Editorial
There are moments in public life when the dignity of an institution is tested not by its power, but by its restraint. Monday’s incident in the Supreme Court — when a senior advocate attempted to throw a shoe at Chief Justice of India B.R. Gavai — was one such moment. What could have easily descended into chaos instead became a lesson in composure. The Chief Justice’s quiet resolve to continue the day’s proceedings without anger or disruption reaffirmed that dignity, not outrage, remains the judiciary’s strongest shield.
The act itself was disgraceful. That a seasoned member of the Bar, one who has spent decades practising before the nation’s highest court, would resort to such behaviour reveals a deeper malaise — the corrosion of civility in public discourse and the creeping normalization of aggression in professional and political spaces. Courtrooms, like legislatures, are meant for argument and reason; the moment they turn into theatres of rage, democracy itself begins to lose its voice.
This was not merely a personal affront to an individual judge. It was a symbolic strike at the authority of the judiciary — the one institution still seen as the final arbiter of reason in a society riven by noise. In recent years, courts have increasingly faced both open defiance and subtle intimidation, whether through political commentary, social media abuse, or orchestrated campaigns questioning judicial independence. Monday’s outburst must be seen in that continuum: a symptom of the same impatience with restraint, and the same inability to accept a ruling that one dislikes.
To his credit, CJI Gavai’s response was precisely what the moment demanded — calm, firm, and utterly devoid of theatre. There was no anger, no dramatic reprimand, no spectacle. By choosing to ignore the provocation and proceed with business as usual, he preserved not only his own composure but also the moral authority of the court. In a time when the language of power is too often one of retaliation, his silence spoke louder than any punishment could.
The Bar Council of India was right to act swiftly in suspending the advocate and initiating disciplinary proceedings. But this incident should also prompt the legal fraternity to introspect. The relationship between the Bench and the Bar has always been one of mutual respect — the court relies on the Bar’s assistance, and the Bar draws its stature from the court’s integrity. When that compact is violated, it is not just an ethical lapse but an erosion of the very culture of constitutional dialogue.
Beyond the courtroom, this episode is a mirror to a society increasingly divided between faith and reason, outrage and order. The advocate’s cry of “Sanatan ka apmaan nahi sahenge” (We will not tolerate insult to Sanatan Dharma) suggests how easily religious sentiment is now weaponized to justify contempt for institutions. Faith, however deep, cannot claim a privilege above law. The judiciary’s task is not to echo devotion, but to uphold justice — a function that must remain insulated from sectarian pressure, however passionately expressed.
If anything, the attack that missed has only underscored the strength of the institution it sought to shame. The Supreme Court did not raise its voice; it simply continued its work. And in that quiet persistence lay the real rebuke to the act — a reminder that in a democracy, dignity will always outlast noise.
