Amid the intensifying national backlash over the University Grants Commission’s new equity guidelines, advocate Disha Wadekar, one of the key figures associated with the regulatory framework has publicly defended the rules, attributing the protests largely to “misinformation” and misreading of the provisions.
Speaking in a YouTube interview following the Supreme Court’s decision to stay implementation of the guidelines, Wadekar maintained that critics had exaggerated both the scope and consequences of the regulations.
While she sought to reassure critics that the rules are limited to civil remedies and grounded in due process, her reasoning, particularly on caste discrimination, has drawn sharp scrutiny from legal observers, students, and policy commentators.
However, her arguments were weak and based on flawed assumptions. We break it for you.
“Only Civil Remedies” – But Very Real Punishments
Wadekar repeatedly reassures viewers that the regulations are harmless because they do not create new crimes.
“Firstly, this whole idea that these regulations are going to put our kids in jail and behind bars is completely unfounded. These are completely regulations that operate in civil realm. Okay? No equity committee has the power to put someone behind the bars or to incarcerate someone,” she says.
This framing quietly equates “no jail” with “no serious problem.” But on a campus, the most life‑altering sanctions are non‑criminal: suspension, expulsion, loss of hostel facilities, permanent adverse entries in a student’s file, or withdrawal of degrees. These are all “civil” or administrative measures, yet they can destroy a young person’s career as effectively as a conviction.
By focusing only on imprisonment, she downplays the very real coercive power that equity committees will wield over students’ futures.
“Nothing New” About Going To The Police?
On the question of police involvement, Wadekar argues that the regulations change nothing substantial: “The one provision that UGC has added which is that the college will have to approach the police if a penal provision is attracted – that is anyway there… it’s not like there will be a suicide on campus and that suicide complaint will go to the committee and the committee will decide… it will have to… lodge an FIR… So it’s not like these regulations have brought something new.”
Formally, suicide has always been an IPC matter. But the moment the regulator writes that institutions “will have to approach the police” whenever they think a penal section “is attracted,” it converts a discretionary judgement into a mandatory obligation. In real life, administrators will err on the side of over‑reporting even marginal cases to protect themselves from later accusations of non‑compliance.
To say “this is anyway there” ignores how written duties reshape behaviour. The text may look familiar; the incentives will not.
Who Counts As a Victim Of Caste Discrimination?
The sharpest controversy is over the definition of caste‑based discrimination. Wadekar defends the clause that ties it specifically to SC, ST and OBC students: “Clause 3C defines caste discrimination as discrimination based on caste or race against scheduled caste, scheduled tribes and OBCs… Everyone has a problem with… who should it include? If that should be a caste‑neutral definition… then what is the point of that provision… then there is no discrimination, right?”
She doubles down with an analogy: “It’s like saying that in the definition of gender‑based discrimination, you should have men who say that I am being discriminated on the basis of gender. The basis is important.”
There are several problems here.
She sets up a false choice – either the law protects only SC/ST/OBC students, or “there is no discrimination.” In reality, one can acknowledge that these groups suffer structural oppression and still allow any student to complain if they are abused or excluded purely on caste grounds.
Her gender analogy is misleading. Modern equality law accepts that both women and men can, in specific situations, be victims of gender discrimination. Recognising that possibility does not deny patriarchy; it simply keeps the definition even‑handed while applying it with context‑sensitive judgement.
By insisting that critics of the SC/ST/OBC‑only wording are objecting to the mere inclusion of caste, she avoids the real issue: a built‑in asymmetry where some students can invoke a special definition and others cannot, even if the underlying conduct is similar.
When she says, “So I am not understanding the selective outrage against the inclusion of caste‑based discrimination,” she collapses a nuanced concern about drafting into a crude anti‑caste backlash, which is not what many critics are arguing.
An Idealised Picture of Committees
To address fears of misuse, Wadekar offers a textbook description of how equity committees will function: “It’s not like the complaint is going to be taken on its face value and suddenly the committee is going to be like now you will be punished… If they don’t find any merit… they will dismiss that complaint right, then and there… If they think that there is some merit… they will have to issue notice to the respondent… Their side will be heard. The complainant side will be heard. Both sides will be equally heard… after following all principles of natural justice… they will then suggest a proportionate punishment.”
This is an ideal picture. She assumes that committees are independent and immune from campus factionalism; that they never succumb to political pressure, media storms or administrative preferences; that they apply evidence standards consistently and resist the temptation to “send a message.”
Anyone who has seen internal complaints committees or disciplinary bodies at Indian universities knows that reality can look very different: ex parte interim orders, leaks, social ostracism based on mere allegations, and decisions framed more by ideology than by facts.
By repeatedly invoking “principles of natural justice” as though their presence in the rulebook guarantees their observance, Wadekar appeals to an imagined best‑case scenario, not the messy world in which students actually live.
Labelling Dissent as “Misinformation”
Throughout the interview, Wadekar returns to a familiar refrain: “There is a lot of misinformation around the regulations… hyperbole and hyperactive ways in which people are talking about these regulations… from the responses I feel that the regulations have not even been read properly.”
Later she calls it “complete and utter lies” to say the regulations are only for SC/ST/OBC students.
Of course, some social‑media outrage is poorly informed. But to fold all criticism into “misinformation” is to poison the well. Many objectors, including faculty, lawyers, and students who have read both the 2012 and 2026 texts, are raising precise questions about the breadth of committee powers, the asymmetric caste definition, the chilling effect on ordinary interactions and classroom debate and the risk of politicised enforcement.
These are not “utter lies”; they are contestable but serious concerns. A regulator who is confident in her framework should engage them directly instead of treating dissent as proof of ignorance.
“Every Protective Law Faces Backlash”
At one point, Wadekar contextualises the protests as just another conservative reaction: “Honestly this is also a backlash that every protective law we’ve seen in this country has faced.”
This statement smuggles in a conclusion: because other protective laws (say, anti‑dowry or anti‑harassment laws) faced opposition and later proved necessary, the current regulations must belong in the same moral category. But some “protective” laws have also been overbroad, poorly drafted, or misused, and have needed serious judicial trimming.
Whether these UGC regulations are justified cannot be inferred from the fact that they are called protective. It must be assessed from their text, their structure, and their likely implementation. Invoking the history of other laws is a rhetorical shield, not a substitute for that analysis.
The Real Debate, Not the Straw Man
The interview shows that Disha Wadekar is right about one thing: the issues at stake are serious. Caste, gender, religious and disability‑based discrimination on campuses is real, and institutions have failed victims far too often. But that reality does not automatically validate any particular regulatory design.
When she says “there are no extreme consequences… this is only civil remedies” and caricatures critics as people who think committees will “suddenly… be like now you will be punished,” she sets up a straw man. The real worry is more nuanced: powerful committees, armed with vague definitions and operating in politicised environments, can inflict severe non‑criminal penalties on young people without the robust checks that accompany regular courts.
If the goal is genuine equity, the conversation must move beyond slogans about “misinformation” and “backlash” to an honest examination of how these rules will work in the hands of real administrators on real campuses, not in the idealised setting imagined by their drafters.
The same Disha Wadekar was also against EWS reservation. In an older interview, she is heard saying how absurd the need for EWS reservation is. In this clipping circulating on social media, she says, “Women get reservation in local bodies. Patriarchy is a reality; it has not ended, and we don’t know for how many more years it will take to end. So, if we have given 33% reservation to women there, suppose tomorrow the government brings a new law, Parliament brings a new law, which says that men will get reservation – that economically weaker men should get reservation. What will happen then? However absurd that sounds, EWS reservation is just as absurd, because it is based on the same logic. My argument is that this EWS reservation is not economic reservation at all. It is “economic” only in name – what is this supposed economic criterion? If you actually look at the language of it, no one wants to name it, but it is upper‑caste reservation, that much is clear. So, as I was saying, this is the only caste‑based reservation for the upper castes.”
She drafted the 10 specific suggestions to be put in the UGC bill. (Most were accepted by the BJP Gov).
Btw! You can see her arguing here against the EWS.
Look at the contempt in her voice even for our poor brethren!This is nothing but apartheid against GCs in motion. https://t.co/EY1rZCJMbR pic.twitter.com/Ta0OjhMMpp
— Scion of Mewar (@BromActivist) February 4, 2026
Disha Wadekar’s defence of the UGC equity guidelines has only deepened public distrust. By downplaying harsh campus penalties as “only civil,” defending an asymmetric caste definition, and dismissing critics as misinformed, she appears to minimise genuine due-process concerns. Her earlier opposition to EWS reservation further reinforces perceptions of ideological bias rather than neutral regulatory design. The debate, therefore, is no longer about whether discrimination must be addressed, but whether the framework does so fairly.
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