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Tag Archives: internet freedom
Posted by Gautam Bhatia in Free Speech, Internet Freedom, Uncategorized
internet freedom, internet shut-downs, jammu and kashmir
Previously on this blog, we have discussed in some detail the litigation challenging the five-month-long internet shut-down in the Kashmir Valley. Today, a three-judge bench of the Supreme Court handed down its judgment in the challenge. While there was no effective relief in the judgment – the Court did not order a restoration of internet services in the valley, as it did not return a finding on the issue (see below) – it nonetheless reiterated certain important constitutional principles. While it is unfortunate, therefore, that the longest internet shut-down in a democratic country continues (at least for the foreseeable future), in this post, I will set out what the judgment actually did do, and how it provides a platform for future challenges to internet shut-downs as well as to the imposition of Section 144 of the Code of Criminal Procedure.
What the State Lost
To understand the judgment, it is important to understand two bizarre claims advanced by the State at various points of the hearing. The State (i) refused to produce the orders that it had passed under Section 144 CrPC and the 2017 Telecom Suspension Rules, and which were the legal bases of the fundamental rights restrictions in the Valley; (ii) cited terrorism in Kashmir to argue that it was exempted from following the proportionality standard while restricting fundamental rights, and that, in the interests of national security, the Court ought not to intervene.
In essence, therefore, what the State – and its lawyers – were asking for was a complete carte blanche with respect to the operations in Kashmir. If the orders restricting fundamental rights did not need to be produced, there was no effective way to challenge them; and if the Court could not intervene because "terrorism", then there was no effective forum where to challenge them. In other words, the State – and its lawyers – asked the Court to effectively hold that Kashmir was in a state of permanent Emergency, where fundamental rights stood suspended and at the mercy of the State, even though there had been no declaration of an Emergency at any point. The dangers of such an argument are obvious; as I've argued before, what the State wanted was a permanent normalisation of the Emergency regime, where the invocation of "national security" would grant an automatic judicial immunity from justifying the constitutionality of fundamental rights restrictions.
On both counts, however, the State's arguments were comprehensively rejected. On the first issue, the Court made it clear that the orders providing legal cover to the imposition of Section 144 CrPC and the internet shut-down had to be made public, so that citizens could know – and, if they chose – challenge the bases on which their fundamental rights were being restricted. If the State wanted to withhold any part of such orders because of national security concerns, it would have to justify that, on a case to case basis.
On the second count, the Supreme Court reiterated that, at all times, restrictions upon fundamental rights had to be consistent with the proportionality standard. In particular, as part of the proportionality standard, the State had to select the least intrusive measure to achieve its legitimate goals. As the Court noted in paragraph 70:
However, before settling on the aforesaid measure, the authorities must assess the existence of any alternative mechanism in furtherance of the aforesaid goal. The appropriateness of such a measure depends on its implication upon the fundamental rights and the necessity of such measure. It is undeniable from the aforesaid holding that only the least restrictive measure can be resorted to by the State, taking into consideration the facts and circumstances. Lastly, since the order has serious implications on the fundamental rights of the affected parties, the same should be supported by sufficient material and should be amenable to judicial review.
And as it went on to note in paragraph 71:
The degree of restriction and the scope of the same, both territorially and temporally, must stand in relation to what is actually necessary to combat an emergent situation.
Applying this standard to the specificity of internet shut-downs, the Court made four further observations. First, that the right to use the internet as a medium for free speech and expression and for trade and commerce, was protected under Article 19(1)(a) of the Constitution; secondly, that Article 19(2) allowed for the restriction of "abrasive statement(s) with imminent threat … if the same impinges upon the sovereignty and integrity of India…"; thirdly, that a perpetual internet shut-down would fail the test of proportionality; and fourthly, that the State's argument that it couldn't selectively block websites because of a lack of technology could not be accepted, as "[if] a contention is accepted, then the Government would have."
Taking these four observations together, it is evident that the ongoing internet shut-down in Kashmir completely fails constitutional standards, as the government did not even attempt to justify it on grounds of proportionality, or that it was only targeting statements carrying an "imminent threat." The Court went on to note that all of this required that when orders were being passed under the Telecom Suspension Rules to shut dow the internet, those orders would have to explicitly reflect how – in the specific case – the State action was proportionate.
While the reiteration of the proportionality standard in the context of internet shut-downs was a reinforcement of existing law, the Court also applied the same standard to Section 144 orders – which marks an incremental advance in the law. Up until now, the judgments governing the imposition of S. 144 were the old decisions of Babulal Parate and Madhu Limaye, whose language remained vague enough to be taken advantage of by unscrupulous State actors. Today the Supreme Court made it clear, however, that Section 144 orders would also have to abide by the proportionality standard (paragraph 126, and that that would have to be reflected in the text of the orders themselves. The Court also observed that in the normal course of things, S. 144 orders would have to be limited to particular areas or issues – thus casting severe doubt on the constitutionality of wide-ranging long-running 144 orders such as the one recently imposed in all of Bangalore, or the continuing order in Ahmedabad.
What the Petitioners Didn't Win
Despite these findings, however, the Supreme Court did not rule on the validity of the internet shut-down or the imposition of S. 144 throughout the Valley. Its reason for that was somewhat curious: it held that because all of the internet shut-down orders had not been placed before it, it could not (yet) engage in judicial review. This is curious, because the onus of producing these orders undoubtedly lay on the State – indeed, the Court expressly directed it to do so in the operative part of its judgment. Furthermore, once the Court had held that the right to access information through the internet was protected by Article 19(1)(a), and that restrictions had to be proportionate, surely then the default situation was that the right would have to prevail over the restriction; in other words, until the government actually published the relevant orders with all the reasons (as required by the judgment), the internet ought to have been restored.
Instead, the Court directed that the Review Committee under the Telecom Suspension Rules would have to review the shut-down orders on a weekly basis, and that all the orders so far would have to be reviewed. Presumably, then, once this is done – and once the orders are published – a fresh challenge could be mounted on the basis of the principles laid out in this judgment (which, as I have indicated above, strongly suggest that the Kashmir shut-down is – and had always been – illegal).
Consequently, to the extent that the basis of the Court's decision to not review the internet shut-down orders was that the State had not produced the orders in question (for five months), the consequence should have been that until the State – and its lawyers – decided to follow the law and the Constitution once again, fundamental rights could not continue to be restricted. That, however, seems like it will be a battle for another day. In the meantime, it is important to recall that in the wake of the CAA/NPR/NRC protests, the indiscriminate use of Section 144 and of internet shut-downs has been back in vogue, and there are now pending challenges in several High Courts. Today's judgment sets out the principles on the bases of which these can be adjudicated: and the principles are that these orders restricting fundamental rights are subject to strong judicial review, that the State – and its lawyers – cannot get away by singing paeans to national security, that each order must be published, made public, and explicitly set out why the measure is proportionate, and that lastly, the Court shall – and must – examine whether least restrictive measures have been used, keeping in mind the importance of the internet to fundamental rights. These are sound procedural – and substantive bases – to move forward.
[Disclaimer: the author was one of the lawyers representing the petitioners.]
Posted by Gautam Bhatia in Constitutional interpretation, Free Speech, Internet Freedom, proportionality
emergency powers, internet freedom, internet shut-downs, jammu and kashmir, proportionality
[This is a guest post by Suhrith Parthasarathy.]
A three-judge bench of the Supreme Court has heard oral arguments and reserved its judgment in Anuradha Bhasin v. Union of India and Ghulam Nabi Azad v. Union of India, in which the petitioners have impugned, among other things, the ongoing shutdown of the Internet in the Kashmir Valley. The arguments raised in these petitions touch upon questions critical to the functioning of India's democracy. This post is an effort at expounding some of the issues at stake in the case.
Sometime on August 4, on the eve of the Union government's decision to issue presidential orders divesting the state of Jammu and Kashmir of its autonomy, a complete blockade on information and communication services was placed in the region. Since then, a few of these restrictions have been lifted, but access to the Internet in the Kashmir Valley remains elusive. As the Petitioners have pointed out, while landlines and post-paid mobile phone voice calls are now functioning, only a miniscule proportion of the population in the region have access to these services. Post-paid mobile phone SMSes remain blocked and so too pre-paid mobile phone voice calls and prepaid mobile phone SMSes. Messaging services, as we're only too aware now, are critical to carrying out various forms of economic transactions. They are, in many ways, an essential service. Even according to the government's own response, out of a total of nearly 60 lakh mobile phones, only 20 lakh phones are working and even on those phones SMSes remain wholly blocked. What is more, access to the Internet in the Kashmir Valley continues to be prohibited, despite the critical role that the web plays today in various kinds of economic, social and educational activities.
These orders blocking communication services, Ms. Bhasin and Mr. Azad have argued, have had a damaging effect on a number of fundamental rights. In Ms. Bhasin's case, the newspaper she edits, The Kashmir Times, could not be distributed on 5 August and went entirely unpublished between 6 August and 11 October. Today, owing to the absence of the Internet, and the barriers placed on journalists seeking to do their job, only a pruned version of the newspaper is published. Therefore, in Ms. Bhasin's argument, the ban on communication services, in particular the restrictions placed on the Internet, have affected both her right to free speech and her newspaper's right to freedom of the press.
The Leader of the Opposition in the Rajya Sabha, Mr. Azad, on the other hand, who was himself prohibited from visiting the Valley, until the Supreme Court intervened, has underlined various other impacts that the bans have had on people living in Jammu and Kashmir. For example, basic livelihood, he points out, has been deeply affected. Industries such as tourism, handicrafts, manufacture, construction, cultivation, agriculture and information technology have been brought to a state of cessation, with the economy in the region suffering losses running into the thousands of crores. Access to basic healthcare too, he argues, has been impeded, with people in the Valley unable to avail of the government's Ayushman Bharat scheme. Over and above all this, the ban has meant that people in the Valley have been entirely cut out from the rest of India. Residents outside the state have been unable to speak to their families in Kashmir, leading, Mr. Azad says, to a great deal of mental stress and anxiety.
Issues and legal arguments
It's simple enough to deduce the issues that arise in the case: (1) Does a denial of access to the Internet violate any fundamental right? And (2) can access to the Internet ever be blocked, and, if so, under what circumstances can such an action be validly enforced?
Access to the Internet
Perhaps the finest exposition of why access to the Internet is a fundamental right is contained in a recent judgment of the Kerala High Court in Faheema Sharin v. State of Kerala. There, the court recognised that access to the Internet is today essential, because it grants people an avenue not only to information but also to a host of other services. Although the web brings with it its own set of challenges there can be little doubt, as the court held, that it enhances individual freedom, in granting to people a liberty of choice, in determining what they want to read, see and hear, in determining what kind of information they wish to access, and, more than anything else, in limiting the government's ability to control a person's private self.
As the High Court held, the Internet has become so central today to our lives that it plays an instrumental role in the realisation of a number of constitutional guarantees. The court, in arriving at its conclusions, relied on a United Nations General Assembly Resolution which noted how access to information on the Internet "facilitates vast opportunities for affordable and inclusive education globally, thereby being an important tool to facilitate the promotion of the right to education." Given the importance of education to the right to life and personal liberty under Article 21 and given how important the Internet was in fulfilling these promises, access to the web, the court held, ought to be considered in and of itself as a fundamental, inalienable right.
Apart from this the court also recognised, that the Internet constitutes not only a medium for speech but also promotes a gateway to information. A right to access the Internet, therefore, in the court's opinion, has to be seen as an integral component of a citizen's right to freedom of speech protected under Article 19(1)(a) and can only be restricted on the grounds enumerated in Article 19(2).
The Kerala High Court's view that access to the Internet is a fundamental right is not only in keeping with global trend but is also consistent with India's entrenched free speech jurisprudence. After all, as early as in 1961, the Supreme Court had in Sakal Papers v. Union of India, recognised the instrumental value of speech: that access to the news and the media's role in facilitating the distribution of information and knowledge played a direct role in the promotion of democracy. That the Internet plays a significant part in ensuring the protection of the right to health, personal liberty and livelihood therefore ought to mean that accessing the web deserves to be considered as fundamental, as flowing out of the guarantees contained in Articles 14, 19 and 21, which, today, after the 9-judge bench's judgment in Justice (Retd). KS Puttaswamy v. Union of India (Puttaswamy I) (2017) 10 SCC 1, together form a trident against arbitrariness.
Therefore, any blocking of the Internet would ex facie violate fundamental rights. As a result, to enforce a restriction on the Internet an action of the state must be predicated on compelling reasons and must necessarily be made in a constitutionally sustainable manner.
When can restrictions be made
It is today settled law, as is clear from a reading of the judgments of the Supreme Court in Puttaswamy I and Puttaswamy II (the Aadhaar judgment), that fundamental rights can only be limited by state actions that conform to the doctrine of proportionality. The test to determine what state actions are proportionate was laid down by a 5-judge bench of the Supreme Court in Modern Dental College v. State of MP. The court there relied on judgments of the Supreme Court of Israel and the Canadian Supreme Court to hold that the doctrine was inherent in Article 19 itself.
A limitation of a constitutional right will be constitutionally permissible if (i) it is designated for a proper purpose; (ii) the measures undertaken to effectuate such a limitation are rationally connected to the fulfilment of that purpose; (iii) the measures undertaken are necessary in that there are no alternative measures that may similarly achieve that same purpose with a lesser degree of limitation; and finally (iv) there needs to be a proper relation ('proportionality stricto sensu' or 'balancing') between the importance of achieving the proper purpose and the social importance of preventing the limitation on the constitutional right.
In Puttaswamy II, the Supreme Court reiterated this test when it held as follows:
The proportionality test which is stated in the aforesaid judgment, accepting Justice Barak's conceptualisation, essentially takes the version which is used by the German Federal Constitutional Court and is also accepted by most theorists of proportionality. According to this test, a measure restricting a right must, first, serve a legitimate goal (legitimate goal stage); it must, secondly, be a suitable means of furthering this goal (suitability or rational connection stage); thirdly, there must not be any less restrictive but equally effective alternative (necessity stage); and fourthly, the measure must not have a disproportionate impact on the right-holder (balancing stage).
The question therefore that the Supreme Court must now answer in Anuradha Bhasin and Ghulam Nabi Azad is whether the state actions imposing the communications ban in the Kashmir Valley meets this four-prong test or not. And given that there has been an ex facie violation of a fundamental right, the burden to establish that these conditions are, in fact, met in this case lies on the state. Here, the restrictions placed quite clearly impinge on the doctrine of proportionality for the following reasons:
The orders imposing the Internet shutdown have no force of law. Presently, orders shutting down the Internet are made under the Temporary Suspension of Telecom Services (Public Emergency or Public Safety) Rules, 2017 ("Telecom Rules"). These Telecom Rules were framed through the power prescribed on the Union executive by Section 7 of the Indian Telegraph Act, 1885. The Telecom Rules require the Executive, among other things, to provide a reasoned order when it directs the withdrawal of the Internet. Here, however, the orders imposing the shutdown were not made public. They were only released to the court during the course of the hearings, and, that too, with tremendous reluctance. A perusal of those orders that were released, however, the petitioners have argued showcase a complete non-application of mind. To take just one example, an order containing the subject: "Shut down of broadband services" was issued to extend an order whose subject read "Shut down of Land Line services." What is more, while it is the Home Secretary (Govt. of India) or the Home Secretary of the state government concerned who is the competent authority to issue orders of suspension of the Internet under the Telecom Rules, in this case, the petitioner contend, the orders were issued by the Inspector General of Police. But, more than anything else, the orders themselves were bald and devoid of any reasons despite the Telecom Rules' express mandate that orders suspending the Internet be issued for explicitly spelled out reasons.
The orders issued suspending the Internet are not in furtherance of any legitimate state aim. The government's case is that it apprehends that the Internet will be misused by "anti-national" elements and will lead to a deterioration of "law and order." However, neither phrase invoked confirms to the requirements of Article 19(2) of the Constitution. The Supreme Court has repeatedly held (see: Superintendent Central Prison, Fatehgarh v. Dr. Ram Manohar Lohia and In Re Ram Lila Maidan Incident) that the term "law and order" is not subsumed within "public order" which is the ground that Article 19(2) stipulates. In the latter case, the court held that: "the distinction between `public order' and `law and order' is a fine one, but nevertheless clear. A restriction imposed with `law and order' in mind would be least intruding into the guaranteed freedom while `public order' may qualify for a greater degree of restriction since public order is a matter of even greater social concern. Out of all expressions used in this regard, as discussed in the earlier part of this judgment, `security of the state' is the paramount and the State can impose restrictions upon the freedom, which may comparatively be more stringent than those imposed in relation to maintenance of `public order' and `law and order'. However stringent may these restrictions be, they must stand the test of `reasonability'. The State would have to satisfy the Court that the imposition of such restrictions is not only in the interest of the security of the State but is also within the framework of Articles 19(2) and 19(3) of the Constitution." In this case, the orders imposing the restrictions on the Internet the orders reference "law and order" without showing us how preservation of "public order" legitimately required the restrictions as imposed. What is more, as the petitioners have contended, the term "anti-national" is simply undefinable and does not fall within any of the carefully delineated grounds stipulated in Article 19(2) of the Constitution.
The orders imposing the shutdown are not rationally connected to the fulfilment of the supposed purpose, that is the prevention of violence. While the state has repeatedly claimed that the Internet will be misused by miscreants and anti-national elements it has provided no actual evidence of such misuse being a real and genuine threat. Indeed, as the petitioners have shown, studies indicate the opposite, that a shutdown of the Internet leads to anxiety and unease and augment the risk of protests and demonstrations turning violent. Therefore, the state has simply failed to demonstrate the existence of a cogent and sensible nexus between the restrictions imposed and the purported aim behind the orders.
Finally, the orders also do not conform to the test of necessity, that there was a compelling need for these actions and that the purported objective could not have been achieved through less restrictive and less invasive means. When even according to the state's own arguments it is only a minuscule minority that are likely to commit violence, and when a whopping majority of the populace represent no threat to public order it is difficult to conceive how a complete shutdown of the Internet can constitute a necessary and proper action. Indeed, as the petitioners have shown, the state has often, in the past, isolated persons prone to terrorising from others, based on their registered mobile phone numbers. What is more, the state could quite easily have also resorted to blocking certain websites alone if the intention was to prevent incitement of violence. That a wholesale blockade of the Internet has been in force for more than four months evinces the fact that the State hasn't so much as made an effort at ensuring that it adopts the least restrictive means possible to ensure that violence isn't perpetrated in the region.
Ultimately, therefore, the actions of the state in enforcing a host of communication barriers in the Kashmir Valley, in particular its decision to entirely restrict access to the Internet, constitute a collective punishment on the people of the region and violate, among other things, the fundamental rights guaranteed under Articles 19(1)(a) and 21 of the Constitution.
The Striking Down of Section 66A: How Indian Free Speech Jurisprudence Found its Soul Again
Posted by Gautam Bhatia in Free Speech, Internet Freedom, IT Act
autonomy, dignity, equal concern and respect, freedom of speech, internet freedom, proximity
In the best piece of free speech news since 1960, the Supreme Court on Tuesday struck down Section 66A of the IT Act, that criminalised "grossly offensive", "menacing" and "annoying or inconvenient" speech over the internet. There has been a substantial degree of commentary about the judgment over the last two days. In this post, I will attempt a detailed excavation of the many fascinating strands of the judgment, from the point of view of free speech doctrine.
Use of American First Amendment jurisprudence
A month ago, I wrote a rather exasperated post about a bizarre Delhi High Court decision allowing the police to pull down political posters from the walls of private property, on the ground that "Delhites have short fuses", and that political posters could therefore be a threat to public order. In particular, when American free speech jurisprudence was cited before Justice Endlaw, he refused to consider those cases, on the ground that while the American First Amendment is "absolute" ("Congress shall make no law… abridging… the freedom of speech"), Article 19(2) is subject to reasonable restrictions. This cavalier dismissal highlights the highly opportunistic manner in which the Indian judiciary has engaged with American First Amendment law over the years. On occasions when it helps to buttress a point, judges have shown no compunctions in quoting the grand, eloquent pronouncements of the American judiciary on the freedom of speech; but of course, American First Amendment law has historically been far more speech-protective than its Indian counterpart. Consequently, when judges wishing to uphold far-reaching restrictions upon the freedom of speech are faced with contrary American cases, instead of engaging with the reasoning and demonstrating why it is invalid or inapplicable, they invariable invoke the "First Amendment is an absolute!" trope, and save themselves the trouble of having to consider contrary reasoning.
As I've tried to argue before, a refusal to engage with judicially trained minds grappling with very similar issues achieves nothing but stifling exposure to a range of rigorously thought-through and developed viewpoints, and harms the overall quality of reasoning. More importantly, though, the argument that the First Amendment is an absolute, and 19(2) contains reasonable restrictions, is a canard. The First Amendment is not absolute. No American judge, apart from Hugo Black, and possibly William Douglas, has held it to be. The First Amendment permits regulation of incitement to imminent lawless action, obscenity, fighting words, true threats, blackmail, copyright infringement, insider trading, consumer fraud and commercial speech. This was clearly understood by the framers. In the Constituent Assembly Debates, Ambedkar himself observed:
"It is wrong to say that fundamental rights in America are absolute. The difference between the position under the American Constitution and theDraft Constitution is one of form and not of substance. That the fundamental rights in America are not absolute rights is beyond dispute. In support of every exception to the fundamental rights set out in the Draft Constitution one can refer to at least one judgment of the United States Supreme Court."
He then specifically went on to cite an American judgment on restrictions upon free speech – Gitlow vs New York.
In Paragraphs 14 to 19, Justice Nariman clinically demolishes the aforementioned canard. Citing Chaplinsky vs New Hampshire, the classic American judgment affirming that the First Amendment is not absolute, he correctly points out that the American Supreme Court has never given literal effect to the "make no law" phrase. He then correctly notes that the crucial difference between the American and Indian positions is that while in the United States, a compelling public interest must be demonstrated in order to regulate speech, in India, a restriction must be covered by the eight themes specified in Article 19(2). In other words, there could be occasions when the Indian Constitution protects more speech than the American! In any event, subject to this rider, Justice Nariman notes:
"Viewed from the above perspective, American judgments have great persuasive value on the content of freedom of speech and expression and the tests laid down for its infringement."
And this is exactly as it should be. There is much to disagree with in American free speech law. But what is undeniable is that over a hundred years, American judges have crafted a deep, thoughtful and complex set of principles for understanding the purposes of the freedom of speech in a constitutional democracy. We might reject their principles completely, but we need to engage with them.
Public interest cannot be a ground for restricting speech
In specifying that under the Constitution, speech can be restricted only under one of the eight listed grounds under Article 19(2), Justice Nariman states twice that "public interest" is not one of the grounds, and so cannot be invoked to justify a speech restriction. In paragraph 21, he notes:
"Under our constitutional scheme, as stated earlier, it is not open to the State to curtail freedom of speech to promote the general public interest."
Immediately after, he cites Sakal Papers vs Union of India in support of this proposition.
This might sound like an innocuous statement, but it is critically important. This is because, over the years, judges have repeatedly ignored the fact that Article 19(2) exhaustively lists eight grounds of restriction, and that public interest is not one of them (unlike in Article 19(6)). Judges have upheld restrictions upon the nebulous grounds of "public interest" and "social interest". In Ranjit Udeshi vs State of Maharashtra, for instance, while upholding obscenity law, Justice Hidayatullah traveled beyond the terms of the Constitution to observe that the freedom of speech "is subject to reasonable restrictions which may be thought necessary in the interest of the general public." He then used that to elide the "decency and morality" clause with "public morality."
In K.A. Abbas vs Union of India, while upholding a regime of pre-censorship upon cinema, that same Justice Hidayatullah observed:
"… social interest of the people override individual freedom. Whether we regard the state as the paren patriae or as guardian and promoter of general welfare, we have to concede, that these restraints on liberty may be justified by their absolute necessity and clear purpose. Social interests take in not only the interests of the community but also individual interests which cannot be ignored. A balance has therefore to be struck between the rival claims by reconciling them. The larger interests of the community require the formulation of policies and regulations to combat dishonesty, corruption, gambling, vice and other things of immoral tendency and things which affect the security of the State and the preservation of public order and tranquillity."
In In Re Arundhati Roy, the contempt of court case, the Court held:
"… whether there can be a balancing between the two public interests, the freedom of expression and the dignity of the court."
Examples may be multiplied, but there is a clear pattern here. The worst free speech judgments of the Supreme Court have come when the Court has traveled beyond its brief, collapsed the specific terms of 19(2) into a boundless and boundlessly manipulable vision of "public" or "social" interest, and then upheld the far-reaching restrictions that the government has sought to impose. There come times in the history of any constitutional court, when jurisprudence becomes so utterly untethered from the constitutional text and principles, that what is most urgently needed is simply a reaffirmation of the basic meaning of text and structure. In doing so, Justice Nariman has performed the incalculably important service of re-orienting free speech jurisprudence back towards its fundamental goals and purposes: interpreting the Constitution of a liberal-democratic polity.
"In the interests of", "tendency", and the requirement of proximity
Article 19(2) permits "reasonable restrictions" "in the interests" of the eight prescribed themes. The major contestation in Indian free speech law has turned upon the interpretation of "reasonable" and "in the interests of". In Ramji Lal Modi and Virendra, two cases decided in 1957, the Supreme Court stated that the phrase "in the interests of" was wider in ambit than the phrase "for the maintenance of", and consequently, authorised the government to regulate any speech that had a "tendency" towards, for instance, public disorder. In Modi, the Court upheld S. 295A on the ground that intentional outrage to religious feelings had the "calculated tendency" (sic!) to disrupt public order. In Virendra, the Court held prior restraint upon the press under the colonial era Press (Emergency Powers) Act to be constitutional, for the same reason. A plea that there must be proximity between speech and disorder was expressly rejected in Modi.
The word "tendency" is pernicious and damaging. It speaks back to American free speech jurisprudence in the 1920s, when the Supreme Court used a "bad tendency" test to persecute anti-war dissenters, trade-union leaders, leftists and pacifists of various hues. Understanding the sheer unworkability of this test, the Court abandoned it in the 1940s, adopting Justice Holmes and Brandeis' test of "clear and present" danger. The reason is obvious: "tendency" can mean just about anything, from imminence to the faintest causality. If I start smoking now, I will have a tendency to cancer, even though cancer may set in forty years later. But "tendency" has attained an ubiquitous place in Indian speech restricting laws. The Contempt of Courts Act, for instance, criminalises speech that can have the "tendency" of lowering the repute of the Court; S. 292 of the IPC criminalises material that "tends" to deprave or corrupt. And so on.
Fortunately, we did not have to wait as long as the US to push back against the idea of "tendency". In Ram Manohar Lohia's Case (1960), the Supreme Court cleverly "distinguished" precedent, and held that there was a requirement of proximity between speech and the threatened disorder, and that the connection must not be remote, arbitrary or fanciful. In Lohia, a law criminalising instigating people to not pay their taxes was struck down, because it was held not to have a proximate connection to public disorder. Subsequent cases have tightened this test – in S. Rangarajan, the Court held that the connection must be that of a "spark in a powder keg", and in Arup Bhuyan, that there must be "incitement to imminent lawless action." But "tendency" has also continued to be invoked by the Courts with alarming regularity. Soon after Lohia, the Court upheld the crime of sedition in Kedar Nath Singh (1962), on the ground that the State could legitimately criminalise speech that had a "tendency" to public disorder.
As in the case of "public interest", we can immediately see that "tendency" has been responsible – again – for some of the most regressive and speech-restricting decisions of the Indian Supreme Court.
In the 66A judgment, Justice Nariman emphatically adopts the requirement of proximity. He cites Ram Manohar Lohia's case, highlighting the need for an "intimate connection" between speech and the prohibited 19(2) category.
Incitement vs advocacy: Collapsing "tendency" into imminence
The requirement of an intimate connection is expressed by Justice Nariman in the form of a crucial distinction: between advocacy and incitement. In paragraph 13, he observes:
"Mere discussion or even advocacy of a particular cause howsoever unpopular is at the heart of Article 19(1)(a). It is only when such discussion or advocacy reaches the level of incitement that Article 19(2) kicks in. It is at this stage that a law may be made curtailing the speech or expression that leads inexorably to or tends to cause public disorder…"
The distinction between "advocacy" and "incitement" is grounded in the idea of proximity, or imminence. For instance, my "advocating" a violent revolution against the State by writing articles in magazines, or even delivering public lectures, does not constitute "incitement". However, my whipping up a mob into a frenzy and directing it to imminent violent action does. The enquiry is contextual, and is clearly limited to emergent, specific situations. In other words, Justice Nariman emphatically rejects the proposition that an idea, or a message, can be criminalised because of its communicative content. It is only when there is a relationship of immediacy between speech and action – "speech brigaded with action", in the words of Justice Douglas – that the law can kick in. I have argued elsewhere that this view is consistent with our most basic ideas of individual autonomy and responsibility. But what is most interesting here is that Justice Nariman then collapses "tendency" into the incitement requirement. He says that it is at the stage of incitement when the law kicks in, to curtail speech that tends to cause disorder.
In other words, the concept of "tendency" that motivated the Court in Modi, Virendra and Kedar Nath Singh is emphatically discarded here. Justice Nariman holds that even if speech has a "tendency" to disorder (say, for instance, a revolutionary tract), that in itself is not a ground for restriction: there must, further, be incitement. To come back to my smoking example – I have a tendency to cancer when I start smoking, but cancer is "imminent" (or "inexorable") only at a much, much later stage.
Thus, even while maintaining continuity with precedent, by continuing to use "tendency", Justice Nariman effectively knocks the bottom out of the entire rationale for upholding 295A and sedition.
In paragraph 36 onwards, he buttresses this by collapsing tendency into the American "clear and present danger" test, even citing Modi and Kedar Nath Singh! In paragraph 41, he concludes the public order enquiry by holding:
"Viewed at either by the standpoint of the clear and present danger test or the tendency to create public disorder, Section 66A would not pass muster as it has no element of any tendency to create public disorder which ought to be an essential ingredient of the offence which it creates."
There is a small quibble here: in paragraph 37, Justice Nariman observes:
"The test of "clear and present danger" has been used by the U.S. Supreme Court in many varying situations and has been adjusted according to varying fact situations. It appears to have been repeatedly applied, see- Terminiello v. City of Chicago 93 L. Ed. 1131 (1949) at page 1134-1135, Brandenburg v. Ohio 23 L. Ed. 2d 430 (1969)"
Strictly speaking, this is incorrect. The "clear and present danger" test was found to be prone to gross abuse during the McCarthy years, when the Court invoked it to convict communist party members and other dissidents. Far from using "clear and present danger", Brandenburg vs Ohio was the case that rejected it, in favour of a more stringent "incitement to imminent lawless action" test. The Brandenburg standard was adopted by the Supreme Court in 2011, in Arup Bhuyan's Case. In that respect, it is something of a pity that Justice Nariman endorses "clear and present danger" instead of Brandenburg. Nonetheless, it is also arguable that his disquisition on the distinction between "advocacy" and "incitement" effectively speaks to a Brandenburg level of protection, going forward.
Meaning of Public Order
The term "public order" is a term of art. In Romesh Thappar, independent India's first free speech judgment, it was defined as "a state of tranquility which prevails amongst the members of a political society." In Ram Manohar Lohia vs State of Bihar (a different case that also involved Ram Manohar Lohia), the Court conceptualised three concentric circles: "law and order" being the widest, "public order" being narrower, and "security of the state" being the narrowest. Thus, a disruption of public order is something graver than merely breaking a law, or disrupting "law and order". In the free speech judgments since Lohia, however, this definition has been largely ignored (the Delhi High Court case cited above is a classic example). As in the case of rejecting "public interest" as a ground of restriction, the Court's endorsement of Lohia provides a crucial reaffirmation of the fact that constitutional terms – especially terms that limit fundamental rights, cannot be arbitrarily expanded, and the Court must adjudicate constitutionality specifically upon the touchstone of their defined meanings.
On a combination of all these factors – that the terms of S. 66A did not establish a proximate link with public order, as defined, the Court held that Article 19(2) did not save that section, at least insofar as public order was concerned. The same analysis was applied to defamation, and decency and morality – the Court reaffirming its recent judgment in Aveek Sarkar's case. The government's attempt to escape unconstitutionality by adding an exhaustive set of guidelines (see para 48) was correctly rejected, on the ground that this was tantamount to rewriting the whole section. Consequently, the Court struck it down.
In Grayned vs Rockford, the American Supreme Court defined a vague statute as one which ensured that persons of "ordinary intelligence… have no reasonable opportunity to know what is prohibited." In Kartar Singh v. State of Punjab, the Supreme Court – citing this case – observed that "it is the basic principle of legal jurisprudence that an enactment is void for vagueness if its prohibitions are not clearly defined. Vague laws offend several important values… laws should give the person of ordinary intelligence a reasonable opportunity to know what is prohibited, so that he may act accordingly. Vague laws may trap the innocent by not providing fair warning. Such a law impermissibly delegates basic policy matters to policemen and also judges for resolution on an ad hoc and subjective basis, with the attendant dangers of arbitrary and discriminatory application."
There are, therefore, two problems with vague statutes. One is a rule-of-law problem: citizens do not have a fair chance to plan their affairs. The second is a delegation problem: the executive is given far too much discretion to implement vague laws on the ground. We have seen both issues at play with the abuse of S. 66A over the years.
While in K.A. Abbas, the Supreme Court admitted that vagueness could be a ground for striking down a law, it did not do so (despite the Central Guidelines for film certification, which were at issue, being bizarrely overbroad.) In Baldeo Prasad, the Court struck down a law that criminalised goondas, but did not define who a "goonda" was. But the 66A judgment is the first time – to my knowledge – that the Court has struck down a speech-restricting law on the grounds of vagueness. Crucially, the Court observes that it is not possible for the legislature to cast "a net large enough to catch all possible offenders and leave it to the Court to step in and say who could be rightfully detained and who should be set at liberty."
After citing a copious degree of American and Indian jurisprudence to establish the principle of vagueness, Justice Nariman correctly observes, in paragraph 69, that "judged by the standards laid down in the aforesaid judgments, it is quite clear that the expressions used in 66A are completely open-ended and undefined." Further contributing to the vagueness are the absence of mens rea, and a series of terms (such as "obstruction", "danger" or "annoyance") which are ingredients of an offence in the Indian Penal Code (that of public nuisance), but have become offences in themselves in the IT Act (para 72). Justice Nariman distinguishes other IPC provisions that use identical terms (such as Ss. 294 and 510) on similar grounds, and ends by noting the sheer subjectivity of the words that constitute offences under the IT Act:
"… every expression used is nebulous in meaning. What may be offensive to one may not be offensive to another. What may cause annoyance or inconvenience to one may not cause annoyance or inconvenience to another. Even the expression "persistently" is completely imprecise – suppose a message is sent thrice, can it be said that it was sent "persistently"?"
Over-breadth and the Chilling Effect
Over-breadth is a concept that is closely connected with – but not identical to – the chilling effect. A statute is over-broad if – in the words of the Indian Supreme Court in Chintaman Rao vs State Madhya Pradesh, "the language employed is wide enough to cover restrictions both within and without the limits of constitutionally permissible legislative action affecting the right. So long as the possibility of its being applied for purposes not sanctioned by the Constitution cannot be ruled out, it must be held to be wholly void."
Over-breadth directly implicates the reasonableness requirement of Article 19(2). In State of Madras vs V.G. Row, the Supreme Court held that a "reasonable restriction" under Articles 19(2) to (6) would have to satisfy the requirements of proportionality: "the nature of the right alleged to have been infringed, the underlying purpose of the restrictions imposed, the extent and urgency of the evil sought to be remedied thereby, the disproportion of the imposition, the prevailing conditions at the time, should all enter into the judicial verdict." It is clear that if a statute proscribes conduct that is much broader than what is permitted under Article 19(2), on the ground that there is some – tenuous – connection between the two, there is good reason to argue that the restriction is disproportionate.
While in Chintaman Rao, the Court struck down a statute for being over-broad, over-breadth as a constitutional concept has not yet managed to acquire a foothold in Indian constitutional jurisprudence. Here again, Justice Nariman's judgment breaks new ground by expressly invoking over-breadth as a ground for striking down a speech-restricting statute. In paragraph 83, he observes:
"Information that may be grossly offensive or which causes annoyance or inconvenience are undefined terms which take into the net a very large amount of protected and innocent speech."
And, in paragraph 86:
"[66A's restrictions] fall foul of the repeated injunctions of this Court that restrictions on the freedom of speech must be couched in the narrowest possible terms."
This is not all, however. Justice Nariman makes a further, crucial link: between vagueneness and overbreadth, and the chilling effect. The chilling effect refers to a situation where, faced with uncertain, speech-restricting statutes, which blur the line between what is permitted and what is proscribed, citizens are likely to self-censor, in order to be definitively safe. In the words of Justice Brennan, writing in New York Times vs Sullivan, citizens will "tend to make only statements which steer far wider of the unlawful zone… thus dampen[ing] the vigour and limit[ing] the variety of public debate." In other words, the chilling effect – which applies across different areas of free speech law – ensures that self-censorship will extend even to entirely legitimate speech, and will impoverish the public discourse – the sustenance and enrichment of which is the entire point of free speech in the first place.
Yet again, it is crucial to note here that although past Indian cases have made vague references to the chilling effect (R. Rajagopal and Khushboo), again, the 66A judgment is the first that uses the concept to arrive at a positive legal outcome. In paragraph 83, after examining all the myriad kinds of speech that 66A will reach, Justice Nariman observes:
"Such is the reach of the Section and if it is to withstand the test of constitutionality, the chilling effect on free speech would be total."
"We, therefore, hold that the Section is unconstitutional also on the ground that it takes within its sweep protected speech and speech that is innocent in nature and is liable therefore to be used in such a way as to have a chilling effect on free speech and would, therefore, have to be struck down on the ground of overbreadth."
Article 14 and differences by medium
One last point remains to be noted. The core of the government's argument was that the internet is a very different medium from print or cinema, and that consequently, the government should be allowed greater leeway to regulate it. In paragraph 27, Justice Nariman lists some of the facets of the government's contention: that the internet has a much greater (global) reach, it reaches both literate and illiterate people, even cinema has pre-censorship rules (but the internet doesn't), rumours can spread to "trillions" (sic!) of people, there is much greater scope for invasion of privacy, the internet provides much greater shelter to anonymity, there are no internal regulatory norms, and that the spread is much more rapid.
In contradistinction, the challengers made precisely the opposite argument. They contended that since S. 66A lacked the kinds of procedural and other safeguards present for the regulation of print media, there was an Article 14 violation of equality. According to the challengers, a principle of equivalence must apply across media of communication.
Interestingly, Justice Nariman rejects both contentions. He rejects the Article 14 argument, holding that the internet is indeed a medium with some unique qualities, and that it is possible that there might be certain offences that can only take place online. In paragraph 28, he notes that the government is entitled to draft narrowly-drawn provisions that specifically speak to those offences (such as website blocking). But in the very same paragraph, he also notes:
"[the differential nature of the internet would not] relax the Court's scrutiny of the curbing of the content of free speech over the internet. While it may be possible to narrowly draw a Section creating a new offence, such as Section 69A for instance, relatable only to speech over the internet, yet the validity of such a law will have to be tested on the touchstone of the tests already indicated above."
In effect, what kind of speech might be restricted is agnostic to media. Furthermore, when it may be restricted (i.e., the 19(2)) principles, and the relationship of proximity) is also impervious to the difference in media. The only place where this difference might be relevant is where the medium itself allows for certain kinds of offences (such as spam, or phishing) that were not possible before, and in such circumstances, the State may frame a law, which will nonetheless be tested on the anvil of Article 19(2).
This raises the following question: in K.A. Abbas, the Court held pre-censorship to be valid in the case of cinema on the ground that films had a much more striking impact upon the average "illiterate" Indian viewer. In other words, the difference in medium was held to justify a difference in the form of the restriction – in particular, doing away with the proximity test, or at least, diluting it to an unrecognisable degree. The logic of Justice Nariman's judgment, I would suggest, knocks the bottom out of the prior-restraint regime of film-censorship. It is not as if films permit the commission some specific kinds of offences that were not possible before (unlike the internet). In fact, the Court's reasoning in K.A. Abbas was specifically based on an (unproven) assumption of how an "illiterate" audience reacts differently to the written word and the visual image. Cases after K.A. Abbas (such as Anand Patwardhan's Case) have rejected the "illiterate Indian trope", thus undermining the foundations of that holding. The 66A judgment, however, rejects that form of reasoning entirely.
Constitutionally, what follows? I would suggest the following. Ever since Ram Manohar Lohia, there has been a gradual, incremental chipping away at the philosophical foundations of some of our most regressive, speech-restricting laws. Consider the following:
(a) Ramji Lal Modi upheld 295A on the ground that proximity was irrelevant, specifically rejected an over-breadth argument, and held that deliberate insults to religion had a "calculated tendency" to cause public disorder.
(b) Kedar Nath Singh upheld sedition (124A) on the ground that disaffection against the government had the "tendency" to public disorder.
(c) K.A. Abbas upheld pre-censorship of films on the ground of how the medium differently affects viewers; it rejected a challenge to the Censorship Guidelines on the ground of vagueness, and did not even consider an over-breadth argument.
(d) Contempt of court judgments (unfortunately, rather consistently) have held that certain forms of criticism against the court have a "tendency" to undermine justice.
(e) Apart from Rajagopal's Case, which is limited to public officials, the Supreme Court is yet to examine defamation law on the touchstone of Article 19(1)(a), and a criminal law of defamation continues to exist on the statute books. In countries such as the US, Canada, South Africa, and England, the "chilling effect" of the common law of defamation (strict liability) has been expressly invoked to limit its reach, and its propensity to be used as a tool of harassing journalists and investigative reporters.
At the same time, however:
(a) Ram Manohar Lohia, S. Rangarajan and Arup Bhuyan (the latter two coming after Modi and Kedar Nath Singh) have insisted on a proximity requirement between speech and disorder.
(b) Chintaman Rao and Kameshwar Prasad have struck down statutes on over-breadth grounds (while not directly invoking the concept).
(c) Rajagopal's case has incorporated the Sullivan rule to protect writers from civil defamation claims brought by public officials, and indirectly invoked the chilling effect.
This latter group of judgments, it is clear, have indirectly, implicitly undermined the foundations of the former. The 66A judgment makes it direct and explicit. Proximity, over-breadth, vagueness and the chilling effect are all expressly invoked to strike down a statute. They have been specifically incorporated into Indian free speech jurisprudence, and may be invoked in future free speech claims.
So perhaps, at long last, the time has come to rethink fifty-year old judgments upholding blasphemy and sedition laws, rethink criminal defamation, throw off the oppressive fetters of civil defamation and contempt of court, and attack the censorship guidelines of both cinema and cable TV.
This judgment lays the constitutional, legal and philosophical terrain to do all of that. It creates the ground upon which we can erect a progressive, liberal understanding of free speech, based upon a vision of individuals as responsible and autonomous beings, who do not need "protection" from moral corruption, and who do not need a paternalistic State or court telling them what they need to read, see or here. Individuals, one and all, worthy of dignity and equal concern and respect.
This is the first judgment since 1960 that unequivocally affirms every one of those propositions.
It is the judgment that has given Indian free speech law its soul back.
The Supreme Court's IT Act Judgment, and Secret Blocking
blocking rules, freedom of speech, internet freedom
As has been widely reported by now, yesterday the Supreme Court delivered a landmark judgment striking down Section 66A of the Information Technology Act, reading down S. 79 (intermediary liability) and upholding S. 69A (blocking of websites). I will be writing a detailed analysis of the jurisprudence behind the Court's striking down of S. 66A in a while. In this post, however, I want to briefly comment on S. 69A and secret blocking.
S. 69A of the IT Act authorises the government to block access to websites, on grounds that roughly overlap with (but are not identical to) Article 19(2) of the Constitution (reasonable restrictions upon the freedom of speech). S. 69A(2) specifies that the procedure and safeguards for carrying out blocking will be specified. Pursuant to this, "Blocking Rules" were framed in 2009. The Blocking Rules prescribe who can make a blocking request, set up the (executive) authorities that will examine the requests, provide an opportunity for pre-decisional hearings for the intermediaries (and/or, if they can be traced, originators), and lay out the process for blocking. There are three crucial aspects that must be noted:
(a) The Rules do not provide for an appeals process.
(b) Rule 15 requires that Designated Officer to maintain records of blocking requests and actions taken, but
(c) Rule 16 stipulates that "strict confidentiality shall be maintained regarding all the requests and complaints received and actions taken thereof."
As is obvious, the main problem with the Blocking Rules (among many others) is their secrecy. The rules require notice to the intermediary, but naturally, intermediaries are bound to be far more interested in avoiding confrontations with the government, and in self-preservation, than in defending the freedom of speech. Furthermore, Rule 16 requires confidentiality, thereby raising the presumption that nobody beyond the intermediaries ought to know about a block. For instance, when the Software Freedom Law Centre attempted to get access to blocking orders for 1208 blocked websites in 2013, it was denied on Rule 16 grounds. As has been well-documented, it is often difficult to even find out that a non-accessible website has been blocked, and even more difficult to find out why that has happened.
In this context, what does the Court's judgment, upholding both S. 69A and the Rules in their entirety, mean? At Medianama, Nikhil Pahwa argues that in effect, secret blocks will now continue, just as they were happening before.
There are, however, two important aspects that ought to be noted.
First, consider Rule 8 of the Blocking Rules:
"On receipt of request under rule 6, the Designated Officer shall make all reasonable efforts to identify the person or intermediary who has hosted the information or part thereof as well as the computer resource on which such information or part thereof is being hosted and where he is able to identify such person or intermediary and the computer resource hosting the information or part thereof which have been requested to be blocked for public access, he shall issue a notice…"
The text of the Rule uses the phrase "person or intermediary", thus implying that notice may be sent to either the originator or the intermediary. This – as explained above – is deeply problematic. In his article, Nikhil writes:
"If my site is blocked, don't I have the right to know why it's been blocked? Mobango.com, a company owned by the People Group (Shaadi.com), was blocked in India for six months and didn't know why for the longest time. Where was their Committee hearing? Where was the hearing for Vimeo, Github, Dailymotion (read), Imgur (read)? Shouldn't they be informed of the process of getting a block removed?"
In Paragraph 110 of the judgment, however, the Court notes:
"It is also clear from an examination of Rule 8 that it is not merely the intermediary who may be heard. If the "person" i.e. the originator is identified he is also to be heard before a blocking order is passed."
In other words, the Court takes the disjunctive "or" in the Rule, and effectively transforms it into a conjunctive "and". It therefore seems to be the case that henceforth – insofar as they can be identified, originators must also be notified of blocks, and given the opportunity to challenge them.
I would suggest, however, that the logic of the judgment goes even further. Consider Paragraph 109, where the Court holds S. 69A and the rules constitutional:
"It will be noticed that Section 69A unlike Section 66A is a narrowly drawn provision with several safeguards. First and foremost, blocking can only be resorted to where the Central Government is satisfied that it is necessary so to do. Secondly, such necessity is relatable only to some of the subjects set out in Article 19(2). Thirdly, reasons have to be recorded in writing in such blocking order so that they may be assailed in a writ petition under Article 226 of the Constitution."
It is the "thirdly" that is crucial. The Court specifies that blocking orders must be reasoned, and in writing, so that they may be challenged under Article 226. Now, who may challenge a blocking order? Obviously, an intermediary and/or the originator are entitled to do so. But consider also paragraph 20 of the judgment, when the Court starts its examination of S. 66A:
"It is clear, therefore, that the petitioners are correct in saying that the public's right to know is directly affected by Section 66A. Information of all kinds is roped in – such information may have scientific, literary or artistic value, it may refer to current events, it may be obscene or seditious. That such information may cause annoyance or inconvenience to some is how the offence is made out. It is clear that the right of the people to know – the market place of ideas – which the internet provides to persons of all kinds is what attracts Section 66A."
The underlined portions tap into an established principle of Indian free speech jurisprudence: that Article 19(1)(a) guarantees not only the rights of speakers to express themselves, but also the rights of listeners (or, in the case of the internet, viewers) to access information (other Constitutions – such as the German and the South African – expressly include listeners' rights as an aspect of the freedom of expression).
For instance, in LIC vs Manubhai D. Shah, while dealing with the rejection of a right of reply, the Supreme Court noted: "such an attitude on the part of the LIC can be described as both unfair and unreasonable; unfair because fairness demanded that both view points were placed before the readers, however limited be their number, to enable them to draw their own conclusions and unreasonable because there was no logic or proper justification for refusing publication… the respondent's fundamental right of speech and expression clearly entitled him to insist that his views on the subject should reach those who read the magazine so that they have a complete picture before them and not a one sided or distorted one…"
And, in State of UP vs Raj Narain, Justice Mathew, in his concurring opinion, noted:
"In a Government of responsibility like ours, where all the agents of the public must be responsible for their conduct, there can be but few secrets. The people of this country have a right to know every public act, everything that is done in a public way, by their public functionaries."
Examples can be multiplied, but suffice it to say that the right to information, and its corollary, the rights of readers and viewers to access information, constitute part of the right to freedom of expression under Article 19(1)(a). But if that is true, then a website block implicates the constitutional rights not only of intermediaries and originators, but also of the general public – each member of which, for that reason, has the right to challenge the blocking under Article 226, as the Court specifically upheld. Now, it is impossible to challenge a blocking order unless one has access to it. Consequently, when the Court says that blocking orders must be reasoned and in writing, so that they may be challenged under Article 226, it follows by necessary implication that the blocking orders must be made available to the public.
The doctrine of necessary implication is well-accepted in statutory interpretation. A statute is understood to contain not only what is express, but also that which is necessary to effectuate its "object or purpose", or to make effective the rights (or privileges) that it grants. This doctrine would apply with even greater force to subordinate legislation, such as the Blocking Rules. Consequently, it may well be argued that even though the Court did not expressly overrule Rule 16, the logic of its judgment – in light of settled jurisprudence on Article 19(1)(a) – means that it did so impliedly. Admittedly, neither necessary implication nor implied overruling are to be lightly invoked, but in this case, not only does this conclusion seem to follow inexorably from the Supreme Court's Article 19(1)(a) jurisprudence, but the fact that what is at issue is a subordinate legislation, the normal presumptions against necessary implication/implied overruling are consequently weaker.
This, of course, is probably an over-optimistic reading of the judgment. So perhaps the best way of settling this issue might well be through a clarification petition.
Net Neutrality, Free Speech and the Indian Constitution – I
Posted by Gautam Bhatia in Free Speech, Internet Freedom
free speech, internet freedom, internet governance, net neutrality
(This piece first appeared on the CIS website, here)
Net neutrality is rapidly becoming one of the most important issues facing internet governance and internet freedom today, and it is quite likely that it will soon raise issues of law and legal policy in India. In this post (and the next), I will discuss net neutrality, free speech and the Indian Constitution.
I will not here go into the debates surrounding the multiple meanings of the concept of "net neutrality" but take, for the purposes of this post, the following definition:
"The idea that all Internet traffic should be treated equally is known as network neutrality. In other words, no matter who uploads or downloads data, or what kind of data is involved, networks should treat all of those packets in the same manner."
In other words, put simply, net neutrality requires the extant gatekeepers of the internet – such as, for instance, broadband companies – to accord a form of equal and non-discriminatory treatment to all those who want to access the internet. Examples of possible discrimination – as the quote above illustrates – include, for instance, blocking content or providing differential internet speed (perhaps on the basis of a tiered system of payment for access).
Net neutrality has its proponents and opponents, and I do not have space here to address that dispute. This post – and the next – are premised on the assumption that net neutrality is both an important and a desirable goal (this brief article in the Times of India provides a decent, basic primer on the stakes involved).
An example of net neutrality in practice is the American Federal Communications Commission's Open Internet Order of 2010, which was the subject of litigation in the recently concluded Verizon v. FCC. The Open Internet order imposed obligations of transparency, no blocking, and no unreasonable discrimination, upon internet service providers. The second and third requirements were vacated by a United States Court of Appeals. The rationale for the Court's decision was that ISPs could not be equated, in law, to "common carriers". A common carrier is an entity that offers to transport persons and/or goods in exchange for a fee (for example, shipping companies, or bus companies). A common carrier is licensed to be one, and often, one of the conditions for license is an obligation not to discriminate. That is, the common carrier cannot refuse to carry an individual who is willing and able to pay the requisite fees, in the absence of a compelling reason (for example, if the individual wishes the carrier to transport contraband). Proponents of net neutrality have long called for treating ISPs as common carriers, a proposition – as observed above – was rejected by the Court.
With this background, let us turn to India. In India, internet service providers are both state-owned (BSNL and MTNL), and privately-owned (Airtel, Spectranet, Reliance, Sify etc). Unlike many other countries, however, India has no network-neutrality laws. As this informative article observes:
"The Telecom Regulatory Authority of India (TRAI), in its guidelines for issuing licences for providing Unified Access Service, promotes the principle of non-discrimination but does not enforce it… the Information Technology Act does not provide regulatory provisions relating to Internet access, and does not expressly prohibit an ISP from controlling the Internet to suit their business interests."
In the absence of either legislation or regulation, there are two options. One, of course, is to invoke the rule of common carriers as a common law rule in court, should an ISP violate the principles of net neutrality. In this post (and the next), however, I would like to analyze net neutrality within a constitutional framework – in particular, within the framework of the constitutional guarantee of freedom of speech and expression.
In order to do so, two questions become important, and I shall address them in turn. First, given that most of the ISPs are privately owned, how does the Constitution even come into the picture? Our fundamental rights are enforceable vertically, that is, between individuals and the State, and not horizontally – that is, between two individuals, or two private parties. Where the Constitution intends to depart from this principle (for instance, Article 15(2)), it specifically and expressly states so. As far as Article 19 and the fundamental freedoms are concerned, however, it is clear that they do not admit of horizontal application.
Yet what, precisely, are we to understand by the term "State"? Consider Article 12:
"In this part, unless the context otherwise requires, the State includes the Government and Parliament of India and the Government and the Legislature of each of the States and all local or other authorities within the territory of India or under the control of the Government of India."
The key question is what, precisely, falls within the meaning of "other authorities". The paradigmatic example – and this is something Ambedkar had in mind, as is evidenced by the Constituent Assembly Debates – is the statutory corporation – i.e., a company established under a statute. There are, however, more difficult cases, for instance, public-private partnerships of varying types. For the last fifty years, the Supreme Court has struggled with the issue of defining "other authorities" for the purposes of Part III of the Constitution, with the pendulum swinging wildly at times. In the case of Pradeep Kumar Biswas v. Indian Institute of Chemical Biology, a 2002 judgment by a Constitution bench, the Court settled upon the following definition:
"The question in each case would be whether in the light of the cumulative facts as established, the body is financially, functionally and administratively dominated by or under the control of the Government. Such control must be particular to the body in question and must be pervasive. If this is found then the body is a State within Article 12. On the other hand, when the control is merely regulatory whether under statute or otherwise, it would not serve to make the body a State."
Very obviously, this dooms the ISP argument. There is no way to argue that ISPs are under the pervasive financial, functional and administrative domination or control of the State. If we step back for a moment, though, the Pradeep Kumar Biswas test seems to be radically under-inclusive. Consider the following hypothetical: tomorrow, the government decides to privatize the nation's water supply to private company X. Company X is the sole distributor of water in the country. On gaining control, it decides to cut off the water supply to all households populated by members of a certain religion. There seems something deeply wrong in the argument that there is no remedy under discrimination law against the conduct of the company.
The argument could take two forms. One could argue that there is a certain minimum baseline of State functions (ensuring reasonable access to public utilities, overall maintenance of communications, defence and so on). The baseline may vary depending on your personal political philosophy (education? Health? Infrastructure?), but within the baseline, as established, if a private entity performs a State function, it is assimilated to the State. One could also argue, however, that even if Part III isn'tdirectly applicable, certain functions are of a public nature, and attract public law obligations that are identical in content to fundamental rights obligations under Part III, although their source is not Part III.
To unpack this idea, consider Justice Mohan's concurring opinion in Unnikrishnan v. State of Andhra Pradesh, a case that involved the constitutionality of high capitation fees charged by private educational institutions. One of the arguments raised against the educational institutions turned upon the applicability of Article 14's guarantee of equality. The bench avoided the issue of whether Article 14 directly applied to private educational institutions by framing the issue as a question of the constitutionality of the legislation that regulated capitation fees. Justice Mohan, however, observed:
"What is the nature of functions discharged by these institutions? They discharge a public duty. If a student desires to acquire a degree, for example, in medicine, he will have to route through a medical college. These medical colleges are the instruments to attain the qualification. If, therefore, what is discharged by the educational institution, is a public duty that requires… [it to] act fairly. In such a case, it will be subject to Article 14."
In light of Pradeep Kumar Biswas, it is obviously difficult to hold the direct application of the Constitution to private entities. We can take Justice Mohan, however, to be making a slightly different point: performing what are quintessentially public duties attract certain obligations that circumscribe the otherwise free action of private entities. The nature of the obligation itself depends upon the nature of the public act. Education, it would seem, is an activity that is characterized by open and non-discriminatory access. Consequently, even private educational institutions are required to abide by the norms of fairness articulated by Article 14, even though they may not, as a matter of constitutional law, be held in violation of the Article 14 that is found in the constitutional text. Again, the content of the obligation is the same, but its source (the constitutional text, as opposed to norms of public law) is different.
We have therefore established that in certain cases, it is possible to subject private entities performing public functions to constitutional norms without bringing them under Article 12's definition of the State, and without the need for an enacted statute, or a set of regulations. In the next post, we shall explore in greater detail what this means, and how it might be relevant to ISPs and net neutrality.


The SonShine Foundation is offering $10,000 for the most original, innovative, practical, and enduring initiative that strengthens the bond between Diaspora Jews and Israel.
Here's an opportunity to make a difference and get involved in the wonderful work of Bat Galim and Ofir Shaer, the parents of Gilad z"l, one of the three boys kidnapped and murdered in 2014.
They are looking for social entrepreneurs who are interested in strengthening the relationship between Jews worldwide and Israel not just in times of crisis but in relatively calm times, too.
original, innovative, practical, and enduring initiative that strengthens the bond between Diaspora Jews and Israel.
The initial proposal is due on March 7, 2019, and the follow-up proposal is due on March 31, 2019. The contest reaches its conclusion with the final rounds of judging and the public vote in May. See http://gcc.sonshine.org.il for more details.


text:
import SelectOption from './select-option';

export default SelectOption.extend({
  processDropDownShown: function() {
    this._super();
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redpajama_set_name: RedPajamaGithub


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text:
Why Did Toby Get Divorced On 'This Is Us'? Kate Met His Ex-Wife
So far, the shining beacon of light in a show that always leaves the audience a blubbering mess has been the romance between Toby and Kate on This Is Us. But what no one really expected was for them to have any relationship problems this soon, especially since the couple got off to a decent start and took off in a way that makes you root for them hard. But while he seems good on paper, why did Toby get divorced on This Is Us? For the first time, we get a view into the life he had before Kate and before he was attending overweight support groups. Incidentally, that's how he met Kate, though, so it's all good.
At the beginning of Tuesday's episode "The Pool," we see Kate and Toby on a lunch date when he gets up and Kate spots him hugging a strange woman. Mind you, this woman is beautiful and thin, and the fact that she and Toby seem so close sets off a tons of red flags for Kate. But before you can say, "Hold my earrings," Toby returns to the table, totally normal and inconspicuous. When Kate asks who the woman was, he says something to the effect of a casual, "Oh, my ex-wife," and it's like boom — bombshell.
Of course it was a relief to learn that the mysterious, dark-haired woman wasn't another woman Toby had been seeing, but the introduction of his wife brought up a ton of questions. Like, why did Toby get divorced? And what else might he be hiding? Lucky for us, Kate went to investigate things further and found out everything she could about the shop owner, even going on a faux job interview at said shop in order to talk to Toby's ex.
When she revealed to Toby what she'd done, he was understandably upset and finally explained what had happened with his ex-wife. Not only did she cheat on him and make him feel terrible for most of their marriage, but Toby's ex-wife also gets alimony from him and was the reason for his weight gain of more than 90 pounds in one year. Again, if he hadn't gained that weight, he wouldn't have met Kate, but it finally let us learn more about his backstory.
He went on to confide in Kate that during the time following the end of his marriage, he'd contemplated suicide multiple times. It was a heartbreaking discovery, but one that allowed the viewers to see Toby in a different light and for Kate to realize that she isn't the only one with pain inside of her.

redpajama_set_name: RedPajamaCommonCrawl


South Bay Creative Writing Group – Creative writing services for the South Bay communities.
Featuring productive, non-critical critiques and help in overcoming writer's block.
Join like-minded writers in a casual setting to explore writing topics that would help further your efforts as an author.
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Singing The BEST TV Show Theme Songs to ONE BEAT!
Singing the Greatest Pop Hits of ALL TIME to ONE BEAT!
Singing Every KATY PERRY Hit to ONE BEAT!
Singing Every Hit Song from 2016 to ONE BEAT!
Love Songs Mashup - SING-OFF!
Songs That Turn 10 YEARS OLD in 2018 MASHUP!
Singing Every Hit Song from SUMMER 2017 to ONE BEAT!


text:
Explain the difference between explicit costs and implicit costs
Understand the relationship between cost and revenue
Private enterprise, the ownership of businesses by private individuals, is a hallmark of the U.S. economy. When people think of businesses, often giants like Wal-Mart, Microsoft, or General Motors come to mind. But firms come in all sizes, as shown in Table 1. The vast majority of American firms have fewer than 20 employees. As of 2010, the U.S. Census Bureau counted 5.7 million firms with employees in the U.S. economy. Slightly less than half of all the workers in private firms are at the 17,000 large firms, meaning they employ more than 500 workers. Another 35% of workers in the U.S. economy are at firms with fewer than 100 workers. These small-scale businesses include everything from dentists and lawyers to businesses that mow lawns or clean houses. Indeed, Table 1 does not include a separate category for the millions of small "non-employer" businesses where a single owner or a few partners are not officially paid wages or a salary, but simply receive whatever they can earn.
Firms (% of total firms)
Number of Paid Employees (% of total employment)
Total 5,734,538 112.0 million
0–9 4,543,315 (79.2%) 12.3 million (11.0%)
10–19 617,089 (10.8%) 8.3 million (7.4%)
20–99 475,125 (8.3%) 18.6 million (16.6%)
100–499 81,773 (1.4%) 15.9 million (14.2%)
500 or more 17,236 (0.30%) 50.9 million (49.8%)
Table 1. Range in Size of U.S. Firms. (Source: U.S. Census, 2010 www.census.gov)
Each of these businesses, regardless of size or complexity, tries to earn a profit:
[latex]Profit = Total\;Revenue\;-\;Total\;Cost[/latex]
Total revenue is the income brought into the firm from selling its products. It is calculated by multiplying the price of the product times the quantity of output sold:
[latex]Total\;Revenue = Price\;\times\;Quantity[/latex]
We will see in the following chapters that revenue is a function of the demand for the firm's products.
We can distinguish between two types of cost: explicit and implicit. Explicit costs are out-of-pocket costs, that is, payments that are actually made. Wages that a firm pays its employees or rent that a firm pays for its office are explicit costs. Implicit costs are more subtle, but just as important. They represent the opportunity cost of using resources already owned by the firm. Often for small businesses, they are resources contributed by the owners; for example, working in the business while not getting a formal salary, or using the ground floor of a home as a retail store. Implicit costs also allow for depreciation of goods, materials, and equipment that are necessary for a company to operate. (See the Work it Out feature for an extended example.)
These two definitions of cost are important for distinguishing between two conceptions of profit, accounting profit and economic profit. Accounting profit is a cash concept. It means total revenue minus explicit costs—the difference between dollars brought in and dollars paid out. Economic profit is total revenue minus total cost, including both explicit and implicit costs. The difference is important because even though a business pays income taxes based on its accounting profit, whether or not it is economically successful depends on its economic profit.
Calculating Implicit Costs
Consider the following example. Fred currently works for a corporate law firm. He is considering opening his own legal practice, where he expects to earn $200,000 per year once he gets established. To run his own firm, he would need an office and a law clerk. He has found the perfect office, which rents for $50,000 per year. A law clerk could be hired for $35,000 per year. If these figures are accurate, would Fred's legal practice be profitable?
Step 1. First you have to calculate the costs. You can take what you know about explicit costs and total them:
[latex]\begin{array}{lr}Office\;rental:\; & \$50,000 \\ Law\;clerk's\;salary:\; & +\$35,000 \\ \hline Total\;explicit\;costs:\; &\$85,000 \end{array}[/latex]
Step 2. Subtracting the explicit costs from the revenue gives you the accounting profit.
[latex]\begin{array}{lr}Revenues:\; & \$200,000 \\ Explicit\;costs:\; & -\$85,000 \\ \hline Accounting\;profit:\; & \$115,000 \end{array}[/latex]
But these calculations consider only the explicit costs. To open his own practice, Fred would have to quit his current job, where he is earning an annual salary of $125,000. This would be an implicit cost of opening his own firm.
Step 3. You need to subtract both the explicit and implicit costs to determine the true economic profit:
[latex]\begin{array}{r @{{}={}} l}Economic\;profit & total\;revenues\;-\;explicit\;costs\;-\;implicit\;costs \\[1em] & \$200,000\;-\;\$85,000\;-\;\$125,000 \\[1em] & -\$10,000\;per\;year \end{array}[/latex]
Fred would be losing $10,000 per year. That does not mean he would not want to open his own business, but it does mean he would be earning $10,000 less than if he worked for the corporate firm.
Implicit costs can include other things as well. Maybe Fred values his leisure time, and starting his own firm would require him to put in more hours than at the corporate firm. In this case, the lost leisure would also be an implicit cost that would subtract from economic profits.
Now that we have an idea about the different types of costs, let's look at cost structures. A firm's cost structure in the long run may be different from that in the short run. We turn to that distinction in the next section.
Privately owned firms are motivated to earn profits. Profit is the difference between revenues and costs. While accounting profit considers only explicit costs, economic profit considers both explicit and implicit costs.
A firm had sales revenue of $1 million last year. It spent $600,000 on labor, $150,000 on capital and $200,000 on materials. What was the firm's accounting profit?
Continuing from Self-Check Question 1, the firm's factory sits on land owned by the firm that could be rented out for $30,000 per year. What was the firm's economic profit last year?
What are explicit and implicit costs?
Would an interest payment on a loan to a firm be considered an explicit or implicit cost?
What is the difference between accounting and economic profit?
Small "Mom and Pop firms," like inner city grocery stores, sometimes exist even though they do not earn economic profits. How can you explain this?
A firm is considering an investment that will earn a 6% rate of return. If it were to borrow the money, it would have to pay 8% interest on the loan, but it currently has the cash, so it will not need to borrow. Should the firm make the investment? Show your work.
2010 U.S. Census. www.census.gov.
accounting profit
total revenues minus explicit costs, including depreciation
economic profit
total revenues minus total costs (explicit plus implicit costs)
explicit costs
out-of-pocket costs for a firm, for example, payments for wages and salaries, rent, or materials
an organization that combines inputs of labor, capital, land, and raw or finished component materials to produce outputs.
implicit costs
opportunity cost of resources already owned by the firm and used in business, for example, expanding a factory onto land already owned
private enterprise
the ownership of businesses by private individuals
the process of combining inputs to produce outputs, ideally of a value greater than the value of the inputs
income from selling a firm's product; defined as price times quantity sold
[latex]\begin{array}{r @{{}={}} l}Accounting\;profit & total\;revenues\;-\;explicit\;costs \\[1em] & \$1,000,000\;-\;(\$600,000\;+\;\$150,000\;+\;\$200,000) \\[1em] & \$50,000 \end{array}[/latex]
[latex]\begin{array}{r @{{}={}} l}Economic\;profit & accounting\;profit\;-\;implicit\;cost \\[1em] & \$50,000\;-\;\$30,000 \\[1em] & \$20,000 \end{array}[/latex]
Previous: Introduction to Cost and Industry Structure
Next: 10.2 The Structure of Costs in the Short Run


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The Hainan Island shrew (Crocidura wuchihensis) is a species of mammal in the family Soricidae native to China and Vietnam. The IUCN has insufficient data to assess the level of population and its trend.

Distribution and habitat
The Hainan Island shrew is known from Hainan Island in China and from northern Vietnam where it is present on Mount Tay Con Linh II in Ha Giang Province. The exact extent of its distribution is unknown but it has been found in forests at altitudes of between .

References

Crocidura
Mammals described in 1966

redpajama_set_name: RedPajamaWikipedia


We are a full-stack strategic software development company based in Melbourne, Australia.
We create clever software, solving complex and challenging business problems. We specialise in creating web and mobile applications, business automation software and systems development.


text:
DEBATE AT LOLITA BAR: "Is It More Painful to Get Dumped or to Do the Dumping?"
NOT this Wednesday (as would normally be the case) but rather on Wednesday, June 20 (8pm):
Downtown performance artist, art star, and nerd "Rev. Jen" Miller throws down with (formerly) Upper East Side author, sometime bartender, and libertarian Katherine Taylor (whose new novel is Rules for Saying Goodbye) on the gut-wrenching topic of romantic break-ups.
At: Lolita Bar, 266 Broome St., at the corner of Allen St. on Manhattan's Lower East Side, one block south and three west of the Delancey St. F, J, M, Z subway stop. Free admission, cash bar, and an air conditioner.
Luckily for me, Rev. Jen, who likes Budweiser, was drinking not too long after being dumped when I asked her to participate in this debate, while her opponent, Katherine, has just released a memoir/novel that climaxes with her then-fiance wracked by nightmares, sweat, and rashes at the growing realization he can't go through with the ceremony.
If this debate doesn't end in tears, I'm not doing my job as host right, or Michel Evanchik is moderating improperly. Come watch the trainwreck, man — this is going to be epic (and since it's later in the month than usual, this once I'll promise to give you a brief reminder).
P.S. Speaking of "tainted love," these three versions of the song by that name leave me unable to decide which decade has been the most depraved…
…the 80s (as represented by Soft Cell)?
http://youtube.com/watch?v=oEh5pWjcWCg&mode=related&search=
…the 90s, though this was actually released in '01 (care of Republican rocker Marilyn Manson)?
http://youtube.com/watch?v=nzE6yhrLfwk&mode=related&search=
…or the 00s (in the form of…Pussycat Dolls)?
http://youtube.com/watch?v=w37thYX6aYM&mode=related&search=
In this, as with so many other questions, I think I'm gonna have to say: the 80s, with things trending toward wholesomeness since then, at least by this admittedly unscientific measure. But what else would you expect from the decade that gave us "Hot for Teacher"?
http://youtube.com/watch?v=hSdCPUoMAmQ
P.P.S. The 80s in turn reminds me of Reagan and the fumbling search for an inspiring president. Let me just say, if you aren't rooting for Ron Paul in the presidential race, you're part of the problem. What do you mean, which problem? All of them.
Posted by Todd Seavey at 6:51 PM
Labels: Debates at Lolita Bar
toddseavey said...
Just in case that was unclear — yes, Jen argues it's worse to get dumped and Katherine argues it's worse to do the dumping, even though it's the likable protagonist of her novel (somewhat like her, though it's fiction) who got dumped by the fiance. But you see, Katherine can do that because she has _empathy_ (and the protagonist does dump people at other points in the novel, I should say). Anyone who feels this still leaves us needing someone at the debate who is more of an expert on _doing_ the dumping is encouraged to dump someone during the Q&A period.
Lefty said...
I think you should include Gloria Jones' original 1964 soul version of Tainted Love in your analysis:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NSehtaY6k1U
(This is a weird homemade video version, but the audio is spot on.)
I expect this to be the first of many, many posts I'll be making on toddseavey.com.
Thar He Blows: Moby Attended Our Debate Last Night...
The Zero-Child Policy
That Personal Ad and the 6/20 Break-Ups Debate
Pigs, Politicians, Punks
DEBATE AT LOLITA BAR: "Is It More Painful to Get D...
Book Selection of the Month: "Rules for Saying Goo...
Banana Splits vs. Bob Marley


text:
#include <stdio.h>
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{
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    /* Check for errors */
    if(res != CURLE_OK)
      fprintf(stderr, "curl_easy_perform() failed: %s\n",
              curl_easy_strerror(res));

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  }
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}


You want to multiply? Multiply your seed. You want an increase? Plant more. Sow more. Some of us have fists that are so tight that we can't receive a blessing because we refuse to give. Get you some good ground and sow. Don't stare at the ground. Don't worry about what the ground is doing. Don't try to figure out where the seed went in the ground. You just sow and watch God provide the increase. It is a spiritual LAW. You WILL reap a harvest. Stop trying to seed watch. In due season, and sometimes in the same year you sow, you will get AT LEAST a tenfold blessings but we're claiming 100 fold in our Taking It All Back VIP Inner Circle. There is a period between sowing and seeing the harvest but it will come forth. God cannot and will not lie.
Now, sowing time is good. Sowing love and encouragement is what I do daily through the power of Holy Spirit so I know it's good. But I'm encouraging you to sow money. I remember when I sowed my first $2.5k seed – I jumped from like no more than $500.00 all the way to $2.5k – Jesuuuuuus I was sick. I literally thought I was going to throw up. I was thinking, "Lord, I made a mistake. You clearly didn't ask me to give something that I barely have for myself (and my son)." I remember wanting that $2.5k to drop from the sky back to me. After all, His Word says that He will open up the windows of heaven and pour us out a blessing that we don't have room enough to receive. So, I watched that seed and waited. But for the seed to be acceptable to God, the heart has to be willing. 2 Corinthians 8:12 says, "For if the willingness is there, the gift is acceptable according to what one has, not according to what one does not have." So when Holy Spirit prompts you to sow money, stop grieving Him with your unbelief and unwillingness and open up your heart and hands and sow.
When someone has a new baby, do you bless her? When someone has a business, do you sow? When someone has a powerful ministry, preaching and teaching and it's blessing your whole life, do you sow? When someone graduates, do you bless him? When someone's lights are off do you bless her? When someone is poor, needy and hungry do you bless him with money or food? When Holy Spirit says, "Sow $2.5k in her life?" Are you obedient? When I can't explain in the natural how my bills are paid, I know it comes from the seeds… So you want increase? Then, sow!
It's about to go DOWN on February 1, 2018! We are finishing up unlocking Dimension 1 "Evaluate and Shift Your Mindset" and we are about to unlock a LOST law in the world and unfortunately in the kingdom too! The law of HONOR!
"We Can't Tell Everything" by Dr.J.
It's "human nature" to want to "share" when we help others. Social media makes it so easy to publicize our "charitable" and "benevolent" deeds. We saw it vividly during the time when Hurricane Matthew 2016 hit. We all started posting what we were buying and how we were helping people. Jesus said when we publicized it, the honor we received from man will be our reward because He isn't going to bless that.
We just have to pray and ask God to show us the motives of our hearts because only God knows. Jesus says clearly that no one should know when we're helping His people and that our giving should be in secret. Why? To guard our hearts of pride and keep our motives pure. We can justify "why" we share what we do for others but God knows the heart. I'm praying now about how to facilitate a corporate social media fast in private. Lord help us to stay humble and follow the instructions in Your Word. Holy Spirit convict us before we do the wrong thing in Jesus's name! Dr.J.
"The Oil Keeps Flowing" by Dr.J.
It is getting ready to pour! You've been obedient. You've been sowing and sowing and sowing in the lives of God's people. You've sown in kindness, time, thoughts, words and deeds.
Someone has been sowing money from your household and you were concerned about whether or not you would be able to continue giving like this and still be able to eat or take care of yourself and your own family. You've sown into the life of the prophet and so many of God's people. You've given to others before you considered the cost and the needs of your own family.
When I looked at 1 Kings chapter 17, verses 13-16, the Holy Spirit said to me, "It's getting ready to pour!" Your needs have been met though it has been tight. You've had enough to make it, but you had to shuffle your money around. "Because of your obedience, sacrifice, and faith, God is about to send the rain. The rain is going to produce such a fruitful and productive harvest in your life that you won't have room enough to receive it. You will be able to bless others even more." My God! Thank You Jesus. Are you ready for the rain? Dr.J.