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Sep 30, 2025
Aishwarya Hariharan

Courts, Colonial Shadows and the Call for Change

A few weeks ago, Sanjeev Sanyal, a member of the Prime Minister’s Economic Advisory Council, set off a storm with his speech at the Nyaya Nirmaan 2025 conference. His observations about the judiciary have drawn sharp reactions, particularly from the legal fraternity. In his remarks, Sanyal stressed the urgency of reforms, pointing out that India has only two to three decades to achieve the vision of Viksit Bharat. He went on to describe the judiciary as “the single biggest hurdle” in India’s path to rapid growth, citing both structural inefficiencies and outdated practices. He also questioned the colonial hangover of addressing judges as “My Lord” or “Your Lordship” and criticised the long court vacations that stall justice for extended periods. These comments were met with outrage. Two advocates even approached the Attorney General, seeking permission to initiate contempt proceedings against Sanyal. Several others from the legal fraternity issued strongly worded letters condemning his description of the judiciary as a barrier to national progress. Ironically, this backlash only reinforces Sanyal’s point. The very fact that calls for contempt proceedings shows the unwillingness of certain sections in the legal fraternity to accept criticism, even when it is constructive. If questioning the judiciary is treated as a crime or contempt, then what distinguishes it from systems where rulers are above all scrutiny? In a democracy, no institution should be immune from accountability, not even the courts. The scale of the judiciary’s challenges is undeniable. As of September 25, more than 5.34 crore cases remain pending across all courts in India, 4.7 crore in district and subordinate courts, 63.8 lakh in the high courts, and nearly 90,000 in the Supreme Court. The National Judicial Data Grid attributes delays in lower courts to at least 15 different reasons, yet for roughly three crore pending cases, no reasons are even recorded. To those who argue that judicial delays can simply be pinned on the government, I would suggest looking at what the Supreme Court itself has recorded as the primary causes of pendency. The institution says delays often arise because counsel is unavailable, accused persons abscond, witnesses go missing, documents are not produced, or because proceedings are stayed by lower courts, district courts, or even the Supreme Court itself. Given these realities, brushing aside the issue under the blanket of “government appointments” is nothing more than an excuse. Blaming the government may be convenient, but it does not withstand scrutiny. The real, systemic problems of case management, procedural inefficiencies, and accountability within the judiciary cannot be wished away by shifting responsibility elsewhere. Such staggering backlogs are not new, yet meaningful reforms have been endlessly delayed. Instead of silencing voices that highlight these problems, the legal fraternity should acknowledge that judicial reform is long overdue. If India truly aspires to become a developed nation, we cannot afford to let colonial legacies and systemic inertia dictate the pace of justice. Reforming the judiciary is not merely desirable; it is essential for growth, fairness, and democracy itself. Confronting an uncomfortable reflection is often the necessary prelude to progress. The concerns raised by Sanjeev Sanyal cannot be reduced to the issue of judicial delays alone. The challenges run deeper into the realm of judicial activism, overreach, and at times, even bias. We have often witnessed judges making personal or sarcastic remarks while hearing cases, which risks undermining the very principle of impartial justice. A judiciary entrusted with fairness should not allow space for mockery or commentary that goes beyond the case at hand. Yet, in India, such tendencies have become increasingly common. This is not just my observation; even Parliament has, on multiple occasions, accused the judiciary of overstepping its constitutional limits. The charge of judicial overreach is not new. In fact, the Supreme Court itself, in Divisional Manager, Aravali Golf Course vs. Chander Haas, stated that “Judges must know their limits and must not try to run the Government. They must have modesty and humility, and not behave like Emperors. There is a broad separation of powers under the Constitution and each organ of the State—the legislature, the executive and the judiciary—must have respect for the others and must not encroach into each other’s domains.” Those are not my words, but the words of the Supreme Court itself, printed clearly in the law reports. Yet, what good are such pronouncements if they are rarely practised in the courtroom? The reality is that the gap between principle and practice remains wide. While judges speak of restraint, the conduct we often see tells another story. This is why simply dismissing Sanyal’s critique as “contemptuous” misses the larger truth. The judiciary’s problems are not only about the pendency of cases but also about unchecked overreach. Unless these issues are addressed, the credibility of the institution itself risks erosion. Sanjeev Sanyal also touched upon another sensitive but important issue, which is the colonial hangover in courtroom practices. His observation about addressing judges as “My Lord” or “Your Lordship” was not only accurate but also well-founded. As far back as 2006, the Bar Council of India had passed a resolution discouraging such terms, suggesting instead “Your Honour” or even a simple “Sir.” The Supreme Court, too, has clarified that no lawyer or litigant is under any obligation to use these colonial forms of address. Despite this, the tradition continues to dominate courtroom exchanges even today. The remnants of colonial influence are visible not just in modes of address but also in legal drafting. These outdated conventions perpetuate a sense of grandeur and distance between the judiciary and the public, reinforcing an elitist courtroom atmosphere rather than one that is professional and egalitarian. This stands in stark contrast to one of the ‘Panch Pran’ outlined for Amrit Kaal, removing all traces of colonial mentality. If India is truly serious about this goal, the judiciary cannot remain exempt. Courtroom traditions have value, but they cannot become barriers to progress. Against this backdrop, one wonders why the legal fraternity reacted so strongly to Sanyal’s remark. If the highest court has recognised the problem, then surely there is no reason for advocates to treat a valid critique as an insult. Clinging to colonial forms of superiority does little to strengthen respect for the institution. What the judiciary needs is inclusivity, professionalism, and humility, not rituals of deference rooted in an age of imperial rule. At the heart of this debate lies a simple truth: no institution, however revered, should be beyond scrutiny. To call for reforms in the judiciary is not to weaken it. This is only to strengthen it for the future. India cannot aspire to become a truly developed nation while burdened with decades-long case backlogs, unchecked judicial overreach, and rituals that still echo colonial subservience. Sanjeev Sanyal’s remarks may have been blunt, but they strike at issues we can no longer afford to ignore. Instead of silencing criticism with threats of contempt, the legal fraternity should embrace it as an opportunity for introspection. For a judiciary that is meant to safeguard democracy, the greatest strength will not come from deference, but from its willingness to reform, adapt, and rebuild public trust. If Amrit Kaal is about breaking free from colonial legacies and building an India of confidence, inclusivity, and fairness, then judicial reform must be at its very core. The time for restraint and half-measures has passed; what India needs now is a judiciary that delivers not just justice, but also faith in justice.

Sep 30, 2025
MeowMarx

Assam: How Language Shapes the Narrative on Illegal Migration

Note: Foreign media refers to international outlets, also addresses the left and communist intelligentsia. Extending the much-debated case of Narrative Warfare, the stateʼs sheer incompetence to theorise this ‘threatʼ of War of Narratives and Information as a real threat in the consciousness of the Babu-cracy (bureaucracy), further sidelines “netizens” appeal to take notice of this matter. How the foreign media apparatus, while covering Assam’s illegal immigrant issue, utilises semantic distortion, also known as soft language, to soften reality, provide digital cover, and obscure the intensity of the facts. It portrays infiltrators as victims and defenders as offenders; trespassers are pardoned while natives are maligned; and illegal immigration is not seen as a ‘crime,’ but deportation is treated as the greatest crime. When these micro-steps are reiterated over time by the foreign press, they subtly tweak the narrative, help shape beliefs, and alter people’s attitudes toward a specific topic or situation. A slight nudge toward 'concealing the reality' and 'taking the life out of life,' as George Carlin used to call it. How Narrative Wars Are Playing Out in Assam? Narrative Warfare: The strategic, systematic, and purposeful manipulation of narratives and information to shape public perception, create meaning, and influence audiences to support a particular agenda or goal. Screenshots of articles from the foreign press. These articles have been published in the last ten years or so by the foreign press on the issue of illegal migrants from Bangladesh infiltrating the northeastern states of India, namely Assam, Tripura, Meghalaya, etc. A common theme runs across these headlines: Bengali Muslims, Bengal-origin Muslims, Bengali-speaking Muslims and simply Muslims. For an Indian reader, especially one from Assam or the Northeast, these headlines may seem threatening and problematic. Moreover, as truth-bending propaganda, they are far removed from reality because they assign common nomenclatures such as pedestrian words to ‘illegal immigrantsʼ' instead of calling them ‘Bangladeshisʼ. However, for a foreign eye, an eye foreign to the situation and the land, may not find these headlines problematic and may perceive them as they are, distant from reality, while subtly shifting their mindset, and of course, creating a negative public perception. These words work like a fabric softener, softening the seriousness of reality, desensitising people to the presence of illegal aliens, legitimising their status, and making them appear as natives of the land, forcefully assimilated into the Assamese Muslim populace. To put it simply, strawmanning the half-century-old issue of cross-border infiltration from Bangladesh in foreign perception, which also produces second-order effects. Cross-Border Infiltration from Bangladesh: A Short Overview Bangladesh shares 4,096 km or 2,545 miles of land border with India, surrounding it on all three sides. Illegal Bangladeshi immigrants arrested by Assam Police. Ever since the partition of India in 1947, when Bangladesh was still East Pakistan, illegal immigration from Bangladesh has been a perennial pressure on Indiaʼs resources, national security, and bordering states. It has substantially contributed to changing the demographic pattern in the northeastern states of India, where the locals feel overwhelmed by outsiders. The nature of the influx has been of two types: labour migrants and refugees (the latter being the persecuted minorities of Bangladesh, though both contribute to the overall influx). There are an estimated 20 million illegal migrants, based on census data, population growth, and demographic statistics from Bangladesh (BBS) and India (Ministry of Home Affairs). Among them, labour migrants make up the majority, working in the blue-collar sector (menial jobs), such as house workers, rickshaw pullers, and garbage collectors. They end up snatching jobs of Indiaʼs own labour class, which typically earns higher wages. These infiltrators enter India through porous parts of the border: thick dense jungle, water streams, or over fences. It has become so serious that it has acquired an art form, a specific niche in Bangladeshʼs Facebook content space, where youʼll find tutorials teaching how to cross the border. It has also contributed to fuelling insurgency in some of the bordering states. We see a persistent behaviour of deniability for decades from Dhaka that its citizens have been emigrating illegally to India, nor has it taken any effective measures to control the flow of its nationals into India. Efforts over the decades to stem the tide by erecting a barbed-wire fence along the border and stepped-up surveillance have failed to produce the desired results for India, due to the borderʼs configuration and non-cooperation from the other side. Furthermore, Dhakaʼs refusal to take back its own citizens and its laid-back bureaucratic repatriation framework reveal the deep-settled failure of Bangladesh, and this failure heightens the fear and rings alarm bells in New Delhi that this is a deliberate design by Dhaka to settle its citizens on Indian soil to claim territory in Indiaʼs east and north-east. For more, here How Soft Language hijacks perception: Victimization of Bangladesh? Soft language: Using milder or less direct language to avoid conflict, harshness, or accountability. Bengali Muslims, Bengali-origin Muslims, Bengali-speaking Muslims, and simply Muslims. Words like these completely shield Bangladesh from world scrutiny, misrepresenting the situation and removing it from the perception of accountability of readers sitting far away, while singling out one narrative and fixating the Worldʼs attention only on the manufactured miscreant of India. These words are a red herring for Bangladesh, as they hide Dhakaʼs inability to create conditions in which people will have no compulsions to emigrate to India and will close the valve that fuels insurgency inside Indian territory, which is consciously ignored by the foreign press under the garb of soft words. Moreover, these words also hide their fractured system of governance that has generated over 29 military coups (not all successful), which erodes faith in its political order and pushes people away from the country. These journalists and columnists specifically pick these words to rob intellect from peopleʼs perception. The venom of this narrative-building is that they completely paint India in an Islamophobic colour while closing their eyes to the persecution of their minorities, precisely Hindus in Bangladesh. At the time of independence in 1971, Hindus formed a notable segment of the population, around 31% in 1947. However, by 2022, their share had declined to approximately 7.95%. Between 1964 and 2013, approximately 11.3 million Hindus migrated out of the country. For more, click here. How the identity of Bangladeshi Muslims is diluted into mere ‘Muslimsʼ' through soft language: Bengali Muslims → Bengali Muslim Communities → Bengali Muslim Families → Bengali Muslim Households → Bengali Muslim Diasporas → Bengali-origin Muslims → Muslim Communities of Bengali Heritage → Followers of Islam from Bengal → Bengali Faithful Communities → Peoples of Bengali Heritage → Bengali-background Residents → Families of Bengali Descent → Residents with Bengali Roots → Peoples of the Bengal Region → Bengal-based Minority Communities → Communities with Ties to Bengal → Bengal-rooted Families → Bengal-based Communities → Bengali Cultural Groups → Peoples of Bengali Origin → Migrant-origin Communities → Muslim Migrants → Migrant Labours → Muslim Labours → Local Muslims → Local Residents → Muslims… What are the second-order effects of these narratives? These narratives have a ripple effect on the mindset of policymakers and the political class in foreign countries. At times, it makes them dismissive and ignorant of the gravity of another nationʼs reality. One can observe this effect reflected in their discourse: from pressers to policies, from the UN floor to live political speeches. It reverberates across mainstream newsrooms, penetrates domestic spaces, and eventually influences academic debates and student worldview overseas. A country may win a war on the ground but can lose it in the perception of the world. These journalists behave as if they are the sole authority or the true source of communications. Narrative Warfare is a multidimensional phenomenon; it employs an entire web of information-sharing and transmission apparatus — communication technologies, media organisations, academia, and social media coverage — all of which contribute to the formation of identity and perception. Capital dispensation is a vital component of Narrative Warfare, as it sustains these individuals who deliver their rhetoric, destroying reality sentence by sentence. They include scholars, journalists, activists, poets, theorists, historians, content writers, public intellectuals, politicians, bureaucrats, Twitter commentators, and many of whom, in most cases, are employed by NGOs, foreign political entities, lobbyists, corporations, intelligence agencies, and others with vested interests, operating through back channels. Conclusion In the truest sense, this is Orwellian fiction materialised. A country like India finds itself at the receiving end of these narratives because once you start countering a narrative, the goalpost shifts. Whoever has a firm grip on the source controls the narrative and changes perception, which constructs the notion. © Wokeistan.