On 10 and 11 October, Delhi was turned into a fortress. Human Rights Watch reports that authorities deployed more than 40,000 security personnel, cancelled trains, shut dozens of Metro stations and suspended mobile internet, while police beat, dragged and detained protesters. Those demonstrators were demanding the resignation of the Chief Election Commissioner over a contested voter-roll revision. Journalists were swept up too: the Committee to Protect Journalists counts at least 37 detained across Delhi, Ahmedabad and Pune over the two days, and HRW counts at least 30 in Delhi alone.
The commentary that follows such episodes is predictable. The police, we are told, are still the Raj's police, and the Indian Police Act of 1861 still shapes their reflexes. That is true, and it is also comfortable. It puts the fault in someone else's century, and a diagnosis that implicates no living person produces no cure.
What is established, and what is not
Some facts are on the court record. On 9 October the Supreme Court directed the Centre to ensure there was no complete prohibition on Metro and train movement into Delhi. On Sunday, 11 October, a special bench recorded the Solicitor General's assurance that lawyers, journalists and other professionals would not be impeded in their duties. The bench also issued contempt notices to the Union Home Secretary, the Delhi Police Commissioner and the Metro chairperson, with compliance reports due on 13 October. A habeas corpus petition sought the release of more than 7,000 people detained across Delhi, and Justice Bagchi acknowledged the magnitude of the detentions.
Other claims remain allegations. Reports say detentions and rough handling of journalists continued on 11 October despite the Court's order. Three women journalists alleged sexual harassment, and a Caravan journalist said he was struck with a rifle butt. I found no detailed police rebuttal. What I did find was government sources telling PTI that action would follow against "individuals claiming to be independent journalists" who provoke or confront police. I could not confirm what the 13 October hearing produced. Specific claims deserve testing against evidence, and a writer should say plainly where that testing is incomplete.
The limits of the colonial story
The historical case holds. The 1861 Act followed the revolt of 1857 and was built to protect an alien authority, not to earn the consent of the policed. But inheritance explains a starting point, not an eighty-year destination.
Consider the most recent test of will. India replaced its colonial criminal procedure code with the Bharatiya Nagarik Suraksha Sanhita, which came into force on 1 July 2024. The old Section 144, the magistrate's blanket prohibitory power, was simply renumbered Section 163, and its core powers remain largely unchanged. That is the power the authorities invoked in Delhi: on 11 October the Court ordered the removal of a notice outside the Supreme Court announcing Section 163 restrictions. Parliament can rewrite colonial law when it wishes, and in this instance it kept the colonial instrument and gave it a new number. That is a choice, and it was made by people alive today.
The Delhi exception
Here the standard reform narrative needs correcting. The usual argument says police are a state subject, so state politicians control postings and transfers and therefore resist reform. In Delhi that argument does not apply. Delhi Police report to the Union Home Ministry, not to the elected Delhi government. The constitutional arrangement behind this, Article 239AA, keeps police, public order and land with the Union. Newslaundry reported that more than 35,000 police and paramilitary personnel were mobilised on directives from the Ministry of Home Affairs.
This sharpens the point rather than blunting it. Accountability for policing in the capital sits unambiguously with the Union government, and a contempt notice to the Union Home Secretary says as much. It also means the problem cannot be framed as one party's misconduct. The structural temptation is the same wherever police answer upward to whoever holds power. In the states the commanding politician differs by party. In Delhi it is whoever governs the Union. Reform that depends on the goodwill of that politician is a request, not a safeguard.
A blueprint that exists, and compliance that does not
India does not lack a reform design. In Prakash Singh v. Union of India (2006) the Supreme Court issued seven directives, including state security commissions, a fixed tenure for the police chief, separation of investigation from law and order, and independent complaints authorities. What followed is well documented. An assessment by the Commonwealth Human Rights Initiative found not a single case of full compliance, with governments having rejected, ignored or diluted significant features of the directives. Most states had set up a security commission, but 27 of 29 did so, and no state formed a complaints authority in accordance with the directive. A later CHRI study found that 18 states had enacted or revised police acts, yet none fully matched the directives. Prakash Singh himself argues that states passed these laws ostensibly to comply but in reality to circumvent the judgment.
The Court bears part of the responsibility. Singh and the jurist A.P. Shah have both said that the apex court did not pursue contempt against non-compliant states with any zeal. That is the lesson of two decades: orders without enforcement are survived by acknowledgment and delay. It also makes the live Delhi proceedings worth watching. A court that finds a prima facie case of contempt against the Union Home Secretary and the Police Commissioner is doing something it largely declined to do after 2006.
What other democracies show, and what they don't
Held up against Britain, Germany or Canada, India's policing of protest looks harsh, and the standard HRW invokes is clear: force that is necessary, proportionate and accountable, as in the UN Basic Principles. But the comparison should not be sentimental. Britain's Public Order Act 2023 drew a rebuke from the UN High Commissioner for Human Rights, who called it incompatible with the country's international obligations. The UK's own equality regulator has warned that successive protest laws move away from the state's positive duty to facilitate peaceful protest. No democracy is immune from the temptation to widen police discretion.
What distinguishes the healthier cases is the response when power overreaches: courts that can strike restrictions down, legislatures that can revisit them, a press that cannot be bundled into buses, and complaint bodies with teeth. India's deficit lies in those corrective loops more than in the instincts of any individual constable. Even there, the picture is not uniformly bleak. The Supreme Court sat on a Sunday, journalists' bodies mobilised within hours, and petitions were filed. The loops are strained, not absent.
The constituency reformers forget
Commentary often treats the police as a single instrument of power. A constable holding a barricade after twelve hours, with thin staffing, little crowd-control training and a supervisor anxious about political fallout, is not a free agent. Reform framed purely as restraining a villain invites resistance from within. Reform that offers officers something, such as protected tenure, professional career tracks and legal cover for refusing an unlawful order, builds an internal constituency. The best argument for fixed tenures is not that they discipline the police. It is that they free honest officers from the threat of punitive transfer.
What a serious agenda looks like
If the problem is incentives, the agenda must change them, and it should be judged by whether it does. Independence has to be enforceable: tenure and transfer protections must be binding, with recorded reasons and external review, so that a posting can no longer be used as a reward or a punishment. Complaints authorities need teeth, which means statutory independence, budgets, investigative powers and recommendations that bind. Delhi needs a real answer of its own: whatever one thinks of full statehood, a police force answerable only to the Union needs independent oversight, since the state-level machinery of *Prakash Singh* does not map onto it cleanly. Preventive powers must be narrowed, so that Section 163 requires proportionality, time limits and prompt judicial review, and a blanket order can no longer work as a standing ban on assembly. Transparency should become routine, with recorded detentions, identifiable officers, published use-of-force protocols and body cameras, backed by real penalties for tampering. And journalists need codified protection at protests, one that does not depend on police guidelines about press cards or on accreditation, which press bodies rightly say cannot be a condition of press freedom. None of this is new, and that is the point. The obstacle is will.
Conclusion
The colonial story lets everyone, from ministers to columnists, deplore the system without implicating the present. But the events of 10 and 11 October, whatever investigations finally establish about particular incidents, point to something more demanding than nostalgia for a better inheritance. The republic has had the blueprint for twenty years and a Parliament that rewrote its criminal code two years ago. It has also had repeated warnings from its highest court. That reform has stalled reflects a calculation, made by governments of every colour, that an obedient police force is worth more than a trusted one.
The honest question is therefore who will pay the political price of change. In Delhi the answer is unusually plain, because the police answer to the Union. Pressure will have to come from outside: from courts willing to enforce, from a press able to report without being detained, from citizens who treat the handling of strangers at a barricade as a measure of their own security, and from the many officers who would rather serve the law than the minister. Until coercion costs more than it earns, the Raj will remain a useful alibi.
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