The state must prove that the speech itself is the immediate trigger for the public disorder it seeks to prevent. The Karnataka Bill’s broad definition fails this test.
Published Dec 20, 2025 | 9:00 AM ⚊ Updated Dec 20, 2025 | 9:00 AM
The Supreme Court has established rigorous and precise legal tests over the decades to guard against the overreach of laws restricting free speech.
Synopsis: The current structure of the Karnataka Hate Speech and Hate Crimes (Prevention) Bill, 2025, with its disconnect between its narrow, public-order-based objectives and its vast, unqualified definition, presents a clear vulnerability under judicial benchmarks. The legislative drafters, while aiming for a comprehensive law, have inadvertently created one that could be perceived as disproportionate to the harm it seeks to prevent.
The Karnataka Hate Speech and Hate Crimes (Prevention) Bill, 2025, has emerged as a critical flashpoint in the national dialogue, generating intense political and legal controversy.
The central contention revolves around the fundamental concern that the Bill’s provisions may constitute an unconstitutional abridgement of the fundamental right to freedom of speech and expression, enshrined in Article 19(1)(a) of the Constitution of India.
The legislative intent behind the Bill, as revealed by its stated aims and objectives, is undeniably rooted in the public good:
This clear articulation of purpose emphasises the Bill’s focus on maintaining public peace, tranquillity, and societal cohesion. Crucially, the emphasis rests squarely on the adverse impact of hate speech on the larger societal fabric justifying the restriction under the permissible grounds of ‘public order’ stipulated in Article 19(2).
Despite the laudable and well-defined objectives, a meticulous examination reveals a significant mis-match between these intentions and the Bill’s actual definition of “hate speech.”
The Bill defines ‘Hate Speech’ as:
“Hate Speech’ includes any expression which is made, published, or circulated, in words either spoken or written or by signs or by visible representations or through electronic communication or otherwise, in public view, with an intention to cause injury, disharmony or feelings of enmity or hatred or ill-will against person alive or dead, class or group of persons or community, to meet any prejudicial interest.”
Legal analysts have observed that while this definition attempts to incorporate the element of intention, its wording is still excessively omnibus and unqualified concerning the effect of the speech. It is framed in such a way that it can potentially encompass any expression directed against any individual person (alive or dead), even a deceased historical figure, without requiring any mandatory reference to whether the speech is actually or reasonably likely to incite widespread chaos, public unrest, or disruption of peace in the society.
This disconnect is the core of the constitutional challenge. Laws that seek to criminalise speech are fundamentally justified only when they target actions that disturb the community and public peace, not merely private grievances or isolated incidents of insult. When a definition, despite mentioning intention, fails to explicitly link the prohibited speech to a definite negative effect on society—as the aims suggest—it risks being utilised not to quell serious public disorder, but to adjudicate inter-se individual disputes.
The Supreme Court of India, as the ultimate custodian of fundamental rights, has established rigorous and precise legal tests over the decades to guard against the overreach of laws restricting free speech. These landmark rulings highlight why the Karnataka Bill, in its current form, is vulnerable to judicial challenge:
In Romesh Thappar v. State of Madras (1950), the Supreme Court, in one of its earliest pronouncements on the scope of free speech, made a critical distinction. At the time, restrictions were permitted only on the ground of ‘security of the State’. The Court held that for speech to be restricted, it must be in such an aggravated form that it should genuinely constitute a security threat to the State, not merely minor breaches of public tranquillity. This ruling set a high standard, emphasising that the state cannot suppress ideas unless they pose a grave danger to the very foundations of the nation.
The judiciary further refined the limits of restriction in Superintendent, Central Prison v. Ram Manohar Lohia (1960). In this pivotal case, the Supreme Court ruled that for a restriction to be valid on the ground of ‘public order’, there must be a proximate and direct nexus between the free speech and the threatened public disorder.
The court held that the link between the expression and the public disturbance must be immediate and compelling; it cannot be remote, fanciful, or far-fetched. The speech must be the direct cause—the spark in a powder keg—that immediately and reasonably leads to the disruption of public peace.
This test requires more than just a theoretical possibility that disorder might follow. It demands a clear, causal connection. For example, if a speaker makes an inflammatory remark that directly incites a hostile crowd to violence then and there, the nexus is direct. If the speech is merely offensive or unpopular, and public disorder might occur sometime later due to a complex series of intervening events, the link is remote, and the restriction fails the test. The state must prove that the speech itself is the immediate trigger for the public disorder it seeks to prevent.
The Karnataka Bill’s broad definition fails this test immediately. By not mandating proof of a direct, societal effect—focusing instead on intention and injury against a single person-it allows prosecution based on a remote or inferred connection, or worse, no connection to public order at all, thus running afoul of the Ram Manohar Lohia doctrine.
The most contemporary and relevant judicial warning comes from Shreya Singhal v. Union of India (2015). The Supreme Court, in striking down the vague and arbitrary Section 66A of the IT Act, definitively ruled that vagueness in law creates a chilling effect on the freedom of speech.
The court emphasised that broad, undefined, or ambiguous terms, or an omnibus definition of “hate speech” that lacks clear operational boundaries, empower the state to apply the law arbitrarily. This ambiguity fosters a chilling effect, where citizens self-censor and refrain from exercising legitimate criticism, comment, or dissent for fear of potential, ill-defined prosecution. This effect is profoundly detrimental to a vibrant democracy, which thrives on open debate and the free exchange of ideas.
The definition provided in the Karnataka Bill, while including “intention,” still uses terms like “prejudicial interest” and permits action against “a person alive or dead,” which are so general they could be applied subjectively and inconsistently.
The concern that the Bill’s definition is very vague and requires redefinition to be redefined for not being abused aligns perfectly with the grounds for striking down a law established in the Shreya Singhal case.
The current structure of the Karnataka Hate Speech and Hate Crimes (Prevention) Bill, 2025, with its disconnect between its narrow, public-order-based objectives and its vast, unqualified definition, presents a clear vulnerability under all three of these judicial benchmarks. The legislative drafters, while aiming for a comprehensive law, have inadvertently created one that could be perceived as disproportionate to the harm it seeks to prevent.
The vagueness and overbreadth of the definition create an immense potential for misuse and abuse, enabling the weaponization of the Act to stifle political opposition or punish mere personal insult, rather than to prevent genuine threats to public tranquillity.
To rectify this constitutional infirmity and ensure the Bill adheres to the principle of reasonable restrictions under Article 19(2), the definition of hate speech must be redefined with surgical precision. It must be unequivocally and specifically tethered to the actual or reasonably likely element of societal impact—that is, the speech must be intended and be reasonably likely to incite hatred, public disorder, or a palpable breach of peace among groups or the society at large.
Without this essential modification, incorporating the judicial mandates for a high threshold, a direct nexus, and freedom from vagueness, the proposed Bill risks being utilised as an instrument of legislative overreach, one that is highly likely to be nullified by the judiciary for violating the fundamental guarantees enshrined in the Constitution.
The only path forward is legislative rectification to align the law with the sacred principles of free expression established by the Supreme Court.
(Views are personal. Edited by Majnu Babu).
