<p>Public Interest Litigation is one of the judiciary’s better inventions. It gave people with no money or influence a way of bringing serious injustice before the courts. Prisoners, displaced communities and victims of official neglect have all benefited from it. That part of the story deserves respect. The trouble is that every useful Indian institution eventually attracts people determined to use it for purposes its founders never imagined. A large and troubling fraction of PILs now appear to involve very little public interest. Private quarrels, failed contracts, neighbourhood disputes and personal vendettas are routinely dressed up as constitutional emergencies. A disagreement over a road, a tender or a piece of land enters a lawyer’s office as an irritation and emerges shortly afterwards as a grave threat to democracy. </p><p>The judiciary loses time, of course. Judges must read the petition, then hear arguments and sometimes write an order explaining why the matter should never have reached them. Court staff must process, list and record it. In a system already burdened with delays, this is hardly a minor inconvenience. But the greater disruption is often inside government. The moment a court issues notice, the machinery of administration begins to tremble. The government lawyer writes to the relevant department. The department writes to the district office; the district office writes to the magistrate, the police superintendent, and, for good measure, three people who retired four years ago. Files are opened and old files located. Missing files known to be lost in the floods two years ago, are still searched for. Committees are formed to determine why the files are missing and meetings are called to decide who will attend the next meeting. Meanwhile, an officer whose actual job may involve schools is asked to prepare a paragraph beginning, “It is most respectfully submitted”. </p><p>This paragraph then travels through the bureaucracy. It is examined by the department, revised by the law officer, corrected by counsel and returned because somebody has used “shall” where “may” would have been safer. By the time the affidavit reaches court, several senior officials have spent days discussing a petition that may eventually be dismissed in ten minutes. The damage is not limited to paperwork. Bureaucrats begin to make decisions with one eye on policy and the other on the possibility of being summoned by a judge. A road project may be delayed and a tender may be rechecked five times. An appointment previously approved after rigorous paperwork, may be sent for yet another legal opinion. A demolition drive may be abandoned halfway because somebody has threatened to file a PIL. The sensible official soon learns that the safest decision is often no decision. Files move upwards, sideways and often in circles. Additional approvals are demanded and so committees multiply. Nobody wants to be the person whose signature appears on the page later produced before the Honourable Judge. This is how governance becomes defensive. Officers stop asking, “What should we do?” and begin asking, “What can we defend?” </p><p>The petitioners themselves are a varied bunch. Some are sincere citizens who have done too little homework. Others are habitual litigants, political proxies or individuals simply seeking publicity. A few appear to regard High Courts as a superior form of social media, offering better lighting. None of this means PILs should be weakened beyond recognition as genuine PILs remain essential. The solution is not to close the door, but to place a sensible doorman beside it. Courts should examine the petitioner’s credentials and impose real costs, where facts have been concealed. Repeat offenders should be identified and punished with heavy fines. Most importantly, courts should start recording how many PILs are declared frivolous, because India currently does not even count the problem properly. Public Interest Litigation should continue to protect the public, not become a system under which every irritated citizen can place half the state government on affidavit. </p>
<p>Public Interest Litigation is one of the judiciary’s better inventions. It gave people with no money or influence a way of bringing serious injustice before the courts. Prisoners, displaced communities and victims of official neglect have all benefited from it. That part of the story deserves respect. The trouble is that every useful Indian institution eventually attracts people determined to use it for purposes its founders never imagined. A large and troubling fraction of PILs now appear to involve very little public interest. Private quarrels, failed contracts, neighbourhood disputes and personal vendettas are routinely dressed up as constitutional emergencies. A disagreement over a road, a tender or a piece of land enters a lawyer’s office as an irritation and emerges shortly afterwards as a grave threat to democracy. </p><p>The judiciary loses time, of course. Judges must read the petition, then hear arguments and sometimes write an order explaining why the matter should never have reached them. Court staff must process, list and record it. In a system already burdened with delays, this is hardly a minor inconvenience. But the greater disruption is often inside government. The moment a court issues notice, the machinery of administration begins to tremble. The government lawyer writes to the relevant department. The department writes to the district office; the district office writes to the magistrate, the police superintendent, and, for good measure, three people who retired four years ago. Files are opened and old files located. Missing files known to be lost in the floods two years ago, are still searched for. Committees are formed to determine why the files are missing and meetings are called to decide who will attend the next meeting. Meanwhile, an officer whose actual job may involve schools is asked to prepare a paragraph beginning, “It is most respectfully submitted”. </p><p>This paragraph then travels through the bureaucracy. It is examined by the department, revised by the law officer, corrected by counsel and returned because somebody has used “shall” where “may” would have been safer. By the time the affidavit reaches court, several senior officials have spent days discussing a petition that may eventually be dismissed in ten minutes. The damage is not limited to paperwork. Bureaucrats begin to make decisions with one eye on policy and the other on the possibility of being summoned by a judge. A road project may be delayed and a tender may be rechecked five times. An appointment previously approved after rigorous paperwork, may be sent for yet another legal opinion. A demolition drive may be abandoned halfway because somebody has threatened to file a PIL. The sensible official soon learns that the safest decision is often no decision. Files move upwards, sideways and often in circles. Additional approvals are demanded and so committees multiply. Nobody wants to be the person whose signature appears on the page later produced before the Honourable Judge. This is how governance becomes defensive. Officers stop asking, “What should we do?” and begin asking, “What can we defend?” </p><p>The petitioners themselves are a varied bunch. Some are sincere citizens who have done too little homework. Others are habitual litigants, political proxies or individuals simply seeking publicity. A few appear to regard High Courts as a superior form of social media, offering better lighting. None of this means PILs should be weakened beyond recognition as genuine PILs remain essential. The solution is not to close the door, but to place a sensible doorman beside it. Courts should examine the petitioner’s credentials and impose real costs, where facts have been concealed. Repeat offenders should be identified and punished with heavy fines. Most importantly, courts should start recording how many PILs are declared frivolous, because India currently does not even count the problem properly. Public Interest Litigation should continue to protect the public, not become a system under which every irritated citizen can place half the state government on affidavit. </p>
