Judicial reform in India has always been a troubled terrain, where idealism meets the stubborn realities of culture, language, and local politics. Among the more controversial proposals making the rounds is the creation of the All India Judicial Services (AIJS), a centralized recruitment process designed to improve efficiency and inclusivity within the judiciary. On face of it, it seems attractive & an idea whose time has come. But as with many well-intentioned reforms, the question remains: will it truly address the deep-rooted issues it seeks to resolve, or will it end up compounding them?

Representation and Marginalized Communities

Let’s begin with a rather sobering statistic: according to the 2022 India Justice Report, women account for only 35 percent of trial court judges (and only 13 per cent in high courts), and no state has met the prescribed quotas for Scheduled Castes, Scheduled Tribes, and Other Backward Classes at the district court level. These figures show a judiciary that still struggles with representation, despite decades of effort to open its doors to marginalized groups.

So, would a central service like AIJS remedy this problem?

On the surface, AIJS promises to democratize judicial appointments, bringing in candidates from across the country and standardizing representation. But this assumes that marginalization is a one-size-fits-all problem, a monolith. It is not. Marginalized communities vary wildly from state to state, shaped by local histories, economies, and social dynamics. What constitutes marginalization in Punjab may not be the same in Tamil Nadu.

We must recognise that State governments already provide for local reservations, tailored to their specific demographic needs. These policies have a vital local component. Who better to understand the challenges faced by marginalized groups in Rajasthan or Assam than the local government and the High Courts? The notion that a centralized system could better understand or represent these communities risks simplifying a complex and deeply personal issue.

The truth is, the underrepresentation of women and marginalized groups in the judiciary is not merely a structural failure—it reflects the social conditions these communities have faced for generations.

Law, particularly criminal law, has long been seen as a domain unsuitable for women under patriarchal norms. But that is changing. My own experience tells me this. Several states, including Rajasthan, have introduced reservations for women and widows, acknowledging the slow but definite shift in societal attitudes.

So, while there is room for better rationalization and consistency in quotas, AIJS does not present itself as the panacea for this deeply rooted issue. In fact, it raises an even larger question: how would the central government, far removed from the intricacies of local social dynamics, determine who deserves representation?

Language, Culture, and the Local Lens:

A judge’s role in India is, to say the least, multifaceted. Not only must they navigate an intricate maze of legal statutes, but they must also wade through the subtleties of local languages and customs. Trial courts, especially, are not mere forums of lofty legal debate—they are places where the lived realities & experiences of citizens unfold in all their colloquial complexity.

It’s not just the language of legal argument that varies from region to region. There is the dialect of the witnesses, the accents of the accused, the colloquial terms that pepper every piece of evidence, especially in civil, revenue and criminal cases. A judge unfamiliar with the local language risks more than embarrassment—they risk misunderstanding the very fabric of the case before them and deciding wrongly.

AIJS advocates point to the success of the Indian civil services, where officers routinely learn new languages and adapt to local cultures through intensive training. But here, we encounter a key distinction: judges are not bureaucrats. They are the face of justice. Their relationship with the people is immediate and intimate, and their judgments have direct and often irrevocable consequences on the personal liberties and properties of citizens. Also, judges decision have a normative value and set a precedent. A precedent for future behaviour of authorities.

Higher-level bureaucrats often perform supervisory roles, buffered by a phalanx of subordinates who can assist with day-to-day interactions. Judges, on the other hand, must engage directly with the people they serve. And this cannot be done through intermediaries. A failure to grasp the linguistic and cultural nuances of a case could lead to a miscarriage of justice—a risk that, given the high stakes of liberty and property, we cannot afford to take lightly.

The solution, then, is not to impose a central system on this localized reality but to make the existing state-level exams more robust, attractive, and relevant. Rather than forcing judges to learn new languages and customs on the job, why not improve the process for selecting those already familiar with them?

This brings me to my next point.

The Real Crisis: Judicial Vacancies and the Problem of Talent

One cannot discuss judicial reform without confronting the elephant in the room: judicial vacancies. According to the Law Ministry, over 5,000 posts for judicial officers remain vacant in the trial courts. This, more than anything, is the crisis plaguing the judiciary. Without enough judges, cases languish, and justice delayed, as we know all too well, is justice denied.

AIJS promises to fix this problem by creating a centralized pool of talent, ready to be deployed across the country. But here again, the solution seems overly simplistic.

The reality is that the judiciary faces a talent crisis, not just a vacancy crisis.

How do we attract the best legal minds to the bench when the pay is often a fraction of what they could earn in private practice, and the work conditions leave much to be desired and sometimes the kind of work is not mentally stimulating or engaging.

The workload is immense, and the remuneration paltry in comparison to what a successful lawyer can make in a single day of litigation. AIJS won’t change that. It cannot offer higher pay or better work conditions/interest portfolios than what state judicial officers already receive.

Moreover, AIJS proposes to induct practicing lawyers, aged 35-45, into the judiciary. But ask any lawyer who has spent two decades building a practice, and they will tell you: it’s unlikely they will leave behind a stable career and family to relocate to an unfamiliar state. Talent, if recruited at all, will be reluctant and unmotivated.

Judicial Independence: The Last Bastion Under Siege?

Perhaps the most worrisome aspect of AIJS is the threat it poses to judicial independence. At present, district judges are insulated from political pressure because the High Courts play a significant role in their appointment, transfer, and removal. This delicate balance could be upset by a centralized recruitment process, which may open the door to influence from both state and central governments.

The government is the largest litigant in our courts, from the lowest civil court to the Supreme Court. Can we afford to let a litigant, even indirectly, influence the appointment of judges? History teaches us that judicial independence is hard-won, and any encroachment on it risks eroding the very foundation of our democracy.

The system of judges appointing judges may not be perfect, but it is the least flawed system we have. AIJS, as currently structured, poses a real threat to this delicate equilibrium. Judicial appointments must remain firmly within the judiciary’s control, insulated from external pressures, if we are to preserve the independence that is so central to the very idea of justice.

Conclusion: Reform, But Not at the Cost of Justice

The All India Judicial Services presents itself as a solution to some of the judiciary’s most pressing problems—vacancies, representation, and efficiency. But in its current form, it risks oversimplifying complex issues and, in doing so, threatens the very independence and local accountability that are the cornerstones of justice in India.

We need to have more judges, give them better working conditions and incentives, and stimulating work. There’s no way around it.

Reform is necessary, but it must be thoughtful, nuanced, and rooted in the realities of India’s diverse legal landscape. We need a judicial system that recognizes and respects local customs, languages, and social contexts—not one that tries to paper over them with a national framework that may be too blunt an instrument for such a sensitive task.

In the end, justice is local. And that’s where it must remain.

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