Gender justice must go beyond social fabric

The Supreme Court’s decision to revisit its Handbook on Combating Gender Stereotypes has now been accompanied by an assurance that any revised directions will be framed in keeping with the “Indian social fabric”, devoid of foreign expressions. The phrase has rhetorical appeal. It gestures toward rootedness, cultural authenticity, and a desire to avoid legal reform that appears imported or abstract. Yet, in the context of gender justice, the invocation of “Indian social fabric” warrants careful scrutiny.

The original handbook was not a manifesto. It was a measured, structured document designed to assist judges in identifying and avoiding gender stereotypes in judicial reasoning. Its glossary catalogued expressions and assumptions that have historically crept into courtrooms – assumptions about how a “real” victim behaves, about morality and credibility, about the role and character of women in society. It did not prescribe ideological positions. It simply encouraged judicial language consistent with constitutional guarantees of equality and dignity. In that sense, the handbook was neither radical nor foreign. It drew from Indian constitutional jurisprudence and from decades of domestic legal development. If anything, it sought to consolidate what the Court itself has repeatedly affirmed: that stereotypes have no place in judicial decision-making.

The suggestion that future guidelines will be more aligned with “Indian social fabric” raises an important question: what, precisely, does that mean in a constitutional democracy? India’s social fabric is not monolithic. It encompasses traditions that have both empowered and constrained women. It includes reform movements that challenged regressive customs, and constitutional framers who consciously broke from discriminatory practices in the name of equality. If social fabric is understood as the lived cultural realities of the country, those realities include deeply entrenched patriarchal norms. Courts exist, in part, to ensure that such norms do not override fundamental rights. The Constitution itself may be the most authoritative articulation of the Indian social fabric. Its promise of equality before law, its prohibition of discrimination on the basis of sex, and its protection of dignity and personal liberty reflect a transformative vision. That vision was not designed to merely mirror prevailing social attitudes; it was meant to guide society toward greater justice.

When courts speak of grounding gender justice in Indian social fabric, there is a risk – perhaps unintended – of suggesting that constitutional commitments must be filtered through majoritarian social comfort. That would be a troubling direction. The history of gender reform in India shows that appeals to tradition have often been invoked to resist change, whether in matters of inheritance, marriage, reproductive autonomy or sexual violence. It is worth recalling that some of the most progressive judgments of the Supreme Court have explicitly recognised the need to move beyond inherited social stereotypes. The Court has, in the past, acknowledged how law itself once codified patriarchal assumptions about women’s sexuality and autonomy. Those acknowledgments were not departures from Indian values; they were affirmations of constitutional morality over social prejudice. The handbook operated within that framework.

It did not deny cultural context; it cautioned against allowing cultural assumptions to distort legal reasoning. That distinction is crucial. Of course, judicial training must be practical. Judges at every level need guidance that is accessible, context-sensitive, and directly applicable in trial courts. If the Court believes that the handbook can be refined, simplified, or supplemented with structured training through the National Judicial Academy, that is a constructive step. Accessibility strengthens institutional uptake. But accessibility should not come at the cost of dilution. The problem the handbook addressed was not stylistic excess. It was the persistence of unconscious bias in judicial language and reasoning. Reframing the issue as one of excessive academic influence risks obscuring that underlying concern. There is also a symbolic dimension.

Institutional continuity matters. When one Chief Justice initiates a framework to address systemic bias and a successor appears to distance the Court from it, even subtly, the signal can be confusing. It may inadvertently suggest that gender sensitivity is a discretionary project rather than an enduring constitutional commitment. The judiciar y’s own re cord underscores why sustained attention to gender justice is necessary. India’s legal landscape contains both inspiring advancements and moments that required corrective intervention. From controversial interpretations of consent in earlier decades to occasional judicial remarks reflecting traditional moral expectations, the system has periodically had to recalibrate its approach. Each recalibration has strengthened the jurisprudence. The invocation of Indian social fabric should therefore be an opportunity – not to narrow the conversation, but to deepen it.

If social fabric is understood as the constitutional aspiration to secure justice, liberty, and equality for all citizens, then gender-sensitive adjudication is not an imported idea. It is a domestic imperative. Courts must remain attentive to social realities. But they must also recognise that social realities include inequality. The role of the judiciary is not to preserve cultural hierarchies under the banner of authenticity. It is to ensure that constitutional rights are not subordinated to them. The way forward need not be adversarial. Revised guidelines can be framed in language that is clear and contextually grounded while retaining the intellectual rigour necessary to identify and dismantle stereotypes.

Training programmes can integrate examples drawn from Indian case law and everyday courtroom practice. The emphasis can be on practical application without retreating from principle. Ultimately, the debate should not be about whether a glossary sounds academic or whether a concept appears Western. It should be about whether judicial reasoning reflects the Constitution’s commitment to equality and dignity. If “Indian social fabric” means fidelity to that commitment, then the path is clear. If it becomes shorthand for cultural caution in the face of gender equality, then the Court risks stepping away from its own transformative role. In matters of gender justice, the judiciary does not need to choose between authenticity and equality. The Constitution has already reconciled the two.

(Jhuma Sen is an advocate at Calcutta High Court, and was part of the social justice sub-committee of the E-Committee tasked with preparing the first draft of the Handbook on Combating Gender Stereotypes.)