Thanks to historians and anthropologists, we know that, since the 18th century, forensic medicine in India has been considered by colonial authorities as a crucial tool to exert political domination, and as a method to produce data about colonial subjects. My research contributes to this scholarship and brings a complementary perspective by highlighting how doctors can resist the usual interpretation of medico-legal notions. One example I take in the book is that of the classification of a series of minor injuries as what the Indian penal code (IPC) calls ‘grievous hurt’. For many doctors, a series of superficial incisions caused by a knife should be classified as ‘grievous hurt’ rather than “simple” because it may require a heavy surgical intervention, but in theory, the IPC only considers injuries individually – and a superficial incision doesn’t match the legal criteria of the ‘grievous hurt’. While I was in the field, I have observed that many doctors have a feeling of injustice when they write that someone who has been the victim of many incisions during an assault is only suffering from ‘simple hurt’. But I have also seen some of them argue in their reports that these should be considered as ‘grievous’. They cannot say it so simply, because in these documents, doctors are bound to the formal conventions of medico-legal written expression. However, by using adverbs, passive voice and ambiguous formulations, they can try to influence the way their reports will be interpreted in courts without appearing biased or unscientific. This is one of the main questions I tackle in my book: forensic medicine cannot exist without language – a language which at first sight looks particularly technical, void of any subjective presence – but language also offers margins for action which doctors can use to act on their ideals of equity or social justice.

Dr Fabien Provost