You spent nine years in prison before being acquitted. Having experienced the system from the inside, how do you view the “freedom” recently granted to five co-accused in the Delhi riots case, given the strict conditions attached to their bail?

I call it a prison outside the physical boundaries of a prison cell. The bail given to Meeran Haider, Gulfishan Fatima, Shifa ur Rehman, Muhammad Salim Khan, and Shadab Ahmed is restrictive and limiting. They cannot leave Delhi, they must visit the police station twice weekly to mark attendance, and they have to submit their passports or affidavits. While they are technically out, their freedom is an illusion.

In the case of Umar Khalid, the Supreme Court’s order relies heavily on the police charge sheet. How do you view the court’s decision to treat these allegations as the primary basis for denying bail?

It is a matter of deep regret. Throughout the order, the court repeatedly refers to the charge sheet as if it were gospel truth. We believe that since the trial has not begun, the court should not treat these allegations as facts. On one hand, the charge sheet admits Umar Khalid had no involvement in the riots; on the other, it alleges a conspiracy based on “protected witnesses”, who function effectively as police spies. The Supreme Court has relied on these statements to reject bail, despite the questionable credibility of such witnesses.

The charge sheet notes that Umar Khalid participated in protests and called for chakka jams (road blockades), while explicitly conceding that he had no involvement in the riots. However, the same charge sheet alleges that he was part of conspiracy meetings in which participants were purportedly asked to prepare chilli powder, stones, and knives. This internal contradiction is stark. Umar Khalid has consistently identified as a Gandhian who places his faith in the Constitution; he neither advocates violence, nor has he ever resorted to it.

In paragraph 207 of the judgement, the Supreme Court reproduces the charge sheet almost verbatim, stating that Muslim protesters initiated the violence and attacked Hindus in mixed Hindu-Muslim gatherings using stones, knives, acid, and acid and petrol bombs in large quantities. While recording these allegations, the judge—relying solely on the charge sheet—observes that the intention behind these actions was to trigger something akin to a guerrilla war and ultimately topple the government. These assertions originate entirely from the police, as recorded in the charge sheet.

The judgment notes that Umar Khalid was not present at the site of the violence yet rules against bail. What does this suggest to you?

It completely overturns established jurisprudence. The court should have given him the benefit of his absence but instead, it followed the police line that he is a “mastermind” who planned it from afar. This means that a person who was not even present at a crime scene can be kept in jail indefinitely on a narrative built on “informants”. Under the garb of protecting informant identities, the police can destroy lives through false FIRs. Our courts, including the Supreme Court, absorb this information unquestioningly.

Umar Khalid, behind a cordon at JNU on February 22, 2016. In Umar Khalid’s case, the court relied on protected witnesses whose identities and credibility remain undisclosed, says Abdul Wahid Shaikh. | Photo Credit: Sushil Kumar Verma

Can you tell us a little more about the court’s reliance on police narratives.

In paragraph 213, the Supreme Court records that a protected witness claimed that Umar Khalid explained the difference between a dharna and a chakka jam, named team members, and outlined a plan to be executed at a suitable time. The court notes that the witness’s statement is not entirely trustworthy and should not be taken at face value. Yet, it relies on it to establish Khalid as the alleged mastermind.

Khalid has repeatedly argued that he was not physically present at the site of the Delhi riots. Instead of viewing this as mitigating, the court notes that the Delhi Police also do not claim he was present, while fully accepting the police’s allegation that he planned and inspired the violence. This approach undermines established legal principles that favour presumption of innocence. The broader narrative relies heavily on police informants, whose accounts often drive FIRs and arrests without independent verification. Such mechanisms have historically been misused to criminalise dissent, as journalist Ravish Kumar has highlighted.

The charge sheet also claims that Khalid announced protests during US President Donald Trump’s visit. Even if true, calling for a peaceful protest during a foreign leader’s visit is not a crime. Criminalising dissent lacks legal basis and, if applied broadly, would have led to FIRs and jail for countless lawful protests in India.

The judgment reveals a notable tension between Article 21 and Section 43D(5) of the UAPA, reflecting the court’s struggle to balance fundamental rights with anti-terror laws.

In paragraph 33, the Supreme Court judge himself questions the prolonged incarceration and resulting deprivation of personal liberty. He notes that long detention should not be viewed in isolation but alongside all relevant factors and raises the question of whether the issue should be assessed in terms of Article 21 being invalidated rather than placing it above or below Section 43D(5).

From a constitutional perspective, Article 21, as the guarantor of fundamental rights, occupies the highest position, while laws like the UAPA and later amendments, including Section 43D(5), enacted after the BJP came to power, cannot be equated with the Constitution and must rank lower. The judgment’s framing of Article 21 on the same footing as the UAPA is therefore difficult to reconcile.

The order also notes that Parliament has observed that Article 21 should be applied with caution in matters of national security. This reflects a familiar narrative used by those in power to justify incarceration through fake informants or false charges. In cases where no visible threat to national security exists, the court’s reliance on Parliament’s stance rather than on independent judicial assessment appears deeply troubling.

Paragraph 51 of the judgement states that Article 21 encompasses not only personal liberty, but also the liberty and national security of citizens. This suggests that national security, still an allegation at this stage, is weighted more heavily than the liberty of an individual incarcerated for five years. The court shows little concern for the imprisoned individual, while simultaneously emphasising the security of those already free.

This approach weakens Article 21 and strengthens Section 43D. Although the court denies this in paragraph 53, the practical effect is clear: bail was denied to Umar Khalid and Sharjeel Imam despite prolonged incarceration, demonstrating that fundamental rights were subordinated to the anti-terror law.

Protestors gathered for a celebration of two years of Shaheen Bagh, in New Delhi, on December 16, 2021. | Photo Credit: R.V. Moorthy

The court suggested an expedited trial instead of bail, but offered no fixed timeline. In your experience, how does this play out in the trial courts?

In my experience, such directions are a farce. Trial courts argue that they are overburdened and cannot give one case “day-in, day-out” hearings. The Supreme Court said if the trial is not finished in a year Umar Khalid can apply for bail again, but these are hollow promises. Meanwhile, the prosecution conceals witness details until the last second, making meaningful cross-examination impossible. There must be some clear criterion because the question that arises for every citizen is: How long is too long?

The Supreme Court directed the trial court to conduct an expedited trial but failed to set a concrete deadline. Without a clear timeline, authorities have the freedom to prolong proceedings indefinitely. The judgment leaves citizens uncertain about their rights and sets a troubling precedent for the treatment of political activists and dissenters.

How does the Supreme Court’s expansive interpretation of terrorism under the UAPA, particularly regarding civic protests, impact the right to personal liberty and the ability to secure bail?

In paragraph 87 of the judgement, the court examines the definition of a terrorist act under Section 15 of the UAPA, noting that the Parliament left the language vague, with phrases like “by whatever means” and “in any other form or nature” unfinished. Rather than interpreting the law within its intended limits, the court has expanded it, bringing within the ambit of terrorism any action that, in the eyes of the ruling class or police, affects public order or the country. This is extremely dangerous as it allows ordinary protests to be criminalised, resulting in arrests and years of incarceration. In Umar Khalid’s case, there was no bomb blast or weapons recovery. The riots were framed around a Hindu-Muslim narrative, and Muslim protesters were portrayed as threats. Instead of recognising this as a community issue and allowing bail, the court effectively broadened Section 15, undermining personal liberty.

Paragraph 88 goes further, stating that any action that disrupts civic life or social functioning falls under national security. This means that peaceful protests against laws or government policies, if they disturb civic routines, could be treated as terrorism—a sweeping interpretation that threatens the democratic right to dissent.

The court has explicitly interpreted the vague phrase “in any other form or nature” under Section 15 to include chakka jams, sit-in protests, and planned disruptions. This is comparable to a legal issue under Maharashtra Control of Organised Crime Act, 1999 (MCOCA), where a section stipulated that if a person was charged under MCOCA and had other pending cases, all other trials would be deferred until the MCOCA trial concluded.

In practice, this led to prolonged incarceration because MCOCA trials were delayed, and the accused could remain in jail for years even after acquittal in the MCOCA case. Justice Thipsay, when examining the legislative intent, clarified that the purpose was not to penalise citizens but to ensure that the MCOCA trial was prioritised and concluded efficiently. He emphasised that other trials should not be stalled unnecessarily, and delays should not prolong incarceration.

This example illustrates how judicial interpretation can determine whether vague statutory language works for or against citizens. In the UAPA case, the court could have interpreted “in any other form” to exclude peaceful civic protests such as chakka jams. Instead, it chose a negative interpretation, treating civic protests as acts of terrorism. This demonstrates that the scope of Section 15 and its impact on personal liberty depends entirely on judicial discretion which, in this instance, has been used to expand the law in a way that chills lawful dissent.

How does the court’s reliance on police assertions in framing Umar Khalid’s protests as threats to national security, without verifying evidence or assessing non-violent intent, affect the interpretation of lawful dissent under the UAPA?

In paragraph 227, the court attempts to clarify that not every protest is dangerous or falls under the UAPA, but protests that allegedly threaten national security can be charged under the act. It categorises Umar Khalid’s actions within this framework. However, this narrative originates entirely from the police. Khalid has consistently stated, including in his Amravati speech, that he would follow the path of non-violence and uphold the Constitution. When someone explicitly commits to non-violence, it is difficult to see how that could constitute a threat to the nation. The court’s approach either misrepresents this distinction or relies unquestioningly on police statements.

In paragraph 228, the court deems Khalid’s call for a chakka jam “extremely dangerous”, noting that several roads in the capital were blocked. Yet, the prosecution did not provide critical evidence such as the number of essential services affected, whether ambulances or medicines were delayed, or whether any lives were endangered. Merely asserting that civic life was disrupted should not suffice. Accepting the police’s claims without verification undermines judicial scrutiny.

Paragraph 229 goes further, observing that protests were allegedly shifted to central locations to impact the entire city. To substantiate such claims, the court should have required a detailed map of protest sites for verification. Ignoring these evidentiary steps risks criminalising lawful dissent on the basis of unexamined assertions.

How does the court’s approach to recoveries and alleged conspiratorial meetings in Unlawful Activities (Prevention) Act (UAPA) cases shift the burden of proof and risk criminalising activism and dissent?

In paragraph 215 of the judgement, the Supreme Court observes that under special laws like the UAPA, recoveries are less significant than under normal IPC (Indian Penal Code) provisions. This means that if someone is accused as a conspirator, the mere accusation is treated as serious enough to justify continued arrest, even if no recoverable material is found. Traditionally, the absence of recoveries would weigh in favour of the accused, but this principle has been overturned. Now, even without planted evidence or fake recoveries, a mere police allegation can sustain incarceration, lowering the threshold for arrest under special laws.

Paragraph 217 reinforces this by treating the consistency of meetings as proof of Umar Khalid’s involvement in the alleged conspiracy from start to finish. This interpretation strengthens the police narrative even though the meetings in question were related to protests, not conspiratorial discussions. The judgment sets a dangerous precedent: activism, dissent, and participation in public meetings could be construed as conspiratorial, making it easier for the state to deny bail. Umar Khalid becomes a symbol of this broader threat to lawful dissent, underscoring the need to challenge such interpretations to protect democratic freedoms.

What are the broader implications of the Supreme Court’s denial of bail to Umar Khalid and Sharjeel Imam?

The judgment expands the definition of terrorism, disregards their non-violent, constitutionalist stance, and treats mere allegations as sufficient for continued incarceration. The court ruled that physical presence was unnecessary for conspirators. The absence of recoveries was also dismissed, with the logic that those acting on their directions would possess any material. Even Khalid’s public commitment to non-violence was interpreted as a façade for secret planning.

This approach is dangerous for dissent in India, implying that political activism or opposition could be criminalised on the basis of association or intent. The denial of bail also eliminates a potential precedent limiting prolonged incarceration under the UAPA and Section 43D. While a few minor actors were granted relief, they were treated as mere pawns acting on the directions of Khalid and Imam, who were classified as conspirators. This parallels past cases, such as the 1993 Bombay blasts, where individuals carrying out actions were punished differently from the alleged masterminds, raising questions about fairness and proportionality. Overall, the ruling feels less like an exercise of judicial independence and more like the enforcement of a political narrative, undermining both justice and public trust in the judiciary.

How does the Supreme Court’s categorisation of protests as potentially “beyond peaceful” affect the distinction between lawful dissent and terrorism?

The court has stated that democracy allows space for protest, but that planned destruction cannot be tolerated. Yet it remains unclear how the court defines peaceful versus destructive protest. All the protests against the CAA (Citizenship Amendment Act) and NRC (National Register of Citizens), including Shaheen Bagh, were peaceful: protesters raised the national flag, displayed images of freedom fighters, sang the national anthem, and upheld the Constitution. The aim was to make dissent visible and compel the government to listen, not to incite violence.

Despite this, the court treated the protests as potentially “beyond peaceful” because they were prolonged, and involved multiple meetings, coordination, speeches, and movement across locations. In doing so, the court relied heavily on statements from protected witnesses whose identities and credibility remain unverified, and whose testimonies may be biased or influenced by police pressure. Right to Information requests have been blocked and witness statements concealed at various stages, yet they were treated [by the court] as gospel truth. This approach imposes pre-trial punishment and blurs the line between lawful dissent and terrorism, undermining both justice, and the democratic right to protest.

Chakka jam cannot be defined as a terrorist act. It was an action undertaken by minorities protesting measures that threatened their rights, their identity, and citizenship. The court could have interpreted it positively, but it did not. Even what Parliament deliberately omitted, the judge attempted to include, which is highly lamentable.

As someone who has personally been imprisoned on false charges under terrorism laws, how did you feel when you heard this judgment?

We might think the law does not touch us but having spent nine years in jail and knowing others who have spent 19, we feel its impact deeply. I hoped the court would dilute UAPA or Section 43, but this judgment strengthens the police and weakens ordinary citizens’ liberties. Reading it, I felt scared, emotional, tired, and at times irritated; their hypocrisy struck me. They deny bail yet claim concern for Article 21. It is good that five people got bail, but the conditions imposed on them remain unfair. As someone who was once affected, this judgment shows the court reinforcing state power rather than protecting citizen rights.