ON AUGUST 7, the Bombay Sessions Court’s Additional Sessions Judge V.B. Vohra denied anticipatory bail to two students from the Tata Institute of Social Sciences (‘TISS’), Abhirup Paul and Kamakhya Prasad Das. Although the Bombay High Court’s Justice Prafulla Khubalkar has provided interim protection from arrest to Paul and has agreed to hear Das’ plea, the Trial Court’s denial of bail raises troubling questions about its approach towards not just political speech but also political solidarity and the political beliefs of young students. And so, it merits a closer examination.
The backdrop of the Trial Court’s bail order is the allegations faced by students in connection with an event organised at their campus to commemorate Professor G.N. Saibaba, who had faced prosecution in an anti-terror case but was ultimately acquitted by the Bombay High Court of all charges. Saibaba eventually lost his life just after seven months of his release in October 2024. He also had a 90 percent physical disability with his health having deteriorated during his ten-year-long incarceration, leaving him with serious medical complications.
The Allegations Against the Students
The main allegations of the police against the students were that the event took place without having a prior permission and that these two students raised slogans in support of Umar Khalid and Sharjeel Imam which included “Umar Khalid ko riha karo” (“release Umar Khalid”) and “Sharjeel Imam ko riha karo” (“release Sharjeel Imam”). The bail order contends that these slogans are problematic as both Khalid and Imam face trial under the stringent anti-terror law, Unlawful Activities (Prevention) Act, 1967, with their bail orders being rejected by the Supreme Court of India. The order states:
“They even allegedly raised slogans in the nature of releasing Umar Khalid and Sharjeel Imam from jail, who are facing trial for an offence under UAPA i.e. unlawful activities against the Nation. It was not the platform for raising such slogans. In other words, such slogans were not made in a public agitation or procession. The Hon’ble Apex Court had been pleased to reject bail applications of Umar Khalid and Sharjeel Imam. Being students, it was expected from accused persons to respect the Law of Land.”
The order therefore treats the students’ expression of solidarity and demand for the release of two people facing prosecution as something questionable and worthy of criminal suspicion. The reasoning becomes particularly significant as the order ultimately denies anticipatory bail to the two students while granting it to five others.
Making Solidarity Criminal
The bail order on its face becomes one that expresses criminalisation of student solidarity on reasons that go against the established principle of law: rejection of bail cannot be treated as though it establishes the guilt of the person whose bail has been rejected. Umar Khalid and Sharjeel Imam have not been convicted and remain undertrials, with their trial yet to begin despite them having spent the past six years in prison.
Viewed against the constitutional protection of political speech, the issue assumes a much greater significance raising questions about the scope of free speech itself. Even when a person stands convicted, that conviction does not take away people’s right to express solidarity with them, to express their disagreement with their conviction held by the courts, or to demand their release. Political expression does not become criminal simply because the person being supported has faced, or continues to face, a criminal conviction.
Our history is replete with examples of political solidarity and campaigns seeking release, or commutation of sentences of those who have been convicted of serious offenses. In this context, the case of A.G. Perarivalan is particularly significant. Perarivalan was convicted in the Rajiv Gandhi assassination case, yet sustained civil-society and political campaigns continued to advocate for his release and questioned the basis of his continued incarceration. The Supreme Court ultimately ordered his release in 2022. Similar questions have continued to arise in the cases of Sikh political prisoners convicted during the militancy period, many of whom have remained incarcerated for decades, leading to continuing public and political campaigns questioning the proportionality of their sentences and demanding their release.
Given this, the order of the Trial Court fails to take into account this basic principle that political acceptability of the person receiving solidarity cannot turn the expression of solidarity into a criminal act.
The Supreme Court on Political Slogans
The Supreme Court has repeatedly held that slogans, by themselves, do not automatically become criminal merely because of their political content. It has time and again set out this distinction by asking whether the speech crosses the legally recognised threshold of incitement to violence or otherwise fulfills the ingredients of a criminal offence.
In Balwant Singh v. State of Punjab (1995) the Supreme Court considered slogans such as “Khalistan Zindabad”(“Long live Khalistan”) and “Raj Karega Khalsa” (“Khalsa will rule”), raised in the aftermath of the assassination of Prime Minister Indira Gandhi. The Court held that they could not attract criminal liability for sedition in the absence of the necessary connection with an overt act of violence or public disorder. Political slogans, while forming an important part of political speech, provide an expression of anger, an outlet and an expression of solidarity. Mere slogans (words) raised do not in itself turn into a criminal speech, simply because they support a person facing prosecution.
Further, the Trial Court’s reasoning on “respect the law of the land” treats respect for law as requiring acceptance of the State’s position in a pending criminal case. It fails to recognise that if students believe a person has been unjustly imprisoned, they must remain free to say so. The Supreme Court’s rejection of bail does not prohibit citizens from demanding that the person be released.
Political Judgment Turned into Criminal Suspicion
Another important aspect of the order concerns the Court’s observation that the slogans were not raised at the appropriate “platform”. The Court’s question about the timing of the slogans itself enters the realm of political judgment. Why did the students feel the need to say it?
The event itself was organised to commemorate Professor G.N. Saibaba on his first death anniversary. The students recited his poetry, displayed his photographs, lit candles and paid homage to him. The order itself records these aspects of the programme. The event itself marks as an act of remembrance and political reflection around a person whose own case involved prolonged incarceration under the UAPA and Maoist-related charges, followed ultimately by his acquittal by the Bombay High Court.
The event therefore did not simply form an unrelated gathering where the names of Khalid and Imam suddenly appeared. It also concerned political prisoners and the questions raised by students about prolonged incarceration under the criminal justice system. If the students saw a parallel between Saibaba’s imprisonment and the imprisonment of Umar Khalid and Sharjeel Imam, then that was precisely the moment in which they would raise those questions and those slogans. The point of solidarity came from the connection that was between these cases of political prisoners facing prolonged incarceration under the criminal justice system. In choosing that moment to demand the release of Khalid and Imam, the event itself constituted an exercise of political expression and solidarity.
In that sense, what the order risks criminalising amounts to criminalising the act of fraternity towards others which remains one of the most cherished constitutional ideas precisely because it asks citizens to recognise the humanity and dignity of others. Political solidarity forms one way in which that fraternity finds expression: by saying that another person’s suffering or imprisonment matters to us even when we are not the ones experiencing it.
Professor Saibaba’s Association Treated as Suspicion
The Trial Court’s treatment of Saibaba himself appears troubling. The order says:
“Moreover, as stated above, G.N. Saibaba came to be acquitted by the Hon’ble High Court. However, nature of charges against him is the matter of record. He was said to be active member of the Front of CPI (Maoist), which was banned by the Government of India.”
The fact that charges were once framed against Professor Saibaba remains a matter of record. However, the criminal justice system exists precisely to distinguish a charge from a finding of guilt. The Court’s language becomes particularly troubling when it says that Saibaba “was said to be” an active member of the Front of CPI (Maoist). That forms a description of the allegation against him. It cannot simply be carried forward after acquittal as though the allegation itself amounts to a finding.
The Literature on the Students’ Devices
The same problem appears in the order’s discussion of the literature found on Abhirup’s devices. The Court itself says: “No doubt, mere downloading the books published by the Maoist Organization would not amount to an offence.”
This matters because students read. Students download books. Students research political movements and ideologies, including movements that remain controversial, banned or opposed to the State. Literature can be read for research, to understand a political movement, to frame one’s own thoughts, or simply because one studies and questions. The mere fact that literature appears on a student’s phone does not establish that the student has adopted everything contained in it and, by doing so, the student has committed a criminal offence.
The Supreme Court has also dealt with questions concerning Maoist literature and made clear that possession of literature, without the necessary connection to the offence alleged, cannot simply become proof of criminal involvement. This matters here as the court itself accepts that downloading the books does not amount to an offence. Yet the literature then becomes part of the material used to raise doubts about Abhirup’s ideological motivations.
The order further says: “Further, the books though not banned by the Government but reportedly instigating or aiding the division of India.”
Here, two things capable of existing together are treated as though they cannot coexist: politically controversial literature and lawful possession.
Further, the Trial Court’s order connects the literature to the slogans supporting the release of Khalid and Imam, stating that custodial interrogation remains necessary to ascertain the applicant’s intention in downloading the books “coupled with his intention in raising slogans” for their release. This marks the point where the reasoning begins to rely heavily on an accumulation of political facts: the books he read, the material allegedly deleted, the political event he attended, the person he commemorated and the people whose release he demanded.
But political life naturally consists of such connections. A student who reads, questions, attends events, remembers political figures and expresses solidarity reveals a political worldview. That, by itself, does not establish criminal intent.
The order also states that Abhirup appeared to be “inspired” by or “motivated” by Maoist ideology. However, such a conclusion requires evidence beyond the existence of political literature. The students deny such ideological motivation. Even assuming, for the sake of argument, that a student held sympathy for a particular political ideology, that would still not by itself establish participation in a criminal act let alone granting bail. Political belief and criminal conduct cannot simply become interchangeable.
Rest in Power
Further, the Court’s treatment of the phrase “Rest in Power” remains equally striking. It says:
“Generally, while paying homage to deceased person, words ‘Rest in Peace’ are mentioned or said or written. However, accused persons have allegedly used words ‘Rest in Power (1967- Forever)’…”
The phrase “Rest in Power” carries a political meaning different from the court’s almost literal comparison with “Rest in Peace”. It expresses the idea that a person’s political life, struggle and ideas continue to give others the power to resist injustice. For many in the political domain, it expresses that the person’s politics and memory continue to influence those who remain. It does not make a literal claim about physical power after death. It forms political mourning, and in this context it refers to Professor G.N. Saibaba whose life and imprisonment formed the subject of the students’ remembrance.
The phrase therefore formed an expression of solidarity with the Professor and with what the students understood his life and political struggle to represent. It conveyed their belief that his memory continued to inform them and that the questions raised by his imprisonment did not end with his death. The court itself accepts that the phrase does not constitute a criminal offence. Yet the phrase, when placed alongside other political expressions, becomes part of the material used to create suspicion about the students’ criminal intent.
The Double Standards of Political Solidarity
The problem also becomes glaring when one asks how political solidarity gets treated when directed towards people on the other side of the political spectrum. What about those who celebrated and garlanded the convicts in the Bilkis Bano case when they received premature release? What about instances where the release of persons accused or convicted in lynching cases gets celebrated by people close to those in power?
The law cannot have one standard for political speech that supports the establishment and another for political speech that challenges it. If people receive protection for expressing solidarity with those accused or convicted of serious offences when that solidarity proves politically convenient, the same principle must apply when solidarity gets directed towards people whose politics oppose the government of the day. The question cannot become whether the person being supported remains politically acceptable. The question must remain whether the speech itself satisfies the ingredients of the alleged criminal offence. The court should not have to determine whether the political expression of students proves acceptable when the allegation does not rest upon violence or incitement to violence.
What these two students did was, ultimately, morally, ethically and most importantly, humanly, an act of solidarity and fraternity.
It is not a crime to say: Release Umar Khalid and Sharjeel Imam.
The question before the Court should not be whether it agrees with these expressions or considers the people named in them worthy of solidarity. The question should be whether the students committed a criminal act by expressing that solidarity and fraternity. The answer ought to be that solidarity, as an expression of fraternity, deserves the highest constitutional protection. It lies at the heart of what ultimately makes us citizens and human beings capable of standing with one another. Such an expression of fraternity cannot turn into a criminal act.
