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In Indian politics, sometimes verdicts are not delivered only in courtrooms. They are delivered inside us — in our memory, in our trust, in the silences we maintain.
When a Special Court in Delhi said that no sufficient evidence was found against Arvind Kejriwal, Manish Sisodia, and 23 others in the alleged liquor policy case, it was not merely a legal conclusion. It was a moment that forced millions to pause. For months, prime-time debates had thundered with certainty. The word “scam” echoed nightly, repeated so often that doubt itself began to feel unreasonable. And yet, the court said: the charge sheets ran into thousands of pages, but contained gaps that testimony could not bridge. Not even a prima facie case was established.
This is not just about two politicians. It is about institutional credibility.
Investigative agencies in any democracy wield enormous power. But their greatest asset is not power — it is public trust. When a court observes that the prosecution failed to even make an initial case, it raises uncomfortable questions about the process itself. Arrests that stretched for months. Bail repeatedly opposed. Supplementary charges added. A sitting Chief Minister jailed while in office — something unprecedented in independent India. And in the end: insufficient evidence.
What does that do to faith in institutions?
For nearly two years, television studios functioned as parallel courtrooms. Accusations were presented as conclusions. Political spokespersons delivered nightly verdicts. Viewers were told, with conviction, that corruption had been exposed. The sheer repetition created its own truth. “If so much is being said, something must be there.” That psychological shift is perhaps more powerful than any legal document.
Now the court has spoken. And its words are stark.
This is where the deeper democratic tension emerges. In principle, investigative agencies are autonomous. In practice, timing shapes perception. When arrests coincide with election cycles, when bail orders are countered immediately with new cases, when opposition leaders across states face similar patterns of scrutiny — citizens are bound to ask whether law is being applied neutrally or strategically.
Democracy does not collapse in dramatic explosions. It erodes quietly — through normalization. Through the idea that arrest equals guilt. Through the belief that prolonged investigation itself is proof of wrongdoing. Through media trials that exhaust public patience before courts even begin proceedings.
There is also an uncomfortable mirror here for the judiciary. If, after prolonged incarceration and extensive filings, a case cannot sustain even a preliminary threshold, then the process itself becomes part of the story. Justice delayed may be justice denied — but justice pursued without adequate basis is also damaging. Not only to individuals, but to institutions.
The larger question is not whether Kejriwal or Sisodia feel vindicated. The larger question is what this episode tells us about the health of investigative autonomy in India. When agencies appear aligned with political narratives, their credibility suffers — even in cases where genuine wrongdoing might exist elsewhere. And once credibility is eroded, rebuilding it is far harder than filing another charge sheet.
There is also a caution for media. Debate is not journalism. Repetition is not evidence. Volume is not verification. When narratives harden before proof, the public sphere becomes polarized long before truth has a chance to breathe.
This verdict may restore some faith in judicial independence. But it simultaneously exposes the fragility of investigative trust. A democracy survives not because courts occasionally correct excesses — but because institutions act with restraint before excess becomes routine.
The most troubling aspect of this episode is not that leaders were accused. In a democracy, scrutiny is necessary. The troubling aspect is the possibility that accusation itself becomes political currency — that the process becomes punishment.
When that happens, even acquittal does not fully undo the damage. Reputations are scarred. Public discourse is distorted. Citizens grow cynical. And cynicism is fertile ground for authoritarian impulses.
The court has said there was no sufficient evidence. That is a legal fact. But the political and institutional consequences will linger far beyond the judgment.
In the end, democracies are not tested by how loudly allegations are made. They are tested by how carefully power is exercised — and how honestly institutions examine themselves when they fail.
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