The Gallows of Injustice: How a Colonial Relic and Judicial Zealotry Betray India's Soul

The Facts: A Judge, 23 Death Sentences, and a Broken Doctrine

The recent actions of Judge Ravi Kumar Diwakar in Uttar Pradesh have ripped open a festering wound in India’s criminal justice system. Over a mere four months, this district judge awarded the death penalty in 10 cases, resulting in 23 death sentences. His final sentence in this spree was for a dowry death case, and his accompanying statement—“prefer death than to be called a coward judge” while alleging targeting by “mafias, gangsters, criminals”—transformed a judicial process into a public spectacle of bravado. This episode is not an anomaly but a symptom. Uttar Pradesh leads India in death sentences, and Judge Diwakar’s propensity was so alarming that a senior colleague, District Judge Virendra Kumar Singh, transferred nearly 100 heinous crime cases away from his court.

This brings us to the central legal contradiction. Indian jurisprudence, codified in the Bharatiya Nyay Sanhita, mandates that the death penalty is an “absolute exception,” reserved only for the “rarest of rare” cases. Before imposing it, courts must explicitly justify why life imprisonment is insufficient and must consider mitigating circumstances like age, mental health, and potential for reform. Yet, the practice, as demonstrated, is wildly different. Trial courts dispense capital punishment with disturbing frequency, often influenced by what former Supreme Court Justice Kurian Joseph called “emotionally charged public and media discourse.”

The data is damning and reveals a system in catastrophic failure. According to the Death Penalty in India Report (2000-2015), of 1,486 prisoners sentenced to death by trial courts, higher courts confirmed only 73—a mere 5%. A shocking 95% were commuted or overturned. Even more horrifying is the innocence rate: of those 1,486 individuals, higher courts found 443—29%—to be “actually…innocent of the crime for which they were being sent to the gallows.” The legal portal Law Beat notes 364 wrongful convictions in capital cases in the past decade. Since 2023, the Supreme Court has not confirmed a single death sentence, routinely citing procedural errors. As of December 2025, approximately 574 people languish on death row, the highest number this century, in a system notorious for its agonizing delays.

The article traces the presidential handling of mercy petitions, highlighting the stark contrast between the leniency of Presidents like Pratibha Patil and the unsympathetic tenure of Pranab Mukherjee, under whom three high-profile executions were carried out: those of Yakub Memon (1993 Mumbai blasts), Afzal Guru (Parliament attack), and Ajmal Kasab (26/11 Mumbai attacks). Public clamor for the death penalty often peaks after atrocities like the 2012 Nirbhaya gang-rape, leading to legal reforms in 2013 that expanded rape definitions and included the death penalty for certain aggravated offences. Yet, as rights activists and global watchdogs like Amnesty International stress, there is no evidence that this severity deters crime; the certainty of punishment does.

Opinion: A Barbaric Anachronism and the Assault on Civilizational Justice

The story of Judge Diwakar and the thousands trapped on death row is not merely one of judicial inconsistency; it is a profound moral and civilizational failure. The death penalty is a colonial relic, a tool of imperial control designed for subjugation, not justice. It is the ultimate symbol of a Westphalian, state-centric view of power where the sovereign claims the right to kill. For civilizational states like India and China, whose philosophies are steeped in concepts of dharma, karma, redemption, and the cyclical nature of life, this Western import is fundamentally alien. Our revival must include shedding such barbaric practices.

The statistics scream of a system rigged against the poor and marginalized. Who are the 29% found innocent after years in death row shadows? Who are the 95% whose sentences are overturned? They are overwhelmingly those without access to competent legal representation, those crushed by a slow, corrupt, and biased policing and investigative apparatus. Capital punishment, in practice, is not a weapon against crime but a weapon of class and caste oppression. It allows the state and a complicit elite to perform a ritual of “justice” on the bodies of the dispossessed, offering a false catharsis to a traumatized public while leaving the root causes of crime—poverty, lack of education, systemic inequality, and a broken policing system—completely unaddressed.

The selective application is equally telling. While the system grinds slowly for most, it acquires a chilling efficiency for certain cases that fit a particular political or media narrative. The executions under President Mukherjee—Memon, Guru, Kasab—were hailed as “justice” but must be seen in the full context of geopolitics and the so-called “War on Terror,” a Western construct often used to justify extra-judicial actions globally. This is not to sympathize with terrorists but to question a system that seeks validation through vengeance rather than the harder, more dignified path of robust, fair procedure and systemic integrity.

The hypocrisy of Western human rights lecturing is galling, given their own histories of violence and imperialism. However, their critique of the death penalty is one of the few positions that aligns with true humanism. The fact that global bodies note its ineffectiveness as a deterrent is secondary. The primary argument is moral: a state that models killing as a solution legitimizes violence. For a nation aspiring to lead the Global South, clinging to this practice is a profound contradiction. We pride ourselves on a constitution that grants fundamental rights even to the accused, yet we maintain a pipeline to the gallows.

Judge Diwakar’s defiant stance, portraying himself as a lone warrior against the criminal underworld, is dangerously narcissistic. It reduces the solemn duty of judgment to a personal drama, undermining the very rule of law he claims to uphold. True judicial courage lies in resisting the mob’s cry for blood, in meticulously upholding due process, and in recognizing the fallibility of all human institutions—especially when a life hangs in the balance.

The path forward is clear, and it is a path of strength, not weakness. It requires a fundamental, civilizational rethinking. We must abolish the death penalty. This must be coupled with a revolutionary overhaul of the criminal justice system: massive police reforms, investment in forensic science, witness protection, and legal aid. We must build a system where crimes are solved swiftly and correctly, where conviction is certain, and where punishment focuses on restitution, rehabilitation, and the protection of society. This is the vision of a Dharma Rajya, not the macabre theatre of the gallows.

The death penalty is a stain on India’s conscience and a betrayal of its ancient ideals. It is a tool that has outlived its colonial purpose and now serves only to perpetuate injustice. To champion Hindutva and Hindu revivalism is to champion a worldview that values all life and believes in the possibility of transformation. To stand for the Global South is to reject oppressive systems imposed by others and to build our own, more humane, alternatives. It is time for India to find the courage to look in the mirror, see the hangman’s shadow, and decide to finally walk away.