Typically, our netas fear no one. The bureaucrats have been crushed so there isn't really any one within babudom who will dare challenge the existing order. Should anyone choose to do so, there is always the power to have the defiant bureaucrat transferred to Jhumritaliya, no questions asked. As for police officers, again how many would even think of taking on the politician? Unless, of course, the officer is happy not being promoted, or worse being transferred every two months. As for political opponents, the tribal principle applies: when in danger, self-preservation will ensure that we all stick together (the parliament debate over the office of profit bill was a classic example).
Into this blissful, "don't worry, be happy" universe has entered an institution which seems to exist outside the immediate domain of the politician's authority : the courts. That the judiciary could act as a check and balance in the system is long proven: remember, the Allahabad high court judgement that led to the emergency in 1975, or even the judicial pronouncements in the JMM bribery case. But where a decade ago, the politician versus judiciary battle was the exception, today it is rapidly becoming the rule. And whereas earlier it was the higher judiciary that seemed more inclined to take on the netas, now even the lower courts have joined the battle. Barely a week passes without the judiciary taking on the political system in some form or the other. If one day, the courts are stripping the politicians of their legal immunity in the event of prosecution, the next day the court is admitting petitions challenging parliament's right to pass the office of profit bill.
In a sense, 2006 has been a year when a gradual transformation has taken place from a parliamentary democracy to a judicial courtocracy. More and more issues of public policy - be it the height of a dam or the areas to be sealed - are decided in courts and not in legislatures or cabinet meetings. The union cabinet can decide on reservation policies, the court is inclined to question them. Chief ministers can give the green signal to setting up special economic zones, public interest litigations can challenge the policy in court. Even MPs disqualified by parliament in the cash for questions sting can go to the court seeking redressal.
This tendency of the judiciary to play god has angered the politician. Who are the courts to decide what is purely within the purview of the legislature, thunders the Lok Sabha Speaker, himself a lawyer turned politician. Somnath Chatterjee's fulminations are, at one level, understandable. If the lines between the judiciary and the legislature are blurred beyond recognition, then how will a parliamentary democracy's basic principle of separation of powers operate? Where does legislative writ end and judicial authority begin? Should legislators and public servants be constantly looking over their shoulder, worried how their actions will be interpreted by the courts? And what of our honourable justices themselves: how many of them can truly claim to be men and women of integrity? Cushioned by archaic contempt provisions that for a long time did not allow truth to be a defence in a contempt case, can the judiciary be above scrutiny? Isn't the manner in which the national judicial commission has been constituted a classic example of how the judges too are unwilling to be subject to external accountability?
All the questions raised here are valid, especially if seen purely in constitutional terms. Unfortunately, for our netas (and fortunately for this country), politics doesn't operate solely on legal niceties: there is a powerful and enduring ethical and moral dimension to public life. Its this moral-ethical dimension that the judiciary seems to be constantly invoking. Sure, there are horrific stories of judges on the take (and not just in the lower judiciary), but the fact is that as an institution the judiciary is seen in the eyes of the common citizen to be less venal than the country's politicians. Its this public perception that is making the critical difference in any judiciary versus politician battle.
Take the Shibhu Soren case itself. There are eminent lawyers who will tell you that Shibhu's guilt has not been proved "beyond reasonable doubt" as is required in a criminal trial, that much of the evidence gathered against him is circumstantial, and is not enough to directly indict him for murder. And yet, in the public gaze - outside his pocket borough in Jharkhand - Soren is seen to be someone who "must have" murdered his secretary. The evidence may not be strictly foolproof in purely legal terms, but its still strong enough for most people to believe that a man with his track record must have used money and muscle power to kill. For most judges, that is enough today to push ahead in sentencing the union minister.
A large part of this public perception has been fashioned by another player in the mix: the media. Till recently, the neta had no reason to fear the media, convinced that the fourth estate could be seduced or intimdated: a Rajya Sabha seat could be a bait, an FIR could be a weapon. Sure, the odd story might hurt a politician's interests, but most netas were certain that today's news is tomorrow's history, and public amnesia would guarantee no long term threat to position. But that was in an era where the media was smaller, less diverse, less competitive. Competition has made the Indian media often descend to the most abysmal depths of news coverage, where the kiss of a fourth rate starlet becomes a national headline as does the love story of a Patna university professor. But for all their mindlessness, 24 hour news networks have also made certain that there is no place to hide for anyone in public life.
The politician's response has been to cry foul, to deride the media's non-stop coverage as a "trial by media". Here again at one level, it is possible to sympathise with the neta. Once you've been pronounced guilty in the court of the media, what chance of survival in the real courtroom? And yet, the fact is that the media is not just influencing public opinion, but mirroring it too. The politician may complain of sting operations being unethical, but the viewer is convinced that it needs the hidden camera to expose the seamier side of our netas. In the eyes of the public, Soren is a murderer who has no business being in the cabinet, Manu Sharma is a killer using political clout to get away, Vikas Yadav is a thug who deserves to be locked up, Mohammed Shahabuddin is a menace who must be kept off the streets.
In a sense, we now see an unusual coalition emerging: the judiciary and the media on one side ranged against the politician on the other. More importantly, the citizen - the fulcrum of a democracy - is cheering the judiciary-media combine along. The result: an uneven battle is now becoming a battle of equals. This may not result in a healthier, more vibrant democracy, nor will it clean up our political system overnight. But with every politician who is exposed in the media or convicted by the courts, a sense of hope is restored in the eyes of the common citizen. It may yet only be a candle in the wind, but it is glowing for now. And that alone should be reason to cheer.About the AuthorRajdeep Sardesai Rajdeep Sardesai was the Editor-in-Chief, IBN18 Network, that includes CNN-IBN, IBN 7 and IBN Lokmat. He has covered some of the biggest stories in I...Read Morefirst published:December 29, 2006, 12:24 ISTlast updated:December 29, 2006, 12:24 IST
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The day union minister Shibhu Soren was sentenced to life imprisonment for murder, the mood in parliament's central hall was distinctly somber. "Bechara Shibhu," said one member of parliament. "Phas gaya Shibhu", lamented another. As the MPs debated the verdict, one of them who is facing a possible conviction in a corruption case, protested, "These bloody courts, they just want to target politicians." That statement was enough to lead another member of the esteemed gathering to remark, "Don't worry, tumhara number bhee aayega (your name too will come) !" There was a loud laugh across the room as the MPs glanced at each other. Their laughter betrayed a sense of nervousness. For the first time in years, the Indian politician, the modern day rajah, is confronted with an emotion that he has not experienced so far: fear.
Typically, our netas fear no one. The bureaucrats have been crushed so there isn't really any one within babudom who will dare challenge the existing order. Should anyone choose to do so, there is always the power to have the defiant bureaucrat transferred to Jhumritaliya, no questions asked. As for police officers, again how many would even think of taking on the politician? Unless, of course, the officer is happy not being promoted, or worse being transferred every two months. As for political opponents, the tribal principle applies: when in danger, self-preservation will ensure that we all stick together (the parliament debate over the office of profit bill was a classic example).
Into this blissful, "don't worry, be happy" universe has entered an institution which seems to exist outside the immediate domain of the politician's authority : the courts. That the judiciary could act as a check and balance in the system is long proven: remember, the Allahabad high court judgement that led to the emergency in 1975, or even the judicial pronouncements in the JMM bribery case. But where a decade ago, the politician versus judiciary battle was the exception, today it is rapidly becoming the rule. And whereas earlier it was the higher judiciary that seemed more inclined to take on the netas, now even the lower courts have joined the battle. Barely a week passes without the judiciary taking on the political system in some form or the other. If one day, the courts are stripping the politicians of their legal immunity in the event of prosecution, the next day the court is admitting petitions challenging parliament's right to pass the office of profit bill.
In a sense, 2006 has been a year when a gradual transformation has taken place from a parliamentary democracy to a judicial courtocracy. More and more issues of public policy - be it the height of a dam or the areas to be sealed - are decided in courts and not in legislatures or cabinet meetings. The union cabinet can decide on reservation policies, the court is inclined to question them. Chief ministers can give the green signal to setting up special economic zones, public interest litigations can challenge the policy in court. Even MPs disqualified by parliament in the cash for questions sting can go to the court seeking redressal.
This tendency of the judiciary to play god has angered the politician. Who are the courts to decide what is purely within the purview of the legislature, thunders the Lok Sabha Speaker, himself a lawyer turned politician. Somnath Chatterjee's fulminations are, at one level, understandable. If the lines between the judiciary and the legislature are blurred beyond recognition, then how will a parliamentary democracy's basic principle of separation of powers operate? Where does legislative writ end and judicial authority begin? Should legislators and public servants be constantly looking over their shoulder, worried how their actions will be interpreted by the courts? And what of our honourable justices themselves: how many of them can truly claim to be men and women of integrity? Cushioned by archaic contempt provisions that for a long time did not allow truth to be a defence in a contempt case, can the judiciary be above scrutiny? Isn't the manner in which the national judicial commission has been constituted a classic example of how the judges too are unwilling to be subject to external accountability?
All the questions raised here are valid, especially if seen purely in constitutional terms. Unfortunately, for our netas (and fortunately for this country), politics doesn't operate solely on legal niceties: there is a powerful and enduring ethical and moral dimension to public life. Its this moral-ethical dimension that the judiciary seems to be constantly invoking. Sure, there are horrific stories of judges on the take (and not just in the lower judiciary), but the fact is that as an institution the judiciary is seen in the eyes of the common citizen to be less venal than the country's politicians. Its this public perception that is making the critical difference in any judiciary versus politician battle.
Take the Shibhu Soren case itself. There are eminent lawyers who will tell you that Shibhu's guilt has not been proved "beyond reasonable doubt" as is required in a criminal trial, that much of the evidence gathered against him is circumstantial, and is not enough to directly indict him for murder. And yet, in the public gaze - outside his pocket borough in Jharkhand - Soren is seen to be someone who "must have" murdered his secretary. The evidence may not be strictly foolproof in purely legal terms, but its still strong enough for most people to believe that a man with his track record must have used money and muscle power to kill. For most judges, that is enough today to push ahead in sentencing the union minister.
A large part of this public perception has been fashioned by another player in the mix: the media. Till recently, the neta had no reason to fear the media, convinced that the fourth estate could be seduced or intimdated: a Rajya Sabha seat could be a bait, an FIR could be a weapon. Sure, the odd story might hurt a politician's interests, but most netas were certain that today's news is tomorrow's history, and public amnesia would guarantee no long term threat to position. But that was in an era where the media was smaller, less diverse, less competitive. Competition has made the Indian media often descend to the most abysmal depths of news coverage, where the kiss of a fourth rate starlet becomes a national headline as does the love story of a Patna university professor. But for all their mindlessness, 24 hour news networks have also made certain that there is no place to hide for anyone in public life.
The politician's response has been to cry foul, to deride the media's non-stop coverage as a "trial by media". Here again at one level, it is possible to sympathise with the neta. Once you've been pronounced guilty in the court of the media, what chance of survival in the real courtroom? And yet, the fact is that the media is not just influencing public opinion, but mirroring it too. The politician may complain of sting operations being unethical, but the viewer is convinced that it needs the hidden camera to expose the seamier side of our netas. In the eyes of the public, Soren is a murderer who has no business being in the cabinet, Manu Sharma is a killer using political clout to get away, Vikas Yadav is a thug who deserves to be locked up, Mohammed Shahabuddin is a menace who must be kept off the streets.
In a sense, we now see an unusual coalition emerging: the judiciary and the media on one side ranged against the politician on the other. More importantly, the citizen - the fulcrum of a democracy - is cheering the judiciary-media combine along. The result: an uneven battle is now becoming a battle of equals. This may not result in a healthier, more vibrant democracy, nor will it clean up our political system overnight. But with every politician who is exposed in the media or convicted by the courts, a sense of hope is restored in the eyes of the common citizen. It may yet only be a candle in the wind, but it is glowing for now. And that alone should be reason to cheer.
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