Umar Khalid's six years in jail: A warning for those without a voice

Six years ago, on 13 September 2020, former Jawaharlal Nehru University (JNU) student leader Umar Khalid was arrested in connection with the larger conspiracy case relating to the February 2020 northeast Delhi riots. Six years later, he remains in jail, with the trial yet to reach a substantive stage.

Khalid faces charges under the Unlawful Activities (Prevention) Act (UAPA), and the prosecution has alleged that he was involved in a conspiracy behind the riots, which left 53 people dead, most of them Muslims. Khalid has denied the allegations.

The anniversary of his arrest comes amid a controversy over the proposed screening of Lalit Vachani's documentary Prisoner No. 626710 is Present at the National Law School of India University (NLSIU), Bengaluru, on 14 September.

The Akhil Bharatiya Vidyarthi Parishad (ABVP) has urged the university to cancel the screening, arguing that campuses should not become platforms for political propaganda or the glorification of civil unrest. Advocate Girish Bharadwaj has also opposed the event, while acknowledging that subjects such as pre-trial detention, bail and constitutional freedoms merit academic discussion.

But the controversy raises a question that goes beyond the documentary, or even Khalid himself: what does six years of incarceration without a substantive trial say about the criminal justice system?

Khalid is a prominent activist. His arrest and subsequent legal battles have attracted public attention, lawyers and civil liberties campaigners. There are people following his case, questioning the prosecution's arguments and asking why he remains in jail after six years without a substantive trial.

But what happens to someone who has none of that? Someone whose name is not known beyond their neighbourhood, whose family cannot afford a prolonged legal battle, whose arrest does not make the news and whose incarceration attracts no public campaign?

The danger of prolonged pre-trial detention is not confined to those who have already been arrested. It lies in the possibility that the same machinery can be used against anyone tomorrow — including people who have neither the public profile nor the resources to challenge it.

The allegations against Khalid must be tested in court. That is precisely the point. The presumption of innocence cannot become an empty constitutional principle simply because the charges are serious or the law under which a person is arrested makes bail difficult to obtain.

Nor should the question of liberty depend on whether the accused is prominent enough for someone to raise a voice on their behalf.

Khalid's case has become part of the wider debate over the UAPA, under which the threshold for obtaining bail is exceptionally high. The Supreme Court has repeatedly underscored the importance of personal liberty and a speedy trial, but prolonged incarceration in cases involving stringent anti-terror legislation remains a serious concern.

A criminal justice system is ultimately judged not by how it treats those who have powerful defenders, but by what happens to those who have none.

If six years in jail without a substantive trial can become an acceptable feature of the process in one case, the question is what prevents it from becoming the fate of many others.

Khalid's case, therefore, is not just about Khalid. It is about whether the protection of liberty belongs to every citizen, or only to those fortunate enough to have someone watching.

With PTI inputs