A Fixer at the Court’s Door: A Direct Blow to the Credibility of Justice
Muna Chand
The Inam Sapkota case has brought an uncomfortable question to the heart of the state: Is the attempt to reach judges, invoke political leaders to project influence and send messages about pending cases the audacity of one individual, or a path made possible by institutional weakness? Since Sapkota’s arrest, details have emerged about his contacts with senior figures, people in the judicial sphere and security officials. Those contacts do not, by themselves, prove anyone’s guilt. But the exchange of messages and a hotel meeting involving a Supreme Court justice have raised serious questions about judicial propriety and the decision-making process.
According to publicly reported details, Sapkota’s messages to Supreme Court Justice Hari Prasad Phuyal suggested that the prime minister was interested in a case before the court and appeared to seek intervention in its outcome. Phuyal has acknowledged exchanging messages with Sapkota and meeting him at a hotel. He says Sapkota presented himself as a representative of the prime minister, denies any financial dealings with him and maintains that the court decided the case on its merits. An impartial investigation must establish the truth of these claims and explanations. But the explanation alone does not resolve the question of why a judge held private conversations and met with someone who showed an interest in a pending case.
The central question is not whether to rush to a verdict on any judge’s guilt. It is this: What should the limits be on contact between a judge and someone with an interest in a case? If Sapkota invoked the prime minister’s name, who verified that claim? If he used a false identity to influence judges, why were the formal safeguards for stopping him or reporting him immediately not activated? And if the meeting was initially considered routine, why did contact not end as soon as a pending case was raised? These questions demand institutional accountability beyond an individual’s explanation.
Phuyal’s account that Sapkota presented himself as connected to the prime minister is serious in itself. If the prime minister’s name was used in private messages to influence a judicial decision, that would amount to trading on political influence. An investigation must determine whether the effort succeeded. But if an attempt was made, the state cannot dismiss it as an ordinary meeting or a misunderstanding. The offices of the prime minister, the judiciary and the security agencies carry public trust. No one should be free to use their names to advertise personal access.
It is more dangerous to reduce this case to the story of “one clever fixer.” A fixer’s power does not come from personal identity alone. It also comes from the ability to persuade others that their access is real, and from the fear created when institutional channels are unclear and opaque. If people find it plausible that someone can “fix” a court case, a promotion or a government process, it signals that public confidence in formal procedures has already eroded. In such a market, someone without access can profit by pretending to have it, while someone with real access can turn it into a business. Both possibilities require investigation.
Judicial independence means more than freedom from political pressure. It also requires protection from private access, informal recommendations and undisclosed meetings. Judges must decide the cases before them on the basis of evidence and law. If a person involved in a case, or that person’s representative, makes a request outside court, there should be clear procedures to record the contact, report it to the appropriate authority and, where necessary, withdraw from the hearing. Without such safeguards, even innocent meetings can appear suspicious, while improper contact can be disguised as routine.
Phuyal has said that he and other judges later became suspicious of Sapkota and informed government agencies. The investigation must examine that account. When was the information reported, to whom, how long did contact continue after the meeting and messages, and how were communications concerning the pending case preserved? These questions require public answers. The claim “we had informed the authorities” is not enough; it must be supported by dates, procedures and documents. At the same time, a judge cannot be found guilty simply because they communicated with someone. An impartial inquiry must guard against both extremes.
The public handling of the case also appears inadequate. Reports say the Supreme Court’s full court meeting discussed forming an inquiry committee and the court’s response. The Nepal Bar Association has also called for an evidence-based, impartial and transparent investigation. The court must not be allowed to investigate questions about its own conduct entirely on its own in the name of protecting its reputation. Judicial representation may have a place in an inquiry, but the process must also be independent, impartial and free from conflicts of interest. Since the chief justice himself has been drawn into the questions, the inquiry’s leadership and scope require particular clarity.
The police have called for verification of reports about leaks of sensitive investigative details. That request is reasonable: unverified claims can damage reputations and compromise an investigation. But keeping an investigation confidential does not mean leaving the public in uncertainty. While protecting evidence and investigative details, the police can provide basic information about what is being investigated, the stage of the process and the agency responsible. Preventing leaks and maintaining public accountability must go hand in hand.
Political leaders must not turn this case into an opportunity to accuse their opponents. The fact that someone invoked the prime minister’s or another leader’s name does not automatically prove that leader’s involvement. But when there are allegations that a public office was invoked to influence the court, the relevant office must clarify its contacts, knowledge and response. All parties facing allegations must have an opportunity to respond; accountability, however, cannot be blocked or redirected for political convenience.
The decisive task now is to investigate what access Sapkota claimed, how he established contact, what messages he sent about pending cases, whether anyone acted on or rejected those messages, and whether any financial or administrative benefit changed hands. Unless messages, phone records, meetings, financial transactions and judicial decisions are examined against a single timeline, the inquiry will be little more than a formality. If wrongdoing is proven, office, connections or political protection must not provide immunity. If evidence is insufficient, public allegations must not be repeated as verdicts.
The Inam Sapkota case puts one stark question to the judiciary: Are law and evidence enough for citizens to obtain justice, or do they also need someone’s phone call, connections and access? Speeches and internal meetings cannot answer that question. Only an independent inquiry, clear records, strict rules governing contact with judges and public confidence in the findings can do so. The court’s doors must be open to everyone—but the suspicion that a fixer holds the key must not remain.
