Anita Verma
(anna.verma@gmail.com)
Justice M. Mohammed Hidayatullah’s Anundoram Barooah Law Lecture on the Fifth and Sixth Schedules is often quoted, rarely internalised. It is not a technical exposition of constitutional provisions; it is a meditation on constitutional trust.
Read today, in the context of the unrest in Karbi Anglong, the lecture reads less like a historical reflection and more like a warning we chose to ignore. The Sixth Schedule was never designed as an administrative experiment. It was a constitutional promise, forged in recognition of the deep anxieties of tribal regions entering the Indian Union. The framers understood that uniform governance would fail in societies governed by distinct customs, land relations, and social authority. Autonomy, therefore, was not a concession to be managed; it was a constitutional necessity to be honoured. Justice Hidayatullah captured this spirit with remarkable clarity. He rejected two extremes with equal firmness: insulated sovereignty on one hand and centralised executive control on the other. The Sixth Schedule, he argued, must operate within the Constitution—but it must not be emptied of meaning by it. Autonomy was meant to coexist with accountability, not be subordinated to political convenience.
That balance has been steadily eroding.
A significant doctrinal moment came with the Supreme Court’s decision in Pu Myllai Hlychho v. State of Mizoram. The Court held that the Sixth Schedule is not a “constitution within the Constitution” and that the Governor, even while exercising powers under the Schedule, remains bound by Articles 154 and 163 and the discipline of the cabinet system. Legally, the judgement is sound. It reinforces parliamentary democracy and executive accountability.
Yet its long-term impact has been more complex.
By emphasising executive responsibility without equal emphasis on constitutional purpose, the judgement unintentionally legitimised a shift in practice... where Sixth Schedule institutions began to be treated as administratively pliable. What followed was not overt dismantling but gradual dilution. The governor’s discretion increasingly merged into executive advice. Autonomous councils began to resemble extensions of state secretariats rather than expressions of local self-governance.
Justice Hidayatullah never envisioned this trajectory. His lecture repeatedly emphasises that Sixth Schedule powers are fiduciary in nature... held in trust for communities whose relationship with the Indian State rests on assurance, not coercion. The governor, in this scheme, is neither a parallel sovereign nor a ceremonial actor, but a constitutional trustee charged with preserving balance. Mizoram demonstrated how constitutional dilution rarely arrives through confrontation. It arrives through processes, nominations, terminations, notifications, and restructurings that comply with the letter of the law while hollowing out its spirit. Over time, autonomy becomes symbolic. Institutions remain. Authority fades.
Karbi Anglong today must be read through this constitutional lens.
The present situation is often framed narrowly as a law-and-order crisis. Attacks on police personnel are indefensible and deserve unequivocal condemnation. The state has a duty to maintain order, and violence cannot be rationalised. But constitutional scrutiny demands a deeper inquiry. Unrest of this nature does not arise in a vacuum.
Karbi Anglong is governed by an autonomous council envisioned as a living expression of Sixth Schedule self-rule. Yet over the years, meaningful authority... over land, resources, development priorities, and administrative decision-making, has steadily eroded. What remains, too often, is responsibility without power and accountability without autonomy. This institutional imbalance lies at the heart of the current disquiet.
Justice Hidayatullah warned that Sixth Schedule areas are uniquely vulnerable because the promise made there is foundational. These regions did not demand separation; they were assured protection within the Union. When that assurance appears diluted, constitutional faith erodes far more rapidly than in ordinary administrative settings.
Karbi Anglong’s unrest should therefore be seen as a constitutional stress signal.
When autonomous institutions lose credibility, grievances do not disappear. They accumulate. When people no longer believe that councils can represent them meaningfully, legitimacy migrates elsewhere. Frustration then exits council chambers and enters public spaces... often chaotically, sometimes violently.
Policing such unrest without addressing institutional erosion may restore temporary calm, but it does not restore trust. It postpones the next crisis.
The Sixth Schedule was designed precisely to absorb such tensions. It created political space for negotiation, dissent, and accommodation within the constitutional framework. It recognised that stability in these regions would come not from force, but from participation and respect. When that space narrows, conflict seeks other—and far more dangerous—forms of expression.
Karbi Anglong today stands at that constitutional crossroads.
The state’s response has followed a familiar pattern... security deployment, high-level meetings, administrative reviews, and assurances of corrective action. These are necessary steps, but they are not sufficient. The deeper rupture lies in the perception that a constitutional promise has been reduced to managerial discretion. Justice Hidayatullah’s lecture reminds us that Sixth Schedule governance cannot be episodic. Autonomy cannot be activated during crises and suspended in routine governance. Nor can it survive as an ornamental feature of federalism, acknowledged in theory, bypassed in practice.
The Mizoram precedent offers a parallel lesson. Legal correctness does not automatically preserve constitutional faith. A framework may be lawful and yet corrosive if its consistent application undermines the very autonomy it was meant to protect.
This is where contemporary governance has faltered.
The Sixth Schedule is increasingly portrayed as an obstacle to development or administrative efficiency. Justice Hidayatullah saw it differently. He understood it as a stabilising constitutional device... one that recognised diversity not as an inconvenience, but as a constitutional fact. Diluting that device does not strengthen the Union. It weakens it.
Karbi Anglong should compel constitutional introspection. The question is not whether autonomy has become inconvenient or whether administrative control appears expedient. The question is whether constitutional promises are negotiable once political stability is achieved.
If Karbi Anglong’s autonomous institutions continue to function as administrative appendages rather than as vehicles of genuine self-governance, unrest will recur... because the Constitution itself will appear absent where it was meant to be most present.
Justice Hidayatullah warned us with restraint and clarity.
Mizoram showed us how dilution begins... legally, quietly.
Karbi Anglong shows us where it leads.
The Constitution rarely fails loudly.
It fails when its promises are honoured in form but abandoned in substance.
And that is the most dangerous failure of all.