The recent equity regulations introduced by the University Grants Commission aimed at promoting equal opportunities and reducing caste-based disparities. The policy has ignited debate across Indian universities and different communities.
At first glance, the policy appears straightforward. It seeks to formalise mechanisms to address discrimination by establishing Equal Opportunity Centres, appointing equity officers, and creating structured grievance redressal systems. These measures are intended to counter institutional discrimination and provide students from marginalised backgrounds with accessible channels to report discrimination. However, by focusing primarily on formal procedures, the regulations risk addressing the symptoms of inequality rather than confronting its deeper social and structural roots.
The regulations have also triggered protests and debates across several campuses. At the same time, the responses to the policy are neither uniform nor easily reducible to a single social position. While many students from historically disadvantaged communities have welcomed the regulations as necessary safeguards, sections of dominant-caste students have raised concerns about fairness, procedural clarity, and the possibility of misuse. These reactions reflect differing perceptions of justice and varying levels of trust in institutional processes.
The anxieties expressed by sections of dominant caste groups, particularly around exclusion and fear of false complaints and not being included, cannot be dismissed outright. They often arise from uncertainty about implementation and the absence of clearly defined safeguards. Yet, it is equally important to recognise that discrimination against Scheduled Castes, Scheduled Tribes and other marginalised communities in higher education remains persistent and structural. Experiences of exclusion and unequal treatment continue to shape academic life.
Protests are not illegitimate. Democratic contestation is vital to policy-making. Yet, such opposition must never be used to stall or dilute equity measures. The reality is clear: dominant caste groups wield disproportionate power and representation within universities among faculty, staff, and students. This power imbalance directly results in everyday discrimination, both subtle and overt.
Building on this, an important question follows: even if safeguards are expanded to include all groups, what guarantees exist that such mechanisms will not be shaped or misused by those who already hold institutional power? In contexts of unequal representation, formal systems risk reflecting existing hierarchies rather than challenging them. The issue, therefore, is not only who is included in the framework, but how power operates within it.
This highlights a key challenge. The task is not to choose between protection and fairness, but to design systems that ensure both. This requires clear definitions of discrimination, transparent and time-bound procedures, and safeguards for all caste groups involved. At the same time, equity measures need to go beyond committees. Universities must ensure greater representation of marginalised communities in decision-making roles, create independent bodies to review complaints, and establish clear accountability if institutions fail to act.
This also raises questions about the UGC’s role beyond issuing guidelines. For the framework to succeed, UGC must establish clear mechanisms for monitoring, evaluation, and direct intervention when institutions fail. Enforceable accountability measures should be implemented immediately to prevent equity initiatives from becoming mere formalities. It is imperative that the UGC lead in ensuring full and effective adoption of these measures.
A deeper contradiction, however, lies in the gap between institutional practice and policy intent. If caste-based discrimination is a central concern. Then it is worth asking why UGC or the government does not mandate foundational engagement with these issues through structured courses or sensitisation programmes. The absence of such initiatives suggests that while policies seek to address discrimination after it occurs, less attention is given to preventing it.
Another aspect to consider is that discrimination in universities does not always appear in dramatic forms. Often it works quietly, through everyday interactions that slowly shape how students see themselves and how they are seen by others. A student may hesitate to speak in class because their language or accent becomes a source of ridicule. A research topic dealing with caste or marginalised communities may be dismissed as “too political.” A supervisor might subtly question whether a student is “ready” for rigorous academic work. None of these moments may be recorded as formal discrimination. Yet together they create an atmosphere where some students feel they must constantly prove that they belong. These experiences rarely appear in official statistics, but they are deeply familiar to many students navigating elite academic spaces.
This reflects a broader tension. Universities often operate with an implicit aspiration towards “castelessness,” where caste is expected to remain invisible in everyday academic life. In contrast, the equity framework acknowledges caste as a lived and structural reality. Without bridging this gap, formal mechanisms of equity may coexist with everyday practices of exclusion.
Equity in higher education cannot be reduced to administrative compliance. It requires a transformation of institutional culture. Incorporating sustained engagement with texts such as Annihilation of Caste and regular sensitisation initiatives and a foundation course could help address the roots of discrimination rather than its symptoms. Without such efforts, equity policies risk addressing the symptoms of discrimination while leaving its underlying conditions intact.