Proving Citizenship: Lessons from the African Court on Human and Peoples’ Rights

Ochieng v Tanzania and Penessis v Tanzania are two recent decisions of the African Court of Human and Peoples’ Rights, that demonstrate a humane and sensitive approach to the vexed question of citizenship challenges. Both cases involved challenges by individuals who had been declared non-citizens by Tanzanian authorities.

In Ochieng v Tanzania (22 March 2018), Tanzania deported a declared “non-citizen” to Kenya, who then “deported” him back, leaving him stuck in what the Court called a “no-man’s land” on the border. The basis of the Tanzanian authorities’ decision was that the Mr. Ochieng had forged his documents to obtain his passport – and, in particular, on the basis of “discrepancies” between the documents and the result of an investigation conducted in his village. The Court noted that deprivation of nationality could only be done in compliance with international standards, including the four-pronged test of proportionality. In order to determine whether Tanzania had complied with these standards, the first question that arose was: on which party did the burden lie to demonstrate Mr. Ochieng’s nationality, or lack thereof? In paragraph 80, the Court answered that:

… the instant case, the Applicant maintains that he is of Tanzanian nationality, which is being contested by the Respondent state. In the circumstance, it is necessary to establish on whom lies the burden of proof. It is the opinion of the Court that, since the Respondent State is contesting the Applicant’s nationality held since his birth on the basis of legal documents established by the Respondent State itself, the burden is on the Respondent state to prove the contrary.

The State of Tanzania made a number of arguments that would be familiar to Indian readers, such as spelling discrepancies between documents and testimonies, conflicting oral testimonies, and so on. The Court rejected these arguments, noting that as Tanzania had neither (a) prosecuted Mr. Ochieng for forgery, or (b) conducted a DNA test to determine his link to his parents (who were admittedly Tanzanian citizens) despite him having offered to do so in order to resolve the contradiction between the testimonies, it had failed to discharge its evidentiary burden.

Penessis v Tanzania involved somewhat similar facts. Mr. Penessis was convicted of being an illegal immigrant in 2010, and then placed in detention (also a familiar story for Indian readers). He lost his appeals in the higher courts, which eventually passed orders for his deportation. As in Ochieng’s Case, the dispute revolved around documents: Mr. Penessis claimed that he had a valid birth certificate and Tanzanian passport and was a citizen by birth; the State of Tanzania, on the other hand, argued that he also had British and South African passports, and that Tanzania did not allow for dual citizenship.

Going beyond its judgment in Ochieng’s Case, the African Court referred to international legal instruments to note that “the right to nationality is a fundamental aspect of the dignity of the human person.” (paragraph 87) Consequently, the Court went on to note that “a person’s arbitrary denial of his/her right to nationality is incompatible with the right to human dignity.” (paragraph 88) These observations were crucial, because they went to the heart of the same question that had occupied the Court in Ochieng’s Case: in a dispute over citizenship status, where did the burden of proof lie?

The Court noted, at paragraph 92:

… the burden of proof lies with the alleging party and shifts to the other party only when discharged. Having said that, the Court is of the view that this principle is not static and may be subject to exceptions especially in circumstances where the alleging party is not in a position to access or produce the required proof; or where the evidence is manifestly in the custody of the other party or the latter is entrusted with the means and prerogatives to discharge the burden of proof or counter the alleging party.

That said, citing various other judgments, the Court went on to note:

… when it comes to human rights, this rule cannot be rigidly applied and there must be an exception among other circumstances, where … the means to verify the allegation are likely to be controlled by the state … In such cases, the … the burden of proof is shared and the Court will assess the circumstances with a view to establishing the facts … The International Court of Justice (lCJ) in the Nottebohm Case (Liechtenstein v. Guatemala)2s also held that to determine a nationality link, it is necessary to take into account the very important social factors which bind the Applicant to the Respondent State. (paragraphs 93, 95)

What followed from this, therefore, was that:

… the Applicant who alleges that he holds a certain nationality bears the onus to prove so. Once he has discharged the duly prima facie, the burden shifts to the Respondent State to prove otherwise. (paragraph 96)

On the facts, the Court noted that (a) the State of Tanzania had alleged that the Mr. Penessis’ birth certificate was forged, but had adduced no evidence to prove that; (b) that the facts of Mr. Penessis’ birth were testified to by a person who (according to his birth certificate) was his mother, and that therefore, the initial presumption of citizenship had been established. The Court then observed that:

At this juncture, the Court further notes that all the documents tendered by both parties are copies or certified copies and that neither of the parties adduced originals of the documents used as evidence. In the circumstance, the Court is of the opinion that the Respondent State, as a depository and guarantor of public authority and custodian of the civil status registry, has the necessary means to correctly establish whether the Applicant was a Tanzanian, South African or a British citizen. The Respondent State could also have obtained and produced concrete evidence to support its assertion that the Applicant has other nationalities … In view of the aforesaid, the Court considers that there is a body of documents especially the certified copy of the birth certificate and the certified temporary travel document issued by the competent authorities pending finalisation of the passport, establishing that the Applicant is Tanzanian by birth and that the Respondent State has not been able to prove the contrary. It therefore finds in conclusion that the Applicant’s right to Tanzanian nationality has been violated, contrary to Article S of the Charter and Article 15 of UDHR. (paragraphs 102 – 103)

 

In both Ochieng and Penessis, therefore, the African Court provided important insights into the vexed issue of burden in citizenship cases. According to the Court, because the bases of proving citizenship (documentary evidence) was in the possession of the individual, the initial burden lay upon him. However, once prima facie citizenship had been demonstrated, the burden would shift to the State, and the State would be held to a strict standard of proof, given the human rights consequences of deprivation of nationality and statelessness.

Compare, however, these judgments with the recent judgment of the Gauhati High Court in Noor Begum v Union of India. The Gauhati High Court upheld a decision of the Foreigners’ Tribunal rejecting the citizenship status of Noor Begum – a decision that involved dismissing no fewer than eight official documents. Curiously, there was no evidence that the documents were forged. What the Court held was that some of the documents were not admissible because they had not been proved by the Issuing Authorities, and even the document that was admissible (a school certificate) did not make it “the end of the matter”, as the Headmaster who had issued it had not been examined. Additionally, Noor Begum produced documentary evidence of the citizenship status of her projected grandfather and father, and oral evidence of her projected mother to draw that link. However, the High Court disaggregated these two pieces of evidence, holding that (a) the documentary evidence of Noor Begum’s projected grandfather and father was worthless because it did not establish her link to them, and (b) the oral evidence of her projected mother (that would have established that link) was worthless because it was only oral, and with no supporting documents! The Court justified this by noting that “the relevant facts being within the knowledge of the procedee, the therefore, the burden of proving citizenship absolutely rests upon the procedee.”

The approach of the Gauhati High Court is in stark contrast to the approach of the African Court of Human and Peoples’ Rights. As both Courts observed, the initial burden of proof rests upon the person claiming citizenship (the logic being that that person would be in the possession of relevant information required to substantiate that claim, and it would be difficult for the State to “prove a negative”, so to say). But while the African Court went on to hold that this was only an initial burden, which would flip once a prima facie case was made out, the Gauhati High Court turned it into an “absolute burden” (there is no warrant for that in the Foreigners Act). The High Court then placed a series of essentially onerous conditions upon the applicant (such as having to examine the headmaster of a school she graduated from twenty years ago) which – it should be obvious – would be very difficult to fulfil. Noticeably, in none of this was there any allegation that any document was forged, or that the oral testimony was false; this is specifically important because – as the African Court correctly noted – when it comes to the question of forgery, it is actually lies more within the government’s power to demonstrate that (its own official) documents have been forged, rather than for the applicant to (now) “prove the negative”.

It is submitted that the international presumption against statelessness and the link between stateless and human dignity requires a nuanced and sensitive approach towards the question of burden of proof in citizenship cases. This is especially true in countries like Tanzania and India, where there exist large numbers of marginalised and vulnerable people, whose access to documents is limited to start with. The approach of the African Court represents the correct balancing of interests, and – it is submitted – would be a better fit with Indian constitutional commitments, as opposed to the zero-sum approach of the Gauhati High Court. Perhaps that task will lie with the Supreme Court.

Guest Post: The Wrath of CAAn – on Citizenship, Secularism, and Equality

[This is a guest post by Abhinav Chandrachud.]


In a paper posted on SSRN, I outline what I consider to be the key arguments for and against the Citizenship (Amendment) Act, 2019 (“CAA”).

Hidden Constitutional Premises:

To begin with, the paper interrogates the premise that the CAA violates the secular fabric of India’s Constitution and argues that there were certain hidden premises in the citizenship provisions of the Constitution that were not very secular at all. Two waves of immigration from West Pakistan to India occurred after 1 March 1947. In the first wave, Hindus and Sikhs came here in large numbers. In the second wave, Muslims who had left India for Pakistan tried to come back home. This created problems in India – the homes of Muslim “evacuees” were being used to rehabilitate Hindu and Sikh “displaced persons”. In July 1948, therefore, a permit system was introduced which made it very difficult for Muslim “evacuees” to return to India if they had property back home. Articles 6-7 of the Constitution indirectly entrenched this preference for Hindu/Sikh “displaced persons” and discriminated against Muslim “evacuees” who wanted to come back home. They did so by making it far easier for those who had come to India prior to 19 July 1948 (i.e., the date of the introduction of the permit system), presumed to be mostly Hindus and Sikhs, to become Indian citizens, while denying Muslim “evacuees” citizenship unless they had obtained an elusive permit for resettlement.

The CAA Is Discriminatory:

That does not mean, however, that the CAA is constitutionally valid. The conditions which existed between 1947-50 (viz., housing shortages, a mass exodus of people, a charged communal environment caused by an influx of refugees) no longer exist today. A persuasive argument can be made that the CAA is discriminatory for five reasons: (i) it leaves out other religious communities in the subject countries (e.g., Jews, atheists, agnostics, Shias, Ahmadiyas); (ii) it ignores other countries in India’s neighborhood (e.g., Sri Lanka, Bhutan, Myanmar); (iii) the cut-off date of 31 December 2014 is arbitrary (though bright line rules tend to be arbitrary, the CAA’s bright line rule undermines its own ostensibly humanitarian objective of protecting those who suffer religious persecution); (iv) it ignores non-religious persecution (e.g., persecution on grounds of race or sexual orientation); (v) the relaxation of the residence requirement from 11 years to 5 years is palpably arbitrary (why should a Parsi fleeing religious persecution from Iran have to reside in India for 11 years to seek citizenship by naturalization, while a Parsi fleeing religious persecution from Afghanistan has to wait only 5 years?)

Underinclusion, or the Chief Justice Patanjali Sastri Defence

However, proponents of the CAA might argue that Article 14 of the Constitution has its limits. In an early case, Chief Justice Patanjali Sastri held that classification brought about by the legislature need not be “scientifically perfect or logically complete”. Building on this doctrine, the Supreme Court has, over the years, held that a pragmatic (not doctrinaire) approach will be adopted in classification cases. The court will frown upon an overinclusive statute but not an underinclusive one (unless there is no fair reason to exclude those left out). The CAA is underinclusive. The state may argue that the categories it excludes are based on degrees of harm and that classification need not be scientifically perfect.

However, this argument is not very persuasive. The classification under the CAA must be tested in the light of the ostensible purpose of the statute. The aim of the statute, according to the Statement of Objects and Reasons, is to protect communities which “faced persecution on grounds of religion” in the subject countries. If that is so, the exclusion of the four categories mentioned above (i.e., other religious minorities in the subject countries; religious minorities in other countries; those who suffer religious persecution after the cut-off date; those who suffer non-religious persecution) lacks an “adequate determining principle” altogether, and therefore is not a simple case of “under-inclusion”; rather, it might fall foul of the “manifest arbitrariness” test.

The CAA is only part of the problem:

However, the CAA is only a part of the problem with Indian citizenship law. Amending the CAA to undo its shortcomings will still not save genuine Indian citizens from being disenfranchised under a National Register of Citizens (NRC). Some 19 lakh people in Assam have been left out of the NRC. Non-Muslims who are excluded from the NRC will only be able to seek refuge under the CAA if they can prove that they came to India before 31 December 2014 from one of the subject countries fleeing (or fearing) religious persecution, which may not be as easy as one might think (despite the “sympathy” provision in Section 8 of the Foreigners Act, 1946).

The paper identifies four problems with Indian citizenship laws: (i) the reverse burden of proof; (ii) the abandonment of citizenship by birth; (iii) the failure to grant a safe harbor to “dreamers”; and (iv) the procedural defects in the Foreigners Tribunals.

The burden of proof in citizenship cases is on the alleged foreigner. Relying on similar laws in countries like the U.S., the Supreme Court of India has upheld this evidentiary rule in Sonowal I, without realizing that the socio-economic condition of the citizens of countries like the U.S. is very different from that in India. An Indian citizen may not, on account of illiteracy, poverty or inadequate infrastructure, be able to prove his citizenship like an American citizen would.

After the 2004 amendment to the Citizenship Act, 1955, the principle of citizenship by birth in India has been abandoned. Now, anyone born in India after 1987 has to prove either than one or both parents are Indian citizens (in some cases, that one parent is not an illegal immigrant). Proving the place of birth of one’s parents is hard for anybody. However, this is especially harsh on some like orphans and transgender persons. How will orphans, who never knew their parents, be able to prove that their parents were Indian citizens? How will transgender persons (some of whom are abandoned at birth) be able to do so?

Indian citizenship law operates harshly on “dreamers” (the term “dreamer” is used in the U.S. to describe the child of an illegal immigrant who arrived illegally in the U.S. at a very young age). A child born in India to illegal immigrants has only known India to be his/her homeland since childhood. That child may now be an adult. Even so, is it not unfair to now deport that person to a country he/she has never known? Similarly, a child who accompanied his/her illegal immigrant parents to India has also known only India to be his/her homeland since childhood and the illegal immigration to India was not his/her fault. Why should such persons, even if they are now adults, be deported overseas?

The judges of Foreigners Tribunals lack security of tenure, without which there cannot be an independent judiciary. They hold office not during “good behaviour” (e.g., for a fixed, non-renewable term in office, or until a retirement age), but for short, renewable terms. Further, though “members” of the tribunal are supposed to have judicial experience, even retired civil servants have recently been accepted as members of these tribunals, contrary to the principles laid down by the Supreme Court. The fact that there are no statutory appeals against these tribunals accentuates these problems. Though a writ remedy is available against their “opinions”, High Courts will not enter into complicated questions of fact while entertaining writs.

The Constitutionality of the Citizenship (Amendment) Act: A Response

[This is a guest post by Shivam Singhania. The piece was written before the passage of the Bill into an Act, and the constitutional challenge to the Act. References to the “Bill”, therefore, may be understood as references to the Act.]


This piece is in response to the piece on this blog titled “The Citizenship (Amendment) Bill is Unconstitutional”. Respectfully disagreeing with the author, I shall endeavour to address the arguments against its constitutionality, and also chart out a path within the bounds of the settled judicial precedent on Article 14.

The bill changes amends the Citizenship Act on two counts – by inserting a proviso in Section 2(1)(b), and by amending clause (d) of the Third Schedule. The first count, i.e., the proviso, provides that ‘any person belonging to Hindu, Sikh, Buddhist, Jain, Parsi or Christian community from Afghanistan, Bangladesh or Pakistan’ will not be treated as an illegal immigrant under the Act, subject to three conditions: (a) he/she entered India on or before December 31, 2014, (b) is exempted by the Central Government under Section 3(2)(b) of the Passport (Entry into India) Act, 1920, (c) is exempted from the application of Foreigners Act, 1946.

(Note: The Passport Act empowers the Central Government to make rules requiring persons entering India to possess passports. It also gives the Central Government power to exempt, conditionally or unconditionally, any person or class of persons from complying with such requirements. The Foreigners Act empowers the Central Government to make orders prohibiting, regulating, restricting entry of non-citizens, i.e., foreigners into India. The Central Government also has the power to exempt any individual or class or description of foreigner from the application of the act. The exemptions for Bangladeshi and Pakistani nationals were issued in 2015, and included Afghanistan nationals in 2016. These exemptions have not been challenged. Further, the same classification exists for the purpose of issuing Long Term Visas (LTV) to nationals of these three countries. The same has also not been challenged.)

The second count, i.e., amendment to the Third Schedule, relaxes the time-criteria for naturalization from at least 11 out of 14 years to at least 5 out of 14 years of residing in India, or being in service of the Government, for ‘any person belonging to Hindu, Sikh, Buddhist, Jain, Parsi or Christian community from Afghanistan, Bangladesh or Pakistan’.

Admittedly, the constitutional questions rest on the issue of discrimination and non-adherence to ‘equal protection of law’.

CLASSIFICAITON UNDER ARTICLE 14

The Constitutional position, right from Anwar Ali Sarkar to a catena of subsequent cases, is clear that the equality principle envisages like to be treated alike, and consequently allows unlike to be treated differently. Such differentiation, however, has to stand the test of intelligible differentia, i.e. that the basis or principle guiding the creation of different groups meant to be treated differently by the law should be ascertainable and sound. Further, such differentia should have a rational nexus to the object of the law, meaning that t should directly further the purpose that the law seeks to fulfil. Subsequently, the test of arbitrariness was also added in E.P. Royappa.

The classification in this amendment, as rightly described by the author, is on two counts: first – religion of the target group, i.e., Hindus, Sikhs, Buddhists, Jains, Parsis and Christians; and second – country of origin of these groups, i.e., Pakistan, Bangladesh and Afghanistan.

It will be shown in the course of this essay that the principles that ground the above classifications are intelligible and not under-inclusive and serve the object of the amendment and overall, are not arbitrary.

RELIGION, ARTICLE 14 AND ARTICLE 15

Over and above the generality of equality principle laid out in Article 14, Article 15 provides for prohibition of discrimination on specific grounds, such as race, sex, and also religion. This means that any such basis of classification, even if intelligible, cannot pass muster of Article 14 for reason of the specific prohibition in Article 15.

However, Article 15 applies only to citizens. On the other hand Article 14 applies to ‘any person’. Thus, as settled in Chandrima Das and Indo-China Steam Navigation cases, a non-citizen cannot take the benefit of Article 15. Thus, with respect to non-citizens, a classification which has religious inklings cannot be dismissed at the threshold; it will pass muster if it passes the tests of Article 14 discussed above.

We now address the author’s argument based on the concurring judgement of Justice Malhotra in Navtej Johar v Union of India. The author’s inference from certain portions of Justice Malhotra’s opinion Navtej Johar is misplaced. The quoted paragraph – “Race, caste, sex, and place of birth are aspects over which a person has no control, ergo they are immutable. On the other hand, religion is a fundamental choice of a person. Discrimination based on any of these grounds would undermine an individual’s personal autonomy” – lays out the underlying constitutional intent of Article 15. It does not, and is not meant to address the point of whether such grounds transcend Article 15, and apply as a bar upon classification ipso facto, including for non-citizens under Article 14

The following exposition from the judgment, admittedly, is unequivocal: “Where a legislation discriminates on the basis of an intrinsic and core trait of an individual, it cannot form a reasonable classification based on an intelligible differentia”. However, what begs an answer, and none is provided in clear terms by any judicial precedent, is whether certain grounds, beyond those in Article 15 and thus applicable to non-citizens, are barred at the threshold as the bases of any classification; if yes, then what are these grounds and do ‘intrinsic and core trait(s) of an individual’ qualify as such grounds?

Essentially, the submission of the author, relying on Justice Malhotra’s opinion, is that any classification with semblance to religion is impermissible, since like Article 15, which applies only for citizens, Article 14 contains an inherent bar upon classification on certain grounds, one of which is the notion of core trait/choice/personal autonomy (and religion is a part of that). This, however, has little basis in existing equality jurisprudence. The tests are clear and any classification can exist so long as the tests of Article 14 are met. Beyond that, no inherent barriers have been created for classification under Article 14.

In any case, the proposition that classification rests solely on religion should be taken with scepticism. In the CAA, religion is qualified by persecution. Therefore the two should be considered together. Religion persecution has also been recognized in the Refugee Convention as a form of persecution. Therefore, it cannot be considered as a capricious standard of marking the lines, given that the exact target groups are sought to be protected as recognized by International Convention. Further, the classification is not to create new benefits, but is only to accelerate an existing process as a measure of protection for recognizable and internationally accepted target group that, due to their precarious situation, need such protection. It is akin to any law which may be framed for instance to protect LGBT individuals from countries which provide for capital punishment for them. In that case, it will be a constitutional disservice to accept an argument that they cannot be allowed a dignified life in India because the law classifies on the basis of sex/sexual orientation.

THE PRINCIPLES CONUNDRUM AND UNDER-INCLUSIVENESS

A classic fallacy with the arguments on under-inclusiveness, also reflected in the author’s piece, is that its proponents enlarge either the principle determining classification, or the object of the law beyond their actual bounds, to argue that the classification is narrower than it ought to be.

It will be shown that the author’s purported principles determining the classification is deliberately broad, and the actual principle is more qualified. Therefore, when the purpose is defined properly, the classification is not under-inclusive.

The author, in her piece, considers four principles and finds them inadequate. For convenience, they are reproduced below –

  1. “Principle 1: Pakistan and Bangladesh were part of British India. Illegal immigrants from there could still generically be considered of Indian origin. However, with the inclusion of Afghanistan, it is evident that the classification is not based on the principle of divided India and undivided India.
  2. Principle 2: Afghanistan, Pakistan and Bangladesh have a State religion. However, the classification cannot be on the basis of a State religion, as Sri Lanka prescribes Buddhism as the State religion.
  3. Principle 3: Degrees of harm. In Chiranjit Lal Chowdhury it was held that the legislature is free to recognize the degrees of harm and confine the classification to where harm is the clearest. However, if the CAB is based on the degrees of harm then the Rohingyas of Myanmar ought to be included as the 2013 UN report states that the Rohingyas are the most persecuted in the world.
  4. Principle 4: The classification might be limited to singling out persecuted religious minoritiesHowever, on this logic, Sri Lankan Eelam Tamils must also be included, as the Tamil Eelams are persecuted based on religion (Hinduism) and ethnicity.”

The classic problem of “inadequate principle” is at issue here. The above four principles, if applied, result in the law leaving out some group who ought to qualify. However, it is quite possible that the alleged principles are not actually the principles on which the classification is based.

In this context, let us begin by noting that laying down adequate determining principle for classification in a law lies at the doorstep of the Parliament.

It is submitted that here, the determining principle is not solely based on Partition, or harm. It is also not only about state religion or secular states, or about religious minorities. Determining principles cannot be laid in water-tight compartments, and it is not necessary that the entirety of one ground has to make a determining principle (for instance “all minorities”, or “all persecuted”). More than one ground can qualify the other grounds if the determining principle is specific (for instance, not all minorities but religious minorities, or not all persecuted but persecuted for being a religious minority).

While one set of determining principles takes in the Partition (Pakistan and Bangladesh), and the unique situation of Afghanistan vis-a-vis India, another possible set of principles is not Partition-related. India sees its responsibility as a regional leader in its neighbourhood with a thriving democracy and secular credentials to protect certain classes of foreigners under threat in their own countries. Among many forms of persecution, for now, India considers itself sufficiently prepared to be able to imbibe as citizens through a relaxed process of naturalization, those persecuted on the basis of religion. The next question is, who all and from where all?

The principle is members of communities (religion) not being the state religion of the respective nation. Essentially, it is a loose combination of Principle 2 and 4 described by the author. In other words, the broad sphere of ‘religious minority’ is qualified by its application only with respect to nations with state religions and on minorities being non-believers of the state religion. This is clearer with the altered text of bill, as being circulated in the media, by which the phrase “…persons belonging to minority communities, namely, Hindu, Sikh…” has been replaced with “persons belonging to Hindu, Sikh…”. [Editor’s Note: this is now the text of the Act.]

Therefore, it can no more be argued that the genus was ‘minority community’, and that only six of them cannot be protected (i.e., under-inclusion). The principle is shortened from ‘minority community’ to a principle which is qualified by two other components – applicable to states with a state religion, and applicable for religions not being the state religion. In other words, the principle is narrower than presented. Hence non-inclusion of some is not because of under-inclusion, but because they are not in conformity with the principle for classification. (such as Ismailis or Shias, being another sect of Islam and not a separate religion than Islam), or Myanmar, not included for not having a state religion.

Pakistan, Afghanistan and Bangladesh have a state religion, i.e., Islam. The Sri Lankan Constitution gives Buddhism the foremost place and the Myanmarese Constitution only recognizes the special position of Buddhism as the faith practiced by majority. In any case, if it is still considered that Sri Lanka has a state religion, courts may also take cognizance of data, if provided by the Union of India, of the alleged dwindling rate of the minority population in Pakistan, Afghanistan (less than 1% presently) and Bangladesh (from 23% at independence to 9% presently) of the communities sought to be protected vis-à-vis Sri Lanka (28 % in 1953 to 20% presently) to gather the mischief that the amendment seeks to arrest.

SUMMARY

The classification under Article 14 does not have inherent barriers of impermissibility at the threshold level, and nor does it have to conform to Article 15 when invoked with respect to non-citizens. In this case, the only test needs to be satisfied is the intelligible differentia-rational nexus-non-arbitrariness test of Article 14. The principle underlying the classification is not merely minority or religious minority, but of belonging to group other than the state religion of Pakistan, Bangladesh and Afghanistan (i.e. states with a constitutionally prescribed state religion). The classification with respect to states with state religions, for the benefit of persons not following the state religion, bears a rational nexus with the object of the amendment in protecting such persons facing threat of persecution for reason of non-conformity with their state religion and being eligible for relaxed criteria of immigration and naturalisation in India, and in furtherance of India’s responsibility as the leader in its nation with strong democratic values and emphasis on dignity of life to support victims of religious persecution in theocratic states. The classification, having semblance to a category of vulnerability recognized in international convention and supported empirically (possibly) is therefore not arbitrary.

On the role of courts: and why the supreme court is playing the waiting game

On the Supreme Court’s last working day of 2019, it agreed to hear the constitutional challenge to the Citizenship (Amendment) Act 2019 (“CAA”). With this, the court takes into its winter vacation the challenges to the CAA, the amendment of Article 370 and the internet shutdowns in Kashmir. Outside the cloistered halls of the court, the public debate over the legality and desirability of these measures has reached fever pitch. With both the legal and political processes of contestation in full swing, it is an appropriate time to examine how divorced the two truly are.

Our trust in courts as institutions of justice flows from a few key ideas: that courts are isolated from short term political pressures, they decide on the basis of settled legal principles irrespective of how politically sensitive a case is, and they are independent from the elected government of the day and thus serve as a check on government power. This piece critically examines these assumptions about courts. I argue that while courts do decide cases in accordance with legal principles, the actual outcomes of crucial constitutional cases balance the requirements of the law, deference to the government, and deference to public sentiment. Recognising that alongside normative legal principles, public sentiment and the government have a crucial role to play in constitutional adjudication re-emphasises the need for active political contestation and debate over these issues.

Isolation, independence and matters of principle

Courts are understood as being isolated from short term political pressures. Unlike elected legislators, who are accountable to their constituents and respond to their immediate needs, unelected judges with fixed tenures and salaries can deliberate in a ‘neutral’ manner and render decisions that may be politically unpopular but necessary for the long term preservation of human rights and democracy. Judges are not bound by party ideology or the need to garner the popular vote, so they can arrive at substantively ‘better’ decisions. For example, after a terrorist attack, public sentiment may overwhelmingly favour the torture and public execution of a captured terrorist. The government, acting on the demands of the electorate, may decide to torture and execute the terrorist (after all, good government responds to what the people want). The courts however, isolated from public sentiment and understanding the long-term benefits of upholding the rule of law and human rights, can ensure the captured terrorist receives a fair trial.

A second assumption underpinning the public trust in courts is that courts rely on precedent (stare decisis) and settled legal principles to decide cases. Therefore, once courts construe the phrase ‘equality’ or ‘liberty’ as having an expansive meaning, the same expansive interpretation will subsequently be applied irrespective of how politically significant or insignificant the facts of a case. This is often why progressive judgements are celebrated, because we presume that the reasoning of these judgements will bind future benches of the court and lower courts. The last, and perhaps most significant, assumption about courts is that they stand independent from the elected government. Coupled with their isolation from short-term political pressures and their commitment to decide cases on legal principles, this leads to the overarching argument that courts stand as a check against the abuse of government power.

A chequered track record

A close examination of the track record of courts during periods of regularised and flagrant human rights violations casts doubt on the argument that courts are effective checks on majoritarian government power. In India, the most famous example of the court’s failure to resist the use of government power is ADM Jabalpur v S S Shukla. The case, heard at the height of the emergency imposed by former Prime Minister Indira Gandhi after her election was challenged in 1975, centred around whether individuals detained by the government (often political opponents of the Prime Minister) had a right to approach the courts for relief during the emergency. Despite several High Courts holding that detained persons had a right to approach the court even during an emergency, in ADM Jabalpur the Supreme Court held that no such right existed and left the detentions to the sole supervision of the government. The Indian Supreme Court is not alone in turning a blind eye to the exercise of government power against its citizens during times of national or political crisis. After the attack on Pearl Harbour, the U.S. Supreme Court upheld the internment of all persons of Japanese ancestry in Korematsu v United States – citing the overriding needs of national security and avoidance of espionage. In Liversidge v Anderson the House of Lords held that the Home Secretary did not have to objectively justify his detention order with reasons and the such matters were not justiciable in courts. These cases have since been overruled or denounced as ‘black marks’ on an otherwise unblemished record of judicial history, but they serve as powerful reminders that when governments exercised their power against citizens in the most extreme ways, courts have been found to be inadequate protectors.

Sabarimala – the Supreme Court’s problem child

A prime example of how far the Indian Supreme Court’s behaviour can stray from the core assumptions we associate with courts acting as politically insulated institutions dispensing justice according to legal principles is the court’s treatment of the Sabarimala dispute. To recap: in 2018 a five-judge bench of the Supreme Court struck down the prohibition on menstruating women entering the Sabarimala temple as violating the constitutional guarantees of equality and non-discrimination. The judgement led to a public backlash in Kerala (the state where the Sabarimala temple is situated). Those opposing the judgement took the law into their own hands and refused to permit the entry of women into the temple, often attacking women who tried to enter. A review petition was filed against the 2018 judgement, the significant irregularities of which have already been addressed on this blog (here) and do not need to be rehashed. It is sufficient to note that one judge (Khanwilkar J) refused to stand by the judgement he had signed less than a year ago in 2018 and in November 2019 the court decided that the 2018 judgement needed to be ‘reconsidered’ by a larger bench. To understand what happened next, it is important to note that by referring the dispute to a larger bench, the court did not stay the 2018 judgement but merely kept the review petition pending. The pendency of a review petition does not deprive a judgement from having the force of law. This means that at the time of writing this post, the 2018 judgement remains good law and a woman should be able to enter Sabarimala. When the Supreme Court was asked to direct the Kerala Government to uphold and enforce the judgement, the Chief Justice of India acknowledged that there was no stay on the 2018 judgement, but refused to direct the State Government to enforce the judgement – noting the matter was “very emotive” and the court wanted to avoid violence.

The treatment of Sabarimala is a testament to how the Indian Supreme Court consider both legal principles and public sentiment in deciding constitutional cases. The 2018 judgement was based precisely on the legal principles we associate with constitutional courts. However, unlike the court’s decisions decriminalising consensual gay sex or adultery, where the court’s decision faced widespread and organised public resistance, the court did a double take, refusing to enforce its judgement and stating that the judgement itself needed to be ‘reconsidered’. The ‘settled’ legal principles of equality laid down in 2018 (which we expect to bind future courts) succumbed to the changed political landscape of 2019. Changing public sentiment leading to the court ‘flip-flopping’ on outcomes is not new, and not always detrimental to the rights of citizens. For example, in 2013 the Indian Supreme Court refused to decriminalise consensual gay sex but five years later the court did decriminalise it. It is perfectly possible for future benches to disagree with past ones; however, the incremental nature of such change is essential to maintain the public trust that courts are insulated from the politics of the day. The casting in doubt of Sabarimala within a year, in the face of abject and consistent non-compliance with the judgement by the government and citizens, points to just how thin the court’s veneer of being insulated from public sentiment and deciding cases purely on legal principles is.

Plenty has been written on why the CAA is unconstitutional and should be struck down for violating Article 14 and its resultant jurisprudence (including here on this blog). However, the very idea that the court will apply the legal principles it has previously laid down is caveated by the court’s regular deviation from settled principles in the face of troubling ground realities or persistent public sentiment to the contrary.

Judicial independence 

The last assumption is that courts stand independent of the government and form the ultimate protectors of individual rights against state action. Historically, we have seen that this has not always been the case. As a matter of constitutional design, courts control neither the ‘sword nor the purse’. In other words, courts rely on the government to implement and abide by their decisions. The extent to which the government does so is a function of how much public legitimacy and authority the court wields at any given time. In a handful of jurisdictions, court have over centuries entrenched themselves to a point where non-compliance with their judgements is unthinkable and a government refusing to comply with a court judgement would risk being voted out of power by an electorate that deeply values the rule of law. For example, when the British Prime Minister’s advice to the Queen to suspend parliament was found to be unconstitutional by the U.K. Supreme Court, the question was not whether the Prime Minister would comply with the decision, but rather whether he would apologise to the Queen and British public.

In most jurisdictions however, where courts have not had the time or opportunity (or have squandered both) to create a deep sense of institutional credibility and win the public trust, courts are far more vulnerable to government interference.  If a court were to repeatedly strike down government action, the government can register its discontent with the court in several ways. The most common (and visible) tactic is to delay/interfere with the process of judicial appointments. Right from Indira Gandhi’s appointment of A N Ray as Chief Justice (superseding the three senior most judges of the Supreme Court who had ruled against her government) to the current government’s delays in confirming judges, Indian courts have regularly been susceptible to government pressure over judicial appointments. The government may also refuse to provide funding and infrastructure for courts. At the extreme, the government can simply refuse to comply with or implement the judgements of the court. The Indian Home Minister’s recent suggestion that the non-implementation of Supreme Court judgements was an acceptable state of affairs runs dangerously close to an outright refusal to acknowledge the authority of the court. In such situations, courts must not only apply the law, but also balance the needs of the law with deference to the government to ensure the court’s continued survival as an institution.

Indian jurisprudence is replete with such deference. In 1975 when the Allahabad High Court found the then Prime Minister (Indira Gandhi) guilty of corrupt practices and invalidated her electoral victory, the government passed a constitutional amendment designed specifically to nullify the invalidation. In the Supreme Court, the constitutional amendments were struck down, but the Prime Minister’s election victory was upheld, allowing Indira Gandhi to remain in power. In Maneka Gandhi v the Union the petitioner’s passport was impounded, and no reasons provided. She approached the court contending that her right to a fair trial and to put forth her defence had been taken away. In a sweeping judgement, the court significantly expanded the scope and rigour of scrutiny, holding that procedure by which liberties are infringed must be ‘fair, reasonable and just’. However, rather than invalidate the order impounding of the passport or the provisions of the Passport Act, the court took on record the Attorney General’s assurance that the government would ‘consider’ the court’s observations and left the matter to the government. Ironically, the last paragraph of Maneka Gandhi (widely touted as a high watermark of Indian human rights jurisprudence) reads:

“The Attorney General assured us that all the grounds urged before us by the petitioner and the grounds that may be urged before the authority will be properly considered by the authority and appropriate orders passed. In the result, I hold that the petitioner is not entitled to any of the fundamental rights enumerated-in Article 19 of the Constitution and that the Passport Act complies with the requirements of Art. 21 of the Constitution and is in accordance with the procedure established by law.”

The Chief Justice’s recent refusal to pass directions for the entry of women at Sabarimala stems in part from the fact that both the Kerala Government and Central Government have indicated their unwillingness to carry out such directions. An order directing the authorities to enforce the judgement would likely be ignored by both governments, triggering a constitutional crisis.

The present day

Having understood that while not entirely independent, the court is undoubtedly uniquely situated, let us examine the court’s recent decisions where the stakes for the government were particularly high. In its Aadhar judgement, the court upheld the government’s collection and use of bio-metric data as part of the Aadhar scheme. The court in 2018 also held the Aadhar Act was correctly certified by the Speaker as a money bill (meaning it was not subject to scrutiny by the Rajya Sabha). But a year later in Rodger Matthew v South Indian Bank the court held that the Aadhar judgement’s reasoning on the issue of money bill was “arguably liberal [in favour of the government]” and “not convincingly reasoned”. The question of how future courts should construe money bills has been referred to a larger bench but peel away the Supreme Court’s strategic antics and the decision in Rodger Matthews is a damming admission that the Aadhar Act was unconstitutional but still upheld by the court.

The Supreme Court’s treatment of the petitions challenging the internet shutdown and detentions in Kashmir and the amendment of Article 370 has been the clearest example of the court’s deference to the government of the day. On 16 September 2019 the court passed an order (analysed here) which didn’t require the government to disclose the legal source of the internet shutdown and left it to the unrestricted discretion of the government to make “endeavours” to restore “normal life”. On 16 December 2019 the internet shutdown in Kashmir entered its 134th day, the longest ever recorded in a democracy. At the time of writing this post, the court is yet to adjudicate on the constitutionality of the internet shut down and the hearings challenging the actual amendment of Article 370 have just taken off.

Recall that vulnerable courts are often called upon to balance the meaning of the law with ensuring a working relationship with the government. After 70 years of democratic constitutionalism, our courts are certainly robust enough to avoid obliteration at the hands of the government. They regularly strike down state and central government actions found to be violative of the Constitution. However, with cases such as Aadhar, Sabarimala, the CAA and Kashmir, where the political stakes for the government are exceptionally high, cracks begin to emerge in the court’s multi-faceted balancing act between the law, public sentiment and deference to the government. In ADM Jabalpur the court compromised its fidelity to the integrity of the law and allowed the government a free reign in return for its continued survival (the supersession of Justice Khanna and the regular transfer of ‘non-complaint’ High Court judges by the government is telling in this regard). Today’s court is neither willing to expressly compromise its intellectual fidelity to the law nor its necessary relationship with the government – and so it sits on the fence, hoping that nobody will notice. The court does not trust its institutional legitimacy is strong enough to rule against the government on politically sensitive matters and continue to maintain a working relationship with the government (the government is equally to blame for this lack of trust). While it also refuses to expressly abandon its fidelity to the integrity of the law (as it did in ADM Jabalpur) and provide express judicial acquiescence of the government’s actions, its refusal to act is fast achieving a similar result indirectly.

Conclusion

Recognising that the central assumptions held about courts as counter-majoritarian institutions are flawed is the first step towards understanding the actions of the Supreme Court recently. The court undoubtedly analyses and applies legal principles on a day to day basis. However, in deciding constitutional cases with high political stakes, courts also consider the impact the decision will have on the government (Aadhaar and Kashmir), the prevailing public sentiment of the day, and the impact on the ground (Sabarimala). Absent any enforcement powers, the court’s is as bold as it thinks the government and people will allow it to be.

In deciding the host of thorny issues on its plate in 2020, the Supreme Court is likely to consider the prevailing public sentiment, strive to maintain a working relationship with the government, and lay down some important law. While the court’s legal questions will be answered by a handful of lawyers in Courtroom 1, the question of how strictly the court will apply the law to fulfil its constitutional role as a meaningful check on government power will be answered by every other Indian. This calls for renewed scrutiny of the court’s actions that denude the legitimacy of its decision making process (some examples include the use of sealed covers, the (mis)use of the master of the roster role, a flawed appointment process and the regular overriding of High Courts). Such actions not only violate core legal norms, but also reduce the public trust in the institution, reducing its institutional authority to act as a check on government power. Understanding the limitations of courts also highlights the need to strengthen the accountability and contestation within other wings of government beginning with our electoral and parliamentary processes.

Guest Post: The Citizenship (Amendment) Bill is Unconstitutional

[This is a guest post by Nivedhitha K. The piece was written before the latest draft of the Bill – which exempts certain North-Eastern states from the operation of the Amendment – was made available.]


The BJP-led Union government is determined to table the Citizenship (Amendment) Bill, 2019 in this parliamentary session, after it lapsed earlier in the year. The bill proposes to amend Section 2 (b) of the Citizenship Act – which defines ‘illegal immigrants’ – by excluding “persons belonging to minority communities, namely, Hindus, Sikhs, Buddhists, Jains, Parsis and Christians from Afghanistan, Bangladesh and Pakistan” from the ambit of “illegal immigrants”. The bill also reduces the period of residence in India for the acquisition of Indian citizenship through naturalization to six years from the earlier period of twelve years. Thus, under the amendment, these ‘minority communities’ from Afghanistan, Bangladesh, and Pakistan are no longer ‘illegal’ immigrants, and they can obtain Indian citizenship through naturalization if they have resided in India for six years.

The amendment makes two classifications: first, a classification based on religion by excluding Hindus, Sikhs, Buddhists, Jains, Parsis, and Christians from the ambit of illegal immigrants; and secondly, a classification based on country, by restricting the benefit of acquiring citizenship through naturalization to minority immigrants only from Afghanistan, Pakistan and Bangladesh.

Religion-based classification

The first argument for the unconstitutionality of the CAB is that it enacts an impermissible, religious-based classification under Article 14 of the Constitution. To understand why, we first need to look at Article 15. Article 15 provides for specific grounds – religion, race, caste, sex, place of birth – that cannot form the basis for discrimination. Thus, the grounds in Article 15 indicate impermissible discrimination, i.e the law should effect discrimination based on these grounds to be violative of Article 15. In Navtej, Chandrachud J and Indu Malhotra J did not declare section 377 of the IPC as violative of Article 15 only because it effected classification based on “sex”. Rather the test used was whether the classification was based on Article 15 grounds, and if so whether it effected discrimination. Therefore, for the violation of Article 15, both classification based on the grounds and discrimination in effect will have to be proved. However, the  Citizenship Amendment Bill cannot be subjected to Article 15, because that Article is only applicable to citizens (immigrants, by definitions, are not citizens).

This takes us to Article 14. The traditional test for an Article 14 violation requires the classification to have an intelligible differentia and a reasonable nexus with the legislative object. In Anwar Ali Sarkar, it was explained that intelligible differentia means that there must be a yardstick to differentiate between those included in, and excluded from the group. However, in Navtej, an important interpretive advance was made upon this. Indu Malhotra J, in her judgment, infused Article 15 grounds into Article 14. She interpreted intelligible differentia to mean reasonable differentia. She required the intelligible differentia test to fulfil two sub-tests: one there must be a yardstick to differentiate between those included in and excluded from the group, and two, that yardstick must itself be reasonable. She observed: “Where a legislation discriminates on the basis of an intrinsic and core trait of an individual, it cannot form a reasonable classification based on an intelligible differentia”. Therefore, the yardstick is reasonable only if it is not based on an intrinsic and core trait of an individual. She then referred to Article 15 grounds to explain that they form an intrinsic and core trait of an individual. She noted: “Race, caste, sex, and place of birth are aspects over which a person has no control, ergo they are immutable. On the other hand, religion is a fundamental choice of a person. Discrimination based on any of these grounds would undermine an individual’s personal autonomy.” Therefore, contrary to Article 15, the test for Article 14 violation is based on impermissible classification. Impermissible classification means that a particular principle cannot be used to classify because it is constitutionally irrelevant. Religion is a facet of personal autonomy, and a classification based on it is an impermissible classification.

The infusion of impermissible classification into the intelligible differentia test is justifiable for two reasons. First, while the objective of Article 15 is anti-discrimination, the objective of Article 14 is to provide equal protection of laws. Thus, Article 14 will be violated if the classification is unreasonable, while Article 15 will be violated only if there is discrimination based on the classification. Second, the interpretation of Article 14 on the lines of Article 15 aligns with the argument that fundamental rights are not watertight compartments. This understanding began with Fazl Ali J’s dissent in A.K Gopalan v. The State of Madras on the interpretation of the ‘procedure established by law’ clause. The interpretation was cemented through the evolution of the golden triangle in Maneka Gandhi v. Union of India, and strengthened by Chandrachud J’s interpretation of Article 26 in the Sabarimala case.  Therefore, classification based on religion is prima facie impermissible and violative of Article 14.

The second argument against religion-based classification in this case turns on its inability to fulfil Article 14’s nexus prong. The object of the amendment is to ‘protect those who have faced religious persecutions in Afghanistan, Pakistan, and Bangladesh’. However, by excluding Muslims from the category of ‘persecuted’, the amendment is based on the false premise that only minorities face religious persecution in a Muslim-majority country. The amendment makes an easy – but untrue – classification between minority and majority religion. This assumption is similar to assuming that all Hindus in India are treated alike irrespective of caste. However, within the majority Muslim religion, there is persecution based on sect. For example, in Pakistan, the Shias face religious persecution. Ahmadiyyas who align themselves with the Sunni school also face persecution. Unless persecution of a sect within the majority religion is recognised, the classification – of majority and minority – will have no nexus with the object of protecting those who face religious persecution.

Country based classification

The country based classification violates Article 14 as it fails the “manifest arbitrariness” test. Nariman J in Shayara Bano noted, “manifest arbitrariness, therefore, must be something done by the legislature capriciously, irrationally and/or without adequate determining principle. Also, when something is done which is excessive and disproportionate, such legislation would be manifestly arbitrary.” The common threads that run through the three selected countries in the CAB are that they are Muslim-majority countries, and that they are India’s neighbours. The first rationale has been addressed above. If, however, the relevant countries have been selected because they are India’s neighbors, the exclusion of the other neighbors – such as Sri Lanka and Myanmar where people face religious persecution – must be justified. However, there is no justification because there is no adequate determining principle that guides the classification. The following points elucidate the absence of a determining principle for the classification.

  1. Principle 1: Pakistan and Bangladesh were part of British India. Illegal immigrants from there could still generically be considered of Indian origin. However, with the inclusion of Afghanistan, it is evident that the classification is not based on the principle of divided India and undivided India.
  2. Principle 2: Afghanistan, Pakistan and Bangladesh have a State religion. However, the classification cannot be on the basis of a State religion, as Sri Lanka prescribes Buddhism as the State religion.
  3. Principle 3: Degrees of harm. In Chiranjit Lal Chowdhury it was held that the legislature is free to recognize the degrees of harm and confine the classification to where harm is the clearest. However, if the CAB is based on the degrees of harm then the Rohingyas of Myanmar ought to be included as the 2013 UN report states that the Rohingyas are the most persecuted in the world.
  4. Principle 4: The classification might be limited to singling out persecuted religious minoritiesHowever, on this logic, Sri Lankan Eelam Tamils must also be included, as the Tamil Eelams are persecuted based on religion (Hinduism) and ethnicity.

Therefore, it is evident that the exclusion of the other neighboring countries where people face religious persecution is not justified, because the inclusion of these three countries is not based on any determining principle be it Indian origin, state religion, the degree of harm, or of persecuted minorities. Thus, the country based classification is violative of Article 14 as it suffers from the vice of manifest arbitrariness.

Under-inclusiveness and Deference

Having established the violation of Article 14, it is also necessary to address two counter arguments that arise. The first counter argument is that under-inclusiveness cannot render the law unconstitutional. The second counter argument is that the court would have to exercise deferential review – by showing deference to legislative wisdom – while deciding cases on citizenship, refugees etc.

Indian courts have permitted under-inclusive laws on grounds of administrative necessity and legislative experimentation (see State of Gujarat v. Ambika Mills). However, in N.P Basheer v. the State of Kerala, it was held that under-inclusiveness would withstand scrutiny under Article 14 only when it is ‘nominal’. However, the decision neither explains nor defines the word ‘nominal’. Nonetheless, there is ample evidence now for what cannot be considered “nominal”: for example, in the case of Sowmithri Vishnu, the constitutionality of the adultery provision was challenged. The court observed that Section 497 was under-inclusive but allowed deference to legislative wisdom. However, in Joseph Shine, the court performed a volte face and struck down section 497 because it violated the ‘personal autonomy’ of women. The importance of personal autonomy in Article 14 challenges is also evident from the Supreme Court’s decisions in Indian Young Lawyers (Sabarimala) and Navtej. Hence, if the differentiation violates personal autonomy – in this case, religion – under-inclusiveness is certainly not ‘nominal’.

What of the argument that deference to legislative wisdom is required on issues of citizenship, refugees and the like, as they fall under the realm of legislative policy? On the contrary, I suggest that this argument should be turned on its head: precisely because the issue concerns citizenship, deference is undesirable. It has already been argued above that the court should not allow deference to issues that concern personal autonomy. In Navtej, Indu Malhotra J and Dipak Mishra (writing for himself and A.M. Khanwilkar) referred to Article 15 grounds as illustrative of personal autonomy. They also accepted the analogous grounds argument, by holding Section 377 violative of Article 15 because it discriminates on sexual orientation which is a ground analogous to grounds specified textually in Article 15. Therefore, very little deference must be allowed to grounds under Article 15, and grounds that are analogous to Article 15 grounds, since they are based on personal autonomy. The argument now is that citizenship is a ground analogous to Article 15 grounds, since it is an important facet of personal autonomy. The Canadian Supreme Court in Andrew v. Law Society of British Columbia held that citizenship is a ground analogous to Section 15 of the Canadian Charter of Rights and Freedom – a provision which is similar to Article 15 of the COI – because it is a ‘personal characteristic’. It was observed that analogous grounds must be determined based on the “place of a group in the socio-political-legal fabric of the society.” Where a number of important rights are accrued on the basis of citizenship, non-citizens as a minority whose interests are brushed off would fall within the analogous category. Hence, the heightened level of scrutiny to a classification based on personal characteristics (grounds analogous to Article 15, and grounds in Article 15) should prevent the court from applying a deferential review.

Conclusion

Consolidating the arguments above, religion-based classification is violative of Article 14 of the Constitution because religion is a constitutionally impermissible ground for classification, and the classification does not have any nexus with the object of the bill. The country-based classification is manifestly arbitrary and violative of Article 14, as it is not based on any determining principle. The argument that under-inclusiveness cannot be a ground for unconstitutionality is countered by explaining that a law that is grounded on personal autonomy (i.e religion) is not merely a case of nominal under-inclusiveness. And the argument on application of deferential review to issues concerning citizenship and refugees is inapplicable, as citizenship falls within the ambit of analogous grounds, for which deference should not be allowed.

The Section 6A Challenge: “Illegal Migration” as “External Aggression”

(In this guest post, Praharsh Johorey examines whether the Supreme Court can strike down legislation for violating Article 355 of the Constitution, in the context of the constitutional challenge to S. 6A of the Citizenship Act).

Later this year, the Supreme Court is due to hear the constitutional challenge to Section 6A of the Citizenship Act of 1955, which codifies a special citizenship law for the State of Assam. As explained in a previous post here, Section 6A divides ‘illegal’ immigrants (a foreigner who enters India without a valid passport or other travel documents, or someone who stays in India beyond their permitted time) into three categories, depending on their date of entry: People who entered before 1966 (who were to be regularised), people who entered between 1966 and 1971 (before the Bangladesh war, who were to be taken off the electoral rolls for ten years, and then regularised) and people who entered after 1971 (who were to be expelled in accordance with existing law).

Assam, post-independence, has dealt with the severe economic and societal consequences of continued mass migration from East Pakistan (now Bangladesh), which, it is claimed, has caused ‘perceptible change in the demographic patterns’ of the State. The principle challenge to Section 6A is thus based on the continuing failure of existing law to adequately protect the state from the undesirable consequences of mass migration.

Legally, two grounds are urged. First, that the State has failed to uphold its constitutional duty to protect the Assamese people from ‘external aggression’ under Article 355 of the Constitution. Second, that the differential (and arguably weaker) laws applicable to the State of Assam is a breach of the right of the Assamese people to be granted equal protection under Article 14.

I will deal predominantly with the first issue in this essay. Article 355 reads:

“It shall be the duty of the Union to protect every State against external aggression and internal disturbance and to ensure that the Government of every State is carried on in accordance with the provisions of this Constitution.”

The substance of this question was previously before the Supreme Court in Sarbananda Sonowal v. UOI, where Mathur J., writing for a bench of three judges, decided challenges to the Illegal Migrants (Determination by Tribunals Act), 1983 (“IMDT Act”) and its corresponding rules, which also dealt with illegal immigration in the State of Assam. Having engaged in a detailed analysis of the meaning of the term ‘external aggression’, and reading illegal immigration as falling within its scope, Mathur J. concluded in paragraph 42:

‘The provisions of the IMDT Act and the Rules made thereunder clearly negate the constitutional mandate contained in Article 355 of the Constitution, where a duty has been cast upon the Union of India to protect every State against external aggression and internal disturbance. The IMDT Act which contravenes Article 355 of the Constitution is, therefore, wholly unconstitutional and must be struck down.’

To declare the IMDT Act unconstitutional, Mathur J. could have relied on one of two grounds: first, that the IMDT Act is “law” under Article 13 of the Constitution, and therefore subject to constitutional scrutiny; and second (and which is more likely), that provisions such as Article 355 imposes a positive obligation upon the Government in power, the failure to adequately discharge which is unconstitutional. I will examine the veracity of both these assumptions independently.

Article 13 and Part III

Article 13 was inserted in the Constitution to ensure that ‘laws’ or ‘laws in force’ that contravene constitutional provisions are void – applying to both existing statutes and enactments subsequent to the Constitution. The question relevant for this essay is the scope of this Article, to determine whether it can apply to Article 355. The relevant provisions of the Article read:

(1) All laws in force in the territory of India immediately before the commencement of this Constitution, in so far as they are inconsistent with the provisions of this Part, shall, to the extent of such inconsistency, be void.

(2) The State shall not make any law which takes away or abridges the rights conferred by this Part and any law made in contravention of this clause shall, to the extent of the contravention, be void.

The wording of Article 13(1) and (2) is clear and unequivocal – it applies exclusively to Part III. Applying the principle of literal interpretation, and read with Expressio Unius Est Exclusio Alterius (which was discussed in the context of the definition of ‘laws in force’ here), it is clear that ‘laws’ or ‘laws in force’ can be declared unconstitutional as a result of the operation of this Article only if they are in breach of the provisions of Part III, and not the Constitution as a whole. Demonstrably, Mathur J. did not and could not declare the IMDT Act unconstitutional under Article 13.

Part III and Unconstitutionality

Even accepting the contentious argument that the flow of illegal immigrants is contemplated under the term ‘external aggression’, we have to understand whether it is permissible for the Supreme Court to declare the inadequacy of state measures under Article 355 as being sufficient grounds to declare that such measures are unconstitutional.

Article 355 imposes a duty upon the Union to protect every state against external aggression. It is accepted legal theory that all duties have correlative rights (Hohfeld) which would imply that all states, or aggrieved citizens (as in the present dispute) have a ‘constitutional right’ to be protected against external aggression and internal disturbance by the Union.

Rights not expressly codified in Part III of the Constitution – and therefore not “fundamental rights” as such – have been nonetheless interpreted as ‘constitutional rights’ by the Supreme Court, notably in Rajbala v. State of Haryana – which recognised a Constitutional right to ‘contest elections’. In this case, the Constitutionality of the Haryana Panchayati Raj (Amendment) Act, 2015 was challenged, which imposed more stringent qualifications (educational and financial) to be eligible to contest Panchayati elections, and was challenged as effectively denying a class of people their ‘constitutional right’ to contest elections. Despite holding that the amendments were constitutional Chelameswar J. held:

‘Various provisions, by implication create a constitutional right to contest elections to these various constitutional offices and bodies. Such a conclusion is irresistible since there would be no requirement to prescribe constitutional limitations on a non-existent constitutional right…. Every citizen has a constitutional right to elect and to be elected to either parliament or the state legislatures.’

The implications of this are clear – that if the state undertakes certain actions that impede upon a constitutional right, for e.g. if it enacts legislation debarring citizens from contesting elections, its actions may be said to be ‘unconstitutional’, even though the right to contest elections is not specifically enshrined in the Constitution. However, Chelameswar J. recognised the supremacy of the legislature to alter these rights, noting:

Under the scheme of our Constitution, the appropriateness of the Legislative Body is determined on the basis of the nature of the rights sought to be curtailed or relevant and the competence of the Legislative Body to deal with the right having regard to the distribution of legislative powers between Parliament and State Legislatures. It is also the settled principle of law under our Constitution that every law made by any Legislative Body must be consistent with provisions of the Constitution.

Therefore, the exercise of a duty through legislation can only be deemed unconstitutional if it is outside the ‘Legislative competence of the enacting body’, or it abrogates ‘provisions of the constitution’. It is my contention that ‘provisions of the constitution’ here means Part III, most crucially, Articles 14 and 21. In Rajabala itself, the Court’s determination of whether the Constitutional right to contest was violated was based on an examination of Article 14, and whether the scheme imposed was ‘arbitrary’, or created a classification without intelligible differentia. The Court undertook no analysis of whether ‘Constitutional rights’ could per se be violated, and demonstrated that at best, they can be linked to a breach of provisions of Part III.

External Aggression and the Insufficiency of State Action

Assuming (but not conceding) that the Court could strike down the IMDT Act for insufficiently discharging the 355 duty, it becomes significant to note the reasons why J. Mathur declared the IMDT Act so woefully inadequate, so as to render it in direct conflict with the Union’s obligations. He first frames the duty of the state as:

‘To take all measures for protection of the State of Assam from such external aggression and internal disturbance as enjoined in Article 355 of the Constitution. Having regard to this constitutional mandate, the question arises whether the Union of India has taken any measures for that purpose.

Thus, to satisfactorily discharge its constitutional obligation, the Union was required to prove that it had undertaken any measures in furtherance of protecting the State of Assam from illegal migration. The Statement of Objects and Reasons of the Act makes clear that the Union recognised this problem, stating that ‘the influx of foreigners who illegal migrated into India…pose a threat to the integrity and security of the region’ with the Preamble further elucidating that ‘the continuance of these such foreigners in India is detrimental to the interests of the public of India.’ Thus there was clear recognition of the problem, and demonstrable intent to take measures to deal with it.

The scheme created under the Act was to authorise the Government to set up Tribunals for the purpose of determining whether migrants were legal. The justification for the scheme was to ensure that adequate safeguards were granted to those migrants who entered and resided in India legally, and to prevent their arbitrary deportation by granting them access to fair judicial process.

However, a perusal of the provisions of the Act lead to Mathur J. concluding:

The application of the IMDT act and the rules made thereunder in the state of Assam has created the biggest hurdle and is the main impediment or barrier in identification and deportation of illegal migrants. On the contrary, it is coming to the advantage of such illegal migrants as any proceedings initiated against them under the said provision which, as demonstrated above, almost entirely ends in their favour, enables them to have a document having official sanctity to the effect that they are not illegal migrants.

Thus, the malfunctioning/ineffectiveness of the Act, and not the absence of measures itself that lead to Mathur J.’s declaration – which belies his own standard for the discharge of the 355 duty. We should therefore examine whether the Supreme Court has in the past struck down any acts for insufficiently fulfilling a positive State obligation, even when no discernible standard for adequate discharge is established. The positive duties of the State under Article 21 serve as an appropriate starting point.

For example, the Supreme Court has read the right to a ‘Clean and healthy environment’ as being an essential feature of the ‘Right to Life’ under Article 21 – with the right to clean water and air forming part of the broader corpus of this right. Hohfeld’s test implies that there exists a correlative duty upon the State to ensure a clean environment, with access to clean air and water. Applying Mathur J.’s test, legislations like the Air (Prevention and Control of Pollution) Act, 1981 and the Water (Prevention and Control of Pollution Act), 1974 are therefore liable to be struck down as being ‘unconstitutional’ if it is proven that despite their operation, the environment continues to be polluted, or that people still do not have free access to clean resources. However, the Courts have continually refused to engage in the effectiveness of these legislations (or their consequent constitutionality) in solving these problems, instead engaging only with interpreting the Right to Life under Article 21. The dictum of the Andhra Pradesh High Court in Wasim Ahmed Khan v. Government of AP is relevant. Here, a PIL was filed against the Government for its failure to provide safe drinking water and prevent the outbreak of disease in the state as illegal and unconstitutional. While recognising that providing drinking water is a ‘priority issue’, the bench noted:

‘So far as the relief in general terms which was claimed by the petitioner (of the negligence being an unconstitutional act) is concerned, it should be borne in mind that in a State or rather a country where growth of population is in geometrical proportion and the natural resources are not only static but depleting or made to deplete, it will be only utopian to issue a direction as desired by the petitioner.

It is submitted that such a demonstrable failure of a ‘priority’ state duty under Article 21 can be treated no differently from the separate duty of the State under Article 355. Both problems: ensuring access to vital resources and preventing illegal immigration, are constrained by the limited resources of the State and the partial burden that is borne by the local populous in discharging such an obligation. The AP High Court went on to note:

There cannot be any second opinion that the State is under obligation to provide atleast drinking water to all its citizens, but at the same time, the limited availability of the water resources as well as the financial resources cannot be ignored. Within the available resources, the problem should be attended to with utmost importance and promptitude. In fact, it should be treated as a priority issue. At the same time, making the Government alone responsible and liable to provide water may not solve the issue. The people at large should address themselves to the problem and learn to use the water, particularly drinking water, in a judicious and reasonable manner. Wastage of drinking water, which is not available in plenty, would naturally result in denial of the same to the other needy persons. Individual and collective efforts in this regard are very much necessary and such efforts go a very long way in minimizing the scarcity.

In respect of State duty under Article 355, considerable responsibility was placed upon the local citizenry to report incidents of illegal immigration to allow the State to maximise the resources available to it. While the ultimate functioning of the Act may have resulted in an excessive burden upon the citizens, which caused lower rates of deportation and difficulty in identification of illegal immigration, it is respectfully submitted that these are not sufficient grounds to declare that the IMDT Act is wholly unconstitutional – but that parts of it are to be enforced with greater effectiveness. In summary, only a successful challenge to the IMDT Act under Part III (which was done) should have lead to a declaration of unconstitutionality.

Fact-Finding and the Insufficiency of the Supreme Court

A close reading of the Sonowal judgement reveals another troubling truth – that the Court makes its determination of the inadequacies of the IMDT Act on the basis of a distinct lack of concrete evidence. It relies primarily on a single report of the Governor of Assam (1998) to draw its conclusions on the efficacy of the Act, disputing none of the reports factual conclusions. Without drawing any inferences as to the accuracy of the report itself, this raises the questions of the ability of the Supreme Court to make concrete factual determinations, and whether it is even the correct forum for such determinations to be made.

The Supreme Court has been vested with wide powers to do justice in the Constitution – but its power to appreciate new evidence, or interfere with the findings of lower courts is limited when exercising its appellate authority. However, the Supreme Court has called on ‘expert committees’ to assess more closely the evidence submitted by the parties. For example, in an order passed concerning the Cauvery Water Dispute between Karnataka and Tamil Nadu, the Court ordered:

‘It is submitted that it would be in the fitness of things that a High Powered Technical Team is appointed by the Chairman of the Supervisory Committee who is the Secretary of the Ministry of Water Resources…to proceed immediately to the site so that an inspection of the entire Basin is done for assessing the ground realities and prepare a report forthwith for being placed before this Hon’ble Court.’

There have been numerous incidents of the Supreme Court having relied upon neutral ‘expert evidence’, such as in State of Tamil Nadu v. K. Balu, concerning liquor vendors on highways, or its creation of a Technical Expert Committee that studied Genetically Modified Organisms in Aruna Rodrigues v. UOI. Its treatment of facts in Sonowal is thus a departure from its current practice of commissioning independent studies to determine contentious assertions of on-ground realities. The Judiciary, in comprising of judges who are (justifiably) unable to address the several scientific and complex questions of fact posed to it, is invariably one-sided in its approach, as it lacks the inherent institutional expertise to make its own determinations of fact. As a consequence, the Supreme Court isn’t equipped to scientifically determine when a partial breach of duty has taken place, and what the threshold for such partial breach should be. As a result, judgements like Sonowal ignore the often overlapping (and not the binary positive or negative) outcomes that may result from legislations like the IMDT.

Conclusion

The Constitutional Bench of the Supreme Court is required to answer a set of thirteen questions as referred to it by the Division Bench before which the case was originally placed, some of which are crucial for the purposes of this essay:

(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?

To answer these questions effectively, it is crucial that the Supreme Court deliberate upon the nature of Article 355 – as to whether it requires that any measure be undertaken, or that these measures must also be effective. Answering these questions clearly would avoid Mathur J.’s dictum, which confused ‘unconstitutionality’ with ‘ineffectiveness’ – and may go some way to easing the plight of the Assamese.

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)