10 Years Of The Juvenile Justice Act: What The Law Sees And Refuses To See

Public outrage flares every time a minor is accused of committing a serious offence. Calls grow louder for harsher penalties, weaker protection and adult-style trials for teenagers. NCRB’s 2023 report shows the juvenile crime rate creeping up, from 6.9% in 2022 to 7.1% in 2023. But amid the outrage, we rarely pause to ask: Who are these children? And what conditions push violence into their lives so early?

Take Rishi (name changed). He’s 20 now. Four years ago, as a minor, he killed another boy in an argument over something trivial and yet fatal—sharing a hookah. When we met him, however, there was just shock and remorse over one angry moment. Three years on, he’s still locked inside the Place of Safety, denied bail even though the Juvenile Justice Act treats bail as default for children. Inside, he is studying financial management, embodying the values of reform and rehabilitation the system deems necessary. Yet, he is languishing inside with no hope.

Then there are Irfan and Fardeen (names changed), both 18 now. They got pulled into gang violence through social media’s twisted glamour, used as pawns by adult criminals who exploited their youth. They’ve waited over a year in custody without bail, the system slow to recognise how power imbalances shaped their actions.

These aren’t fictional accounts. They represent thousands of children whose names flash in headlines and then disappear.

India boasts the world’s largest adolescent population at 253 million, says UNICEF; every fifth person is aged 10–19. We celebrate our young demographic dividend, until marginalised kids enter the justice system. Suddenly they’re not “children” anymore; they’re “habitual offenders” or “born criminals”.

A 2016 study by Butterflies shows that many children entering Child Care Institutions come from highly vulnerable backgrounds, with 39.2% lacking permanent housing and 62% owning no land. It further highlights a disparity in how misbehaviour is addressed: while children from marginalised communities are more likely to be institutionalised or drawn into the justice system, similar misconduct in elite circles is often resolved quietly through negotiation and influence, rarely reaching the courts. Thus, violent behaviour is simplistically reduced to a consequence of poverty, ignoring that these children are often victims of neglect and abuse themselves, the normalisation of violence in their lives and the State’s failure to provide necessary support, education and protection to them.

The India Justice Report 2025 exposes more gaps: some states have fewer than one probation officer per district, leaving almost no follow-up, counselling, or supervision once the child is released on bail or his case is disposed of. With so few probation officers on the ground, can we seriously expect parents alone to shoulder this burden?

Blaming poverty alone for pushing minors toward delinquency is problematic because it leads to extreme ideas we often hear, such as calling for population control in slums to prevent crime. Such views, reeking of classism, ignore how rapid urbanisation forces both parents into long, low-paid jobs, leaving children unsupervised or with barely older siblings, with no recreational spaces, no mental health support, and no quality education. And so, violence becomes almost predictable.

Add to this the unregulated flood of violent digital content. Graphic videos of stabbings and fights spread freely on social media. Children encounter this long before they ever understand and face the law. Thus, violence gets normalised, copied and even filmed for likes. To date, there are several YouTube channels featuring children reenacting violent scenes with real weapons. This is at a time when the 2021 IT Rules require platforms to protect kids from harmful content; yet, enforcement is weak. It is almost ironic that the State clamps down on speech quickly but stays strangely silent when it comes to shielding children from violence.

Parliament barely engages on these core issues. In the 18th Lok Sabha, only two questions were about the JJ Act, and none asked how states plan to actually prevent these rising crimes. From 2022-2025, lawmakers mostly push for tougher deterrence. Should fear of punishment be the only barrier preventing children from slipping into a world of crime? Does the State have no active role to play in upholding the constitutional obligation, which promises children freedom, dignity and protection from exploitation?

Sensationalised media coverage then becomes the final domino, treating crimes by minors as especially horrifying, as if being young makes someone more guilty and less redeemable. Societal panic follows, triggering calls for punitive changes that ignore a basic truth—children absorb violence more easily than adults, but they’re also far more capable of real change.

As the Juvenile Justice Act, 2015, marks ten years in January 2026, we need honest reflection.

Five urgent changes stand out:

1. Societal sensitisation: Most people don’t understand why the JJ Act focuses on reform, so misinformation fuels anger. Wider awareness could turn communities into allies, with elders mentoring kids.

2. Evidence-based review: No solid study in a decade shows whether trying 16–18-year-olds as adults cuts crime or recidivism. We need real data on causes.

3. Better rehabilitation infrastructure: One in four Juvenile Justice Boards lack a full bench; 14 states have no Places of Safety; childcare institutions go uninspected; girls’ homes are scarce. Reformation can’t happen in broken systems.

4. Real regulation of online violence: Enforce platform rules and hold them accountable for violent content kids can access.

5. Structural prevention: Treat urban planning, education, childcare and mental health as core crime-prevention measures, not optional extras.

Stories like Rishi’s, Irfan’s and Fardeen’s show a system that acknowledges root causes in theory but punishes individual kids in practice—one that chooses containment over genuine correction. And so what the juvenile justice framework needs today is not harsher amendments, but a genuine commitment to its original purpose.

Authors are lawyers representing children in conflict with law in Delhi and Uttar Pradesh.