The Crisis of Campus Dissent, Why Policing Cannot Be a University’s First Response to Protest
In recent weeks, Jawaharlal Nehru University (JNU) has once again been thrust into the center of a heated political and social controversy. The sequence of events is, by now, painfully familiar: student protests, viral videos of sloganeering, police complaints filed by the administration, and subsequent threats of suspension, expulsion, and legal action. This latest episode, revolving around slogans deemed critical of the Prime Minister and the Home Minister, has reignited a fundamental debate about the role of universities, the nature of dissent, and the shrinking space for democratic expression in India.
The university administration’s response—labeling the slogans “objectionable and anti-national,” involving the police, and promising “strict punishment”—frames the issue not as a matter of campus dialogue or student politics, but as a potential law-and-order or even national security concern. Political parties, as expected, have weaponized the event, with interpretations ranging from legitimate student frustration to seditious conspiracy. However, to focus solely on the content of the slogans is to miss the forest for the trees. The core, and more disturbing, question is why student dissent in contemporary India is met with such deep institutional suspicion and punitive overreaction.
This pattern is not isolated to JNU. It reflects a broader, systemic shift in how the Indian state and its affiliated institutions engage with disagreement, particularly within the educational sphere. To understand the gravity of this shift, we must examine the historical role of student movements in Indian democracy, the changing political ideology governing campuses, and the long-term consequences of criminalizing protest.
Historical Legacy: Student Movements as Democratic Engines
Indian democracy has been profoundly shaped by its vibrant and often tumultuous student politics. The trajectory of the nation’s political leadership is replete with figures who emerged from the crucible of campus activism. The 1970s saw the Jayaprakash Narayan (JP) movement, a massive student-led uprising against corruption and authoritarianism that played a pivotal role in the resistance to the Emergency. The 1980s were defined by intense campus politics that debated caste, class, and economic policy. The 1990s witnessed the seismic Mandal Commission protests, which fundamentally altered the landscape of Indian social justice and electoral politics.
These movements were, by their very nature, loud, disruptive, and uncomfortable for those in power. They challenged authority, questioned prevailing norms, and sometimes spilled beyond the boundaries of polite discourse. Yet, they were largely recognized as legitimate political expressions—an essential part of a young democracy’s growing pains. The state’s response, while often forceful, typically operated within a framework that acknowledged the political nature of the dissent. The line between protest and crime was not so easily or automatically crossed.
What has changed today is not the essential nature of student protest. Students continue to rally around issues of fee hikes, administrative overreach, social justice, and national policy, much as they always have. What has transformed, radically, is the state’s response mechanism. Dissent is no longer primarily channeled into political negotiation or public debate. It is instantly funneled into the categories of “law and order,” “public safety,” and increasingly, “national security.” The student is no longer viewed as a young citizen in the process of forming political consciousness, testing ideas, and challenging authority as a rite of democratic passage. Instead, the student is preemptively cast as a “troublemaker,” an “anti-national” element, or a pawn in a larger conspiracy—a subject to be disciplined, policed, and silenced.
The Ideological Framing: Protest as Disloyalty
This shift in response is not merely administrative; it is deeply ideological. The current ruling dispensation has, since its rise to power, consciously positioned itself in opposition to what it terms “left-liberal” politics. Elite universities like JNU, with their long histories of left-wing activism and critical scholarship, are often painted as bastions of this opposition, their very ethos seen as antagonistic to the dominant nationalist narrative. In this charged political framing, campus protest undergoes a sinister translation. It ceases to be disagreement—a healthy and necessary component of academic and democratic life—and becomes disloyalty.
Once this semantic and ideological line is crossed—when chants of protest are rebranded as chants of sedition—the pathways for resolution are severely constricted. Dialogue, debate, and reconciliation become impossible because the premise of engagement has been invalidated. If the protesters are not fellow citizens with a grievance but enemies of the state, then the only logical response is punitive action: police complaints, suspensions, expulsions, and arrests. The university administration, rather than acting as a mediator or an guardian of academic freedom, transforms into an extension of the law-and-order apparatus. The campus ceases to be a gurukul (place of learning) and becomes a chowki (police outpost).
This ideological approach creates a culture of fear and conformity. When the cost of speaking out is potential criminalization, academic ruin, and social stigma, students learn to self-censor. Robust debate gives way to cautious whispers. The university, which should be the freest space in a democracy—a marketplace of ideas where even the most uncomfortable truths can be examined—morphs into a “space of dread.” This dread is not conducive to learning or innovation; it is conducive only to obedience.
The Long-Term Consequences: A Democracy That Forgets How to Listen
The immediate effect of this punitive model may be a superficially quieter campus, offering the administration and the state a sense of short-term control. However, history offers a stern warning: suppressing dissent does not eliminate the underlying anger, frustration, or ideological disagreement. It merely drives it underground, where it festers, radicalizes, and becomes detached from the moderating influences of open dialogue. The energy that could have been channeled into constructive political engagement is transformed into resentment and alienation.
Furthermore, the pedagogical message this sends is catastrophic for democracy. Universities are not just degree-granting institutions; they are training grounds for citizenship. They teach young people how to engage with power, how to argue persuasively, how to organize collectively, and how to hold authority accountable. When the primary lesson becomes one of silence and compliance, we are not educating citizens; we are training subjects. A democracy populated by citizens taught from youth that protest is a crime is a democracy in peril.
The great strength of India has always been its capacity for “noisy argument”—its vibrant, chaotic, and pluralistic public sphere. This noise is not a weakness; it is the sound of a living democracy. Enforced calm, by contrast, is the silence of autocracy. A political class that succeeds in silencing campuses may produce leaders who know how to rule by decree, but it will fail to produce leaders—or citizens—who know how to listen, compromise, and accommodate difference. The health of a democracy can be measured by how it treats its most critical voices, and especially its youth. When student protesters are met with batons and FIRs instead of microphones and debate, the nation’s democratic foundations are being weakened from within.
The JNU Case and the Path Forward
In the specific case of the recent JNU controversy, the administration’s decision to make policing its first response represents a profound failure of institutional nerve and purpose. The university’s own internal mechanisms for discipline and dialogue were bypassed in favor of external criminalization. This sets a dangerous precedent, signaling to students across India that their campuses offer no protection for their fundamental rights to expression and assembly.
The way forward requires a recalibration of first principles. Universities must reclaim their primary identity as spaces of learning and debate, not law enforcement zones. This means:
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De-escalation as Default: Administrative responses must prioritize dialogue and de-escalation. Invoking police power should be an absolute last resort, reserved for clear and present threats of violence, not for slogans deemed “objectionable.”
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Reinforcing Institutional Autonomy: Universities must fiercely protect their autonomy from short-term political pressures. Their governance must be guided by educational and democratic ethics, not by the political expediency of the day.
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Distinguishing Disagreement from Crime: A mature democracy must legally and socially reaffirm the distinction between protest and sedition, between criticism and threat. The weaponization of laws like sedition and UAPA against political dissent must end.
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Embracing Democratic Pedagogy: University leadership must see student protest not as a public relations problem to be managed, but as a part of the democratic learning process. Engaging with it constructively is itself an educational act.
The storms at JNU are a symptom of a larger democratic ailment. Treating every protest as a threat may offer the illusion of control, but it is a recipe for democratic decay. The true test for India’s institutions is not whether they can enforce silence, but whether they can safeguard the conditions for meaningful, robust, and fearless argument. The future of Indian democracy depends on passing this test. Policing, unequivocally, cannot be the answer.
Q&A on Campus Protests and Democratic Dissent
Q1: Why is JNU so frequently at the center of political controversies involving student protest?
A1: JNU’s prominence stems from a confluence of factors. Historically, it has fostered a uniquely vibrant and politically engaged campus culture, with a strong tradition of left-wing scholarship and activism. Its student body is highly diverse, drawn from across India’s class, caste, and regional spectra, creating a natural crucible for debating national issues. Furthermore, its institutional autonomy and reputation as a premier university give its protests outsized national visibility. Politically, it has often been positioned as a symbolic counterpoint to the current ruling ideology, making any dissent there a high-profile target for those wishing to portray it as an “anti-national” stronghold. This combination of internal culture and external political framing ensures that events at JNU are rarely just campus news; they become national political flashpoints.
Q2: Aren’t there limits to free speech, especially when slogans target specific leaders or could incite violence?
A2: Absolutely, and no right is absolute. Indian law rightly places restrictions on speech that constitutes incitement to violence, defamation, or hatred. The crucial debate is about the threshold and application of these limits. The core principle in a democracy must be that criticism of political leaders and policies—even harsh, offensive, or hyperbolic criticism—is protected political speech. The problem arises when the state or university administrations conflate strong criticism with incitement or sedition. The test should be one of imminent lawless action, not mere displeasure with the content. Calling for a political figure to be voted out is speech; calling for violence against them is not. The current trend of using legal tools designed for extreme cases to clamp down on routine political dissent dangerously blurs this essential line.
Q3: What is the role of a university administration when faced with disruptive protests?
A3: The primary role of a university administration is to safeguard the educational mission and ensure a safe environment for all students. When faced with disruption, its response should be graduated, proportionate, and rooted in its own internal disciplinary rules. The first step should always be to open channels for dialogue to understand grievances. If protests disrupt classes or violate specific campus codes, the administration can and should use its internal authority—warnings, fines, or disciplinary hearings—to address the violation. Involving external police should be reserved for situations involving serious criminal activity (e.g., violence, vandalism, credible threats) that is beyond the capacity of campus security to manage. The administration must act as a mediator and educator first, not as a proxy for the state’s punitive machinery.
Q4: How does suppressing campus dissent affect the quality of education and research?
A4: The impact is profoundly negative. The essence of higher education and advanced research is the questioning of established knowledge, the exploration of uncomfortable truths, and the challenging of paradigms. A climate of fear and surveillance stifles this entirely. Faculty may avoid controversial topics in teaching and research. Students learn to regurgitate accepted narratives rather than think critically. Intellectual risk-taking vanishes. This produces graduates who are technically skilled but lack the critical thinking and ethical reasoning necessary for leadership and innovation. A university that cannot protect dissent cannot fulfill its core function of advancing knowledge and fostering independent thought. It becomes a degree factory, not a center of learning.
Q5: Historically, student movements have shaped India. Does the current model of policing protest risk creating a politically apathetic generation?
A5: It risks creating one of two dangerous outcomes: either a generation of apathetic citizens or a generation of alienated radicals. The immediate, visible effect may be apathy—a retreat into private life, where political engagement is seen as too risky. This erosion of civic spirit is damaging to democracy, which requires active participation. However, for those whose convictions are strong, suppression does not extinguish their beliefs; it removes them from the open, moderating arena of public debate. This can foster a deeper, more resentful radicalization, where oppositional identities harden and the possibility of dialogue dies. A healthy democracy needs its youth to be politically engaged, not apathetic, and to engage through open, structured contestation, not through clandestine or hardened opposition. The current model undermines both pathways to a healthy democratic future.
