Tag Archives: article 21

The Supreme Court’s Triple Talaq Judgment

Today, a narrowly divided Supreme Court held that the practice of instantaneous triple talaq (talaq – ul – biddat) [hereinafter “triple talaq” for short] which authorised a Muslim man to divorce his wife by pronouncing the word “talaq” thrice, was legally invalid. On the outcome, the Court split three to two: Justices Nariman, Lalit and Joseph in the majority, with the Chief Justice and Justice Nazeer dissenting. However, Justice Nariman (writing for himself and Justice Lalit) and Justice Joseph used different – and partially contradictory – reasoning to arrive at the conclusion. With what is effectively a 2 – 1 -2 split, there will be considerable controversy over what, precisely, the Supreme Court held in this case. Before discussing the different opinions, therefore, it will be useful to provide a brief overview.

The constitutional status of triple talaq depended, in part, upon its legal status. In particular, there was a dispute over whether triple talaq had been codified into statutory law by the 1937 Muslim Personal Law (Shariat) Application Act. This was important, because all statutes are subject to fundamental rights. However, under existing jurisprudenceuncodified personal law is exempt from fundamental rights scrutiny. Therefore, if the 1937 Act did codify triple talaq, then the Court could examine whether it was consistent with the Constitution. If it did not, however, then the Court would have to ask whether triple talaq was part of Muslim personal law; and if so, whether to uphold its existing jurisprudence exempting personal law from fundamental rights scrutiny, or to reconsider it.

Within this framework, this is how the Court’s three judgments mapped out:

A. Does the 1937 Act codify triple talaq under statutory law?

Yes: Nariman and Lalit JJ

No: Kurien Joseph J., and Khehar and Nazeer JJ

A1. If the answer to A is yes, then does triple talaq (as codified by the 1937 Act) violate the Constitution?

Yes: Nariman and Lalit JJ (Article 14)

No: _____

N/A: Kurien Joseph J., and Khehar and Nazeer JJ

B. If the answer to A is no, then is triple talaq part of Muslim personal law – that is, is it uncodified Muslim personal law?

Yes: Khehar and Nazeer JJ

No: Kurien Joseph J

N/A: Nariman and Lalit JJ

B1: If the answer to B is yes, then can triple talaq be tested under the Constitution? 

Yes: ______

No: Khehar and Nazeer JJ

N/A: Nariman and Lalit JJ, Kurien Joseph J

C. In any event, is triple talaq protected under Article 25 as an “essential practice” of Islam?

Yes: Khehar and Nazeer JJ

No: Kurien Joseph J., Nariman and Lalit JJ.

Therefore:

A majority of three judges held that the 1937 Act did not codify triple talaq. Beyond that, however, there is no clear majority for any consequential legal proposition in this case (apart from a momentous change on the legal status of the doctrine of arbitrariness, which I shall deal with in a separate post). Justice Kurien Joseph – the “swing vote” in this case – agreed with the dissent that triple talaq had not been codified by the 1937 Act. This was at odds with the foundation of the judgment of Justices Nariman and Lalit, who held that the 1937 Act did codify triple talaq. However, Justice Joseph then disagreed with the next step in the dissent’s reasoning, which was the proposition that triple talaq was part of Muslim personal law (this, naturally, brought him into agreement with Justices Nariman and Lalit on the issue that triple talaq was not an essential or integral aspect of Islam, and therefore protected under Article 25 of the Constitution). What we therefore get, at the end of the day, is a majority in terms of outcome (3:2), a different majority on the interpretation of the 1937 (3:2) Act, but no majority for the reasoning leading up to the outcome.

The Judgment of Nariman J (joined by Lalit J)

Justice Nariman began by noting that talaq – ul – biddat was only one of the many permissible forms of divorce under Islamic law, and a strongly disapproved one at that (paragraph 9). With this brief background, he analysed the 1937 Act. Noting the Statement of objects and Reasons of the Act, which recognised a demand from the Muslim constituency that “Muslim Personal Law (shariat) should be made applicable to them.” Section 2 of the Act then stated that “Notwithstanding any custom or usage to the contrary… regarding… marriage, dissolution of marriage, including talaq, ila, zihar, lian, khula, and mubaraat… the rule of decision in cases where parties are Muslims shall be the Muslim Personal Law (Shariat).”

Justice Nariman held that the plain meaning of Section 2 was that, after 1937, the shariat was accorded statutory sanction in India. Or, to put it in simpler language, after the 1937 Act, what made the shariat legally enforceable in India (as applied to Muslims) was the 1937 Act. Before the 1937 Act, colonial judges were applying and enforcing the shariat (presumably) directly as religious sanctions, drawn from the Quran, the Hadith, and other authoritative texts. The 1937 Act, however, now mediated between Islamic scripture and its application in concrete cases.

It was argued by the Muslim Personal Law Board that the opening words of Section 2 – “notwithstanding any custom or usage to the contrary…” implied that the purpose of the 1937 Act was not to enforce Shariat, but to remove “custom and usage” as sources of Islamic personal law. Justice Nariman swiftly rejected this argument, holding that to allow a non-obstante clause to determine the interpretation of a Section that was otherwise unambiguous, would amount to “the tail wagging the dog” (paragraph 16).

Consequently, Justice Nariman was able to conclude that the 1937 Act (which included the statutory sanction of triple talaq) “would be hit by Article 13(1) if found to be inconsistent with the provisions of Part III of the Constitution, to the extent of such inconsistency.” (para 21). In other words, if the Court found that the practice instantaneous triple talaq violated any constitutional provision, then to the extent that Section 2 of the 1937 Act authorised it, it would be unconstitutional and void.

This would be true, of course, unless triple talaq was saved by any other constitutional provision. The Muslim Personal Law Board argued that it was saved by Article 25, which guaranteed the freedom of conscience and religion. Justice Nariman rejected this argument, pointing out that under Indian jurisprudence, Article 25 only protected “integral” or “essential” aspects of religion. In view of extensive and uncontroverted religious authority holding that triple talaq was an “irregular” way of conducting divorce, it could not, under any circumstances, be held to be an essential aspect of Islam (or under the Hanafi school of Islam, which practiced it) (paragraph 25).

Having strongly affirmed that it was the duty of the Court to strike down unconstitutional laws, and not leave the task up to Parliament (paras 26 – 30), Justice Nariman then came to the core of the case – the examination of the constitutionality of instantaneous triple talaq (paragraph 31 onwards). Focusing on Article 14 of the Constitution, he asked whether a law or a statute could be invalidated on the ground of “arbitrariness” (for a summary of the constitutional controversy on this point, see Mihir’s guest post here). After a detailed and technical discussion, Justice Nariman found that arbitrariness had always been a ground of legislative review under Article 14 (paragraphs 32 – 55), and judgments that held to the contrary were incorrectly decided.

The standard of arbitrariness required that if a law was “disproportionate, excessive… or otherwise manifestly unreasonable“, then it would be struck down under Article 14 (paragraph 45). Applying the standard to instantaneous triple talaq, Justice Nariman then held, in his concluding paragraph:

“Given the fact that Triple Talaq is instant and irrevocable, it is obvious that any attempt at reconciliation between the husband and wife by two arbiters from their families, which is essential to save the marital tie, cannot ever take place. Also, as understood by the Privy Council in Rashid Ahmad (supra), such Triple Talaq is valid even if it is not for any reasonable cause, which view of the law no longer holds good after Shamim Ara (supra). This being the case, it is clear that this form of Talaq is manifestly arbitrary in the sense that the marital tie can be broken capriciously and whimsically by a Muslim man without any attempt at reconciliation so as to save it. This form of Talaq must, therefore, be held to be violative of the fundamental right contained under Article 14 of the Constitution of India. In our opinion, therefore, the 1937 Act, insofar as it seeks to recognize and enforce Triple Talaq, is within the meaning of the expression “laws in force” in Article 13(1) and must be struck down as being void to the extent that it recognizes and enforces Triple Talaq. Since we have declared Section 2 of the 1937 Act to be void to the extent indicated above on the narrower ground of it being manifestly arbitrary, we do not find the need to go into the ground of discrimination in these cases, as was argued by the learned Attorney General and those supporting him.”

Three things stand out in Justice Nariman’s judgment. The first is his refusal to consider the question of whether personal laws are subject to the Constitution (although, in paragraph 22, he specifically casts doubt on the correctness of Narasu Appa Mali, and opines that it might need to be reviewed). In a guest post on this blog, Praharsh Johorey argued that the triple talaq case was an ideal opportunity to reconsider a judgment as clearly wrong as Narasu; elsewhere, I argued that a judgment invalidating triple talaq could either do it narrowly, through the 1937 Act and the essential religious practices test, or by taking a broad route, and reversing Narasu Appa Mali. Justice Nariman chose the narrow route, and in that sense, there is a feeling of a remarkable opportunity missed. To be fair, technically, it is difficult to fault him for this: once he had held that the 1937 Act codified Muslim personal law, there was no need for him to consider any other question. On this blog, I have often argued that judges should not go charging like wild horses over constitutional terrain, and ought to decide cases on the narrowest grounds available to them. I cannot, in good faith, criticise Justice Nariman for doing precisely that. Nonetheless, the sense of regret remains.

The second issue is Justice Nariman’s reliance upon the essential religious practices test to deny triple talaq the protection of Article 25. On this blog, I have tried to point out before that ERP is both constitutionally unprincipled and impractical, because it involves a secular Court making ecclesiastical judgments. I am not alone in this criticism: for the last four decades, ERP has been criticised by both scholars and practitioners; apart from a dissenting judgment by Justice Lakshmanan in 2004, however, it has never been seriously challenged within the judiciary. This case marked an ideal starting point for the Court to jettison this seriously flawed approach, and hold – along with Ambedkar in the Constituent Assembly Debates – that Article 25 simply wasn’t applicable to the laws of marriage, divorce, inheritance, which had a tangible impact upon the civil status of parties; in other words, one cannot, under the cover of religion, claim a vast domain of human life off-limits from constitutional values. As Ambedkar had said:

“The religious conceptions in this country are so vast that they cover every aspect of life, from birth to death. There is nothing which is not religion and if personal law is to be saved, I am sure about it that in social matters we will come to a standstill. I do not think it is possible to accept a position of that sort. There is nothing extraordinary in saying that we ought to strive hereafter to limit the definition of religion in such a manner that we shall not extend beyond beliefs and such rituals as may be connected with ceremonials which are essentially religious. It is not necessary that the sort of laws, for instance, laws relating to tenancy or laws relating to succession, should be governed by religion.”

In this second sense, the judgment represents a chance missed.

And thirdly, it appears to me that – notwithstanding his spirited revival of the doctrine of arbitrariness – Justice Nariman’s constitutionality analysis misplaces priorities. The core problem with instantaneous triple talaq was not its arbitrariness, but how, in giving men a unilateral power of instant divorce, it discriminated against Muslim women. It was more a question of unequal power and inequality (Article 15) than the rule of law (Article 14). Again, technically, one cannot fault the reasoning; in a broader sense, however, it seems to have achieved the right outcome, for the right reasons, but perhaps not… the best reasons.

The Judgment of Joseph J (for himself)

Justice Joseph wrote a brief judgment. He held that the Supreme Court, in Shamin Ara, had already held that “instantaneous triple talaq” was invalid under Islamic law (paragraph 1). It was necessary for him to carry out this analysis, because – in his view – the 1937 Act only made Islamic personal law applicable to Muslims, but was “not a law regulating talaq.” (paragraph 4) Noting that the primary authoritative source for Islamic personal law was the Quran, Justice Joseph then examined the Quranic suras that dealt with talaq, and found that:

“The Holy Quran has attributed sanctity and permanence to matrimony. However, in extremely unavoidable situations, talaq is permissible. But an attempt for reconciliation and if it succeeds, then revocation are the Quranic essential steps before talaq attains finality.51 In triple talaq, this door is closed, hence, triple talaq is against the basic tenets of the Holy Quran and consequently, it violates Shariat.” (paragraph 10)

Justice Joseph then cited multiple High Court judgments, leading up to the Supreme Court judgment in Shamin Ara, which had affirmed this proposition (paragraphs 11 – 23), and concluded that:

“Fortunately, this Court has done its part in Shamim Ara. I expressly endorse and re-iterate the law declared in Shamim Ara. What is held to be bad in the Holy Quran cannot be good in Shariat and, in that sense, what is bad in theology is bad in law as well.”

It is important to note that Joseph J. expressed no opinion on the question of whether uncodified personal laws are subject to the Constitution, and therefore, there is no majority in this judgment that supports that point of view. In paragraph 5, he made the limited observation that “I wholly agree with the learned Chief Justice that the 1937 Act is not a legislation regulating talaq. Consequently, I respectfully disagree with the stand taken by Nariman, J. that the 1937 Act is a legislation regulating triple talaq and hence, the same can be tested on the anvil of Article 14.” That is, his disagreement with Nariman J. was limited to the question of whether triple talaq, through the 1937 Act, could be tested under Article 14; however, since Nariman J. himself expressed no opinion on whether, if triple talaq remained uncodified, it could be tested under Article 14 (by overruling Narasu), Justice Joseph could not possibly have disagreed with him on this point, because there was nothing to disagree with.

That said, Justice Joseph’s analysis of Section 2 of the 1937 Act does not seem correct. The distinction between the 1937 Act enforcing the shariat, and the Act “regulating” triple talaq, is irrelevant to the constitutional analysis. What matters is not that the procedure of triple talaq is contained in a statute, but that the source of authority of triple talaq is a statute. The moment that is conceded, the statute in question – and along with everything that it authorises – becomes subject to Part III and the Constitution. On this issue, Justice Nariman’s view appears to be the correct one.

The Judgment of the Chief Justice (for himself and Justice Nazeer)

The Chief Justice’s judgment has the merit that, after page 176, when the recording of submissions ends, and the analysis begins, it is clear and easy to follow. That, however, is its only merit. The judgment advances novel constitutional propositions unsupported by the constitutional text, history, or precedent, and it severely undermines the constitutional balance between individual rights and religious precepts.

The Chief Justice began by noting that the sources of Islamic personal law are not limited to the Quran (paragraph 121), and that, in fact, all parties have agreed that talaq – ul – biddat is “bad in theology but good in (Islamic personal) law” (paragraph 127). Declining to go into an interpretation of rival hadiths provided by both parties, he noted that:

“The fact, that about 90% of the Sunnis in India, belong to the Hanafi school, and that, they have been adopting ‘talaq-e-biddat’ as a valid form of divorce, is also not a matter of dispute. The very fact, that the issue is being forcefully canvassed, before the highest Court of the land, and at that – before a Constitution Bench, is proof enough. The fact that the judgment of the Privy Council in the Rashid Ahmad case1 as far back as in 1932, upheld the severance of the matrimonial tie, based on the fact that ‘talaq’ had been uttered thrice by the husband, demonstrates not only its reality, but its enforcement, for the determination of the civil rights of the parties. It is therefore clear, that amongst Sunni Muslims belonging to the Hanafi school, the practice of ‘talaq-e-biddat’, has been very much prevalent, since time immemorial.” (paragraph 144)

And:

“We are satisfied, that the practice of ‘talaq-e-biddat’ has to be considered integral to the religious denomination in question – Sunnis belonging to the Hanafi school. There is not the slightest reason for us to record otherwise. We are of the view, that the practice of ‘talaq-e-biddat’, has had the sanction and approval of the religious denomination which practiced it, and as such, there can be no doubt that the practice, is a part of their ‘personal law’.” (paragraph 145)

The problem with this argument is that paragraph 145 does not follow from paragraph 144. Under the essential religious practices test, as applied by the Supreme Court over time, not everything sanctioned by religion is integral to it. The Chief Justice slid seamlessly between noting that instantaneous triple talaq is practiced by Indian Muslims as a part of their religion, to holding that is an essential part of it, without showing independently that the threshold of ERP has been met. Recall that the Supreme Court has held, in the past, that neither worshipping at a mosque nor cow-slaugher on Id, are integral parts of Islam, on the basis that Islam does not mandate either practice. Under this standard, in this case, it would under the ERP, it would have to be shown that Islam mandated instantaneous triple talaq. This, the Chief Justice did not show; and while I disagree with the ERP test, given that the Chief Justice had chosen to apply it, I think it important to point out that he applied it incorrectly.

The Chief Justice then advanced a proposition that is utterly bizarre. In paragraph 146, he said:

“‘Personal law’ has a constitutional protection. This protection is extended to ‘personal law’ through Article 25 of the Constitution. It needs to be kept in mind, that the stature of ‘personal law’ is that of a fundamental right. The elevation of ‘personal law’ to this stature came about when the Constitution came into force. This was because Article 25 was included in Part III of the Constitution. Stated differently, ‘personal law’ of every religious denomination, is protected from invasion and breach, except as provided by and under Article 25.”

Notably, no authority is advanced to support this proposition. That is because there is none. No Court has held that “personal law” is a fundamental right. In fact, that sentence is incoherent – how can “personal law” have the “stature” of a “fundamental right”? Rights under Article 25 belong to individuals, not to “laws”. More importantly, Article 25 does not confer constitutional protection upon personal laws. It guarantees that all persons are equally entitled to freedom of conscience and the right freely to profess, practise and propagate religion.”

To go from “all persons are equally entitled to… freely… practice… religion” to “Article 25 protects personal laws” is to put language into a rack and torture it into a shapeless mass. What might have the Chief Justice been thinking? Perhaps he was thinking this: personal law falls within religion. Article 25(1) protects religion. Therefore, Article 25(1) protects personal laws. That train of thought, however, misses the fact that Article 25(1) does not protect religion per se, but protects an individual’s freedom to practice her religion; in other words, it does not protect religious norms, rules, or institutions, but individual rights. Now, it might be argued that, potentially, a Muslim man could approach the Court and argue that by denying him the option of triple talaq, his Article 25(1) right was being violated; such a case, however (apart form being decided on separate grounds altogether), is conceptually different from conferring the “stature” of fundamental rights upon an entire system of (personal law) rules, and the distinction is crucial.

Most of all, what is entirely unacceptable about this proposition is that, as the Chief Justice himself observed (in the extract quoted above), marriage affects an individual’s civil status and civil rights. The effect of holding that “personal laws” are protected under the Constitution’s religious freedom guarantee is to grant to religious bodies the power of determining individuals’ civil status (and their civil rights), without constitutional recourse. This seems to be a negation of the very basic meaning of secularism.

The Chief Justice then held that the 1937 Act did not codify triple talaq, but only negated the use of “customs and usages” in adjudicating cases between Muslims (paragraph 156). I have already argued above that this is a flawed reading of the 1937 Act. Consequently, he held that the only limitations upon personal law can be those found in the opening phrase of Article 25(1): “public order, health, and morality.” On this, he noted:

“… it is impossible to conclude, that the practice impinges on ‘public order’, or for that matter on ‘health’. We are also satisfied, that it has no nexus to ‘morality’, as well.

But why? He provided no reasoning for this. If “morality” under Article 25(1) refers to the concept of constitutional morality, then surely gender equality and non-discrimination art part of that definition of morality? And if not, what else does morality mean? What does the Chief Justice think it means, and why is instantaneous triple talaq “moral”? There are no answers.

The other preliminary phrase in Article 25(1) is “subject to… the other provisions of this Part” (that is, Part III). The Chief Justice held that this is also inapplicable, because Articles 14, 15 and 21 – which triple talaq potentially violates – are only applicable to State action against individuals, and not to private violations of rights (paragraph 165). However, not only does this argument go against the Supreme Court’s recent liquor ban judgment, which the Chief Justice himself signed on to, and which held that Article 21 places an affirmative obligation upon the State to protect fundamental rights – but it also ignores the fact that triple talaq is only legally effective because it is sanctioned by the Courts. Triple talaq does not operate in some parallel, extra-legal domain; rather, it is not only recognised (as an aspect of personal law) by the State, but it can also be enforced through the courts. Therefore, the State involvement is inextricable.

Lastly, the Chief Justice addressed an argument that instantaneous triple talaq violates principles of constitutional morality, which he rejected by reiterating the proposition that personal laws themselves are a part of fundamental rights, and ending with this paragraph:

“Religion is a matter of faith, and not of logic. It is not open to a court to accept an egalitarian approach, over a practice which constitutes an integral part of religion. The Constitution allows the followers of every religion, to follow their beliefs and religious traditions. The Constitution assures believers of all faiths, that their way of life, is guaranteed, and would not be subjected to any challenge, even though they may seem to others (-and even rationalists, practicing the same faith) unacceptable, in today’s world and age. The Constitution extends this guarantee, because faith constitutes the religious consciousness, of the followers. It is this religious consciousness, which binds believers into separate entities. The Constitution endevours to protect and preserve, the beliefs of each of the separate entities, under Article 25.” (paragraph 193)

It is a particularly stark irony that Chief Justice needed to replace the word “persons” (which is what Article 25(1) says) with the word “entities”, in order to sustain this unsustainable conclusion.

I have engaged with the dissent at some length, because a 3 – 2 split is a judgment by a hair’s breadth. Had one judge flipped, the dissent would have become the majority. While I feel that the majority opinions could have been stronger on some points, I feel – even more strongly – that the dissent, which elevates personal law to the status of the Constitution, and in fact, elevates it above all other fundamental rights in Part III, would – had it carried the day – done profound damage to the constitutional fabric. It would have fatally undermined the framers’ attempts to frame a secular Constitution, where religion could not become the arbiter of an individual’s civil status and her civil rights, and would, in a single stroke, have set back a long struggle for the rights of basic equality and democracy against the claims of religion.

What this divided judgment means for future jurisprudence dealing with the relationship between personal law and the Constitution, remains to be seen. The question is perhaps more open now than it ever was.

 

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Filed under arbitrariness, Article 14, Article 21 and the Right to Life, Equality, Freedom of Religion, Personal Law, Secularism

The Aadhaar/PAN Judgment: Decoding the “Partial Stay”

In an article published today on Scroll.in, Apar Gupta makes an important point about the Supreme Court’s Aadhaar/PAN judgment: even as it upheld the constitutional validity of S. 139AA of the Income Tax Act against challenges based on Articles 14 (equal protection) and 19(1)(g) (freedom of trade), the Court nevertheless noted that 139AA would yet have to pass a “more stringent test” under Article 21 (right to life and personal liberty) of the Constitution. He makes the further point that the judgment “also reinforces the spirit of [the Court’s] earlier orders limiting the Aadhaar scheme by giving a limited stay on Section 139AA(2).

What is crucial to note is that the Court’s “limited stay” is itself based on the view that S. 139AA – and more broadly, Aadhaar – potentially violates Article 21 of the Constitution. The Court notes, in paragraph 125:

“At the same time, as far as existing PAN holders are concerned, since the impugned provisions are yet to be considered on the touchstone of Article 21 of the Constitution, including on the debate around Right to Privacy and human dignity, etc. as limbs of Article 21, we are of the opinion that till the aforesaid aspect of Article 21 is decided by the Constitution Bench a partial stay of the aforesaid proviso is necessary. Those who have already enrolled themselves under Aadhaar scheme would comply with the requirement of sub-section (2) of Section 139AA of the Act. Those who still want to enrol are free to do so. However, those assessees who are not Aadhaar card holders and do not comply with the provision of Section 139(2), their PAN cards be not treated as invalid for the time being. It is only to facilitate other transactions which are mentioned in Rule 114B of the Rules. We are adopting this course of action for more than one reason. We are saying so because of very severe consequences that entail in not adhering to the requirement of sub-section (2) of Section 139AA of the Act. A person who is holder of PAN and if his PAN is invalidated, he is bound to suffer immensely in his day to day dealings, which situation should be avoided till the Constitution Bench authoritatively determines the argument of Article 21 of the Constitution.”

There has been a fair amount of debate about what this paragraph actually means for taxpayers who do not yet have an Aadhaar number; for the moment, the debate appears to have been settled by a CBDT circular stating that all persons paying their taxes after July 1 must link Aadhaar and PAN. In my view, however, the importance of paragraph 125 lies not so much in the limited relief that it grants taxpayers in this specific litigation, but what it means for the larger Aadhaar challenges presently pending before various benches of the Supreme Court. What has not yet been noticed – or discussed – is that paragraph 125 will have a significant ripple affect on numerous other cases, starting with the hearing scheduled for June 27, where the question of making Aadhaar mandatory for seventeen social welfare schemes is due to be heard. In this essay, I will attempt to explain how.

When does the Court grant a “Stay”? 

A “stay”, as the word suggests, refers to a situation where a Court temporarily restrains one (or both) parties to a legal proceeding from taking certain actions until the case is heard and decided in full (a “stay” also refers to a situation where a higher Court halts the operation of the order of a lower Court, but we are not concerned with that here). Before granting or refusing a stay (or an “injunction”, as the case may be), a Court is supposed to carefully consider the pros and cons of the case before it. The traditional test for a stay is three-pronged: the Court must be convinced that the party asking for a stay has a “prima facie” good case; that the refusal to grant a stay will cause “irreparable harm“; and that the “balance of convenience” between the parties weighs in favour of a stay.

However, when the Court is faced with a request to stay a statutory provision (as opposed to private conduct or executive action), the test is much more rigorous. This is because laws, which emanate from the parliamentary-democratic-deliberative process, have a deep, presumptive legitimacy; and furthermore, their wide reach means that a stay will have broad and far-reaching consequences. For instance, in Bhavesh Parish vs Union of India, the Supreme Court held:

“When considering an application for staying the operation of a piece of legislation, and that too pertaining to economic reform or change then the courts must bear in mind that unless the provision is manifestly unjust or glaringly unconstitutional, the courts must show judicial restrain in staying the applicability of the same. Merely because a statute comes up for examination and some arguable point is raised, which persuades the courts to consider the controversy, the legislative will should not normally be put under suspension pending such consideration. It is now well- settled that there is always a presumption in favour of the constitutional validity of any legislation, unless the same is set – aside after final hearing and, therefore, the tendency to grant stay of legislation relating to economic reform, at the interim stage, cannot be understood. The system of checks and balances has to be utilised in a balanced manner with the primary objective of accelerating economic growth rather than suspending its growth by doubting its constitutional efficacy at the threshold itself.”

Consequently, when considering a constitutional challenge to a law (which is what the Court was doing in Aadhaar/PAN), a “stay” can be granted only if the provision is “manifestly unjust or glaringly unconstitutional“. The Court cannot grant a stay simply because, on balance, it would be the right or just thing to do.

The “Stay” in the Aadhaar/PAN Case

It is important to note that in the Aadhaar/PAN case, the Court could have granted the partial stay that it did, only if it was convinced that the proviso to S. 139AA(2) (cancellation of PAN if not linked with Aadhaar for paying taxes) was “manifestly unjust” or “glaringly unconstitutional”. Indeed, Mr Arvind Datar, senior counsel for the Petitioners, made the specific argument that the proviso was unconstitutional because it amounted to a disproportionate interference with the Petitioners’ fundamental right to trade and commerce under Article 19(1)(g): to deprive a person of a PAN card was effectively to shut them out of the formal economy, leading to effective “civil death”.

As I have argued in my previous post, ultimately, the Court failed to return a specific finding on the Article 19(1)(g) issue. However, as paragraph 125 demonstrates, the Court did agree with Mr Datar that the consequences of the proviso were “very severe“, and specifically cited the various transactions for which a PAN Card is compulsory as the reason why it was granting a stay, while the overall Article 21 challenge to Aadhaar remained pending before the larger bench.

Since there are no observations on “glaring unconstitutionality” – in fact, the Court categorically refused to express an opinion on the pending Article 21 challenge – it would be fair to assume, therefore, that the Court considered the draconian step of cancelling PAN Cards to be “manifestly unjust”.

The Consequences

We may now note that in the other pending Aadhaar-related challenges, the “consequences” of not having an Aadhaar Number are at least as severe as the consequences of PAN cancellation, if not more so. One of the Executive notifications under S. 7 of the Aadhaar Act, for instance, makes midday meals at schools conditional upon the production of an Aadhaar Number. No PAN Card means civil death; but midday meals can be about life and death – or at the very least, about basic health, itself a right under Article 21. The same goes for a number of other Executive notifications, where Aadhaar is linked to social welfare schemes, all of which provide crucial life support to the most vulnerable and marginalised individuals in our society.

In the Aadhaar/PAN case, the Supreme Court had occasion to carefully consider a legislation that made Aadhaar compulsory for filing IT returns, at the cost of cancelation of PAN cards. Applying its judicial mind, the Court found that the pending Article 21 challenge was credible enough, and the consequences of PAN cancellation severe enough, for the rigorous standards for granting a stay on legislation (“manifest injustice”) to be met.

Admittedly, a stay has no precedential value, and does not bind any future bench. However, once a two-judge bench of the Supreme Court has applied its mind to the merits of the case, should a different, coordinate bench of the same Court re-open the issue, consider it afresh, and refuse to grant a stay, even when the consequences in that case are even more severe than canceled PANs?

I submit that judicial discipline precludes future coordinate benches from doing so. The Aadhaar/PAN case has established two very important provisions: first, that notwithstanding the pending Constitution Bench challenge, specific piecemeal challenges to Aadhaar can be heard and decided by two-judge benches on issues outside the remit of the Constitution Bench, and that those benches can grant appropriate relief; and secondly, visiting severe consequences upon people for not possessing an Aadhaar is “manifestly unjust” – unjust enough for the Court to grant a stay.

Consequently, when a different bench of the Court hears the petitions on June 27, regarding compulsory Aadhaar for social welfare schemes, it should grant a stay without any further need for argument (note that the challenge in that case is to Government notifications, which occupy a level of sanctity lower than legislation). And this should be the course of action adopted by the Court in all future proceedings where the Petitioners can show that the consequences of not having an Aadhaar, for X or Y government notification or law, are at least as severe as the consequences of getting your PAN canceled.

Conclusion

I understand that, technically, this is not a legal argument for stay. However, it needs to be noted that in its Aadhaar/PAN judgment, the Court repeatedly invokes judicial discipline in deciding not to consider a whole range of issues that might overlap with the issues before the pending Constitution Bench. It is respectfully submitted that judicial discipline demands that judicial discipline be applied consistently. It is as much an issue of discipline not to reopen a question on which a coordinate bench has applied its mind and come to a conclusion, as it is not to interfere with the (possible) workings of a (potential) Constitution Bench. For that reason, in all future challenges before the Court, until the Constitution Bench decides the overall challenge, two-judge benches should grant stays and ensure – in the words of the original Supreme Court order that began all of this – that nobody is made to “suffer” for not possessing an Aadhaar.

 

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Filed under Article 21 and the Right to Life, Bodily Integrity, Judicial Process, Stays and Injunctions

Guest Post: Judicial Review and Proportionality of Punishment

(In the context of life sentences and even the death penalty being mooted for cow slaughter in some states, Jeydev C.S. examines whether the Indian Constitution requires proportionality in punishment)

How far can the State go? It is a general proposition that duly enacted penal statutes can prescribe punishments for undesirable conduct. Recent political developments suggest that this legislative freedom may be taken further than ever before. From a constitutional standpoint though, it is far from clear if the state actually has untrammelled discretion in sentencing. For instance, can it execute someone for relatively minor offences like petty theft, or sentence a man to rigorous imprisonment for life if caught driving drunk? Screaming headlines and political ramifications aside, the underlying issue here is whether our Constitution can be concerned with proportionality of punishment while dealing with the legality of penal statutes. In this post, I posit that this specific legal question has been answered in the affirmative, considering the findings of leading case law of the Supreme Court of India while interpreting the text of the Constitution.

Article 21 provides that “No person shall be deprived of his life or person liberty except according to procedure established by law”. A perfunctory reading of this clause suggests that, as far as the state has, one, established a certain procedure through law; and two, such procedure is followed by the state while depriving a person of her life or personal liberty, then such an action of deprival by the state would be permissible. However, this has not meant that unchecked excesses by state agencies under the garb of procedural propriety have been condoned by the courts. In the case of Maneka Gandhi v. Union of India, the Supreme Court held that the “procedure established by law” must be just, fair, and reasonable so as to not be in violation of article 21. To put it another way, the Court read three non-textual pre-conditions into the nature of the administrative process, in the absence of which depriving actions of the state will be rendered unconstitutional. While arriving at this outcome, Chief Justice Beg particularly rejects the notion that articles 21 and 19 are independent compartments of rights; rather, they are available together (along with article 14, particularly with regard to reasonableness) when reviewing executive action. While Maneka Gandhi does much more in the realm of article 21 jurisprudence, this facilitative reading permits us to import certain relevant standards that have been laid out with respective to articles 19 and 14.

Article 19 of the Constitution primarily addresses the protection of certain rights (such as speech, assembly, association, movement, profession et cetera). These freedoms, as articulated in clause (1) are circumscribed by the limitations of clauses (2) through (6) – the common criterion of restriction under these clauses is that such restriction must be ‘reasonable’. While there have been many instances of the courts opining on the nature of what this actually entails, for our purposes, we may turn to the case of State of Madras v. V. G. Row. This case dealt with an action of the State of Madras (as it then was) whereby it declared a political organisation to be an unlawful association. In its opinion, the Court reaffirmed the reasoning of previous cases such as Dr. N. B. Khare v. State of Delhi, that article 19 restrictions must be substantially and procedurally reasonable, and that such reasonableness may be indicated by factors such as “the extent of the evil sought to be remedied”, “prevailing conditions”, and “disproportion of imposition”. Granted, Row only envisages this to be applicable to impediments imposed upon article 19 rights. However, Maneka Gandhi clearly expects a harmonious and combined reading of these standards which can help inform the contours of what may be reasonable for the purposes of article 21. Therefore, I contend that proportionality is a relevant consideration when reviewing law that deprives life or personal liberty.

In a similar tenor, I must now address article 14, which prohibits the state from denying to any person equality before the law or the equal protection of laws within India. Most famously, a constitutional bench of the Supreme Court held in E. P. Royappa v. State of Tamil Nadu that article 14 entails a prohibition on arbitrariness in state action. Drawing upon this precedent and Maneka Gandhi, the case of Mithu v. State of Punjab sought to apply the principle to a penal provision in a criminal statute. Section 303 of the Indian Penal Code, 1860, which provided for a mandatory minimum sentence of death for those who commit murder while serving a term of life imprisonment, was assailed against the combined significance of articles 14, 19, and 21. The Court struck section 303 down as unconstitutional, for such a sentence, which on no valid basis of classification discriminates between convicts and non-convicts, would be arbitrary – further, the automatic imposition of a sentence of death, which is expected to used sparingly per the judgment in Bachan Singh v. State of Punjab, would be disproportionately oppressive; for these reasons, the impugned section was held to be in violation of article 21. Chandrachud J illustrates the importance of a proportionality test for the purposes of sentencing – he notes that a savage sentence, such as amputation for theft, would run afoul of article 21; he actively adverts to the reliance upon article 19 standards of reasonableness to assess challenges under article 21. This further reinforces the importance of proportionality, which as we have noted, has been incorporated through Row.

It is true that a substantial bulk of Mithu dealt with the disproportionality parameter, in as much as a criminal statute took away sentencing discretion from courts during trial. However, perhaps the most forceful articulation of the need for proportionate punishment is seen in Vikram Singh v. Union of India. In this case, the appellants sought to challenge the constitutional validity of section 364A of the Indian Penal Code, 1860 on the grounds that it prescribed a sentence of death, thereby in violation of article 21, as clarified in Mithu. At the earliest, the Court sought to dissuade the notion of the appellants that section 364A amounted to a mandatory death sentence. As the provision itself reads, death is only one option before the trail court – it may also choose to impose a sentence of imprisonment for life. Therefore, this case is clearly distinguishable from Mithu as the mere option of death as a possible punishment for a crime does not violate article 21. Despite dismissing the instant appeal on this ground, Chief Justice Thakur addresses the general issue of proportionality. He opines that merely because courts are deferential to legislatures on matters of punishment, generally, does not mean that penalties that are “shockingly disproportionate” to the gravity of the underlying offence are immune from constitutional intervention.

The Court then proceeds to categorically import the principle of proportionality in punishment from foreign (particularly, North American) jurisprudence. In Weems v. United States, the Supreme Court of that country affirmed the proposition in favour of ‘graduated’ and ‘proportionate’ punishment, by finding grounding in the Eighth Amendment to the United States Constitution, which prohibits cruel and unusual punishments. Similarly, cases like Enmund v. Florida, Coker v. Georgia, and Solem v. Helm have all held penal statutes to be in violation of the Eighth Amendment on account of being disproportionate to the gravity of the underlying offence. Chief Justice Thakur specifically cites the cases of Harmelin v. Michigan and Ewing v. California to be indicative of a prospective American standard, as culled from past jurisprudence – as far as there is a “reasonable basis for believing” the prescribed punishment “advances the goals” of criminal justice and was arrived at through a “rational legislative judgment”, such statutes may be deemed to be proportionate.

While affirmative reiterations of these principles exist throughout Vikram Singh, the most utility for our purposes in evaluating the Indian constitutional scheme may be derived from the enumeration of guiding considerations at paragraph 49 – first, the general principle is that punishment must be proportionate; second, that there exists a presumption that the legislature (unlike the courts) is best positioned to propose punishment; and third, that the courts must defer to its wisdom in this regard unless the prescription is outrageously disproportionate to the offence or so inhuman or brutal that it would be unacceptable by any standard of decency. This standard if further raised in cases where the prescription is one of death – the Court defers to the high standard of judicial care that is applied to the death penalty, in line with evolving jurisprudence on the issue, while also asserting that the likelihood of this punishment being deemed disproportionate is particularly high. I must reiterate however, that my quest here is to not comment on whether the death penalty is disproportionate in certain cases. Rather, it is whether any punishing statute (including, but not limited to the death penalty) is open for constitutional review on the grounds of proportionality.

It is altogether another matter that the Court in Vikram Singh chose to dismiss the appeal on the grounds that the impugned provision did not offend the aforementioned standard. Nonetheless, these principles undoubtedly constitute the ratio decidendi of this case. Being the leading Supreme Court judgment on this point, it shall be binding on courts throughout India. Hence, any criminal statute that prescribes punishment can be held against this test of proportionality; and if it is found to run afoul of this, that punishment may be declared by our constitutional courts to be ineffective on account of it being in violation of article 21. Whether the recent spate of amendments and legislative proposals merit such consideration is a question for another day.

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Filed under Article 21 and the Right to Life, Cruel and Unusual Punishment

The Constitutional Challenge to S. 6A of the Citizenship Act (Assam Accord): A Primer

Tomorrow, a Constitution Bench of the Supreme Court will commence hearings in the constitutional challenge to Section 6A of the Citizenship Act. The case comes up for hearing as the result of a referral order under Article 145(3) of the Constitution, passed by a bench of two judges in Assam Sanmilita Mahasangha vs Union of Indiawho framed thirteen questions of law to be decided by a Constitution Bench.

Tomorrow’s hearing may be a brief one. The Bench has indicated that it is unlikely to hear the matter unless all counsel commit to finishing within seven working days. Given the scale and complexity of some of the questions (as we shall see), as well as the number of intervention applications that were allowed after the referral, this is unlikely. In light of the fact, however, that even if it is not heard at the present, it is likely to be taken up soon after the vacations (in July or August), I shall provide a brief primer to the case.

History

Migration has been a source of social and political conflict in the border-state of Assam at least the middle of the 19th century. During the framing of the citizenship provisions of the Constitution during the Constituent Assembly Debates, the representative from Assam highlighted issues pertaining to large-scale migration from Bengal, its impact upon the indigenous population and culture, and asked for specific constitutional provisions to deal with the issue. Ultimately, however, the Constitution contained only skeletal provisions on citizenship – in particular, to deal with the Partition – and left the issue to be addressed by Parliament. Article 5 of the Constitution incorporated the broad jus soli principle of citizenship, stipulating that all those who had their domicile in India at the time of the commencement of the Constitution, would be citizens if they were born here, if either of their parents were born here, or who had been ordinarily resident for not less than five years. Articles 6 and 7 were the Partition provisions, dealing with migrations to and from Pakistan, and fixing 19th July 1948 as the “cut-off date” for citizenship. And to clarify that these provisions were only dealing with the special situation created by the Partition, Article 11 contained an overriding clause authorising Parliament to legislate for citizenship. Parliament did so in 1955, with the Citizenship Act, and a special law for Assam titled the Immigrants (Expulsion from Assam) Act of 1950.

To regulate the entry of migrants into India, the colonial government had passed the Foreigners Act of 1946, which continued even after Independence. This Act conferred powers upon the government to prohibit entry of foreigners, among other things. In 1964, acting under the authority of the Act, the Government promulgated the Foreigners Tribunal Order. This Order authorised the Government to establish Tribunals to determine questions of nationality, in accordance with the provisions of the Foreigners Act. Consequently, the Constitution of India, the Citizenship Act of 1955, the Foreigners Act of 1946, and the Foreigners Tribunal Order of 1964 comprised a comprehensive statutory regime dealing with both substantive and procedural questions of citizenship and migration.

Meanwhile, issues of migration continued to cause conflict in Assam. Matters came to a head during the run-up to the Bangladesh War of 1971, where in fact a massive influx of refugees into India from (what was then) East Pakistan was cited as one of the reasons for India’s involvement in the war. The issues did not cease even after 1971, however, because it was perceived that many of “illegal immigrants” were being put on voting rolls by political parties attempting to create faithful constituencies. Ultimately, this led to a state-wide student movement called the Assam Agitation, which lasted six years, from 1979 to 1985. The movement was sometimes punctuated by violence, including the Nellie massacre of 1983. It was finally brought to a close in 1985, with the signing of the Assam Accord between the Government of India, and the leaders of the movement.

The Assam Accord, S. 6A of the Citizenship Act, and the IMDT Act 

The Assam Accord was effectively a political compromise between the government and the leaders of the Assam Agitation. While providing for two separate cut-off dates for regularisation of migrants (an issue we shall discuss in a moment), the Accord also contained provisions for the development of Assam, as well as obligating the Government to see that “the international border shall be made secure against future infiltration by erection of physical barriers like walls, barbed wire fencing and other obstacles at appropriate places.”

Section 6A of the Citizenship Act – introduced through an amendment in 1985 – was the legislative enactment of the legal part of the Assam Accord. Section 6A divided “illegal” immigrants of Indian origin (i.e., those whose parents or grandparents were born in undivided India) who came into Assam from Bangladesh into three groups: those who came into the state before 1966; those who came into the state between 1966 and 25th March, 1971 (the official date of the commencement of the Bangladesh War); and those who came into the state after 1971. The first group (pre-’66) was to be regularised. The second group (’66 – ’71) was to be taken off the electoral rolls, and regularised after ten years. The third group (’71-onwards) was to be detected and expelled in accordance with law.

Section 6A, therefore, was a special citizenship law for Assam, hammered out as a result of a political settlement. Meanwhile, two years before the Accord and S. 6A, the Parliament had also passed the Illegal Migrants (Determination by Tribunals Act) of 1983. This Act authorised the Government to set up Tribunals for the purposes of determining whether migrants were illegal. Under the Act, the Government framed the Illegal Migrant Rules of 1984. The Act and the Rules, taken together, made some departures from the procedure under the Foreigners Act and the Foreigners Tribunal Order: for example, the procedure for making a reference to the Tribunal was made more onerous, the burden of proof was shifted from the State to the individual, and so on.

Consequently, the statutory regime governing migration to Assam now became Section 6A of the Citizenship Act, read with the Illegal Migrants Act of 1983, and the Illegal Migrant Rules of 1984. While the Government defended this regime on the basis of protecting minorities, who were genuine citizens of India, from persecution they were also attacked as being too lax on illegal migration, and making it almost impossible to deport illegal migrants.

The Judgment in Sarbananda Sonowal vs Union of India

The Illegal Migrants Act and Rules were challenged before the Supreme Court in Sarbananda Sonowal vs Union of India. A three-judge bench of the Supreme Court held that the statutory regime, with its reversal of the burden of proof clause (placing the burden of proof upon the State rather than the alleged illegal migrant), and its procedural requirements of filing applications (“… accompanied by affidavits sworn by not less than two persons residing within the jurisdiction of the same police station in which the person referred to in the application is found, or residing, corroborating the averments made in the application.“), was insufficient to check the problem of illegal migration. Relying upon a 1998 report by the Governor of Assam, the Supreme Court held that there was a flood of Bangladeshi migrants into Assam, which the statutory regime had failed to check. This, the Court held, amounted to “external aggression” against the State of Assam, and under Article 355 of the Constitution, it was the duty of the Union to protect every state against external aggression. Holding the statutory regime of the Illegal Migrants Act and Illegal Migrants Rules to be directly responsible for this failure, the Court held the Act and Rules to be unconstitutional.

After Sarbananda Sonowal, therefore, the Tribunals under the IMDT ceased to function, and the statutory regime reverted to Section 6A of the Citizenship Act, and the Foreigners Act and the Foreigners Tribunal Order. The State’s attempt to get around this through passing the Foreigners Tribunal (for Assam) Order of 2006 was also struck down by the Court in Sarbananda Sonowal (II)

The Referral Order

It is in this context that the challenge to Section 6A of the Citizenship Act came before the Supreme Court. In his referral order, Justice Nariman framed thirteen questions of law:

“(i) Whether Articles 10 and 11 of the Constitution of India permit the enactment of Section 6A of the Citizenship Act in as much as Section 6A, in prescribing a cut-off date different from the cut-off date prescribed in Article 6, can do so without a “variation” of Article 6 itself; regard, in particular, being had to the phraseology of Article 4 (2) read with Article 368 (1)?

(ii) Whether Section 6A violates Articles 325 and 326 of the Constitution of India in that it has diluted the political rights of the citizens of the State of Assam;

(iii) What is the scope of the fundamental right contained in Article 29(1)? Is the fundamental right absolute in its terms? In particular, what is the meaning of the expression “culture” and the expression “conserve”? Whether Section 6A violates Article 29(1)?

(iv) Whether Section 6A violates Article 355? What is the true interpretation of Article 355 of the Constitution? Would an influx of illegal migrants into a State of India constitute “external aggression” and/or “internal disturbance”? Does the expression “State” occurring in this Article refer only to a territorial region or does it also include the people living in the State, which would include their culture and identity?

(v) Whether Section 6A violates Article 14 in that, it singles out Assam from other border States (which comprise a distinct class) and discriminates against it. Also whether there is no rational basis for having a separate cut-off date for regularizing illegal migrants who enter Assam as opposed to the rest of the country; and

(vi) Whether Section 6A violates Article 21 in that the lives and personal liberty of the citizens of Assam have been affected adversely by the massive influx of illegal migrants from Bangladesh.

(vii) Whether delay is a factor that can be taken into account in moulding relief under a petition filed under Article 32 of the Constitution?

(viii) Whether, after a large number of migrants from East Pakistan have enjoyed rights as Citizens of India for over 40 years, any relief can be given in the petitions filed in the present cases?

(ix) Whether section 6A violates the basic premise of the Constitution and the Citizenship Act in that it permits Citizens who have allegedly not lost their Citizenship of East Pakistan to become deemed Citizens of India, thereby conferring dual Citizenship to such persons?

(x) Whether section 6A violates the fundamental basis of section 5 (1) proviso and section 5 (2) of the Citizenship Act (as it stood in 1985) in that it permits a class of migrants to become deemed Citizens of India without any reciprocity from Bangladesh and without taking the oath of allegiance to the Indian Constitution? 

(xi) Whether the Immigrants (Expulsion from Assam) Act, 1950 being a special enactment qua immigrants into Assam, alone can apply to migrants from East Pakistan/Bangladesh to the exclusion of the general Foreigners Act and the Foreigners (Tribunals) Order, 1964 made thereunder?

(xii) Whether Section 6A violates the Rule of Law in that it gives way to political expediency and not to Government according to law?

(xiii) Whether Section 6A violates fundamental rights in that no mechanism is provided to determine which persons are ordinarily resident in Assam since the dates of their entry into Assam, thus granting deemed citizenship to such persons arbitrarily?”

As we can see, these referral questions raise a host of complex issues about the interaction between the State’s sovereign power of conferring citizenship, the right to equal treatment, and the right to preservation of culture and identity; the interaction between rule of law and citizenship provisions arising as a result of political settlements; and the impact of a possible judgment of unconstitutionality upon vested rights that have stood for decades.

The Aftermath

After the referral order, some further petitions were filed, that were tagged with the main case. These included a petition asking that Section 3 of the Citizenship Act be read in a manner that children of illegal immigrants, when it came to Assam, ought not to be granted citizenship, on the basis that Section 6A was a comprehensive provision dealing with the issue of migration and citizenship in Assam. Petitions were also filed challenging the Foreigners (Amendment) Order of 2015 and the Passport (Entry into India) Amendment Rules, 2015, which stated that “persons belonging to minority communities in Bangladesh and Pakistan, namely, Hindus, Sikhs, Buddhists, Jains, Parsis and Christians who were compelled to seek shelter in India due to religious persecution or fear of religious persecution and entered into India on or before the 31 st December, 2014” would be granted exemption from application of the Foreigners Act and the Passport Rules. It is unclear whether the Court will take up these additional issues for hearing as well.

Either way, we shall know more about the progress of this case tomorrow.

(Disclosure: The writer is assisting the Respondents (AASU) in defending the constitutionality of S. 6A)

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Filed under Citizenship, Cultural Rights, Equality, External Aggression (Article 355), Migration, Minority Rights

The Constitutional Challenge to Aadhaar/PAN – III: The Petitioners’ Rejoinder and the Issues before the Court

In the last two posts, we examined the case of the Petitioners and that of the Union of India before the Supreme Court in the constitutional challenge to S. 139AA of the IT Act. In this post, we shall conclude by discussing the Petitioners’ rejoinder, and outlining the issues that the Court must adjudicate.

Mr Shyam Divan’s Rejoinder

On Article 14 and the Collision Between the Aadhaar Act and S. 139AA

Mr Divan argued that the entire case rested upon the Attorney-General’s argument that S. 7 of the Aadhaar Act was virtually mandatory – an argument, he stated, he had heard for the first time during these proceedings. Mr Divan contended that the only way in which the Attorney-General had managed to reconcile the Aadhaar Act and S. 139AA was by arguing that S. 7 was mandatory. If that argument failed, then the entire edifice would crumble, and S. 139AA would have to be struck down.

Mr Divan argued that the entire scheme of the Aadhaar Act made it clear that it was voluntary. This was evident from the Statement of Objects and Reasons, from Section 3, which stipulated that “every resident shall be entitled” to an Aadhaar number. It was also evident from S. 3(2), which required the enrolling agency to inform the individual about the manner in which the information would be used and S. 8(2)(a), which required requesting entities to “obtain consent” . And S.7 only permitted the Government to make Aadhaar mandatory as a condition for receiving subsidies which were financed out of the Consolidated Fund of India. Mr Divan argued that the Attorney-General’s reliance on S. 57 was incorrect, because S. 57 clearly stated that it was subject to the rest of the Aadhaar Act. No coercive measures were contemplated by the Act. Furthermore, the voluntariness of Aadhaar was also evident from the enrolling form, which specified consent; from the UIDAI’s own website, which used the phrases “entitled to voluntarily obtain an Aadhaar number“, and “any person may choose to use Aadhaar“; and from the UIDAI’s advertisements.

Aadhaar, therefore, was a voluntary scheme. What flowed from this, according to Mr Divan, was that a legislative scheme which divided people into two categories – those who choose to have an Aadhaar, and those who don’t – and then burdened the latter category, was discriminatory on the face of it. And this was precisely what S. 139AA did. By dividing taxpayers into those who had freely chosen to get an Aadhaar number, and those who hadn’t, and by forcibly requiring the latter to get an Aadhaar, S. 139AA violated Article 14 because its very objective was discriminatory. Mr Divan argued that the petition should succeed on this count alone.

Compelled Speech 

Mr Divan clarified that his point about compelled speech was simply that, by parting with her biometric details and iris scan – the most personal of all information about oneself – the individual was being compelled to “speak” – and that too, not to the State, but to private enrolling agencies. Mr Divan conceded that there might be different considerations if the State was doing the collecting itself; but how, he asked, could the State compel the individual to “speak” to another individual with whom they did not wish to have any interaction? Reading out the list of private enrollers, Mr Divan argued that the entire architecture of Aadhaar – which required me to go and provide my most sensitive information not to the State, but to “Pankaj Shah of Bits and Bytes Co.” violated Article 19(1)(a).

Bodily Integrity, Compelling State Interest, Narrow Tailoring 

The Union of India’s entire argument – Mr Divan stated – essentially boiled down to “what’s the big deal about this? Other laws require you to part with personal information too.” To this, he responded that there could be laws which infringed bodily integrity in order to protect and preserve life: this is why there were laws mandating helmets and seatbelts. Likewise, there could be laws stipulating narrowly-tailored exceptions to the right, in service of a compelling State interest, such as passports (where an urgent need might arise to identify a person in case of an accident abroad). That, however, was a far cry from a centralised database, which – according to the Union’s own affidavit – involved seeding of information. This was also what distinguished Aadhaar from a provision such as S. 32A of the Registration Act. The Registration Act required you to give your fingerprints, but that was for your benefit and was only on the document; it did not go into a centralised database, with all the accompanying possibilities of misuse and data theft. Similarly, the Census Act accorded a very high degree of protection to census information: inspection of census registered, for instance, was prohibited. What this showed was that when the coercive power of the State is used to invade bodily integrity, there must be a consequently high degree of protection – something which Aadhaar, with the possibility of seeding, did not have.

Furthermore, Mr Divan argued, the State had failed to make out a compelling interest. The argument about “giving people an identity” was flawed, because 99.97% of Aadhaar applicants already had pre-existing identity documents. The logic of duplication was also flawed, because official information showed the presence of 1,69,000 duplicate Aadhaar numbers. Consequently, the large-sale infringement of bodily integrity in this case could not be sustained by the goal the State was trying to achieve.

Competence and Deference 

Mr Divan reiterated his argument that under the constitutional scheme, there was an implied limitation upon the State’s power to legislate when it came to the human body: only narrowly-tailored infringements, in service of a compelling interest, were permitted. Wholesale taking of biometric details and iris scans, and storing them in a centralised database for the purposes of seeding was neither narrowly-tailored, nor in service of a compelling interest. Mr Divan also pointed  out that this case had raised serious questions pertaining to the violation of Articles 14, 19, and 21 of the Constitution. Consequently, the Court ought not to follow its usual policy in dealing with “fiscal statutes”, and defer to legislative wisdom; although 139AA was a tax amendment, its nature was anything but purely fiscal.

Mr Divan concluded by arguing that the Union’s three-pronged case – that there was no right to privacy, that fingerprinting and iris scans were no more intrusive than a photograph, and that Aadhaar was mandatory – if accepted, would overturn the entire relationship between the individual and the State, concentrating great power in the hands of the latter at the expense of the former. That would result in a tremendous compromise of civil liberties. He would urge the Court to strike down S. 139AA.

Mr Datar’s Rejoinder

Legislative Overruling of Judicial Orders

Mr Datar argued that before the Supreme Court, the Union of India had always reiterated that Aadhaar was voluntary. On 11th August 2015, and then again on 15th October 2015, the Supreme Court itself had stated that Aadhaar could not be made mandatory. Now, it was open to Parliament to legislate in a way that took away the basis of these orders. Parliament, for instance, could simply stipulate, in a law, that henceforth, every individual was obligated to obtain an Aadhaar Number. However, Parliament had not done that. Parliament had simply enacted S. 139AA, which made it mandatory to quote an Aadhaar number while filing Income Tax returns. That did not amount to taking away the basis of the Supreme Court orders. Mr Datar took the example of a case in Bangalore, where notwithstanding building regulations prohibiting a height of more than 80m, a person had built up to 100m. The case was taken to Court, and he lost. However, before his building could be demolished, the Regulation was changed to make the legal height 110m, and applicable retrospectively, from the time that construction had commenced. That, argued Mr Datar, was an instance of how the basis of a judgment could be altered, and that was the only way known to law in which the Parliament or Executive could overcome a contrary court order. Similarly, in the Supreme Court’s recent judgment banning liquor within a specified distance from highways, some states had responded by denotifying their highways, and turning them into ordinary roads. That was permissible, because it removed the basis of the Court’s judgment; however, those states could not simply have said, “notwithstanding the Supreme Court judgment, alcohol will continue to be sold in these shops.” S. 139AA effectively amounted to state action of the latter kind.

Justice Sikri pointed out that what was unique about this case was that the Court’s earlier orders had been passed when Aadhaar was merely an executive scheme, and no law existed. So could it be said that the orders even applied to a law in the first place? Mr Datar responded by saying that in view of Ram Jawaya Kapoor’s Case, the executive and legislative powers of the State were co-extensive. Consequently, whether the original orders applied to an executive scheme, or to a law, the point remained that they could only be overcome through the specific mechanism outlined above. Justice Sikri and Mr Datar agreed that the Court was dealing with this kind of a situation for the first time in its history, and would have to lay down the law on the basis of first principles. Justice Sikri then asked what the “basis” of the earlier Court orders was, that the Parliament could have legislated to take away. Mr Datar responded that the basis was that since the validity of Aadhaar was yet to be tested on the constitutional anvil, in the meantime it could not be made mandatory for anything but a specified number of services. Consequently, the only way of removing this basis was to pass an Act that stated “Parliament may make Aadhaar mandatory…” Mr Arghya Sengupta interjected to state that S. 7 of the Aadhaar Act did this already. Mr. Datar replied that S. 7 did nothing of the sort.

Legislative Dichotomy

Mr Datar then pointed out that S. 139AA of the Aadhaar Act did not contain a non-obstante clause (“notwithstanding anything contained in any other law for the time being in force…). In the absence of a non-obstante clause, there was a clear collision – or a dichotomy – between the Aadhaar Act and S. 139AA, a dichotomy that could be resolved only by striking down S. 139AA. Once Parliament had passed a law which made Aadhaar a right – it could not then pass a contrary law that made Aadhaar its jural opposite –  a duty without a non-obstante clause. Mr Datar read out numerous parliamentary statements – including one by Mr Jaitley – to demonstrate that at its core, Aadhaar was meant to be voluntary, and also pointed to the utter lack of debate in Parliament before passing S. 139AA.

Article 14

Mr Datar argued once again that the State had entirely failed to make out a rational nexus between making Aadhaar compulsory for individual taxpayers, and its stated goal(s) of preventing duplication, preventing black money, and preventing terrorism. He pointed out that only 0.4% of PAN Cards had been found to be duplicate, and that these figures from 2006. In response to Mr Sengupta’s interjection that this was only 0.4% of a very small sample, Mr Datar responded that that was exactly the point of statistical sampling. He observed there was no data after 2006, and asked on what basis the State had decided to take such a huge step – of mandatory Aadhaar – without analysing data, or sending the matter for consideration by a Parliamentary committee. The reason for the discrepancy between the number of PAN Cards and the number of taxpayers was simply that, after 1998, PAN began to be used for a wide number of transactions that had nothing to do with tax. Consequently, the Union had failed to discharge its burden under Article 14 that there existed a rational nexus between making individuals quote their Aadhaar numbers while filing tax returns, and checking duplication, tax evasion, or black money.

Mr Datar also addressed the Attorney-General’s arguments under FATCA, arguing that FATCA had nothing to do with Aadhaar numbers at all. Mr Arghya Sengupta interjected, saying that FATCA required handing over PAN numbers to US authorities, and that it would be embarrassing if duplicate PANs were handed over. Mr Datar pointed out that this had nothing to do with rational nexus under Article 14.

Article 19(1)(g) 

Mr Datar argued that the consequences of not having a PAN Card effectively locked an individual out of a number of economic transactions that were a lifeline (especially) for small traders and entrepreneurs. Apart from crores of individual taxpayers, it would be this class that would be affected the most: their entire economic life would grind to a halt. Consequently, for those who did not wish to get an Aadhaar number, S. 139AA was a serious infringement of their right to carry on trade and business under Article 19(1)9(g).

Now, if a law violated Article 19(1)(g), it could only be justified under Article 19(6): i.e., if it was a reasonable restriction in the interests of the general public. The correct test for assessing reasonableness had been laid down by Justice Sikri himself, in Modern Dental College vs State of MP (discussed on this blog here), and it was the test of “proportionality”:

“… a limitation of a constitutional right will be constitutionally permissible if: (i) it is designated for a proper purpose; (ii) the measures undertaken to effectuate such a limitation are rationally connected to the fulfillment of that purpose; (iii) the measures undertaken are necessary in that there are no alternative measures that may similarly achieve that same purpose with a lesser degree of limitation; and finally (iv) there needs to be a proper relation (‘proportionality stricto sensu’ or ‘balancing’) between the importance of achieving the proper purpose and the social importance of preventing the limitation on the constitutional right.” (paragraph 53)

Mr Datar pointed out that for 0.4% of duplicate PANs, 99.96% of taxpayers were being forced into Aadhaar. How, he asked, was this proportionate? In the balancing of interests between duplicate PANs and the freedom to do business, proportionality – in this case – clearly weighed in on the side of the former.

Mr Datar concluded by stating that this was a very serious case, with far-reaching consequences for civil liberties. Responding to the Attorney-General’s contention that all that had happened was that an extra “A” had been added to S. 139A, making it “Section 139AA”, he urged the Court to stop the encroachment on individual rights at its first step. He ended by quoting Justice Douglas of the US Supreme Court:

“As nightfall does not come at once, neither does oppression. In both instances, there is a twilight when everything remains seemingly unchanged. And it is in such twilight that we all must be most aware of change in the air – however slight – lest we become unwitting victims of the darkness.”

Issues before the Court

The Supreme Court has to resolve the following issues:

(a) Did S. 139AA “take away the basis” of the Supreme Court’s earlier orders on Aadhaar being voluntary, or is it an impermissible legislative overruling of a binding Court order?

(b) Does S. 139AA violate bodily integrity under Article 21? If it does, then does it serve a compelling State interest? And is it narrowly-tailored? Is it analogous to other laws such as the Registration Act, the Census Act, or the Passports Act, or is it much broader and far-reaching then those statutes? When deciding this issue, the Court will also have to decide how much to defer to the Union’s claims on duplication and black money, in view of the fact that the Petitioners strongly contested the validity of these claims. One interesting aspect here is how the Court will choose to allocate burdens of proof: will it, if it finds an infringement of bodily integrity, hold that the State must then justify it on the touchstone of compelling interest and narrow tailoring?

(c) Does S. 139AA violate Article 19(1)(g)? If so, is it proportionate, in view of statistics on the number of duplicate PANs and the existence of duplicate Aadhaars?

(d) In view of the fact that the Aadhaar Act makes Aadhaar voluntary, does S. 139AA fail the discriminatory purpose prong of Article 14 by classifying taxpayers into those who have voluntarily taken an Aadhaar number, and those who haven’t?

(e) Has the State shown a “rational nexus” under Article 14, with its goals of preventing black money and duplication? Here again, the issue of deference will become decisive: will the Court hold 139AA to be an economic statute, and take the Union’s claims at face value? Or will it, in view of the contentions involving fundamental rights, subject the Union to a stricter scrutiny in justifying its contention about Aadhaar being the panacea for preventing tax evasion?

(f) Does 139AA amount to compelled speech under Article 19(1)(a)?

(g) Does 139AA violate the principle of informational self-determination under Article 21?

(e) Is there an implied limitation upon legislative competence as far as laws concerning the human body are concerned? If yes, then does 139AA violate this implied limitation?

Options before the Court

The Court may do one of the following six things:

(a) Strike down S. 139AA as unconstitutional.

(b) Accept Mr Divan’s argument, and hold that S. 139AA is voluntary by reading “shall” as “may”.

(c) Accept Mr Datar’s argument and “harmoniously construe” S. 139AA and the Aadhaar Act by holding that those who have already procured and Aadhaar number might be required to quote it, but those who haven’t cannot be compelled to enroll.

(d) Find that issues or privacy are essential to decide the case, refer the matter to the pending Constitution Bench, and stay its operation in the meantime.

(e) Refer without staying

(f) Uphold S. 139AA entirely, but leave it open to the Petitioners to challenge it on the grounds of privacy, once the Constitution Bench finally decides the main Aadhaar challenge.

 

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Filed under aadhaar, Article 14, Article 21 and the Right to Life, Bodily Integrity, Bodily Privacy/Integrity, Equality, Privacy

Constitutional Problems with the Exclusion of Jurisdiction in the Coal Block Cases

(In this guest post, Abhinav Sekhri takes on from his previous analysis of the Girish Kumar Suneja Case, and demonstrates the various constitutional issues that arise out of the manner in which the Supreme Court has excluded the jurisdiction of the High Courts in certain criminal cases. This essay has been cross-posted from The Proof of Guilt blog).

The Supreme Court did three important things in Order dated 25.07.2014 in Manohar Lal Sharma v. Principal Secretary & Ors. [W.P. (Crl.) 120/2012]:
  • Directed the competent authorities to issue requisite notifications to appoint Mr. Bharat Parashar as a Special Judge to exclusively deal with “offences pertaining to coal block allocation matters”;
  • Transferred all cases pending before courts “pertaining to coal block allocation matters” to the Court of this Special Judge;
  • Clarified that “any prayer for stay or impeding the progress in the investigation/trial can be made only before this Court and no other Court shall entertain the same.”

The Delhi High Court in Girish Kumar Suneja v. CBI [Crl. M.C. No. 3847/2016, decided on 27.10.2016] dismissed a petition under Section 482 Cr.P.C. as being non-maintainable, being of the view that the Order dated 25.07.2014 passed in W.P. (Crl.) 120/2012 by the Supreme Court completely excluded the jurisdiction of the High Court (excluding appeals against judgments).

On January 24, 2017, the Coal Bench of the Supreme Court posted a batch of eight connected matters for hearing on the 6th of February (including the challenge against the Delhi High Court order in Suneja). These cases, both directly and indirectly, challenge an important issue of law: the exclusion of the High Court in either appeals, revisions, or writ jurisdiction in the coal block allocation cases. This has been discussed earlier, and I develop those thoughts in this post in support of the position that such an exclusion is unconstitutional.
Testing Article 14
In Anwar Ali Sarkar v. State of West Bengal [AIR 1952 SC 75], the West Bengal Special Courts Act 1950 was struck down as there was no guidance offered by Section 5 of that Act in prescribing which category of cases merited the special procedure, which greatly differed from the ordinary procedure prescribed in the Cr.P.C.
The Supreme Court thus upheld, in principle, creation of a specialised procedure through statute to address a particular category of offences. In Kedar Nath Bajoria v. State of West Bengal [AIR 1953 AIR 404], the majority concluded that the West Bengal Criminal Law Amendment (Special Courts) Act, 1949 suffered from no infirmities when it allowed the executive to selectively send certain cases to Special Courts, as long as they were from a selection of economic offences provided for in the Schedule. Similarly, in Asgarali Nazarali Singaporewalla v. State of Bombay [AIR 1957 SC 503], the Supreme Court upheld the validity of the Criminal Law Amendment Act, 1952, which created a special procedure for the trial of offences under Sections 161, 165, 165A IPC and Sections 5(2) of the Prevention of Corruption Act, 1947 (all provisions now repealed).
In Re Special Courts Bill [AIR 1979 SC 478], the Supreme Court answered a reference under Article 143(1) of the Constitution of India, when the President sought consideration on whether the Special Courts Bill, 1978, was constitutional. On the issue of Article 13, the Justice Chandrachud (as he then was) provided a thirteen-limb test to judge the Bill, and found that it passed muster.
Adopting the tests laid down by the Supreme Court, it is apparent that the Order dated 25.07.2014 is bad in law. It creates a distinct category of cases “pertaining to coal block allocation matters” without specifying the scope and extent of this classification. Nothing is provided to show how the present classification carries any objective, and how it is connected to such an objective in the first place.
Just, Fair, and Reasonable?
The particular classification enforced by the Order dated 25.07.2014 creates a procedure that violates Article 21 of the Constitution, for it is not just fair and reasonable following the test of Maneka Gandhi v. Union of India [AIR 1978 SC 597]. The Supreme Court has, since Vineet Narain [(1996) 2 SCC 199; (1998) 1 SCC 226], reluctantly agreed to monitor investigations in certain sensitive cases. These ‘Court-Monitored Investigations’, have the agency report directly to the Supreme Court during investigation to the complete exclusion of other forums. However, as clearly held in Vineet Narain, the exclusivity came to an end with the completion of an investigation, and regular criminal procedure resumed.
In the present case, the exclusivity continues for the entire duration of the trial, and thus offends Article 21 of the Constitution. The concept of a fair trial is embedded within the notion of Article 21, and the idea of a fair trial encapsulates within it the concept of effective forums of Appeal. The adjudication in appeal or extraordinary situations by a constitutional court, i.e. the High Court, is certainly part of the fair trial guarantee under Article 21. The decision by a Division Bench of the Supreme Court in Shahid Balwa v. Union of India [(2014) 2 SCC 687] where such an exclusion was upheld must be reconsidered. The nebulous concept of ‘large public interest’ cannot override the concrete constitutional guarantees made to every person under the Constitution of India.
As the denial of adjudication by the High Court for only a vague category of persons is clearly contrary to Article 21, it must then be determined whether there is any law to save such discrimination. The order dated 25.07.2014, would not be law for the purposes of Article 21, and therefore nothing saves the violation of Article 21 in the present case.
Violating the Basic Structure?
The very exercise of the judiciary creating a special procedure for the trial of certain offences is contrary to the Basic Structure. The creation of offences, and the creation of their procedure, is a function well-vested with the Legislature in the separation of powers fundamental to the Constitution’s basic structure. Such usurpation of power offends the system of checks and balances that is inherent in the Constitution. It is akin to the process of re-promulgating ordinances, which a Seven-Judge Bench of Supreme Court recently held to be a fraud on the Constitution [Krishna Kumar Singh & Anr. v. State of Bihar & Ors, Civil Appeal No. 5875/1994, decided on 02.01.2017].
Furthermore, the Supreme Court in L. Chandra Kumar v. Union of India & Ors. [(1995) 1 SCC 400] found the complete exclusion of judicial review by the Administrative Tribunals Act, 1985 to be contrary to the basic structure of the Constitution. The power of the High Courts under Article 226/227 was specifically found to be part of the Basic Structure by the Constitution Bench in L. Chandra Kumar. Therefore, the exclusion of jurisdiction perpetrated by the Order dated 25.07.2014 is illegal, and accordingly cannot be given effect to.
Although it is settled that judicial orders are outside the purview of Part III of the Constitution [Naresh Sridhar Mirajkar, AIR 1967 SC 1], this cannot be utilised to do indirectly what is impermissible directly. A Seven-Judge Bench of the Supreme Court in A.R. Antulay v. R.S. Nayak & Ors. [(1988) 2 SCC 602] reviewed and set aside orders passed by another bench of the Court in proceedings whereby a special, but illegal, procedure was created to address the trial of certain offences against the erstwhile Chief Minister of Maharashtra. While doing so, it was observed that “the power to create or enlarge jurisdiction is legislative in character, so also the power to confer a right of appeal or to take away a right of appeal. Parliament alone can do it by law. No Court, whether superior or inferior or both combined can enlarge the jurisdiction of the Court or divest the person of his rights of revision and appeal.”

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Filed under Access to Justice, Article 21 and the Right to Life, Article 226 Remedies, Basic structure, Equality, Jurisdiction

The Supreme Court’s Judgment on the Sale of Liquor along National Highways

In a judgment delivered earlier this week, a three-judge bench of the Supreme Court issued directions to the states and union territories to desist from granting licenses for the sale of alcohol along national and state highways, and also directed that no liquor shop be located within five hundred metres of the highway. Although the Court began its judgment with a nod to judicial review, in my view, it failed to demonstrate the legal source of its power to pass the directions that it did. This is evidenced by its reference, in paragraph 24(vii), to the constitutional catch-all:

“These directions issue under Article 142 of the Constitution.”

As I have argued before, however, Article 142 is not a carte blanche; it specifies that “the Supreme Court in the exercise of its jurisdiction may pass such decree or make such order as is necessary for doing complete justice in any cause or matter pending before it.” A preliminary condition for the applicability of Article 142, therefore, is that the Supreme Court act within its jurisdiction. One aspect of this, surely, is that the Court act in accordance with the separation of powers, even if it is the loose and flexible separation of powers that exists under the Indian Constitution. Now, under the Constitution, the power to grant liquor licenses rests with the states (under List II of the Seventh Schedule), and indeed, this legal fact was admitted by the Court  in paragraph 13. Directions to the state governments not to grant licenses for alcohol shops appear to encroach directly upon the legislative function, and therefore – prima facie – fall outside the “jurisdiction” of the Court.

The Court made two arguments to justify this exercise of power. First, it referred to a number of government policy documents that drew a correlation between alcohol consumption and road accidents. It also referred to the fact that the union Ministry had issued circulars “advising” the State governments not to grant any new licenses to liquor shops along the highways. However, at no point did the Court hold or observe that these policy documents or circulars had any kind of statutory or legal force. And in any event, as the Court itself admitted, the circulars were limited to the national highways, since the Union had no jurisdiction over state highways. In its judgment, however, the Court extended its directions to both national and state highways, and provided this by way of justification:

The power of the states to grant liquor licences is undoubted. The issue is whether such liquor licences should be granted on national and state highways at the cost of endangering human lives and safety. In our view, which is based on the expert determination of the Union government, we hold that the answer should be in the negative.”

With respect, this is not the issue. The issue is whether the Court is acting within its jurisdiction by taking over the function of the state legislatures to regulate liquor licenses, and on that question, the judgment remains silent. While the reasoning would be unexceptionable if it was in the Statement of Objects and Reasons of a Bill being tabled in a state assembly, it fails to address the essential issue of the Court’s jurisdiction, which is the precondition to the exercise of Article 142 power. Reference to the “expert determination” of the Union government does not help, because the question is not whether the Union government’s determination was correct or incorrect, but which body is authorised to act upon that determination.

Secondly, the Court made a brief mention of Article 21, observing that “… the court [is] not fashion[ing] its own policy but enforc[ing] the right to life under Article 21 of the Constitution based on the considered view of expert bodies.” While this pithy formulation is not developed further, an argument could be made that in granting liquor licenses along state highways, the state governments are failing in their positive duty to protect the fundamental right to life under Article 21 of the Constitution. Consequently, the Court’s directions – under Article 142 – are within its jurisdiction, since the Court is only performing its constitutional duty to ensure that the State abides by fundamental rights (whether in their negative or their positive aspects).

However, if this was the legal foundation of the judgment (and I can see no other), then the Court – I would suggest – was required to rest it on firmer evidentiary foundation than it did in the present case, and also, to provide a legal test for the degree of proximity required between State (in)action and the loss of life, for Article 21 (in its positive aspect) to be attracted. There are a lot of things that the State does or does not do, that ultimately affect peoples’ lives. For instance, people would probably live longer, and there would be fewer deaths by heart attacks, if the State was to ban all junk food. That, however, would not justify the Court invoking Article 21 and directing the State to ban all junk food.

The Court – as pointed out above – referred to the Union’s circulars and policy documents, which had found a correlation between access to liquor along highways and road deaths, and then observed that it would defer to these findings. However, this was not a case where the Court was adjudicating upon the validity of administrative action, where a simple, deferential approach would be appropriate. Here, the Court was using the Union’s policy documents to make a finding that the states were in breach of their obligations under Article 21. This, I would submit, requires more exacting scrutiny (and a legal test of causation) than what the Court engaged in.

Lastly, although the Court correctly followed precedent in holding that there was no fundamental right under Article 19(1)(g) to trade in alcohol, in my view, it missed an important aspect: while the right to trade in alcohol might not be a fundamental right, surely the right to consume alcohol – as an aspect of personal choice – is a fundamental right (Article 21). The Court may still have returned a finding that the limited removal of access to alcohol along highways did not affect the content of the right in any meaningful way, but it at least ought to have acknowledged the existence of the right, and engaged with the fact that there was some interference with it.

Unlike some recent orders delivered by other benches, the Supreme Court’s judgment in this case made a substantive attempt to ground itself within the parametres of the Constitution. In my view, however, in order to be persuasive, its reasoning needed to be substantially stronger than what it was.

 

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Filed under Article 21 and the Right to Life, separation of powers, The Judiciary