In India's criminal justice system, arrest is a procedural mechanism intended to secure the presence of an accused for the purposes of investigation. In a catena of judgments, the Hon'ble Supreme Court and various High Courts across the country have consistently held that where this objective can be achieved through less intrusive means, the investigating agency must adopt such alternatives and refrain from unnecessary arrests. Despite these clear judicial pronouncements, arrest has increasingly come to resemble a form of punishment rather than a procedural step.
The moment an individual is accused of an offence, his name, photograph, place of residence, family background, and alleged conduct are frequently placed in the public domain through relentless media coverage. Long before a court has the opportunity to examine evidence or hear the defence, the accused is effectively tried, convicted, and socially ostracized in the court of public opinion. Even where an acquittal ultimately follows, the stigma, humiliation, and psychological trauma inflicted during this process often leave permanent scars that no judicial vindication can fully erase.
This raises a fundamental constitutional question, does an accused person retain the right to privacy, dignity, and reputation during investigation and trial? The answer, both legally and morally, must be in the affirmative.
The criminal jurisprudence in India follows a basic principle of law 'innocent till proven guilty'. This means until a person is proven guilty, law presumes him to be innocent even if there are heinous charges levelled against him. This basic principle forms corner stone of the criminal jurisprudence in India. The power to declare someone guilty has been bestowed upon the Courts. No institution other than the courts can decide that the person against whom any charges have been leveled is actually guilty. Yet media reports often operates against this basic principle and pronounces judgments against an accused even before the evidences are tested by the Court of law. It inflicts irreversible harm to the reputation, dignity and honour of a person which no acquittal can repair.
The Supreme Court of India has consistently held that the right to life under Article 21 includes the right to dignity, reputation, and privacy. In K.S. Puttaswamy v. Union of India, privacy was
recognised as an intrinsic part of personal liberty. This right does not become inoperative at the police station gate. Arrest does not suspend constitutional protection, it merely subjects the individual to a regulated legal process.
Publishing the name of the person at the time of arrest and at a stage when the investigating agency has just called upon him for questioning violates this right to dignity, reputation and privacy. The publication serves no purpose either to the investigating agency or to the judicial system. It only dents the reputation, dignity and honour of the person. Even if the accused is ultimately acquitted, the social stigma, professional damage, and psychological trauma endure for a lifetime. Society rarely remembers acquittals with the same enthusiasm with which it consumes allegations, more so when such acquittal follow after decades in most of the cases.
This practice also undermines the fairness of the trial itself. Media narratives have a subtle yet powerful influence on public opinion, witnesses, and sometimes even institutions. The phenomenon of media trial creates a parallel adjudicatory space where conclusions are drawn without evidence, cross-examination, or judicial restraint. The damage caused by these media trials extends beyond the accused person. When an individual is publicly branded as a criminal, the punishment is collective. Families face social ostracism, verbal abuse, and economic hardship. Children are mocked in schools, spouses are shunned, parents are subjected to humiliation, and entire households become targets of suspicion and hostility. None of these individuals are parties to the alleged crime, yet they bear its consequences. Even after acquittal, society rarely restores what it destroys. Headlines announcing arrests are bold, acquittals, when reported at all, are muted. The accused may regain legal freedom, but social dignity remains elusive.
Scientist Nambi Narayanan was arrested in 1994 on false espionage charges. His arrest was widely publicized, destroying his reputation overnight. Decades later, the Supreme Court acknowledged that the case was fabricated and awarded compensation. Yet, the Court itself noted that no amount of money could restore the dignity and career lost to reckless accusation and media exposure.
This is not an argument against press freedom. A free press is indispensable to democracy. But freedom without responsibility degenerates into harm. Constitutional liberties must coexist, not
cannibalize one another. The right of the media to report cannot take away the right of an accused to a fair trial and a dignified life.
A civilized legal system is measured not by how efficiently it arrests, but by how carefully it protects the innocent while pursuing the guilty. When accusation itself becomes punishment, the Constitution stands diminished. The right to privacy and dignity of the accused is not an obstacle to justice, it is its moral foundation. Protecting this right does not weaken the fight against crime, it strengthens the legitimacy of the process. Until India learns to restrain its appetite for spectacle and remembers that an accused is still a citizen, justice will remain procedurally correct but substantively cruel.
Author is an Advocate At High Court of Jammu & Kashmir and Ladakh
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