In March 2015, the Supreme Court of India delivered a verdict that reshaped how Indians interact on the internet. It struck down Section 66A of the Information Technology Act, a law that had, for years, enabled arrests for online posts deemed “offensive” or “annoying.” The case—Shreya Singhal v. Union of India—wasn’t just about a single law. It became a turning point in how the country understood free speech in the digital age.
The Rise and Abuse of Section 66A
Section 66A was added to the IT Act in 2008. Its language was broad—some would say dangerously vague. It criminalized sending information that was “grossly offensive” or caused “annoyance,” “inconvenience,” or even “ill will” through a computer or communication device. Penalties could go up to three years in jail.
That might sound harmless on paper. In practice, it was anything but.
People were arrested for tweets, Facebook posts, cartoons, memes—even jokes. One of the most infamous cases occurred in 2012 when two young women in Maharashtra were arrested, one for questioning the shutdown of Mumbai after Bal Thackeray’s death and the other for simply liking the post. In West Bengal, a professor was booked for forwarding a cartoon of the Chief Minister. The law became a weapon, often used by those in power to silence critics and punish dissent.
The trouble was the language of the law. Words like “offensive” or “annoying” aren’t legal standards. They mean different things to different people. That gave the police too much discretion and ordinary people too little protection.
How the Case Reached the Supreme Court
Shreya Singhal, a young law student, filed a Public Interest Litigation after the arrest of the two girls in Maharashtra. Her plea argued that Section 66A violated the fundamental right to free speech under Article 19(1)(a) of the Constitution. She wasn’t alone. Over time, journalists, activists, and civil society organizations joined the fight, highlighting how the law stifled online expression and chilled debate.
The government defended the law, claiming it was needed to stop cybercrime, hate speech, and online harassment. But the court was not convinced.
Why the Court Struck It Down
The judgment, delivered by Justices J. Chelameswar and Rohinton F. Nariman, was sharp and clear. Section 66A, they said, was unconstitutional. It violated the right to free speech and didn’t fit within the narrow limits of “reasonable restrictions” allowed under Article 19(2).
Here’s what stood out in the ruling:
- Overbreadth and Vagueness: The law was too vague. Words like “offensive” or “annoying” had no clear legal meaning, and what might offend one person could be perfectly acceptable to another. This left too much room for arbitrary enforcement.
- Chilling Effect: If people fear arrest for expressing an opinion, they’re likely to stay silent. That’s not how democracy works. The Court recognized that laws like Section 66A have a chilling effect—they discourage speech even before it happens.
- Lack of Safeguards: The law didn’t require any real evidence of harm. A post could be inconvenient or annoying to someone and still be legal. But under 66A, even that could land someone in jail.
The Court drew a clear line: speech that merely causes discomfort or disagreement is protected. Only when it incites violence, threatens public order, or defames someone can the State step in.
What Changed After the Judgment
The immediate result was that Section 66A was gone. Police could no longer arrest someone just for posting something unpopular online. People breathed easier on social media. The ruling gave them space to speak, criticize, joke, and even offend—without fearing jail.
The judgment also sent a strong message about digital rights. It made clear that free speech online is just as valuable—and just as protected—as speech offline. That was an important shift in legal thinking, especially in a country where internet use was exploding.
But more importantly, the Court’s reasoning set a precedent. It gave future courts a framework for testing the validity of digital laws. Any new regulation of online speech would now have to meet stricter standards.
The Judgment’s Lingering Shadow
You’d think that would be the end of the story. Unfortunately, it wasn’t.
Years after the verdict, Section 66A kept showing up in FIRs, charge sheets, and court proceedings. In 2021, the Supreme Court expressed shock when told that people were still being prosecuted under the dead law. It issued fresh directions to the government, asking it to ensure that all police stations and lower courts were informed that Section 66A no longer existed.
The continued use of 66A reflects deeper problems in India’s criminal justice system: poor training, lack of legal updates, and bureaucratic inertia. But it also shows how dangerous even a repealed law can be when systems don’t adapt.
Why It Still Matters Today
We’re now in an age where online speech is under constant scrutiny. Governments around the world, including India, are struggling to balance free expression with concerns like fake news, hate speech, and threats to national security. New rules like the IT (Intermediary Guidelines and Digital Media Ethics Code) Rules, 2021, have revived debates around censorship, surveillance, and the role of platforms.
In this climate, the Shreya Singhal judgment remains a vital reference point. It reminds us that the answer to problematic speech isn’t always more control—it’s often more clarity, more debate, and stronger institutions.
The judgment doesn’t mean that all online speech is protected. Laws still exist to punish defamation, incitement to violence, or threats. But it does mean that the law must be clear, proportionate, and grounded in constitutional values.
The internet has made speech more accessible but also more fragile. Governments will always be tempted to regulate it aggressively. That’s why cases like Shreya Singhal matter. They set limits on state power and protect the spaces where democracy thrives—in conversations, criticisms, and even disagreements.
Conclusion
The fall of Section 66A wasn’t just about one bad law. It was a reminder that vague words in the wrong hands can threaten the very foundation of free speech. It showed how courts can step in to protect rights in new and evolving contexts like the internet.
But more than that, it proved that citizens, when alert and persistent, can push back against overreach. In the story of Indian democracy and digital freedom, Shreya Singhal v. Union of India will remain a landmark—both for what it struck down and what it upheld.
Contributed By: Saksham Tongar (intern)