate speech escalation.

Procedurally, the BNSS continues to require prompt registration of FIRs, impartial investigation and accountability for dereliction of duty by law enforcement. These duties operate alongside the Supreme Court’s directives in Tehseen S. Poonawalla v. Union of India (2018), which remain binding. The Court mandated state responsibility to prevent mob violence, protect targeted communities, arrest perpetrators and discipline officers who fail to act. The recurring inaction or reversal of attention onto victims in the incidents documented here reflects clear non-compliance with these obligations.

Targeted demolitions and evictions further implicate constitutional protections. The Supreme Court in Olga Tellis v. Bombay Municipal Corporation held that the right to life includes the right to shelter and that demolitions carried out without due process violate Article 21. The lack of rehabilitation reported in Assam and Gujarat contradicts these principles. Rights groups have noted that demolition and eviction in these regions disproportionately affect Muslim communities and often mirror political narratives of encroachment or demographic threat.

Taken together, the constitutional framework, the BNS and BNSS, and Supreme Court jurisprudence make clear that the acts described here violate established protections and statutory duties. The failure to act against vigilantes, the criminalisation of victims and the use of demolition powers without due process point not to isolated lapses but to structural disregard for the rule of law.

Conclusion

Taken together, the incidents documented across these states reveal a common pattern in which ordinary citizens, vigilante networks and state institutions participate in the policing of minority identity and belonging. What appears on the surface as scattered episodes of harassment, forced slogans, raids on prayer meetings or localised demolition drives becomes, in aggregate, a system of pressure that constrains the everyday freedoms of Muslims and Christians. National analyses of hate speech and communal mobilisation show that this pattern is not accidental but reflects a wider political environment in which minorities are cast as security risks, demographic threats or ideological adversaries. This environment encourages vigilantism by signalling that such conduct aligns with majoritarian expectations.

The unevenness of state response reinforces these pressures. Police often act on the allegations of vigilante groups while questioning, detaining or monitoring the victims. Eviction drives in Assam and demolition actions in Gujarat further illustrate how administrative power, when exercised without safeguards, produces large-scale dispossession that disproportionately affects Muslim communities. These practices undermine constitutional principles of equal protection and due process and violate the standards set by the Supreme Court in Tehseen Poonawalla, which requires proactive prevention of mob violence and accountability for official inaction.

As per a report in CNBC TV 18 a potential institutional response has emerged through Karnataka’s Hate Speech and Hate Crimes (Prevention) Bill, 2025, which for the first time proposes a clear statutory framework for defining hate speech and penalising organised intimidation. The Bill prescribes penalties of one to seven years for initial convictions, up to ten years for aggravated offences and empowers authorities to direct digital platforms to remove hate content. While some view this as a needed attempt to address escalating violence, its effectiveness will depend on impartial enforcement. Without structural reforms that ensure equal protection for minority victims, even progressive legal tools risk becoming instruments of selective repression.

The incidents in this report therefore point not only to unlawful actions by private actors but to a weakening of constitutional guarantees in everyday life. Restoring trust in the rule of law requires consistent action against vigilantism, accountability for discriminatory policing and a commitment to protecting the right of every community to live, worship and work without fear.

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

Related:

Faith Under Fire: Coordinated Harassment of Christians After the Rajasthan Bill

Targeted as ‘Bangladeshis’: The Hate Speech Fuelling Deportations

The Architecture of Polarisation: A Structural Analysis of Communal Hate Speech as a Core Electoral Strategy in India (2024–2025)

Sanatan Ekta Padyatra: Unmasking the March of Majoritarianism

The post Documenting a national pattern of vigilantism & targeted action against minorities appeared first on SabrangIndia.

The Government presents the Codes as a modernisation that eases compliance, simplifies regulatory processes and boosts investment. From an industry perspective, consolidation reduces administrative burden and litigation risk, enhancing flexibility. However, labour unions and many policy analysts contend that these reforms prioritise employer interests, weaken worker protections, and ignore the realities of India’s heavily informal workforce. This paper critically examines the Code on Wages, Industrial Relations Code, Code on Social Security, and Occupational Safety, Health and Working Conditions Code, analysing their likely impact on workers, employers, unions, and labour rights. All the codes have been embedded at the end of this analysis for easy reference.

Understanding the Four Labour Codes

• The Code on Wages, 2019

The Code on Wages replaces four earlier laws — Minimum Wages Act, 1948, Payment of Wages Act, 1936, Payment of Bonus Act, 1965 and the Equal Remuneration Act, 1976 — into a unified wage framework. At first glance, this rationalisation is welcome: it removes the peculiar fragmentation wherein only certain “scheduled employments” were entitled to minimum wage protection, leaving vast sectors uncovered.

Its most noted provision is the establishment of a National Floor Wage, below which no state can fix minimum wages. In theory, this should reduce inter-state disparities. However, the Code does not mandate that states must revise their minimum wages upward if their current rates slightly exceed the national floor. Many states already have minimum wages far higher than earlier floor-level recommendations; thus, unless the national floor is set ambitiously, something economists have long urged, it will have little meaning.

The Code also introduces a uniform definition of “wages”, attempting to address the inconsistencies across earlier laws. Critically, this definition includes basic pay and dearness allowance but excludes a list of allowances. If exclusions exceed 50% of total remuneration, the excess counts back into wages. While this aims to prevent employers from artificially restructuring wages to avoid statutory contributions, it remains complex in practice and will likely generate future litigation.

Moreover, enforcement has been significantly weakened. Earlier, workers could approach labour courts directly for wage-related grievances. The new system shifts much of the enforcement to inspectors-cum-facilitators and administrative mechanisms, reducing avenues for judicial redress. In a country where workers face stigma, fear, and lack of access to representation, administrative barriers often function as substantive barriers.

• Industrial Relations Code, 2020

The Industrial Relations (IR) Code arguably represents the most transformative and contentious reform. It combines the Trade Unions Act 1926, Industrial Disputes Act 1947, and Standing Orders Act 1946, governing everything from unionisation and dispute resolution to layoffs and closures.

The most controversial shift is the increase in the threshold for layoffs and closures from 100 to 300 workers. Units employing fewer than 300 workers no longer need prior government permission to terminate or retrench employees. This is not a minor change; it effectively removes a layer of job security for workers in medium-sized establishments, a sector which accounts for a large share of India’s organised workforce.

Proponents argue that rigid labour laws have suppressed the growth of labour-intensive industries, forcing firms to remain small to avoid crossing the regulatory threshold. They insist that increased flexibility will encourage larger hiring. But India’s own experience, and that of countries like Bangladesh and Vietnam, suggests that labour protections alone do not determine employment growth; infrastructure, productivity, skill development, and stable markets play a far more decisive role.

The IR Code also tightens procedures around strikes. The new rules require workers to provide extended notice in all industrial establishments, and prohibit strikes during conciliation proceedings and arbitration. Taken together, this significantly curtails the traditional bargaining power of unions. With union density already low in the private sector, critics argue that the Code further shifts the power imbalance in favour of employers.

The introduction of fixed-term employment — contracts with a defined duration but parity in benefits — adds another layer of flexibility. While it technically ensures equal benefits, the ability to not renew a contract provides employers a way to bypass protections against arbitrary dismissals. Without strong union presence or dispute-resolution mechanisms, many workers may experience heightened precarity.

• Code on Social Security, 2020

The Social Security Code replaces nine statutes, such as the Employees’ State Insurance Act, Provident Funds Act, Maternity Benefit Act and the Unorganised Workers’ Social Security Act, into one framework intended to extend welfare benefits across India’s vast workforce — including organised, unorganised, gig and platform workers.

The Code on Social Security puts in place suitable welfare arrangements for unorganised workers, like health and maternity benefits, education, etc. [Section 109(1)] as well as provident fund, gratuity, housing, old-age homes, funeral assistance, etc [Section 109 (2)]. However, it makes the registration of such unorganised workers, including gig workers, compulsory. Such registration is also subject to submission of the Aadhaar details of the workers under Section 113 (2)(1)-

shall make an application for registration in such form along with such documents including Aadhaar number as may be prescribed by the Central Government and such worker shall be assigned a distinguishable number to his application

Yet, recognition alone does not guarantee actual coverage. Registration under the Code requires Aadhaar-based identification, which has been criticised for excluding those without stable documentation, particularly migrant workers and those on the margins of the digital ecosystem. Several constitutional arguments have been raised against making Aadhaar a mandatory precondition for accessing statutory benefits, but the Code nevertheless embeds this requirement.

Moreover, the Code leaves most of the substantive welfare provisions to be framed through future schemes. This skeletal drafting has drawn criticism for shifting the real decision-making power from Parliament to the executive. Funding responsibilities between states and the Centre are vaguely articulated, leaving scope for jurisdictional friction and uneven implementation. Another issue arises for the gig workers. While the gig workers are a part of a larger subset of unorganised workers, the SSC 2020 lays down separate provisions for the gig workers, making the provisions applying to such workers confusing. Gig workers, in particular, are recognised as a category but remain non-employees in the eyes of the law.

• Occupational Safety, Health and Working Conditions Code, 2020

The OSH Code merges 13 different laws on factories, mines, construction, contract labour, inter-state migrant workers and more, aiming for uniform workplace safety standards. It increases formalisation by allowing a single registration for establishments working across sectors, and in principle extends certain safety and welfare protections to gig/platform workers as well. However, as with the Social Security Code, most operational details are delegated to subordinate rule-making.

One notable change is the relaxation of restrictions on women working at night. While framed as a progressive step toward gender equality, the Code requires that states ensure adequate safety conditions. Critics point out that without strong monitoring mechanisms, this provision could expose women to vulnerabilities in poorly regulated industries such as hospitality, manufacturing, and gig-based delivery. Moreover, the Occupational Safety and Health Code, 2020, while bringing together various labour laws, fails to incorporate specific measures to safeguard women from violence and harassment comprehensively.

The OSH Code also does not adequately address India’s longstanding compliance problems. The earlier Factories Act mandated facilities like crèches and sanitation, but enforcement remained abysmally weak. Merely codifying these rights in a consolidated law does not guarantee their realisation without institutional strengthening.

Do the New Labour Codes Strengthen Labour Rights?

The central claim of the Government is that legal consolidation promotes clarity, reduces duplication and enhances compliance. But the deeper question is whether this simplification translates into strengthened labour rights or whether it functions as an understated pathway to employer-centred deregulation. Across the Codes, several concerns persist:

Weakening of Unions and Collective Bargaining: The expanded notice requirements for strikes, and the constraints placed on union recognition and dispute resolution, have raised alarms about the shrinking space for collective bargaining. In a labour market already skewed in favour of employers, these restrictions deepen the imbalance.

Ease of Retrenchment: Raising the threshold for retrenchment permission to 300 workers enables employers to terminate workers more easily. Economic studies show that greater job insecurity often pushes workers into informal or precarious employment, undermining long-term industrial stability.

Ambiguous Social Security for Gig Workers: Recognition without rights creates a misleading sense of inclusion. Gig workers remain outside traditional employer-employee frameworks, and the Code does not mandate contributions that would secure pensions, provident funds or health insurance for them.

Dilution of Safety Standards: By shifting critical provisions to future rules, the OSH Code risks weakening existing protections — especially in sectors with historically high accident rates such as construction and mining.

Skeletal Legislative Frameworks:  All four Codes defer substantial amounts of lawmaking to delegated legislation. This centralises power in the executive and sidelines parliamentary oversight. Critics argue that this makes workers’ rights contingent on administrative discretion rather than statutory guarantees.

Constitutional Concerns: Questions arise under: Article 14 (differential treatment of workers based on establishment size, potentially arbitrary), Article 16 (fairness in employment procedures), Article 19(1) (c) (restrictions on forming associations and unions) and Article 21 (dignity and security of livelihood). While not necessarily unconstitutional, the Codes open space for litigation and judicial scrutiny.

Overlapping and Confusing Jurisdictions

The Delhi High Court on December 11, 2025, noted that The Industrial Relations Code, 2020, was brought in without repealing the previous 3 laws- Trade Unions Act, 1926, Industrial Disputes Act, 1947 and the Industrial Employment (Standing Order) Act, 1946. As reported in Bar and Bench.

There has also been a great deal of opposition from the labour unions with regard to the judicial recourse available to the working class. All cases pending in the Labour Courts and Industrial tribunals under the Industrial Disputes Act,1947 have now been transferred to special tribunals under the new code. These tribunals have, however, not yet been put in place. This raises much doubts on the effectiveness of these tribunals.

In terms of the jurisdiction, there is an overlap between the Centre and the State Governments. While the boundaries are clearly demarcated between the central and the state governments under Section 109(1) and Section 109(2) of the OSH Code, what it does not specify is the implementation authority. Another point of contention is that of the fund allocation between the states. Till the time these issues are clarified and sorted out, no progress of any sort could be made.

Challenges in Implementation

Even the best-designed labour laws fail without effective implementation — and here, the Codes face formidable challenges. One bigger question that comes is up:  how well the government has resources and infrastructure for the electronic registration of unorganised workers, gig workers, and platform employees.?  A report by Mehrotra and Sarkar in EPW also point out that the current OSH Code does not take into account the high proportion of unregistered establishments (67.7 percent) in the unorganised sector, instead stating that ‘every establishment to which the code applies’ must be registered.

A major concern is the transition from labour inspectors to “Inspector-cum-Facilitators”, which shifts the enforcement philosophy from deterrence to self-certification and advisory compliance. Critics argue that replacing surprise inspections with web-based randomised checks significantly dilutes state oversight, especially in sectors notorious for exploitation such as construction, textiles, and mining. This new framework assumes that employers will voluntarily comply with safety and welfare norms; an assumption that may not hold in an economy where informalisation is widespread and labour violations are systemic.

Migrant workers, who make up a large share of India’s workforce, face particular vulnerabilities under the new regime. While the Occupational Safety, Health and Working Conditions Code promises better registration and portability of benefits, the on-ground mechanisms required to operationalise these guarantees remain weak. The experience of the pandemic, when millions of migrant workers were left without income, shelter, or social protection, demonstrates the fragility of India’s labour governance system and raises serious questions about whether the Codes can be meaningfully enforced without substantial administrative strengthening.

Ultimately, the effectiveness of the Codes will depend not only on legislative intent but on the capacity of state labour departments, the willingness of employers to comply, and the ability of workers, especially those in informal and precarious sectors, to access grievance redressal mechanisms. Without significant investment in personnel, digital infrastructure, and awareness-building, the promise of simplification may translate into weaker protections and heightened precarity for millions of Indian workers.

Conclusion

The consolidation of labour laws into four comprehensive Codes was an enormous legislative undertaking, long recommended by commissions and economic advisors. Again, like the much-opposed erstwhile Farm laws (that were subsequently withdrawn because of intense agitation by India’s famer organisations (2020-2021), the Labour Codes have been brought in near unilaterally without effective debate, deliberations and discussions either with sake holder Worker’s Unions or Parliament. On paper, simplification seems beneficial. But simplification that simultaneously erodes substantive rights, weakens collective bargaining, and defers essential protections to executive rule-making demands scrutiny.

India’s economy does need labour reform. It needs modernisation, expanded social security, and flexible frameworks that encourage job creation. But reform must not come at the cost of workers’ security, dignity and constitutional rights.

Central to any step forward must remain the rights, welfare and accountability due to India’s marginalised workforce. While the Labour Codes attempt to position themselves as a new social contract for India’s workforce, several provisions remain vague. Most concerning is the push-back on a rights-based approach with constitutional provisions of judicial review to restricting redressal to tribunals etc. Finally, whether they become meaningful instruments of empowerment, or mechanisms that accelerate employer-centred deregulation, will depend on how the rules are drafted, how states implement them, and whether the opinions, concerns and voices of workers and unions are meaningfully included in shaping the next phase of India’s labour landscape.

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

Code on Wages may be read here:

Industrial Relations Code may be read here:

Code on Social Security may be read here:

Occupational Safety, Health and Working Conditions Code may be read here:

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