Article 370 and a Governor’s Interview

[Disclaimer: The author is one of the counsel challenging the effective abrogation of Article 370 in the batch of petitions pending before the Supreme Court. The long delay between the filing of the case (7th August, 2019) and the hearings (not yet concluded as of 16th April 2023) is the reason for departing from the general practice of not writing about sub-judice cases in which one has direct involvement.]


On 14 April, The Wire released an interview, conducted by the journalist Karan Thapar, with Satya Pal Malik. Among other things, Malik was the Governor of Jammu and Kashmir on August 5, 2019, when the effective abrogation of Article 370 took place. As discussed previously on this blog, the primary legal instrument through which this was enabled was Constitution Order 272, which – under the terms of Article 370 – was issued with the “concurrence” of the government of Jammu and Kashmir. As at the relevant time, J&K had been without an elected government (thanks to Article 356) for many months, the concurrence of the “government” meant, in effect, the concurrence of the governor – i.e., Satya Pal Malik.

From around 21’30” of the interview, Malik makes the claim that the relevant papers were sent to him on the night of August 4, and that he was told to have them passed by 11 AM the next morning (August 5). He goes on to suggest that he was simply informed that the papers needed his signature, and that he acted accordingly.

From a constitutional perspective, this raises a thorny question. One of the most basic principles underpinning the legal system is that actions taken by constitutional authorities must only be upon due application of mind, and that – in fact – demonstrable non-application of mind renders such decisions void. Furthermore, one of the key aspects in determining non-application of mind in a given case is the time that it takes between relevant material being presented to the decision-making authority, and their decision thereupon: there is, naturally, a direct relationship between the complexity of an issue/material, and the time it takes to “apply” one’s mind before coming to a decision.

The ex-Governor’s statements in the interview, therefore, raise a strong presumption that there was non-application of mind by at least one of the two constitutional functionaries whose consent was necessary to “amending” Article 370. Given that the principle of “double consent” – that any alteration to the status of J&K must have the consent of both the President (representing the centre) and the government of the state (in this case, the Governor, for reasons discussed above) – has always been a fundamental feature of the compact underlying Article 370, demonstrable non-application of mind would make G.O. 272 void ab initio.

What follows, in terms of adjudication? It is important to note that under our jurisprudence, courts are authorised to take into account facts that are notorious, and present in the public domain. The Governor’s statements clearly fall into that category. But that is not all. It is established that in rare cases, even in writ jurisdiction, the Court can summon government officials and arraign them as witnesses, subject to cross-examination. Indeed, in an election petition, a constitutional functionary no less than the President of India appeared before the Supreme Court, and was examined and cross-examined. Now, the present case clearly falls within that rare category where such a step is necessary: far-reaching alterations were made to the constitutional framework of India, and for making these changes, the principle of double-consent was necessary; now, it appears that the principle in question was violated. Whether or not it was actually violated is a question for evidence, and can only truly be determined if ex-Governor Satya Pal Malik takes the stand in the Article 370 case, and is subjected to cross-examination by the Petitioners’ lawyers.

That said, all of this remains very much in the realm of constitutional theory. The Article 370 case remains one of the starkest examples of the contemporary Supreme Court’s practice of judicial evasion: the abrogation took place on 5th August 2019, challenges were filed within 48 hours; almost four years have passed, there have been five Chief Justices in the intervening period, but the case has not been heard (other than on the limited point of reference); indeed (perhaps understandably) the Court appears to have no appetite to hear and decide the case, even though – egregiously – it has gone ahead and upheld delimitation exercises in J&K on the “assumption” that the abrogation was valid, thus further entrenching the existing, post-abrogation fait accompli on the ground. In such a situation, it is a pipe dream to imagine that the Court will even hear this case in the near future, let alone call the ex-Governor to the stand as a witness. And even if it does, who is to say that the Court’s hyper-deferential attitude towards the executive in such cases will not come to the fore again? After all, if a Constitution Bench of the Court could somehow manage to hold that the Reserve Bank of India had supermen and superwomen who had fully applied their minds in under 24 hours to the proposal for demonetisation, no doubt another Constitution Bench could equally well hold that the ex-Governor Satya Pal Malik is a superman who could fully apply his mind to C.O. 272 overnight. These are the realities of constitutional adjudication in India today, which must be taken into account.

That said, however, no matter the realities, the purpose of this blog is to examine issues within a background framework of what rigorous constitutional adjudication would look like. To use an analogy, the Governor’s actions are akin to VAR forgetting to draw the offside lines when reviewing a goal against Arsenal: it is a failure of necessary process (in both cases, failure to consider relevant materials necessary for a decision), which – in turn – poisons the outcome, both immediately and with repercussions extending further in time; and from that perspective, the ex-Governor’s interview casts serious doubt upon the constitutional validity of the effective abrogation of Article 370.

Guest Post: Reasonable Accommodation in the Hijab Case – A Double-Edged Sword

[This is a guest post by Chiranth Mukunda.]


Introduction

On March 3rd, the Supreme Court said that it would take a call to list the Karnataka Hijab case. Partly because of the frustration with the ERP test, which discounts agency, and partly because of the opportunity the case provides to develop the law on other constitutional grounds, a considerable amount of debate has shifted to Articles 14 and 15 (equality) and freedom of speech (Article 19), and away from Article 25.

Previously, on this blog, many authors have argued for adopting the principle of reasonable accommodation in support of their case for  allowing female Muslim students to wear hijab along with their uniform (see here, here, and here). These arguments tend to focus on the principle of reasonable accommodation in these scenarios:

  1. While applying proportionality as a limitation analysis for restricting symbolic expression i.e., to consider the reasonableness of the restriction under Article 19. This argument goes as follows: The necessity (third) prong of proportionality requires the state to adopt the least restrictive measure to achieve a legitimate goal. Therefore, if the hijab as a form of symbolic speech grounded in constitutional rights can be reasonably accommodated along with the uniform, the restriction will be disproportionate. (here)
  2. To make a case of indirect discrimination based on adverse effects (here). This goes as follows: the facially neutral policy of wearing a uniform has a disproportionate burden on female Muslim students, and the consequent failure to provide reasonable accommodation constitutes a case of indirect discrimination. What is important to highlight here is that indirect discrimination also involves proportionality analysis. Presently, disparate impact on a group can be justified if it is a proportionate means of achieving a legitimate aim, failure to establish this by the respondent makes a case of indirect discrimination.

In his split judgment, Dhulia J finds the situation in the hijab case analogous to the situation in the Bijoe Emmanuel case, which he considers a “guiding star which will show us the path laid down by the well-established principles of our Constitutional values, the path of understanding and tolerance, which we may also call as reasonable accommodation.” What is to be noted here is that reasonable accommodation is formulated as mere tolerance, a magnanimous concession from the majority, rather than a matter of right. This way of reasoning presupposes objectionable conduct (objection component) which is then to be balanced by the acceptance component i.e., the reasons to transcend the objection component, which are given by constitutional values. This is not a problem with the framing by the judge, but as I show below, it is inherent in the very concept of accommodation. Alternatively, as a matter of right, constitutional values negate the very first step of the conduct being considered objectionable.

Indian jurisprudence on reasonable accommodation is not fully developed, even in the cases of disability rights where it is explicitly applied as a principle, and its application to sex and religious discrimination cases is vague. In addition to its relative infancy in these areas, there is an inherent limitation to its application, more so when sex and religion are the subject matter than disability. It gets more complicated when sex and religion are entangled, as in the hijab case. I argue that, when discrimination is systematic and institutional, engrained in the system of domination, having temporary gains in the form of reasonable accommodation belies the transformative purpose of the non-discrimination guarantee.

In this essay, I will first, briefly set out the principle of reasonable accommodation as recognized by the Supreme Court; second, highlight the drawbacks of the principle by showing its assimilative tendencies; and third, consider its application along with the adverse effect claim and the consequent limitations of that line of enquiry.

The principle of reasonable accommodation: cuts both ways.

Recognition of the principle by the Supreme Court

    Sandra Fredman advocates for a multi-dimensional approach to substantive equality to liberate it from a formulistic approach. Each of these dimensions might be overlapping, but what it essentially does is to provide an “analytical framework” for achieving substantive equality. These four dimensions are:

    First, redressing disadvantage: it aims to break the cycle of disadvantage associated with status;

    Secondly, redressing stigma, stereotyping, and humiliation;

    Thirdly, the participative dimension: participation in society both socially and politically;

    Fourthly, accommodating difference and structural change; not exacting conformity as a price for equality.

    In the fourth dimension, structural change sits uneasily with accommodation. Rather than being complementary to each other, it is argued that the idea of accommodation hinders structural change. The accommodation principle has also been called the ‘difference approach’ for its link to the sameness/difference framework of formal equality. Also to be noted is the potential for ‘accommodation’ to negatively affect the second dimension by furthering stigma and stereotyping.

    In recent years, the Court has with increasing frequency opined that the general equality guarantee set out in Article 14 is not limited to formal equality, but is a  more substantive guarantee linked to remedying patterns of disadvantage for a group/class suffering systematic discrimination. In the NALSA case, the Supreme Court held that:

    …equality not only implies preventing discrimination (example, the protection of individuals against unfavorable treatment by introducing anti-discrimination laws) but goes beyond in remedying discrimination against groups suffering systematic discrimination in society. In concrete terms, it means embracing the notion of positive rights, affirmative action and reasonable accommodation.

    A similar concept was advanced in cases like Jeeja Gosh and Vikash Kumar, where the Supreme Court applied the principle of reasonable accommodation as a ‘substantive equality facilitator’. In the area of disability rights, “the concept of reasonable accommodation entails making necessary and appropriate modifications and adjustments so long as they do not impose a disproportionate or undue burden in a particular case to persons with disability.” (see here)

    What is implicit in the need for making appropriate modifications and adjustments is that in some situations it might be appropriate to retain the norm while making exceptions, and accommodating differences whenever the cases arise. Prof. Sandra Fredman gives an example that “when Sikhs are unable to wear a hard hat on a construction site because of their religious duty to wear a turban, the creation of an exception is preferable to the wholesale rejection of the rule” (see Canadian case Bhinder vs CN). In this scenario, it might be intuitively preferable to keep the norm while accommodating “difference”, but in complex scenarios where the norm itself needs to be challenged, the principle suffers from serious limitations. In such scenarios, to effectuate systematic change, it requires the wholesale rejection of the norm, rather than carving out exceptions. I will come to this point later in the piece.

    One size does not fit all

    While the principle of reasonable accommodation is explicitly recognized in cases dealing with disability rights, there is a cause for caution in applying the same principle in cases the of gender and religion in diverse societies because of its assimilative tendencies and capacity to reinforce stigma and stereotype. As Chandrachud J recognized in Vikash Singh, the principle of reasonable accommodation in disability rights is an individualized principle, and what is reasonable might require case-to-case analysis, because the extent of disability varies from individual to individual. What needs to be highlighted is that the same principle cannot be applied in all cases with different identities and contexts. Although the peculiarity of each individual case of disability might necessitate individual enquiry, this doesn’t imply structural change is unnecessary in other disability rights cases. Nevertheless, on balance individualized assessment in religion and gender cases has the potential to hinder structural change.

    Reasonable accommodation as ‘second class version of equality’

    The problem with this principle is inherent in the plain words ‘reasonable and ‘accommodation’. To start with, what does ‘reasonable’ mean? Does it mean some type of cost-benefit analysis? Or a proportionality/balancing approach? Chandrachud J in Vikash Singh observed:

    Reasonable accommodation demands departure from the status quo and hence ‘avoidable complications’ are inevitable. The relevant question is whether such accommodations would give rise to a disproportionate or undue burden.

    If this is the case, then the dignity of the individual is forsaken when the person’s right to equality in a substantive sense is subject to the burden that falls on a duty-bound person. If mere inconvenience to society can act as a cause to limit freedom, what is the worth of freedom anyway? Further, ‘accommodation’ implies that the power to define social interactions remains with the dominant group, while those who fall on the wrong side of it are burdened to challenge it. The likelihood of the challenge to succeed is contingent on accommodation being feasible for the other party. These lines by Brodsky and Day capture the essence of the exceptionalist aspect of reasonable accommodation:

    It does not challenge the imbalances of power, or the discourses of dominance, such as racism, able-bodyism and sexism, which result in a society being designed well for some and not for others. It allows those who consider themselves “normal” to continue to construct institutions and relations in their image, as long as others, when they challenge this construction are “accommodated… In short, accommodation is assimilationist.  Its goal is to try to make “different” people fit into existing systems.

    Essentially, the principle of reasonable accommodation entails that “powerful and the majority adapt their own rules and practices, within the limits of reason and short of undue hardship, to permit realization of these ends.” While the exclusive norm is a socially constructed barrier acting as a restraining factor with an unequal burden on disadvantaged classes; the ability to change this is dependent on the new norm not causing undue hardship to the powerful and majority.

    Another side of the same coin: a link to formal equality

    Catharine Mackinnon, in the context of gender discrimination, highlights the problems with reasonable accommodation. In the formal equality approach, there are two types: those who are ‘same’ and those who are ‘different’. It entails treating likes alike and making exceptions to those who are different. This sameness-difference framework implies that there is a dominant category that is normal, and those under it should be treated the same, while those who are relatively different from it are considered ‘abnormal’, a deviation from the norm. Thus, accommodations should be made to bring them close to the norm. She writes, “…man (the dominant norm) is the measure of all things…and our equality judged by our proximity to him.” Hence, by treating the status quo as standard and accepting its norms as neutral, reasonable accommodation does not challenge the dominant social structure but merely carves out exceptions in the language of “special privilege”. Therefore, substantive interpretation of the right to equality should avoid the language of special or preferential treatment, but reasonable accommodation does not seem far from taking us back to formal equality.

    Adverse effect and corresponding duty to accommodate: Limitations

    Indirect discrimination/adverse effect in the hijab case

      When a facially neutral policy or practice, in operation, adversely and disproportionately affects a protected group, a prima facie case of indirect discrimination is made out. The burden is on the respondent to prove that it is a proportionate means of achieving a legitimate aim. This implies that, under  the existing framework, indirect discrimination is justified or excused as opposed to direct discrimination on a protected ground, which needs an explicit statutory enabling provision (like 15(3)). What is important to note here is that whether the practice is directly or indirectly discriminatory has a substantial bearing on the line of enquiry, justifications offered, and the outcome of the case. It also determines the degree of oversight, deference, and seriousness with which the judge will look into the matter. Hence, it is important to configure the underlying basis of distinction.

      Let’s focus on the word ‘neutral. Because a particular practice or policy is neutral on its face and generally applicable, the form of the impugned measure is not challenged, but the effect of the policy is examined. But a deeper analysis will show that what is neutral is itself a product of structures and norms created by the majority. Institutionalized expression of these norms makes them looks like innocuous facts, but they are nothing but “generalized descriptions of those who are the dominant and traditional participants in a particular institution, and of the conditions that will best support them.”

      An example (like the one here, with modifications) will clarify the point. Suppose a school has a calendar specifying holidays throughout the year, which were originally based on the mainstream festivals of the dominant religion. Now the rule applies neutrally and equally to all students in the school who are made up of a diversity of faiths and beliefs. In this scenario, can we call the calendar neutral because of its general application? Now when this ‘neutral’ calendar conflicts with religious observances of non-dominant religions, this supposedly becomes a case of adverse effect discrimination and casts a duty on the school authorities to reasonably accommodate non-dominant faiths subject to undue burden. There is an additional caveat. Now suppose the school authorities oppose accommodation, citing secularism as a value to be upheld and reasoning that it is justified to not accommodate because, say, it may lower the morale of students in a secular institution (I do not consider the difference of positive and negative secularism here for the sake of simplicity). It’s hard to miss the irony here, as the original norm was itself a product of a traditionally dominant structure, whereas now minority groups are merely to be accommodated, short of causing undue hardship, which is now subject to secular values. Cultural life forms of the dominant group are in sync with the social structure, but those with distinct cultural identities and forms of life are disadvantaged in the same structure. Here, striking down the rule might be more appropriate than making minor exceptions in the form of reasonable accommodations.

      The point is that whether to strike down the rule causing adverse effects on a disadvantaged group or make accommodations is a choice that must be made. A rigid distinction between direct and indirect discrimination will offer remedies that are short on structural change and fail to reach the true goal of substantive equality, i.e., remedying structural disadvantage. The above-mentioned scenario might have struck a chord with its readers for its similarity with the situation in the hijab case. Simply put, the uniform was designed and implemented, ignoring the possibility of someone wearing a hijab going to the institution. Naturally then, it becomes a clear case of direct discrimination based on protected grounds. So, the broader point is that “neutral” rules are not as innocuous as they may seem, they conceal the seriousness of the violation behind a veil of neutrality.

      The shaky distinction between adverse effect and direct discrimination:

      In the landmark Canadian case of Meiorin, the Supreme Court of Canada held that:

       …the assumption that leaving an ostensibly neutral standard in place is appropriate so long as its adverse effects are felt only by a numerical minority is questionable: the standard itself is discriminatory because it treats some individuals differently from others on the basis of a prohibited ground, the size of the “affected group” is easily manipulable…

      Further, it held that the distinction between adverse effect discrimination and direct discrimination is unrealistic and leaves room for abuse. Seldom is the discrimination open, like “no female Muslim students here”. The court then considers the malleability of the distinction:

      … a rule requiring all workers to appear at work on Fridays or face dismissal may plausibly be characterized as either directly discriminatory (because it means that no workers whose religious beliefs preclude working on Fridays may be employed there) or as a neutral rule that merely has an adverse effect on a few individuals (those same workers whose religious beliefs prevent them from working on Fridays).

      Its reasoning was that-distinction between these two approaches “may serve to legitimize systemic discrimination” and give a standard drafted in neutral language “an undeserved cloak of legitimacy”; and on reasonable accommodation , the court opined:

      Although the Government may have a duty to accommodate an individual claimant, the practical result of the conventional analysis is that the complex web of seemingly neutral, systemic barriers to traditionally male-dominated occupations remain beyond the direct reach of the law. The right to be free from discrimination is reduced to a question of whether the “mainstream” can afford to confer proper treatment on those adversely affected, within the confines of its existing formal standard. If it cannot, the edifice of systemic discrimination receives the law’s approval. This cannot be right.

      The court, then adopted a uniform approach to both direct and indirect discrimination because it considered that the “classification ill-serves the purpose of contemporary human rights legislation.”

      Before this judgment by the Canadian Supreme Court, direct discrimination had a higher standard of review, which required the impugned measure to be “reasonably necessary” to the stated legitimate goal, whereas indirect discrimination merely required rationality review. Since Meiroin, the distinction between direct and indirect discrimination in Canada has no practical utility since the same analytical framework applies to both types of discrimination. Contrast this with India, where the place of indirect discrimination itself is still unclear. Some have located it in the manifest arbitrariness test or in the classification test of Article 14, while others have suggested that Article 15 challenge can include both direct and indirect discrimination. A judicial resolution of this dilemma is needed because Article 15(1) is of the nature of constitutional prohibition, whereas Article 14 involves an analysis of reasonableness.

      Nevertheless, the purpose of the above discussion was to show that an artificial distinction between direct and indirect discrimination solely based on neutrality or general applicability of the standard needs to be reconsidered, because it gives undue legitimacy to the rule causing an adverse effect on protected grounds.

      Indirect discrimination and accommodation: eschewing exceptionalist remedies.

      Considering all the above-mentioned points, if the court frames the issue as one of adverse effects, it is more likely that the rule will stay, and accommodation, subject to reasonableness will be added. Considering this, Joan Williams in this paper explains how the standard structure of wage labour is male centric, structured without taking into account childcare activities, which are disproportionately done by women i.e., an ideal worker is defined as someone who follows a male pattern of life. Women are predominantly disadvantaged in this structure, they may either choose part-time work or a lower-paying job with relatively lesser benefits. One way to remedy this is to recognize the disparity in childcare responsibilities and afford special protections to women who are burdened as a result as a result of unequal childcare responsibilities. This will be hailed as a substantive equality measure which has taken account of social realities. This way, the structure of male-centric wage labor remains, but those who are disadvantaged are going to be ‘accommodated’. This is what Williams argues against.

      She makes a case for protecting not only women but “anyone who has eschewed ideal worker status to fulfil child-care responsibilities.” The measure should be sex-neutral, not gender-neutral. (see here, for more) This type of remedy avoids exceptionalist measures, while still being grounded on social realities. This way, the problem faced in the South African Constitutional Court case of Hugo can be overcome. Hence, meaningful change requires changing the entire structure of ideal wage labour, and not simply making accommodations.

      Thus, the accommodation approach has the potential to reinforce existing presumptions about what is considered ‘normal’. In the Nitisha judgment, Chandrachud J opined:

      The duty of constitutional courts, when confronted with such a scheme of things, would not just be to strike down the discriminatory practices and compensate for the harm hitherto arising out of   them, but also structure adequate reliefs and remedies that facilitate social re- distribution by providing for positive entitlements that aim to negate the scope of future harm.

      Evidently, reasonable accommodation fails to meet this criterion of substantive equality. If ‘social redistribution’ that ‘negate[s] the scope of future harm’ is what substantive equality seeks to achieve, using the means of individualized principle like reasonable accommodation in gender and religious discrimination cases is inadequate for the stated purpose.

      Conclusion

      In cases of adverse effects or indirect discrimination, the duty to reasonably accommodate, in the nature of an exception, is less of a duty than a way to escape liability. If the transformative purpose of our Constitution is to be achieved, we need to make the concept of ‘inclusiveness’ central to our approach while remedying class/group disadvantage. Inclusiveness does not only demand that ‘difference’ to be accommodated but also mandates dismantling existing social hierarchical norms and to deinstitutionalize ‘difference’. This does not mean non-recognition of ‘difference’ but would rather mean eliminating the unfavorable social consequences attached to the ‘difference’ by reducing the role ‘difference’ plays in organizing social life.

      Altogether, the principle of reasonable accommodation is innocent in its foundation. It seeks to achieve inclusiveness, but it should be noted that it is not inclusive enough. Proponents of substantive equality should be wary of ad hoc approaches like reasonable accommodation while what is needed is a fundamental shift. As Brodsky and Day note, “…minority rights version of accommodation does not require the powerful and the majority to work with others, on an equal footing, to devise new rules and practices that will better serve all the groups in a diverse population.” Treating disadvantaged groups as equals requires abandoning the language of special treatment/privilege and looking for genuine equality.

      To sum up, the distinction between direct and indirect discrimination in the hijab case should be reconsidered; adverse effect discrimination should not preclude considering the legitimacy of the rule; the choice to strike down the rule or apply the principle of reasonable accommodation should be dependent on the context, identity of the affected parties, and the nature of the rule; the numerical strength of those affected by an apparently neutral standard, whether a single person or a group, should be irrelevant when considering the decision to strike down the rule or allow it to stand, as long as discrimination is made out on a protected ground(s).

      Guest Post: The Ambiguous Case of a Disqualified MP

      [This is a guest post by Chiranth Mukunda.]


      On March 23, the court of the chief judicial magistrate in the district of Surat passed an order convicting Wayanad MP Rahul Gandhi in a defamation case under sections 499 and 500 with a sentence of 2 years, which is the maximum sentence under the law for criminal defamation. The judgment has been criticized for getting defamation law 101 wrong, and has once again brought to fore the concerns regarding the chilling effect, that the presence of an archaic criminal defamation offence in the statute books, has on free speech (in this scenario, political speech). Nonetheless, the important aspect that has caught everybody’s attention is the status of Rahul Gandhi as an MP, as the law mandates disqualification of a member after being convicted of an offence with a sentence of 2 years or more.

       My purpose in this piece is to draw out the principles governing disqualifications with the help of knotty case law. More importantly, this essay will show the inconsistencies in the existing practice and highlight the flaw in the much-celebrated Lily Thomas judgment, which I argue, is the cause for the present uncertainty regarding disqualifications.

      Background

      Disqualifications for membership of either house of parliament are laid down under Article 102 of the constitution. Analogous provision exists for the state legislatures under article 191. Article 102(e) gives the power to the parliament to lay down additional disqualifications by law. In exercise of the power under the above provisions, the parliament under chapter III of the Representation of the People Act, 1951(RPA), lists out the disqualifications for membership of Parliament and State Legislatures. Section 8 of the RPA lays down the criteria for disqualification for certain offences. Section 8(3) reads:

       A person convicted of any offence and sentenced to imprisonment for not less than two years [other than any offence referred to in sub-section (1) or sub-section (2)] shall be disqualified from the date of such conviction and shall continue to be disqualified for a further period of six years since his release.

      In the famous Lily Thomas case (2013), a two-judge bench of the supreme court struck down section 8(4) of the said act for going above the mandate given to the parliament by the constitution to frame laws for disqualification. Section 8(4) provided that the disqualification of a sitting member of parliament or state legislature shall not take effect till three months from the date of conviction; additionally, if the member files an appeal or revision with respect to conviction or sentence within those three months, the disqualification shall not take effect till the appeal is disposed of. Its reasoning was that: the Constitution mandates same disqualifications for person to be chosen as a member of Parliament or a State Legislature and for a sitting member of a House of Parliament or a House of a State Legislature. Therefore, the immunity given to sitting members for three months was held ultra vires the constitution. After the Lily Thomas judgment, a sitting member of the house faces immediate disqualification from the date of conviction if it falls under any sub-sections of section 8.

      Precedent at Play

      On March 23, the Surat court sentenced Rahul Gandhi to 2 years and stayed the operation of the sentence for a month. His case falls under section 8(3) of the act and, hence, he faces immediate disqualification by virtue of the Lily Thomas judgment. On March 24, the Lok Sabha secretariat issued a notification declaring the disqualification of the MP from Wayanad and referring to Mr. Gandhi as ex-MP. It is important to note here that a member’s disqualification takes effect from the date of conviction and not from the date of notification.

      Lily Thomas held that disqualification is immediate and automatic after the conviction and operates from the date of conviction. A contention was raised in the case that if a sitting member of the parliament or the state legislature suffers a frivolous conviction, the member would then be without remedies, as he would stand to be disqualified from the date of conviction. The court responded (para 21) that under section 389(1) of the CrPC, the appellate court can stay the order of conviction in addition to staying the execution of sentence arising out of the conviction by relying on the judgments of Rama Narang, Ravikant S. Patil and Navjot Singh Sidhu. As explained in Ravikant Patil, when only the execution of the sentence is stayed, the conviction continues to operate, and as a result, disqualification continues to operate, whereas when the order of conviction itself is stayed by the appellate court, disqualification arising out the conviction ceases to operate. However, the important distinction the court missed was that in the cases of Ravikant.S.Patil and Navjot Singh Sidhu, appellants were disqualified from contesting elections, while the concern in the present case was related to a sitting member of the house being disqualified.

      This misunderstanding has great impact on the exposition of the case law, which will be highlighted later in this essay. Nonetheless, the Lily Thomas judgment endorsed the view of Ravikant.S. Patil and held that:

      Therefore, the disqualification under sub-section (1), (2) or (3) of Section 8 of the Act will not operate from the date of order of stay of conviction passed by the Appellate Court under Section 389 of the Code or the High Court under Section 482 of the Code.

      The same was echoed by a three-bench judgment in Lok Prahari (2018). The said bench considered the law to be well settled in the matter of granting a stay on the order of conviction. It held that the power to stay the conviction is an exception and must be resorted to only when the appellate court is aware of the consequences which will ensue if the conviction is not to be stayed. Both judgments were categorical in holding that the disqualification ceases to operate from the date of order on the stay of the conviction.

      The significant question now is whether the order granting a stay on conviction takes effect retrospectively or operates only prospectively. The judgments are ambiguous on this aspect. For this, we must consider the consequences of the disqualification and the effect that an order granting stay of conviction has on the status of a disqualified legislator.

      From March 23, Mr. Gandhi is disqualified to continue to be a member of the parliament and, further, disqualified from contesting elections for six years after sentence is served. As Mr. Gandhi has appealed the judgment of the Surat Court and asked for a stay of conviction under section 389 CrPC, the consequences arising out of the stay of conviction are puzzling. The question is whether the stay of conviction granted by the appellate court, other than removing the disqualification arising out of the conviction, also reinstates the member to the house or allows him to continue as a MP, as if disqualification never happened.

      In Lok Prahari, the Supreme Court held that:

      As the decision in Lily Thomas has clarified, a stay of the conviction would relieve the individual from suffering the consequence inter alia of a disqualification relatable to the provisions of sub-sections 1, 2 and 3 of Section 8.

      Notably, Lily Thomas held that the disqualification would not operate from the date of the stay order on conviction. Applying this principle to the case at hand, since Rahul Gandhi is already disqualified as an MP, the stay order will have the effect of removing the disqualification from the date of the stay order, which is after him being disqualified as an MP. In this case, what the stay order of conviction will effectively do is to remove the disability arising out of disqualification. That means he will not be disqualified from contesting the by-elections or subsequent elections. The question of returning to his previous status of a MP was not envisaged by granting the stay on the order of conviction. This can only be done if “suffering the consequences” of disqualification includes losing the MP status, in addition to not being able to contest elections for the disqualified period. This reading suffers from a difficulty, because Lily Thomas never envisaged disqualification as to be tentative, until an order of stay on conviction was granted; rather, it was explicit in finding that disqualification is immediate upon conviction.

      Interestingly, the five-judge bench in K.Prabakaran vs P.Jayarajan, which was binding on the Lily Thomas bench, held that the judgment of the appellate court will not have the effect of wiping out the disqualification arising out of the conviction. The court then overruled Mani Lal and Vidya Charan Shukla. The facts of the Mani Lal case are important to understand the consequences of its overruling.

      Briefly, Pramai Lal filed his nominations, after filling his nominations, he was convicted in a criminal case with a sentence exceeding two years and faced disqualification. Subsequently, he appealed against his conviction. While his appeal was still pending, he won the election. His rival Mani Lal filled an election petition challenging Parmai Lal’s election. Subsequently, Pramai Lal was acquitted, and his sentence and conviction were set aside. The election petition was decided after Pramai Lal was acquitted. In this judgment, the court ruled that acquittal in a criminal case has the effect of retrospectively wiping out the conviction and the sentence awarded by the lower court, thereby retrospectively wiping out the disqualifications. Effectively, the appellate court judgment created a legal fiction that disqualification never existed at the time of election. This was relied on in Vidya Charan Shukla. This principle was partially overruled in B R Kapur:

      There can be no doubt that in a criminal case acquittal in appeal takes effect retrospectively and wipes out the sentence awarded by the lower court. This implies that the stigma attached to the conviction and the rigour of the sentence are completely obliterated, but that does not mean that the fact of the conviction and sentence by the lower court is obliterated until the conviction and sentence are set aside by an appellate court. The conviction and sentence stand pending the decision in the appeal and for the purposes of a provision such as Section 8 of the Representation of the People Act are determinative of the disqualifications provided for therein.

      The five-judge bench judgment in K. Prabakaran following BR Kapur, overruled both these judgments and held that:

      …an appellate judgment of a date subsequent to the date of nomination or election (as the case may be) and having a bearing on conviction of a candidate or sentence of imprisonment passed on him would not have the effect of wiping out disqualification from a back date if a person consequent upon his conviction for any offence and sentenced to imprisonment for not less than two years was actually and as a fact disqualified from filing nomination and contesting the election on the date of nomination or election (as the case may be..

      Essentially, the principle that emerges from these cases is that the subsequent judgment of the appellate court staying the conviction or reducing the sentence to less than 2 years, does not act retrospectively to have the effect of nullifying the disqualification from the date of conviction. Does this mean that once a member is convicted of an offence, however frivolous the case may be, the member stands to lose his MP status irrespective of whether  appellate court grants a stay on conviction?

      Lily Thomas: A customized jigsaw puzzle

      While replying to the charge that a sitting member will be remediless in case of a frivolous conviction, the court’s opinion on remedy in Lily Thomas and Lok Prahari was a stay on order of conviction under section 389(1) of CrPC. This position is counter intuitive. On the one hand, the court held that disqualification of the member is immediate upon conviction; on the other hand, disqualification ceases to operate from the date of stay order on conviction. While the court accepted a stay order as a remedy for sitting legislators against frivolous convictions, it seems to be assuming that the stay order will act retrospectively because the only way it can be a remedy is if it acts retrospectively. But the same judgment held that disqualification ceases to operate only from the date of stay order, which is in line with previous binding judgments holding that judgments of appellate court does not have a retrospective effect of wiping out a disqualification from the beginning. The court in Lily Thomas seems to hold on to these mutually irreconcilable positions and the judgment in Lok Prahari does not clarify these points but merely restates the position of Lily Thomas.

      Hence, if it is to be accepted as held in Lily Thomas and Lok Prahari that the disqualification of sitting member ceases to operate from the date of stay order of conviction, it remains unanswered whether disqualified sitting members’ position as an MLA or MP gets reinstated. If the disqualified sitting member is reinstated to her previous position as an MP or an MLA, this effectively will imply that the appellate court’s judgment has a retrospective effect on disqualification, removing the disqualification at its bud and creating a legal fiction that disqualification never existed. This runs directly contradictory to the position held in BR Kapur, K. Prabhakaran and even confusingly endorsed by the Lily Thomas bench, that the appellate court’s judgment has only a prospective effect on disqualification.

      The flaw in Lily Thomas

      By the virtue of section 8(4) being struck down by the court, the position of a sitting member of the parliament and state legislatures and person contesting elections, with regard to the matter of disqualification is the same. What is different is the effect of disqualification. Suppose X wants to contest an election, and Y is already a member of the house. Both are charged with an offence, with the sentence exceeding two years and stand to be disqualified immediately from the date of conviction as per section 8(3). While X is disqualified from contesting elections, Y is disqualified from continuing as a member of the house. Now suppose the appellate court, considering the matter as extraordinary, stays the order of convictions of both X and Y under 389(1) of the CrPC. Disqualifications will cease to operate from the date of order of stay of conviction for both X and Y. By the virtue of the appellate court’s judgment, X is restored to his previous position as he is now able to contest elections, but Y is disqualified as an MP from the date of conviction, and to reinstate his status as member of the house will contradict its own position and previous judgments that a stay on the order of conviction or the acquittal of the person, operates only prospectively. Hence, even though the disqualifications are the same for both X and Y, the stay on order of conviction operates differently on X and Y by imposing a greater burden on Y, for he must fight a re-election as per existing judgments. The court ignored this distinction and erroneously held that a stay order on conviction is enough to remedy baseless and frivolous convictions, and the resulting disqualification of a sitting legislator.

      Concluding Observations

      In sum, these are the principles that arise out of the readings of these cases. The judgment of appellate court removes the disability arising out of disqualification from the date of its order granting stay or reducing the sentence (three-judge bench judgments: Ravikant Patil (2007), Rama Narang (1995), Lok Prahari (2018)). Accordingly, this can benefit only those who were disqualified from contesting elections and not existing members of the legislature, since disqualification operates from the date of conviction, and a subsequent judgment of the appellate court granting a stay on the order of conviction will cease the operation of the disqualification only from the date of order of the appellate court. The subsequent judgment of the appellate court does not have a retrospective application with the effect of removing the disqualification from the date of conviction (five-judge bench judgments: K Prabhakaran (2005), B.R Kapur (2001)). However, the judgments in Lok Prahari and Lily Thomas muddies the waters of these principles regarding disqualification of a sitting member.

      Moving ahead

      Ultimately, as a result of the inconsistencies in legal interpretations of disqualification provisions, much is left to the unguided discretion of the speaker or the chairman of the house, who may or may not decide to reinstate the member after the stay on conviction, since both positions can be supported by selective references to the precedent. The Election Commission is also left with considerable discretion, as an early announcement of the by-election to the vacant seat after the conviction may cause the disqualified member to permanently lose her seat. This is because, what is the legally relevant is the date of filing the nomination papers (K.Prabakaran). If a member fails to obtain a stay on conviction before the date of filling the nomination papers for the by-election, a subsequent stay on conviction of the disqualified member would not change the results of the elections, as clearly held in K.Prabakaran. This once again underscores the importance of an independent Election Commission. In this context, a writ petition which was filed recently gains significance The petition challenged constitutional validity of section 8(3) of RPA 1951, as it is interpreted to mean automatic disqualification of MPs and MLAs. This provides the Supreme court with an opportunity to clarify these important points regarding disqualification appropriately, as it strikes at the heart of representation.

      Guest Post: Content Moderation and Speech Censorship – The Latest IT Amendment Rules

      [This is a guest post by Ashwin Vardarajan.]


      The Union Government, on April 6, 2023, promulgated certain amendments to the Information Technology (Intermediary Guidelines and Digital Media Ethics Code) Rules, 2021 (“IT Rules”), a piece of delegated legislation under the Information Technology Act, 2000 (“Act”). Through these amendments, inter alia, social media intermediaries (“SMI”) (such as Twitter, Facebook etc.) are now obligated under Rule 3(1)(b)(v) of the IT Rules to inform their users, through internal rules, regulations and other policies, to not ‘host, display, upload, modify, publish, transmit, store, update or share any information’ which is ‘identified as fake or false or misleading by [a] fact check unit of the Central Government’ in respect of ‘any business of’ the Union Government (“Amendment”).

      In a situation where SMIs fail to carry out this obligation, they will be exposed to potentially losing their immunity from any civil or criminal liability as intermediaries for any third-party content hosted on their platforms. This situation arises due to the legislative framework manifested in the IT Rules. Section 79 of the Act reads that intermediaries are immune from hosting third-party data, information, or communication, provided that they observe ‘due diligence while discharging [their] duties’ under the Act – which are provided under the IT Rules. If an intermediary fails to do so, then the immunity from any liability under Section 79 will not extend to such a person. This is also reiterated under Rule 7 of the IT Rules. This development raises some important questions of constitutional law, which shall be discussed in this essay.

      By way of the Amendment to Rule 3(1)(b)(v), the Union Government now possesses the authority to necessitate SMIs carry out the due-diligence and moderate information and communications of third-parties on their platforms (unless they wish to lose their immunity under Section 79) in accordance with the version of events circulated by a ‘fact check unit’ of the Union Government. However, it is not clear under the IT Rules how this would be achieved. One possible way of doing so, inevitably, would be to censor the content which is contrary to the fact-checked version of the Government. This is so because Rule 3(1)(b)(v) requires a SMI ‘to cause the user’ to not host certain kinds of information. ‘To cause’ means to produce a positive effect towards the achievement of a desired result (per Black’s Law Dictionary (Bryan Garner Ed., 2009), at 250). Another way to do so would be to flag content as deceptive or incorrect for the benefit of other users accessing such content (the way, for example, Twitter’s manipulative media policy ostensibly operates). Therefore, the visible objective of Amendment to Rule 3(1)(b)(v) is to mandate SMIs to moderate content by not allowing users – or, at least, disincentivising them – to communicate information which is contrary to the Government’s version of events in respect of its business.

      In this regard, the United States’ Fourth Circuit Court’s decision in Zeran v. America Online, Inc. (1997) is important in the context of Section 230 of the Communication Decency Act (which Section 79 of the Act is based on). In this case, the appellant filed a lawsuit of defamation against America Online, Inc.’s (“AOL”) website for third-party content circulated on its website. While dismissing the appeal, the Court observed that the purpose of Section 230 (which granted AOL immunity for third-party content) was to catalyse the dissemination of diverse speech on the internet, and that the imposition of any liability on the intermediary would be ‘simply another form of intrusive government regulation of speech.’ It further noted that an intermediary, if at the risk of incurring any kind of liability or losing its legal immunity, is de facto bound to ‘severely restrict the number and type of messages posted’. In addition, it is but natural for the Government to only impose its version of the truth which is otherwise unsuitable for the ruling political dispensation. Therefore, while immunity under Section 79, as opposed to Section 230 of the CDA, is explicitly subject to ‘due diligence’ conditions, the implications of introducing a ‘fact check’ mechanism under Rule 3(1)(b)(v) are clearly stated in Zeran: the problem becomes one of the State exercising a Heckler’s veto, and causing a chilling effect on freedom of speech, at its convenience.

      Understood this way, the Amendment prima facie espouses a chilling effect on speech being disseminated on SMI platforms. The validity of the Amendment to Rule 3(1)(b)(v) would, therefore, have to be judged on the anvil of Article 19(1)(a) of the Constitution of India. While Article 19(1)(a) guarantees simply the right to freedom of speech and expression, decisions of various courts have expanded its purview beyond the provision’s language. Decisions of the High Courts of Delhi (Srishti School (2011)) and Bombay (Anand Patwardhan (1996)) have rejected the idea of the State possessing monopoly over the ‘true’ portrayal of an event. Building on the ideas of J.S. Mill (here), Justice Muralidhar presciently noted in Srishti that the ‘right of the viewer to think autonomously while reacting […], and to make informed choices, without being controlled by the State, also constitutes an integral part of the freedom of speech and expression’. As Gautam Bhatia has demonstrated elsewhere, these decisions showcase a distaste towards legal paternalism and the State’s ability to deem its version of the truth as the universal truth(Offend, Shock, or Disturb (2016), at 34).

      However, Srishti and Patwardhan concerned a direct lis between the State and its citizens, and did not involve a private intermediary moderating content at the directions of the State. It is yet only speculative how SMIs will eventually promote the Government’s version of events over others circulating online. Moreover, the ‘chilling effect’ doctrine’s application too seems a difficult at this point. In Anuradha Basin v. Union of India (2020), one of the petitioner’s newspaper could not be circulated owing to internet shutdowns in Jammu and Kashmir. Accordingly, they sought for the Supreme Court to declare such shutdowns as unconstitutional, in violation of Article 19(1)(a). While the Court accepted the ‘chilling effect’ test as applicable under Article 19(1)(a), the question of what standard must be applied to test such regulations on speech was left open for discussion in a future case. Further, the Court had also held that constitutionally testing the chilling effect of a regulation cannot be ‘purely speculative, unless evidence is brought before the Court to enable it to give a clear finding’. Therefore, for now, in the absence of evidence to showcase the Amendment’s actual impact on free speech, any conclusion as to its constitutional validity is practically difficult to arrive at, even though it may seem prima facie unconstitutional.

      The issues posed by the Amendment are a unique legal development. Indian courts have not yet substantively dealt with legal cases where online speech of private citizens is sought to be controlled by the Government by obligating intermediaries to carry out the ‘due diligence’ of moderating content online in accordance with the Government’s version of the truth. As opposed to much more explicit guarantees of free speech against the moderation by non-state actors (such as Article 13(3) of the American Convention on Human Rights), Article 19(1)(a) of the Constitution does not provide any immediate answers of how valid such (indirect) censorships or chilling effect on speech may be. If and when the Amendment is challenged eventually in courts, the relationship between social media platforms, their users, and the State’s power to insinuate its authority over the citizen’s right to freedom of speech and the prevailing version of truth will be further shaped.

      “Jumping into a pit of fire with your eyes closed”: Proportionality, Sealed Covers, and the Supreme Court’s Media One Judgment

      In early 2022, this blog had covered the travails of the MediaOne TV channel in battling a government ban before the High Court of Kerala. The judgments of the single judge and division bench of the High Court – both of which upheld the government’s ban on the TV channel – had seen two of the most egregious instances of “sealed cover” jurisprudence in Indian courtrooms. MediaOne had been banned without being informed why and without a hearing. When it challenged the ban in court, it was unable to argue its case because the government claimed – and the court indulged it – “national security”, and submitted material in a “sealed cover.” Things reached a truly farcical pass when the division bench perused the material in the sealed cover, openly admitted in its judgment that the impact on national security was not “discernible”, but went ahead and upheld the ban anyway.

      A measure of sanity prevailed in the Supreme Court, when the ban was stayed while the Court heard the matter at length. And sanity was restored (at least in this case!) today, when the Supreme Court delivered its judgment striking down the ban on both substantive and procedural grounds.

      As the sealed cover played so important a part in proceedings before the High Court, the division bench of the Supreme Court – Chandrachud CJI and Hima Kohli J – spends a substantive part of its judgment on this issue. As anyone following this blog would know, sealed cover jurisprudence has become something of an epidemic in Indian courts in recent times, especially in civil rights cases: challenges to civil rights violations are routinely knocked back because the government claims – and the court indulges it – “national security”, and submits material in sealed covers. Frequently, when an organisation is banned under the Unlawful Activities Prevention Act [“UAPA”], and invokes the statutory procedure of challenging the ban before a UAPA Tribunal, the State produces “evidence” in a sealed cover, which even the banned organisations lawyers are not allowed to see, thus making any meaningful defence a non-starter. The “sealed cover” is thus used by the State in two distinct kinds of civil rights proceedings: first, when it has banned, censored, or otherwise punitively acted against someone, and invokes the sealed cover so that that person cannot defend themselves; and secondly, when someone challenges state action for a rights violation, but to make good their challenge, requires information in the possession of the State.

      In today’s judgment, the Supreme Court articulates a set of principles that will, ostensibly, apply to both sets of situations. Before examining what, precisely, the judgment holds in that regard, it is important to note the overarching principles that the Court sets out. Naturally, the refusal to disclose evidence on grounds of national security violates an individual’s due process rights under Article 21. Chandrachud J. holds that, much like a substantive violation of Article 21 must be adjudicated on the touchstone of the four-pronged proportionality standard, the violation of constitutional procedural rights must also be adjudicated with regard to the proportionality standard (paragraph 51). Importantly, this applies not simply to the question of the sealed cover, but to principles of natural justice generally, including the right to a hearing and to a reasoned order; indeed, in this case, the State was unable to justify why it refused a hearing to MediaOne, and why it did not provide a reasoned order (paragraph 57). The explicit application of proportionality to the denial of the principles of natural justice is an important development, and I will leave it to my administrative law colleagues to parse the implications in greater detail. I will, here, note that the Court’s analysis of the values underlying principles of open justice repays close study (paragraphs 53-61).

      Let us pause here for a quick recap of the proportionality test. The test has four prongs. A rights-infringing measure – to be justified – must (a) have a legitimate aim, (b) the measure must be suitable for achieving that aim; (c) it must be the least restrictive alternative (‘necessity’) available; and (d) there must be a balance between the extent of the restriction and the importance of the goal (proportionality stricto sensu). As an example, if referee Paul Tierney shows a red card to Leandro Trossard for questioning his decision not to award a penalty for a blatant handball by Virgil Van Dijk in the box – as he has been bribed by agents from Manchester – then that decision fails the proportionality test, and – in an ideal world – would be reviewed and set aside.

      Back to the case. Having established that MediaOne’s right to a fair hearing was breached, the Court turns to the question of justification. The Union of India – and indeed, the High Court – had argued that the Supreme Court’s prior judgments in Ex-Armymen’s Protection Services and Digi Cable Network essentially shut out any scope for the principles of natural justice once national security was claimed. Chandrachud J. notes, however, that this is a misreading of the two cases: there may, on occasion, be less scope for the application of natural justice in national security cases, but there is no blanket exclusion (paragraph 74). This then raises the question: on what legal basis is the denial of natural justice to be adjudicated? In paragraph 75, Chandrachud J. answers it thus:

      The mere involvement of issues concerning national security would not preclude the state’s duty to act fairly. If the State discards its duty to act fairly, then it must be justified before the court on the facts of the case. Firstly, the State must satisfy the Court that national security concerns are involved. Secondly, the State must satisfy the court that an abrogation of the principle(s) of natural justice is justified. These two standards that have emerged from the jurisprudence abroad resemble the proportionality standard. The first test resembles the legitimate aim prong, and the second test of justification resembles the necessity and the balancing prongs. 

      Now, it follows that national security is a “legitimate aim” (although – Chandrachud J. is careful to note – it does not follow that all reports of investigative agencies are always confidential, especially given the vastly expanded role that investigative agencies play in society today (paragraph 81). Indeed, in this case, the Court finds that the materials on the basis of which the Intelligence Bureau recommended denial of security clearance to MediaOne were already in the public domain (paragraph 98 – 99), and that therefore, even on the most deferential standard of review, no reasonable person could come to the conclusion that non-disclosure of this material would prejudice national security.

      However, assuming that the legitimate goal of national security was indeed in play, the Court then comes to stage 2 of the proportionality test – the suitability/rational connection stage. Here the Court finds that while the State may validly resist complete disclosure by claiming a rational nexus with the legitimate goal, it cannot – at the very least – deny to the affected individual a summary of the reasons why their rights are being restricted (paragraph 102).

      We now come to the crucial part of the analysis, which is the stage of the “least restrictive alternative” (step 3 of the proportionality test). Here, the Court marshals a range of alternatives that various jurisdictions apply, when faced with the question of non-disclosure of certain evidence on grounds of national security. First, a Court could simply wash its hands of the issue, and hold that a claim of national security places an issue outside the pale of judicial review (for example, in the MediaOne case, once a claim of national security was made, the ban could not be reviewed on that ground, period); secondly, the Court could engage in a “closed material procedure”, which is akin to sealed cover evidence, with one crucial distinction: in a “closed material procedure”, a “special advocate” is appointed on behalf of the affected individual, and this special advocate has access to the non-disclosed material; and thirdly, the Court could engage in a “public interest immunity” proceeding, where the material in question is struck off the record altogether – that is, neither party can rely on it, and nor can the court. Chandrachud J. arranges these alternatives in a descending order of how severely they impact natural justice, with declining judicial review the greatest restriction, and public interest immunity proceedings the least restrictive (relatively) (paragraph 113).

      The Court then goes into how – specifically – public interest immunity has been applied in India and in comparative jurisdictions. Chandrachud J. notes that a public interest immunity claim is subject to judicial review; that the extent of scrutiny would depend on various factors, such as the injury caused by non-disclosure, the class of materials involved, the burden of proof, and evidentiary requirements; in particular, where non-disclosure impacts not just the parties, but has broader ramifications for open government and constitutional governance, the degree of scrutiny would be higher; and once injury is proven, proportionality is deployed (paragraph 133).

      Now, at this stage, proportionality is being deployed for a dizzying variety of purposes, so it is important to take a step back. At the macro level, at this point of the judgment, we are presently in the third stage of the proportionality test as applied to the denial of natural justice to an individual, affecting their procedural rights under Article 21. That is, the Court is considering – and elaborating upon – the various, less restrictive alternatives to a sealed cover, in dealing with claims of non-disclosure due to national security. One of these lesser restrictive alternatives is the public interest immunity procedure. Now, when the State claims public interest immunity, proportionality makes a second appearance, that is, in adjudicating whether or not to allow the PII claim. This deployment of proportionality is internal to PII, which itself is nested within the third step of proportionality as applied to departures from natural justice.

      It is vital to keep the two uses of proportionality separate in one’s mind, otherwise the judgment will very swiftly stop making sense, especially as the language used by the Court in paragraph 138 seems to move between these two levels of analyses, as PII is – of course – also a departure from the principles of natural justice. Perhaps it may help to clarify – at this stage – that the Court is involved in answering two separate questions here: first, using the proportionality standard to decide which proceeding (sealed cover, closed material, PII etc) it to be used, if any; and secondly, in the context of PII, using proportionality to decide the legitimacy of a State PII claim.

      In this context – and drawing from Section 124 of the Evidence Act – Chandrachud J. notes that in a claim for PII, the burden of satisfying all prongs of the proportionality test lie on the entity (read: the State) claiming non-disclosure (paragraph 141). Based on section 124 of the Evidence Act, he collapses the first two prongs of the standard into one (whether public interest will be injured by the disclosure), and then posits the necessity and the balancing prongs as the second and third steps of a “modified” proportionality test, as applicable to PII.

      Having done this analysis, the Court then moves back one level, to its original analysis of the various options that must be considered at the necessity. Having noted that the sealed cover procedure infringes rights to a greater degree than PII, Chandrachud J. therefore holds that “the sealed cover procedure cannot be introduced to cover harms that could not have been remedied by public interest immunity proceedings.” (paragraphs 145, 147) As he notes:

      The claimant would be jumping into a pit of fire with their eyes closed even if they consent to a sealed cover procedure. As Lord Kerr remarked in Al Rawi (supra), the claim that closed material procedure would provide a fairer outcome is premised on the assumption that the adjudicator is impartial. However, beyond this assumption, it must be recognised that the court could be misled by the material that is not subject to inspection and examination. This would lead a situation where the court renders an unfair judgment and such an unfair decision would not be amenable to both judicial review and public criticism on merits. (paragraph 155)

      Having said this, however, the Court does not explicitly rule out the use of sealed covers. Immediately after this, Chandrachud J. notes that:

      While it would be beyond the scope of this judgment to lay down the possible situations when the sealed cover procedure can be used, it is sufficient to state that if the purpose could be realised effectively by public interest immunity proceedings or any other less restrictive means, then the sealed cover procedure should not be adopted. The court should undertake an analysis of the possible procedural modalities that could be used to realise the purpose, and the means that are less restrictive of the procedural guarantees must be adopted. (paragraph 158)

      In the final – brief – part of the judgment, the Court unseals the proverbial cover, and looks at the government’s substantive case for banning MediaOne (paragraphs 160 onwards). Unsurprisingly, the Court finds that the government has failed to make out any case whatsoever, its concrete allegations not going beyond proximity to a previously banned – but not un-banned – group, and certain substantive content that the it finds unpalatable. The Court has little trouble in disposing off these contentions as manifestly ill-founded, and the ban – therefore – falls on substantive grounds as well

      As a final, important point, in the dispositive part of its judgment, the Court adds a component to PII proceedings. It holds that:

      To safeguard the claimant against a potential injury to procedural guarantees in public interest immunity proceedings, we have recognised a power in the court to appoint an amicus curiae. The appointment of an amicus curiae will balance concerns of confidentiality with the need to preserve public confidence in the objectivity of the justice delivery process. (paragraph 171)

      In conclusion therefore, what is the importance of the judgment – other than the very important fact that MediaOne’s ban was struck down? We can summarise as follows:

      1. If the government intends to deny the principles of natural justice to an individual (including on grounds of national security), it must justify the denial on the touchstone of proportionality.
      2. The Court must judicially review the claim to national security at the first step of the proportionality analysis, to ensure that the claim is indeed one of national security. This will ensure that utterly frivolous cases – such as MediaOne’s – fall at the firt hurdle itself.
      3. Non-disclosure of even a summary of reasons why an individual’s right is being infringed (such as, say, through a ban) fails the rational nexus prong of the proportionality standard.
      4. If the government wishes to invoke non-disclosure on grounds of national security, and passes the first two prongs of the proportionality test, then a sealed cover is not the default option. The Court must consider less restrictive alternatives – as part of the third prong of the proportionality test – such as PII proceedings, PII proceedings with redactions, or closed material proceedings. Notably, although the judgment does not say this, it follows that if indeed the Court chooses the sealed cover it must show how this meets the “least restrictive standard.”
      5. If it is the government that claims PII, then this claim must – in turn – be tested on grounds of proportionality, requiring – if necessary – a second application of the four-pronged test (note that the Court must in any event apply the test to decide if non-disclosure is justified per se).
      6. If PII is chosen, then the Court must appoint an amicus curae to represent the individual’s interests.

      There is no doubt that today’s judgment is a valuable contribution to proportionality jurisprudence, that it attempts an inoculation against the sealed cover epidemic, and that it is pro-liberty in its outcome. However, the sheer complexity of the tests laid down make this very much a case of “the proof of the pudding will be…” Indeed, recall for a moment how eager the single judge and the division bench of the High Court of Kerala were in deferring to the State – so much so that even the Supreme Court finds it disquieting in its judgment. Now imagine these Courts being asked to deploy this double-four-pronged test, designed to protect individual rights. Would they not find it easier to simply ignore the test – as so many courts have found it easier to simply ignore the proportionality standard itself, when it leads to inconvenient results (as in the recent demonetisation case?). One would hope not, but proportionality’s failure to take hold as a rights-protective test in India does make one worry about how successful more complex iterations of it will be. That, however, is a worry for another day! For now, MediaOne can celebrate a long-overdue and deserved vindication of its constitutional rights by the Supreme Court.