Merit, Myth and the UGC Mandate: Our Focus Needs to Shift

In a country where caste discrimination ends academic lives before they have a chance to even begin, a policy designed to protect the most vulnerable has triggered anxiety for those already at the top. This is the paradox that has been unfolding following the announcement of the University Grants Commission’s (UGC) Equity Guidelines 2026 in January 2026. Framed as a long-overdue overhaul of the existing 2012 Anti-Discrimination Regulations, the new guidelines seek to enforce more stringent measures to ensure inclusion for students from marginalised communities, particularly the Scheduled Castes (SCs), Scheduled Tribes (STs) and Other Backwards Classes (OBCs). These are commendable efforts and intentions to mitigate the pervasive discrimination subjugating lower-caste students in higher-education institutes. Therefore, it predictably follows that public reactions to it are more concerned about “the fate of the general category”. After all, these reactions are not new— it was in the 1990s when the anti-Mandal protests against caste-based reservations in government jobs took the nation by storm. An analysis of the discourse on the bill (both within the court and in public spaces) would be lacking without two considerations, namely, the structures of the bill—past and present— and the larger system that it speaks for (or against). 

The new rules sparked a chain of protests, some during the Supreme Court’s (SC) hearing on the bill, and others notably led by a group called Savarna Sena. During a protest staged in Indore, slogans such as “Hindu Unity Zindabad,” “Withdraw the UGC Black Law,” and “Jai Jai Siyaram” were raised. The protestors in court argue that the new UGC Policies provide no clear provision for unreserved category students to report the issues that they may face. The SC’s staying the order, after weeks of such protests, further propagates the point made by the protestors. A counsel ridiculously painted a hypothetical of a general category fresher student resisting ragging from a senior belonging to a Scheduled Caste. This hypothetical student’s career could come to an end on his “first day, first month and first year.” By foregrounding such an exceptional and hypothetical scenario, the counsel effectively diluted the empirical reality that this anti-discrimination policy is designed to confront, namely, the persistent marginalisation of minority groups in academic spaces. 

Such an argument stems from a misreading of what merit and justice truly mean in an unequal society. To frame an effort for inclusion within higher education as an assault on merit and the general category is a misunderstanding of both merit and justice. Merit cannot be disentangled from social context because it is cultivated through access, mentorship, confidence and financial stability. These are advantages that have historically been distributed unevenly along caste lines. True merit cannot flourish in an unequal system with unaddressed exclusion. While data shows that caste-based discrimination against SCs/STs groups in universities has risen by 118.4% over the last five years, cases of caste-based discrimination against general category students are proportionally much less, and arguably have negligible stakes. 

In fact, the 2026 guidelines have been flagged by the SC for their “vagueness”. Quite rightly, this obtuse design could actually further caste-based discrimination, but not in the way the petitioners seem to think. Many praised the February 2025 draft of these guidelines for its “flexibility” in defining which groups can be protected from discrimination, what penalties could be levied against perpetrators, and who could constitute the Equal Opportunity Cells (EOCs) and committees. However, this flexibility was arguably the true ambiguity in these regulations. As mentioned earlier, the general category witnesses a much-lower instance of caste-based discrimination, if at all. Hence, we could only benefit from clearly-defined protective guidelines that target minorities with a disproportionate history of caste-based violence, oppression and discrimination committed against them. The call for representation of PWD, ST/SC, OBC and tribal communities, and women within the EOCs could only help mitigate these biases. A response calling for safeguarding general category seats instead is illogical. One cannot fail to consider a category that does not require protection in the first place! The petitioners and outraged public also seem to forget that the previously ambivalent 2012 regulations failed due to their “flexibility”, among other reasons. Where the scope of the 2012 regulations mainly covered SC and ST students, the 2026 regulations provide a greater scope of coverage by including SC, ST, OBC, gender minorities, staff and online/distance learners. Similarly, the 2012 regulations mainly acted as advisory, enforcing symbolic compliance. Non-compliance with the 2026 regulations can lead to loss of UGC funding, degree-granting powers or recognition. An argument of general category-dominated committees raised at the hearing for the 2026 Bill feels redundant when barely any EOCs were established in its previous iteration. 

Keeping the praise of clearly-defined policies against discrimination in mind, this article would be remiss if it did not mention a crucial failing in the 2026 Guidelines. The institution-led redressal system seems to be inconsiderate of a general lack of accountability associated with caste-based discrimination in higher education institutions. While it promotes more action at the highest level, it fails to consider the larger picture at hand of what actually happens on university grounds. It was in 2016 when Rohith Vemula committed suicide following sustained caste-based discrimination at the University of Hyderabad; and his death is not an isolated tragedy. More recently, in 2023,  an investigation into the suicide of freshman Darshan Solanki at IIT-Bombay was allayed despite repeated claims by both his father and student groups alleging caste-based discrimination as the cause. An internal committee solely consisting of IIT staff somehow deemed the cause to be “poor academic performance.” Nearly three years later, one still questions the sanctity and fairness of this pronouncement, given that it was done without any external member present to validate this decree. 

Even closer to home is our own university, which has notably failed to conduct a single caste census. Ashoka’s claims to provide marginalised communities with opportunities and financial aid conveniently omit caste as a factor. As a private university, Ashoka is also not liable to hold any reservations or quotas during admissions processes, so the prevalent issue of caste-based discrimination and reduced access to education opportunities is entirely blindsided. “In a caste-blind model of equity…students from marginalised caste backgrounds are often forced to view and project themselves as 'casteless' to fit in. The institution does not deny students' narratives, but it lacks the linguistic and conceptual infrastructure to receive them,” an Edict article rightfully surmised in September 2025. Caste-blindness is a privileged mindset that can only be enjoyed by upper-caste individuals and does very little for the discrimination it claims to overcome. The only things it successfully eliminates are accountability and awareness. The 2026 guidelines, which now include private universities (unlike the vague 2012 provision), will force Ashoka to finally revisit its caste-blind equity system.

Several critics have also dissected the UGC bill’s flawed structure, pointing out the ambitious scale of the redressal mechanisms. To discuss this concern, it’s crucial to first note that the new guidelines do not drastically overhaul previous rules. Rather, they were born from a severe failure of implementation of the similarly-drafted 2012 guidelines, as mentioned before. In Abeda Salim Tadvi v Union of India (2019), the mothers of Vemula and Payal Tadvi—students who committed suicide due to caste-based discrimination in college—highlighted the authorities’ failure to enact the 2012 regulations. In their plea, they did not ask for new policies, but simply begged for the existing rules to have full force behind them. The current reaction to the 2026 regulations being “easy to misuse” seems to forget what is at stake here; amendments proposed to the existing framework are to ensure timeliness and legal protection at every step. They hardly introduce rules alien to our previous mechanisms. Rather, the 2026 guidelines seem to refine and robustify the latter.

Critics of the 2026 bill rightly identify a general lack of resources available to most higher education institutes in implementing large-scale EOCs and committees, as well as organising educational seminars and training for staff and students. However, does this not point to failures in our system at large, and not a policy aimed at eradicating caste-discrimination? When we lead with the implicit assumption that a sore requirement must be culled at its conception simply because our administration may not cope with it, it feels counterproductive. Especially when more important issues like making education more accessible and less biased get overshadowed by it. It is this complicitness in administrative lapses that resulted in the 2012 regulations that failed Rohit, Payal and Darshan, along with many others. 

Most of the backlash against the bill speaks less to the structural issues with the reform and more to the discomfort of the general category. Particularly, how equality feels like oppression when you're used to caste privilege. The UGC bill exists because the failure to protect marginalised students isn’t an aberration. It responds to the persistent gap between constitutional promises and the reality on campuses, and by doing so, enforces stringent measures to ensure accountability for the failure of the same. Until attempts to bridge these gaps in our higher education system stop being uncharitably quashed at the most rudimentary level, society at large (and not just Ashoka) will continue to “shiver at the word ‘caste’”. 

(Edited by Nikita Bose and Madiha Tariq)