Caste Pride and Gender: Why You Cannot Use One Kind of Abuse to Justify Another

More conducive settings are needed for the subordinated groups to talk to each other in respectful ways and in safer spaces.

The 2024 election results have shown the power of democracy and Dalit voters have played a key role. Among the other candidates who won, Sanjana Jatav and Varsha Gaikwad are the youngest Dalit members of the parliament. There is a need to step away from the rhetoric of ‘subaltern’ victimhood for a moment and pay more attention to anti-caste politics by listening more carefully to Dalit voices.

Aside from the unfolding of intense electoral politics this month, June, is celebrated as Pride Month in recognition of gender and sexual diversity. The idea of Pride is powerful in reclaiming identities and validating experiences that are otherwise subjected to stigma, derision, and abuse. Pride restores dignity and helps visibilise those who are rendered obscure and illegible in the social milieu. 

One such illegibility came to the fore during the question-and-answer session of a public lecture on ‘WEB Du Bois and his Vision of Democracy’ at Jawaharlal Nehru University (JNU) in Delhi recently. The speaker, noted academic Gayatri Chakravarty Spivak, didn’t let a student ask a question because she thought he was “a Brahminist,” and the student took to social media later and abused the speaker as “this Bastard and Bitch Lady.” 

This is a productive site for developing a comparative understanding of anti-caste politics through gender and caste-based abuses and for a broader formulation of the ideas of pride.

Caste-based identity and abuse

In an interview, the student defended his use of the gender-abusive. To do this, he Invoked caste-based abuse and identity. He said, “I am a Chamar. My entire caste and my existence is a term of abuse so why is purity of language expected of me?”

Chamar is derived from the root word cham (as in chamdi or skin). It is a caste category that is traditionally associated with people who were tasked with the disposal of animal carcasses and the processing of their skin for making leather. It is considered “impure,”and those who are assigned to this caste-based occupation are considered lowly and treated as “untouchable.” 

Chamar is listed as a Scheduled Caste. The word ‘chamar’ is also commonly used as a caste-based slur. Some people, including me, prefer self-identifying as Dalit – rather than with caste names which have been rendered derogatory. Others have sought to reclaim these slurs.

Also read: The Gayatri Spivak Controversy Is About the Implosion of ‘Subalternity’ in Public Discourse

A personal experience of gender-based abuse 

The incident at JNU reminded me of a personal experience from 10 years ago. I was about to enter the District Park in Haus Khas, Delhi, with workout music blasting in my earphones. Two men were walking in my direction and staring at me. There was a gap of a few seconds between two tracks of the music, that’s when I heard one of them say, “Chakka re chakka (look at that faggot).” It took me a moment to grasp what had happened. By then, the two men had walked out of the park, and the next track had started blasting in my ears. I was running and thinking to myself: 

Did that man really say what I heard? Why? Was it my clothes? Was it my gait? 

A fellow queer runner has said to me often that I “run like a girl.” It was harmless banter at the time. Yet, at this moment, that harmless banter came back to me. I checked my gait and wondered if my short shorts were too short. 

Social code of masculinity 

Writing about this experience on social media, I wanted to make a collective sense of it with the help of my friends and acquaintances, a group that included lawyers, scholars, activists, and a judge. A judicial magistrate in India noted that Section 504 of the Indian Penal Code (IPC) of 1860 would apply. Section 504 identifies insult and insulter in these words: 

Intentional insult with intent to provoke breach of the peace—Whoever intentionally insults, and thereby gives provocation to any person, intending or knowing it to be likely that such provocation will cause him to break the public peace, or to commit any other offence. 

Did the two men intend “to provoke breach of the peace”? I do not know their intention.

If I were to speculate, I would think they intended to entertain themselves with a commonplace humour that happens to be homophobic. If I were to dig a little deeper into their intention, I might speculate that they were motivated by their ideas of masculinity. My skimpy clothes and my gait might have been contrary to such ideas. Consciously or unconsciously, the two men served as social agents for enforcing an unwritten code of masculinity. 

Caste-based abuse and a legal protection limited by intention

 There is a special legislation for protection from caste-based violence, The Scheduled Castes and the Scheduled Tribes (Prevention of Atrocities) Act of 1989, referred to in short as the SC/ST Act or the PoA. Section 3 (1) (r) states: 

3. Punishments for offences of atrocities. — 

    1. Whoever, not being a member of a Scheduled Caste or a Scheduled Tribe,— … 

(r) intentionally insults or intimidates with intent to humiliate a member of a Scheduled Caste or a Scheduled Tribe in any place within public view; …

shall be punishable with imprisonment for a term which shall not be less than six months but which may extend to five years and with fine. 

Born to “untouchable,” Jatav, Chamar, and Dalit parents, I am a member of a Scheduled Caste (SC), and I think the two men intended to humiliate me. That would not be sufficient for invoking the SC/ST Act because it penalises only certain kinds of insults inflicted by non-SC or non-ST persons upon SC or ST persons. Presuming the two men were non-SC/ST, for Section 3 (1) (r) to apply, their insult must be based on caste in some way. For example, if they were to say, “look at that chamar,” that could be an offence under the SC/ST Act.

Along these lines, I am reminded of another incident when I was a law student. In a casual conversation, a classmate who was Muslim remarked on something personal about me and laughingly said, “Sumit, you’re such a Chamar.” My facial expression must have changed because she immediately said, “You know I didn’t mean it that way.” Regardless of her intentions in the delivery of caste-based abuse, the injury was inflicted on me. It’s etched in my memory, such that I haven’t forgotten it in almost 30 years.

Name-calling as a means of insult

Even according to judicial decisions, some caste names are used as a means of insult. Drawing upon an analogy with abusive name-calling like “nigger” or “negro” for African Americans, the Supreme Court of India has stated

[U]ses of the words “pallan”, “pallapayal” “parayan” or “paraparayan” with intent to insult is highly objectionable and is also an offence under the SC/ST Act. It is just unacceptable in the modern age, just as the words “Nigger” or “Negro” are unacceptable for African-Americans today.

The analogy of racialised slurs with caste names in India presents a combined understanding of insults based on caste and race. Similarly, there could be a combined understanding of insults based on caste and gender. “Look at that faggot” is not an insult based on caste, yet, I would say, the intention to insult is analogous to insults based on caste. 

Aside from broad analogies such as these, I ask myself, would I have felt any more or less insulted if I were called “Chamar” instead of “chakka by the two men in the park? The answer is no. I would have felt equally insulted at being called either of the two. The former is a slur based on caste, and the latter is a homophobic slur based on misogyny and patriarchal ideas of masculinity. They are both intended to secure interlocking power systems of casteism and patriarchy. 

Competing victimhood of age, caste and gender

The JNU student has defended his gender-based abuse by self-identifying with caste-based abuse. The two are not at parity, though. Chamar is formally listed as a protected legal category. The gender-based abuse, “this bastard and bitch lady,” are not legal categories of protection. Here, language operates as a tool for inflicting insult. It is not a matter of “purity of language” – as claimed by the student. There is no defence to this abuse. 

On the other hand, it is not a criminal offence to call someone a bastard or a bitch. While calling someone “a Chamar” could result in criminal penalties. If someone who is not a member of the SC or the ST were to call the JNU student a Chamar – with the intent to humiliate him, it would qualify as a criminal offence under the SC/ST Act. In that sense, the JNU student’s caste position is legally protected in ways that the speaker’s gender position is not.

Of course, the speaker and the student are also different in their age and academic stature. In an interesting numerical reversal, one is 82, and the other is 28. The speaker is an accomplished academic, while the student is young and has yet to start his academic career. In that sense, he is more vulnerable to the effects of this controversy. 

Caste, pride, internal contestations and empathy

Sometimes, abusive words are reclaimed by those who are abused. This sort of reclamation is a political act that seeks to transform the humiliation of abuse into the power of pride. Depending on who uses it and how, the word queer could serve as an example of both abuse and reclamation in the context of gender and sexual diversity. Ginni Mahi’s 2016 song ‘Danger Chamar’ is an example of reclaiming caste-based abuse and infusing it with pride. Along similar lines, Doja Cat’s ‘Boss Bitch’ makes a self-referential statement of gender-based abuse, but it’s clear that the artiste is wearing it as a badge of honour, not an insult. 

The JNU student’s self-referential statement is emphatically and exclusively located within the typology of abuse. “I am a Chamar. My entire caste and my existence is a term of abuse..” is not a proud reclamation, it’s a poor excuse. Any self-identification with abuse cannot entitle anyone to abuse others. Rather, our experiences of abuse should make us more sensitive to how language operates to secure multiple forms of subordination. 

We should empathise with those who are routinely abused and not replicate the patterns of abuse. We should deploy the power of language to transform the humiliation of abuse into proud reclamations and push back against abusive expressions even if they seem to originate from among the same subordinate group of which we are part. In this case, the newly elected Member of Parliament, Sanjana Jatav, the JNU student, and I are all positioned similarly along the same caste lines–with significant differences in their genders (and perhaps sexualities).

Internal contestations are common in the seeming cohesiveness of the LGBTQIA+ (lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender, queer, intersex, asexual, plus) Pride. Broadening the understanding of pride along the caste lines helps in building intersectional solidarities among the subordinated groups. Plus, more conducive settings would help these groups to talk to each other in respectful ways and in safer spaces. 

Professor Dr. Sumit Baudh (they or he) teaches Caste Law and Representation, Intersectionality Applications and Analysis, among other courses. Parts of this opinion are drawn from a longer article, Invisibility of “Other” Dalits and Silence in the Law, published in 2017 in an academic journal, Biography. Posts on X @BaudhSumit

 

Transgender Student Asked to Leave School in Guwahati Over Instagram Post

“I can’t risk her life by sending her in such a toxic environment where students are policed and shamed,” the student’s mother said.

New Delhi: A transgender student enrolled at Guwahati’s South Point School was asked to leave the school after the principal objected to the student’s social media activity.

The class XI student, a minor, had posted photos of herself in a bathing suit on her personal Instagram account.

The student’s mother, Indrani Chakraborty, said that the school principal K. Chanda called her daughter on the night of June 10 and asked to speak with her guardians. He referred to the student’s social media post as “shameful and disgusting” and suggested the student be withdrawn from the school, she alleged.

“Parents/Guardians of [name redacted] of class 11, South Point School to meet me tomorrow in my office chamber positively at 11 am. [Student] to remain suspended from attending classes till further notice,” Chanda’s WhatsApp message dated June 10 read.

“[The principal] said that I should take my child out of the school as they find her social media post shameful and disgusting. She had posted a picture of a family pool date where she was wearing a swimsuit.

“On June 11, we went to meet the principal and were entertained by some teachers who were supportive of my daughter and said that they did not want her to leave the school as she is very inspiring,” Chakraborty alleged.

During the discussion with her teachers, Chanda said that the student could continue at the school if “she deleted her social media account, left her community and ongoing counseling sessions and followed the school counselor”, Chakraborty said.

“We denied [these conditions] and demanded a transfer certificate,” she said, adding that “I can’t risk her life by sending her in such a toxic environment where students are stalked, policed, shamed and suppressed. With whose permission did they invade my daughter’s privacy? Wearing a bathing suit at the pool is not illegal and it did not happen at the school premises.” Chakraborty continued that moral policing and character assassination will not be tolerated.

The Wire reached out to Chanda regarding the allegations. Referring to the student’s transition, Chanda said that the student received full support from the school in the process and was treated with respect.

“However, she shifted to her transgender community with her parents’ consent and started getting piercings and heavy tattoos done on herself [as well as] posting her seminude photos in sexually suggestive poses on social media. When asked to delete the photos, remove the piercings and cover up her tattoos, the parents flatly refused saying it’s their daughter’s right of self expression, even if she is a minor,” Chanda said.

The parents were told to either comply with the school’s directions in this matter or withdraw her from school, the principal said, adding that the parents then applied for a transfer certificate which was issued.

Associate vice-chairperson of the State Transgender Welfare Board Rituparna said, “A letter to the school [has been] issued from the State Transgender Welfare Board asking for an explanation for [this incident]. We are strictly taking note of this incident and such incidents must stop in education institutions. We want accountability from the school authorities and they must adhere to the existing law.”

Not the first instance of harassment

Referring to incidents related to bullying by her classmates, Chakraborty said, “Every day she has to deal with a lot, which has hampered her mental health severely.”

“There were even incidents of molestation but the guilty students were just warned and let go. Is that not more ‘shameful and disgusting’? Why were those students not expelled,” Chakraborty asked.

Chanda denied any such incident happening on the school premises. “No molestation ever took place at the school, only a few instances of verbal bullying [occured] that were dealt with [using] sensitisation sessions of students by our school counselor who is trained and engaged for this purpose,” he said.

On being asked why the school is concerned about a student’s private social media account or whether she lives with her community, the principal said, “[The] school is not concerned about the student’s social media account but what is posted by the holder and its impact on herself and others. Decision on living with her community is the parents’ prerogative but the school suggested the parents take care of their minor daughter themselves unless there are pressing issues not to.”

“I am prioritising my daughter’s mental health and standing by her side. I condemn the school’s attitude, violation of my daughter’s privacy and character assassination,” Chakraborty said.

“As a mother, I also demand an explanation regarding the act of calling at night and asking to take my child out of the school. If she takes any harmful step after so much humiliation and shaming, who shall be held responsible? These are the reasons why trans students drop out of schools so early,” she added.

What Parties’ Election Manifestos Tell Us of the State of LGBTQIA+ Rights

As India approaches the 2024 general election, the debate over LGBTQIA+ rights is conspicuous by its absence in the election campaign.

Aristotle made speech the essence of politics and posterity concurred with him. Modern democratic thought – from deliberative democracy to participatory politics – focuses overwhelmingly on voice, speech, and discourse. Speech, however, cannot be intelligible unless permeated by silence. There is meaning in what is said and in what is left unsaid as well. Silence speaks louder than words in some contexts. It denotes, sometimes, apathy and chicanery in political discourse.

The Indian general election 2024 is the greatest exercise of democracy in the history of mankind. Hence, the themes and narratives in this electoral discourse are crucial not only for Indian politics but for global society and world politics too.

The electoral debate will deliver an itinerary for the future course of political and social agenda. So, the ideas expressed and themes suppressed in the manifestoes of the political parties are worth examination and discussion.

India has umpteen political parties based on caste and religious identities, ideologies, and personality cults. Let’s examine the manifestoes of the major political parties to discern their attitude towards LGBTQIA+ rights in India.

LGBTQIA+: The humans without rights

Hilary Clinton, the then US Secretary of State, in her Human Rights Day speech in 2011, said the LGBTQIA+ community were an ‘invisible minority’ as the violations of their rights are not seen due to cultural and customs barriers prevailing in many countries.

She said:

“They are arrested, beaten, terrorised, even executed. Many are treated with contempt and violence by their fellow citizens while authorities empowered to protect them look the other way or, too often, even join in the abuse. They are denied opportunities to work and learn, driven from their homes and countries, and forced to suppress or deny who they are to protect themselves from harm. I am talking about gay, lesbian, bisexual, and transgender people, human beings born free and given bestowed equality and dignity, who have a right to claim that, which is now one of the remaining human rights challenges of our time.”

Also read: Narendra Modi and the Question of Invoking Religion in Poll Speeches

A decade later, these observations are relevant to India. Political parties, the makers and vehicles of public opinion, can contribute significantly to combat homophobia and to save the LGBTQIA+ community from the ‘invisible apartheid ‘ prevailing in the nation.

It is no secret that “cis-temic” oppression and invisible apartheid drive many queer people to suicide. One of the pioneers of LGBTQIA+ activism in Kerala, Kishor Kumar, is learned to have died by suicide in Kozhikode on April 6, this year. He was a founder member of the Queerala and the GAMA, welfare groups for queer people, and has authored books about his experiences and perspective as a gay man in Kerala. His friends allege that he had been facing harassment at the apartment he lived in for a long time, by homophobic neighbours. Homophobic campaigns, also propelled by some religious organisations, in cyberspace, are toxic and lethal, in Kerala.

Marriage equality is now a pie in the sky for the Indian LGBTQIA+ community since the Supreme Court unanimously ruled against legalising same-sex marriage in India in December 2023. The court held that the legislature must decide on bringing in same-sex marriage. This makes same-sex marriage an issue worth discussing this election.

The Yogyakarta Principles of 2007 addressed a broad range of human rights standards and their application to issues of sexual orientation and gender identity. The Principles affirm the primary obligation of States to ensure human rights of the LGBTQIA+ community. The Supreme Court of India held that the Yogyakarta Principles conform to the constitutional view of fundamental rights when decriminalising homosexuality in the case of Navtej Singh Johar v. Union of India (2018). But India has miserably failed to live up to the Yogyakarta Principles.

The silence of the parties

Indian state and society are still disregarding its citizen’s rights and individuality. The election manifestoes of the major political parties amply demonstrate the lethargy and apathy of the Indian political class towards LGBTQIA+ issues. Some of the major parties in India have presented their election manifestos for the general elections of 2024.

The dominant Bharatiya Janata Party (BJP), anchored in conservative ideology and majoritarian outlook, is lukewarm on LGBTQIA+ issues. In its manifesto, the BJP has conveniently forgotten this silent minority. The sole consolation is that the BJP vows to include transgender people in the Ayushman Bharat system and expansion of the network of Garima Grahas to cater to the needs of transgender individuals. However, the party stands tight-lipped on legal rights or social acceptance policies for the queer community. This demonstrates the BJP’s social regressiveness and hostility towards LGBTQIA+ rights advocacy.

The Congress has released its ambitious Nyay Patra. It promised the enactment of a legislation to legalise civil unions for LGBTQIA+ couples as one of its goals. But is wholly exiguous as the party shied away from the question of marriage equality and the abolition of conversion therapy. Additionally, Congress promises a constitutional amendment to include sexual orientation as a ground for no discrimination under Articles 15 and 16 of the constitution. This is the only worthy promise for the queer community in India during this election season.

The Communist Party of India (Marxist) implicitly supports Congress’ progressive position on LGBTQIA+ rights. While the party’s manifesto does not specifically address these concerns, its support for Congress indicates a readiness to push legislative attempts to promote inclusion and equality.

Similarly, the Aam Aadmi Party (AAP) promotes a “gender-affirming” approach, emphasising the necessity of providing safe spaces for LGBTQIA+ people. Both parties reflect the wider progressive spirit but lack clarity and commitment.

As India approaches the 2024 general elections, the debate over LGBTQIA+ rights is conspicuous by its absence in the campaign. While some parties, such as the Congress and the DMK, advocate for meagre policy changes and legal safeguards, others, such as the BJP, fall behind in recognising even the burning issues of the LGBTQIA+ population. Moving forward, political leaders must prioritise inclusion and equality, ultimately creating a more just and tolerant society for all. The nexus of politics and social justice necessitates aggressive actions to solve the long-standing issues faced by LGBTQIA+ people in India. But the silence of the political parties sounds aloud the apathy and lethargy of political class and society towards the queer community in India.

The Indian LGBTQIA+ person is “an infant crying in the night; an infant crying for the light; and with no language but a cry.” A cry is not enough, let them shout to assert their natural rights.

Faisal C.K is Deputy Law Secretary to the Government of Kerala.

Parth Raman is Director, Council for Policy Research and Analysis, New Delhi.

Views are personal.

Not in the Name of Gender Justice: Reflections on Uttarakhand’s UCC

The provisions of the Bill ignore constitutional guarantees of fundamental rights, judicial developments, people’s movements and concerns, and public discourse in India and elsewhere.

The much touted, much awaited Uttarakhand Bill on the Uniform Civil Code (UCC) has been passed. It seeks to unify family laws, spanning issues of marriage and divorce and their registration, restitution of conjugal rights and judicial separation, nullity of marriage and divorce, maintenance, alimony and custody, intestate and testamentary succession, and live-in relationships. Adoption, guardianship and surrogacy are conspicuous by their absence. In the past decades, the UCC has been projected as a tool to achieve nari shakti (empowerment of women) and gender justice was seen to be the goal, by equating uniformity with equality. This claim will be examined in this article.

An underlying presumption in family law is that marriages and intimate relationships are consensual, that they protect the constitutionally guaranteed fundamental rights and dignity of the parties concerned, and that the agency and decisional autonomy exercised by the concerned parties are acknowledged and protected. However, some provisions of the Bill are a cause of grave concern as they violate this fundamental principle. Three such provisions are highlighted and analysed below.

Registration of marriages, divorces and live-in relationships

The Bill, through clause 6, makes it mandatory for marriages to be registered subsequent to the commencement of the Code, if the marriage takes place in Uttarakhand or one of the parties is a resident of the state. Clause 7 makes it mandatory for marriages performed from 2010 (when the Uttarakhand Compulsory Registration of Marriage Act was enacted) to the commencement of this Code, to be registered, unless it has already been registered under the 2010 Act. Even when claims of curtailing child marriage and bigamy have been made in the past, the women’s movement in India has been reluctant to support mandatory registration of marriages, as the penal sanction and civil consequences attached to a failure to register, would disproportionately impact women. This is more so due to lower awareness of rights and law among them, and the power differentials between the spouses. Placing the onus of registration on women, many of whom are poor and illiterate, with no corresponding legal mandate of the state to create awareness of the same, seems unfair and unjust.

Similarly, registration of decrees of divorce and nullity passed after and before the commencement of the Code are also to be mandatorily registered, as per clauses 8 and 9 respectively. Since these are passed by courts (both within Uttarakhand and outside Uttarakhand with at least one party as a resident of the state), there could be a mechanism created that links the Registry with the courts, particularly as most courts are being digitised through the Union government’s initiative, rather than placing the onus on the individuals concerned.

While non-registration will not affect the validity of a marriage, as per clause 20, failure to register marriage, decrees of nullity and divorce would result in penal consequences – fine of up to Rs 25,000, as per clause 18(2). This is indeed very steep. One cannot imagine the predicament of poor and illiterate women who would be compelled to navigate administrative mechanisms for registration, and face the penal consequences upon their failure to do so.

The registers of marriage, nullity and divorce are open for public inspection, as per clause 15. In a country (and state) with rampant honour crimes, and parents’ and communities’ resistance to inter-caste, inter-religious and inter-class marriages, such public inspection is likely to exacerbate the situation of vulnerability of adult women in choice marriages without parental approval, and make them target of attacks. Public inspection of such registers would facilitate moral policing and tighten the stranglehold of the natal family on young women who exercise choice and autonomy in marriage.

The Bill also mandates persons in live-in relationships within the state, irrespective of whether or not they are residents of the state, to submit a statement of live-in relationship to the concerned Registrar (clause 378). This provision is justified through the murder of young women by their partner in a live-in relationship in recent years, such as Shraddha Walkar, Nikki Yadav and Megha Thorvi. However, we need to pause and ask ourselves if this protectionist approach by a paternalistic state will truly empower women. Spotlight must be shone on the role of natal family in rejecting the woman’s choice of partner, thereby depriving her of a support system when the relationship turned violent.

Further, failure to submit the statement within a month of commencement of the live-in relationship, entails imprisonment of up to three months, fine of up to Rs 10,000 or both, as per clause 387(1). The disparity in the penal consequence between failure to register a marriage and failure to register a live-in relationship, with the latter entailing imprisonment in addition to fine, is glaring.

A statement is also required to be submitted to the Registrar upon termination of the live-in relationship, as per clause 384. Upon such a submission, if either of the parties is below 21 years of age, the Registrar is also mandated to inform the parents/guardians of the party regarding the same, as per clause 385(3). This infantilises individuals aged 18-21 years who engage in such relationships.

Cumulatively, the chapter on live-in relationships compels adults living in consensual relationships, who may have deliberately avoided marriage and its legal consequences, to get enmeshed in administrative processes, thereby facilitating state scrutiny over them. As in the case of choice marriages, in live-in relationships too, this enables surveillance, moral policing and harassment by the natal family, community and possibly, the state machinery.

The only benefits available to those who register their live-in relationships are – avoidance of penal consequences, the woman can claim maintenance from her partner (under clause 388), and a child born from such a registered live-in relationship would be treated as legitimate, on par with other children, and consequently enjoy all rights including maintenance and property rights through intestate succession. It is unclear as to how these provisions would intersect with other legislations such as the Protection of Women from Domestic Violence Act, 2005, which seek to protect, among other categories of women, those in relationship in the nature of marriage. For instance, if a woman fails to submit the mandated statement to the Registrar, whether she would be entitled to protection under the PWDVA is anyone’s guess.

In a democratic country, adults living together in a consensual relationship ought not to be subjected to state monitoring through mandatory administrative procedures, in the guise of protecting the woman in the relationship. While society may frown upon or disapprove such relationships, such social morality ought not to colour a law. Through several judgments, the courts have affirmed the right of persons over 18 years of age to choose their intimate partner/spouse, irrespective of caste, religious or other differences. These include Lata Singh v. State of U.P., Arumugam Servai v. State of Tamil Nadu, Shakti Vahini vs. Union of India and Shafin Jahan v. Asokan K.M. The provisions on compulsory registration of marriage, divorce, decree of nullity and commencement and termination of live-in relationships make a mockery out of such jurisprudence.

Retention of restitution of conjugal rights

The Bill has retained restitution of conjugal rights (RCR) as a matrimonial remedy at a time when its constitutional validity has been challenged in the Supreme Court. Clause 21 of the Bill is a copy paste of section 9 of the Hindu Marriage Act and section 22 of the Special Marriage Act. This is a regressive provision with colonial origin, that legally compels unwilling spouses to live together in the name of cohabitation, consortium, companionship and conjugality. Though on the face of it, it is a gender neutral provision, it has disproportionate and adverse ramifications for the wife who may be subjected to rape and forcible pregnancy by the husband.

This provision violates the right to live with dignity, bodily integrity, sexual autonomy, privacy, decisional autonomy, agency and reproductive rights and health, which every woman, including married women, are entitled to. Such rights  have been upheld in various judgments. These include Justice Puttuswamy vs. Union of India (right to privacy), Navtej Singh Johar vs. Union of India (sexual autonomy), Laxmi Mandal v. Deen Dayal Harinagar Hospital & Ors. (access to reproductive health), Sandesh Bansal v. Union of India (state responsibility in protecting and protecting women’s reproductive health), and X vs. Principal Secretary – Health & Family Welfare Department (right of unmarried women and survivors of marital rape to terminate pregnancy).

Interestingly, in 1983, the Andhra Pradesh high court, in T. Sareetha vs. T. Venkata Subbiah, observed that “the origin of this uncivilised remedy in our ancient country is only recent and is wholly illegitimate” and further said: “the decree for restitution of conjugal rights makes the unwilling victim’s body a soulless and a joyless vehicle for bringing into existence another human being. In other words, pregnancy would be foisted on her by the state and against her will.” The T. Sareetha judgment, delivered close to a century after Rukhmabai judgment, interrogated the same issue which is relevant even at present – the role of the state in interfering with sexual autonomy and bodily integrity of a woman within the institution of marriage.

In a report released in 2015 by a government-appointed high level committee on the status of women, it recommended that provisions related to RCR that exist in various statutes should be deleted. It reasoned out that the provision is only being used to defeat wife’s claim for maintenance and served little purpose, and had no place in independent India. Likewise, the Law Commission of India, in its consultation paper on family law reforms, published in 2018, recommended its deletion from the statute books. The Uttarakhand Bill turned a blind eye to these recommendations, and is a missed opportunity for eliminating this regressive matrimonial remedy from the statute book, thereby promoting gender justice.

Non-recognition of rights of trans and queer persons

Clause 3(1)(j) of the Bill defines “person” as “an individual, whether male or female, and the expressions “he/she”, “his/her”, “her/him” and “herself/himself” shall be construed accordingly. The Bill is replete with references to son and daughter, husband and wife, brother and sister, completely excluding the transgender persons from the purview of the Bill and the rights and protections it may accord.  Alternatively, it compels them to adhere to their gender assigned at birth, which violates their constitutionally guaranteed rights.

The NALSA judgment of 2014 recognised the rights of transgender persons, and the Transgender Persons (Protection of Rights) Act 2019 provided statutory recognition of the same. In 2019, through the judgment of Arun Kumar vs. Inspector General of Registration, the Madras high court recognised a trans woman as “bride” within the purview of the Hindu Marriage Act. The right of transgender persons to have a valid heterosexual marriage was affirmed by the Supreme Court in 2023 in Supriyo vs. Union of India, popularly known as the marriage equality judgment. The Uttarakhand UCC Bill is oblivious to these legal developments.

This also implies that inheritance among hijra communities would continue to be governed by the guru-chhela parampara, which is judicially recognised through judgments such as Illiyas and Others vs. Badshah and Sweety vs. General Public by the Madhya Pradesh and Himachal Pradesh high courts respectively. Inheritance practices among other communities such as aravani, kothi, shiv shakti, jogappa and kinnar would also continue without being affected by the Bill.

The Bill does not include marriages among queer persons, as clause 4 of the Bill states that a marriage maybe solemnised between a man and a woman, after they fulfil the criteria laid down in the clause. Additionally, the Bill does not recognise live-in relationships among same sex couples, as clause 3(4)(b) defines a live-in relationship as “a relationship between a man and a woman…” Thus, only heterosexual relationships and marriages are recognised in this Bill.

In Supriyo, the majority judgment said that the State is duty-bound to ensure that there are no impediments for queer couples to enjoy the rights flowing from all previous judgments as well as the right to relationship as defined in this judgment. Chief Justice of India D.Y. Chandrachud mandated the legislature to enable these rights. The Uttarakhand legislature had the first opportunity to follow these directives, but it failed to do so, by completely ignoring the rights and concerns of queer and trans communities as if such communities do not exist.

Despite non-recognition of queer marriages in law, various courts have provided protection orders to queer couples whose families and communities opposed their relationship. For instance, in 2020, a Gujarat court reportedly provided protection to a lesbian couple who underwent police training together; the Delhi high court to a lesbian couple who fled from the state of Rajasthan to Delhi, fearing threat to their life, liberty and security from their parents; in 2021, the Madras high court reportedly directed parents of a lesbian couple to be sent for counselling because they threatened the couple; the Allahabad high court has provided protection to lesbian couples in more than one instance. The focus of the Bill on heterosexuality in marriage and live-in relationships flies in the face of such jurisprudential developments.

Additionally, the Bill ought to have addressed familial violence in the lives of queer and trans persons. Last year, a report of the findings of a closed door hearing on the issue was published, based on the testimony of 31 queer and trans persons from across India. It found that natal family violence is often normalised, ignored by the law and legal institutions, justified as “punitive” or “corrective” measures for perceived transgressions of gender and sexuality norms, and facilitates surveillance and control by the natal family in the name of protecting its “honour”. The Bill does great disservice to queer and trans persons in ignoring this ground reality.

The Bill sets no limit to the quantum of property that can be willed away in clause 61. Thus, a parent may completely disinherit their child based on the child’s gender identity or sexual orientation. In 2018, the Law Commission of India had recommended that, drawing from Muslim law, some portion of the property must be fixed by law for the dependants of the deceased under all family laws. This recommendation has been completely ignored in the Bill.

Conclusion

A cumulative analysis of the three set of provisions discussed above indicate that the Bill embeds and enforces heterosexuality in its provisions, ignores ramifications of these provisions on women (including queer and trans women) and reinforces natal family’s control over choice marriages and live-in relationships among adults. It criminalises adult consensual relationships that are not registered and infantilises them; simultaneously, it turns a blind eye to natal family’s violence on and imposition of their choice of partner on their children through forced marriages. Its protectionist approach in mandating registration of live-in relationships is hardly empowering for women; in fact, it exposes them to the wrath of the combined forces of family, community and state agencies and further disempowers them. As such, the claim that a UCC promotes gender justice is a hollow one.

The provisions of the Bill discussed above ignore constitutional guarantees of fundamental rights, judicial developments, people’s movements and concerns, and public discourse in India and elsewhere. It is a missed opportunity on the part of the State to enact a truly gender just, inclusive, progressive and equitable family law.  If this Bill is going to be the blueprint for a UCC to be enacted in other states and at the national level, further deliberations by a Standing Committee of the state legislature as well as through public discourse  are certainly warranted.

Dr. Saumya Uma is a Professor at Jindal Global Law School, O.P. Jindal Global University, and heads its Centre for Women’s Rights. She teaches, writes and speaks at the intersections of gender, human rights and the law. The opinions expressed in this article are her own. 

Nepal Becomes First South Asian Country to Officially Recognise a Queer Marriage

Twenty-seven-year old Surendra Pandey and 37-year-old Maya Gurung registered their marriage five years after getting married at a temple.

New Delhi: Nepal has become the first South Asian country to officially register a queer marriage. The registration took place in Lamjung, according to The Kathmandu Post.

Twenty-seven-year old Surendra Pandey and 37-year-old Maya Gurung registered their marriage five years after getting married at a temple, the portal reported.

“We met in a restaurant and immediately liked each other. After a couple of weeks of courtship, we moved in together,” said Maya about their meeting around nine years ago. “But our family and society did not accept us. We then moved to Kathmandu. Although we got married in a temple five years ago, our marriage was not legally recognised.”

Dordi Rural Municipality chairman Yuvaraj Adhikari told The Kathmandu Post that the couple’s registration request had been filed a week ago. “Their marriage has been registered at the ward office after the Department of National ID and Civil Registration instructed it to register the marriage in the temporary record as per the Supreme Court’s interim order until the formulation of a law,” said Adhikari.

In June this year, Nepal’s Supreme Court had passed an interim order saying same-sex couples should be allowed to register their marriages while a final decision is made on the matter.

Rights activists have welcomed Surendra and Maya’s marriage registration. “It is historic,” Sunil Babu Pant, founder of the Blue Diamond Society, told Reuters. “It will open the door for them to jointly open bank accounts, own and transfer property like just any other couples.”

It is Time for the Indian Government to Come up With a Comprehensive Equality Act

The significance of India’s stance also extends to its neighbouring nations in South Asia. A more inclusive approach could inspire neighbouring countries, fostering a wave of progressive change. Conversely, a regressive stance could have the opposite effect.

The Supreme Court’s recent decision denying legal recognition to queer marriages represents a significant setback for LGBTQIA+ rights in the country. This verdict, delivered by a constitution bench, featured four separate judgments written by Chief Justice of India (CJI) D.Y. Chandrachud, Justice S.K. Kaul, Justice Ravindra Bhat, and Justice P.S. Narasimha, with Justice Hima Kohli concurring with Justice Bhat’s viewpoint. In addition, the Supreme Court also declined to grant adoption rights to queer couples, with a 3:2 majority vote. 

Effectively, the Supreme Court has passed the responsibility of recognising same-sex marriages to the legislature. While this might seem like a return to square one, it is crucial to acknowledge the positive aspect of CJI Chandrachud’s declaration that queerness is a natural phenomenon and that the right to enter into a union cannot be restricted based on gender identity.

In short, it has been a blend of setbacks and some progress, and the apex court has now agreed to consider review petitions on the verdict that stems from 20 petitions filed by same-sex couples, transgender individuals, and LGBTQIA+ activists. These petitions collectively challenged the provisions of the Special Marriage Act, 1954, the Hindu Marriage Act, 1955, and the Foreign Marriage Act, 1969, contending that these legislations, in their current form, perpetuated discrimination against the LGBTQIA+ community by failing to recognise non-heterosexual marriages.

Challenging the status quo

The legal journey leading to this verdict saw several significant developments that underscored the complexity of the issue at hand. It began with the Union challenging the maintainability of the petitions, setting the stage for a protracted legal battle. The apex court initially made it clear that it would not interfere with personal laws, limiting the challenge to the scope of the Special Marriage Act, which raised questions about the fate of marriage equality in the country. The Union’s dismissal of the pleas for marriage equality as the views of a few “urban elitists” marked a turning point, as the Supreme Court disagreed with it, suggesting a potential shift in societal attitudes.

Also read: There May Be a Silver Lining in the Supreme Court’s Marriage Equality Judgment

The CJI’s observations on gender fluidity were pivotal as he emphasised its multifaceted nature and challenged the simplistic definitions found in the Special Marriage Act. The Supreme Court’s recognition of the inclusivity of Indian culture and traditions hinted at the need for a more progressive approach towards queer rights.

The Bar Council of India’s plea to leave the issue to the legislative process citing widespread opposition underscored the challenges faced by the LGBTQIA+ community. Discussions about introducing gender-neutral terms in the Special Marriage Act represented a hopeful step towards recognising queer marriages. Ultimately, the Union’s agreement to examine rights for same-sex couples without providing legal recognition marked a glimmer of hope amid a contentious legal battle.

A missed opportunity

In the culmination of this legal battle, Justice Kaul, while delivering the verdict, acknowledged the historical injustice and discrimination faced by the queer community. He highlighted the opportunity to rectify these wrongs and called for governance to grant rights to such unions. However, this opportunity remains unrealised. The Supreme Court has indeed set a positive narrative on queer rights by emphasising that selecting a life partner is a fundamental aspect of one’s life choices, intimately linked to the right to life and liberty under Article 21 of the Indian constitution.

Nevertheless, these considerate words lack concrete action, as the verdict does not result in any amendments to existing acts or the reading down of Section 4 of the Special Marriage Act, 1954. There is still a long road ahead for LGBTQIA+ rights in India, and the verdict emphasises the pressing need for legislative reform to ensure equal rights for all citizens. 

India’s legal revolution for queer rights

The legal landscape on the self-determination of life partners within the LGBTQIA+ community in India has borne witness to profound changes over the years. Recent proceedings within the Supreme Court have manifestly illustrated a paradigm shift in legal paradigms. Prominent adjudications have been instrumental in sculpting this evolution.

In the NALSA vs Union of India case, the Supreme Court staunchly upheld the autonomy of transgender individuals in determining their gender identity, thereby mandating the legal recognition of male, female, or third gender. The KS Puttaswamy vs Union of India judgment recognised the right to privacy as a sacrosanct fundamental right, nullifying antecedent verdicts that cast aspersions on the entitlements of LGBTQIA+ individuals.

The Shafin Jahan vs Union of India ruling emphasised the prerogative to select one’s partner as a foundational tenet of liberty and dignity. The Shakti Vahini vs Union of India decision fortified the right to choose a life partner as an inherent entitlement, particularly in cases where consenting adults forge a union. The watershed moment arrived with the Navtej Johar vs Union of India verdict, as it dismantled IPC Section 377, thereby decriminalising homosexuality and emphasising parity within the LGBTQIA+ community.

Moreover, the Deepika Singh vs Central Administrative Tribunal ruling acknowledged the diverse familial configurations, encompassing queer matrimonial unions. Collectively, these cases signify a progressive legal transformation in India, affirming the right of the LGBTQIA+ community to select their partners, and asserting their liberty, while underscoring equality and dignity as quintessential principles.

Implications and global impact

The Supreme Court’s denying legal recognition of queer marriages and adoption rights for LGBTQIA+ couples has significant ramifications for India’s global standing, especially in the realms of human rights.

This verdict threatens to cast a shadow over India’s international reputation. It projects an image of India as a nation that is not wholeheartedly embracing and safeguarding the rights of its LGBTQIA+ populace, potentially subjecting it to criticism and scrutiny from international human rights bodies and foreign governments. Internationally, this decision might be perceived as a stark departure from prevailing legal norms that vehemently advocate for equality and non-discrimination. A multitude of countries have already recognised same-sex marriages and instituted comprehensive legal protections for LGBTQIA+ individuals. In this light, India’s stance could be seen as a regressive outlier in the global context.

Furthermore, certain countries and international organisations hold LGBTQIA+ rights in high regard and have integrated them into their diplomatic relationships and trade agreements. India’s position may lead to potential diplomatic friction or trade impediments with these nations.

Also read: With the SC’s Same-Sex Marriage Verdict, the Onus of Being Safe Is on the LGBTQI People Again

The verdict’s impact goes beyond legal matters; it may influence the fate of LGBTQIA+ individuals who face persecution in their home countries and seek refuge in more inclusive nations. This decision could undermine India’s status as a potential sanctuary for such individuals, potentially reducing the number of LGBTQIA+ asylum seekers in the country.

On the global stage, international LGBTQIA+ rights organisations may intensify their advocacy efforts and exert greater pressure on India to overhaul its legal framework to align with universally recognised human rights standards. This could elevate the discourse surrounding India’s LGBTQIA+ rights policies in international forums.

The significance of India’s stance also extends to its neighbouring nations in South Asia. India’s posture on LGBTQIA+ rights can serve as a powerful influencer. A more inclusive approach could inspire neighbouring countries in the region to adopt similar policies, fostering a wave of progressive change. Conversely, a regressive stance could have the opposite effect, discouraging regional progress.

Global progress in marriage equality

In the evolving landscape of marriage equality, the global stage now boasts a remarkable 35 countries that have embraced the legalisation of same-sex marriage. Notably, the Thailand cabinet’s recent approval of an amendment to its civil code to allow same-sex marriage this week gives a new push to this ongoing narrative. With expectations for the draft to be submitted to parliament next month, this move aligns with a growing trend among nations to recognise and codify equal marital rights for all individuals.

Similarly, the legislative triumph in Estonia on June 20, 2023, also signals a noteworthy stride forward, with its enactment slated for January 1, 2024. In the realm of legislative action, 23 countries, including Australia, Ireland, and Switzerland, charted their course towards inclusivity through comprehensive national statutes, a significant milestone achieved in some cases after resounding nationwide referendums.

Also read: How Standards Were Created to Fit the SC’s Denial of the Right to Marry to LGBTQ People

Conversely, the legal tapestry weaves another strand of progress, as 10 nations, spanning from Austria to Brazil, and Colombia to Ecuador, seized the mantle of same-sex marriage through court decisions, illustrating the potency of judicial activism. Notably, South Africa and Taiwan, guided by the compelling voices of their judiciaries, responded with legislative endorsement in compliance with these court directives.

Importantly, Pope Francis suggested that “it may be possible to bless same-sex unions” as the defence of objective truth includes kindness, patience, understanding, tenderness, and encouragement so that pastoral prejudice or a mistaken concept of marriage must not stop blessings. He was responding to five conservative cardinals who urged him to affirm the Catholic Church’s teaching on homosexuality.

Subsequently, Bishop Karl-Heinz Wiesemann of Speyer, Germany, asked priests to ‘bless’ homosexual unions. This tapestry reflects not only the global scope of progress but also the multitude of paths taken, as the world continues to journey toward universal marriage equality. The imperative for the global community lies in acknowledging that equality necessitates the guarantee of uniform access to available choices for all individuals.

The need for a new legal framework

It is essential that India moves beyond symbolic gestures and takes concrete steps to ensure equality and inclusivity for its LGBTQIA+ citizens. The legal framework, as it stands, falls short of safeguarding their rights and recognising their lived experiences. It is imperative to acknowledge that the fight for LGBTQIA+ rights is not merely about marriage but extends to securing comprehensive legal protection and equal opportunities in all aspects of life.

To address this, a new legal framework should be established to recognize same-sex marriages, adoption rights, and other aspects of LGBTQIA+ equality. This framework should be based on principles of equality, non-discrimination, and respect for individual autonomy, echoing the progressive values enshrined in the Indian constitution. Such a framework should include all genders, identities, and orientations, offering comprehensive protection against discrimination in areas like education, employment, healthcare, and housing.

A comprehensive equality act

In light of the Supreme Court’s verdict, it is time for the Indian government to draft and implement a comprehensive equality act. This act would provide comprehensive legal protection for LGBTQIA+ individuals, addressing not only the recognition of same-sex marriages but also issues like adoption, non-discrimination, and healthcare access.

The legislation shall be part of a groundbreaking policy perspective designed to promote inclusivity and equal rights for the LGBTQIA+ community. At its core, the proposed act advocates for the official recognition of same-sex marriages and equal adoption rights for LGBTQIA+ couples, acknowledging the diversity of unions and ensuring equitable legal standing for all families.

Going beyond marital rights, the legislation should take a firm stance against discrimination, prohibiting biases based on sexual orientation, gender identity, and expression across various sectors, including education, employment, housing, and healthcare.

Emphasising the role of education in fostering understanding and acceptance, the act shall encourage the promotion of LGBTQIA+ awareness and inclusion in educational curricula. Additionally, it would address the unique healthcare needs of LGBTQIA+ individuals by ensuring access to inclusive healthcare services including gender-affirming care. This comprehensive policy proposal aligns with the values of democracy, equality, and non-discrimination and is a significant step toward creating a more inclusive and just society for all citizens. It is a reminder that legal change is not only about the courtroom but also about the legislative process and democratic spirit that shapes the nation’s future.

Amal Chandra is a student rights activist. Hima Tara Sam is a student of History at Delhi University.

This Constitution Day, Consider the Queer Dalit

Alongside visibility of the more dominant and privileged segments of queer people at Pride, there has to be more consciousness-raising for a wider range of rainbow colours and a queerness of Dalit people.

Undeterred by the Supreme Court of India’s denial of marriage equality to queer people, at the start of wedding season in the national capital, queer folks have preparing for Delhi Pride today, November 26 – a day that is also the Constitution Day. 

The Constituent Assembly had adopted the constitution of India on this day in 1949. In a famous speech on the eve of this historic day, on November 25, the chairperson of the Drafting Committee, Dr. B.R. Ambedkar had talked about ‘a life of contradictions.’ That an emerging India of the time would have political equality (as in universal adult franchise, one person one vote) but there would be deep and pervasive social inequality (as in the lives of some people would be more valuable than others). This life of contradictions has endured from over seven decades of the constitution by now.

Something caught my attention last week.

Someone said they’re in the closet and wanted to know if there are ways of securing their anonymity at pride. In reply to this, someone else said, yes, there are usually face masks at the venue and some people also cover their faces in other ways such as with a bandana, dupatta, goggles, etc. Indeed, seemingly contradictory to the idea of pride, covered faces have been a common sight at the Delhi Queer Pride from its inception, a decade and half ago, in 2008.

Four years before that, in 2004, a group of queer people had organised a pride walk at the World Social Forum (WSF) in Mumbai. I was at this WSF on the invitation of a prominent Dalit group in India who were considering me for a work position with them. Unconnected to my work prospects with this group, some of my queer friends were organising a pride walk at the WSF and they asked me to join them. I was unsure and apprehensive about this. I thought the Dalit group would disapprove of my association with queer people, and consequently, I might lose my work prospects with them. At this moment, I came to my first realisation of the mutually exclusive composition of queer and Dalit groups – I knew of no openly out queer people in Dalit groups, and no openly out Dalit people in queer groups.

My first experience of pride was in London in 2002. I was there with a small group of friends from the London School of Economics (LSE), where I was enrolled as a British Chevening scholar. The anonymity of foreign location was reassuring and liberating for me. The WSF pride of 2004 was different – it was in a location where I knew many more people and many more people knew me, and then, there were those work related consequences for me. It was so daunting that I could not even think about it coherently. 

When I got to the WSF, the organisers were distributing small pride flags. I took one, and instead of waving it around gleefully, I placed it over my face. Quitely and timidly, like burying a head in the sand. While I didn’t think the flag was an effective cover or any assurance of anonymity, the internal conflict and the apparent contradictions of pride and shame were clear to me.

I don’t know if anyone from the Dalit group saw me at the pride. Also unknown to me at the time, there was a conversation among Dalit and queer groups at the WSF. Even this conversation, I felt, had pitched the two groups as exclusive of each other: one group talking to another, as if nobody could be part of both the groups.

As part of a newly emerging queer scene in Delhi, I was familiar with queer spaces. Most of these spaces were furtive once-a-week gay night clubs or virtual ‘chat rooms’ on the internet. There was visible affluence that set these spaces apart from Dalit spaces. There was, and still is, a commercialisation of gay spaces – that are based on the financial abilities to afford them. In contrast, there is no commercialisation of Dalit spaces. Dalit spaces are mostly constituted by family and blood relations, and of course, there are mass political rallies and social festivities where Dalit people come together. I did not think of it much then or attribute any meaning to this contrast. My intuition about Dalit and queer groups was that they are mutually exclusive, and it was this mutual exclusivity that made me feel conflicted and apprehensive at the WSF pride.

Soon after my return to Delhi, in a plush living room space of a gay British expat man’s residence, I told him and his gay Danish friend about the covering of my face at the WSF pride. Both these men were working in international development agencies in India, and I thought they would have an understanding of social inequalities and caste. The Danish man scoffed at me, saying something to the effect that it was a shameful display of pride on my part; and the significance of the conversation was lost on the British man, he didn’t say anything. At that moment, I felt diminished and a little less than gay. 

Also read: Marginalities Aren’t Hermetically Sealed. The Decade-Old ‘NALSA’ Judgment Ignores This

At another moment, another day, I had visited the impoverished and bare residence space of my grandmother somewhere in South Delhi. The same day was a house party at a posh residence of a queer friend in another part of South Delhi. Somehow, I could not get myself to transition from the physical contrast of two residential spaces. I decided not to go to that house party.

My friend called me over the phone, and somehow I couldn’t get myself to say that I was feeling conflicted – about the apparent inequalities of the two residential spaces.

I lied and I said, “Oh, I’m so sorry, I forgot about your party.” This friend snapped at me, “You forgot about my party?!” and disconnected the call. I felt bad, but not any worse than I was already feeling. At that moment, I could not relate with this queer friend and the queer fraternity more broadly. I felt like our lives were so far apart that we couldn’t be part of the same community.

Shortly after the WSF, the Dalit group offered me a work position. Respectfully, I declined to accept that offer because I felt I didn’t belong in the exclusive Dalit fraternity either. Work on social justice issues in the following years confirmed my impressions about the mutual exclusivity of queer and Dalit groups. It would have been less remarkable if I were not queer and Dalit myself. I knew that I could not be the only one and I knew that I was not imagining a subgroup of queer Dalits. The question was – where were they and why were they invisible? The queer and Dalit intersection was desolate space. 

The life of contradictions in Dr. Ambedkar’s speech of 1949 was not an empty lament or an epiphany of impending doom. It was a critical observation that was accompanied by some clear prescriptions to resolve the contradictions. Dr. Ambedkar had urged everyone to read seemingly disparate constitutional rights – equality, liberty and fraternity – in an integrated manner. This integrated reading was referred to as the union of trinity “in the sense that to divorce one from the other is to defeat the very purpose of democracy. Liberty cannot be divorced from equality, equality cannot be divorced from liberty. Nor can liberty and equality be divorced from fraternity.”  

Also read: A Trans-Queer Paradox and the Search for Legal Recognition

Coming out of the closet with covered faces may seem contradictory to simplistically liberal aspirations of pride. Ambedkarite sensibilities of social democracy would weave these liberal aspirations into egalitarian ideas and into fraternity – brotherhood, sisterhood, gender neutral sibling-hood, friends, and community. 

The invisibility of queer Dalit persons is slowly dissipating, with some individuals visibilising themselves, while some preferring to cover their faces, and some who are at ease with their invisibility. Alongside visibility of the more dominant and privileged segments of queer people at pride, there has to be more consciousness-raising for a wider range of rainbow colors and a queerness of Dalit people. Coming out of the closet with covered faces, or staying in, or not having the privacy of proverbial closets at all, these are all wide ranging and welcome diversities of queer people. We must embrace and celebrate our diversities.

Happy pride, and happy Constitution Day!

Professor Dr. Sumit Baudh (they or he) teaches Constitutional Law, Critical Race Theory, Caste, Law and Representation, among other courses. This article is drawn partly from their doctoral dissertation at the University of California, Los Angeles (UCLA) School of Law. Posts on X @BaudhSumit.

SC’s Marriage Equality Judgment: Manufactured Classifications and Return of ‘Minuscule Minorities’

The court’s assertion that the Special Marriage Act, 1954 didn’t exclude non-heterosexual marriages, attributing it to Parliament’s lack of awareness during enactment, is a novel and dangerous constitutional doctrine, potentially legitimising regressive laws based on historical intellectual limitations.

Last month, the Supreme Court delivered its judgment in Supriyo @ Supriya Chakraborty v. Union of India. The court’s refusal to recognise same-sex marriage, I have argued here, is best understood as the justification of institutional abstention through delegitimising the petitioners’ case. This delegitimisation, I have argued, occurred through three means: the denial of the existence of a constitutional right to marry; a misidentification of the classification’s subject-matter; and the creation of artificial barriers in the court’s ability to transform social structures. I have covered the first of these means – the denial of the right to marry – in my previous post. The third means, which concerned the creation of artificial barriers to the court’s power to remedy rights violations, has been discussed by Hardik Choubey here.

In this piece, I examine the second mode through which the court justified its institutional abstention, which concerned its response to the petitioners’ claims under Article 14. While the petitioners proposed that the Special Marriage Act, 1954’s (“SMA”) heteronormative conceptualisation of marriage caused the exclusion of persons who could not – due to ascriptive factors or otherwise – enter into such marriages and enjoy the bundle of rights they confer, the court rejected this claim at its very inception. It held that there was, in fact, no exclusion of non-heterosexual forms of marriage caused by the SMA because Parliament – let alone consciously excluding such marriage – was not even aware of its possible existence at the time of SMA’s enactment.

This approach towards identifying exclusion that prizes an “intent to exclude” over factual, verifiable exclusion, I propose, is a novel and dangerous development in constitutional doctrine, and was designedly deployed to delegitimise the petitioners’ Article 14 challenge. Further, I propose that Bhat, J., in his Article 14 enquiry, commits a major misidentification of the classes the SMA creates, and creates diversions to circumvent a response to the SMA’s exclusion of non-heterosexual marriage. I make this argument in the following manner – first, I discuss the court’s Article 14 enquiry into the SMA and interrogate its major propositions; second, I propose that the court invents a novel standard of “intent to classify” to determine a differentia under Article 14, a dangerous development that risks a permanent entrenchment of regressive parliamentary actions based on a Court’s assessment of Parliament’s epistemic limitations at the moment of enactment; and third, I propose that the court substantially errs in identifying the classes the SMA creates, and circumvents a response to whether the SMA’s objective of regulating exclusively heterosexual marriage continues to remain legitimate.

Manipulating classifications: The court’s treatment of equality and non-discrimination

In impugning SMA’s Section 4, the petitioners made a very straightforward argument: it provides a set of conjunctive conditions to be fulfilled by a couple seeking a marriage, with sub-section (c) mandating the existence of a “male” and a “female”. This heteronormative prescription for marriage constitutes discrimination based on persons’ sexual orientation. Sexual orientation is an ascriptive characteristic protected by Article 15(1) of the Constitution, as interpreted by Chandrachud, J. (as he then was) in Navtej Johar v. Union of India. Without prejudice to the challenge based on Article 15(1), the impugned section also creates a classification between heterosexual and non-heterosexual couples for availing marriage, with such classification having no nexus with the SMA’s objective of providing a platform for the secular solemnization of marriages.

Bhat, J., speaking for the majority, follows the general tenor of delegitimization discernible in his treatment of the right to marry, making a similar, sweeping assertion here as well: he states that the SMA, instead of classifying between heterosexual and non-heterosexual couples, actually classifies between “heterosexual couples of differing faiths” . This is because the exclusion of non-heterosexual couples from availing marriage was not a conscious parliamentary choice made during SMA’s enactment, and was, instead caused by Parliament’s epistemic limits: it could not have known that marriage can be conceptualized in any manner but heteronormatively. He provides evidence of such epistemic limits in the form of Section 377 of the Indian Penal Code, 1860 (“IPC”), arguing that since even non-reproductive sexual intercourse constituted a penal offence at the time Parliament enacted the SMA, it could not have imagined the theoretical possibility of non-heterosexual marriage. On this basis, since Parliament could not have intended a classification – and the subsequent denial of marriage – based on sexual orientation, it cannot be said that the SMA in fact classified between heterosexual and non-heterosexual couples for availing marriage:

There was no idea to exclude non-heterosexual couples, because at that time, even consensual physical intimacy of such persons, was outlawed by Section 377 IPC. So, while the Act sought to provide an avenue for those marriages that did not enjoy support in society, or did not have the benefit of custom to solemnise, it would be quite a stretch to say that this included same sex marriages. Therefore, the challenge to the constitutionality of the statute, must fail.

And:

…The classification was primarily not between heterosexual and non-heterosexual couples, but heterosexual couples of differing faiths…

This means that SMA’s differentia itself does not concern heterosexual and non-heterosexual couples, leading to a failure of the Article 14 challenge at its very first prong. Assuming, however, that the classification was based on sexual orientation, and was valid at the time it was made due to the existence of a rational nexus with its objective (of facilitating only heterosexual inter-faith marriage), the next question was whether, with the passage of time, this classification lost its nexus with the original objective, or the original objective itself turned illegitimate. This is because an Article 14 enquiry – apart from examining the classification and its nexus – also asks whether the objective pursued by the classification may be deemed “legitimate” in the first place.

Bhat, J., in order to avoid answering this question genuinely, manoeuvres his way out of it through a very peculiar framing – instead of asking whether the objective of securing a platform for the solemnization of only heterosexual marriages (at the exclusion of non-heterosexual marriages) has turned illegitimate, he asks whether the objective of facilitating inter-faith heterosexual marriages can still – in today’s day and age – be deemed relevant. This question, though wholly disconnected from the question of the SMA’s validity, is answered in the affirmative to somehow sustain it: in other words, the continuing relevance of a platform to solemnize heterosexual inter-faith marriage was invoked to justify the exclusion of non-heterosexual marriage.

Chandrachud, CJ., on the other hand, engages in no such intellectual gymnastics, holding straightforwardly that the Court’s incompetence to grant a suitable remedy for the SMA’s exclusion of non-heterosexual marriage renders an attempt at discerning its validity “futile”:

However, in this case, an exercise to determine whether the SMA is unconstitutional because of under-inclusivity would be futile because of the limitations of this Court’s power to grant a remedy. Whether a change should be brought into the legislative regime of the SMA is for Parliament to determine.

Thus, based on his assessment of the degree of judicial intervention necessary to effectuate non-heterosexual marriage, he prefers abstention as the best option. Kaul, J., who concurs with Chandrachud, CJ., does choose to answer this “futile” question, holding that the exclusion of non-heterosexual marriage u/s the 4 of the SMA does, in fact, constitute a violation of Article 14 . He registers his disagreement with Bhat, J., noting that his assessment of the legislative objective, such that the SMA aimed to provide a platform for the solemnization of only heterosexual marriages, constituted a conflation of the classification and its objective:

I respectfully disagree with my brother Justice Ravindra Bhat, that the sole intention of the SMA was to enable marriage of heterosexual couples exclusively. To my mind, the stated objective of the SMA was not to regulate marriages on the basis of sexual orientation. This cannot be so as it would amount to conflating the differentia with the object of the statute.

In other words, the fact that the SMA presently regulates heterosexual marriages exclusively provides no hint to its legislative objective, for “we…act in ways that do not…correspond to our intent”. Further, assuming Bhat, J.’s identification of SMA’s objective as the exclusive regulation of inter-faith marriage to be correct, he notes that this objective diverged with the classification, and was not subserved by the exclusion of non-heterosexual marriage. The final leg of his disagreement with Bhat, J. concerns the latter’s formalistic affirmation of the SMA’s constitutionality based only on intelligible differentia and rational nexus, without an enquiry into the constitutionality of the objective of exclusively regulating heterosexual marriage. The objective of the sole regulation of heterosexual marriage, Kaul, J. notes, must be a cause of the SMA’s unconstitutionality, instead of a justification to sustain its validity. This is because exclusion based on sexual orientation – akin to discrimination based on “sex” – is prohibited under Article 15(1), and cannot constitute a legitimate state objective. Ultimately, however, even Kaul J. notes that a “spider’s web” of legislation would be disrupted if the Court tinkers with the SMA, and the consideration of separation of powers trumps that of rights-violation.

Despite the disagreements expressed in Kaul, J.’s dissent, the following propositions emerge from the majority opinion: first, the “intent to classify” – which can be discerned from a study of Parliament’s imaginative limitations at the moment of enactment – is a factor in determining a classification’s subject-matter; second, a classification may not express a relationship between an included and excluded group, and can, instead, be defined in reference only to the included group; and third, a classification’s pursuit of a constitutionally incompatible (and morally repugnant) objective is acceptable, and can be invoked to sustain its validity.

On the regressive invention of the “intent to classify”

A classification, as is traditionally understood, concerns the creation of real and tangible groups, on whom different legal standards apply. It arises in multiple ways – a distinct legal regime may be created to govern a group exclusively (this includes all kinds of codified personal law, such as the Hindu Marriage Act, 1955; specific provisions may be created to determine a group’s rights Section 118 of the Indian Succession Act, 1925; or restrictions may be levied on groups’ exercise of their pre-existing rights Section 16 of the Orissa Municipal Act, 1950. A classification, in terms of distinguishing between groups to whom distinct legal standards apply, need not be made legislatively explicit, and can arise as a natural corollary to the inclusion of a single group.

The identification of a differentia is a largely objective enquiry, and requires the demonstration of concrete groups being created through legislation. In Anuj Garg v. Hotel Association, for example, Section 30 of the Punjab Excise Act, 1914 – which prohibited women from being employed by establishments serving liquor – was challenged under Articles 14 and 15. In case the Court employed Supriyo’s logic of “intent to classify”, it could have held that at the time of enactment, Parliament could never have envisioned the possibility of women working in liquor establishments, and never intended to consciously exclude them from such employment, which in turn meant that Section 30 did not classify between “men” and “women”. It, however, did not choose this path, noting straightforwardly the existence of such classification, enquiring next into its constitutional compatibility.

The use of the “intent to classify” principle, when applied to other cases, would have similarly regressive consequences, causing a permanent entrenchment of the status quo by justifying it using lawmakers’ intellectual limitations to conceptualize a fairer, equal world at the time of enactment. In Githa Hariharan v. RBI, the Court could have noted that Parliament, at the time of enacting the Hindu Minority and Guardianship Act, 1956, could never have known that women could be equal guardians of minors, and no classification between “men” and “women” lay in the subordination of women’s rights to guardianship; in Madhu Kishwar v. State of Bihar, it could have wholly rejected tribal women’s demands for equal succession rights on the ground that the Legislative Assembly – when undertaking the codification of customs – could not have envisioned a constitutionally-compliant, gender-equal process thereof; and in Vasantha R v. Union of India, it could have upheld Section 66(1)(b) of the Factories Act, 1948 on the ground that Parliament could not have envisioned that women may also work during night hours, making their exclusion an unintentional incidence of well-meaning legislation.

My point, therefore, is that any standard enquiring into an “intent to classify” for determining a law’s differentia is bound to whitewash highly regressive, hostile acts of discrimination through a simple denial of the classification’s existence, the only evidence for which a Court may offer is Parliament’s epistemic limits, along with its inability to conceptualize an equal society at the time it enacted the relevant law. Such an enquiry, apart from being generally historically inaccurate by presuming the state of mind of hundreds of parliamentarians sitting in the 1950s, has the effect of legitimizing present-day discrimination on the ground that past parliamentarians could never have thought that such groups possessed the basic minimum dignity to be “kept in mind” while being excluded! In other words, such groups were so unimportant – constituting, perhaps, a “minuscule minority” – that even their exclusion was a by-product of things running their natural course. Bhat, J.’s reliance on Section 377 of the IPC to justify the exclusion of non-heterosexual marriage, read in this light, is highly disturbing: it indicates that past unconstitutionality serves as a justification for present discrimination, for such unconstitutionality was the norm to be adhered to by Parliament. Further, in case this logic were to be applied in Navtej, even Section 377 would have likely succeeded in the Article 14 challenge, for in 1860, the Imperial Legislative Council – with its intellectual and moral limitations, along with its adherence to English law criminalizing homosexuality – could not have known that sexual intercourse in non-heterosexual relationships is a facet of human dignity and individual autonomy.

Lastly, it is unclear as to how Parliament’s reliance on an unconstitutional provision justifies its choice to further discriminate, for a declaration of unconstitutionality has effect of making a law “void ab initio”, meaning invalidity that attaches from the moment of enactment. Section 377 was invalid, therefore, at least since the coming into force of the Constitution, in 1950. Judicial invocation of parliamentary reliance on invalid law, in order to justify Parliament’s myopic imagination of marriage in the past, thus stands in murky territory.

On this basis, I submit that the implications of a doctrinal adoption of an “intent to classify” to determine differentia are highly disastrous, and are likely to stultify equality jurisprudence by perpetually pointing to a regressive past. The only way such stultification can be prevented, however, is to face reality and confront factual, verifiable exclusion, instead of ruminating over parliamentarians’ state of mind in the 1950s.

“Classifying without classification” and no-holds-barred objectives

I now address the remaining two prongs of Bhat, J.’s arguments – first, that the SMA actually makes a classification involving “heterosexual couples of differing faiths”; and second, that since the SMA serves the legitimate objective of providing a platform to solemnize inter-faith marriages, a challenge to its validity is obviated.

On the first prong, it is submitted that Bhat, J.’s identification of the classification u/s 4 as comprising “heterosexual couples of differing faiths”, instead of one between “non-heterosexual inter-faith couples” and “heterosexual inter-faith couples”, constitutes a complete misidentification. A differentia, as discussed above, must comprise two groups – one included, and another excluded. In stating that the classification involves only “heterosexual couples of differing faiths”, there is no clarity of the group being excluded at the cost of this group’s inclusion, apart from non-heterosexual inter-faith couples – who Bhat, J. has already concluded, are not being excluded by the SMA. One argument to sustain his identification of the included group, however, could have identified the excluded group as “heterosexual couples of the same faith”. This identification, however, would also be erroneous, for the SMA does not prohibit a couple, both whose members practise the same faith, from solemnizing a marriage thereunder. The SMA, apart from containing no same-faith prohibition, specifically envisions couples marrying thereunder – both whose members are Hindu – u/s 21A. There cannot, fundamentally, be a classification involving a single group by itself, making Bhat, J.’s identification of the classification incorrect.

On the second prong, I propose that the Court’s reliance on the objective of creating a platform for solemnizing heterosexual inter-faith marriages, in order to sustain the SMA’s validity, whitewashes the issue of exclusion. To recap, the Court framed the question as to whether the SMA’s original objective – which was to facilitate heterosexual inter-faith marriages – has turned illegitimate with the passage of time. In response, the Court states that this objective is as relevant today as it was at the time the SMA was enacted, for persons seek to marry persons of different faiths regularly nowadays. Bhat, J. also remarks that the SMA cannot be deemed wholly meaningless due to its exclusion of non-heterosexual marriages, for its relevance – insofar as it concerns heterosexual marriages – is alive and well:

…The relevance of SMA has gained more ground, because of increasing awareness and increasing exercise of choice by intending spouses belonging to different faiths…It cannot be said, by any stretch of the imagination that the exclusion of non-heterosexual couples from the fold of SMA has resulted in its ceasing to have any rationale, and thus becoming discriminatory in operation.

This, however, was uncontested, for none argued the SMA’s loss of legitimacy based on the objective of facilitating inter-faith marriages going stale. The argument concerned the invalidity of the SMA’s objective of regulating exclusively heterosexual marriage, which caused the exclusion of all other forms. An assessment of the constitutional compatibility of this objective, however, is not done in Bhat, J.’s opinion, for he undertakes a repetitive diversion to the SMA’s continued relevance of facilitating inter-faith marriage, portraying the latter as demonstrative of the SMA’s commendable virtues. Such virtues in one respect, however, are no justification for exclusion in another – and it was an enquiry into the latter that was Bhat, J.’s prerogative after identifying the SMA’s objective as regulating exclusively heterosexual inter-faith marriage. This he did not undertake.

Kaul, J.’s dissent points tersely to such errors: he notes that since an objective must be constitutionally compliant, an objective of catering exclusively to heterosexual couples violates Article 15(1), and Bhat, J.’s invocation thereof to justify the classification was, therefore, wrong. Apart from the dissent, it must be noted that Bhat, J. sets the considerations of inter-faith marriage and non-heterosexual marriage at opposing ends, portraying the petitioners as attempting to undo the SMA’s prized progressive credentials. This, however, was not the case: the petitioners consistently pointed to the necessity of preserving the SMA’s inter-faith marriage solemnization machinery, which in turn made a “reading down” of the SMA to permit non-heterosexual marriage the preferable relief, instead of a declaration of its unconstitutionality (Dr. Abhishek Singhvi’s Written Submissions).

Conclusion

On this basis, I submit that the instant case invokes a mix of novel constitutional doctrine, erroneous class-identification, and deliberate diversions to reject the petitioners’ Article 14 case. The most dangerous development of the judgment, which is susceptible to immense misuse, concerns the invention of an “intent to classify” standard, pursuant to which a court may deny the existence of factual, real classes by pointing to imaginative limitations to envision an equal world at the time of enactment. The court, in effect, states that non-heterosexual persons possessed no dignity to even be thought of to be excluded from marriage, and are, therefore, not the subject of SMA’s classification. The subsequent class-misidentification, along with portraying as legitimate the regulation of exclusively heterosexual marriage, adds insult to injury, and marks a substantial setback to Indian equality jurisprudence.

There May Be a Silver Lining in the Supreme Court’s Marriage Equality Judgment

The way forward for the queer community, perhaps, is not to insist on a right to marry but to challenge laws that privilege marriage over other forms of familial and kinship bonds.

The recent judgment of the Indian Supreme Court on marriage equality was, without a doubt, a disappointment for India’s queer community. With a 3:2 majority, the Supreme Court held that queer couples in non-heterosexual relationships do not have a fundamental right to marry and denied legal recognition to their relationships. The court’s judgment placed heterosexuality at the centre of marital relationships by holding that marriage between persons of opposite gender is the only valid form of marriage under Indian law. 

Thus, while transgender persons identifying within the gender binary who are in heterosexual relationships are entitled to marry, queer couples who do not find themselves in what can be classified as heterosexual relationships are left without any legal remedy. 

But perhaps in rejecting that there is any fundamental right to marry under the Constitution for queer couples or otherwise, the court has opened a portal (especially in the minority opinions) for re-imagining the existence of what were understood to be matrimonial entitlements (like succession rights, adoption, guardianship, financial entitlements that accrue to spouses etc.) beyond marriage. We discuss the implications of this possibility.

The petitioners had primarily mounted a challenge to the provisions of the Special Marriage Act, 1954 arguing that the non-recognition of non-heterosexual marriages under the Act violated their fundamental right to marry and discriminated against them on the basis of sexual orientation. An important prong of the petitioners’ argument was that they are denied the matrimonial benefits listed above.

Also read: Two Steps Forward, Three Steps Back: Supreme Court Verdict on Marriage Equality

Many challenge the idea of marriage as the ‘norm’

Indeed, the queer community’s quest for marriage is either grounded in (i) the belief that marriage is a normative ideal to which queer people should also have access to; or (ii) marriage provides a bouquet of entitlements, the absence of which significantly disadvantages those in queer relationships. Some queer individuals will agree with both propositions. But many challenge the elevation of marriage as the norm and as an ideal that all of us should aspire towards. They highlight the oppressive foundations of marriage, specifically its heterosexist nature and foundation in caste endogamy, which is difficult to dismantle. Further, they argue that marriage as an institution, through the bundle of rights and entitlements it provides, privileges married partners over others who choose to not marry or cannot marry. 

It is difficult to contest that marriage is founded on heterosexist norms. Marriage continues to be imagined primarily as a heterosexual union (even if the social reality may be different or is changing). Queer people across jurisdictions have won marriage rights after much suffering and only after being able to prove that their love/relationship conforms to a heterosexual ideal. 

The majority opinion authored by Justice Bhat in the marriage equality judgment also highlights and reinforces the heterosexist values that are attached to marriage. He says, ‘marriage, however, has been regarded for the longest time, as a relationship of man to woman’ and at another place, he reiterates that, ‘traditions of marriage per se may not support the basis of recognition of marital relationships between non-heterosexual couples’. 

Examples of weddings between same-sex couples in India or of relationships that are functionally identical to marriage between same-sex couples (in the absence of legal recognition) are not enough to displace the normative assumption that marriage is a heterosexual union. Social marriages that deviate from the heterosexual script are considered only as exceptions, not as evidence of a pluralist understanding of marriage. They remain exceptions because the norm that the marriage establishes is of the heterosexual union. 

Even if we say that queer couples, by gaining the legal right to marry, can somehow displace these heterosexist assumptions of who can marry and whom, they cannot dismantle the privilege of committed coupledom that marriage prescribes over other forms of adult associations and kinship. This is because these other forms of adult associations veer off the course of heteronormativity in ways that same-sex committed coupledom does not. As Katherine Franke has argued: same-sex marriage can still fall under the ambit of traditional family values that promote nuclear family, bourgeois respectability and privatised dependency. 

Feminist critique of marriage

Marriage’s place as the normative ideal creates symbolic harm for individuals, queer or otherwise, who refuse to participate in marriage. In fact, feminist critiques of marriage as an oppressive institution have been the most trenchant. They have highlighted how marriage continues to be a patriarchal institution, even if many of the marriage laws that discriminated against women (like the law of coverture) have been removed. 

Also read: Supreme Court’s Marriage Equality Judgment Represents Judicial Abdication

Queer participation in marriage reinforces its status as the most sacred form of commitment, as the only relationship form that can confer dignity to queer lives and something that saves individuals from the doom of loneliness. In Obergefell v. Hodges, the US Supreme Court relied on similar tropes stating that marriage has some transcendental importance and it’s the only institution that can fulfil our most ‘profound hopes and aspirations’. 

Even Justice Bhat in the majority opinion refers to similar uncritical characterisations of marriage, stating that it is regarded ‘as one of the most important relationships’ and a ‘building block’ of the society. But do cohabiting unmarried partners, hijra gharanas, mentors and mentees or intimate friends not form networks or relationships equally worthy as marriage, where they share love, caregiving responsibilities and companionship? 

If marriage is an oppressive and exclusionary institution and queers, women and the unmarried are better off without it, at least its legal existence, why does it remain important? 

The answer lies in the minority opinion of Chief Justice of India (CJI) D.Y. Chandrachud in the marriage equality judgment where he states that marriage is not by itself as fundamental to our lives, it has gained significance because the state regulation of ‘family’ has conferred certain benefits to those who are married. 

As Clare Chambers notes, marriage is the relationship that ‘the state assumes, defines, regulates, and recommends’. Hence, although marriage undermines our transformative goals of establishing an egalitarian order where a plurality and diversity of relationships or lifestyles are valued, we are forced to use the institution of marriage because it’s the only way we get access to certain entitlements (next-of-kin privileges, ability to be on disability pension plans of our partners, employment benefits, workmen’s compensation etc.) These entitlements protect us from certain vulnerabilities that arise at the breakdown of relationships or our adult networks of care (through legal entitlements to shared property, custody of children, maintenance etc.) 

The creation of the concept of the right to form an abiding union (sans marriage) discussed in minority opinions of CJI Chandrachud and Justice Kaul goes someway in displacing the centrality of marriage over other relationship forms in our understanding of a family. 

CJI Chandrachud in his minority opinion develops the concept of abiding cohabitational unions drawing from the observations in the Deepika Singh judgment where he held that atypical families are equally deserving of protection under the law and benefits under the social welfare legislation as traditional families. In the marriage equality judgment, he emphasises that we may find ‘companionship’ and ‘value-abiding relationships with other human beings in different forms and capacities’.

Also read: Justice Ravindra Bhat’s Legacy Goes Beyond the ‘Marriage Equality’ Judgment

CJI Chandrachud finds the legal justification for the right to form such unions under Articles 19, 21 and 25 of the constitution. Crucially, the CJI reads Article 19(1)(c), which confers the freedom of association, to include the right to form intimate associations. Now this has the possibility to extend beyond relations of conjugality or coupledom and encompass various permutations and combinations, even though CJI Chandrachud himself does not fully acknowledge this radical potential of the right to form intimate associations and limits himself to the discussion of queer couples forming unions. 

There is a certain tension in his opinion where he recognises that companionship, commitment and care can flow from different forms of associations – including friendship, mentor-mentee relationship or queer kinship networks that are not based on biological bonds – but then he reverts the idea of queer coupledom when he explicitly pens out who is the beneficiary of this right to form a union. 

Be that as it may – and this is where the majority disagrees with him – CJI Chandrachud, says that these associations need to be recognised by the state so that there is actually a ‘free and unrestricted’ exercise of this freedom. In the absence of the conditions that facilitate the exercise of a particular freedom, the freedom to do something becomes meaningless. 

Entitlements such as access to ration cards, joint bank accounts, next-of-kin privileges in case of a medical event, jail visitation rights, access to the body on death, succession rights, maintenance, financial benefits under the Income Tax Act and employment benefits relating to gratuity, family pension, insurance etc. are usually exclusive to traditional families – relationships born out of marriage or blood ties. 

CJI Chandrachud does not conclude that queer couples in unions are entitled to the same entitlements that a legally recognised married couple would possess but leaves it to a committee headed by the cabinet secretary to define and elucidate the scope of these entitlements. This deferral has been subject to criticism as the majority judgment refuses to even accord a right to union to queer couples and considering the position of the Union government on this issue, it is unlikely the executive would take on this task. 

While many of the entitlements available to those in unions are left to the committee to decide on, the CJI’s minority opinion explicitly delinks adoption from marriage. Relying on Article 14 of the Constitution (right to equality) and Article 15 (right against discrimination), he holds that both married and unmarried couples – including queer couples – are entitled to adopt. He questions the assumptions of the government’s adoption regulations that envision that only married couples can provide a stable environment for a child. He observes that ‘there is no single form of a stable household’. 

CJI Chandrachud states the stability of a household is not dependent on marital status but rather on factors like the investment of time and effort by parents in running the household, their ability to create a safe space, the absence of physical, emotional and mental violence in the household etc. These observations displace marriage as the ideal and normative form of relationship. 

But the majority opinion, in a disappointing turn of events, holds that while adoption law does make assumptions about who is fit to be a parent, there is once again a deference to the executive. In effect, the majority abdicated its responsibility for assessing the discriminatory assumptions that the law makes about unmarried couples when it comes to adoption.

Other entitlements granted to ‘non-traditional’ families

However, in addition to the right to adoption, the CJI’s opinion has fallen short of actually granting entitlements to non-traditional families. Both his and the majority’s opinion would have benefitted from looking at some of the other entitlements that have already been granted to non-traditional families. 

The Himachal Pradesh high court in 2016 recognised the customary significance of the guru-chela relationship and held that the guru was entitled to the property of the deceased chela. Similarly, the Mental Healthcare Act 2017 permits the nomination of a representative who does not fall within the traditional category of family. While these legal entitlements have limited import, the court had the opportunity to build upon these in the judgment to some extent, perhaps in the form of interim remedies instead of leaving the entire task to the executive. 

Overall, we can derive two possibilities from CJI Chandrachud’s minority opinion for creating a more egalitarian legal framework on relationships i.e. (a) to think of intimate associations beyond marriage and (b) to delink what were thought to be matrimonial benefits from marriage. We note that the minority opinion of Chief Justice Chandrachud itself does not expand the concept of associations beyond coupledom, but it carries the radical potential to do so. 

Rituparna Borah’s petition was one of the pleas filed in the marriage equality case that advocated for the queer individuals’ right to form ‘chosen families’. The minority opinion creates an opening for demanding legal status and regulation for such ‘chosen families’ in the different forms they may take. This can include creating legal access to material benefits as well as providing legal protection from vulnerabilities that arise on account of being in any relational setting. 

The way forward for the queer community, perhaps, is not to insist on a right to marry but to challenge laws that privilege marriage over other forms of familial and kinship bonds. It is to return to the politics of queer liberation which has space for plurality and diversity. It is not to resign ourselves to a second-class status but to build coalitions with those who are perhaps not queer by identity but still ‘queer’ enough to reject the institution of marriage.

But what of the majority opinion one may ask? While the majority has rejected the right to form a union, Article 14 (right to equality) which requires the state to make reasonable classification still exists. The classification between married and unmarried under the law is often more moral than reasonable. Also, many important constitutional principles that we know today found their place first in the dissents or minority opinions, before they became the opinions of the court. There is much to be discontented with, but transformative readings of law are always possible.

Aishwarya Singh is a lecturer at Jindal Global Law School, Sonipat. Meenakshi Ramkumar is a Visiting Assistant Professor at the National Law School of India University, Bangalore teaching Family Law. Views expressed are personal.

Disclaimer: Aishwarya Singh is a former judicial law clerk of CJI Chandrachud.

Supreme Court’s Marriage Equality Judgment Represents Judicial Abdication

The court was not asked to legislate and create an institution where none existed; it was asked to ensure that access to institutions that the legislature has already recognised was non-discriminatory. In this fundamental task, the court has failed miserably.

The Supreme Court judgment rejecting the right of same-sex couples to marry speaks of there not existing a constitutional right to marry, of the need for judicial discipline and the idea that the judiciary is not the correct forum to accommodate polyvocality in social issues. Vaguely intelligible obfuscation amounting to no more than the intellectualisation of the obscene, the rationalisation of the indefensible.

This case, in fact, was much simpler than all these justifications might lead the reader to think.

It was not necessary for the court to recognise a constitutional right to marry. The right to state-sanctioned marriage has already been granted by the same legislature the court otherwise seems comfortable deferring to, granted under the secular regime that is the Special Marriage Act. The primary issue before the court, by its own determination, was more limited – under that secular regime, once the right to marry is recognised, is it permissible for it to be extended to heterosexual couples but not to homosexual couples?

The question, then, was not whether de novo a same-sex couple can claim that the state must recognise their right to marry. Instead, the right of same-sex couples to marry was being asserted in the context of the state choosing to recognise some marriages and not others; of privileging some intimacies and not others; of saying some people can make end-of-life decisions for those they love and not others. The court was not to answer whether the Constitution granted a right to marry; it was to answer whether the Constitution permitted such a right to be granted selectively. The court was not asked to legislate and create an institution where none existed; it was asked to ensure that access to institutions that the legislature has already recognised was non-discriminatory.

Also read: Two Steps Forward, Three Steps Back: Supreme Court Verdict on Marriage Equality

In this fundamental task, the court has failed miserably.

The court’s fallacy is perhaps best demonstrated by examining an analogy the majority opinion uses – it reasons that just because there exists a right to movement does not entitle a petitioner to approach the court and seek the construction of a specific network of roads. The analogy captures the very core of the court’s reasoning – the court, apparently, cannot by judicial diktat create laws or frameworks where none exist. That may well be the case. However, it seems to elude the court that a road has, in fact, already been constructed here; it needed only to declare that no citizens could then be denied access to it.

Equally regrettable is the court’s hand-wringing about how polyvocality cannot be accommodated in a judicial setting, and consequently the court is an inappropriate forum for making decisions about complex social issues like same-sex marriage. Undoubtedly, same-sex marriage is an issue which divides opinion in the socio-political realities of India. Undoubtedly, it is desirable that consensus on this issue be gradually built on the ground so that society’s acceptance of evolving norms is deepened. Undoubtedly, the executive and legislature are better-placed than the judiciary to build and assess that consensus.

None of this entitles the court to hold an individual’s rights hostage to the building of that consensus. Consensus-building matters because it enables a deeper percolation of constitutional norms, not because public opinion exists outside of and beyond constitutional norms. State discrimination against a minority can never be recognised by majority fiat. In the face of conflicting opinions about an individual’s constitutional rights (or, worse, unanimity about trampling on them), the role of the court is to stand up for that individual. It cannot and must not be to relegate that individual’s rights to the realm of policy debate simply because many others differ about the nature of those rights, and by so relegating them to the realm of policy debate concede the field utterly to the majoritarian impulses of the legislature. Polyvocality matters when debating the finer points of where public money should best be spent; it does not matter while recognising that the state is denying a group of individuals their fundamental right to equality.

This judgement does not represent judicial restraint. It represents judicial abdication.

Kaustubh Chaturvedi is an advocate practising before various fora in Delhi. He’s an alumnus of the National Law School of India University, and can be contacted on kaustubhchaturvedi@outlook.com.