Higher education institutions are designed to function as engines of critical inquiry, led by scholars of international academic distinction capable of pushing the boundaries of human knowledge and challenging entrenched authority. When a university functions as intended, its faculty commands intellectual respect and its student body exercises democratic vigilance. What Indian higher education exhibits today, however, is a deliberate inversion of this model. The best of contemporary public universities of India have been systematically hollowed out, transforming from a site of intellectual generation into a compromised administrative space where under-accomplished academics lord over disenfranchised students, while the urgent realities of economic precarity and unemployment are buried under an enforced silence.
The contemporary economic crisis, dangerously hollowed out middle classes and mounting unemployment (of their children) has brought Indian youth to the brink of becoming Weary Generations (udaas naslein), an expression used by the Urdu novelist, Abdullah Husain (1931-2015), for the generation wasted in Partition, violence, migration and traumatic displacement.
How does one then place or read the energies and fearlessness of the present upsurge be it in Bihar, UP, Delhi or Mumbai? It is not just these seemingly apolitical mobilisations but also smaller left formations (AISA, SFI) that have sustained protests, a) spoken and highlighted education and access for all b) examined structural failures, yes, but also lack of voice and representation c) refused to be black-holed into the Hindu-Muslim paradigm d) broken through a paralysis of fear; e) while in Delhi and Mumbai these may have been dominated by a class difficult for the far right to pigeonhole, in Bihar they are subaltern students. Plus, a protest by Adivasi/tribal students in Maharashtra reached a successful end (though they had been fasting for over 47 days) after Leader of Opposition Rahul Gandhi highlighted their demands. LOP Gandhi speaking of withdrawing criminal cases, getting an FIR lodged, and speaking on youth issues of access and social justice together show how the narrative is for once not being dominated by the regime. The icing on the cake is the union government’s concrete withdrawal of FIRs against many/most if not all the protesters.
Global history demonstrates that youth energy in times of crisis takes one of two distinct paths: violent criminal implosion or revolutionary democratic renewal. In May 1968, France witnessed an explosive student movement that began on university campuses like Nanterre and Sorbonne. French students did not merely demand educational reforms; they linked arms with the working class, paralysed a Gaullist state, and fundamentally reshaped modern European political consciousness through raw democratic assertion. Conversely, where youth energy is denied legitimate political expression and institutional avenues of dissent, it devolves into structural criminality. In 20th-century Sicily (in Italy), the complete absence of democratic avenues for youth advancement permitted underworld gangsterism to swallow an entire generation—a social decay famously captured in Mario Puzo’s literary studies of omertà, patronage, and syndicate power.
Indian campuses today stand precariously at these very crossroads. The current stagnation stands in sharp contrast to the analytical framework established by Philip Altbach in his books, Turmoil and Transition: Higher Education and Student Politics in India (1968) and Student Politics in India (1972). Altbach demonstrated that students in developing democracies operate as a vital “incipient elite” and a primary political conscience. Unencumbered by institutional vested interests, they function as a catalyst for broader societal democratization. This theoretical reality materialised during the 1960s and 1970s across northern and western India. The Navnirman Movement in Gujarat in 1973–1974 began over price hikes in university canteens and escalated into a mass agitation that dissolved the state legislative assembly. Shortly after, the Bihar Movement of 1974, spearheaded by student leaders under Jayaprakash Narayan (1902-1979), directly challenged state authoritarianism and catalysed the nationwide opposition that eventually defeated Congress rule in 1977, after the Emergency (1975-77).
The anti-Congress political forces that seized state power on the back of these youth mobilisations recognized a key reality: an organised, democratically elected student body is an unpredictable, counter-hegemonic force. Consequently, once in power, the anti-Congress and regional regimes (communal reactionaries, single caste, personalized, dynastic and champions of identity-based divisive political forces) systematically disarmed the very machinery that elevated them. Province after province, most notably Uttar Pradesh, campus elections have been suspended across state universities for years, banning, curbing, or neutering Students’ Unions.
Crucially, this structural paralysis of student democracy was not merely a post-2014 phenomenon under the BJP regime; key policy frameworks that enabled this containment were set in motion earlier, notably under UPA-II through the implementation of the Lyngdoh Committee recommendations. As Albeena Shakil highlights in Economic and Political Weekly (2008), the Lyngdoh Committee was constituted following Supreme Court orders to frame guidelines on student union elections—focusing on ‘curbing criminalisation’, ensuring financial transparency, and setting eligibility criteria. However, the committee’s recommendations introduced rigid constraints, such as a maximum age limit of 28 years for research scholars and restricting candidates from contesting office-bearer positions more than once.
The fundamental flaw in this approach was its mechanical, uniform enforcement across vastly different universities without accounting for their specific institutional characters. The Lyngdoh Committee report itself explicitly acknowledged the Jawaharlal Nehru University (JNU) model as an exemplary “model to be followed”—a peaceful, direct election process conducted entirely by students through an independent, elected Student Election Committee without administrative interference, money, or muscle power. Yet, despite JNU’s flawless democratic track record, the Supreme Court stayed the JNUSU elections in 2008 on technical procedural grounds like the candidate age limits and re-contesting of posts. By imposing arbitrary eligibility constraints and administrative control over a self-regulated, highly participatory student democracy, the policy environment under UPA-II severely weakened the capacity of student bodies to function as independent, capably led representative unions.
To understand how youth energy is absorbed in the absence of democratic representation, Craig Jeffrey’s 2009 essay on Meerut University, Fixing Futures: Educated Unemployment, Youth, and Politics in North India, provides the necessary framework. Jeffrey demonstrates how structural unemployment converts campuses into waiting rooms. Deprived of representative unions to bargain collectively against systemic failures, young people are forced into individual survival mechanisms. They become fixers (jugaad intermediaries, or brokers, dalals), trading political compliance for minor administrative concessions or informal rents. The failure of contemporary campuses to rise up in the style of global youth protests or digital mobilisations is not due to apathy; it is the direct structural result of an environment where collective bargaining has been replaced by atomised patronage networks akin to the Sicilian boss-client relationship.
This suppression of student democracy occurs alongside a mounting crisis of economic precarity backed by grim statistical realities. Data from the International Labour Organization (ILO) and the Institute for Human Development (IHD) India Employment Report reveals that educated youth bear the brunt of the nation’s job crisis. Youths account for nearly 83% of the total unemployed workforce in India, with the unemployment rate for university graduates standing at an astonishing 29.1%—nearly nine times higher than for those without formal schooling. Furthermore, the Periodic Labour Force Survey (PLFS) metrics continuously highlight that urban youth unemployment hovers at elevated levels between 13.6% and 14.3%, while roughly 90% of employed youth are pushed into informal, unprotected work. Despite holding degrees, millions of graduates remain trapped in underemployment, gig work, or endless competitive exam preparation. Yet, because campuses lack elected Students’ Unions to channel this systemic frustration into organised political demands, this massive reservoir of youth precarity remains politically inert, barring the latest ongoing movements. India, like the Germany of the 1930s, is on the brink of driving the unemployed youth and the campuses towards political extremism, crime, and murderous narco-culture.
Compounding this crisis is the wholesale capture of university governing bodies by pliant, regime-acolyte administrators and accomplishment-deficient academics. In his scathing critique of Indian higher education, Asking for Trouble: Crises with a Meaning (1984), veteran educationist Amrik Singh (d. 2010) laid bare how the Indian university system was being subverted from within by weak administrative leadership and corrupt appointments. Decades later, in the mid-2020s, Amrik Singh’s earlier warnings have metastasized into absolute reality. A knowledge campus must be led by scholars of recognised distinction, who exercise moral and inspirational influence upon the students. Instead, the internal governing bodies of Indian universities, such as Executive Councils, Academic Councils, Selection Committees, and Vice-Chancellorships, have been stuffed with under-accomplished, pliant, sycophantic individuals whose primary credential is ideological compliance and administrative servitude to the ruling political apparatus.
Across state and central universities, appointments to the highest academic offices routinely bypass scholars with high citation indices, major research monographs, or international peer recognition. Instead, pliant, regime-acolyte Vice-Chancellors with minimal publication records and negligible scholarly impact are installed as political commissars. To maintain their illegitimate control, these Vice-Chancellors surround themselves with similarly under-accomplished internal academics, who function as key collaborators and administrative fixers. Selection panels are shamelessly rigged to bypass highly cited, productive researchers in favour of candidates whose sole qualification is political alignment. Consequently, statutory bodies intended to protect academic freedom are transformed into rubber-stamp committees that penalize dissenting faculty, manipulate recruitment, and ignore systemic corruption.
This institutional decay manifests in distinct ways across major, historic, residential and state-funded campuses, illustrating the stark difference between passive compliance and active resistance.
At the Aligarh Muslim University (AMU), an internal administrative oligarchy has long controlled key university apparatuses. With the prolonged absence of elected student union checks, a small network of senior teacher-administrators has maintained an unchallenged hold over the campus. This environment has allowed serious institutional irregularities to persist—ranging from a huge fee scam, illegal annual increments, illegal placements in the Old Pension Scheme (OPS), and financial opacities in civil construction contracts to administrative nepotism, the illegal retention of perks, unauthorized security deployment, and questionable pension schemes. Rather than challenging these abuses, executive bodies and elected teacher associations have largely chosen silence. At the same time, they offer instant, sharp, and unparliamentary reactions against internal whistle-blowers who expose the internal rot of the administration as well as elected bodies. The narrative-setting elites among Muslims rally desperately to fight for the minority status of AMU, but go silent on rampant irregularities within the very university of theirs. Further, they don’t mobilise themselves with equal alacrity and enthusiasm on other issues of social and gender justice, caste exclusions and economic grievances.
To make things far worse, this specific kind of minority-ism finds support from Left-Liberals. Operating under an unwritten code of Omertà, reminiscent of the institutionalized silence of Sicilian mafia structures depicted in Mario Puzo’s novels, they shield administrative failures under the pretext of protecting institutional identity from external hostility. In AMU this code of Omertà is turned into a more dangerous tool. Internal whistle-blowers are hounded, maligned, vilified, and humiliated by plunderers disguising as men of religiosity. They play dangerous politics of demonstrative religiosity and piety, giving a drum-beating clarion call of “Qaum in danger”. It is an open secret among campus insiders that these very demonstrably and instrumentally “pious” Muslim minority professors queue up in large numbers before Sangh functionaries running the Rashtriya Muslim Manch, intending to become Vice Chancellors (Felix Pal, 2020, offers an insight as to why Muslims join it), even while surreptitiously instigating common Muslim youth that the incumbent regime is rabidly anti-Muslim.
Globally too, Peter Fleming’s 2021 book, Dark Academia: How Universities Die, rightly diagnoses that with the neo-liberalisation of higher education over the last 20 years, universities have been turned into psychological hells for professionally committed academics.
Yet, despite all these odds, the Jawaharlal Nehru University (JNU) demonstrates how active representation can disrupt administrative opacity. On August 13, 2026, the JNU Teachers’ Association (JNUTA), alongside the elected JNU Students’ Union (JNUSU), held a joint press conference at New Delhi’s Press Club of India. Rather than hiding inner ills, they publicly detailed administrative irregularities, arbitrary changes to promotion guidelines, and compromised recruitment procedures enforced by the university executive. Despite facing intense administrative pressure, the presence of an elected student union—built on JNU’s long-standing tradition of self-managed student democracy that survived even the legal curbs of the Lyngdoh recommendations—allowed JNU to maintain a counter-hegemonic force against administrative overreach.
The tragedy of contemporary Indian public universities is an existential crisis of purpose. When campuses are stripped of democratic unions, handed over to regime-acolyte Vice-Chancellors, and silenced by co-opted faculty collaborators, they cease to function as spaces of higher learning and degenerate into administrative fiefdoms. Indian youth stand at a decisive crossroads: to remain passive captives within waiting rooms of managed mediocrity, or to reclaim the historic mantle of May 1968. Reclaiming the university requires breaking the institutional code of silence, ousting unaccomplished administrative syndicates, restoring elected Students’ Unions, and transforming quiet frustration into organised political agitation. Of course, ignoring or delaying the task of employment creation is absolutely unaffordable for India at this point of time.
[The author, a Professor teaches Modern and Contemporary History at Aligarh Muslim University. His X-handle is: @sajjadhist]
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