Should Campus Equality Come with an Asterisk?

On a cold January morning, the Supreme Court once again heard names that refuse to fade from India’s public memory: Rohith Vemula and Payal Tadvi. Years have passed since their deaths, but their stories still return to courtrooms and headlines because the questions they raised were never fully settled. Their mothers were there this time, not to reopen old wounds, but to ask a simple and urgent question about the future: how should our universities understand and fight caste discrimination?

The case before the Court is about the new University Grants Commission (UGC) Equity Regulations of 2026, and more precisely about one line in them. Regulation 3(c) says that “caste-based discrimination” means discrimination “only based on caste or tribe against members of SC, ST, and OBC.” At first sight, this may look like a small and technical detail. In reality, it goes to the heart of what we think discrimination is, who we think it can hurt, and what kind of campus we want our young people to live and learn in.

To see why this matters, we have to remember why these rules were made in the first place. Rohith Vemula was a research scholar at the University of Hyderabad. He was bright, thoughtful, and deeply interested in the world around him. He also felt, and wrote about, the heavy weight of being treated as less than others because of his background. In January 2016, after months of conflict and isolation, he died by suicide. His letter spoke of a life reduced to a number, a thing, an “accident.” Two years later, in 2018, Payal Tadvi, a young doctor in training in Mumbai, also died by suicide. Her family and many others said she had been harassed and humiliated by her seniors because of her caste. These were not just two private tragedies. They shocked the country and forced many people to admit that our campuses, which we like to think of as modern and fair, still carry old and ugly habits.

After these cases, and after several petitions in court in 2019, the UGC was pushed to act. The result is the 2026 Equity Regulations. On paper, they do many good things. They ask universities to set up equity cells, to appoint ombudspersons, to run helplines, and to create clear ways for students to complain if they face discrimination. The message is that institutions cannot look away anymore. They have to take responsibility.

But then comes the definition in Regulation 3(c), and it feels strangely narrow. By saying that caste discrimination means discrimination only against SC, ST, and OBC students, the rule seems to say that if anyone else is treated badly because of caste, that does not count, at least not under this law. This is what the petitioners are challenging. They want a caste-neutral meaning, one that says: if you are treated unfairly because of your caste, whoever you are, that is caste discrimination.

This is not just a legal word game. It is also a question of basic sense and basic fairness. Our Constitution, in Article 15(1), says that the State shall not discriminate against any citizen on grounds of religion, race, caste, sex, or place of birth. It does not say “only some citizens.” It does not list protected groups and unprotected groups. It states a simple rule: caste should not be a reason to treat anyone as less. Of course, the Constitution also allows special steps for those who have been held back for centuries. That is why we have reservations and other forms of support for SC, ST, and OBC communities. But that is a different idea. One is about stopping a wrong. The other is about helping those who have suffered that wrong for a very long time. Mixing these two ideas only creates confusion.

Those who defend the UGC’s wording will say something important, and something true. They will say that in India, caste oppression has not been equal. For hundreds of years, and even today, Dalits, Adivasis, and many OBC communities have carried the main burden of this cruelty. Most cases of caste violence and exclusion are against them. The whole point of special laws and policies is to protect these groups and help them move forward. If we make the definition of caste discrimination too wide, they argue, we may open the door to fake or bad complaints by people from powerful castes, who might claim they are being “discriminated against” and try to block or weaken the very policies meant to correct old wrongs.

This fear is not imaginary. We have seen, in many areas, how the language of rights can be twisted. But we should ask ourselves: is the answer really to define discrimination in a way that is, by design, unfair and incomplete? There is a big difference between saying, “Some groups need extra help because they are far behind,” and saying, “Only some groups can ever be victims of discrimination.” The first is wise and humane. The second is simply not true.

Think about how caste works in real life, especially on campuses. It is not always a simple story of one big group at the top and one big group at the bottom. India’s caste world is full of smaller groups, sub-groups, local histories, and local tensions. In some colleges or regions, one OBC group may be strong and many in number, and another group may feel pushed aside. In some places, there may be tensions even within Dalit communities. In others, students from rural areas may be looked down upon by those from cities, using caste as a tool. None of this changes the fact that the deepest and most common injustice is still faced by SC and ST students. But it does show that harm does not always follow only one straight line.

Now imagine a student who is treated badly, mocked, or excluded because of their caste, but who does not fit neatly into the SC, ST, or OBC boxes as understood in that place. Under the UGC’s current definition, that student may be told, in effect, “What happened to you does not count here.” That is not a message any fair system should send.

There is also a simple moral point here. Discrimination is wrong because it reduces a person to a label and denies their dignity. That wrong does not become right or less wrong because of who the person is. As the thinker Amartya Sen once said, justice is not about building a perfect world, but about removing clear injustices. A rule that leaves some clear injustices outside its reach is a weak tool.

Many people worry about “misuse.” They say that if we make the rule caste-neutral, universities will be flooded with complaints, many of them silly or false. But this worry comes up every time we try to protect people. It came up with laws against sexual harassment. It came up with rules against ragging. It comes up with almost every reform. The answer has never been to say, “Let us protect only a few, and leave the rest.” The answer has been to build better systems to check complaints, to listen carefully, and to decide fairly.

Universities already have to judge many kinds of complaints. They have to tell the difference between a serious problem and a minor quarrel, between a real harm and a false charge. They can do the same here if the system is designed well and run honestly. And if someone files a false complaint on purpose, there are already ways to deal with that.

There is another, quieter danger in the UGC’s narrow wording. It sends a message about how we think about caste. It suggests that caste is a problem only for some people, not for the whole community. It turns caste discrimination into something that happens to “them,” not something that “we” as a society must reject. A caste-neutral rule, on the other hand, says something much clearer: caste itself is not a valid reason to judge anyone, anywhere, especially in a place of learning.

Looking at other countries can also help us think. In many places, the law says that you cannot discriminate on grounds like race or religion, without saying that only certain races or religions can be victims. At the same time, those countries may still have special programs to help groups that have been held back for a long time. The two ideas live side by side: a broad rule against discrimination, and targeted help where it is needed. India’s history is different, and our solutions must fit our own reality, but the basic idea is not strange or new.

Some people may still say that this is all too ideal, that in the real world, powerful groups will always try to turn rules to their advantage. That is true, and it is a reason to stay alert. But it is not a reason to write rules that are unfair from the start. Justice is not served by building it on a half-truth.

There is also a practical problem with tying the very meaning of discrimination to official lists like SC, ST, and OBC. These lists change. They are debated in courts and in politics. A group that is OBC in one state may not be in another. New groups are added, others are removed. Do we really want the idea of discrimination to depend on these shifting lines? It makes much more sense to say: if caste is used to hurt or exclude someone, that is discrimination. Then, separately, we can talk about who needs special support and why.

The Supreme Court, by taking up this case, has a chance to do more than fix a line in a regulation. It can say something important about what equality means in our time. Universities are not just factories that produce degrees. They are places where young people learn how to live with difference, how to argue, and how to belong. If the law itself speaks in a divided voice, students will hear that too.

The UGC Regulations, for all their limits, are a step forward. They admit that discrimination is not rare or imaginary. They try to create systems to deal with it. For students and teachers, it is important to know that these systems exist and how to use them. But a system is only as good as the ideas behind it. If the idea of discrimination is made too small, the system will also be small in its courage.

We should also ask ourselves a deeper question: why do we still find it so hard to say, without any “only” or “except,” that caste should not matter at all in judging a student? Part of the answer is that caste has played a strange double role in modern India. On the one hand, we are trying to get rid of its cruelty. On the other hand, we still use its categories to fix old wrongs. This is not a criticism of reservations or other support systems. Those are needed, and they have changed many lives. But the final dream was never to manage caste forever. It was to reach a day when it would no longer decide a person’s worth.

A law against discrimination should point in that direction, even if we are far from reaching it.

Dr B.R. Ambedkar once warned that even a good Constitution can fail if the people who run it are not honest or brave enough. The same is true for any rule. The UGC Regulations are not perfect. But they can be read, and if needed, changed, in a way that fits the larger promise of our Constitution. When the Court speaks of the need for a “strong mechanism” against discrimination, strength should not mean building narrow gates. It should mean building a system that people trust, because it is fair and because it listens.

In the end, this debate is not really about legal words. It is about the kind of campus life we want. A university should be a place where a student can take risks with ideas, not fear in identity. It should be a place where you are known for your questions and your work, not for your surname. Any rule that allows caste to be used as a weapon, even in a few cases, damages that spirit.

The stories of Rohith Vemula and Payal Tadvi remind us what is at stake. They remind us what happens when institutions fail to notice pain or choose not to see it. The mothers who have come to court are not asking for something complex or extreme. They are asking for a system that does not look away, and for a definition that does not leave anyone outside the door.

When the Supreme Court finally decides this case, the judgment will be written in careful legal language. But its meaning will travel much further. It will be read, in a way, in hostel rooms and classrooms, in the small daily choices students make about whether to complain or stay quiet. If the law says clearly that caste discrimination is wrong, whoever it happens to, it gives people a firm ground to stand on. If it says that the wrong depends on who you are, it leaves too many in doubt.

There are two ways to think about equality. One is to break it into boxes, rules and exceptions. The other is to see it as a simple promise: that no one should be treated as less because of their birth. The first may feel safer and more careful. The second is harder, but it is closer to what our Constitution tried to say, and closer to what young people hope is true.

The names that opened this story should not have to return again and again to our courts. The best way to honour them is not only to remember, but to build rules that are honest, wide enough, and brave enough to protect every student’s dignity. That is not too much to ask. It is, in fact, the minimum that a society that believes in both education and justice should be willing to give.