Shailendar K, Student of Law
On 18 December 2025, I joined the office of Senior Advocate Colin Gonsalves with one simple goal: to learn human rights and civil liberties—the law, the craft, the constitutional discipline. I believed (perhaps naively) that human rights are politics-neutral: they are about principles, procedure, and protections that apply to every citizen, regardless of ideology.
Over the next 20 days, I worked long hours often late into the night assisting with matters that sit at the heart of rights litigation. And then, on 7 January, the internship ended not with feedback, not with a conversation, not even with a basic professional courtesy—but with an allegation.
I was told, in substance: You are involved in a right-wing group; you don’t have a place here.
No formal complaint. No verification. No opportunity to be heard.
Just a verdict.
A reel became a verdict
What triggered this? I was told that an associate had shown him an Instagram reel of mine—of me participating in the Virat Hindustan Sangam annual meet at Pandharpur, Bombay. That was it.
Not a background check. Not a question. Not even: “What is this organisation? What is your connection? What did you do there?”
A reel was treated like proof. And the punishment was immediate: vacate the office.
If an office brands itself as a torchbearer of liberty, one expects at least the minimum standards of fairness inside its own walls. I asked a basic question: You speak every day about rights, procedure, and constitutional morality—how can you deny the first principle of natural justice: hearing the other side?
I was met with arrogance and profanity directed at the very concept of natural justice (as I understood it in that moment).
Whatever one’s politics, this should disturb anyone who cares about professional ethics: if “human rights” cannot tolerate a question, what exactly is being defended?
The certificate that became a bargaining chip
The next day, I returned—not to argue politics, not to debate ideology—but to request a simple document: an internship certificate for the 20 days of work I had already done.
It was refused.
That refusal matters. Certificates are not trophies. They are routine, factual acknowledgments—especially when a student has actually worked. Turning that into a tool of control—approve my politics or lose your proof of work—is how ideological gatekeeping replaces professional mentorship.
What exactly bothered them? A cultural affiliation?
I genuinely struggled to understand what I had done wrong.
If being present at a cultural organisation’s annual meet is enough to disqualify someone from learning constitutional law, then the message is simple: human rights are not being treated as principles. They are being treated as a political club.
And here is the irony I could not miss: I was made to feel suspect for a cultural affiliation—while, in the same ecosystem, people openly speak as if association with anti-national activities is a badge of honour rather than a matter to be examined carefully. In my case, no one even bothered to examine.
The public persona: extraordinary claims, extraordinary language
This experience forced me to look harder at the public posture that surrounds “civil liberties” celebrities.
In a televised interview, Mr. Gonsalves reacted to a Supreme Court bail outcome by calling the judgment “total lawlessness” and describing it as “the signal of the death of the judiciary” on human rights, adding that the “respect and love” he had for the Supreme Court was “destroyed today.”
In another interview, he repeatedly invoked the Emergency, saying: “It reminds me of the emergency… the terror of the emergency,” while asserting that “800 witnesses” existed and “five years past, not one witness examined.”
He also alleged a broader “strategy” in UAPA prosecutions: “Put them in jail, no conviction, keep them in jail… even if they are acquitted after seven, eight, nine years, they’ve served their sentence.”
You may agree with him on outcomes. You may even share his anger. That is not the point.
The point is this: when you speak the language of constitutionalism, you inherit the duty of constitutional discipline—especially towards those weaker than you. A senior advocate can thunder at the State. But can that same office practice basic fairness towards a student intern?
If the answer is no, then what is being defended is not justice—it is a brand.
The larger issue: when “human rights” becomes an ideological gate
My experience is not just a personal grievance. It reflects a broader pattern in India’s activist ecosystem: a space that claims to protect rights, but often polices ideology more aggressively than it polices facts and that includes people the ecosystem personally dislikes.
Conclusion
I joined on 18 December eager to learn human rights and civil liberties from one of India’s most visible faces in that space. I left with a bitter lesson: some offices preach liberty in courtrooms and practice ideological exclusion in corridors.
Human rights should not be a party office. Civil liberties should not be a club membership. And natural justice should not depend on what reel you posted.
— Shailendar K, Student of Law
