The Gavai Attack: When Casteist Rage Confronts the Constitutional Order 

The recent shoe-throwing attack on Chief Justice of India B.R. Gavai, the first Dalit Buddhist to hold the position, starkly exposes the profound gap between constitutional ideals and social reality. While Justice Gavai’s elevation symbolizes the fulfilled promise of Ambedkar’s vision—that birth should not dictate destiny—the violent act reveals how deep-seated casteist anxieties persist, adapting to punish the dignity and authority of those from marginalized backgrounds who achieve success.

The incident demonstrates that representation and legal equality, though necessary, are insufficient without a corresponding social revolution, as caste prejudice continues to operate through resentment, a fusion of religious intolerance, and the desire to maintain hierarchical control, proving that India’s journey toward genuine fraternity remains critically unfinished.

The Gavai Attack: When Casteist Rage Confronts the Constitutional Order 

The sanctum of the Supreme Court of India is designed to command reverence. Its high ceilings, solemn silence, and the black robes of its justices are all meant to embody the impersonal, impartial authority of the law. Yet, on a recent Monday, this sanctity was violated not by a legal argument, but by a primal, symbolic act of disrespect: a shoe hurled at the Chief Justice of India, Justice B.R. Gavai. 

The immediate trigger, allegedly, was Justice Gavai’s remarks concerning a damaged idol of Vishnu—remarks that some interpreted as disrespectful. But to view this incident merely as a spontaneous outburst of religious fervor is to miss the forest for a single, gnarled tree. The attack on Justice Gavai, the second Dalit and first Buddhist to hold the nation’s highest judicial office, is a profound moment that holds up a mirror to contemporary India. It reveals a deep-seated anxiety festering within the body politic, where the constitutional ideal of a caste-blind meritocracy is violently challenged by the enduring reality of casteist assertion. 

The Symbolism of Justice Gavai and the Ambedkarite Promise 

Justice Gavai’s journey from a Scheduled Caste community in Maharashtra to the pinnacle of the Indian judiciary is, in itself, a narrative straight out of the constitutional dream. It is the living, breathing fulfilment of the vision articulated by Dr. B.R. Ambedkar. The Constitution was not merely a framework for governance; it was a radical tool for social engineering, designed to dismantle the millennia-old fortress of caste. Its central promise was that birth would not determine destiny. 

When Justice Gavai presides over the Supreme Court, he is not just an individual judge; he is the embodiment of that promise. His presence in that chair signifies that authority in the modern Indian Republic is derived not from divine right or hereditary privilege, but from constitutional sanction, intellect, and proven merit. His elevation through the collegium system, endorsed by his senior peers, underscores that his authority is earned. This is what makes the attack on him so particularly potent. It is not just an attack on a man, or even on the Chief Justice; it is an attack on the very idea he represents—the possibility of a Dalit rising, by right and merit, to a position from which he can interpret the nation’s highest laws. 

The Perilous Gap Between Representation and Dignity 

For decades, the primary weapon in the state’s arsenal to combat caste exclusion has been affirmative action—reservations in education, employment, and legislatures. There is no denying its transformative impact. It has opened the doors of premier institutions and positions of power to Dalits, Adivasis, and Other Backward Classes, creating a visible class of leaders, scholars, bureaucrats, and judges who were systematically excluded for centuries. 

However, the shoe-throwing incident is a stark reminder of a painful truth: representation is a necessary, but insufficient, condition for social justice. Social mobility, achieved through policy, does not automatically confer social dignity. Caste is a tenacious ghost; it does not vanish with a university degree or a judicial appointment. It lingers in surnames, in the subtle condescension of colleagues, in the casual stereotypes that populate drawing-room conversations, and in the torrent of abuse on social media. It manifests in the “glass ceiling” that many from marginalised backgrounds hit in private sectors, and in the constant, exhausting need to “prove” one’s worth over and over again. 

The attacker, an advocate, represents a section of society that may grudgingly accept the fact of a Dalit’s success but remains deeply resentful of the authority that comes with it. Affirmative action can open doors, but it cannot change the minds of those who believe the person walking through them is an unworthy interloper, a “beneficiary” of charity rather than a possessor of inherent capability. 

Caste, Majoritarianism, and the Anxiety of the De-Sacralized Voice 

The alleged religious context of the attack cannot be ignored, and it intertwines dangerously with caste prejudice. We live in an age of aggressive majoritarianism, where any questioning or reinterpretation of mythological or religious narratives is often framed as an attack on faith itself. But this incident adds a critical caste dimension to this dynamic. 

When a person from a dominant caste comments on or interprets religious matters, it is often seen as his privilege. But when a Dalit—a community historically denied access to scriptures and subjected to “untouchability” based on ritual purity—does the same, it provokes a deeper, more visceral anxiety. It is the fear of the de-sacralized voice, the terror of losing the monopoly over who gets to speak about gods, morality, and tradition. 

For centuries, caste hierarchy was justified through religious sanction. A Dalit Chief Justice, by virtue of his office, interpreting a matter with a religious connection, represents an inversion of that cosmic order. His authority, rooted in the secular, rational text of the Constitution, directly challenges the authority derived from “sacred” hierarchical texts. The fusion of religious intolerance and caste prejudice in this attack reveals a desperate attempt to reassert that old order—to discipline the uppity Dalit who dares to speak on matters the dominant caste considers its exclusive domain. 

Shattering the Myth of a ‘Post-Caste’ India 

A common argument, often heard in elite circles, is that India should now move beyond reservations towards a purely “merit-based” system. Proponents claim that we have become a “caste-blind” society. The image of a shoe being thrown at a Dalit Chief Justice shatters this convenient myth into a thousand pieces. 

How can a society be caste-blind when caste identity dictates perceptions of intelligence, legitimacy, and even the right to hold an opinion? The prejudice does not disappear; it merely adapts. It moves from overt violence to subtle microaggressions, from denying entry to temples to resenting presence in high offices. It operates on the logic that while a Dalit may be in the room, they should not be of the room—they should not wield real, unquestioned authority. 

This “punishment of success” is a hallmark of deep-seated casteism. It is not just about keeping people down; it is about putting them down when they rise. The hostility faced by Dalit intellectuals, politicians, and professionals is a testament to the fact that for many, the real transgression is not poverty, but dignity—the audacious claim to equal standing. 

The Unfinished Revolution: From Constitutional Law to Social Fraternity 

Dr. Ambedkar understood this distinction better than anyone. He famously warned that India had achieved political democracy but was yet to become a social democracy. He knew that laws could legislate equality, but they could not legislate fraternity. The Constitution could guarantee the right to life and liberty, but it could not force one citizen to see another as a fellow human, an equal. 

This is the core of the moral crisis the Gavai incident exposes. We have built impressive constitutional scaffolding, but the social foundation remains fragile. This fragility was visible even in a smaller, yet telling, incident. Shortly after assuming office, during a visit to Maharashtra, Justice Gavai was felicitated at an event where top state officials were conspicuously absent. The Chief Justice pointedly noted this lapse in protocol, highlighting that equality is not just a legal concept but a social ethic, reflected in the respect holders of constitutional offices accord to one another. 

If the head of the Indian judiciary must remind the executive of basic courtesies, it reveals how hierarchy continues to seep into the grammar of everyday state function. The journey from a hierarchy-based society to a fraternity-based one remains profoundly incomplete. 

The attack on Chief Justice Gavai is more than a news headline; it is a wake-up call. It reminds us that the project of the Indian Republic, as envisioned by Ambedkar, is an unfinished revolution. It will remain unfinished until we confront the moral foundations of caste not just in our courtrooms and parliaments, but in our homes, our classrooms, our places of worship, and in the silent assumptions we carry in our hearts. The promise of the Constitution will only be fully realized when a Dalit’s authority is as unremarkable, and as respected, as anyone else’s. Until then, the Republic remains haunted by its oldest and most stubborn ghost.