Jail is not the Rule - Restrictive Bail Conditions, After Independence (Part 2)

(This is the fourth post in an ongoing series on restrictive bail regimes)

The previous post covered the development of restrictive bail regimes in Independent India up till the 1970s. This post covers the crucial period from the 1970s till the mid 1990s, by the end of which India's Supreme Court, by my reckoning, addressed the legality of restrictive bail regimes for the first time.

The Repressive Laws Playbook

Before this phase, according to my count restrictive bail regimes — i.e., clauses restricting the power of sessions courts and high courts in granting bail — were not operating outside the war-related emergency legislation which we discussed in the previous post. These got a new lease of life in the 1970s, thanks to more war. Fast-forward to the mid-1990s though, and one finds that there were at least ten statutes (some had been repealed, to be replaced with new laws having similar clauses) at the federal and state levels with a restrictive bail regime in place:

• Section 12AA was inserted in the Essential Commodities Act, 1955 in 1981.
• Section 5 of the Madhya Pradesh Dacoity Affected Areas Act, 1981.
• Section 5 of the Uttar Pradesh Dacoity Affected Areas Act, 1983.
• Section 5 of the Rajasthan Dacoity Affected Areas Act, 1986.
• Section 439-A was added to the Criminal Procedure Code 1973 by the State of Punjab in 1983 to restrict bail for some offences.
• Section 15 of the Terrorist Affected Areas (Special Courts) Act, 1984.
• Section 17(5) of the Terrorist and Disruptive Activities (Prevention) Act, 1985 [see page 140 of the link] (repealed in 1987).
• Section 20 of the Terrorist and Disruptive Activities (Prevention) Act, 1987 [see page 313 of the link].
• Section 37 was amended in the Narcotic Drugs and Psychotropic Substances Act, 1985 in 1989 to add such clauses.
• Section 7A was inserted in the Anti Hijacking Act,1982 in 1994.
• Section 7A was inserted in the Suppression of Unlawful Acts against Safety of Civil Aviation Act, 1982 in 1994.
• Section 439-A was added to the Criminal Procedure Code 1973 by the State of Tripura in 1994 to restrict bail for some offences.

Restrictive bail regimes are my focus here, but if we take a step back and look at the landscape, a repressive laws playbook emerges. 'Black Laws', as the PUCL dubbed some of these statutes in its remarkable 1985 booklet. The restrictive bail clause is only one part of these laws. It is complemented by cases being shifted out of regular courts and placed before 'special courts' appointed in consultation with the executive. Procedurally, the restrictive bail is accompanied by extension of the total period of custodial remand possible during investigation from 90 days to either 120 / 180 or even 360 days; the outright removal of anticipatory bail, and; the insertion of reverse burdens of proof (some, like TADA, even made confessions to the police admissible).  

Parliamentary proceedings on the federal laws in this list are remarkably silent on the question of why was a restrictive bail regime, in this formulation, required to deal with the mischief at hand. In the debates surrounding the various anti-terror laws of the 1980s and amendments to the NDPS Act in 1989, the total amount of discussion on the restrictive bail regime in the Lok Sabha seems to be confined to three paragraphs when the 1985 iteration of TADA was being passed. This discussion occurred on 20.05.1985 during the clause-by-clause examination on the bill. GM Banatwalla raised the issue of Section 17(5) in the bill turning criminal law on its head - much like lawyers had argued in cases past. This objection was swiftly cast aside by the Law Minister A.K. Sen, who replied that the criteria in the clause was exactly as what had been approved in "certain decisions of the Supreme Court and the House of Lords". Alas, these decisions were not shared, as the Minister suggested that Mr Banatwalla meet him privately to learn about them. 

Reactionary Measures?

Lack of discussion on procedural issues as against substantive ones was a theme through these debates. In other words, Legislators did not seem too concerned with the erosion of personal liberty through restrictive bail clauses, but they did seem highly concerned with how broadly terrorist and disruptive activities were being defined (perhaps because it threatened to implicate swathes of ordinary political activity). 

Comparably far more debate on deviations from general criminal procedure appears  during the debates in the Uttar Pradesh Legislative Assembly on the dacoity affected areas bill which were held on 07.09.1983. These debates are not especially instructive about why state and federal legislatures of the 1980s were turning to restrictive bail regimes, but the debates do offer helpful insight into the development of the repressive laws playbook in general. 

The debates around the Uttar Pradesh Dacoity Affected Areas Act sketch a line of reactionary thinking that emerged in response to the development of India's general criminal procedure in the 1970s. I refer, of course, to the introduction of the Criminal Procedure Code of 1973 with its significant clauses which seemed to take away considerable power from the police and return a sizeable measure of personal liberty to the individual accused of an offence. The clauses I refer to include (i) the introduction of anticipatory bail under section 438, (ii) the insertion of a 60 day time-limit for custodial detention during investigation and an indefeasible right of bail if the investigation isn't complete within that time (both under section 167), and (iii) the retention of wide bail discretion for sessions courts and high courts (under section 439). 

The radical nature of the first two contributions from the 1973 Code earmarked above has been ridiculously under-appreciated. It has been discussed on occasion on the blog (see here and here for instance). To get an idea of just how big was the shift in status quo as a result of these clauses, remember that the Supreme Court in 1975 had called default bail under Section 167 a 'paradise for criminals'. Parliament almost immediately took steps to reduce its radical portents by introducing a 90 day time-limit for some offences (which some states later extended to 120 days soon after). Further, also take a moment to consider that Parliament had passed a bill to delete anticipatory bail from the code altogether within a few years of its operation; a bill which only lapsed because the Lok Sabha was dissolved.

Thus, even though these laws had hardly been in force for any significant measure of time, there was enough of a political groundswell imagining these as too lenient. This view made the new pro-liberty clauses in the general criminal procedure the most obvious targets for laws designed to toughen-up the fight against serious crime, such as the various Dacoity Affected Areas Acts that were passed by states, and Terrorist Affected Areas Act passed by Parliament. The absence of any significant debate or discussion in the legislature around the nullification of these procedural rights makes sense because this is what legislators were quite happy to endorse even outside of these laws. If a more generous bail clause was not ideal for ordinary crime in the eyes of many members of Parliament, it is little cause for wonder why they did not find much fault in limiting bail for those accused of some of the most heinous crimes around. 

Retaining the Regime without Thinking Through

A consequence of the lack of debate surrounding these clauses was that no real thought went into figuring out how these would work in the context of the new criminal procedure regime that had been introduced in 1973. We flagged this issue in the previous post as well, but it requires a brief recap here for ease of reference. 

A restrictive bail regime asks courts to form reasonable grounds to believe that an accused is not guilty of the offence. How do courts form such reasonable grounds? This depended upon the stage at which a court dealt with the bail application. During an investigation, there would only be material on the police file for the court to consider. But as a case progressed, witnesses would be examined and cross-examined, giving an accused more opportunity to convince a court that there were reasonable grounds to believe that he was not guilty. 

Between 1950 and the 1980s, two aspects of the practice of criminal law underwent constant change and probably worsened the chances of an accused seeking bail under a restrictive bail clause. The first was the issue of delayed trials, which meant that it took far longer for cases to proceed to recording testimony of witnesses to generate material that could contest the police version. The second feature was amendments to general criminal procedure (mainly in 1955 and 1973) which made reliance on the police file more entrenched even after investigation had completed. Prior to 1955, examination of witnesses took place once before framing charges in a trial of sessions cases as well as warrant-triable cases before magistrates. Fast-forward to the 1980s, and pre-charge evidence had given way to using witness statements recorded by police during an investigation to decide whether there was merit in a case to frame charges.

There was a serious problem brought about by this shift, which might be obvious to some but not to others, so let me spell it out. Statements of witnesses recorded by the police officer during an investigation are not written or signed by the witness. In fact, they are not even necessarily written in front of the witness. The lack of any serious safeguards in recording these statements was arguably the by-product of a legislative view that statements made to the police could not be trusted and ought not to be used in evidence. This view was codified in Section 162 of the 1898 Criminal Procedure Code which barred use of statements recorded by police as evidence [see pg 121 of the link]. By 1923, the scope of the prohibition had been seemingly widened, to bar use of such statements "for any purpose" at any inquiry or trial [see pg 204 of the link].

Even though the 1973 Code retained the prohibition on using statements recorded by the police, the deletion of pre-charge evidence in police cases (since 1955, retained in 1973) had created a vacuum in how courts would form their opinions about whether charge ought to be framed and, more importantly for our purposes, how bail applications ought to be decided. This vacuum was filled up by an increasing reliance upon the statements recorded by police, in spite of the statutory prohibition contained under Section 162 of the Code. 

Thus, as opposed to the setup prior to 1973 where the harshness of the restrictive bail clauses could potentially reduce after investigation and as courts began deliberations on charge — i.e., once cases shifted away from a logic of suspicion to the logic of proof — the procedural setting after 1973 continued the jurisprudence of suspicion for much longer in the life of a case. Even as the law demanded a complete disregard for the statements recorded by police to form judicial conclusions, recognising that these may contain many untruths recorded by an overzealous police officer, at the same time the practice of criminal law nevertheless expected the courts to form 'reasonable beliefs' about an accused not being guilty of an offence and meriting bail (or for that matter, discharge) using precisely these unreliable, unsworn, and inadmissible statements.

Judicial Experience and Kartar Singh

As most of us know, a Constitution Bench of the Court in Kartar Singh v. State of Punjab [(1994) 3 SCC 569] upheld the validity of the restrictive bail regime as it appeared in Section 15 of the 1984 Terrorist Affected Areas Act, Section 17 of the TADA 1985, and Section 20 of the TADA 1987. The conclusions in Kartar Singh have helped cement the legality, and legacy, of restrictive bail clauses in India. If we have to think about re-imagining restrictive bail regimes, we cannot do so without emerging out of the looming shadow cast by this decision rendered by a Bench of Five Justices.

All five Justices in Kartar Singh upheld the validity of the restrictive bail regime under various laws mentioned above. The discussion on this issue is in the lead judgment [paragraph 335 onwards in the link]. The conclusions can be summed up as follows:

• There is no problem with the criteria prescribed by the clause as it is a condition similar to that imposed by Section 437(1) of the CrPC 1973 on matters of bail, besides other laws such as the Customs Act, 1962 also carrying a similar formulation in respect of the power to arrest a person. "Therefore, the condition that 'there are grounds for believing that he is not guilty of an offence' which condition in different from is incorporated in other acts such as clause (i) of Section 437(i) of the Code and Section 35(1) of FERA and 104(1) of the Customs Act, cannot be said to be an unreasonable condition infringing the principle of Article 21 of the Constitution."
• As regards the approach which a designated court ought to follow in matters of bail, the Bench in Kartar Singh referred to the earlier decision of the Supreme Court in Usmanbhai Dawoodbhai Memon [(1988) 2 SCC 271] with approval. As per Usmanbhai, the "police report along with the statements in the case diary and other available materials should be closely examined" by a court to decide whether there are reasonable grounds to believe that the accused is "innocent of the offence".

The Court acknowledged that many innocent persons appeared to have been persecuted by use of TADA, but concluded that this was an enforcement problem and not a problem caused by the statutory provisions itself which, as referred to above, the Court found unremarkable as they appeared to simply extend existing prohibitions present in the ordinary law. 

I would argue that Kartar Singh got the conclusions wrong on both fronts. In drawing a straight line from Section 437 of the CrPC to Section 20(8) of TADA 1987, the Court demonstrates a startling lack of attention to detail on multiple fronts. 

• First, it did not appreciate that restrictions under Section 437 were historically justified as they curtailed the discretion of magistrates to grant bail in serious crimes. A long-view of the history behind Section 437 shows that there was a conscious decision by Parliament made time and again to unfetter the discretion of senior judges. As opposed to this view expressed under the CrPC, the restrictive bail regime under TADA (and other laws) had constrained the discretion of sessions courts and even constitutional courts. Thus, if anything, clauses under TADA were squarely contrary to the kind of prohibition that the general law imagined. 
• Second, the history behind the restrictive bail clause showed that while the language of the clause remained the same from the 1940s till the 1990s, the context in which these clauses operated had drastically changed. The changes had exacerbated the handicap that such clauses cast upon an accused, by requiring courts to form their conclusions on the police file till the trial began.
• Third, in its unreserved affirmation of the Usmanbhai approach to decide bails, the Kartar Singh Court demonstrated its failure to appreciate the legal problems posed by reliance on the police file to administer the clause. While actively suggesting that courts should look at statements recorded during an investigation to decide bails under TADA, the Supreme Court gave Section 162 CrPC and the century-long legislative distrust of such statements a complete go-by.

Perhaps because the Supreme Court was clear about the validity of the clause, it did not spend much time contending with the multiple issues pertaining to its proper enforcement and application. In this regard, the Court could have taken a leaf out of the Madhya Pradesh High Court's book. A Full Bench of the Madhya Pradesh High Court was dealing with the validity of the M.P. Dacoity Affected Areas Act, 1981 in Gulabchand Kannoolal (1981). It upheld the law, including its restrictive bail clause, but while doing so suggested that the judicial engagement with bail applications required titration depending upon the stage at which a case was. Where the police materials may be looked at if bail was sought during an investigation, a court ought to only consider that material which could serve as admissible evidence at trial where bail was sought after filing the chargesheet.

Conclusion

The liberal turn in the general law of criminal procedure during the 1970s was swiftly met by a reactionary repressive laws playbook emerging in the 1980s as the answer to serious crime of all hues. A proliferation of statutes with restrictive bail clauses ensued, to tackle more and more kinds of serious crime which state and federal legislatures thought that the general law was too meek to address. The ultimate seal of approval for these clauses came when in 1994 a Constitution Bench of the Supreme Court finally rendered its verdict in Kartar Singh and held that the outcry about the clauses was much ado about nothing. 

Ever since, Kartar Singh has served to foreclose any challenge to the legality of restrictive bail regimes in India. However, as this post demonstrates, the shadow cast by Kartar Singh is one that can be dispelled by casting even the faintest of light upon its conclusions, if any future bench of the Court was to demonstrate a willingness to wield that torch. The reasoning offered by Kartar Singh to safeguard the validity of restrictive bail regimes was severely wanting, and also arguably premised upon an incorrect reading of the other statutes which the Court readily pressed into service. Moreover, its failure to adequately address the nuts-and-bolts issues of the operation of such clauses blessed a situation where personal liberty was at the mercy of the police file. A situation which was squarely in the teeth of received legislative wisdom going back centuries which cried out for distrusting the police version to form any judicial conclusion unless absolutely necessary.

In the next post, we will return to the present, and contend with the restrictive bail regime as it is found in arguably its two most prominent avatars: Section 45 of the Prevention of Money Laundering Act, 2002, and Section 43D(5) of the Unlawful Activities Prevention Act, 1967.

Section 144 Cr.P.C. — Part VI: Continuity and Change (1941 to 1950)

(This is the sixth post in a multi-part series. The earlier posts can be accessed here)

The two previous posts in this series charted the slow but determined emergence of Section 144, in what was the Criminal Procedure Code of 1898, as an integral part of the toolkit of repressive laws that was used by administrators to mercilessly stifle political activity across British India. This post turns our attention to the decade of Indian independence, and of course, the adoption of India's Constitution. 

Crisis, Section 144, and the Public Order Acts

If one were to go along with the conventional representation of 1947 being the high-point in a long struggle for Indian independence, then the years leading up to it were nothing short of a maddening crescendo in terms of ordinary life. The Second World War consumed the world till 1945, and for India this meant the almost full-scale devolution of powers to executive officials under wartime legislation. During which time the country also saw the Quit India Movement and its bloody suppression by the colonial administration. 

I mentioned in the introduction that Section 144, Cr.P.C. had come to be identified as part of a repressive laws toolkit. However, as I had reflected in the previous post as well, for many legislators this blackballing of Section 144, Cr.P.C. masked a deep underlying consensus between the colonial and nationalist leaders about the utility of this provision. A legislative measure conferring wide powers on the executive to efficiently control public order emergencies was seen as a necessary part of ordinary law. 

Thus, while the nationalist legislators certainly tried hard to carve out exceptions for political acts from within the scope of this provision, at the same time, they remained supporters of Section 144, Cr.P.C., as long as it was "properly used". What might this mean? For instance, using Section 144 promptly to quell any communal riots. Considering how rapidly communal violence escalated in several parts of India during this decade, it helps explain why there is a surprising absence of critical commentary (and appellate court litigation on public order issues) around Section 144 in the archive for this period. 

If anything, the withdrawal of wartime legislation, coupled with rising communal violence, labour agitation, and the political activity pressing for independence, made many administrators skeptical about the sufficiency of ordinary laws such as Section 144 to deal with the problem at hand. This prompted a wave of special, province-level ordinances in 1946, which were soon followed by statutes in 1947, such as the "Assam Maintenance of Public Order Act". 

Not only did the statutes have similar names [almost all of them were the "(Insert) Maintenance of Public Order Act"] but they were also very similar in terms of content: wide-ranging powers were conferred upon the executive to deal with all sorts of public order problems with minimal judicial review. Thus, towards the maintenance of public order, executive officials had been conferred with powers for preventive detention, externment (ordering a person to leave an area for a specified period of time), imposition of collective fines and, of course, prohibitory orders akin to Section 144. 

Independence, Public Order, and the Constitution

On June 26, 1947, the Chief Commissioner of Delhi passed Order No. F.2(16)47-R&J, whereby he extended the existing Section 144 Orders "prohibiting all meetings of ten or more persons and all kinds of audible or visible demonstrations in any public street or place within the area of New Delhi" for a further period of two months. 

Thus, underneath the fiery inspiration of Pandit Nehru's speech which promised freedom at the stroke of the midnight hour, there lay the cold legality of a Section 144 order. It lay there, waiting, as India joyously celebrated independence. But it was not long before that Section 144 and the rest of the repressive laws toolkit swiftly came to the fore to remind all Indians just how limited our newfound freedom was going to be. 

Indeed, while communal tensions remained a major overt reason for retaining the untrammelled executive powers conferred by the Public Order Acts, these powers also came to be unscrupulously used by the new nationalist governments in the years following independence to quell any political opposition and labour agitations, and Section 144 orders remained in force for several months at a time in various places. All of this, of course, led to fierce litigation. But since most of it was concerning the preventive detention aspects of the Public Order Acts I have refrained from engaging with it in great detail here. 

Only rarely does one get a sense of this turmoil while reading the proceedings of the Constituent Assembly, which worked tirelessly during this time. But what was unsaid in the Assembly itself can be heard loudly in the text of the document that it authored. Yes, there were fundamental rights guaranteed by the Constitution. But the civil liberties that were ardently fought for now came with many fetters, in the form of explicit restrictions to fundamental freedoms and the rejection of the Due Process Clause, which gave a renewed lease of life to many loathsome colonial laws as well most parts of the Public Order Acts.  

Thus, in his Presidential Address before the Indian Civil Liberties' Conference in July 1949, Justice (retd.) P.R. Das lamented that

This, then is the position in India today. We have no protection against tyrannical laws; we have no protection against the arbitrariness of the Executive Government. The Constitution has deliberately provided for "executive justice" and not for "rule of law" ... We have the same Police Raj; orders under Section 144, Code of Criminal Procedure, continue to be made; and lathi charges have not been stopped.    

 

Continuity and Change

India's founding moment has attracted considerable scholarly attention from all quarters of late. Some argue that the adoption of a Constitution and recognition of universal suffrage marked a transformative moment where people became citizens from being subjects, and the country shifting to a governance of justification. Another important conversation has been around the idea of colonial continuities, which in some measure interrogates whether this transfer of power was really transformative. The Public Order Acts that ruled the realm between 1946 to 1950 offer a fantastic site of inquiry on these lines, and I can only hope that they get the scholarly attention that they deserve.

But what about Section 144, the protagonist of our narrative? The recognition of fundamental freedoms certainly changed the nature of the debate — wrongful or improper use of this power was no longer a mere statutory breach, but a violation of the fundamental rights constitutionally secured to all citizens. However, the history of Section 144 had confirmed just how resilient it was to court cases. Litigation unfolded at a leisurely pace which meant that the prohibitory orders had often expired by the time an order was passed. Only time would tell whether these practical realities would also change in the new climate of independence.

The next post will look more closely at the first decade of independence and its impact on Section 144. It will discuss some interesting legislative developments that took place, as well the first constitutional challenges levelled against the provision in court. 

Section 144 Cr.P.C. — Part V: Combating the Repressive Law (1921 to 1940)

(This is the Fifth post in a multi-part series. Earlier posts can be accessed through here)

The previous post in this series discussed how a growing political consciousness across British India led worried administrators enough to begin to use the law as a means to suppress civil liberties. Section 144 of the Criminal Procedure Code 1898 [Cr.P.C. 1898], a provision largely used up to that point by Magistrates as a means to quell local disturbances between rival groups / factions, began to be used for prohibiting the holding of public meetings, and even banning the entry of persons in an area. This post covers a subsequent period, in which the position of Section 144 as a tool of repression came to be cemented in the eyes of many outside government. Unlike previous posts where the focus was largely on the courts, here we focus on the many battles that were fought over this provision in the Central Legislature of the time, i.e. the Legislative Assembly of India. 

Curbing the "Indiscriminate Use" of Section 144 — The 1923 Amendments

In January 1922, Rao Bahadur Rangachariar moved a Private Member's Bill to amend Sections 107 and 144 of the 1898 Code, with the stated aim being "to prevent the indiscriminate use of Sections 107 and 144 of the Code of Criminal Procedure 1898, in dealing with political agitation." This failed attempt to modify Section 144 (the Bill did not garner sufficient votes to be introduced for debate) was primarily a reaction to the use of this provision by the Government to quell the Non-Cooperation Movement. One gets a sense of the scale of use through Home Department File No. F-2A of 1922, which suggests that over 400 orders had been passed within the United Provinces in 1921 alone. This was part of the set of grievances aired when a Resolution was moved in March 1923 in the newly created Indian Legislative Assembly to condemn the repressive measures adopted to tackle the Non-Cooperation Movement.

Why use Section 144 and not some of the special laws such as the Seditious Meetings Bill, or even the Rowlatt Act, you ask? As I had mentioned in the previous post, the sufficiency of Section 144 to deal with political agitation was cited by legislators themselves who opposed the introduction of the aforesaid special laws. Protests over these special laws did not dissipate, and only added fuel to the political fires that were burning in India around 1919 to 1921. Thus, in an attempt to depoliticise the maintenance of law and order, the Colonial Government returned to that venerable old provision, Section 144, with renewed vigour which soon became a velvet glove concealing the iron fist.  

The 1923 Amendments

We get a window to this history through the lengthy debates in the Indian Legislative Assembly on January 25, 1923. The Assembly was debating the comprehensive Criminal Procedure (Amendment) Bill, and had now turned its attention to the proposals for modifying Section 144. The debates are too lengthy to summarise, and I would urge readers to go through the debates on the clause (which begin on page 27 of the link) to get a sense of the legal issues and the strong feelings that now accompanied any conversations about Section 144. 

Broadly, though, what the proposals sought to achieve were the following:

• Introducing a higher legal threshold for magistrates to take action under Section 144;
• Requiring that evidence be recorded in proceedings under Section 144, not only as a check on the exercise of power but also to enable superior courts to effectively exercise powers of judicial review;   
• Limiting the use of ex parte orders that were passed under Section 144, by either creating a time limit specifically for such orders, or mandatorily requiring magistrates to hear parties within a certain time period;
• Providing more avenues for challenging any Section 144 order by allowing revisions and appeals to be heard by superior courts; 
• Providing special protections for political speech and activity within Section 144 itself.

The changes ultimately made to Section 144 by the 1923 amendments [Section 27 of Act 18 of 1923] did, in some measure, address these issues:

• Section 144(1) was amended. Where earlier powers could be exercised if it was the opinion of a magistrate that speedy prevention was desirable, now the threshold was made similar to that in Section 204 Cr.P.C. for issuing process in a complaint case. Thus, the clause now required a magistrate to determine that there was sufficient ground for proceeding under this section;
• The restriction over challenging Section 144 orders in revision proceedings was lifted;
• A new clause was added, enabling aggrieved persons to petition the magistrate for rescinding / altering an order.  

However, as the next sections demonstrate, the fight to change Section 144 to install legal handbrakes to restrict ex parte orders as well as to protect political speech continued for several years after. But before we proceed further, it is important to flag what was not raised as being problematic in Section 144 during the 1923 debates. First, although some members complained about junior officers having been empowered under Section 144, only one member raised that as an issue. In fact, the Government benches cunningly turned this issue against the Indian members by citing that many junior officers were natives. Second, hardly any sustained attack was made to curb the breadth of Section 144, with the Assembly largely in agreement that the breadth of the provision was necessary to maintain law and order. 

The Many Abortive Legislative Attacks on Section 144

Even before the ink had dried on the 1923 amendments, Mr. A. Rangaswami Iyengar moved a Bill in 1924 to further amend Section 144 of the Code citing "recent events" that had seen the provision being used to impose "all kinds of restrictions on political workers and political propaganda". While positively noting the wide scope of the provision, Iyengar stated that the "extraordinary and indiscriminate applications of the section that have taken place since 1921 on such a large scale for the purpose of suppressing political agitation, is a matter which could not have been foreseen." Thus, he now sought limits on ex-parte orders, special protection for political activity, and that appeals (as opposed to revision petitions) be allowed against Section 144 orders which would make it a rule for proper evidence to be recorded in the first instance.   

The instructions from the Viceroy were clear: Oppose the introduction of the Bill at all stages, for as the Home Member had noted in the file, this Bill "would reduce Section 144 to nothing". But this Bill did not even reach the House for discussion. Undeterred, Iyengar coopted support for the Bill from other members of his party (the Swaraj Party) and moved the Bill again in 1925. Similar legislation was sought to be introduced by several other members as well during this time. However, all of these attempts met the same abortive fate and did not get past the introductory stage. 

The Gaya Prasad Singh Amendments 

One such Private Member Bill did eventually reach the floor of the House. In February 1931, a draft legislation moved by Mr. Gaya Prasad Singh was discussed where he proposed that the Bill be referred to a Select Committee. The focus of this legislation was on the same three issues that were raised in Mr. Iyengar's Bill of 1924. After heated debates which spanned several days, the Assembly passed a motion by a single-vote majority to circulate the draft legislation for public opinion. 

The idea of soliciting public opinion did not mean going to the people on the street, but instead going to ask administrators, judges, government pleaders and lawyers' associations for their opinions. When the opinions came back and the Bill was again taken up for discussion on September 15 of that year, it was apparent that almost all of these sections of society overwhelmingly supported Section 144 in its existing form. The voluminous opinions are collected in the Home Department File No. F-22/174 of 1931 (pages 71-192). 

While it was perhaps understandable that administrators found little fault in the provision, especially since their opinions were sought so soon in the aftermath of the Civil Disobedience Movement, the widespread support for retaining Section 144 in its existing form amongst the lawyers and judges was telling. Even though different High Courts had set aside many orders under Section 144, of a political nature and otherwise, as being contrary to law (and continued to do so hereafter), this was not seen as a blot on the legislation itself or its policy of combining judicial and executive powers within the same official. Rather, these cases were understood as individual errors, for which the existing set of remedies were considered sufficient — remedies that had only recently been expanded upon in 1923.         

As one would expect, in light of the unfavourable public opinion, the proposal to refer the Bill to a Select Committee did not garner the requisite support despite the best efforts for Mr. Gaya Prasad Singh and his sympathisers. 

Rangachariar's Return and The Repressive Laws Bill

In January 1931, Diwan Bahadur Rangachariar (as he now was) had moved another Bill to amend his old foe: Section 144. Unlike the earlier Bills moved by Mr. Iyengar which focused on ex parte orders and political speech, the Diwan's legislation sought curbs on Section 144 orders which curbed acts that were "not wrongful in themselves but are in exercise or enjoyment of the rights of parties". Unfortunately, this Bill was not any more successful than his earlier attempts at limiting the scope of Section 144.

Finally, this brings us to the Repressive Laws Repealing and Amending Bill that was moved by Mr. S. Satyamurti in 1934 but only discussed on the floor of the Assembly on February 20, 1936. As the name suggests, the Bill targeted not just Section 144, but other laws as well such as Section 124-A of the Penal Code which created an offence of "sedition". Crucially, Satyamurti also did not press for a repeal of Section 144, but rather re-agitated the changes initially proposed by Rangachariar and later by Iyengar & Gaya Prasad Singh, among others.  

While Satyamurti's proposals on amending Section 144 were, therefore, not significant as such, what was significant here was his logic behind picking these "Repressive Laws", which had not been as succinctly addressed in earlier debates. According to him, these laws were "all based upon a distrust of the judiciary as such" and "based upon a desire to arm the executive with the exercise of powers which shall not be questioned anywhere, and they all offend against, the elementary canons of the supremacy of law and the freedom of the citizen."     

Alas, the Bill seems to never have been taken up for debate subsequent to this occasion in the years till 1939 (largely due to administrative reasons as gleaned from the Home Department files), when the Legislative Assembly itself was suspended owing to the declaration of the Second World War.

Summing Up

It is impossible, and perhaps unsuitable, to provide a summary of this vast history here. Instead, it is better that I stick to highlighting three aspects that struck me as most significant. 

First, is the limited debate about the scope of Section 144. The debates repeatedly focused upon creating special exemptions for political speech rather than pressing for removing words such as "annoyance", or creating a proportional scheme of responses like the 1931 proposals of Rangachariar. A note must also be made here of how many members refuted any calls to change the language of the provision by citing its vintage, and simply referring to unpredictability as a reason for retaining the exorbitantly vague phrasing of the statute. 

Second, is the resigned acceptance of almost all the members in the Assembly for retaining Section 144 of the Code and their acknowledgment of the need for preventive powers to deal with communal riots and other public order disturbances. Indeed, it was quite normal for the Government benches to cleverly change the scope of the debate and play on this sentiment by mischaracterising the debate and suggesting that the proposed amendments sought to do away with Section 144 altogether. 

Third, is link between Section 144 and the underlying issue of separation of powers. The proposals for greater judicial oversight in this process were rebuffed not only on practical grounds — referring to the delays inherent in the appellate / revision system — but also by emphasising the desirability of a system which combined executive and judicial powers in the same officer for such purposes. A call to retain Section 144 as it was, then, was also a vote of confidence to retain the status quo and not separate judicial functions from executive functions.

Conclusion

I first came across Satyamurti's Repressive Laws Bill in K.G. Kannabiran's Wages of Impunity, where he favourably quoted the extract I've used above and, in his inimitable style, linked it to legislative approaches in independent India. But as this post shows, Satyamurti's efforts at reforming the laws, and more specifically reforming Section 144, were the last in what was a long tradition that began in the aftermath of the Non-Cooperation Movement. At a time when various sectors across society are looking at the provisions of Section 144 with careful scrutiny, it is imperative that the lessons offered by our history do not go ignored.

Section 144 Cr.P.C. — Part IV: Public Order and Political Agitation (1901 to 1920)

(This is the Fourth Post in a series on the Blog. Previous posts can be accessed here)

The previous post expanded upon the officers who dealt with the powers conferred under what, by 1898, was Section 144 of the Criminal Procedure Code [Cr.P.C.]. The post also elaborated upon the expansion of such powers by the enactment of new police legislation, or the amendment of existing laws to empower police to address public order problems. Before that, we had begun drawing a long historical arc to see the evolution of Section 144, which is at the heart of public order policing in India today. This post comes back to that effort, and sheds light on the period from 1901 to 1920. 

Judicial Decisions: A Skewed Archive

The reported judicial decisions from 1861 to 1901 were few, but nevertheless, significant. The cases showed how the legislators at that point in British India were keenly tuned into how the statutes were being applied. This litigation experience was useful feedback for the legislators, who then amended the law to rectify whatever defects had been made apparent. A good example of this was the addition of a time-limit on the duration of any orders under Section 144. Where no such temporal limits were initially present, the law was amended in 1872 after courts stressed upon the need for such a limit to the powers conferred by this provision. 

At the same time, the litigation history of Section 144 also helped give an idea of the social context in which the provision was being used. The few reported decisions available suggested that one of the main uses of Section 144 was to help keep the peace between rival groups — be it religious sects, landlords, or factions in a village. At the same time, a few stray decisions had Magistrates using this provision as a tool for good governance — by regulating how boats could be docked at the harbour, say — and such administrative usage of the provision was strongly deprecated by the High Courts.

I've added details of the reported decisions for the period from 1901 to 1920 to the Google Sheet, this time including references to cases under the Police Act. It would appear that the the most common litigation in the High Courts around this provision continued to be that between rival groups seeking to enforce / defend their private rights. In this regard, it is notable just how frequently ordinary disputes over land rights ended up with Section 144 orders being passed, which were then set aside by the High Courts. A line of cases emanating from the Patna High Court is most instructive in this regard. There are also two cases that came up where orders under Section 144 / Police Act had been passed for good governance purposes: One of these regulated the carting of dogs, and the other regulated who could go through a railway station. In both cases, the orders were struck down.

Before drawing conclusions about the social context in which these provisions were being used, let's take a step back, and square this information from judicial decisions with what else we know about this period from 1901 to 1920.

According to most accounts, this period was one of the most volatile periods in the history of colonial India. Recall that this is the era of the infamous Partition of Bengal, of the onset of revolutionary and anarchical activity across the colony and secret societies, of the First World War, of the Khilafat movement, and of the infamous Rowlatt Act. However, none of this is reflected in our small set of High Court decisions. In fact, I found zero cases where the High Courts dealt with Section 144 orders passed in such kinds of issues. The only case I found where the facts concerned political agitations was one under the Calcutta Suburban Police Act, where the Calcutta Police had banned one Leakat Hossein from carrying out Swadeshi Agitations in 1907.

Section 144, Political Speech, & the Seditious Meetings Acts

So, was Section 144 really not being used by the government to rein in political agitators during this period? Of course not. During this time, the limits of Section 144 were being tested as a strained set of administrators relied on this provision to curb political speech and expression. While it did not end in courtroom battles, there was considerable debate within the administration itself, much of which is now publicly accessible thanks to the digital repository of the National Archives of India. 

The tense situation created by the Partition of Bengal in 1905 led many District Commissioners and Magistrates to use Section 144 and prohibit public meetings which, in their view, involved seditious oratory. But something was clearly amiss, for in 1907 the Government brought about the Regulation of Meetings Ordinance to prevent "seditious meetings" and applied it to parts of Bengal. The debates on the eventual Prevention of Seditious Meetings Act of 1907 are silent on this aspect, and Dr. Rash Behari Ghosh's remarks of Section 144 being enough to curb seditious meetings went unanswered. 

A view to how the Government approached the issue can be gleaned from the Home Department files on the 1907 Act, specifically the one marked "HOME_POLITICAL_A_1907_DEC_64-84". The file contains a letter dated August 12, 1907, sent by the Chief Secretary to the Chief Commissioner, Central Provinces to the Secretary of the Home Department, Government of India, giving his opinion on the draft legislation shared with him (Pages 130-132). On whether Section 144 was sufficient to deal with seditious meetings, the letter reads:

"Section 144 of the Criminal Procedure Code would justify the issue of an order to this effect to a fire-brand orator; but disobedience, to that order cannot be punished under the Indian Penal Code unless the court will hold that his action produced or tended to produce a breach of the peace. Fear of a disturbance of the public tranquillity justifies an order under section 144 but not a conviction for disobedience of it under section 188 of the Indian Penal Code which was never correspondingly amended. The object sought could be gained by such an amendment of section 188 of the Indian Penal Code. The interpreta­tion of section 144 of the Civil Procedure Code [sic], read jointly with section 188 of the Indian Penal Code, is so overlaid by a mass of rulings that it is difficult to extract what the law on the subject really is."

Thus, one big flaw in the potential for using Section 144 to curb political agitations was the absence of any subsequent sanction: Even if somebody disobeyed the order, punishment could only follow in very limited cases.

More arguments on the inadequacy of Section 144 are found in a letter dated July 18, 1907 that was appended to the letter sent in August. This earlier letter was sent to all Commissioners and Deputy Commissioners in the Central Provinces and Berar by the Office of the Chief Commissioner, Central Provinces, giving guidance on using Section 144 to deal with political meetings (Pages 138-139). I've linked a typed out copy of the letter here, which merits a full reading.

In the interests of brevity, here I only flag three of the other concerns that the letter raised in using Section 144 for the purpose of containing political speech. One point was the lack of prior notice that a meeting was to be held: it would be very difficult to issue orders under Section 144 to prevent a seditious meeting if there was no prior notice at hand. Another point was the concern of Section 144 with preventing public disorder. Thus, it could not be used "if the sole object of the Magistrate were to prevent an extremist orator from making a Swadeshi speech which might or might not contain seditious phrases". And, finally, there was the problem of legality. There was always the chance that the order under Section 144 could be challenged, either directly or in a prosecution for Section 188 IPC, and so Commissioners were advised to only pass orders which could withstand subsequent legal scrutiny. 

As a result of these issues, the Seditious Meetings Act was passed in 1907 with a three-year expiry date. It was given an extra lease of life in 1910, and then was made permanent in 1911. However, even though the legislators had stressed on the inadequacies of Section 144 to push the case for having a special law in the nature of the Seditious Meetings Act, the ordinary law continued to be used for the containment of political speech throughout British India. Indeed, the sufficiency of the ordinary law was a constant refrain of the Indian benches who were opposing the 1911 Act in the Legislative Council debates. 

Perhaps it was due to this supposed adequacy of Section 144, coupled with India being placed under wartime legislation for a large part of the 1920s, that the Seditious Meetings Act was rarely used till its eventual repeal in 2018. The same can hardly be said about Section 144, which emerged as one of the "repressive laws" of the colonial regime in the subsequent decades.

Next Post: Emergence of a Repressive Law

The years between 1901 to 1920 marked a transformation in how Section 144 came to be used across India. A growing political consciousness led to this provision being used to prohibit public meetings where, according to the British, seditious speeches would be made. Yet, in spite of this, a reference to the debates of the Legislative Council when this issue of curtailing public meetings was raised shows that the Indian members of the Council were quite sympathetic to this provision. It is perhaps notable that while the Rowlatt Act, the Seditious Meetings Act, and the Defence of India Act were all part of the brief of the Repressive Laws Committee of 1922, Section 144 was not.

The resentment surrounding Section 144 was to considerably grow in the next two decades, as it became a key instrument in the legal arsenal to combat large-scale political mobilisation in India. By the end of this period, Section 144 also came to be seen as a Repressive Law, with many unsuccessful attempts being made for its repeal. All this will be the focus of the next post in this series.