Innocent Until Proven Guilty?

The more I read criminal law, the more I realise how fragile balance is. On one side, there are survivors of sexual violence who already face stigma, disbelief, and social pressure. On the other side, there is a foundational principle of criminal law: the accused is presumed innocent until proven guilty. Sometimes these two ideas are presented as if they are enemies. But are they?

Under Indian criminal jurisprudence, reflected in statutes like the Indian Evidence Act, 1872, the burden of proof lies on the prosecution. Guilt must be established beyond reasonable doubt. This principle is not technical formality. It is what stands between a citizen and wrongful imprisonment.

Yet in sexual offence cases, this principle is often viewed with suspicion. Many argue that strict evidentiary standards make conviction harder and discourage survivors. Others argue that lowering standards risks punishing the innocent. The debate quickly becomes emotional.

Sexual offences are complex. They often occur in private spaces. There may be no eyewitnesses, and delays in reporting are common and understandable. Trauma affects memory and narration, and expecting “perfect evidence” in such cases is unrealistic. At the same time, a criminal conviction carries life-altering consequences. Reputation, liberty, social standing, everything changes.

So the real question is not whether we should “believe survivors” or “protect the accused.” The real question is: how do we build a system that investigates seriously, adjudicates fairly, and minimises both injustice to survivors and wrongful conviction?

There is also another layer that makes this conversation uncomfortable. NCRB data shows that a certain percentage of cases are categorised as “false” or “mistake of fact.” That term itself needs caution. “False” in statistical reporting does not automatically mean that someone has fabricated their story. Many cases collapse because of lack of evidence, bad witnesses, or settlement pressure.

But it would also be intellectually dishonest to pretend that malicious complaints never exist. Even if rare, they can destroy lives and fuel public backlash that ultimately harms genuine survivors.

If we respond to the false-case narrative, by dismissing it entirely, we risk ignoring people who have actual concerns about due process. If we exaggerate the prevalence of false cases, we undermine survivors and reinforce harmful stereotypes. The balance lies in institutional reforms.

It would mean better trained investigators who understand trauma. It would mean proper forensic documentation in every case. It would mean time-bound processes so that neither survivors nor accused persons live with constant uncertainty. It would also mean that if a complaint is proven to be false after judicial scrutiny, the law responds appropriately, without creating a backlash on genuine reporting.

The presumption of innocence is not anti-survivor, and a survivor-centric procedure is essential, given the trauma a genuine victim goes through. The credibility of sexual offence laws depend not just on harsh punishments, but on fairness. If the system is seen as biased in either direction, people stop trusting the process.