Image for representation.
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The Karnataka government’s move to enact the Karnataka Rohith Vemula (Prevention of Exclusion or Injustice) (Right to Education and Dignity) Act, 2025, is a welcome step forward, responding to long-standing demands for such legislation nationwide—including the recent campaign by Karnataka’s own civil society. However, the reported draft of the proposed law fails to address the complex and layered realities of caste-based discrimination and harassment in higher education.
The bill groups Scheduled Castes, Scheduled Tribes, Other Backward Classes and minorities into a single protected category. ‘Minorities’, as defined under Article 30 of the Constitution, refer to six religious communities notified by the central government—Buddhists, Christians, Jains, Muslims, Parsis, and Sikhs.
This approach raises several questions. First, the bill overlooks the constitutional provision allowing religious minorities to establish and administer their own educational institutions, often with a focus on advancing the educational development of their own community members. Second, there is limited data on the nature and extent of discrimination faced by certain religious minorities, such as Jains, Parsis or Sikhs. While discrimination against Muslims and Christians in recent times is better documented, the most extensive and consistent evidence pertains to caste-based exclusion of SC/ST communities in educational institutions—such as documented by the AIIMS Thorat Committee, Elayaperumal Committee, Senthil Kumar Committee, Prof Pavarala Committee, and others.
It is important to distinguish between communal and caste-based discrimination, as they differ fundamentally in both form and rationale. Moreover, members of religious minorities and OBC groups also control resources to exclude SC/STs. Clubbing together social groups with differing vulnerabilities—and at times conflicting interests—risks creating socio-legal complications and undermining the purpose of the legislation.
At the heart of caste-based exclusion lies the control of knowledge by cultural elites, which perpetuates the caste order—nullifying any political or economic advantages gained. By failing to define the specific forms of discrimination and harassment prevalent in educational institutions, the bill misses the opportunity to reform norms in favour of equality and fraternity.
The bill also falls short of international standards on anti-discrimination, particularly those set by the International Convention on Elimination of All Forms of Racial Discrimination (ICERD) and the International Covenant on Civil and Political Rights (ICCPR). Both treaties recognise the importance of addressing direct and indirect discrimination—a point reiterated by the United Nations Special Rapporteurs on Contemporary Forms of Racism and Minority Issues, Ashwini KP and Nicolas Levrat, respectively.
Beyond definitional gaps and vague provisions, the bill does not establish a specific redressal authority or an inquiry process that ensures accessibility and procedural fairness. The bill criminalises all forms of discrimination without nuance, prescribing one year of imprisonment and a fine for undefined acts of discrimination.
In higher institutions, discrimination is subtle, systemic and exercised through complex hierarchies of power. Mere imprisonment or a fine would neither resolve structural issues nor restore the dignity, injury or loss suffered by aggrieved persons.
Recently, Karnataka shut down nine state universities citing financial constraints. With increased privatisation of higher education in India, higher education is becoming increasingly unaffordable, and private universities are not required to provide reservations to students and faculties belonging to SC, ST and OBCs. The bill, which does not address such structural exclusions, would be futile in such a context where a critical number of individuals from SC, ST and OBC face significant entry barriers.
The bill’s failure to formulate suitable resolutions reflects a lack of understanding of the ground realities and needs. The justice for Rohith Vemula movement was a seed which has grown to inspire and mobilise thousands of people from lowered castes to articulate their experiences of alienation and educate, agitate, and organise. The movement’s legacy holds a promise — of a transformative education as a means to transcend a destiny determined by one’s birth. If Karnataka wants to back this vision with its political will, it must begin with engaging in widespread public consultations with relevant stakeholders across Karnataka—while not losing sight of anti-discrimination jurisprudence developed internationally and domestically—to enact a legal framework that can effectively enable the caste oppressed to overcome culturally reproduced prejudice.
(Mrudula is a rights-based legal practitioner; Ashna is an assistant professor of law at the NLSIU)