Tanya Ranjan
In January 2026, the University Grants Commission (UGC) of India introduced the Promotion of Equity in Higher Education Institutions Regulations, 2026, also known as the UGC Bill 2026. These regulations represent a crucial step toward confronting discrimination and creating safer, more inclusive learning environments across Indian colleges and universities, especially for students from historically marginalised communities.
The new rules replace earlier standards from 2012 and seek to prevent caste-based, gender-based, religious, and other forms of discrimination on campuses. Key provisions include:
- Anti-discrimination cells and formal grievance systems in every higher education institution.
- Mandatory equity officers and committees to oversee complaints and ensure timely redressal.
- Clear definitions of discriminatory conduct, with accountability measures and penalties for institutions that fail to act.
- Institutional reporting and national oversight mechanisms to monitor progress across the country.
These changes are significant because they attempt to move anti-discrimination policy from principles on paper to enforceable practice in reality — with structures, timelines, and consequences.
To understand why such reforms are necessary, we must reflect on the lives and deaths of students who faced harassment and marginalisation on campuses.
Rohith Vemula
Rohith Vemula was a PhD scholar at the University of Hyderabad who died by suicide in January 2016. His death highlighted how systemic caste-based discrimination and institutional inaction could destroy a young scholar’s life and dreams. His story sparked nationwide debate over caste oppression in Indian universities, amplified calls for accountability, and became a rallying point for student rights.
Payal Tadvi
In 2019, Dr Payal Salim Tadvi, a tribal Muslim doctor and postgraduate student, died by suicide amid repeated caste-based harassment and humiliation by senior colleagues at a medical college in Mumbai. Her case underscored how discrimination doesn’t just hurt dignity — it can cost lives. Her family’s pursuit of justice also brought attention to the absence of strong institutional protections and the need for robust grievance mechanisms.
These tragedies are not isolated incidents. Cases like Rohith Vemula’s and Payal Tadvi’s are more common than we think, leaving us with much to consider. They reveal how campus cultures and institutional failures can silence and harm marginalised students, eroding confidence and access to education. It is also crucial to remember that discrimination in India is not a relic of the past—it is a living, daily reality. Even today, students are beaten up for drinking water from common pots, forced to use separate utensils, made to sit apart, or subjected to humiliating reminders of their caste and social location. Untouchability, despite being constitutionally abolished, continues to be practised in subtle and overt ways within educational spaces—from hostels and classrooms to laboratories and dining halls. When such violence and exclusion still shape students’ lived experiences, calls to delay or dilute protections ring hollow. This is precisely why strong regulatory frameworks like the UGC Bill 2026 are needed more than ever: not because discrimination is hypothetical, but because it is ongoing, systemic, and too often ignored until it turns fatal.
Education should be a space where talent, curiosity, and critical minds flourish, not where students fear harassment, invisibility, or retaliation. Yet, without effective protections:
- Marginalised students remain disproportionately vulnerable to harassment and exclusion.
- Complaints often remain unaddressed or delayed, reinforcing power imbalances.
- Institutions risk becoming sites of trauma rather than growth.
The UGC Bill aims to address these failings by giving teeth to equity mandates, ensuring that complaints are taken seriously, acted upon promptly, and that institutions are held accountable when they fall short.
It’s important to acknowledge that the UGC Bill 2026 has also been controversial. Critics have raised concerns about potential misuse of complaint systems, administrative burdens, and even fears of “reverse discrimination.” Some student groups and educators have protested aspects of the new rules, and the Supreme Court has temporarily stayed their implementation pending review.
At the same time, it would be intellectually dishonest to pretend that the UGC Bill 2026 is beyond critique. While the Bill is a necessary intervention, it still leaves important gaps that require amendment if it is to truly serve marginalised communities. Several provisions remain vague on timelines, enforcement powers, and the independence of equity officers—raising concerns that grievance mechanisms could exist in form but not in spirit. There is also limited clarity on protections for complainants against retaliation, a fear that already discourages many marginalised students from speaking up. Additionally, the Bill must expand its understanding of marginalisation to more explicitly include intersecting identities—such as disability, queer and trans identities, linguistic minorities, and first-generation learners—whose experiences of exclusion often fall through institutional cracks.
Rather than weakening the Bill, these critiques point to the need for stronger definitions, clearer safeguards, and more inclusive frameworks. The solution to an imperfect equity law is not abandonment, but refinement. If implemented with transparency, consultation, and accountability—and amended to centre those most at risk—the UGC Bill 2026 can provide much-needed clarity in a system that has long relied on ambiguity to evade responsibility.
But despite debate, the core principle behind the UGC Bill 2026 remains critical: higher education must protect all its students, particularly those from marginalised identities, from discrimination and harm. Without structural safeguards, universities risk repeating the tragedies of Vemula, Tadvi, and others whose stories remind us why equity and safety in educational institutions are not luxuries but fundamental human rights and democratic necessities.
If Indian universities are to truly be spaces of learning, opportunity, and empowerment, then they must also be places where every student feels seen, respected, protected, and supported, regardless of caste, religion, gender, disability, or background.
(Author is a writing consultant. Views are personal.)
