The Price of Truth: When Commissions Ignore Natural Justice
Lawyer Vikash Rampoortab walked out of the Supreme Court of Mauritius on April 30, 2026, with a judgment ordering the removal of six specific points from one of the country’s most prominent inquiry reports. That ruling, and others like it, has forced a reckoning with a question that cuts to the heart of public accountability: can the pursuit of truth justify bypassing the rules that protect individuals from unfair condemnation?
Commissions of Inquiry wield considerable power. They are indispensable for transparency and the restoration of public confidence. But they also function as potent, non-judicial mechanisms capable of inflicting profound damage on personal, professional, and commercial reputations, all without the formal protections afforded by a court of law. A career can be derailed. A politician’s future ended. A barrister’s standing permanently compromised. The 2018 Commission of Inquiry on Drug Trafficking, chaired by former Justice Paul Lam Shang Leen, has become a case study in precisely these dangers.
The Supreme Court found that the six points removed from the report in Rampoortab’s case did not respect the principles of natural justice. He had not been given the opportunity to respond to certain claims before they were published. His case fits into a broader pattern: multiple legal figures named in the 2018 report have successfully applied to the Supreme Court to have findings against them struck out.
Mrs Roubina Jadoo-Jaunbocus is among them. The Commission accused her of conducting unsolicited visits to prisoners, acting as an intermediary for drug trafficker Kamasho, and interacting with kingpin Veeren Peroomal. She filed for judicial review, alleging breaches of natural justice and the Commissions of Inquiry Act, arguing she was not allowed to cross-examine witnesses or confront the documents used against her. Chief Justice A. Caunhye and Judge N. Devat ruled that the Lam Shang Leen Commission “failed to act in conformity with the rules of natural justice and the requirements of fairness” in dealing with her, and ordered the relevant paragraph disregarded.
The legal principle at stake is straightforward. If a Commission of Inquiry intends to make a damaging finding against an individual, that person must receive a fair opportunity to respond to the allegations and the evidence. This means reasonable notice that an adverse finding may be made, full disclosure of the specific issues at hand, and the chance to give evidence, produce relevant documents, and cross-examine witnesses where appropriate. Commissions are bound by the common law duty to act fairly, which includes the hearing rule. No prior judicial background on the part of a commissioner changes that obligation.
A recurring defence offered by such commissions has been that they were merely making “comments” or “recommendations for further inquiry,” categories generally not open to judicial review. That defence is wearing thin. When those comments are serious enough to damage a person’s reputation or career, courts have increasingly refused to accept the distinction. When an inquiry’s observations evolve into a de facto public finding of guilt, they transcend mere reporting and create what courts have described as a “stigmatizing effect.” It is precisely that potential for lasting harm that triggers the necessity for judicial oversight.
By contrast, the commissions themselves have often prioritised expeditious findings and public exposure. The repeated striking down of findings from the 2018 report suggests its procedures fell short of the rigorous standards the law demands. These reversals do not necessarily undermine the raw evidence gathered during the inquiry. They do, however, strongly indicate that procedural safeguards were treated as secondary to the speed and visibility of the Commission’s conclusions.
The Privy Council’s ruling in Pyaneandee, read alongside the Rampoortab judgment, reinforces the same message: findings that impact an individual’s reputation demand strict adherence to natural justice, including a formal right of reply before publication.
Yet even a successful court challenge cannot fully undo the damage. When a court orders that derogatory labels such as “Black Sheep” be disregarded years after a report has already circulated publicly, the legal remedy arrives too late to restore what was lost. The harm inflicted by a public, often sensationalized, report is frequently permanent. The information has typically already permeated public consciousness, making it nearly impossible to expunge the stigma from public opinion. A court order to strike out a statement provides a vital legal remedy. It rarely restores a professional’s reputation in full.
One further complexity deserves attention. A successful judicial review clears an applicant’s name only in relation to the Commission’s specific findings. Statutory bodies such as the Financial Intelligence Unit and the Bar Council retain the power to carry out their own independent investigations if they believe sufficient grounds exist. These institutions operate under distinct legal mandates covering money laundering, financial crimes, and professional misconduct. Quashing a Commission’s finding on procedural grounds does not preclude a regulatory body from acting on underlying facts or separate evidence, provided it adheres to its own governing statutes and procedural requirements.
The open question, then, is whether Mauritius will move to codify stronger procedural protections before the next major commission is convened, or whether the courts will continue to serve as the only check on findings that carry the weight of public condemnation without the safeguards of a trial.