In 2018, India amended its Prevention of Corruption Act with the stated aim of strengthening the fight against graft. Among the changes was a provision under Section 8 that has attracted both interest and controversy. This provision states that a person who offers or gives a bribe to a public servant will not be held criminally liable if they can prove that the payment was made under compulsion and if they report the incident to a law enforcement agency within a period of seven days. At first glance, this appears to be 'a thoughtful measure' aimed at protecting citizens from being punished when they are victims of extortion. In practice, however, this provision creates an almost impossible legal hurdle for victims and can end up placing them in a much worse situation than before. By requiring swift self-incrimination under a rigid seven-day window, the law inadvertently punishes those it was designed to protect and treats both the bribe giver and bribe taker as if they were equal participants in a corrupt bargain—something that could not be further from reality.
The first and most glaring flaw lies in the assumption of equal culpability between the person taking the bribe and the person paying it. In the complex and deeply ingrained web of corruption that affects many administrative and public service systems in India, the power dynamics between these two parties are rarely balanced. The bribe taker is typically a government official or someone acting in an official capacity. This person not only has control over access to essential services but also has the institutional weight of the bureaucracy behind them. The bribe giver, on the other hand, is often an ordinary citizen who has little choice but to comply with demands if they wish to get a job done—whether that is registering a property, securing a ration card, obtaining a hospital bed, or ensuring a police report is filed. In such situations, to describe the citizen's act of paying as a form of willing participation in corruption is to wilfully ignore the coercive nature of the exchange. It is akin to treating a victim of robbery as an accomplice to the crime simply because they handed over their wallet when threatened.
This failure to recognise the power imbalance leads to the next major problem—the impossibly short seven-day reporting period. The law assumes that a person who has just been coerced into paying a bribe will, within a week, have the presence of mind, the resources, and the courage to approach the police or another competent authority to lodge a complaint. For many citizens, particularly those in rural or remote areas, this is quite unrealistic. Travel to the nearest law enforcement office can take days, especially in regions with poor transport infrastructure. Even in urban areas, navigating the legal process is not simple. Many people lack the legal literacy to understand what qualifies as compulsion under the law, and others are paralysed by fear of retaliation. Corrupt officials often have deep networks of influence, and victims may face threats to their safety, livelihood, or social standing if they dare to speak out. In such circumstances, seven days is not a generous protection—it is a legal trapdoor that most victims will inevitably fall through.
The provision's vagueness around the concept of “compulsion” makes matters worse. The law does not clearly define what forms of pressure or coercion qualify for the exemption. Is compulsion limited to explicit threats of violence? Does it include the withholding of legitimate services unless a payment is made? What about subtle but persistent administrative delays that force a person to pay in desperation? Without a clear and inclusive definition, victims are left to second-guess whether their experience meets the legal threshold. This uncertainty creates another barrier to reporting, since a complainant who comes forward without airtight evidence risks not only having their claim dismissed but also facing prosecution for bribery. In effect, the law forces a person to gamble with their own freedom when deciding whether to report an act of corruption.
Compounding these issues is the absence of meaningful protective measures for the bribe giver who reports under the provision. There is no guarantee of anonymity, no robust witness protection programme, and no provision for shielding the complainant from harassment by the accused official or their associates. Once a victim comes forward, their identity becomes known to the very system in which the alleged offender operates. This exposure can have serious consequences. Beyond personal safety concerns, the victim may find themselves blacklisted in administrative offices, facing endless procedural obstacles in future dealings with the state. In some cases, the act of reporting can trigger fresh demands for bribes under the guise of “processing” the complaint. Without safety nets, the supposed immunity offered by the law is of little practical value.
When viewed in the context of global anti-corruption frameworks, India's Section 8 stands out not as an innovative safeguard but as an oddly constrained half-measure. Very few countries explicitly provide immunity for coerced bribe payers. Kazakhstan, for example, exempts a person from criminal liability if the bribe was paid as a result of extortion, but still treats the act as a criminal offence and offers no restitution of the bribe amount. The United States, under its Hobbs Act, tends to focus on prosecuting the extorter rather than the coerced payer, effectively sparing the victim from criminal charges, but this is more a by-product of the way extortion is framed in law rather than a targeted immunity provision. In contrast, the U.S. Foreign Corrupt Practices Act (FCPA) and the newer Foreign Extortion Prevention Act (FEPA) make no allowances for payments made under duress, holding individuals and companies strictly liable. In Europe, the United Kingdom's Bribery Act and France's Sapin II regime apply a zero-tolerance approach, criminalising all bribes regardless of the circumstances, though France's law places stronger emphasis on corporate compliance systems and whistleblower protections.
The Indian model is therefore unusual in that it offers explicit immunity but under such restrictive conditions that it will seldom be usable. By setting a rigid and short reporting deadline, failing to define key terms, and providing no tangible protection to the reporter, the law undermines its own purpose. Instead of empowering victims to expose corruption, it deters them from speaking out, knowing that a delayed report could turn them from complainant to accused.
A genuine reform would begin by acknowledging that in most coerced bribery cases, the bribe giver is the weaker party in an unequal transaction. Extending the reporting period to at least thirty days would recognise the logistical and emotional challenges victims face in coming forward. The law should also define “compulsion” in broad and clear terms to encompass all forms of undue influence, from outright threats to the exploitation of bureaucratic bottlenecks. Most importantly, victims who report should be guaranteed protection through confidential reporting channels, anonymity safeguards, and a robust witness protection scheme. Without such measures, immunity on paper offers little or no comfort in reality.
Ultimately, the fight against corruption cannot be waged by criminalising its victims. If we continue to treat the bribe giver and bribe taker as equally guilty in situations where one party holds all the power, we will perpetuate a system that punishes the powerless while allowing the powerful to thrive. Section 8, in its current form, risks becoming yet another example of legislation that looks good in print but fails those it claims to serve. By forcing victims into a race against time and offering them no shield against the consequences of speaking out, it delivers a cruel paradox: to avoid being punished, you must take a risk that could punish you even more. In doing so, the law does not dismantle the machinery of corruption, but, it merely tightens its grip on those already trapped within it.
Author is Professor at Brainware University, Kolkata.
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