When Court Took Over A Forest: How A 1996 Ruling Upended Jobs, Land, And Governance

It is 2025, and the Supreme Court’s still swinging its 1996 Godavarman club. On 4 March, it landed a fresh blow.

The case, initially filed by T N Godavarman Thirumulpad in the early 1990s to address deforestation in the Nilgiris, has evolved into a complex nationwide issue of forest conservation and judicial intervention.

Back then, the court broadly defined “forests” to include “forests” that existed on private land than what was protected under the British-era Forests Act, 1927.

The intention of the order was obviously to protect and preserve ecology. To that end, the order of the Supreme Court centralised forest governance and required states to set up expert committees to map out forest land.

As of 2024, many states like Tamil Nadu, Telangana, and Tripura have not even bothered to set up committees. So, what is the court’s response? A stern “Do it in a month, or your chief secretaries are personally liable.”

Implementing this idea is not as simple as it sounds, as it is not just a nudge towards environment-friendly actions but the judiciary flexing its muscles. Notably, ever since, the Godavarman Thirumulpad decision, an order meant to protect the environment, has morphed into a full-blown governance takeover.

Godavarman: When the Bench Took the Reins

It all began in 1996 with Godavarman, a retired forest officer who wanted to stop illegal logging in Tamil Nadu, approaching the Supreme Court for a recourse. Apparently, the aim was well-meaning, but the end did not quite match its gentle start.

The Supreme Court did not just rule; it rewrote the script. It birthed the Central Empowered Committee (CEC), a judicial baby with the power to override states and greenlight or kill (potential) projects. The Supreme Court, in its judgement, made the process of seeking permission(s) to undertake projects complicated by adding one more bureaucratic layer.

The 4 March order, which reprimanded states for not forming expert committees to identify forest area(s), while threatening to hold the respective chief secretaries personally liable in case of their failure to comply with its directions, is indeed the latest chapter in this power play.

The ongoing enforcement of the 1996 court order, spanning more than two decades, underscores the difference between judicial pronouncements and effective state action. It is evidence enough of the fact that judicial lawmaking is not a substitute for consistent government capacity and ability to regulate land and land use.

The Fallout: Jobs Lost, Chaos Unleashed(?)

The aftermath hit hard and fast. In the North East, a timber ban disrupted bamboo and plywood trades; that is, 60 per cent of India’s supply vanished, and 100,000 workers were left jobless.

Tamil Nadu, Himachal Pradesh, and Madhya Pradesh observed 20-30 per cent of their wood industries crumble, stranding locals. Goa’s private forests, for example, remain caught in a bureaucratic limbo, discouraging potential investors and landowners alike.

Over the years, multiple committees have been formed to identify and classify these forests, yet inconsistencies and disagreements in their findings have only deepened the uncertainty. The matter, therefore, remains entangled in legal proceedings, with zero certainty for any stakeholder.

It is pertinent to simply consider that Himachal Pradesh, Jammu and Kashmir, West Bengal, and Ladakh still did not publish official forest records by April 2024. Tripura, Telangana, Andhra Pradesh, Kerala, Manipur, Sikkim, and Tamil Nadu did not even have an official forest record.

Instead of an order, we got pandemonium: officials exploiting ambiguous regulations to pressure landowners for bribes. Conservation is the aim undoubtedly, but did anyone sign up for this fiasco? This established a new “Green License Raj,” leading to continuing inefficiencies, delayed development, and absence of administrative accountability. In essence, it is a green nightmare we cannot wake up from.

In order to provide respite to the northeastern bamboo industry, the National Democratic Alliance (NDA) government in 2017 (with the introduction of the Indian Forest (Amendment) Ordinance of 2017) reclassified bamboo as a non-tree species (that is, grass) to facilitate the export of bamboo.

The 2023 Forest (Conservation) Amendment Act aimed to streamline forest governance, but it is now facing significant legal challenges. The 2023 Amendment Act, in essence, narrowed the scope of India’s forest protections by limiting the definition of “forest” to lands recorded after 25 October 1980 or notified under the Indian Forest Act, 1927, while exempting strategic border projects and infrastructure development from prior clearance requirements.

This amendment directly conflicted with the Godavarman case’s expanded definition of forests, which included all natural forest ecosystems irrespective of ownership, thereby attracting the Supreme Court’s wrath.

States now face a dual challenge: complying with the court’s orders to map forests while grappling with the amended Act’s provisions. The recent interim order (3 February 2025) compounds this challenge by mandating compensatory land for any forest loss, effectively freezing projects lacking such provisions.

Defining Forests: A Legal and Environmental Tug-of-War?

The crux of the issue lies in the unresolved ambiguity over the definition of “forests,” a legal puzzle since the 1996 ruling in the Godavarman case, which mandates protection for all forests, including unclassified “deemed forests” not officially recorded.

While the 2023 Forest Act amendments sought to streamline governance by narrowing this definition, the court has blocked their implementation, insisting on adherence to its broader interpretation.

The Supreme Court’s 1996 diktat broadened the definition of forests but left states with the slippery task of classification. As a consequence, states came up with their own interpretation of the term “forests” depending upon their ecological conditions.

What followed such divergent interpretations was a legal free-for-all, with environmental groups challenging the inconsistencies in applying this definition across diverse ecosystems.

Nearly three decades later, the confusion rages on, as evidenced most recently in a decision concerning Goa. The Supreme Court held that the criteria evolved by the State Government of Goa was correct. However, this ruling has emerged two decades post the original Godavarman order. This is evidence enough to consider that the 1996 ruling of the Supreme Court will continue to have unintended consequences.

Attaining the Balance: Time to Pull Back

The Godavarman case has had far-reaching consequences for India’s forest governance over the past three decades. While the case started with noble intentions to protect forests, its enforcement has led to multiple economic and bureaucratic issues, not to mention unending litigation.

The Supreme Court’s interpretation of the Forest Conservation Act, 1980, significantly expanded the definition of “forests” and the central government’s authority over them. This broad interpretation, while aiming to protect forests, has instead trapped the country in a relentless cycle of legal and bureaucratic battles, ultimately failing to strike the balance it once promised.

Advocates of the 1996 Supreme Court ruling seem to have conveniently forgotten a crucial truth: the judiciary is neither a democratic institution nor a legislative body empowered to make law.

The court, in stretching the limits of its authority, has ventured far beyond its mandate of interpretation and into the dangerous terrain of judicial lawmaking. This brazen overreach has not only opened a Pandora’s box of unintended consequences but has also disrupted the delicate constitutional balance of power.

States, as a consequence, have been forced to bear the financial and administrative burden of decisions they had no say in, while the principle of separation of powers, designed to prevent exactly this kind of judicial encroachment, has been recklessly undermined.

What was once an exception is fast becoming the norm, with the judiciary unilaterally shaping policies that should have been rightfully framed by the government(s) of the day.