A former student of AMU
[Note: Before proceeding, I should situate myself: I studied Literature at AMU between 2015–2018 and lived in one of its hostels. This is not to claim privileged insight, but to underline that my reflections come from lived proximity rather than distant observation.]
The recently aborted student protest at Aligarh Muslim University (AMU)—ostensibly about reviving the Students’ Union (AMUSU) rather than resisting the fee hike—offers a troubling yet instructive window into the nature of campus politics at AMU.
A Legitimate Beginning
At the outset, it must be remembered that the agitation began on a legitimate plank: the arbitrary and unjustified fee hike. For many students from modest backgrounds, AMU’s subsidized education is their only ladder to upward mobility. Their resistance was therefore natural and justified. The protest was marked by determination and—crucially—visible leadership from female students who camped at Bab-e-Syed. Their resilience forced the administration to roll back the hike to 20%.
But soon, the focus shifted.
The Twist
Before engaging with this shift, a brief background is essential. AMUSU—short for Aligarh Muslim University Students’ Union—was, in principle, meant to bridge the administration and the student community by offering effective representation. In practice, however, its history paints a sorry picture.
Supporters romanticise AMUSU as a “nursery for leadership,” pointing to names like Azam Khan and Arif Mohammad Khan. Yet, since 2017, when the University suspended it on the flimsy pretext of law and order, AMU has remained without an elected student body. The suspension was arbitrary and undemocratic, contradicting the very spirit of a university as a space for debate, dissent, and contrarian thought.
Reality, however, diverges sharply from the romanticism. Over the past decade, AMUSU has drifted far from its founding purpose. Most office-bearers—barring rare exceptions—have been academic underperformers or regional strongmen who treated the Union as a launchpad for failed political careers or as a network for contracts, patronage, and admissions. Regionalism thrived through collusion with faculty members from their own provinces, while the welfare of the broader student body remained a mere veneer. Unsurprisingly, AMUSU enjoys little respect among ordinary students.
Against this backdrop, the fee hike protest had nothing to do with AMUSU elections. Yet, seeing a readymade platform for mobilization, the AMUSU lobby opportunistically inserted itself. For a few days, they kept the rollback of fees as the visible agenda and AMUSU revival as a secondary one. But when their chances dimmed, anxiety set in. Their desperation
was rooted in past failures—one prominent activist had even approached the Supreme Court with a contempt petition citing the Lyngdoh Committee, only to have it dismissed in July 2025, a fact he concealed from fellow students. With the fee protest gaining momentum, the lobby saw its golden chance: a mass movement they could never build on their own was suddenly available to hijack.
How AMUSU Aspirants Hijacked the Fee-Hike Protest
Sections of students who had long lobbied for AMUSU elections—despite lacking credibility among peers—seized the protest as a platform to advance their agenda. History shows that AMUSU has ceased to represent students in any meaningful sense. Much like Ambedkar’s critique of Indian villages as “sink of localism, a den of ignorance, narrow mindedness, caste and communalism,” AMUSU has degenerated into a den of factionalism, patronage, and regressiveness.
Rather than critiquing, confronting and exposing systemic issues—declining academic standards, nepotistic faculty and administrative recruitments, inbreeding in admissions, or entrenched elites’ dominance—the AMUSU camp staged hunger strikes and moral dramas, allegedly under the blessings of a Law professor and the Eastern UP faction. These theatrics were less about student welfare and more about arm-twisting the administration.
Gender Insensitivity and Hypocrisy
Equally glaring is the hypocrisy. The same AMUSU hopefuls who now cloak themselves in the language of student rights were absent when female students were mishandled by the Proctorial team during protests over electricity shortages. Their selective silence exposes a deep gender insensitivity. Worse, when the fee hike protesters—mostly girls—refused to be co-opted, they were abused, branded “dalals,” and smeared on social media.
A movement that cannot respect women within its own ranks stands discredited- and rightly so.
The Deal with the Administration: Regional Politics at Play
Perhaps the most disturbing development was the timing of the administration’s assurance to the hunger striker: elections in December, after semester exams. This timing was no coincidence. By then, most outstation students—from Bihar, Bengal, the Kerala, and Kashmir
—would have left, leaving the electoral field to Western UP students and their Azamgarh allies.
Why not hold elections in August–September, when all students are present? Neither the administration nor the hunger striker offered a convincing answer. Their silence reeks of sub- regional opportunism.
What Went Off the Agenda?
Equally telling is what disappeared from the protesters led by hunger striker’s list of demands:
- School fee hikes—despite RTE 2009 and the active role of Ahmadi School students— were quietly dropped, even though they had kept Centenary Gate closed till 19 August
- Administrative accountability—the demand for replacing the Proctor, Director (Schools), and Controller of Exams was abandoned. The moment students pressed for the removal of the long-serving ad hoc Controller (a local appointee with entrenched clout), the entire protest was abruptly called off before sunrise on 19
This sequence exposes the deeper malaise: protests shaped less by genuine grievances than by the compulsions of entrenched elites.
The Larger Picture: Opportunism of the Muslim Elite
This episode raises uncomfortable questions not only about AMU but about India’s Muslim elites more broadly:
- Why do entrenched cliques, clouts, lobbies monopolize university offices and student bodies?
- Why is regional dominance—particularly of Western UP and Azamgarh—normalized, while voices from other provinces are systematically muted?
- Why do organizations like SIO or IYF remain silent on nepotism, gender insensitivity, or ad hoc appointments, yet selectively speak up when AMUSU’s revival is at stake?
The answer is crude opportunism. These elites are less invested in reform than in safeguarding their own hegemony.
Conclusion
The August 2025 AMU protests reveal a painful truth: genuine student concerns—fee hikes, gender justice, transparent governance, fair examinations—were eclipsed by the opportunism of a narrow faction bent on reviving AMUSU for self-interest.
The December election timeline, the abandonment of school fee issues, the silence on the ad hoc appointments of high administrative officers/directors that too from within the internal teachers , and the abuse of female protesters expose the agitation for what it was: a cynical power play. Far from sacrifice, the hunger strike was political theatre. And the administration, complicit through opaque bargains, stands equally discredited.
In the end, one is left asking: was this agitation ever meant to empower students, or was it always designed to pressure the Hon’ble Supreme Court, which heard the case of VC’s appointed on 18 August 2025; the Petitioners, too, in the said case are insiders; and protect sub-regional dominance?
The anatomy of this protest leaves little doubt: AMUSU and the AMU administration mirror each other’s failures. Together, they embody what is wrong with entrenched elite politics of Muslims—visionless, opportunistic, and hostile to the aspirations of common students.
(The author of this article known to the Editors chooses to remain anonymous)