Spare The Judiciary: Don’t Politicise Impeachment

A mere notice does not automatically trigger the removal process. Under the Judges (Inquiry) Act, 1968, the Speaker of the Lok Sabha must scrutinise the motion and decide whether to admit it. This discretion is not ornamental. It is the constitutional guardrail designed to prevent impeachment from becoming a partisan tool of fear and pressure. When the grounds disclosed in a motion amount to disagreement with the reasoning of a judgment, rather than credible allegations of impropriety, the Speaker’s duty is not to “let the process play out”, but to say a firm constitutional no.

Constitutional Mechanism for Protecting Judges

Our constitution framers understood a simple truth: a judiciary that can be punished for unpopular decisions will soon stop delivering any other kind. That is why Articles 124(4) and 217 of the Constitution set a deliberately high bar for the removal of judges: first, there must be proven misbehaviour or incapacity, and second, a special majority in both Houses of Parliament must vote for removal.

The process is difficult by design. It was never meant to be a routine political instrument or a megaphone for moral outrage. The Judges (Inquiry) Act translates these principles into a carefully staged procedure: notice, admission, inquiry by a committee, findings, and only then, if warranted, a final vote.

Of all these stages, the admission stage is the most crucial safeguard. Even if one hundred MPs sign a notice, the Speaker “may either admit the motion or refuse to admit the same”. This gatekeeping role is foundational. It ensures that a constitutional remedy does not degenerate into a pressure tactic every time a judgment displeases a powerful constituency.

Parliamentary History Has Already Drawn the Line

Our own parliamentary practice has been very clear on where that line lies.

In 2018, the Chairman of the Rajya Sabha rejected a motion to remove then Chief Justice of India Dipak Misra, noting that the allegations did not disclose the kind of clear, serious misconduct required to justify triggering the removal mechanism. He underlined that the remedy of impeachment cannot become a proxy for disagreement with judicial interpretation or a platform for advancing political grievances.

Earlier, a motion against Justice J.C. Shah in the Lok Sabha was dismissed as frivolous and unsupported. Where removal proceedings were allowed to go forward: as in the cases against Justices V. Ramaswami, Soumitra Sen and P.D. Dinakaran, they involved grave allegations of financial impropriety or serious abuse of administrative office, not interpretive disagreement.

A simple, central principle emerges from these precedents: Judicial reasoning, even when controversial, is not misbehaviour.

If the door is opened to treating unpopular judgments as “misconduct”, then no judge, on any Bench, in any politically sensitive case, will be secure.

Not an Isolated Aberration: A Pattern of Intimidation

The present move is not an isolated incident.

Rather, recent past is replete with attempts to insinuate and influence the judiciary. It is the latest chapter in a clear and deeply alarming pattern in our recent constitutional history, where sections of the political class have made it a settled tactic to smear and strong-arm the higher judiciary whenever verdicts do not serve their interests.

We saw it in the brazen attempt in 2018 to drag then Chief Justice of India Dipak Misra into an impeachment process on flimsy, unsubstantiated grounds, preceded and accompanied by press conferences, leaks and innuendo designed to paint him as “remote-controlled” by the executive.

We saw it in the way Chief Justice Ranjan Gogoi was hounded—through a relentless media trial, insinuations about his integrity, and targeted campaigns around every sensitive Bench he headed, from Ayodhya to NRC and Rafale—so that every unpopular outcome was laid at the door of his character rather than his reasoning.

We saw it in the treatment of Chief Justice S.A. Bobde, whose off-the-cuff courtroom remarks were wrenched out of context, whose photograph on a motorcycle was turned into a national morality play, and whose every move was caricatured as evidence of bias or weakness.

We have seen it again with Chief Justice Dr. D.Y. Chandrachud, vilified from extremes of the political spectrum, being attacked especially to the latter part of his tenure.

And now, the targeted attacks being mounted against the incumbent CJI, Justice Surya Kant, whenever a judgment or even a stray courtroom remark cuts against a political narrative, follow the same script of delegitimisation.

This is not honest, reasoned criticism of judicial decisions; it is the calculated weaponisation of impeachment rhetoric and public slander as instruments of coercion — a corrosive practice that seeks to terrorise judges into conformity, strikes at the lifeblood of judicial independence, and tears at the basic fabric of India’s constitutional democracy.

Seen together, these episodes send a chilling message: judges will be named, shamed, threatened and, where possible, subjected to removal processes simply because their constitutional duty has brought them into conflict with political narratives of the day.

Judicial Reasoning Is Not Misconduct

The motion against Justice Swaminathan is based, in substance, on disagreement with his reasoning in the Tirupparankundram Deepam case. The matter involved contested questions of religious practice, administrative regulation and constitutional rights. Faced with competing claims, the judge did what judges are duty-bound to do: he applied the law as he understood it to the facts before him.

One may, of course, agree or disagree with his conclusions. That is why appellate courts exist. That is why we have review and curative processes. Robust criticism of judgments, including from the Bar and from Parliament, is not only permissible; it is healthy for a constitutional democracy.

But criticism has a place, and impeachment has a different place. To confuse the two is to rewrite the Constitution by practice.

No mature democracy removes judges for their judgments. To do so would blur the line between independence and obedience, making judges answerable not to the Constitution, but to the mood of Parliament. Once that line is crossed, every future Bench knows that deciding “the wrong way” on a politically charged issue may invite a removal motion. That is not accountability; that is institutional hostage-taking.

The Dharma of an MP: Is This Why People Elect Their Representatives?

There is a deeper, moral question that must be asked without euphemism.

What is the constitutional dharma of a Member of Parliament?

Is this why citizens stand in long queues at polling booths—
so that their representatives may: use impeachment as a political whip? Or punish judges for inconvenient decisions? Or float impeachment threats as warnings for future cases?

Or is it so that MPs may protect institutions, not undermine them; uphold the spirit of the Constitution, not hollow it out; and safeguard judicial independence, not coerce it into compliance?

An MP who uses the impeachment mechanism as a weapon against judges who do not echo partisan expectations is not performing their constitutional duty, but betraying it. Over time, this behaviour normalises the idea that judges are expected to be “responsive” to political sentiment or face consequences. That is not how checks and balances work.

Congress and the Quest for a ‘Committed’ Judiciary

To understand why the present move is so troubling, we must also place it in the long shadow of history - particularly the Congress party’s record of trying to mould the judiciary into a “committed” ally of the ruling dispensation.

From the late 1960s onwards, the Congress leadership repeatedly clashed with the higher judiciary over constitutional amendments and fundamental rights. When the Supreme Court, by a narrow majority in Kesavananda Bharati, held that Parliament’s power of amendment could not be used to destroy the “basic structure” of the Constitution, the Government of the day reacted not with reflection, but retaliation.

1973: Supersession After Kesavananda - In April 1973, the Indira Gandhi Government departed from the long-respected convention of appointing the seniormost judge as Chief Justice of India. It superseded three senior judges—Justices J.M. Shelat, K.S. Hegde and A.N. Grover, all in the majority in Kesavananda—and appointed Justice A.N. Ray, who had dissented, as CJI. The three superseded judges resigned. The message was unmistakable: judges who resist the Government’s constitutional preferences will pay a price.

Emergency-Era Punishments for ‘Non-Compliant’ Judges - During the Emergency (1975–77), this logic hardened into a systematic practice. High Court judges who ruled against arbitrary detentions and defended civil liberties found themselves transferred or denied confirmation. Journalists like Kuldip Nayar and others have recorded how judges who granted habeas relief were abruptly demoted or shunted to distant courts—an unmistakable signal to the rest of the judiciary.

ADM Jabalpur and the Price of Dissent - In the notorious ADM Jabalpur v. Shivkant Shukla case, a Constitution Bench of the Supreme Court held, by a 4:1 majority, that during the Emergency citizens could not even move the courts for habeas corpus to challenge illegal detentions. Justice H.R. Khanna’s lone dissent—insisting that the right to life and personal liberty could not be extinguished by a proclamation—cost him the Chief Justiceship. He was superseded in 1977 despite being the seniormost judge, and resigned.

Once again, a judge who stood up for liberty was punished; those who endorsed the Government’s view went on to become Chief Justices.

Rewarding ‘Loyalty’ With Posts and Honours - Congress’s imprint on judicial independence did not end with supersessions. The post-retirement trajectories of some judges tell their own story—whether it is Justice Ranganath Misra, who, after heading the Commission of Inquiry into the 1984 anti-Sikh violence and giving the party a clean chit, went on to serve as CJI, NHRC Chairperson and later a Congress MP; or Justice M.H. Beg, elevated over Justice Khanna and subsequently rewarded with high positions and honours.

2018: The Attempted Impeachment of CJI Dipak Misra - Fast forward to 2018. A group of opposition parties led by the Congress moved a notice to impeach Chief Justice Dipak Misra. The allegations were, at best, vague and unsubstantiated; the pattern was familiar. When the CJI did not meet certain political expectations, the removal mechanism was dragged onto the stage. Rajya Sabha Chairman M. Venkaiah Naidu rejected the motion at the admission stage, underscoring that impeachment cannot be used as a political tactic to intimidate the judiciary.

From the Emergency till today, a trend of slyly tarnishing the judiciary as “compromised” whenever outcomes do not favour Congress has continued. Judges who do not “fall in line” are attacked, threatened and browbeaten—whether it was Ranjan Gogoi, S.A. Bobde, D.Y. Chandrachud, or now the attempt to send a signal through Justice G.R. Swaminathan.

The present notice is, therefore, not just another skirmish. It sits on top of a long-running project to secure a “committed” and pliant judiciary—one that is committed not to the Constitution, but to the political interests of those in power or in waiting.

A Dangerous Trend: Normalising the Browbeating of Judges

The true menace lies not merely in this particular motion, but in the culture it risks normalising, from scapegoating judges personally for their conclusions to punishing judicial independence through orchestrated outrage. Even a failed or frivolous impeachment attempt produces a chilling effect. It whispers to every judge: Your independence will be tolerated only so long as it aligns with political expectations. A democracy where judges fear Parliament is a democracy already in decline.

Today, the target may be one High Court judge. Tomorrow, if this tactic is rewarded, it could be a Constitution Bench of the Supreme Court. Soon, every major case with political implications will carry a background soundtrack: “Decide this way—or face a motion.”

That is how institutional courage is slowly strangled.

We must, therefore, ask the question that lies at the heart of this moment: Are we expecting judges, before deciding cases, to first look towards politicians for assent? Must constitutional interpretation seek the prior consent of elected representatives? Are verdicts to be pre-cleared for political acceptability?

If this is the direction in which we are headed, then we are not merely weakening the judiciary, we are unmaking the Republic itself.

A judge who must anticipate political approval before interpreting the Constitution is no longer independent. Such a judiciary does not check power; it merely echoes it. And a Republic whose judges echo power has already lost the substance of the rule of law, even if its forms remain on paper.

The Speaker’s Constitutional Burden

The notice against Justice Swaminathan now lies before the Speaker of the Lok Sabha. His responsibility is constitutional, not partisan, and he must ask a simple, legally tractable question:

• Does this motion allege proven misbehaviour or incapacity, supported even prima facie by specific facts?
• Or does it merely dress up a disagreement with judicial reasoning in the language of outrage?

If the latter, as is plainly the case, then the Speaker not only may reject it; but is under a constitutional duty to do so. To admit such a motion would be to convert what ought to be a narrow, exceptional remedy into a routine instrument of political signalling.

Once the admission stage becomes mechanical, triggered whenever a political bloc gathers enough signatures, the entire impeachment mechanism unravels into a partisan tool. The damage will not be limited to one judge; it will corrode the dignity of Parliament and the independence of the judiciary alike.

Where India Must Draw the Line

The stakes could not be higher. If impeachment becomes a tool of political retaliation; if MPs abandon their constitutional dharma; if judges are punished for their reasoning rather than for genuine misconduct; then the separation of powers does not erode slowly: it collapses in full public view.

For the sake of our Republic, for the future of constitutional governance, for the survival of a fearless judiciary, India must draw the line here. Don’t politicise impeachment. Reject the motion. Protect judicial independence.