The justice system has its own illusions and its own realities—this is why “relative justice” and, to some extent, “(ir)rational justice” have now become new moral conveniences for the justice systems of a changing world. In contrast to the relatively neglected ethical principles of the justice system, “justice” and “judicial decisions” are two parallel concepts. On the one hand, “judicial decisions” are the minimum expected output of courts; on the other, “justice,” in its broader sense, represents the maximum exercise of “judicial discretion” by a judge — something that society and petitioners expect. Notably, in recent years, many judicial decisions have crossed the moral boundaries of justice (or judicial discretion). In a brief history of the past three decades, we can read, hear, see, and understand this trajectory—from the (political) ethical core of “relative justice” to the backstage of “(ir)rational justice.”
The pertinent question is: what should be the minimum “moral competence” of those who dispense justice through judicial institutions? Can expertise in the Constitution be considered the sole measure of their completeness, or should efficiency in judicial administration be regarded as a new qualification? Should justice be expected from an omniscient legal expert, or are advocates of judicial conciliation a better alternative? Should providers of justice be better informed about contemporary society and the world, or should social foresight across time and space become the new benchmark for judges? And when expectations from courts are increasing every day, should those who deliver justice or judicial decisions be turned into machines (or artificial intelligence), or has the decisive moment arrived to agree upon a prudent, decentralised form of the justice system?
In sum, even partial answers to any of these questions do not explain why, with or without these qualifications, many court decisions have generally failed to provide even the minimum assurance that “justice has been done” or that “injustice has not occurred.” The simple implication of the caravans of people waiting outside courts is that they are, at least mentally, prepared for a lifetime of waiting in the hope of justice. However, the petitioner’s more challenging expectation often is that such injustice should not happen again—to them or to others. Therefore, judicial decisions must, knowingly or unknowingly, step outside the self-created boundaries of the algorithms they have themselves established.
According to the Centre for Legal Studies, based on certain complex mathematical theorems, it is not difficult to predict what the probable outcome of a court case might be. In the new algorithms governing court or judicial decisions, this anticipation of possible outcomes is no longer moral discretion but rather a new product of (political) pragmatic behaviour.
Whether this should be regarded as justice or not depends on every individual in those caravans waiting before the courts—people who expect something far more than mere judicial decisions: they expect “just decisions.”
The reality is also that, in India and many other democratic countries, the “socio-economic majority” has become the new focal point of judicial decisions—where the “minority,” in its old role as an exception, has become increasingly dwarfed or marginal before the new role of the “majority.” In the new definition of judicial decisions, this has almost been accepted as an indispensable condition for the “socio-economic development” of the majority society. Consequently, in the new era, “justice”—especially for those being steadily stripped of their rights—is effectively being reduced to a new product of “judicial decisions.”
The primary and ultimate beneficiaries of these judicial decisions have often become the majority section of society—at least for whom development-oriented judicial decisions bring a new sense of comfort; a society that prefers to live in an arriving present rather than in a promised tomorrow. Reflections of this transitional phase in society are gradually taking shape today in the form of judicial decisions characterised by the dominant dimensions of a “socio-economic majority.”
A well-known example of the old algorithm of the justice system is the definition of “forest” given by learned judges of the Supreme Court in 1996. This definition permanently established the supremacy of the Forest Department over the (minority) Adivasi society and reduced forests from a living entity to a government product. The contemporary history of open displacement and organised eviction of Adivasi communities from forests begins here—and does not end. This single judicial decision effectively announced the possible end of justice for Adivasis.
Being confined within the statutory limits of the Panchayats (Extension to Scheduled Areas) Act (1996), or similarly confining the Forest Rights Act (2006) within narrow statutory boundaries—both realities are extensions of that same 1996 judicial decision, which turned Adivasi society into encroachers on their own ancestral land. The definition of “forest” was not shaped by judicial discretion, but by the framework of a (colonial) judicial decision that permanently reduced the rightful owners of forests to mere petitioners.
A much-discussed example of the new algorithm of the justice system is the potential definition of “mountains” given by learned judges of the Supreme Court in 2025 (using the Aravalli range as an example). This definition establishes the primacy of development for the majority society while reducing mountains from living entities to commercial products. It is possible that this may prove to be the beginning of the end for mountains in India, and for the communities and living beings that have depended on them for generations.
The judicial decision through which a new highway for the destruction of mountains has been established—or is being established—purports to pave the way for (so-called) development. In reality, this is what the majority society wanted, and the Supreme Court articulated it. The majority society advocating (so-called) development and the justice system that legitimised it emerged victorious, while the defeated were a handful of people whose resistance was branded as backwardness of the twentieth century.
Between 1996 and 2025, those judicial decisions that can be tested against the minimum threshold of justice have already been recorded in the judicial system as examples that represent the present reality of the deliberate and continuous narrowing of “judicial discretion” and the expanding domain of “judicial decisions.”
For now, we may call this the dream of a developing India and of Indians driven by an insatiable desire for prosperity. But the demand of a developed India is this—that both society and the state now use their minimum moral competence to view and shape the sentiment and possibility of a better tomorrow with prudence. Perhaps only then will courts move beyond mere “judicial decisions” and take steps toward truly “judicial discretion.”
Ramesh Sharma is the National Coordinator of Ekta Parishad
Views expressed are the author’s own and don’t necessarily reflect those of Down To Earth