July 17, 2026

When Politics Weaponizes Impeachment

By Sunil Garodia
First publised on 2025-12-15 12:33:03

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Editor-in-Chief of indiacommentary.com. Current Affairs analyst and political commentator. Author of Cyber Scams in India, Digital Arrest, The Money Trap and The Human Hack

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How the DMK's move against a Madras High Court judge threatens judicial independence: The constitutional safeguard meant to remove corrupt judges is being perverted into a political cudgel to punish those who rule against the government

For 75 years, independent India has never successfully removed a judge through impeachment. That record does not suggest a flawless judiciary. It reflects something more important: a shared understanding that impeachment is an extraordinary remedy, meant only for the gravest abuse of judicial office. That understanding is now under threat. The DMK government in Tamil Nadu has mobilized 107 opposition MPs to move an impeachment motion against Madras High Court Justice G.R. Swaminathan. The charge is not corruption, incapacity, or misconduct. Stripped of rhetoric, the charge is simple: the judge delivered rulings the government did not like. This is not judicial accountability. It is political intimidation dressed up as constitutional process.

The Constitution allows impeachment only for "proved misbehavior or incapacity." That standard exists for a reason. It is meant to address conduct that corrodes the integrity of the judicial office itself, not to punish judges for the substance of their decisions. Past impeachment efforts reflected that gravity. Justice V. Ramaswami faced proceedings over financial impropriety. Justice Soumitra Sen was impeached by the Rajya Sabha for misappropriating funds while acting as a court-appointed receiver. In both cases, the allegation was abuse of office, not disagreement with judicial reasoning.

Dangerous Precedent

Justice Swaminathan's supposed offense is of a completely different nature. He ruled that a traditional lamp could be lit at the Deepathoon stone pillar during the Karthigai Deepam festival at Thiruparankundram, relying on a 1923 civil court decree upheld by the Privy Council, which recognized the pillar as temple land. When the state defied his order, he initiated contempt proceedings. When obstruction continued, he directed CISF protection to ensure compliance. In other words, he interpreted the law, applied binding precedent, and insisted that executive authorities obey a judicial order. That is not misconduct. That is the job.

The impeachment notice itself underscores the problem. It reads less like a charge sheet and more like a political brief. It accuses Justice Swaminathan of deciding cases based on a "particular political ideology" and acting against secular principles. These are serious allegations, but they are conspicuously unsupported by evidence of actual wrongdoing. What the DMK objects to is not how the judge behaved, but what he decided.

The notice cites his May 2024 order permitting angapradakshinam in Karur, his handling of the Savukku Shankar detention case, and multiple rulings on temple administration. The pattern is obvious. The government disagrees with his judgments on religious and cultural questions. The constitutional response to that disagreement is appeal, and the DMK has appealed. But it has also chosen to threaten impeachment at the same time. That combination matters because it turns impeachment from a safeguard into a warning: rule against us, and your career is on the line.

The Thiruparankundram episode also exposes a deeper problem than any single ruling: executive defiance of judicial authority. The state government repeatedly refused to comply with a clear and unambiguous order, citing vague "law and order" concerns. When contempt proceedings loomed, it filed appeals not to seek clarity, but to delay compliance. The Division Bench upheld Justice Swaminathan's directions and criticized the state for approaching appellate courts merely to escape contempt. Undeterred, the government went to the Supreme Court while simultaneously refusing to appear before the High Court, claiming that filing an SLP relieved it of the obligation to comply with existing orders.

That claim has no constitutional basis. Filing an appeal does not suspend a court order unless a stay is granted. If governments are allowed to defy judgments simply by filing appeals, the rule of law collapses into procedural farce, where compliance becomes optional and enforcement depends on political convenience rather than legal obligation.

Outrage is justified

This is why the reaction from the judiciary has been so stark. Fifty-six former judges, including former Supreme Court judges and High Court Chief Justices, have publicly condemned the impeachment move as a brazen attempt to browbeat the judiciary. Their concern is grounded in experience. Judicial independence does not end through overt interference alone. It erodes when judges begin to calculate political fallout before deciding cases. It erodes when delivering an unpopular but lawful judgment becomes a personal risk.

The most important constitutional cases are often the most politically inconvenient ones. If those cases carry the threat of impeachment, judicial courage becomes optional. Over time, it disappears. The DMK's action fits into a broader and troubling pattern in Indian politics, where impeachment motions are increasingly used as political signals rather than genuine accountability tools.

In recent years, MPs have moved against judges for speeches, administrative decisions, or controversial rulings. None of these efforts have succeeded, and none have resulted in removal. But success was never the point. The process itself becomes the punishment: public suspicion, institutional pressure, and the unmistakable message that judges who displease political actors will pay a price.

Separation of power must be respected

Separation of powers is not ceremonial language. It is the operating system of constitutional governance. Judicial independence is not a privilege granted to judges; it is a protection granted to citizens. Governments are entitled to challenge judgments. They are not entitled to threaten judges. If Justice Swaminathan has erred in law, appellate courts will correct him. If his reasoning is flawed, it will not survive scrutiny. That is how the system is meant to function.

But if his real "crime" is delivering rulings that clash with a party's ideological preferences, then the impeachment power is being used to punish independence itself. The danger does not end with this case. This impeachment motion will likely fail. It may be rejected at the threshold, collapse during inquiry, or never reach a vote. That does not make it harmless.

Every judge watching this episode understands the lesson: unpopular rulings carry political consequences. The chilling effect does not require removal from office. It requires only the credible threat of retaliation. Judicial independence rarely ends in a single dramatic confrontation. It is weakened through repetition, through normalization, and through the steady acceptance of conduct that should never have been acceptable in the first place.

The line must hold

India's constitutional framework has endured because certain boundaries have been respected. When those boundaries are breached, the damage is deep and lasting. The line between judicial accountability and political intimidation is one such boundary, and the DMK’s impeachment motion crosses it. This is not about whether Justice Swaminathan's rulings were right or wrong. That question belongs to appellate courts. This is about whether political parties will be allowed to turn impeachment into a weapon against judges who refuse to bend.

If that line does not hold, judges will cease to be guardians of the Constitution and become cautious managers of political risk. On this question, there can be no ambiguity. Impeachment cannot become a tool of retaliation. Judicial independence cannot be negotiable. The line must hold.