First-Years and Student Politics: The Conditions That Shape Participation

By the end of my second week at Ashoka, I had learned two things: where my classes were and that my batch was already being judged for not showing up. The lack of participation in the Workers’ Protests early in Monsoon ‘25—and in other politically charged issues, including the Main Gate Infraction (MGI) policies and related campus debates—was read as indifference towards the broader Ashokan political sphere. But before attributing silence to apathy, it is necessary to examine the conditions that produced it.

Every incoming batch has to learn how a new institution works. Ours had to do so while adjusting to newly introduced disciplinary policies and stricter residence regulations that carried clearer academic and financial consequences. Through the renovation of Ashoka’s disciplinary framework, the replacement of Financial Aid with the Office of Scholarship, and the structural distance between the Ashoka University Student Government (AUSG) and the students, I argue that the first-years’ silence cannot be reduced to apathy alone. It reflects, in part, rational calculations about future consequences and finances.

Firstly, protest has always involved risk. What has changed is its persistence. Earlier batches operated with the assurance that dissent remained within campus boundaries. That assurance is gone. AI-assisted and increasingly stringent social media background checks for visas for higher education abroad and employment mean that political participation may become part of a permanent professional record before graduation. A photograph or a tagged post can outlast any institutional penalty, extending into the very futures that justified the cost of a degree in the first place. 

Ashoka’s disciplinary framework makes these risks materially visible. Under Annexure 2(e) of the Guidelines and Regulations on Disciplinary Proceedings, 2026, the No Objection Certificate (NOC) can be withdrawn as a disciplinary measure. Under Category 3.5(E) of the Policy on Disciplinary Records for Purposes of NOC, this means losing campus placement support, study abroad opportunities, and alumni privileges. For students navigating financial pressure, this is a material threat to the future that they are working toward.

The requirement that students sign an undertaking for the Residence Life Policy had not been in place before August 2025. The terminology of this policy remains vague, and the AUSG itself has contested it. Notably, restrictions on protest—earlier located within guidelines tied to academic freedoms—have now been relocated to the Residence Life Policy, reframing them as matters of conduct and discipline. What was once a question of rights is now treated as a question of rule-breaking.

The lack of clarity about what signing an undertaking entailed only increased uncertainty for first-years, particularly because this requirement had not previously existed for this document. We were required to formally consent to a set of rules without being given a clear understanding of their scope or how the administration would enforce them. Compliance now requires a signature. This is puzzling because adherence to university policies has historically been assumed. It raises the question of why an additional formal undertaking was necessary at all, and what it actually meant. 

Refusal to sign also carried direct consequences. As the Registrar’s email made clear, students who do not sign may have their spot released and placed on a Leave of Absence for the semester, effectively pausing their degree progress.

Further, the renaming of Financial Aid as the Office of Scholarship merits examination because it changes the definition of support. Financial aid suggests the institution is committed to supporting a student throughout their degree. A scholarship, however, is more conditional—contingent on meeting behavioural and performance standards—and recasts the university-student relationship as contractual rather than supportive. Also, scholarships are typically not need-based grants. This further complicates the nature of financial assistance and the support that students can expect during their studies.

These changes make the consequences of non-compliance feel immediate and real. Ashoka’s undergraduate programme requires students to finish a minimum number of credits within four years. If disciplinary action, or even refusal to sign the undertaking, leads to a missed semester or a Leave of Absence, students risk falling behind and extending their degree. For many people, that could mean paying for another semester of tuition and housing, while also delaying employment after graduation.

Students can and do choose to protest despite the risk. It is equally necessary to recognise that this agency operates within constraints. As the consequences of dissent become more far-reaching and uncertain, it makes sense for students to hesitate.

As I conclude, it is important to address the issue of representation—specifically, the gap between how the AUSG communicates and how first-years are expected to engage meaningfully. Unfortunately, their communication often fails to explain what is happening, why it matters, and what is expected of students—the very foundation of what creates a sense of belonging.

The AUSG also seems to communicate with the student body using a tone that conveys panic and immediacy more strongly than it conveys explanation. The email communicating the emergency meeting used phrases such as “uncooperative behavior” and “unprecedented circumstances”, while emphasising that “junior batches” must show up “IN PERSON”. The AUSG’s messaging creates a sense of urgency around participation. Similarly, the email that addressed the “Signing of the Undertaking” also uses strong language—”coercion”, “threats”, and “draconian policies”. Although it references negotiations with the administration, it does not sufficiently explain what the undertaking practically changes for students, especially those unfamiliar with earlier policies.

Now, it may be argued that the AUSG was under no obligation to explain further a document whose basic function was outlined in the undertaking itself and in the Registrar’s communication. Anyone engaging with the issue meaningfully would be responsible for reading the document independently. The AUSG is not, and should not become, the sole source of institutional information. After all, the AUSG’s primary role is negotiating with the administration.

However, this argument overlooks the fact that the first-years did not receive the Registrar’s email detailing the undertaking. While The Edict did cover the new Residence Life, NOC, and Disciplinary Proceedings policies, the issue here was not simply the availability of information. The undertaking itself had already become the subject of public disagreement across batches, while students—particularly first-years—were simultaneously being urged to mobilise around it. If the AUSG was calling on students to participate urgently, then its role as an intermediary between the administration and the student body necessarily extended beyond negotiation to help students understand exactly what was being contested, especially for those who lacked the institutional context to interpret the situation independently.

As a first-year who had barely been on campus for a week, I found much of this communication difficult to follow because it assumed we already knew the background of what was happening. We were being asked to show up and participate before many of us fully understood the situation.

This is not a new problem. Since 2023, first-year students have described the AUSG as a distant and “mysterious entity,” with engagement largely limited to emails, and have found the body at large “intimidating”. It reflects a pattern of implicit expectation of immediate engagement, but without enough clarity or accessibility needed for students—especially first-years—to participate meaningfully.

The purpose of the First Year Committee (FYC) is to bridge the gap between first-years and the AUSG. In practice, however,  its capacity to mediate has been limited. The FYC operated under the Vice-President’s office, making the Vice-President the primary link between the committee and the wider AUSG structure. Since Ahana Walanju stepped down as Vice-President, the FYC has not met. Its engagement with the first-years has also largely focused on interpersonal concerns rather than administrative communication. While these interactions definitely matter, they do not replace sustained efforts to explain institutional processes and student roles within them. The gap between what the FYC was designed to do and what it has been able to do reflects a broader structural problem of incapacitation. Representation is largely superficial, leaving students without the information needed to engage meaningfully.

If the FYC is to serve as an intermediary, it must be equipped to do so with access to information, inclusion in discussions, and, most importantly, a functional medium (the FYC, as of today, lacks an institutional email ID) to communicate. This would make governance clearer and more accessible to the batch it represents.

As regulations grow stricter, the expectation that students mobilise will only intensify. At a university where policies shape how we live, study, and move, simply existing within the system is political. A united and responsive student body can be forged only by providing clarity about what is happening, context about why it matters, and direction on how to act. Students are more likely to participate and advocate when they understand the system and see themselves within it. 

(Edited by Avika Mantri and Madiha Tariq)