Protecting Privacy: A Case Against State Interference Through Restitution of Conjugal Rights

Recent judicial decisions have transformed our understanding of privacy, autonomy, and equality; significantly so post the Supreme Court’s Puttaswamy I judgement. In Puttaswamy I, the Court reaffirmed privacy as a fundamental right grounded in the ideas of autonomy and dignity. An important consequence of this understanding of privacy is its impact on questions of individual privacy within the confines of a marriage. For example, in a recent case on the subject of marital rape, the Karnataka High Court allowed rape charges against the husband and emphasised the importance of reinforcing the right to equality and the right to individual autonomy and dignity of a woman within a marriage.

One such provision within family law that raises concerns about individual autonomy and privacy within marriage is the Restitution of Conjugal Rights (‘RCR’). It is a legal remedy available to spouses where one spouse deserts the other without a ‘reasonable’ excuse or on certain ‘unlawful’ grounds. In such cases, the ‘aggrieved’ party has the right to seek a decree for RCR, by which a court order may direct the deserting party to compulsory cohabit with the ‘aggrieved’ party. The remedy of RCR is provided for under Section 9 of the Hindu Marriage Act, 1955 as well as, Muslim Personal Law, the Parsi Marriage and Divorce Act, 1936 (S. 36), the Indian Divorce Act, 1869 (S. 32-33), and the Special Marriage Act, 1954 (S. 22). Generally, if a person fails to comply with a RCR decree a court can attach their property under the Civil Procedure Code (Order 21, Rule 32).

In this post, I analyse the State’s objectives in providing spouses with the RCR remedy and argue that the remedy itself violates the right to privacy under Article 21 by failing to satisfy the test of proportionality.

Privacy, autonomy, and State interference

State regulation of domestic relations has seen laws governing marriage, divorce, adultery, and sexual relations between consenting adults, for example the criminalisation of homosexuality. Marriage is a social contract recognised by the State and to a certain extent, is also subject to regulation by the State. Although regulations around marriage may be for a variety of reasons, it may be argued that they serve two key interests: protection of individual rights, and the State objective to protect the institution of marriage (often articulated as maintaining “cultural ethos and societal values”). Examples of the former rationale include laws recognising domestic violence, cruelty, and prioritising individual autonomy by providing divorce as a remedy. The latter rationale can be seen in laws criminalising adultery and homosexuality (both of which have been struck down by the Supreme Court of India post Puttaswamy I) and providing restitution of conjugal rights as a remedy. However, by protecting the institution of marriage, the State also protects a particular conceptionof that institution, specifically the socially accepted notion of a monogamous, heterosexual, and procreative marriage.

It is widely accepted that RCR is an archaic English law (from a time when cohabitation was expected of women) that, as the Bombay High Court noted in 1885, did not exist prior to colonial rule. However, the remedy was codified in the Hindu Marriage Act in 1955 even after India achieved independence and continues to exist despite its patriarchal connotations. The 71st Law Commission Report of 1978 (page no. 27, para 6.5) emphasised the importance of cohabitation to protect the ‘sanctity of marriage’. The High Court of Delhi, in Harvinder Kaur vs. Harmander Singh Choudhry (1984) also adopted this view and held that the restitution of conjugal rights is an important remedy to protect the institution of marriage. The Delhi High Court rejected privacy considerations by stating that a decree of RCR was not the “starkest form of governmental intervention into marital privacy” since it merely aims to restore cohabitation and does not enforce sexual intercourse. As I argue below, this reasoning raises questions about individual autonomy. However, the Delhi High Court’s rationale was accepted by the Supreme Court in Saroj Rani vs. Sudarshan Kumar Chadha (1984), where the apex Court upheld the constitutionality of RCR and reiterated that the right to cohabitation is “inherent in the very institution of marriage itself.”  

This view of RCR — to preserve the institution/ sanctity of marriage — creates tensions with the objective of the State to protect individual rights. An RCR decree interferes with the right to privacy and autonomy by compelling an individual to cohabit with their spouse against their will. This may especially be true after the articulation of the right to privacy by the Supreme Court in Puttaswamy I. The decree of RCR creates an unwanted intrusion into a person’s personal life by denying them autonomy over where they live, and also potentially on the sites of sexual and reproductive decision making. Any analysis of RCR must recognise the power asymmetry within domestic relations that pervasively results in women being subject to physical and sexual violence at home. Thus, contrary to the reasoning given by courts in Harvinder Kaur and Saroj Rani, by compelling women to cohabit with men they have deserted, a decree of RCR may place women at significant risk of domestic violence, economically compromised living conditions, and non-consensual sexual intercourse.

The Andhra Pradesh High Court in T Sareetha vs. Venkata Subbaiah in 1983 recognised that the grant of an RCR decree would amount to an interference of the State into the private sphere, compelling cohabitation or even indirectly, sexual intercourse. The High Court found that this interference of the State through RCR violated the right to privacy, autonomy, and dignity of the individual against whom the decree was sought by ‘transferring the decision to have or not have marital intercourse from the individual to the State’. This decision was overruled by the Supreme Court’s Saroj Rani decision in 1984. While the Puttaswamy 1 judgement in 2017 did not expressly refer to Sareetha, all nine judges broadly adopted the approach taken in the Sareetha judgement, adopting a conception of privacythat recognises its basis in individual autonomy and dignity.

In Puttaswamy I, the Supreme Court ruled that individual autonomy, that recognises the ability of individuals to control vital aspects of their life (including reproductive rights, sexual orientation, gender identity), is an intrinsic part of the right to privacy guaranteed under Article 21 of the Constitution. By this reasoning, a decree of RCR does not account for the right to autonomy of an individual and violates their right to privacy by legally compelling the individual to cohabit despite them making a conscious choice to separate from their spouse.

In recent years, there has been a shift in the thinking of courts, where the right to individual privacy and autonomy is prioritised as opposed to protection of the institution (and specific conceptions of that institution) of marriage. For instance, in Joseph Shine, the Supreme Court held that the law that criminalised adultery treated women as property and was unconstitutional. It opined that although the criminalisation of adultery was introduced to protect the institution of marriage, it serves the interests of one party and denies agency to women. The Court noted –

“The provision is proffered by the legislature as an effort to protect the institution of marriage. But it proceeds on a notion of marriage which is one sided and which denies agency to the woman in a marital tie. The ability to make choices within marriage and on every aspect concerning it is a facet of human liberty and dignity which the Constitution protects.”

Bearing in mind this view of the court, RCR would not stand up to judicial scrutiny as a constitutionally valid right, since it disregards the autonomy and dignity of an individual under the notion of the State aim to protect the institution of marriage.

The proportionality test

In 2017, Puttaswamy I laid down a four-part test for determining the validity of an infringement of the right to privacy. The test’s first limb necessitates the existence of a codified law, which is met with in the case of RCR through various statutory provisions. The test also requires the existence of procedural safeguards against abuse of State interference, which is of reduced significance in the case of RCR as both a RCR decree and post-decree attachment of property require prior judicial authorisation and oversight. In addition to the need for statutory authorisation and procedural safeguards, for an infringement to be valid it must satisfy the limbs of legitimate aim, necessity, and proportionality. The Puttaswamy II (Aadhar) case applied this test, which was first articulated in the Modern Dental College judgement in 2016. This test requires:

1. any limitation of a constitutional right is enforced for a proper purpose (legitimate aim);
2. there is a rational nexus between the proper purpose and the measure adopted to achieve it and there are no alternative measures which would achieve the purpose but are less restrictive of rights (necessity); and
3. the restriction on the constitutional right must be proportionate to the purpose set out by the State (balancing or proportionality).

Firstly, it must be noted that, as observed by the Supreme Court in Saroj Rani, the stated purpose of the measure is protecting the institution of marriage. As stated above, in Joseph Shine the Supreme Court rejected the State’s argument that protecting the institution of marriage was a proper purpose where the State’s measure protected “a notion of marriage that is one sided and denies agency to women.”. In this context, RCR only protects a notion of marriage where individuals cohabit and engage in sexual intercourse, denying agency to individuals and violating individual autonomy. Secondly, the decree of RCR should have a rational nexus with the aim of protecting the institution of marriage. In this regard, it is relevant to note that, in certain instances, individuals routinely file RCR cases expecting non-compliance by the other party, using this non-compliance with the RCR decree as a ground for divorce. Thus, the historically dominant objective of the State of “protecting” the institution of marriage through the positive remedy of RCR may also not be satisfied.

Even if RCR furthers the State’s aim of protecting marriage, it would need to pass the third prong of the proportionality test, i.e., the State must meet the objective of the law through the ‘least restrictive measure’. The State could resort to alternate measures, similar to the ones observed under divorce petitions; an order of mediation or a ‘cooling off’ period provisioned in cases of divorce with mutual consent furthers the aim of protecting the institution of marriage without violating individual rights. However, in a decree of RCR there persists a violation of an individual’s privacy, enforced by coercion through the attachment of property.

The fourth part of the proportionality test emphasises the need to have a balance between the interest of the State and the rights of individuals. As stated earlier, the infringement of individual rights through an RCR decree creates severe consequences that violate the right to privacy and autonomy of an individual, including putting women in particular, at risk of harm. Thus, the gravity of the rights violation arguably outweighs the State interest of protecting marriage, especially since the State aim is often not met and the decree becomes a ground for divorce.

The application of the test of proportionality by Indian courts has garnered criticism as being deferential to the State. However, even with this deferential application, as demonstrated above, RCR would likely not pass the four-part test of proportionality endorsed by the courts in Modern Dental College and Aadhaar.

Conclusion

In the post-Puttaswamy era, various High Courts have recognised the autonomy and dignity of women within marriage under the fundamental right to privacy. For instance, in a recent right to abortion case, the High Court of Kerala relied on Puttaswamy I and held that a woman’s autonomy of body and mind with respect to reproductive decisions are part of the right to privacy. As discussed above, the High Court of Karnataka, in its recent decision, while allowing rape charges against the husband, acknowledged that the exception of marital rape stems from an archaic notion of marriage where the wife was considered property. On similar grounds, one may argue that RCR should be considered invalid since it is based on the outdated notion of marriage where the wife was considered the property of the husband and had no individual autonomy of her own. As noted above, it is also incompatible with the test of proportionality.

On 30 December, 2021, the Gujarat HC observed that an RCR decree could not force a woman to cohabit with her husband. The court recognised that a decree of RCR needs to consider both the parties’ and not solely the ‘right of the husband’. Further, it opined that the very fact that there exists an option given to not comply with the RCR decree under the Civil Procedure Code indicates that the court cannot force a woman to cohabit against her will. The court further laid down certain grounds under which a person could refuse to comply with an RCR decree including cruelty, adultery, and failure of the husband in performing marital obligations. Although this decision seems to encourage considering the rights of women in a marital relationship – it fails to reaffirm the right to privacy and autonomy of the subject of the decree against a law that is effectively discriminatory. It grants power to the courts to decide on a case-to-case basis whether the right can be granted, which could lead to a potential violation of individual rights given the nature of this provision.

Striking down RCR provisions does not mean that there must be a complete embargo on the interference of the State into marriage – for example, the power asymmetry in domestic relationships necessitates the enforcement of laws against domestic violence and most likely requires the criminalisation of marital rape. However, taking into consideration the constitutional scrutiny of laws against the backdrop of State interference and right to privacy, RCR may not stand the test of constitutionality. Currently, a petition challenging the constitutionality of RCR is pending before the Supreme Court – if the above arguments are considered by the court, RCR may be struck down on the grounds that it violates the right to privacy.

This post was originally published on Livelaw on 26 April 2022.

Technology and National Security Reflection Series Paper 11(B): Effectively Managing the COVID-19 Pandemic: Alternative Route under the Extant Constitutional Framework?

Kumar Ritwik^*

About the Author: The author is a 2020 graduate of National Law University, Delhi. He is a Delhi-based advocate practicing at the Supreme Court of India.

Editor’s Note: This post is part of the Reflection Series showcasing exceptional student essays from CCG-NLUD’s Seminar Course on Technology & National Security Law. Along with a companion piece by Bharti Singh, the two essays bring to a life a fascinating debate by offering competing responses to the following question:

Do you think the ongoing COVID-19 Pandemic could have been better managed (more efficiently or more democratically) if the government had invoked emergency provisions under the constitution instead of relying on the national disaster management act? Why or why not?

Both pieces were developed in the spring semester, 2020 and do not reflect an updated knowledge of subsequent factual developments vis-a-vis COVID-19 or the ensuing pandemic.

1. INTRODUCTION 

After the onset of the Covid-19 pandemic, India’s Ministry of Home Affairs (“MHA”) vide Order No. 1-29/2020-pp dated 24th March 2020, under section 6(2)(i) of the Disaster Management Act (“DM Act”), 2005, announced a nationwide lockdown and restrictions among other things. The order included an imposition of restrictions on movement and other liberties of Indian citizens. Wide ranging restrictions articulated in that order and subsequent orders under the DM Act directly impacted, among other things, individuals’ right to movement [Art. 19(1)(d)] and their right to livelihood (Art. 21). Though well-intentioned, these measures left much to be desired in terms of government support. Several significant administrative issues and concerns were raised. In this article, I argue that the Indian Government could have managed the pandemic better if it had invoked emergency provisions under Part XVIII of the Constitution instead of relying primarily on the DM Act, 2005 . 

Image by mohamed_hassan. Licensed under Pixabay License.

2. LIMITATION OF THE DISASTER MANAGEMENT ACT IN COUNTERING COVID-19

To be fair, the government’s interventions have relied on the trinity of the DM Act; the Epidemic Diseases Act, 1897; and relevant state-level Public Safety Act(s). However, such interventions have resulted in some pretty significant concerns. Specifically, administrative officials, located far away in the national capital i.e. New Delhi, are invoking powers and issuing decrees under these statutes. They are granted the power to control and restrict the movement of a billion lives in the country. In essence we are observing that the decision(s) of officials who are far removed from ground-level realities are impacting the lives of individuals residing in remote cities, towns and/or villages.

I argue that since health is a state subjectState governments should have been ordinarily tasked with both the primary responsibility as well as power to decide how to best deal with the pandemic. However, given the extraordinary scale of the pandemic, a different route was chosen wherein the Union Government could exert tight control and issue numerous advisories and directives over an extended period. This was consistent with the idea that a streamlined uniform approach towards tackling the pandemic would work best across all states. As was observed later, States struggled to manage the crisis due to institutional and budgetary constraints. It was quite transparent how dependent States are on the Union Government for financial aid as well as technical expertise. As stated earlier, ground level realities are most closely dealt with by the district bureaucracy, and therefore involving them in the crisis management planning apart from implementation measures would have been beneficial. Emergency provisions under India’s Constitution could have served as an effective alternative which allowed the country to manage the crisis in a different and perhaps, more effective manner.

In the initial period of the pandemic, parliamentary operations suffered major disruptions. A direct result of these disruptions was a lack of meaningful legislative discussion and accountability. Our constitution envisages a system of checks & balances between the powers of the legislature, executive and judiciary. Disruptions to the operation of Parliament signalled that, over a period of several months, direct executive action could face little oversight or accountability from the legislative branches of government at both the Central and State levels.

In such a situation, it is reasonable to turn to the judiciary for ensuring adequate accountability of executive actions. Unfortunately, the judiciary has failed on most occasions with its lax attitude towards the apathy of the officials. While the courts have occasionally rebuked the governments on specific points such as its handling of the migrants’ crisis, there has been no concerted effort by the Indian judiciary in holding the executive or its officials accountable for its management of the crisis. This is in addition to the fact that an extended period of the lockdown ensured that only those few fortunate enough to have constant access to high-speed internet could approach the judiciary for remedies/to submit its petitions as well.

The DM Act, strictly speaking, was not enacted to issue directives on public health emergencies or pandemics. In fact, the Epidemic Diseases Act, 1897 has been enacted with the intent of controlling infectious disease outbreaks like Covid-19 . Though creative and inclusive interpretation would allow for a pandemic to be covered under the scope of the DM Act, the structure and mechanism within the statute has been rendered useless or ineffective to deal with a crisis of such magnitude. These circulars and the regulations that they invoke continue to remain disproportionate and outside the scope or stipulated purpose of the particular statute.      

However, the DM Act has brought with itself immense powers that are enshrined with the government. Any regulation or decision may be taken by the government that is deemed fit and necessary in its own opinion, to aid in the efforts of reducing risks of a disaster (or a pandemic in this case). Additionally, Section 8(1) of the DM Act empowers the Central Government to constitute a National Executive Committee (‘NEC’), comprising senior bureaucrats and leaders [S. 8 (2)]. 

The NEC is empowered to issue directions so as to fulfill obligations and objectives under the Act. State governments and district bureaucracy are bound by circulars or regulations which are issued by the NEC. In fact, the NEC can empower another authority or other authorities to issue guidelines that would bind State Governments as well. Such an overarching framework under Article 256 of the Constitution has essentially been put in place to ensure that where the Union Government finds itself in certain extraordinary situations, it has the necessary tools to adopt measures across all States in a uniform manner. In this case, the Union Government empowered the Union Home Ministry to issue all necessary guidelines for State authorities.

3. EMERGENCY  PROVISIONS AS BETTER AVENUES AGAINST HEALTH  EMERGENCIES 

In contrast, Articles 355 and 356 read alongside Articles 246 and 256 would grant wide powers to the Government of India to impose emergency and invoke these provisions to grant itself all the necessary powers to deal with the crisis. Interestingly, emergency provisions still do stipulate a time limit period whereas the DM act does not. The DM Act grants an unlimited time period to the government machinery to apply these regulations and deems it applicable to all places deemed worthy of its application.

After the bitter experience of the emergency period of 1975-1977, drastic changes were made in order to make the extension of an emergency period contingent on legislative accountability as well. However, with the DM Act, regulations do not require any legislative sanction or even a discussion to that effect either. Therefore, the broad powers enshrined under the DM Act appear to contradict Constitutional ideals, though there has been little critique of the same in the public discourse.

This silence is perhaps owed to the fact that almost every citizen wishes to see the Government mount an aggressive and effective response to such a pandemic, without creating significant hurdles in their path to do so. However, in doing so, these wide-ranging regulations have also brought forth a huge chilling effect and have the potential to incentivise abuse of power by officials in such situations as well.

4. CONCLUSION 

With the large-scale powers that the DM Act accords to officials, India’s treatment of the pandemic essentially resembles an emergency situation. Extraordinary powers are held by the State machinery with little or no safeguards/mechanisms in place that ensure periodic review and/or legislative accountability. Therefore, the current framework serves as a de facto emergency framework.

This is a departure from most mature democracies. Countries have taken the aid of new legislations aimed at the public health emergency, with numerous parliamentary democracies ensuring that regulatory interventions continue to have some kind of legislative scrutiny. The UK legislated close to a hundred laws (collectively referred to as the ‘lockdown laws’ in the UK) to deal with the pandemic, whereas New Zealand pushed for a single comprehensive law instead.

Instead of acting without any restrictions under a statute that was not originally meant for handling a pandemic that has stretched over many years, the Indian Government could have followed this example and relied upon the extant emergency powers within the constitutional framework or legislated a new public health law which could empower officials with the safeguards necessary in a democratic setup instead.

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*Views expressed in the blog are personal and should not be attributed to the institution.

Technology and National Security Law Reflection Series Paper 11(A): Evaluating the Validity of Disaster Management Act Against Constitutional Emergency Provisions in Containing the COVID-19 Pandemic

Bharti Singh^*

About the Author: The author is a 2020 graduate of National Law University, Delhi. In 2021 she completed her LL.M. from National Law School of India University, Bengaluru. She is currently working as a researcher in areas related to health policy. 

Editor’s Note: This post is part of the Reflection Series showcasing exceptional student essays from CCG-NLUD’s Seminar Course on Technology & National Security Law. Along with a companion piece by Kumar Ritwik, the two essays bring to a life a fascinating debate by offering competing responses to the following question:

Do you think the ongoing COVID-19 Pandemic could have been better managed (more efficiently or more democratically) if the government had invoked emergency provisions under the constitution instead of relying on the national disaster management act? Why or why not?

Both pieces were developed in the spring semester, 2020 and do not reflect an updated knowledge of subsequent factual developments vis-a-vis COVID-19 or the ensuing pandemic. 

1. Introduction

Since the introduction of the Constitution of India, the COVID-19 pandemic represents an unprecedented event. It has created extraordinary infrastructural challenges to both governing authorities and legal institutions. In the initial phases of this pandemic the Government of India faced the difficult task of not only adopting containment measures which minimise the effects and casualties of the virus; but also ensure the delivery of essential services to its citizens. It has had to execute these tasks whilst preserving citizens’ liberties and the basic values of the Constitution. Given the death toll along with, economic, financial, political, educational and broader health related costs exacted by the pandemic it is critical for the government to deploy best-in-class infrastructural solutions which remain consistent with India’s constitutional values.

In this article, I argue that after evaluating the competing options, the Government of India’s decision to rely on the Disaster Management Act (“DM Act”), 2005 rather than invoking the Constitution of India’s emergency provisions was the appropriate course of action. The DM Act defines the term ‘disaster’ as a situation of  “… catastrophe, mishap, calamity or grave occurrence which has arisen because of man- made or natural causes and has resulted in “substantial loss of life or human suffering”. Further, it has to be “… of such a nature or magnitude as to be beyond the coping capacity of the community of the affected area”. The gravity of human suffering caused by the COVID-19 pandemic, both in terms of aggregate infections and deaths, becomes more and more evident with the passage of time.

Image by MiroslavaChrienova. Licensed under Pixabay License.

2. Limitations of Constitutional Emergency Provisions

An emergency can be proclaimed pursuant to Article 352(1) of the Indian Constitution. According to it, if the President is satisfied that the grave emergency exists to the security of India or any part thereof is threatened by “war/ external aggression or armed rebellion”. The term “armed rebellion” replaced the former term “internal disturbance” after the emergency proclamation in 1975. When an emergency is proclaimed, Article 353, permits (1) the Central government to direct any state on how to use its executive power (2) permits parliament to make laws even in matters which are in the state list. Article 358 suspends the six fundamental rights protected under Article 19 during Constitutional emergencies. Article 359 suspends enforcement of fundamental rights during emergencies. 

In the context of COVID-19, any decision by the Government to declare a national emergency under Article 352 of the Constitution, would be unconstitutional in light of the 44th Constitutional Amendment in 1978. The 44th Amendment holds that such emergencies can only be declared if the security of India or any part thereof is threatened by war or external aggression or armed rebellion (Emphasis Added). These are the only three grounds under which an emergency can be declared under Article 352.

The Constitution of India does not have any explicit provisions for disaster management. In absence of any such provision, disaster management was conventionally considered to be within the competence of the states as per colonial practice. The legal basis of the Disaster Management Act can be traced in Entry 23, Concurrent List of the Constitution which relates to “Social security and social insurance” as well as Entry 29, Concurrent List which relates to “Prevention of the extension from one State to another of infectious or contagious diseases or pests affecting men, animals or plants,”. Owing to the federal structure of India’s Democracy, public health and public order are listed in the State List under the Seventh Schedule of the Constitution. Critically, while operationalising and implementing Government interventions to contain the spread of COVID-19, the Government’s use of provisions under the DM Act must be mindful of the unprecedented and unique factors of this disaster where the primary causality is human life and not degradation of environment or loss of property.

The framework of the DM Act is consistent with the federal structure of India’s democracy. Conversely, the proclamation of Emergency under the Constitution centralises powers within the Union Government. When in effect, the Union Government can direct state governments and make laws on the entries present under the State list in the Constitution of India. Under Article 357 of the Indian Constitution, the power of state can be vested in the legislature, which can delegate it to the President and the President can further delegate it to an appropriate authority. In his way the powers vested in the Central Government under the provisions of emergency are very flexible. However, this compromises the quasi federal structure of India’s constitutional democracy.

In India’s Constituent Assembly Debates, the Emergency provisions were being conceived  as an exception to otherwise federal structure of the Government., Originally this power to declare emergency/President’s Rule in a particular State was envisioned to be vested with the Governors of the State. At the time, the position of Governor was supposed to be an elected office. Ultimately this was not the case as  the office came to be appointed by the President. In effect this means that the  power to declare an emergency under the Constitution is essentially vested in the President. Under Constitutional emergency conditions  as per Article 256, even the legislative powers can be vested in the president and need not be vested in Parliament. The President can make incidental and consequential provisions necessary to give effect to proclamation.

3. Conclusion: The Merits of the Disaster Management Act

India is a diverse country, not just in terms of culture and heritage but also in terms of geography. The States, with international airports and tourism specific industries, are more prone to the spread of the virus and the number of cases varies across states. In the context of COVID-19, State-specific measures become important since local authorities may have to simultaneously manage other natural and man-made disasters. Recent examples of this include the cyclone Amphan in Kolkata, or the gas leakage from the chemical plants in Visakhapatnam. States which are prone to natural calamities such as cyclones, floods, famines could be afforded the flexibility to create State and district plans under DM Act, to tackle such calamities as well as the spread of the COVID-19 in more vulnerable locations. Further, policymakers should not ignore the heterogeneity of infrastructure across the health industry as well as the strength of the economy– the dependency of which also varies from state to state.   

The demand for Personal Protective Equipment (PPEs)  for essential workers or essential infrastructure like ventilators also varies across states based on variables such as the number of cases. These factors dictate the need for state-specific measures and targeted  district-specific measures as well. The intensity of the spread of the virus is being determined district wise by distinguishing them as red, orange and green zones, and the laying out of district plan per Section 31 becomes of utmost importance for the Red Zone districts. 

The Centre should limit its role to coordination between states and the other departments of the government, rather than dictating consistency across the states. Instead, states should be empowered in terms of implementation, enforcement and the funds. The cooperative federalism envisaged in India’s Constitution will be a better model for the government to follow. This principle could have been utilised at the time of crisis of inter-state migration of workers and could further have been utilised for facilitating transportation of essential goods, in order to minimise economic harms and societal destabilisation during periods of government mandated lockdowns.   

I conclude by reiterating that it is better for the Government to manage the pandemic under the Disaster Management Act, 2005. However, in case a State Government is going through the breakdown of its constitutional or infrastructural machinery and in which case it is unable or unwilling to exercise its  responsibility to provide relief to affected persons, then the Central Government should impose the Constitutional Emergency provisions in such territories.

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*Views expressed in the blog are personal and should not be attributed to the institution.

Supreme Court to pronounce judgment on Criminal Defamation tomorrow

Tomorrow in Supreme Court’s Room no. 4 at 10.30 am a bench of Justices Dipak Misra and Prafulla Pant will pronounce the judgment regarding the constitutional validity of criminal defamation (Sections 499 and 500 of IPC and section 199 of CrPC).

The CCG Blog

A Supreme Court bench of Justices Dipak Misra and Prafulla Pant is hearing a set of at least thirty petitions challenging the constitutional validity of criminal defamation (Sections 499 and 500 of IPC and section 199 of CrPC).

The summary of hearings from the first six days can be found here.

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Information Gatekeepers and Article 19(1)(a) of the Indian Constitution

I have put a draft of my paper titled ‘Gatekeeper Liability and Article 19(1)(a) of the Indian Constitution on SSRN. You can read it here. It will eventually be published in the NUJS Law Review.

Alternatively, this essay (written for a UPenn/ CIS/ ORF publication) based on the paper sets out my argument briefly.

Introduction

The press was once the most important medium of mass communication. Indira Gandhi understood this well and used the gatekeeping function of large media houses to prevent citizens from accessing critical information. The press’s function as an information gatekeeper is protected by jurisprudence, but this protection is articulated as ‘freedom of the press’, making it a medium-specific protection. As the Internet increasingly replaces the press as the most important source of information for citizens, structural protections need to extend online. The online intermediary may be the new avatar of the information gatekeeper, third parties who perform an essential function in transmitting information from speakers to audiences – they are potential choke points that the state can use to cut off flows of information.

Aside from the press freedom norms, much of our freedom of expression jurisprudence deals with the state’s relationship with the speaker. The contours of our freedom of expression rights have formed in this context. It is relatively easy for the judiciary to grasp how statutory provisions like section 66A of the Information Technology Act impact freedom of expression. Here the law targets the speaker directly and any unjust application or chilling effect is more visible. It is also more likely to be resisted by the target of regulation, since the speaker is always interested in her own right to speak.

Indirect regulation of speech is quite different. The law is aimed at information gatekeepers, who may choose not to publicise censorship and who may not be as interested in protected the speech as the original speaker. Scholars have described these gatekeepers as the ‘weakest link’, through which speech is most vulnerable to state excesses.

Information gatekeepers and Indian law

It is common enough for states to use ‘middle-men’ to enforce change in behaviour when it is difficult to control the primary offender’s conduct directly. For example, since it is difficult to directly compel minors to avoid drinking, the law targets alcohol-sellers, leveraging their gatekeeping function to cut off the supply of alcohol to minors.

Information gatekeepers were used to regulate the flow of information even in the pre-digital world. Publishers and booksellers were held liable for circulating banned publications in many countries including India. India has a particularly pernicious rule criminalizing the circulation of obscene content. This comes from the Supreme Court’s judgment in Ranjit Udeshi v. State of Maharashtra, that is well known for its interpretation of obscenity law in the context of D.H. Lawrence’s ‘Lady Chatterley’s Lover’. The other critical element of this judgment received almost no attention – the liability of a bookseller for the circulation of obscene content.

D.H. Lawrence was never prosecuted in India for his book. The ‘Lady Chatterley’s Lover’ case in the Supreme Court was about the liability of the owners of Happy Book Stall, a bookshop at which ‘Lady Chatterley’s Lover’ was sold. The Supreme Court said the booksellers were liable for circulation of the obscene content even if they argued that they were unaware that a book contained such content. Consider what this means: booksellers cannot plead ignorance of obscene content within any of the books they sell, and will be liable nonetheless. The state only has to prove that the booksellers circulated obscene content, and not that they did so knowingly. It is lucky that this part of the Supreme Court judgment went largely unnoticed since it could easily be used by the intolerant file criminal complaints that shut down large bookstores all over the country – all they need to do is look for a few books that the law would categorise as obscene. Booksellers would then have to scour every page and paragraph of each book they sell to weed it out content that might get them arrested – this would make it very difficult to do business.

Online intermediaries as information gatekeepers

Intermediary liability first received attention in India after the infamous ‘DPS-MMS’ explicit video, featuring two minors, ended up being sold on Baazee.com. The Managing Director of the company that owned the website was arrested. The fact that he had no knowledge that this content was shared on the website was irrelevant thanks to the Supreme Court’s ‘Lady Chatterley’s Lover’ verdict. This situation made it clear that if the law applicable to bookshops continued to apply to online intermediaries, online platforms would not be able to function in India. A platform like Facebook or Youtube hosts too much user content to be able to sift through it and proactively filter out everything obscene.

Fortunately, the amendment of the Information Technology Act (IT Act) gave Internet intermediaries immunity from this liability for third party content. The immunity was conditional. Intermediaries that edit or otherwise have knowledge of the content that they transmit are not immune from liability. To remain immune from liability, intermediaries must comply with certain legal obligations to take down content or block it in response to government orders or court orders. These obligations also leverage the gate-keeping function of these intermediaries to regulate online content – internet service providers and online platforms can ensure that certain kinds of content are inaccessible in India.

Why gatekeepers matter

Although information intermediaries existed in the pre-internet information ecosystem, their role is critical in the context of online content – several intermediaries mediate our access to online content. Some of these, like the gateways through which the Indian network connects to the global network, are located in India and are easy for the government to control since they are subject to onerous licenses and are few enough in number for the state to be able to control all of them successfully. Other intermediaries like Facebook or Google, are online platforms, and most of these have offices outside Indian jurisdiction.

Discussions about freedom of expression that focus on the direct relationship between the state and the speaker are not helpful in this context. This kind of reasoning tends to ignore the collateral effects of certain kinds of regulation of speech – the ‘Lady Chatterley’s Lover’ case case is a classic illustration of this with its tremendous impact on the liability of all booksellers and later on Baazee.com and other web based platforms.

As the new media make gatekeepers and intermediaries more critical to the controlling the flow of information, we need to focus on other dimensions of freedom of expression if we are ensure that effective safeguards are put in place to protect speech. Our jurisprudence on freedom of the press offers some degree of protection to newspapers so that regulation of their business structure cannot be used to influence their content, but this form of gatekeeper protection is limited to the press. There are information gatekeepers other than the press in India, and it is time that we think carefully about protecting the information ecosystem. Free speech principles need to accommodate themselves to a media ecosystem that is increasingly dependent on information gatekeepers.

Freedom of expression and access to information

It is time that our jurisprudence started focusing more on citizens’ rights to access information. Although this right that has been recognized in India, it needs to be outlined in more detail. In the well-known judgment in Shreya Singhal v. Union of India, which struck down section 66A of the Information Technology Act, the Supreme Court failed to deal with intermediary liability adequately because it did not use the lens of access to information and gatekeeper liability. Using traditional jurisprudence that focuses on the direct impact of regulation of speech, the court gave content-creators the right to a hearing and a right to appeal blocks and removals of their content wherever possible. However, it completely disregarded the rights of citizens to access online content.

The content blocking system in India makes all government blocking orders confidential. This means that when an intermediary is required to block content under the IT Act, users might imagine that the decision was a private decision made by the intermediary. Since the intermediary is unlikely to be willing to spend resources battling for the various kinds of content it hosts, any blocking process that counts on the intermediary to offer up sufficient resistance to unconstitutional blocking orders errs egregiously. The law must offer those who are actually affected – the publishers and the readers of the information – a chance to fight for content that they have the right to circulate and access. Of these, the publishers of information do have some right to make their case before the government committee making the blocking decision thanks to the Supreme Court’s decision in Shreya Singhal v. Union of India. But this judgment does nothing for citizens who could lose access to a wealth of information if the government might unreasonably blocks content created by someone in another country. The content publisher would not be in a position to defend its content in India, and citizens have not been given any avenue to defend their rights to view the content before the government committee making the decision.

The focus on access to information has been discussed many scholars, from Alexander Meiklejohn onwards. Amartya Sen has written about the salience of public discourse in a democracy. Robert Post and Jack Balkin have articulated in the detail the importance of focusing on the free flow of information or access to information, rather than on the right of individual speakers. The right we refer to as ‘freedom of expression’ is about much more than the freedom to say what one pleases. It is the foundational principle from which our rules about free flow of information have been built.

Conclusion

Section 66A was an example of what Jack Balkin characterises as ‘old school’ regulation of speech. This consists of criminal penalties, injunction and damages aimed directly at the speaker or publisher. The Supreme Court’s treatment of section 66A reflects its comfort with this form of regulation and its implications for freedom of expression.

Intermediary liability, and the use of Internet gatekeepers to control the flow of online information follows a different system: it uses control over the infrastructure or platforms of speech to exercise control over speech. Jack Balkin characterizes this as ‘new school’ regulation. Through ‘collateral censorship’, a third party is made to block or remove a primary speaker or publisher’s speech. For example, a government order or a court order requiring that certain online content be blocked, does this by requiring and internet service provider or online platform to censor the information. New school regulation works necessitates co-operation of these third party intermediaries like internet service providers and online platforms with the government, and this can be achieved by compelling them to co-operate through the law or by using softer means to co-opt them.

New school regulation must be assessed in terms of the collateral harm that it causes. It is not a question of whether online pornography should be blocked or not anymore. It is a question of whether the process used to get intermediaries to block the pornography can be abused to block constitutionally protected speech. We have already recognized the collateral effects of structural regulation in the context of press freedom, and the Supreme Court has barred certain kinds of structural interference with the media that might impact their reporting. It is time to create a version of this principle for online speech, and to think in terms of access and free flow of information.

References

Ranjit Udeshi v. State of Maharashtra

Shreya Singhal v. Union of India

Secretary, Ministry of Information & Broadcasting, Govt. of India v. Cricket Association of Bengal, (1995) 2 SCC 161.

Sakal Papers v Union of India

Amartya Sen, Idea of Justice, 321-337 (2009)

Chinmayi Arun, Gatekeeper Liability and Article 19(1)(a) of the Constitution of India, NUJS Law Review [forthcoming-2015]

Jack Balkin, ‘Old School/ New-School Speech Regulation’, 127 Harv. L. Rev. 2296

Jack Balkin, ‘The first amendment is an information policy’, Hofstra Law Review 41 (2013)

Robert Post, Participatory Democracy and Free Speech, 97 Virginia L. Rev. 3 (2011).

Seth Kreimer, Censorship by Proxy: the First Amendment, Internet Intermediaries, and the Problem of the Weakest Link, Penn Law: Legal Scholarship Repository (2006)

Cases in which India’s Supreme Court will define contours of free speech online

Author: Nikhil Kanekal

India’s apex court is slated to decide key cases which, one way or another, will have a significant bearing on online free speech and regulation. The cases are in initial stages of hearing and will gain momentum once the court decides to hear them substantially, which, going by its procedure, will likely take some months.

Kamlesh Vaswani v. Union of India

Kamlesh Vaswani’s petition against pornography wants the court to direct the government to declare key sections of the IT Act ultra vires the constitution. He has asked for a national action plan against pornography and a separate law that will exhaustively curb ‘the growing problem of pornography’. He wants the government to insert new sections into the IT Act which will be more stringent and carry heavy penalties for creating, transmitting, storing and viewing pornography. He also asks that these be made non-bailable and cognizable offences.

The crux of the petition concerns the enforcement of an effective bar on access to pornographic content in India. This petition will need to be considered both from the perspective of the jurisprudence on obscenity and free speech, and from the perspective of how far it is possible to completely remove a category of speech/content from the Internet.  There is a range of complications associated with trying to ban content online due to the structure of the Internet. The state and its instruments are not yet sophisticated enough to filter out the narrow range of content that is legitimately banned without including material outside the ambit of illegal content. Although most stakeholders agree that child pornography must be removed from the Internet – it continues to be difficult to enforce universally, owing to the nature of the Internet.

The Rajya Sabha committee has also issued a public call for inputs on this issue.

Shreya Singhal v. Union of India

Shreya Singhal’s case was admittedly shortly after the much publicised arrest of Shaheen Dhada in Mumbai. The Supreme Court has been asked to strike down Section 66A of the Information Technology Act, 2000. This law has been adopted from a similar provision in the United Kingdom’s Communication Act, 2003. However, the Queen’s Bench Division of the High Court has read down this provision in 2012, making the UK more tolerant of free speech online.  Besides asking for Section 66A to be declared ultra vires the constitution, Singhal has requested the court to issue guidelines so that offences concerned with free speech and expression are treated as non-cognizable under criminal law, meaning that police powers are brought under safeguards on areas such as making arrests without a warrant as well as the power to investigate.

Mouthshut.com v. Union of India

The Mouthshut.com petition challenges the Information Technology (Intermediaries Guidelines) Rules, 2011 which effectively creates a notice and take down regime for third party/ user content that intermediaries host. Originally the IT Act was meant to create a safe harbour for intermediaries, to shield them from liability for third party content. This safe harbour is subject to the intermediaries meeting a ‘due diligence’ standard – the rules which were meant to explain what this standard meant, have instead created a whole liability system surrounding contexts in which intermediaries are given notice of objectionable content and do not take it down within the specified time (An academic paper on this aspect, authored by Pritika Rai Advani, is to be published soon). Although intermediaries are permitted in theory to judge content as unobjectionable, the fear of litigation has led to over compliance – this includes taking down legitimate content to avoid expensive and time-consuming law suits. The petition argues that as delegated legislation, the rules are not only unconstitutional but also  go well beyond the scope permitted by the IT Act.

Dilipkumar Tulsidas Shah vs. Union of India

Dilipkumar’s petition asks the court to pass guidelines to ensure that police officials have a standard operating procedure to deal with complaints and reports related to Section 66A and other offences listed under the Information Technology Act. Several police actions under the IT Act thus far have been inconsistent and more abuses of power. A bench comprising justices H. L. Gokhale and Jasti Chelameshwar has decided to hear the Mouthshut.com case along with Shreya Singhal’s petition and Dilipkumar Tulsidas Shah’s petition.

Rajeev Chandrashekar v. Union of India

Chandrashekar wants the court to declare section 66A of the IT Act and sections 3(2), 3(3), 3(4) and 3(7) of the IT (Intermediaries Guidelines) Rules, 2011 ultra vires the constitution. This petition is also attached to Shreya Singhal’s case.

Note: Common Cause and People’s Union for Civil Liberties (PUCL) also plan to file petitions that challenge parts of the IT Act and IT rules, and these petitions are likely to be tagged with Shreya Singhal’s case. We will provide an update about these petitions shortly. Additionally, there are some cases pending before various High Courts concerning provisions of the IT Act and Rules.