Gang leader and Allahabad University Students’ Union president Gaurishankar Pandey confronts his henchmen after a shootout with rival Ranvijay Singh. “Were you participating in a shooting competition?” he fires off sarcastically as he slaps the bleeding man around. “Didn’t I forbid you from shooting?” As the crony sobs out an apology, the enraged Pandey charges on, “When the government asks questions, what will I say to justify this?” Eventually, soothed by a stream of apologies, Pandey reassures his men, “Of course, we will shoot Singh. Just at another place, another time.”
This was a scene from the 2003 Tigmanshu Dhulia-directed Haasil that fairly portrayed the murky world of student politics at Allahabad University (AU), where Dhulia was a student, and where muscle and money power dominate and it is not unusual for students to carry weapons on campus. A lot has changed at AU since Dhulia’s days as a student. But a lot remains the same.
The most obvious change: A woman has been elected president of the students’ union for the first time in the university’s 128-year-long history. This change is a reflection and manifestation of the underlying churning in student politics.
Before explaining the changing scenario further, I feel it is necessary to first elaborate briefly on my personal journey. Coming from a middle-class family, the decision to contest the election was in itself fraught with anxiety. I was dissuaded by family and friends. As the election drew closer, numerous student organisations from both the left and the right approached me to contest on their tickets. This left me surprised — and somewhat flattered. But when I refused, I started receiving threats to withdraw my nomination as an independent candidate — a sign of things to come. Paying no heed to them, I focused on planning my election campaign, tackling head-on things that had become acceptable: The dominance of muscle and money power. I connected with students through hand-written posters and parchas, in contrast to the impersonal, mass-printed material of my competitors that reeked of enormous funding. Gender became my election plank. I also focused on the lack of hostels, toilets, drinking water, library facilities and transportation.
When I first set out, I wondered whether a rational, independent voice stood a chance. But as my campaign gained momentum, the response surprised me. Residents of the women’s hostel, friendly acquaintances, my family (which overcame its reservations), and a dedicated team of male students came out in my support. It is because of these individuals who believed in reclaiming the university space that history was made last September.
But transformations taking place on campus also had a role to play. First, several students are embracing an alternative model of politics, defying muscle and money power. Second, students are ready to move beyond parties, and vote for independents. Third, women have become an assertive constituency that no serious candidate can ignore. Fourth, opportunities have opened up for women in student politics and they are refusing to accept traditionally defined roles. Lastly, a section of male students has become increasingly sensitive towards gender issues.
Nevertheless, amidst the euphoria of winning the presidency, I became aware of the challenges a woman representative faces: A deep-rooted misogynistic attitude, for starters. Just a couple of days after my victory, a group of male students gathered near the women’s hostel and indulged in catcalling. Their message was simple: They will still try to dominate with their bullying, even if the students’ union is headed by a woman.
Two months after the election, the other four office-bearers, who are from the ABVP, invited controversial BJP MP Yogi Adityanath to inaugurate our union, without taking me — the president — on board. The message was clear: They couldn’t be bothered with consulting a woman, leave alone taking her consent. When female supporters joined me in a peaceful hunger strike in protest, the ABVP office-bearers and others physically attacked us. But Adityanath couldn’t enter the campus.
Since then, I have been at the receiving end of a series of attacks by the ABVP and the university administration. I have been served five notices in five months, each more bizarre than the last — from asking why the university shouldn’t act against me for reporting a crime against women to the police, to reviewing my election, to threats of expulsion on flimsy grounds. The vice chancellor also forwarded a letter to me enquiring about when I leave and return to my hostel room — a form of character assassination that outspoken women routinely face today. I have written five letters of complaint to the ministry of human resource development but there has been no response.
As I was grappling with these issues, I came to hear about Rohith Vemula’s experiences. He was suspended and evicted from his hostel with no scholarship, on the mere complaint of the ABVP and those backing it at the Centre. I could instantly identify with him.
These past six months have shown me the kind of challenges that lie ahead for student politics in our country. First, patriarchy is deeply rooted in society and public universities, with many refusing to accept a woman in leadership roles. Second, the university administration enjoys too much power over students, which it abuses when students disagree with it. Third, the autonomy of academic institutions is under severe threat. Ministers in the Central government are using the ABVP and the university administration to harass those who have ideological differences with them. Fourth, dissenting voices are under threat and tolerance is on the decline. And finally, the ABVP, with its record of violence and intimidation, is flourishing under the patronage of the Central government.
It’s the same story everywhere. Be it IIT Madras, FTII Pune, Hyderabad Central University, JNU or IIT-BHU. Other institutions of higher education under the Central government will be headed for the same downward spiral unless students unite in this fight.
