Caste discrimination in India’s higher education system is structural, persistent, and often invisible. Behind the facade of meritocracy lies a deeply unequal reality where students from Scheduled Castes and Scheduled Tribes (SC/ST) continue to face exclusion, humiliation, and institutional discrimination. The growing demand for a ‘Rohith Act’ in Karnataka emerges from this demand to recognise caste discrimination as systemic and address it through enforceable law.
The scale of the crisis is stark. Between 2014 and 2021, 122 students died by suicide in premier institutions such as IITs, IIMs, NITs, and central universities; 68 of them were from reserved categories. In the past five years alone, more than 13,500 SC/ST/OBC students have dropped out of these institutions. These figures mostly represent only the tip of the iceberg. Across both public and private institutions, students from marginalised communities face discrimination that pushes many out of higher education altogether.
The institutional murder of Rohith Vemula (a PhD scholar from University of Hyderabad) in 2016 marked a turning point, sparking nationwide protests and forcing caste discrimination in universities into public debate. Yet, similar tragedies continue. The deaths of students such as Darshan Solanki and Payal Tadvi expose the chasm in effective addressing of institutional casteism.
At the heart of the issue is not just access to education, but the conditions within it. While the hard-won affirmative action has enabled entry for many SC/ST students, institutions have largely failed to ensure inclusion, dignity, and equal opportunity. Discrimination operates not only through overt acts, but through everyday practices and institutional cultures.
Students report food-based segregation in hostels, derogatory comments from faculty, lack of representation in student bodies, denial of access to academic resources, and routine micro-aggressions. Social interactions are often mediated by caste markers, with surnames becoming a basis for exclusion. The narrative of meritocracy ignores structural inequalities, reinforcing marginalisation. The Brahmin-dominated faculty is often the root of these problems.
Sociologist Émile Durkheim’s framework helps explain the psychological toll of such environments. ‘Egoistic’ suicide stems from a lack of social integration, producing isolation and insignificance. ‘Fatalistic’ suicide arises from a sense of being trapped within rigid structures, with little control over one’s future. For many SC/ST students, caste prejudice creates precisely these conditions.
Despite the severity of the issue, existing legal and regulatory frameworks remain inadequate. While the Constitution guarantees affirmative action and the SC/ST (Prevention of Atrocities) Act criminalises overt violence, much of contemporary caste discrimination operates in subtle, indirect ways. University-level mechanisms such as UGC regulations on grievance redressal and equity lack both specificity and enforceability. Anti-ragging provisions, though expanded to include caste-based bullying, are limited to individual acts and fail to address systemic discrimination.
What emerges is a gap between formal equality and lived reality. Institutions may comply with the letter of the law while perpetuating exclusion through informal practices. Much of this discrimination functions as ‘discrimination by default’ that is routine, normalised behaviour creating inequality without explicit intent. Legal frameworks that focus only on deliberate acts are therefore insufficient.
This is where the demand for a Rohith Act becomes crucial. The proposed legislation seeks to address caste discrimination not as isolated incidents, but as a structural problem embedded within institutions. It aims to provide civil remedies, establish accountability mechanisms, and mandate institutional practices that foster inclusion and fraternity.
Importantly, the proposed law goes beyond punitive measures. It envisions a preventive and remedial framework, including Equity Committees within institutions and avenues for legal recourse. It recognises the need for systemic change through sensitisation, accountability, and enforceable standards rather than relying solely on punitive actions.
The constitutional basis for such a law is clear. Articles 14 and 15 guarantee equality and enable special provisions for the advancement of SC/ST communities. Article 21 affirms the right to life with dignity, including the right to an educational environment free from caste discrimination. Article 46 directs the State to promote the educational and economic interests of SC/STs and protect them from social injustice.
International developments further underscore the urgency of this issue. In 2023, Seattle became the first city in the United States to ban caste discrimination, while universities such as Harvard, Brown, and Columbia have recognised caste as a protected category. That India lags behind in legally addressing this issue is troubling.
In Karnataka, the demand for a Rohith Act reflects a growing recognition that policy measures alone are insufficient. The increasing corporatisation and privatisation of education, coupled with rising fees and declining public funding, has intensified exclusion. Without a robust legal framework, these trends risk further marginalising students from historically oppressed communities.
The Rohith Act is not merely about preventing discrimination; it is about redefining the purpose of higher education. Universities must be spaces of transformation, where students are not only admitted but allowed to thrive. This requires confronting caste as a lived reality shaping everyday experiences on campuses. The legacy of Rohith Vemula and the movements that followed is a reminder that silence in the face of injustice is itself a form of complicity. A law like the Rohith Act can help break that silence by naming caste discrimination, holding institutions accountable, and affirming the right of every student to dignity and belonging. The question is no longer whether caste discrimination exists in higher education, but whether we are willing to address it seriously enough. Karnataka has the opportunity to lead this effort. The time to act is now.
(Based on notes from the Campaign for Rohith Act- Karnataka)
