The Indian Supreme Court’s in-house think tank, the Centre for Research and Planning, recently released its ‘Report on Judicial Conceptions of Caste’ in November this year. This first-of-its-kind study examines judgments delivered by Constitution Benches—consisting of at least five judges deciding cases involving substantive constitutional law questions—between 1950 and 2025 to show how the Supreme Court understands and describes caste. These cases deal with affirmative action, caste-based atrocities, and personal laws. This blog summarises the report and highlights the importance of examining the judicial language on caste, as it may influence not just case outcomes but also the social reality of caste.

The report has three main sections: first, how the Court discusses caste and varna; second, how it portrays the Scheduled Castes (Dalits); and third, what remedies it considers appropriate to address caste-based injustices. Put simply, the report highlights the contradictory nature of judicial discourse on caste over the years. While certain strands of judicial discourse downplay the pernicious nature of the caste system and reinforce negative stereotypes against Dalits, others challenge these narratives. These discursive choices also show that adjudication, particularly in caste-related matters, is not necessarily a neutral act, but an ‘ideological’ one shaped by judges’ political predilections.

For instance, consider the way in which judges discuss the Chaturvarna model of caste. Chaturvarna posits a fourfold division of society into Brahmins (priests), Kshatriyas (warriors), Vaishyas (traders), and Shudras (service castes). The fifth varna, “untouchables,” who are regarded as polluted and forced to perform menial manual labour, are part of this model by being placed outside it. This Chaturvarna model does not fully capture the intricacies of the caste system, as it reduces caste to a Hindu religious phenomenon and overlooks its political and economic dimensions. Nevertheless, it provides the caste system with the ‘ideological rationale’ of endogamy, hierarchy, and purity and pollution.

The report captures the significant differences in how the judgments discuss Chaturvarna. Some judgments recognise it for what it is. However, others portray it merely as a harmless division of society into distinct functional groups. In this view, the varnas were mutually interdependent and were later corrupted into the caste system that we see today. This view overlooks several key factors, including occupational, environmental, and technological influences, which better explain the origins of the caste system. It ignores how caste perpetuates itself through violence against women and Dalits. Moreover, it implicitly depicts the Chaturvarna—which the prominent civil rights leader Ambedkar denounced as ‘vicious’ and ‘harmful’—as an ideal worth recovering, by portraying it as a benign institution compared to the oppressive caste system.

Similarly, consider the Court’s description of Dalits as the beneficiaries of affirmative action. Even when the judgments recognise the necessity of reservation quotas for Dalits to create a level playing field, they use metaphors, such as “crutches” and “handicap,” to justify such a conclusion. The report shows how these metaphors that equate affirmative action beneficiaries with people with disabilities violate the dignity of both groups and overlook the historical and structural causes responsible for the pitiable condition of marginalised castes.

These examples illuminate the problematic judicial language surrounding caste. However, the report stops short of examining how this language influences case outcomes or government policies. Rather, it rests on the reasonable assumption that legal vocabulary significantly influences jurisprudence. In doing so, the report mainly aims to persuade the judiciary and policymakers to use language that affirms the constitutional mandate of equality and reflects the social realities of the caste system.

While significant, the report’s call for a change in language has its limitations. Put plainly, language change cannot, by itself, lead to structural change, just as speaking sensitively about the poor does not eradicate poverty. For instance, some judgments understand merit as stemming from accumulated caste privileges and therefore not undermined by reservations. However, this does not necessarily change the humiliation faced by the beneficiaries of reservation when they are mocked as quotawallas—a derogatory term implying that they are non-meritorious and would not have received the educational or employment opportunity without affirmative action.

Even though social reality matters, so does the language describing it. As caste is also a ‘construct’, its conceptual framing can influence the reality it describes. Further, how the state understands the social world significantly matters, as it has the capacity to impose such an understanding to transform that world. However, the report does not prescribe “correct” ways to discuss caste. It highlights judicial language aligned with constitutional values, without suggesting this is the only valid approach. A prescriptive exercise might be counter-productive due to the difficulties and controversies surrounding “correct” language. Thus, the report’s significance lies not in its potential of being a manifesto of “right” words but in its call to the state authorities to reflect on their language and its consequences.