The relationship between media and the justice system has always been uneasy, but indispensable. In a democracy, journalism serves as both observer and interrogator monitoring institutions, amplifying public concerns, and ensuring that power is held accountable. In criminal matters especially, media attention has often played a decisive role in bringing neglected cases into focus, exposing procedural lapses, and compelling investigative authorities to act where silence or inertia might otherwise prevail.

Yet, the same force that can strengthen justice can also imperil it.

The modern media ecosystem, driven by speed, visibility, and audience engagement, has increasingly blurred the distinction between scrutiny and adjudication. In the race to report, criminal allegations are often transformed into narratives of guilt long before the legal process has meaningfully begun. What begins as public interest reporting can quickly become a parallel trial, one conducted not in courtrooms governed by rules of evidence, but in studios and social media feeds shaped by emotion, speculation, and immediacy.

This tension lies at the heart of one of the most difficult questions confronting legal journalism today: how does the media ensure accountability without compromising due process?

There is no denying that public pressure has, in several cases, acted as a catalyst for justice. Families who perceive institutional bias or investigative inaction often turn to the media because conventional legal avenues appear inaccessible, ineffective, or compromised. Delays in FIR registration, failure to preserve evidence, allegations involving influential families, or concerns regarding conflicts of interest frequently create a legitimate basis for public scrutiny.

In such situations, media coverage serves an important democratic purpose. It reminds investigative agencies that justice is not an internal administrative exercise but a matter of public confidence. It reassures citizens that legal processes are not immune from scrutiny. It can, at its best, function as a watchdog over systems that may otherwise operate in opacity.

However, the legitimacy of scrutiny does not justify pre-judgment.

There is a crucial distinction between asking whether an investigation is being conducted fairly and deciding, through public discourse, who is guilty. Unfortunately, that distinction is increasingly collapsing.

An allegation becomes a headline. A complaint becomes a presumed truth. An FIR is treated as confirmation rather than the beginning of an inquiry. Selective statements are broadcast repeatedly. Emotional narratives are elevated over procedural realities. Before the trial begins, the public mind often reaches its own conclusion.

This is not merely problematic journalism, it is a distortion of justice.

Arjun Harkauli, Advocate has aptly observed

“While media coverage has played a salutary role, as a watchdog on the police and judicial process, media trial often supplants this sober process for a lurid curiosity and TRP-driven sanctimonious concern for justice.”

That observation captures the dilemma precisely. The media’s power lies in its ability to inform public understanding. But when that power is used to create narratives of guilt rather than facilitate informed scrutiny, journalism begins to assume the role of judge.

This issue extends beyond investigative reporting into courtroom coverage itself.

Legal reporting increasingly suffers from the tendency to reduce complex proceedings into viral fragments. A judge’s question during arguments becomes a definitive judicial view. A sharp oral observation becomes headline material. A clipped exchange is presented as if it were a binding conclusion.

But courts do not function that way.

Judges routinely test propositions, challenge counsel, explore hypotheticals, and think aloud in the course of hearings. Oral exchanges are dynamic, not determinative. They are part of the judicial thought process not necessarily its outcome.

Advocate Nipun Saxena has correctly highlighted this distinction, noting that

signed and uploaded orders not every oral exchange in court constitute the final judicial record. Courtroom proceedings are inherently dynamic: judges test arguments, pose hypothetical questions, and explore competing legal positions in real time. Treating every observation as a conclusive pronouncement risks distorting both judicial process and public understanding.

But the challenge for legal journalism does not end with accurate courtroom reporting. It becomes even more acute in ongoing criminal investigations, where media narratives can shape public perception long before legal processes have run their course.

The Supreme Court’s recent hearing in the Twisha Sharma matter illustrates precisely this tension.

This tension was visible in the Supreme Court’s recent hearing concerning the death of Twisha Sharma in Madhya Pradesh.

The case involved deeply troubling allegations. Concerns were raised regarding delay in registration of the FIR, failure to preserve evidence, and apprehensions that a fair investigation may not be possible given that the deceased’s husband was a practising advocate and the mother-in-law a retired judicial officer. These are precisely the kinds of circumstances where public concern is understandable and scrutiny becomes necessary.

Yet, alongside concerns over the investigation, the Court was confronted with another issue: the growing media spectacle surrounding the matter.

During the hearing, Solicitor General Tushar Mehta’s observation that “it is better to have a divorced daughter than a dead daughter” struck a chord far beyond the courtroom, resonating as a stark social message on recognising and responding to matrimonial distress. The remark was widely acknowledged in that spirit.

Equally significant, however, was the Court’s caution against parallel public narratives. Chief Justice Surya Kant urged restraint, asking all stakeholders to refrain from litigating the matter through media platforms and instead place their versions before the investigating agency. The concern was not about limiting scrutiny, but about preserving the integrity of an ongoing investigation.

That distinction is critical. Public attention can often serve as an important safeguard, particularly where fairness in investigation is questioned. But scrutiny must not collapse into adjudication. Criminal allegations carry consequences that often outlast the legal process itself, and reputational damage can become irreversible even before evidence is tested.

The role of journalism, therefore, is not diminished by restraint, it is strengthened by it. The task is to ask difficult questions, highlight institutional lapses where they exist, and ensure accountability, without crossing into conclusions that properly belong to the justice system.