India’s strength has always been its ability to balance diversity of thought with the supremacy of law, but the current climate reveals a dangerous slide backwards from that ideal. The recent sequence of events surrounding Chief Justice B.R. Gavai illustrates how rapidly public discourse is abandoning constitutional maturity and embracing mob-style intimidation. It began with the ruling party’s attempt to symbolically woo Dalit voters before the Bihar elections by inviting Kamala Gavai, the CJI’s mother, to an RSS centenary event. She politely declined, citing her Ambedkarite convictions and her late husband’s lifelong commitment to social justice. Instead of respecting her choice, a torrent of online abuse followed, targeting not just her but also her deceased husband, exposing the intolerance festering beneath political opportunism. This episode signalled a disturbing mindset—when persuasion fails, coercion takes its place.
This escalation reached its shameful climax inside the Supreme Court itself when senior advocate Rakesh Kishore hurled a shoe toward the Chief Justice during a live hearing, shouting religious slogans. That the nation’s highest court, the temple of constitutional justice, could become a stage for such spectacle is a damning reflection of how far civic discipline has eroded. Kishore’s justification was not a principled legal argument but personal outrage over a speech where the CJI had stated that India is governed by the rule of law, not bulldozers. Instead of countering the argument with reason or seeking redress through legal channels, he chose humiliation and disruption. Such acts do not merely disrespect an individual; they desecrate the very institution that safeguards the Constitution. They normalise contempt for law, signalling that violence and theatrics can replace dialogue and jurisprudence.
This behaviour is not isolated. History shows that intolerance toward dissent invariably begins with targeting individuals who hold authority—whether it was Gandhi, who was assassinated because his idea of India clashed with extremist narratives, or judges who are now vilified and physically attacked for decisions perceived as inconvenient. The same mindset drives both acts: a refusal to engage with opposing ideas and an obsession with silencing them. The moment a society accepts such conduct as a legitimate form of protest, democracy ceases to be a contest of ideas and becomes a battleground of egos.
Such incidents also erode the sanctity of the judiciary, which is the last bulwark against executive excess and majoritarian impulses. If judges must fear for their safety or their families’ dignity, their independence is compromised. They may hesitate to deliver unpopular verdicts, and the scales of justice may tilt under the weight of intimidation. Moreover, dragging the CJI’s family into political theatre undermines the separation between constitutional offices and electoral politics. Judges are not meant to be vote-bank instruments, nor are their relatives to be exploited as symbolic endorsements. The rule of law demands that constitutional offices remain above partisan games.
What is equally alarming is the growing tendency to equate judicial scrutiny with hostility to religion or nationalism. Court rulings on matters like Jallikattu, Dahi Handi, or demolition drives are interpreted not through the lens of legality but through sectarian sentiment. This reframing is corrosive because it delegitimises the judiciary’s role as a neutral arbiter. It also emboldens individuals to believe that if a judgment offends their faith or ideology, they are entitled to attack the judge rather than challenge the verdict through appeals, reviews, or public discourse. That is not democracy; that is mob rule dressed up as patriotism.
India has witnessed similar assaults on judicial dignity before—whether it was the chaos inside the Patiala House courts during the JNU sedition hearings or lawyers resorting to strikes despite clear Supreme Court rulings declaring such actions illegal. Each time, the judiciary stood firm, but repeated incidents chip away at public confidence and institutional authority. And once that confidence collapses, it is the powerless and marginalised who suffer most, for they depend on the judiciary for protection against the might of the state and the majority.
The bullet that killed Gandhi and the shoe flung at the Chief Justice are separated by decades but united by an identical impulse: destroy or humiliate anyone who disagrees. Such thinking is a symptom of intellectual cowardice and societal decay. It fears debate because it knows it cannot win on the strength of reason. If we allow this mentality to thrive, we reduce democracy to a circus where noise replaces dialogue, intimidation replaces justice, and anger replaces accountability. Attacking a judge does not strengthen faith, protect culture, or defend democracy—it only signals that the very foundations of our republic are under siege from those who claim to protect it. If India is to progress, it must draw a hard line: ideas must be challenged with ideas, not with bullets, abuse, or shoes. Anything less is a betrayal of the Constitution and the civilisation it seeks to uphold.
