How do you look at the controversy surrounding the new UGC regulations? 

The controversy cannot be understood merely as an administrative exercise divorced from a larger political context. There is little doubt that such regulations were urgently needed to address the rising incidence of caste discrimination on campuses, particularly in elite institutions, a reality tragically underscored by the suicides of several young students. Yet, these regulations

did not arise from the spontaneous sensitivity of either the UGC or the government. They emerged through a judicial process.

In 2019, a public interest litigation [petition] was filed in the Supreme Court by the mothers of Rohith Vemula and Dr Payal Tadvi—two young scholars who died by suicide in 2016 and 2019 after enduring sustained caste-based ostracism. The petition prompted the court to press the UGC to frame an effective and enforceable mechanism to address caste discrimination in institutions of higher education. In that sense, the regulations are a response to a judicial nudge grounded in painful empirical realities.

However, the timing of the regulations and the immediacy, scale, and intensity of the backlash suggest that the issue carries meanings far beyond its formal appearance. It is implausible that the UGC—an institution known for both its bureaucratic caution and ideological proximity to the government—would, on its own, risk antagonising entrenched dominant-caste interests without tacit political clearance. This is especially so given that higher education spaces remain dominated, both administratively and culturally, by dominant-caste networks. The controversy, therefore, is not merely a regulatory debate but reflects a broader political churn around caste, power, and representation in contemporary India.

One cannot ignore the possibility of a cynical political stratagem underlying this episode. Very little in the functioning of the present regime is devoid of electoral calculation. The apparent logic here may be to signal responsiveness to Scheduled Caste [SC], Scheduled Tribe [ST], and Other Backward Classes [OBC] constituencies—the numerically largest social bloc—even at the cost of provoking visible dominant-caste anger. The regime may have well calculated that, however aggrieved, dominant-caste voters have practically no option other than voting for the BJP, whereas any significant shift of marginalised caste groups towards the BJP would consolidate its electoral dominance.

The events following the UGC’s announcement of the regulations on January 13, 2026, add to this impression. The speed with which various dominant-caste organisations—Karni Sena, Brahman sabhas, Kshatriya sabhas, and Vaishya groups—came together under the banner of a “Savarna Samaj Samanvaya Samiti” and staged aggressive protests, publicly desecrating effigies of the Prime Minister and using caste slurs, appeared unusually theatrical. Equally striking was the conspicuous absence of routine state response: no visible police intervention, no immediate FIRs, and no attempt to disperse the gatherings. In a context where even minor protests by marginalised groups often invite swift and forceful police action, this differential treatment raises questions. The impression of a curated spectacle of public outrage is difficult to dismiss.

The BJP is known for appeasement of the privileged castes, with whom it is ideologically inclined. Now, this episode has antagonised the support base of the party. Was it a blunder on the BJP’s part, or did it miscalculate the reaction?

As I mentioned, the episode bears the marks of a carefully curated political gesture: projecting concern for SC, ST, and OBC constituencies while provoking visible dominant-caste anger that, in practical terms, is unlikely to translate into significant electoral consequences. However aggrieved they may appear, dominant-caste voters have been rendered largely optionless and are unlikely to shift away from the BJP.

Viewed strategically, therefore, this is not a political miscalculation. With the regulations now stayed by the Supreme Court, the BJP can plausibly claim that it attempted reform but was constrained by the judiciary, thereby deflecting responsibility while retaining the symbolic capital of having appeared responsive to marginalised groups.

All India Students’ Association members stage a protest against the stay on the new UGC regulations, in Patna, Bihar, on January 31, 2026. | Photo Credit: ANI

How is this likely to impact the BJP’s Dalit vote base that it has assiduously built up? 

The BJP has invested considerable strategic effort in cultivating a Dalit support base. Much of this strategy has involved mobilising smaller Dalit sub-castes that historically had a weaker association with the Ambedkarite BSP [Bahujan Samaj Party], to which they had nonetheless gravitated during its peak years. As the BSP declined, sections of Jatav-Chamar voters also drifted away—some towards the INDIA bloc and, in certain cases, towards the BJP. In this context, the BJP’s urgency to consolidate SC, ST, and OBC support in Uttar Pradesh is understandable.

Post-poll analyses of the 2024 Lok Sabha election—CSDS-Lokniti, Reuters—indicate that around 79 per cent of dominant-caste voters—Brahmins, Rajputs, Vaishyas—in Uttar Pradesh continued to support the BJP even as its overall vote share and seat tally fell, compared with 2019 figures. In contrast, substantial sections of OBCs, SCs, and Muslims shifted towards the opposition alliance. This realignment is reflected in the results from reserved constituencies: the BJP won 54 of 131 SC/ST reserved seats in 2024, down from 77 in 2019, with losses in SC-dominated seats in Uttar Pradesh playing a significant role. The evidence suggests that while the BJP retains support among non-dominant OBCs and some smaller Dalit sub-castes, Dalits in larger numbers leaned towards the Congress-led opposition bloc. The pattern in other States does not appear to be drastically different.

It is unlikely that Dalit voting behaviour will be significantly influenced by the mere announcement of these regulations. Even if they had not been stayed, it would not have influenced Dalits to vote for the BJP. Indeed, the manner in which the episode has unfolded may prove counterproductive for the BJP. Among Dalit communities, resentment over the abrupt and seemingly unwarranted stay of the regulations seems greater than any satisfaction over their original formulation.

Many critics argue the regulations could have been a mind game played by the Centre to generate resentment and consolidate its dominant-caste base. What is your opinion? 

I do not think so because, all said and done, the dominant castes have already been massively voting for the BJP. Some 21 per cent do not seem to prefer it. They are not likely to be swayed by the mind game. More importantly, the dominant castes constitute a small constituency compared with the SC/ST/OBC combined, for whom the regulations were primarily meant. Contrary to the contention of the dominant-caste protesters, Clause 7(e) did extend the definition of discrimination to all—encompassing race, caste, religion, gender, region, etc.

Do you think the existing UGC policies adequately address historical caste-based inequalities in respect of not only access to higher education and academic careers but also dignified on-campus existence?

No. Existing UGC policies do not adequately address the historical depth of caste-based inequality—neither in access to higher education, nor in academic careers, nor in ensuring dignified campus life.

Reservation has improved entry for SC, ST, and OBC students, but policy attention largely stops there. It does little to address what students face after entry: hostile campus cultures, social exclusion, grading bias, and psychological isolation, especially for first-generation learners.

In academic careers, although reservation exists on paper, its implementation is routinely diluted through procedural devices—ad hoc appointments, roster manipulation, and delayed recruitments. As a result, faculty spaces remain overwhelmingly occupied by dominant castes, with weak enforcement from the UGC.

Most critically, in respect of dignified campus existence, UGC policies have historically been almost silent. Caste discrimination has been treated as an aberration or an interpersonal issue rather than as a structural feature of campus life. There have been guidelines on ragging, sexual harassment, and grievance redressal, but no comparably strong, enforceable framework to address caste-based humiliation, social boycott, or institutional indifference. The tragic deaths of Rohith Vemula and Payal Tadvi revealed how campuses can become sites of psychological and social violence without any effective institutional accountability.

From 2004 to 2024, 115 Dalit student suicides were reported, many of them directly linked to caste discrimination. In the 14 months preceding the drafting of the 2026 regulations, courts took note of 18 suicides in higher education institutions explicitly attributed to caste-based discrimination. The UGC’s own data reinforce this reality. Complaints of caste-based discrimination rose by 118.4 per cent over five years: from 173 cases in 2019–20 to 378 in 2023–24. In total, 1,160 complaints were received from 704 universities and 1,553 colleges during this period.

What has been missing is an understanding that caste inequality is not solved by reservation alone. It requires active institutional design to ensure representation, protection, and dignity. Existing UGC policies have addressed the first in a limited way, have largely failed on the second, and have almost ignored the third.

This is why judicial intervention became necessary and new regulatory attempts emerged. They are not responses to hypothetical concerns but to a long-standing policy vacuum.

There is also the view that the current emphasis on rankings, publications, and global benchmarks creates more hurdles for scholars from marginalised caste backgrounds.

Yes, this concern has considerable substance.

The growing emphasis on rankings, publications, citation indices, and “global benchmarks” in higher education is presented as a move towards excellence and competitiveness. In practice, however, these metrics often reproduce structural disadvantages for scholars from marginalised caste backgrounds.

First, such benchmarks assume a level playing field that does not exist. Students and scholars from SC, ST, and many OBC communities are disproportionately first-generation learners, often educated in poorly resourced schools and colleges with [limited] access to English [skills], academic mentoring, research networks, and institutional capital. When evaluation is tied heavily to publication output, conference visibility, and international exposure, those who already possess cultural and social capital are structurally advantaged.

Second, the pressure to “publish or perish” privileges certain kinds of research—often theoretical, English-language, and aligned with globally recognised themes—while discouraging grounded, socially engaged, or vernacular scholarship that frequently emerges from marginalised locations. This subtly delegitimises knowledge traditions and research agendas rooted in lived caste realities.

Third, ranking-driven institutional cultures intensify competition rather than support. For scholars from marginalised backgrounds, who may already be navigating discrimination, financial stress, and lack of mentoring, this environment adds another layer of precarity. The issue is not lack of ability but lack of enabling conditions.

Finally, these metrics rarely account for structural inequality in evaluation. A candidate from a privileged background and one from a historically excluded background are judged by identical output standards, without recognition of vastly unequal starting points. Merit thus becomes detached from social context and begins to mirror inherited advantage.

In this sense, the turn towards global benchmarking, unless accompanied by strong equity-sensitive measures, risks deepening caste asymmetries within academia while appearing ideologically neutral.

How do UGC regulations on merit, performance metrics, and standardisation deal with caste realities in Indian universities?

The regulations on merit, performance metrics, and standardisation are framed as neutral instruments to ensure quality and accountability. In practice, however, they engage only weakly with the caste realities that shape Indian universities.

The regulatory emphasis is on quantifiable indicators: publications, citations, student outcomes, institutional rankings, standardised recruitment procedures, and uniform eligibility norms. These assume that all candidates and institutions operate from comparable starting points. Caste, which structures access to schooling, language proficiency, mentoring, networks, and academic confidence, is largely invisible within this framework.

In faculty recruitment and promotion, for example, the stress on research output, journal publications, and performance scores often privileges those with prior exposure to elite academic environments and professional networks—spaces historically dominated by the dominant castes. While reservation exists on paper, the criteria used to assess “merit” frequently reproduce the advantages accumulated through caste privilege.

Similarly, for students, standardised expectations around performance do not account for the fact that many SC, ST, and OBC students are first-generation learners coming from under-resourced educational backgrounds. The system evaluates outcomes without addressing the unequal conditions under which those outcomes are produced.

Standardisation also tends to suppress contextual sensitivity. Institutions are encouraged to conform to uniform benchmarks rather than to develop support structures tailored to historically marginalised students and scholars. As a result, issues such as mentoring, language support, social integration, and protection from discrimination fall outside the core regulatory imagination.

In effect, UGC regulations treat caste inequality as if it were already resolved through reservation at the point of entry. They rarely integrate equity considerations into how merit is defined, measured, and rewarded. The language of merit thus appears caste-neutral, but in operation, it often mirrors existing caste hierarchies within academia.

A demonstration against the UGC regulations by the Savarn Samaj at Jagdalpur, in Chhattisgarh, on February 4, 2026. | Photo Credit: PTI

What is your view about how this has played out? Has it weakened or strengthened social justice and/or the politics of social justice? What is the Supreme Court likely to do going forward?

It has unfolded in a way that reveals far more about the politics of caste and institutions than about regulatory drafting. At one level, the regulations themselves were a long overdue attempt. Yet, the moment they were notified, the scale and choreography of the backlash transformed what should have been a discussion on campus dignity into a spectacle of caste anxiety. The speed with which the matter reached the Supreme Court, the immediacy of listing, and the grant of an interim stay created the impression that institutional sensitivity operates very differently depending on whose discomfort is at stake.

Has it weakened or strengthened social justice? Paradoxically, both. In the short term, the stay has weakened the institutional momentum for social justice. It has halted a regulatory attempt to address lived discrimination on campuses. Administrations that were beginning to prepare for compliance now have an excuse for inaction. The message to students from marginalised backgrounds is unmistakable: even modest procedural safeguards can be stalled when they disturb entrenched interests.

But politically and socially, it has strengthened the discourse of social justice. It has done something that decades of academic writing could not: it has exposed, in full public view, the depth of caste hostility to even minimal accountability. The open, unabashed caste consolidation against the regulations has revealed how fragile the claim of “casteless merit” really is. The politics of social justice, which often remains abstract, suddenly acquired a concrete site: the university campus.

Dalit, Adivasi, and OBC groups now see more clearly that discrimination is not episodic but structural and that institutional remedies will face resistance at the highest levels. The controversy has thus sharpened caste consciousness among the marginalised as much as it has among the privileged.

What does the Supreme Court’s action signify? Prima facie the Supreme Court granting a stay is unfortunate as it does not pass the test of globally accepted interim jurisprudence, which stipulates three conditions for granting stays: (a) a prima facie case, (b) irreparable harm if the stay is not granted, and (c) the balance of convenience weighs in favour of petitioner. On the positive side, the stay does not necessarily mean opposition to the objective of the regulations. It just signals discomfort with parts of it.

However, the optics are unmistakable. The court moved with unusual speed: It was silent on the PIL [petition] for six years, but when dominant-caste petitioners claimed injury from anti-discrimination safeguards, it immediately agreed to hear it the next day and granted a stay. This inevitably raises questions about whose vulnerability is institutionally legible.

Based on past Supreme Court jurisprudence on reservations, discrimination, and educational autonomy, a few possibilities are likely: (1) The court is unlikely to strike down the idea of anti-discrimination regulation. That would contradict its own earlier directions that led to these regulations. (2) It may ask for dilution, redrafting, or narrowing of certain provisions, particularly those seen as conferring excessive quasi-judicial authority to committees or mandating strict accountability timelines. (3) It may convert the regulations into “guidelines” rather than enforceable mandates. This is a common judicial compromise: preserving intent while weakening enforceability. (4) It may emphasise institutional autonomy, requiring universities to frame their own mechanisms within broad principles.

The danger is that what was meant to be an enforceable safeguard could become advisory in nature—precisely the weakness that allowed discrimination to persist in the first place.

What suggestions would you like to make about UGC regulations that can be useful and acceptable to all and that can address caste discrimination and promote social justice in higher education in the long term?

To be effective and acceptable, UGC regulations must shift from punitive optics to structural prevention and accountability rooted in constitutional values. My key suggestions are:

• Prevent, don’t just react: Mandate annual campus equity reports (admissions, faculty, dropouts, fellowships, viva outcomes by caste—anonymised).
• Independent Equal Opportunity Office in every institution with an external ombudsperson, fixed timelines, and protection from administrative control.
• Broaden definition of discrimination to include academic humiliation, social exclusion, and administrative neglect.
• Make sensitisation consequential: Link anti-caste/constitutional training to performance appraisal and eligibility for administrative posts.
• Safeguards in supervision and evaluation: Change-of-guide option, videographed vivas, external observers in sensitive cases.
• Three-tier grievance system: Institutional → State → UGC appellate channel.
• Transparency in representation: Publish caste-wise faculty data, selection committee composition, and shortlisting ratios.
• Link compliance to funding, National Assessment and Accreditation Council, National Institutional Ranking Framework via an Equity and Inclusion score.
• Provide counselling, legal aid, and victim protection.
• Use constitutional language, not accusatory framing.
• Student induction on anti-discrimination norms.
• Periodic external social equity audits.
• This approach targets systems, not communities—making the regulations harder to resist and harder to ignore.