THE CASTE CEILING: A Speech on Merit, Justice, and the Soul of Indian Education

 Friends, colleagues, and fellow citizens,

We stand at a defining crossroads in the history of Indian higher education. For weeks now, we have heard a deafening roar rising from the streets and the corridors of power—a roar of protest against the University Grants Commission's regulations for equity and inclusion.

We are told by those leading these protests that their "interests are being sacrificed," that "Hindu society will be further divided," that "merit" is being traded away for "identity politics."

But today, I ask you—please look beyond the empty slogans and face the cold, hard truth staring us in the face.

I. The Great Irony: When the Privileged Cry Persecution

How deeply ironic—some might even call it a tragedy of justice—that those who have enjoyed institutional privilege for centuries are now crying foul about discrimination.

They speak of being victims of "reverse discrimination."

Yet the facts scream otherwise: the old caste hierarchy is not only alive—it is thriving, breathing, and reproducing itself inside the very walls of our universities.

II. Let the Numbers Speak—Because Numbers Do Not Lie

Let the numbers speak, because numbers do not lie even when people do.

We are told the "unreserved" category is being marginalised. Yet at the University of Hyderabad, for 225 sanctioned unreserved teaching positions, the institution appointed 284 people. They did not merely fill the quota—they overshot it by 59 positions, breaking every norm while the Ministry of Education and the UGC looked the other way.

At Delhi University, 88 per cent of unreserved posts are filled—while OBC recruitment languishes at a shameful 33 per cent.

At Banaras Hindu University, out of 59 sanctioned OBC professor positions, how many have been filled? Only five. And for Scheduled Tribes? One out of sixteen.

One. Out. Of. Sixteen.

Now turn to the elite Indian Institutes of Management. At IIM Indore, out of 150 total faculty members, 106 belong to the unreserved category.

How many from SC or ST?

Zero.

Not one professor, not one associate, not one assistant.

In eight other IIMs in 2022, not a single ST student was admitted to a PhD programme. Not. One.

This is not reverse discrimination, my friends. This is a deliberate, systemic blockade against the marginalised.

III. The Semiotics of Humiliation: Academic Gatekeeping Exposed

And the blockade begins long before any application is submitted—it starts at the very gate of entry: the PhD interview.

RTI data from the University of Hyderabad reveals a vicious, repeatable pattern of academic gatekeeping.

OBC candidates score 40 out of 70 in the written exam—clear proof of intellectual calibre—only to be awarded two marks out of 30 in the interview.

Meanwhile, unreserved candidates score lower in writing but receive almost full marks in the viva, magically reversing the order of merit.

This is what we must call the semiotics of humiliation—a carefully designed process to ensure that the "wrong" voices never reach the lectern.

IV. This Is Not About Numbers—This Is About Lives

But this debate is about far more than job titles or admission seats. It is about human lives.

Between 2013 and 2023, student suicides in India rose by 65 per cent.

Our residential campuses and premier institutes have become sites of prejudice—places where SC, ST and OBC students face disproportionate exclusion, harassment, and a toxic atmosphere that treats their very presence as an intrusion rather than an achievement.

We remember their names:

Rohith Vemula.

Payal Tadvi.

Fathima Latheef.

Their deaths were not accidents. They were the direct result of a culture of zero accountability.

When these students died, the institutions did not grieve—they retreated into silence.

The mothers of Rohith and Payal had to go all the way to the Supreme Court simply to demand a safe and inclusive campus. The Court acknowledged the crisis and directed the UGC to act—yet when the first wave of upper-caste protest appeared, the courage to enforce that direction vanished.

V. The Deafening Silence of Power

We must ask: Why is the state so silent?

Why do political parties make social justice invisible in the marketplace of ideas?

While we argue over "equity guidelines," our students are facing physical violence on campuses for demanding their constitutional rights.

They are met with casteist abuse on social media and empty noise on television debates that weaponise identity instead of seeking truth.

VI. Born from Grief, Rooted in the Constitution

The UGC Promotion of Equity in Higher Education Institutions Regulations, 2026, were not a handout.

They were the outcome of a long, painful struggle—born from the grief of families who still have no closure for their lost children.

These guidelines are rooted in the constitutional promise of liberty, equity, and equal opportunity.

They are not just for one group—they protect gender, disability, ethnicity, and even the Economically Weaker Sections.

VII. To Those Who Feel Threatened

To those who feel "threatened" by these rules, I ask:

How can you claim power is slipping from your grasp when you still dominate the majority of teaching posts, non-teaching positions, and student strength?

True merit cannot survive in a room where the windows are barred and the doors are locked against half the population.

VIII. Admitting the Crisis, Choosing the Future

It is time we admit the severe crisis at the heart of our higher education system.

We cannot keep forming committees—whether Mungekar or Thorat—and then quietly shelving their recommendations for mentorship, remedial support, and real inclusion.

We must demand campuses that are genuinely safe and inclusive—places where an assistant professor from a marginalised community can speak truth to a Dean without fearing for their career.

Let us choose constitutional morality over entrenched hierarchy.

Let us build a university system that truly reflects the diversity of India—not a gated community for the privileged few.

IX. The Choice Before Us

History will remember this moment.

It will ask: When India's universities stood at the crossroads between justice and prejudice, between inclusion and exclusion, between life and death—which path did we choose?

Will we tell our grandchildren that we stood silent while young minds were crushed under the weight of institutional casteism?

Or will we tell them that we dared to imagine a different India—an India where a Dalit girl from a village in Bihar can walk into an IIM classroom and be judged not by her surname but by her scholarship?

An India where an Adivasi boy from Jharkhand can pursue a PhD without facing the humiliation of rigged interview scores?

An India where no mother has to go to the Supreme Court demanding justice for a child driven to suicide by institutional hatred?

That India is possible.

But it requires courage. It requires us to look unflinchingly at our complicity in perpetuating privilege. It requires us to acknowledge that 'merit' without equity is merely hereditary advantage dressed up in academic robes.

Our students' lives—and the very soul of our democracy—depend on the choice we make today.

The question is not whether we can afford to act.

The question is whether we can afford not to.

Jai Hind!

Jai Bhim!

Marginalized Majority of India