Tag Archives: non-discrimination

Guest Post: The Trans Bill and Its Discontents – II

(In this Guest Post, Vasudev Devadasan concludes his analysis of the Transgender Bill.)

In the last post (here) we defined transgender persons as individuals who experience a conflict between the ‘gender identity’ assigned to them at birth, and ‘gender identity’ they develop through the course of their lives. Thus, an individual may be designated ‘male’ or ‘female’ at birth, but over time may come to identify with the opposite sex, or even outside the male-female binary as a transgender. In NALSA v UoI (NALSA) the Supreme Court affirmed both the right of the individual to choose their own gender and the existence of a third gender (transgender). The Court also ruled that discrimination against transgender persons for failing to conform with gender stereotypes (by choosing an alternative ‘gender identity’) amounted to discrimination on the grounds of ‘sex’ and was prohibited by Articles 15 and 16 of the Constitution. Lastly the Court held that transgender persons were members of ‘backward classes’ deserving of reservations under Articles 15(4) and Articles 16(4) of the Constitution.

When making these statements the Court had the benefit of speaking in the abstract. In implementing these guarantees the government faces the task of conferring benefits on a group whose membership is based on a subjective determination of conflicting ‘gender identity’ experienced only by the individual in question. How does the government provide reservations to ‘transgender persons’ when the only way to know whom a ‘transgender person’ is, is an internal conflict experienced by the transgender person?

In this post, I examine the anti-discrimination provisions in the new Transgender Persons (Protection of Rights) Bill and explore the difficulty of securing equality and affirmative action for a group whose membership cannot be objectively determined. I also examine the current Bill’s provisions on begging and residence (prohibiting transgender persons from being separated from their families) and question whether they are in tune with the developing concept of ‘autonomy’ under the Constitution.


The current Bill provides a procedure for the ‘Recognition of Identity of Transgender Persons’. While we discussed the shortcomings of this procedure on the last post, the rationale for having a recognition procedure is clear. Non-discrimination rights arise when citizens belong to a class or category of citizen as distinguishable from other citizens. A claim to non-discrimination will be acknowledged when a citizen can demonstrate belonging to this class or category and then show that such belonging is the “ground” for the discrimination in question. Therefore, the current Bill provides a definition of ‘transgender person’, provides a procedure to recognise a ‘transgender person’, and then Section 3 of the Bill states, “No person shall discriminate against a transgender person…” by denying education, unfair treatment in employment etc. The provision thus protects individuals who are recognised as transgenders under the scheme of the Bill.

Before moving on, two points should be noted. Firstly, the Bill does not create reservations for transgender persons in education or employment. While the National Commission for Backward Classes did formally recommend that transgender persons be included in the category ‘Other Backward Class’, and while these recommendations are ordinarily binding on the Government, the current Bill does not create reservations for transgender persons. Secondly, the Bill does not define the term “discrimination”. By not defining “discrimination” the Bill is silent on how and when the protection guaranteed by Section 3 would be violated. In contrast, the 2014 Rajya Sabha Bill defined discrimination as “any distinction, exclusion or restriction on the basis of gender identity and expression which [restricts the exercise of human rights] on an equal basis with others.” Just as the Supreme Court did in NALSA, this definition states that where a person is treated differently because of their ‘gender identity or expression’, and such different treatment affects their enjoyment of rights, discrimination is deemed to have occurred.

The problem facing the government is that by creating a recognition procedure that the State controls, they have severely restricted the individual’s ability to self-identity with the gender of their choice (a choice the Court in NALSA held to be protected by Article 21). There are two seemingly conflicting goals here: (a) to fix and regulate the categories of sex (male, female and transgender), and (b) to allow individuals to freely move between these categories by choosing their own ‘gender identity’. The current Bill seeks to filter the subjectivity so essential to the transgender identity through a lens of legal certainty. The question is therefore whether the actual or potential mobility of ‘gender’ that NALSA and the very definition of transgender espouse can be accommodated within a regulatory non-discrimination framework.

Victoria and New South Wales for example dispense with the requirement of having a fixed legal identity when determining whether transgender persons have been discriminated against. The Victorian legislation (the Equal Opportunity Act) prohibits discrimination on the grounds of ‘gender identity’ which is defined as:

…the identification on a bona fide basis by a person of one sex as a member of the other sex (whether or not the person is recognised as such):

  1. by assuming characteristics of the other sex, whether by means of medical intervention, style of dressing or otherwise; or
  2. by living, or seeking to live, as a member of the other sex.

Thus, what matters is not whether the individual is recognised in law as a transgender person. Rather, whether they are perceived by society as being a transgender person. Thus, rather than the law having to recognise an immutable characteristic of ‘transgender’ which both violates the principle of self-identification and aims to ‘normalise’ transgender persons by creating a fixed gender/legal identity, discrimination occurs when an individual is discriminated against because they are perceived to be transgender, irrespective of whether they are actual transgender. For example, if an individual is denied employment on the ground that they are perceived to be transgender, a valid claim for discrimination can be made against the employer. Sharpe terms this the “interplay of performance and gaze” and this provides a framework within which the law is able to comprehend the fluid nature of the transgender identity and yet protect transgender persons from discrimination. Conferring rights without requiring a fixed legal identity.

While this solution may work for non-discrimination simpliciter, it still leaves the question of affirmative action open. Where legal benefits are positively conferred on a group, the State has a legitimate interest is ensuring that the individuals who are availing of these benefits belong to the group. The current Bill creates a ‘screening committee’ which includes medical personnel to verify and recognise an individual as a transgender person. This is likely to expose individuals to unwanted and intrusive scrutiny. Thus, a balance needs to be struck between the State’s interest to curb the abuse of affirmative action benefits, and an individual’s freedom to change genders with dignity.

In Secretary, Department of Social Security v HH, Justice Brennan moves the needle away from biological verification, to a slightly more holistic test. In determining an individual’s gender, he notes, “the respondent’s psychological and social/cultural gender identity are the matters of primary importance not sex chromosomal configurations or gonadal or genital factors…” The understanding that ‘sex’ is not a determinant factor, and that “psychological, social and cultural” factors can determine gender seems to be a step in the right direction. This ties in with the Indian Supreme Court’s understanding that an individual’s psyche is part of ‘sex’ within the meaning of Articles 15 and 16. If the ‘screening committee’ that the Bill creates was to examine this, a balance maybe struck.

Provisions on Residence

The current Bill also seeks to secure the right of transgender persons to stay in their own home. Section 13(1) states that, “No transgender person shall be separated from parents or immediate family on the ground of being a transgender, except on an order of a competent court…” Sub-clause 3 of the same Section goes on to note, “Where any parent or a member of his immediate family is unable to take care of a transgender, the competent court shall […] direct such person to be placed in a rehabilitation centre” The framework created by the Bill compels a transgender person to either continue living with their family, or be placed in a rehabilitation centre. The section makes no distinction between a ‘minor’ and an adult and creates a rather intrusive mechanism of regulation where a transgender person cannot choose where to live.

The Parliamentary Standing Committee raised concerns that the two options provided by the Bill would not guarantee protection given the realities present on the ground. Several transgender persons face significant abuse at the hands of their own families who deny them the right to self-identity with a gender of their choosing and restrict their gender expression. The nature of the rehabilitation centres is also unknown. The Committee noted that several transgender persons choose not to live at home, but rather within transgender communities where they form an alternative network of friends and family.

The Committees observations on Section 13 raise interesting constitutional questions given the understanding of ‘autonomy’ articulated in the Right to Privacy (Puttaswamy) earlier this year. At the core of the Court’s rationale in Puttaswamy was the idea that privacy protects an individual’s liberty by securing ‘dignity’ and ‘autonomy’. Privacy in the Court’s articulation is the right to determine how one should exercise the freedoms guaranteed by the Constitution. Thus, ‘autonomy’ guarantees the right of every person to make essential choices which affect the course of life.” (⁋113) The State cannot interfere with an individual’s decisions concerning several core areas that the Court describes (non-exhaustively) as including family, marriage, procreation, and even what to eat and drink.

By compelling transgender persons to either live at home or in a State run rehabilitation centre Section 13 seems to deny them the right to choose the community they wish to live in. Deciding to live at home or not would fall within an ‘essential choice’ relating to ‘family’. And by denying transgender persons the third alternative (of living within a transgender community) the case could be made that the State is interfering with their ‘autonomy’ as protected under Puttaswamy.

Provisions on Begging

Lastly, Section 19(a) of the Bill makes it an offence to ‘compel or entice a transgender person’ to commit the act of ‘begging’. Transgender persons have a well-documented history of suffering abuse at the hands of anti-vagrancy provisions such as this, simply because begging is often the only choice of income generation available. As the Standing Committee noted, transgender persons are often booked under analogous ‘begging’ provisions merely because they are present in public places. While the provision only penalises the offence of compelling a transgender person to beg, there is a thin line between criminalising an individual for begging out of their own volition and compelling another to beg, with the latter often being used against the former.

In Ram Lakhan v State, Justice Ahmed examined this distinction in the context of the implicit defences to the offence of ‘begging’. He noted that when an individual begs out of the sheer compulsion to stay alive, he is protected under the defence of ‘necessity’. Where an individual is compelled to beg he does so under threat of violence and even death and is thus protected under the defence of ‘duress’. In both cases, the individual has no real choice, and it is this involuntariness that provides the basis for both the defence of ‘necessity’ and ‘duress’ making it a “distinction without a relevant difference”. In the course of practical policing there may be obvious benefits to the distinction between a begging racket and a person begging to prevent the onset of starvation. However, the inclusion of the legislative provision as it is currently framed may be counter-productive, especially given the existence of parallel anti-begging laws.


We have seen how the current Bill fails to understand the core principle of ‘self-identification’ in defining a transgender person, how it struggles with the question of non-discrimination, and takes an approach to residence and begging that doesn’t appreciate the nuances of the law and its relationship with the ground realities faced by transgender persons. Creating a regulatory framework for transgender persons is undoubtedly a complex and delicate task. Certain questions, such as legal recognition for transgender persons, and the prevention of discrimination pose questions that expose the limits of law as crafted within the male-female binary. On the points of residence and begging however, the Bill seems to lack an understanding of ground realities required to upturn generations of neglect towards transgender persons. Even in their best possible forms, these provisions would require sensitive administration to have a meaningful impact in the long run. Perhaps what is most troubling is that none of the criticisms raised in this piece or the last are new. Given the excellent platform created for the government with the NALSA verdict, the original Rajya Sabha Bill and the various committee reports, the fact that the Bill remains in its current form is lamentable.



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Filed under Article 21 and the Right to Life, Bodily Integrity, Bodily Privacy/Integrity, Decisional Autonomy, Equality, Non-discrimination, Privacy, Sexuality

The Leprosy PIL: A Chance to Rethink Equality under Law

Today, the Supreme Court issued notice on a petition filed by the Vidhi Centre for Legal Policy challenging provisions from as many as 119 statutes, which discriminate against people with leprosy. The petition follows the 256th Law Commission Report, which highlighted the discriminatory legal landscape against persons with leprosy, and called for its elimination.

The petition challenges these statutes (that range from election disqualifications to employment discrimination) on the expected grounds of Articles 14, 19 and 21 of the Constitution. I suggest, however, that this case provides, in addition, an opportunity to the Supreme Court to reconsider and evolve its jurisprudence of equality, which has been rather sterile in recent years (and decades). This opportunity exists because leprosy, insofar as it has been a historic site for group-based discrimination, is similar to the prohibited characteristics under Article 15(1) (race, caste, sex etc.), but of course, does not fall within any of them. Consequently, while the equality-based challenge to these discriminatory statutes will have to be made under Article 14, the Court can advance a theory of discrimination that dispenses with the classic intelligible differentia/rational nexus test under Article 14, and applies a higher threshold of scrutiny in circumstances where the ground of discrimination is similar to, but does not fall within, the listed grounds under Article 15(1).

Note that this is not unprecedented. The Delhi High Court did exactly this when it read down Section 377 of the IPC in 2009. The Supreme Court overturned that judgment in 2013, without undertaking any analysis of the High Court’s 14-15 synthesis.

I have written an article that defends this view, and considers its extension to exactly the kinds of laws under challenge in the present petition – i.e., those that discriminate against people with leprosy. The article can be accessed here.




Filed under Article 14, Article 15 (general), Equality, Non-discrimination

Haji Ali Dargah: Bombay High Court Upholds Women’s Right to Access the Inner Sanctum

In an important judgment delivered today, the Bombay High Court upheld the right of women to access the inner sanctum of the Haji Ali Dargah, and also held that, consequently, the Haji Ali Dargah Trust’s decision to exclude them was illegal and unconstitutional. Previously, on this blog, we discussed some of the legal and constitutional issues arising out of this case, concluding that there were good constitutional arguments in favour of the right of access.

Coming in at 56 pages, the Bombay High Court’s judgment is a crisp and lucid elucidation of the existing state of religious freedom jurisprudence under the Constitution, as well as application of that jurisprudence to the facts of this case. The Court began by recounting the three reasons provided by the Trust for barring women’s entry; first, that “women wearing blouses with wide necks bend on the Mazaar, thus showing their breasts… [secondly] for the safety and security of women; and [thirdly] that earlier they [i.e., the Trust] were not aware of the provisions of Shariat and had made a mistake and therefore had taken steps to rectify the same.” (paragraph 5) It is this last reason that needed to be considered in the greatest detail, since it went directly to the heart of the Constitution’s religious freedom guarantees, granted to both individuals and to religious denominations.

In dealing with this submission, the Court considered the minutes of the meeting which had led to the Dargah Trust passing the Resolution to exclude women. Four reasons emerged out of the minutes, which overlapped with (but were not identical to) the three submissions made in Court; first, that the women being in close proximity to the grave of a saint was a “sin” in Islam; secondly, that the Trust had the fundamental right to manage its own affairs in the matters of religion under Article 26 of the Constitution; thirdly, that it was in the interests of the safety and security of women; and fourthly, at no point were women allowed to come within the proximity of the dargah (paragraph 22) This last issue was quickly disposed off by the Court, since the record made it clear that until 2011 -12, women were, as a matter of fact, allowed into the inner sanctum (paragraph 23).

This brought the Court to the core argument, which was based upon the Trust’s interpretation of Islam. The Trust argued that the Quran and the Hadith prohibited proximity of women to the tomb of a male saint, that menstruating women were ‘unclean’, and that men and women had to be separated at holy places. To substantiate this argument, it placed verses from the Quran as well as the Hadith before the Court. The Court found, however, that none of these texts stated that the presence of women in proximity to the tomb of a saint was a “sin”, and nor did they support “the absolute proposition” for banning the entry of women into the inner sanctum because of the need for “segregation”. While the Petitioners had also produced verses from the Quran in support of gender equality, the Court held that there was no need to go into these, since the Trust, on its own terms, had failed to show that the entry of women into the inner sanctum was a sin under Islam (paragraph 26).

The Court then turned to the arguments under Article 25 (freedom of religion), and Article 26(b) of the Constitution – namely, that every religious denomination, or section, had the right to mange its own affairs in matters of religion. On Article 25, relying upon the long-standing religious freedom jurisprudence of the Supreme Court, the Court first invoked the “essential religious practices test” – i.e., was the exclusion of women from the inner sanctum of a shrine an “essential” or “integral” part of Islam? According to the Court, the test for an “essential practice” was that it must  “constitute the very essence of that religion, and should be such, that if permitted, it will change its fundamental character” (paragraph 29). This being the case, the Court found that the Trust had failed to demonstrate that Islam did not permit the entry of women into Dargahs/Mosques, a claim that was further weakened, given that women had been allowed entry up until 2011 – 2012 (paragraph 31). Of course, the Trust argued that it was only after 2011 that its attention had been drawn to what the Sharia actually required; to this, the Court’s swift response was that the Trust had placed nothing on record to show what specific aspects of the Sharia had been drawn to the Trust’s attention that changed the position so drastically (paragraph 31).

The Court then turned to Article 26(b), which guaranteed to religious denominations the right to manage their own affairs in matters of religion. The Court first went into the history of the Trust itself, and its operations. It noted that the Haji Ali Dargah stood on public land, leased to the Trust by the Government; a scheme for managing the Trust was drawn up by a government-appointed commissioner in 1936; the role of the Trustees was to prepare books of account, conduct business, maintain the properties, and so on (paragraph 33). This enquiry was important, because under the Supreme Court’s Article 26(b) jurisprudence, especially insofar as it concerns the rights of trusts or maths, a distinction must be drawn between religious activities on the one hand, and secular activities bearing the trappings of religion on the other (unlike the essential practices test, this distinction is actually grounded in the Constitutional text – for instance, Article 25(2)(a), which permits State intervention into secular aspects of religious practice – as well as the Constituent Assembly Debates). Consequently, the Court found that:

“The aims, objects and activities of the Haji Ali Dargah Trust as set out in the Scheme are not governed by any custom, tradition/usage. The objects of the Haji Ali Dargah Trust are in respect of purely secular activities of a non-religious nature, such as giving loans, education, medical facilities, etc. Neither the objects nor the Scheme vest any power in the trustees to determine matters of religion, on the basis of which entry of woman is being restricted.”

It’s important to note here that unlike many other cases before it, the Court did not here get into the question of whether the exclusion of women from the dargah was a “religious” question or not. It simply held that the Trust was never authorised to deal with matters of religion, and that therefore, Article 26(b) was not even attracted in the first place. And there was a further reason why Article 26(b) could not apply:

“Admittedly, the Haji Ali Dargah Trust is a public charitable trust. It is open to people all over the world, irrespective of their caste, creed or sex, etc. Once a public character is attached to a place of worship, all the rigors of Articles 14, 15 and 25 would come into play and the respondent No. 2 Trust cannot justify its decision solely based on a misreading of Article 26. The respondent No. 2 Trust has no right to discriminate entry of women into a public place of worship under the guise of `managing the affairs of religion’ under Article 26 and as such, the State will have to ensure protection of rights of all its citizens guaranteed under Part III of the Constitution, including Articles 14 and 15, to protect against discrimination based on gender.” (paragraph 36)

In other words, the Dargah’s public character took it out of the protective scope of Article 26(b), and made it subject to Articles 14, 15 and 25 of the Constitution. This is a fascinating point, especially given the long history of temple-entry movements in India. Ever since the time of Ambedkar, temple-entry movements have framed the basic question as being about access to public spaces, a right that could not be curtailed on grounds of caste etc. In this case, the form of the Trust – as well as the fact that the Dargah was “open” to all – allowed the Court to hold that the question of access was of a “public” character, and therefore, impliedly, outside Article 26(b).

The Court then went on to hold, however, that even if it was attracted, Article 26(b) could not override other constitutional provisions:

“Infact, the right to manage the Trust cannot override the right to practice religion itself, as Article 26 cannot be seen to abridge or abrogate the right guaranteed under Article 25 of the Constitution.” (paragraph 36)

With respect, this might not be correct. It is, in fact, Article 25 of the Constitution that contains the prefatory term “Subject to other provisions of this Part…” This suggests that when the framers wanted to subordinate one provision of Part III to the others, they did so expressly. The omission of this phrase in Article 26 would suggest, therefore, that it is 25(1) that is subject to 26 (in case of a clash), and that, at the very least, more work must be done before holding that Article 26(b) is subject to Articles 14 and 15.

Lastly, the Court swiftly disposed off the ‘women’s security’ argument, holding that it was for the Dargah (as well as the State) to take effective steps to guarantee the security of women, instead of banning them outright (paragraph 37). It ordered, therefore, that status quo be restored, i.e. “women be permitted to enter the sanctum sanctorum at par with men.”

The reader will note, at this point, that a final step in the argument appears to be missing. Even after holding that the arguments of the Dargah, based on Articles 25 and 26 failed, on what legal or constitutional basis were the women enforcing their right of access against the Dargah? The Dargah was not, after all, a State body, and consequently, there could be no direct relief against it under Articles 14, 15, or 25. The Court didn’t address this question separately, but the answer is found back in paragraph 18:

“… the State cannot deprive its citizens of the constitutional rights guaranteed under Articles 14 and 15. It would then be the Constitutional responsibility of the State to ensure that the principles enshrined in the Articles 14 and 15 of the Constitution are upheld. Article 14 of the Constitution guarantees that `the State shall not deny any person equality before the law or the equal protection of the law within the territory of India’ and Article 15 guarantees `the State shall not discriminate against any citizen on grounds only of religion, race, caste, sex, place of birth or any of them. The State would then be under a constitutional obligation to extent equal protection of law to the petitioners to the extent, that it will have to ensure that there is no gender discrimination.”

In other words, what the Court held was that under Part III, the State did not merely have a negative obligation not to infringe fundamental rights. Rather, it had a positive obligation to prevent a private party from infringing upon another private party’s fundamental rights (this, I argued before, was a move open to the Court in light of the Supreme Court judgments in Vishaka and Medha Kotwal Lele). In technical terms, this is called “indirect horizontality” (discussed previously here). If a private party is infringing my fundamental rights, I cannot move the Court directly against that private party, and ask the Court for relief against it; I must make the State a Respondent, and ask the Court to direct the State to take necessary action in order that I may vindicate my fundamental rights (by deploying police, security, or whatever else). And interestingly the petitioners in this case did make the State a party – in fact, the State was the First Respondent.

Let us now summarise the structure of the judgment:

  1. The Haji Ali Dargah Trust justified the exclusion of women from the inner sanctum on the basis of the freedom of religion (Article 25(1)), and the right of religious denominations to manage their own affairs in the matters of religion (Article 26(b).
  2. The Court rejected the Article 25(1) argument on the basis that the Trust had failed to place any material on record to demonstrate that the exclusion of women from dargahs was an “essential feature” of Islam. The Dargah’s claims were thrown further into doubt by the fact that women had been accessing the sanctum up until 2011 – 12.
  3. The Court rejected the Article 26(b) argument on the basis that:
    1. The Scheme of the Dargah Trust did not allow it to adjudicate upon religious matters. Hence, Article 26(b) was not attracted.
    2. The Dargah Trust was a public charitable trust, and the Dargah was a public space open to all. Hence, Article 26(b) was not attracted.
    3. Even if Article 26(b) was attracted, it was overriden by Articles 14, 15 and 25(1)
  4. The exclusion of women from the inner sanctum of the Dargah violated their rights under Articles 14 (equality), 15(1) (non-discrimination) and 25(1) (freedom of religion).
  5. Consequently, insofar as the Dargah Trust was impeding the women’s enjoyment of their fundamental rights, they were entitled to call upon the State to perform its positive obligations under Part III of the Constitution, and vindicate their rights by taking appropriate enforcement-oriented action.

By way of conclusion, let me make two points. On this blog, I have strongly opposed the “essential features” test as being a doctrinal, historical and philosophical mistake (see here), and proposed an alternative interpretation of Articles 25 and 26 (see here). If, however, there is to be a change, that change must be initiated by the Supreme Court, sitting in a bench of appropriate strength (at least seven judges). Whatever the Bench’s personal views on the essential religious practices test, sitting as the Bombay High Court, they had no choice but to follow and apply it. This they did. What is important to note, however, is that they applied it in a narrow, circumspect, and sensitive manner, and to the extent that they necessarily had to. They limited themselves to examining only the material placed on record by the Trust. Even though the Petitioners had placed on record material arguing that Islam mandated gender equality, the bench refused to make observations on that point, one way or another. Unlike far too many previous cases, they refrained from making grand, overarching claims about the religion before them. Given that the whole problem with the essential practices doctrine is that it allows judges to impose an external view upon the lived practices and traditions of the community, the Bombay High Court’s reticence in doing that must be applauded.

This brings me to the second, related point. Over the past few years, cases of this sort – which involve issues of fundamental rights, religion, and gender equality, among others, have seen much judicial grandstanding. There have been broad and sweeping statements, which do not stand up to rigorous scrutiny, very little attention to the Constitution and to legal doctrine, and the privileging of rhetoric over reason. The Bombay High Court’s judgment is the exact opposite of all this. The bench decided the case on closely-reasoned legal grounds (as any court must) refused the obvious temptation of buccaneering into the political and religious thicket, and avoided doing anything more than was absolutely necessary for deciding the case. If we criticise the judiciary when it plays to the galleries, we must also praise it when it abstains from doing so. For that reason, apart from everything else, today’s judgment deserves much praise.





Filed under Access to Religious Spaces, Essential Religious Practices, Freedom of Religion, Secularism

Guest Post: Women and the Constituent Assembly – II: The Framing of the Non-Discrimination Clause

Initial Drafts

The initial drafts of the equality and non-discrimination provisions were prepared by B.R.Ambedkar (B Shiva Rao Ed. “The framing of India’s Constitution- Select Documents’ Universal law publishing co. Pvt. Ltd Vol II (2004) PP 86-88) and K.M.Munshi (Vol II PP 74-75). Ambedkar’s draft referred to the ‘prohibition of disqualification inter alia on the ground of sex’ only once in respect of holding of public office or practicing of trade or calling (Vol II 84-88). The remainder of the draft provisions were gender neutral using either the words and phrases “all persons, person, public, or people (Vol II 84-88), or “all citizens or every citizen” Moreover, he did not recommend any special provisions for women or children.

However, in comparison to B.R. Ambedkar, K.M. Munshi’s draft attached more significance to gender (Vol II 74-75) in two respects;

  • Calling for treatment of women at equal basis with men generally and;
  • Providing justification for exceptions to the rule against sexual discrimination.

He was also less gender neutral in his approach than Ambedkar and used the words ‘women and men’ (rather than citizens). Clauses 1 and 3 of his draft are worth noting.

  • All persons irrespective of…….. sex are equal before the law and are entitled to the same rights and are subject to the same duties.
  • Women citizens are the equal of men citizens in all spheres of political, economic, social and cultural life and are entitled to the civil rights and subject to same civil duties unless where exception is made in such rights or duties by the law of the Union on account of ‘sex’(Vol II 74)

Ironically, he did not advocate prohibition of ‘discrimination on the ground of sex’ in respect of equal access to public places and enjoyment of equal opportunities in spheres of public employment and office of power and honour, the exercise of trade, profession or calling and exercise of franchise (Vol II 74-75). Thus, unlike Ambedkar who espoused formal equality, the draft of Munshi was a combination of paternalism and formal equality and was influenced by cultural feminism.

Based on both drafts, the sub-committee on fundamental rights produced a non-discrimination provision: draft Article 5. This Article apart from recognizing the principles of equality before law and the equal protection of the law also prohibited discrimination on the ground of sex (but not gender). The obligation of non-discrimination was not only vertical but also horizontal, bringing into its scope ‘wells, tanks, roads, schools and places of public resort’ (Vol II P 138). Constitutional adviser B. N. Rau expressed concern that,

“…. The clause as drafted would prejudicially affect the institution of separate schools, hospitals etc for women” (Vol II P 148)

The Minorities Sub-Committee, endorsing the suggestion of Rau, decided to remove ‘sex’ as one of the prohibited grounds of discrimination, so far as ‘the use of wells, tanks, roads and places of public resort’ was concerned and also excluded ‘schools’ from this clause. (Vol II P 208)

The above views of both these committees were discussed by Advisory Committee. Although there was consensus in the committee to have a strong Anti-discrimination provision, it was also felt that,

“..the drafting of a clause which would prevent discrimination and at the time would serve the practical social ends was somewhat complicated.” (Vol II P 208, P 221, 253-255)

According to the Committee the same was crucial in respect of discrimination on the ground of ‘sex’. In order, therefore to redraft the Anti-discrimination clause, yet another sub-committee consisting of Munshi, Rajgopalachari, Pannikar and Ambedkar was constituted. (Vol II P 223)

This sub-committee drafted the general nondiscrimination provision, which read:

The State shall make no discrimination against any citizen on grounds of religion, race, caste or sex...’ (Vol II P 256).

However, in regard to access to trading establishments, public restaurants and hotels and use of wells, tanks and places of public resort, it omitted ‘sex’ as one of prohibited grounds of discrimination. During the debates, Rajkumari Amrit Kaur objected, arguing that this went against the basic principles of social equality. Rajgopalachari tried to defend it by pointing out,

“…in dealing with particularities, separate provision for women would be necessary and if we say that there shall be no discrimination, we will have to follow it.” (Vol II P 257)

Another member Panikkar added a new dimension to the debate by pointing out,

“..discrimination for women means discrimination against men…when you say no discrimination shall be made on the ground of sex, it also means it should not be discriminated against men...” (Vol II P 257)

However, the debate ultimately resulted in adoption of redraft of the clause suggested by Rajgopalachari, which apart from accepting the objection of Rajkumari Amrit Kaur, also had a proviso, ‘provided that nothing contained in this clause shall prevent separate provisions being made for women.’ (Vol II P 258). Draft Article 11 was then debated by Constituent Assembly on 29th April 1947 but the discussion did not result in any material changes in the provisions dealing with discrimination on the ground of Sex. (B Shiva Rao Vol V P186-187)

The Final Wording and the Debates over the Word “Only”

This clause however was qualitatively modified along the lines of Section 87 of Charter Act, 1833 which became Section 298(1) of Govt. Of India Act 1935 by Constitutional Adviser and remained part of both the Draft Constitutions. When the I visited HANSARD to gather the legislative intention of British Parliament behind enactment of section 87 and 298, I did not find any discussion on the same. (B Shiva Rao Vol III (2004) P 7-8, P 521)

To have an idea of the changes made by Constitutional Adviser B.N. Rau, it is necessary to compare the language of the clause 11 (1) and clause 9(1) in the draft Constitutions with the earlier clause 4 of draft of subcommittee. He substituted the following clause as clause 1 of draft Article 11. The changes made are italicized. ‘The State shall not discriminate against any citizen on grounds only of religion, race, caste, sex or any of them.’ 

It is also interesting to note that, B. Pattabhi Sitaramayya, Durgabai, Mahavir Tyagi,Thakurdas Bhargava. B.V. Keskar, T.T. Krishnamachari, M. Anathasayanam Ayyangar and k. Santhanam raised objections about the inclusion of the word ‘only’ and recommended its deletion wherever it occurred viz. draft article 9 and 10 etc (presently Articles 15 and 16 of Constitution of India). However, the same was rejected by B.N. Rau, by giving following justification,

“[There is an argument that] there are advantages in retaining this wording. For example, suppose because of discrimination against Indians in South Africa, India decides to discriminate against South African Europeans in India. Such discrimination would be on grounds of race, but not on grounds only of race: the Constitution as it stands, would permit it, but not if it is amended as proposed”… In my opinion, It is not clear how this example would explain the insertion of the word ‘only’ in draft clause 10 (presently Article 16 of constitution of India) dealing with non-discrimination in the public employment. Rau also did not offer any justification or articulated his thought on the insertion of the words ‘only’ ‘or any of them’ in his book. (B. Shiva Rao Vol IV (2004) PP 27)

During the final debate on this Article on 29th November 1948, the above amendment of B. Pattabhi Sitaramayya and others was not taken up. (P 673) But on same day, during the final discussion of draft article 10 ( present article 16 of constitution of India), Naziruuddin Ahmad moved amendment no 333, by observing “That in clause (2) of article 10, for the words ‘on grounds only’ the words, ‘on grounds’ be substituted. It is really a motion for deletion of the word ‘only’ which seems to be redundant or rather causing some difficulty. The same difficulty has been felt by a large number of honorable members, as is evidenced by several amendments to the same effect”.

The other similar amendments were amendment no. 335 and first part of 337. It is also necessary to point out another amendment no. 336 moved by Naziruddin Ahmad, also doing away with the word “only”: “thus for clause (2) of article 10, the following clause be substituted, ‘(2) every citizen shall be eligible for office under the state irrespective of his religion, caste, sex, descent or place of birth’.. the only reason for suggesting this amendment is that it is more direct in form” Amendment 341 was similar to the amendment 336 and was not moved.

During his reply to the discussion ,B.R. Amebdkar pointed out, “Mr. Vice President… that I cannot accept amendment 334 by Misra nor I can accept the two amendments moved by Mr Nazruddin Ahemad , nos. 336 and 337…”

I submit that the observations of B.R. Ambedkar in respect of the amendments moved by Nazruddin Ahmad sidestepped the real issue as to what in substance were the objections raised by the members.

Anti-discrimination vs Non-discrimination

Furthermore, an amendment suggested by Jaypraksh Narayan to add a sub-clause to clause 1 of Article 9, so as to afford protection against discrimination on the ground of ‘sex’ for interalia ‘possession of property, exercising or carrying of any occupation etc’ was also rejected by pointing out interalia,

“ … Under Hindu Law there are certain disabilities with regard to the possession of property on the ground of ‘sex’….it may for example be necessary to impose restrictions on the carrying out of certain occupations by women such as the occupation of rickshaw-puller, the occupation of laborer in mines etc….the amendment if accepted, will not enable the State to impose any such restrictions…..” (Vol IV (2004) PP 29-30)

On the basis of this, I submit that B.N. Rau introduced a subtle distinction between ‘Anti-discrimination and non-discrimination’ because although as a part of strategy of Anti-discrimination, he retained all the prohibited grounds as suggested by Rajgopalachari Committee, but he seriously watered down the scope of Non-discrimination. Thus, he envisaged the possibility of legitimizing the discrimination even on prohibited grounds, if State could suggest some other non-prohibited grounds as compelling justification for the discrimination and could prove that it is not a discrimination ‘only’ on one of the prohibited grounds. Of course in one way the draft of B.N. Rau was quite ahead of time. By incorporating the words ‘or any of them’ he not only recognized the phenomenon of Multiple discrimination but also created a potential for invocation of ‘Principle of Intersectionality’. There is neither discussion in the constituent assembly about the significance of these words, nor has the judiciary has taken their due cognizance during the interpretation of articles 15 and 16. Indeed, it is ironical that at one hand, B. N. Rau contracted the scope of Non-discrimination, while on the other hand, like a visionary, he also opened up the possibilities of placing innovative and creative interpretation on Articles 15 and 16. Similarly, he also severed the Proviso as suggested by Rajgoplachari from draft clause and incorporated a separate clause by making some qualitative and material changes, which was adopted finally as present Article 15 (3). The clause reads as, ‘Nothing in this Article shall prevent the State from making any special provision for women and children.’

Prior to the introduction of the final draft of the Constitution before the Constituent Assembly on 4th Nov 1948, one of the members, Tajamul Husain had sought the complete deletion of clause 2 of Article 11 (Present Article 15 (3). However, his suggestion was not accepted by Constitutional adviser B.N. Rau, who opined,

“ ..this clause is necessary as obviously special provision would be required in the case of employment of women and children in factories and mines…” (Vol IV (2004) PP 29)

On the other hand, during the final debate, K.T. Shah had moved an amendment to this clause to also include in its scope ‘scheduled castes and backward tribes ‘along with women and children. However, B.R. Ambedkar rejected this amendment by drawing a distinction between SC/STs and women:

“… with regard to amendment no.323 moved by Professor K.T. Shah ,the object which is to add ‘the scheduled castes and scheduled tribes’ along with women and children, I am afraid it may have just the opposite effect. The object which all of us have in mind is that the scheduled caste and scheduled tribes should not be segregated from the general public. for instance none of us, I think would like that separate schools should be established for Scheduled Caste , when there is a general school in a village open to the children of the entire community…if these words are added, it will probably give a handle for a State to say, well , we are making special provisions for the scheduled caste. To my mind they can safely say so by taking shelter under the Article if it is amended in the manner …..

Subhash Kashyap points out that according to Constitutional adviser B.N. Rau, this clause [Present Article 15(3)] was an exception to the general anti-discrimination clause (Dr. Subhash Kashyap Ed. Vol V P 187). He also demonstrates how B.N. Rau found support for insertion of clause 2 of Draft Article 9 ( Present Article 15 (3) of Constitution of India) , during his discussion with Justice Frankfurter of US Supreme Court by noting ,“ ..Justice Frankfurter emphasized that legal provision might occasionally have to be made for women e.g. to prohibit employment for a certain period before and after child-birth ”. (Dr. Subhash Kashyap Ed. Vol V P 187)



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Sex Discrimination and the Constitution – XII: Indirect Discrimination in Sareetha vs Venkatasubbaiah

Before ending our discussion on sex discrimination under the Constitution, it would be interesting to take note of two (overruled) High Court cases that pushed interpretive boundaries in their understanding of Article 15(1). The first is the Delhi High Court’s judgment in Naz Foundation vs NCT of DelhiAs is well-known, the High Court invalidated Section 377 of the IPC, which criminalised “carnal intercourse against the order of nature” (read: homosexuality), on grounds of Articles 14, 15 and 21. One of the things the High Court did was to read “sexual orientation” into the word “sex”. In a guest post last week, Vansh Gupta examined this issue in some detail, so I won’t reiterate the argument in full. Briefly, there are two ways of understanding the Court’s interpretive move. The first – which is what the Court itself seems to say – is that sexual orientation is read into Article 15 as a ground “analogous” to sex. This, I believe, is a mistake, since the text of Article 15(1) makes it clear that the “grounds” stated therein constitute a closed list (compare, e.g., with the anti-discrimination provisions of the South African and Canadian Constitution). However, the other – more acceptable – reading is that the criminalisation of homosexuality constitutes sex discrimination, properly understood. This is because, at its heart, it rests upon the same gender stereotypes (including assumptions about sexual roles) that form the basis of sex discrimination.

Let us now consider the judgment of the Andhra Pradesh High Court in T. Sareetha vs Venkatasubbaiah. The constitutionality of S. 9 of the Hindu Marriage Act, which provides for the “restitution of conjugal rights”, was challenged. According to Section 9, “when either the husband or the wife has without reasonable excuse withdrawn from the society of the other, the aggrieved party may apply by petition to the district Court for restitution of conjugal rights and the Court, on being satisfied the truth of the statements made in such petition and that there is no legal ground why the application should not be granted, may decree restitution of conjugal rights accordingly.” According to an Explanation, the burden of proving reasonableness lies upon the party who has withdrawn from the society of the other. Under the CPC, a decree under S. 9 may be enforced through attachment of property, or detention in a civil prison.

A full history of this concept would be beyond the scope of this essay. Suffice it to say here that the “restitution of conjugal rights” is a common law doctrine, introduced into India by the British, and the subject of some notorious court battles in the late-19th century, at the dawn of the women’s movement.

The Andhra Pradesh High Court struck down Section 9, primarily on the ground that it violated the right to privacy. The judgment’s conception of privacy is novel and fascinating, and repays close study. What is of particular significance, however, is that towards the end of its judgment, the Court also invalidated the provision on the grounds of Article 14. This seems prima facie counter-intuitive, since Section 9 clearly applies to “the husband or the wife“, and makes no distinction between the two. It is, therefore, facially neutral. The Court observed, however:

“… by making the remedy of restitution of conjugal rights equally available both to wife and husband, it apparently satisfies the equality test. But the requirements of equal protection of laws contained in Article 14 of the Constitution are not met with that apparent though majestic equality at which Anatole France mocked… the question is how this remedy works in life terms.  

In our social reality, this matrimonial remedy is found used almost exclusively by the husband and is rarely resorted to by the wife. A passage in Gupte’s Hindu law in British India’ page 929 (second edition) attests to this fact. The learned author recorded that although the rights and duties which marriage creates may be enforced by either spouse against the other and not exclusively by the husband against the wife; a suit for restitution by the wife is rare”.

The reason for this mainly lies in the fact of the differences between the man and the woman by enforcing a decree for restitution of conjugal rights the life pattern of the wife is likely to be altered irretrievably whereas the husband’s can remain almost as it was before this is so because it is the wife who has to beget and bear a child. This practical but the inevitable consequence of the enforcement of this remedy cripples the wife’s future plans of life and prevents her from using that self-destructive remedy. Thus the use of remedy of restitution of conjugal rights in reality becomes partial and one-sided and available only to the husband. The pledge of equal protection of laws is thus inherently incapable of being fulfilled by this matrimonial remedy in our Hindu society. As a result this remedy words in practice only as an engine of oppression to be operated by the husband for the benefit of the husband against the wife.”

There are two important aspects of this analysis. The first is a factual finding that a facially neutral statute has a disproportionate effect upon a certain class (although one would have liked statistical evidence beyond a quotation from Gupte’s Hindu Law in British India!) The technical term for this is “disparate impact”. The second is that the reason for the disparate impact cannot be linked with any constitutionally justifiable purpose. Here, the Court finds that, in light of the deeply unequal familial power structures prevailing within Indian society, a textually neutral legal remedy operates to the severe disadvantage of women. The two findings together constitute the vice of indirect discrimination (in other jurisdictions, a finding of disparate impact shifts the burden upon the discriminator to show that his or her actions could be justified by a legitimate and proportional purpose).

It is important to acknowledge indirect discrimination as a form of constitutionally proscribed discrimination, since statutes and policies are not always consciously designed to exclude groups and classes. As we have seen before, prejudices can be subconscious or unconscious, and entire exclusionary social and economic structures can be erected without the intention of harm anyone. Anuj Garg’s focus on the effect of policies upon protected groups, and the Andhra Pradesh High Court’s factual and normative analysis of Section 9 of the Hindu Marriage Act, together constitute a powerful foundation from which to place indirect discrimination at the heart of the non-discrimination guarantee.

Two things remain to be noted. The first is that T. Sareetha examined indirect discrimination within the context of Article 14, and not Article 15. The logic, however, remains exactly the same, especially when coupled with the effects test under Article 15. Secondly, Sareetha was quickly overruled by the Supreme Court, which warned against bringing constitutional law into the domestic sphere. Whatever the merits of that ruling, Sareetha is no longer good law. However, much like Koushal and Naz on “sex” and “sexual orientation” under , there was no specific finding by the Supreme Court on the issue of indirect discrimination. Neither of these two propositions, therefore, have been expressly rejected by the Court. As such, their normative power and attractiveness makes them ideal candidates to be adopted in some future time.






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Sex Discrimination and the Constitution – XI: The Justification of the Anti-Stereotyping Principle

We have seen that in Anuj Garg, the Supreme Court adopted the anti-stereotyping principle: sex-based classifications could not be saved under Article 15(1) if their only justification was to invoke stereotypes about women’s sexual or social roles in the community. What, however, is the basis of this principle? Since the Supreme Court borrowed it from American jurisprudence, we must take a brief detour, and examine the history of constitutional sex discrimination claims in the United States. That history throws up a surprising link: between sex equality, and the right to vote.

Until 1919, women in the United States did not have the right to vote. The denial of this right was justified – among other things – on a theory of virtual representation: that the interests of women were represented (before marriage) by their fathers and (after marriage) their sons, so there was no need for a separate vote. The idea of virtual representation was not restricted to the sphere of voting, but extended to an entire legal regime known as coverture: through which men disposed off property, entered into contracts and engaged in commercial relations on behalf of their wives or daughters. The social philosophy underlying the law of coverture is now called “the separate spheres” theory: i.e., it holds that men and women belong to naturally-ordained separate spheres – the public sphere for men, and the private sphere for women. To perform the functions required of one’s sphere is a natural obligation, and the two spheres are exclusive and non-overlapping.

The denial of the right to vote, therefore, rested upon the legal framework of coverture, which, in turn, was justified by the social theory of the separate spheres. So when the women’s suffrage movement in the United States’ concretely demanded the right to vote, it was not simply asking for access to the ballot box, but challenging the legal regime of coverture and the philosophy of the separate sphere itself. This is evident from the 1848 Seneca Falls Declaration, widely believed to herald the start of the suffrage movement. The Declaration accused man of “claiming it as his right to assign for [woman] a sphere of action, when that belongs to her conscience“, and attempting to “destroy her confidence in her own powers, to lessen herself-respect, and to make her willing to lead a dependent and abject life.” The twin ideas of dependency and an imposed restriction of social roles formed the heart of the claim for suffrage. This was understood by opponents of the movement as well, who linked the right to vote and the transformation of the separate spheres, askingif our ladies will insist on voting and legislating, where, gentlemen, will be our dinners and our elbows? where our domestic firesides and the holes in our stockings?” The American legal scholar, Reva Siegel, argues therefore that “the arguments of suffragists and their opponents tied the idea of women voting to the prospect of women’s emancipation from traditional roles in marriage and the market. Once the question of woman suffrage was infused with this social meaning – once the question of woman suffrage was known simply as the “woman question” – the nation’s debate about whether women should vote turned into a referendum on a whole range of gendered institutions and practices.”

Of course, between 1848 and 1919, the suffrage movement developed multiple currents, not all of which were in harmony. Around the turn of the century, for instance, another strand of the movement began to invoke the separate sphere to justify the claim for suffrage, arguing that because of women’s unique knowledge about issues related to welfare, the bringing up of children, sanitation and hygiene etc., they ought to be allowed the power of the ballot box in shaping policy. A decade later, yet another strand raised the spectre of the recently-enfranchised African-American community overwhelming the Whites at the polls, and asked for the vote to counteract this threat (See Alieen Kraditor, The Ideas of the Woman Suffrage Movement). As is the case with al social movements, it is impossible to tell which strand had the greatest contribution towards ultimate constitutional success. However, what is important to note is that the 19th Amendment, which granted the women the vote, was framed as a right. Neither the second, nor the third arguments for the vote, that we have outlined above, were framed in the language of constitutional principles or rights. It was only the first, and original suffragist argument against the theory of the separate spheres, that was framed in the vocabulary of rights. Consequently, whatever the intentions of the drafters of the Nineteenth Amendment, its very language reflects the constitutional acceptance of the anti-separate spheres movement. More importantly, this is how the Courts understood it – at least initially. In 1923, in Adkins vs Children’s Hospital, the Supreme Court struck down differential working hours of men and women. In so doing, it overruled the pre-Nineteenth Amendment case of Muller vs Oregon (which some of our courts have relied upon), noting that “… the ancient inequality of the sexes, otherwise than physical, as suggested in the Muller Case has continued ‘with diminishing intensity.’ In view of the… revolutionary changes which have taken place since that utterance, in the contractual, political, and civil status of women, culminating in the Nineteenth Amendment… these differences have now come almost, if not quite, to the vanishing point.” Fifty years later, in Frontiero vs Richardson, the judgment which kickstarted the modern American law of sex discrimination, Justice Brennan referred to “traditional belief that the “paramount destiny and mission of women are to fulfill the noble and divine offices of wife and mother”, before stating:

“As a result of notions such as these, our statute books gradually became laden with gross, stereotypical distinctions between the sexes and, indeed, throughout much of the 19th century the position of women was, in many respects, comparable to that of blacks under the pre-Civil War slave codes.”

Justice Brennan’s opinion makes the link between the anti-stereotyping principle and the separate spheres theory. The transformative moment that changed separate-sphere based stereotypes from accepted classificatory tools to unconstitutional, discriminatory ones, was the Nineteenth Amendment, which repudiated virtual representation and its underlying justifications by affirming the right of women to vote.

It is, of course, dangerous to draw connections between jurisdictions in too facile a manner. Two things ought to be noted, however. The first is that the link between the right to vote and the repudiation of separate spheres is a conceptual link, and not jurisdiction-specific. And the second is that a brief look at our pre-Constitutional history reveals some striking similarities. Scholars like Partha Chatterjee and Tanika Sarkar have demonstrated that the public/private divide in the form of ghar/bahir (although in a subtly different form) arose in India towards the end of the nineteenth century, with British efforts at social reform resisted on the grounds of interference with the “inner domain” of community life, which was often represented by the figure of the woman. Chatterjee notes, for instance:

“The world is [deemed to be] a treacherous terrain of the pursuit of material interests, where practical interests reign supreme. It is also typically the domain of the male. The home in its essence must remain unaffected by the profane activities of the material world – and woman is its representation. And so one gets an identification of social roles by gender to correspond with the separation of social space into ghar and bahir.”

This, as we can see, closely corresponds to the separate spheres theory (again, one must be careful of too much reductiveness in comparisons – for the purposes of this argument, however, a rough analogy will suffice). The separate spheres theory spilt over powerfully into the nascent demand for self-representation during the 1920s and 1930s phase of the freedom movement. Initially, during the first opening up of suffrage by the colonial government, separate electorates were proposed for women. As Wendy Singers points out, these “characterized a candidate as a stand-in for her constituency. In other words, separate electorates for women made manifest the idea of a women’s constituency that represented women’s issues and was embodied by the candidate.” (See Singers, A Constituency Suitable for Ladies 25) This was strongly resisted by the All India Women’s Conference (AIWC) and other organisations; on the other hand, as Gerladine Forbes points out, the proposition that only women could represent the interests of the “home” was endorsed by leading figures such as Sarojini Naidu, who urged “women to utilize their housekeeping skills to put the ‘national house’ in order.” This was also reflected – as Forbes notes – in initial demands to restrict suffrage to educated women, who were better placed to advocate social reform. The fact that suffrage was being demanded on two very different grounds, which were based on two incompatible visions of society, was clearly understood by the representatives of the women’s movement during the Second Round Table Conference. Mrinalini Sinha notes that “the representatives speaking on behalf of the Indian women’s movement had insisted that women were neither a “minority” nor a “special interest”, but an integral part of the people… Hence they demanded only universal adult suffrage and a declaration of fundamental rights in the new constitution that removed sex, along with caste, class and religion, as the grounds for any political disqualification.” (Mrinalini Sinha, Spectres of Mother India 223) Here, for the first time, we see the implicit connection between the right to vote, separate electorates, separate spheres, and equality and non-discrimination, being made explicit.

This is, admittedly, a sketchy history; what is worth pointing out, however, is that the Indian Constitution rejected both separate electorates for women and educational qualifications for suffrage. The intentions behind the framers’ decisions are complex, but what matters is that the text of the Constitution merely speaks about adult suffrage. This, in turn, would suggest – based upon our previous arguments – a rejection of the separate spheres theory, much along the lines of the Nineteenth Amendment in the United States.

The anti-stereotyping principle, therefore, is grounded in the transformative nature of the Constitution, which – in simultaneously guaranteeing women the unconditional right to vote along with a guarantee of non-discrimination, rejected separate spheres (and therefore, stereotypes) as justifications for sex-based classifications. Consequently, the line of High Court cases culminating in Anuj Garg was correctly decided, and should be followed in the future. Of course, as Reva Siegel points out, “anti-stereotyping” is an empty phrase without more; to decide whether or not classifications are based on stereotypes needs detailed historical enquiry, tracing the roots of the classifications and their evolution over time. It is an enquiry that the Court is yet to seriously embark upon, but Anuj Garg has, at least, laid the foundation for the future.

(A more detailed version of my argument drawing a link between sex equality, anti-stereotyping, and the right to vote, is available here)


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Sex Discrimination and the Constitution – X: The Culmination of the Anti-Stereotyping Principle in Anuj Garg

In the last three essays, we discussed the complex intersections between labour and service laws, and sex discrimination. Let us now return to our original line of cases, which present discrimination claims in a simpler and starker background. In A.M. Shaila vs Chairman, Cochin Port Trust, decided by the Kerala High Court in 1994, the question was whether the Cochin Port Trust’s decision to exclude women from working as shed clerks violated Articles 14 and 15 of the Constitution. The Court held that it did not, noting that if women are excluded from employment of a particular category because of their physical structure and special susceptibilities, it means that women have been placed in a class by reason of the distinct circumstances. In such a case the denial of opportunity of employment, though it strikes at women ceases to be “solely” on the ground of sex.” In noting some of the differences in “physical structure” and “special susceptibilities”, the Court relied upon American cases that had referred to the “natural functions of motherhood” and “social and moral hazards, which had already been pointed out as having been overruled in Rajamma, twelve years before. Summing up, the Court held:

The continuous work while standing or moving and the movement at the shipping wharf amidst the menacing movement of cranes and forklifts demand protective restriction on the right to employment. The policy of the Port Trust indeed protects women from the hazardous effect of such work on their well being. Therefore the policy is not based only on sex. A woman working at the shipping wharf away from the main office, isolated and alone can be an object of violence on her person-especially at night. That is why Curt Muller v. The State of Oregon (supra) used the words” protect her from the greed and passion of man”. The policy of the Prot Trust impugned in this case does not violate Articles 14 and 15(1) of the Constitution of India for these reasons.”

 The problems with this line of reasoning have been examined at length before, and need not be repeated. In the 2000s, however, numerous High Courts were moved against provisions of the Factories Act that allowed governments to prohibit women from working in certain kinds of employment between 7 PM and 6 AM. In 2001, in Vasantha vs Union of India, this was challenged before the Madras High Court. Much like in A.M. Shaila’s case, this was justified on the ground that it was a “benign” measure designed to protect women, so that they could avoid “strenuous work”, and fulfill their household duties. Rejecting the argument, the Court noted that “it is not always so easy to verify whether discrimination that is claimed to be “affirmative action” or “benign” whether really is and at times it is demonstrably established that such a discrimination actually reinforces a negative and untrue stereotype of them.” In other words, it was not enough for the State to simply claim that it was enacting measures to benefit women under Article 15(3) (as the Supreme Court had held earlier, in its adultery decision). The measure itself would be subjected to judicial review, to confirm whether it was based on negative stereotypes. The Court struck down the provision, and also issued guidelines by requiring employers to take steps in order to prevent sexual harassment, provide secure working conditions, separate canteen and transportation facilities for women, etc. That same year, in Triveni vs Union of India, the Andhra Pradesh High Court followed suit, expressly agreeing with the Madras High Court and disagreeing with the Kerala High Court. The Court also observed:

“We have been told that there is a G.O. by which certain safeguards have been provided to the women who are working in Fish industry during the night hours. The same safeguards shall be given to women workers in other industries during the night time.”

Recall Catherine MacKinnon’s observation that the judgment upholding the prohibition of women from working in jails took the viewpoint of the “reasonable rapist.” The Madras High Court’s guidelines, and the Andhra Pradesh High Court’s observation are important, because they make it clear that the State cannot invoke social realities as grounds to burden women, but rather, has a positive obligation to change that reality in order that the need for discrimination disappear. In A.M. Shaila, the Court held that the dangers to women from “the greed and passion” of man formed part of the immutable background conditions (along with the “physical structure” of the sexes), which, if taken into account by the State in classifying the sexes for differential treatment, would be constitutionally valid. In this case, however, those “immutable background conditions” were treated as human-made social structures, which were allowed to flourish through State inaction – consequently, placing a duty upon the State to remedy them. The difference between A.M. Shaila and Vasantha and Triveni reflects, yet again, that the analytical baseline chosen by the Court, which is a deeply political choice, will end up having a profound effect upon the final judgment, even though the assumptions remains hidden.

Three years later, however, when the same provision was challenged before the Kerala High Court, the Court adopted the opposite reasoning, once again invoking the place and role of women in society: “the very nature of their commitment to the family and the social environment require that they cannot be entrusted with all those duties which men may be asked to perform… The place of women has been recognized in the Indian society since the hoary past. The Constitution has made a special provision in Article 15(3). It is calculated to protect and promote the interest of women, The impugned provision clearly falls within the protective umbrella of Article 15(3). It does not embody a principle of discrimination on sex, but is calculated to save women from the hazards of working during night in factories.”

 Examples need not be multiplied. But by now, the deep conflict in the basic understanding and interpretation of Article 15(1) should be evident, across time and place. In 2007, however, it would appear that the Supreme Court finally definitively settled the issue, in favour of the anti-stereotyping principle. In Anuj Garg vs Hotel Association of India, which we have discussed previously on this blog, the validity of Section 30 of the Punjab Excise Act, which prohibited the employment of women (and men under 25 years) in premises where liquor or other intoxicating drugs were consumed by the public, was challenged. The Delhi High Court struck down the statute, which was carried in appeal. Before the Supreme Court, it was defended by the State on the grounds of maintenance of security, akin to the arguments in A.M. Shaila and Triveni. The Court rejected the argument, holding – as in Triveni – that “new models of security must be developed, if necessary.” In a separate paragraph titled “Stereotype Roles and Right to Options”, it then quoted with approval the judgment in Frontiero vs Richardson, USA vs Virgnia, and Justice Marshall’s dissent in Dothard vs Rawlinson, all of which were based upon the anti-stereotyping analysis, and observed:

“The impugned legislation suffers from incurable fixations of stereotype morality and conception of sexual role. The perspective thus arrived at is outmoded in content and stifling in means.”

The High Court’s judgment in striking down the Section, therefore, was upheld.

There has been some controversy over whether the Supreme Court in Anuj Garg incorporated a standard of “strict scrutiny” in dealing with sex discrimination claims. In paragraph 44, the Court stated that “strict scrutiny should be employed” in cases assessing the validity of sex-based legislation. In paragraph 47, however, the Court seemed to adopt a proportionality test: “the legislative interference to the autonomy in employment opportunities for women is justified as a legitimate aim and proportionate to the aim pursued”, before going on to cite cases from the ECHR. It is important to note that strict scrutiny in sex discrimination claims is not the existing position of law, even in the United States. Such claims are adjudicated under a less exacting, “intermediate scrutiny” standard of review, which is fairly close to the proportionality review employed by the ECHR. It is therefore unlikely that the Supreme Court meant to adopt the standard of strict scrutiny as followed in the United States, given the rest of the tenor of its judgment.

It is also unlikely for another reason: the Supreme Court in Anuj Garg did not merely settle the controversy about whether or not stereotypes about women’s sexual and social roles could be invoked to justify a discriminatory law on “sex-plus” grounds. It also settled the controversy about whether an Article 15 enquiry was limited to the motive, or purpose of law, or whether it also included its effects. The Court held:

“Legislation should not be only assessed on its proposed aims but rather on the implications and the effects.”

And again:

“No law in its ultimate effect should end up perpetuating the oppression of women.”

In Anuj Garg, the law at issue was directly discriminatory – i.e., the law, in its very wording, created two categories (men and women), that were composed entirely and exclusively by the two sexes. However, note that the effects test necessarily includes both direct and indirect discrimination: a pregnancy-based classification, for instance, has the effect of disproportionately burdening women, even though the classification is not along the lines of sex. This is extremely important, since – as we have seen before in this series – it tracks an interpretation of the word “grounds” in Article 15 that qualifies not the motive/intent of the law (or lawmakers), but protected personal characteristics. Although the Court did not follow this analysis in Anuj Garg, it is clear that an effects-oriented interpretation of Article 15 must necessarily be based on the second meaning of “grounds”.

In most other jurisdictions, indirect discrimination is analysed within a proportionality framework, making it more likely that the Court’s invocation of strict scrutiny was not in its technical sense.

However, if the framework within which Article 15(1) is to be analysed is an effects-based one, then where does anti-stereotyping come in, which is concerned with motivations? In Anuj Garg, while responding to the State’s contention that the purpose of the law was to protect women, the Court noted that two conditions would have to be satisfied in such cases:

“… (a) the legislative interference (induced by sex discriminatory legalisation in the instant case) should be justified in principle, (b) the same should be proportionate in measure.”

The anti-stereotyping principle is relevant insofar as it rules out certain kinds of principled justifications (i.e., those based on stereotypes). In other words, at the first stage of enquiry, the effect of a statute will be analysed, to ascertain whether Article 15(1) is infringed. At the second stage, if the State then advances a justification (whether based on Article 15(3) or otherwise), it will be prohibited from relying upon stereotypes.

Anuj Garg, therefore, is authority for two crucial interpretive propositions: first, that both direct and indirect discrimination are covered under Article 15, within the framework of a broad, effects-based test; and secondly, the State may not rely upon stereotypes to justify prima facie discriminatory legislation. While there are many issues it does not deal with (and did not need to), such as whether different standards apply for direct and indirect discrimination, it nonetheless lays the foundation for a conceptually solid jurisprudence on sex equality. Whether and how it will be followed remains to be seen.


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Filed under Equality, Non-discrimination, Sex Equality