As the new academic year begins, a fresh concern looms over students and parents, one that cannot be dismissed lightly. The Union Government has introduced the APAAR ID (Automated Permanent Academic Account Registry) and the Academic Bank of Credits (ABC), insisting that these initiatives are voluntary. In practice, states have strongly pushed schools and colleges to implement the system, creating indirect pressure on students to register.
The government has positioned APAAR as an initiative to streamline academic records, integrating them into the ABC. Yet, beneath this façade of efficiency lies an inescapable prerequisite: Aadhaar linkage. This is not an incidental requirement; it is a structural compulsion. Without Aadhaar, a student cannot obtain an APAAR ID, effectively forcing them into the Aadhaar ecosystem despite the Supreme Court’s ruling that Aadhaar cannot be made mandatory for education.
The introduction of the APAAR ID raises troubling questions. Marketed as a seamless, one-nation-one-student ID, APAAR is anything but voluntary. Its implementation not only contradicts the K S Puttaswamy v Union of India (2017) judgment on privacy but also exposes a deeper pattern of government overreach, where digital identity schemes are repeatedly repackaged to circumvent legal limitations. The concerns surrounding APAAR extend beyond data collection. They strike at the core of constitutional principles — privacy, consent, and the fundamental right to education. At its heart, APAAR is a policy that achieves by indirect means what the state cannot do directly. This is a textbook case of a colourable exercise of power, where the state, under the guise of administrative efficiency, implements policies that violate established legal constraints.
This raises serious questions about the nature of consent in digital identity programmes. The Supreme Court, in its Puttaswamy judgment, laid down the principles of informational self-determination, stating that any use of personal data must be based on free, informed, and unambiguous consent. But what does consent mean in a system where the denial of an APAAR ID could impact a student’s academic future? The government’s claim that APAAR is “voluntary” is misleading — coercion disguised as choice is not consent.
The Supreme Court, in Puttaswamy, reaffirmed that privacy is a fundamental right under the Indian Constitution. The ruling emphasised that the collection and processing of personal data must be backed by law, serve a legitimate aim, and adhere to the principles of necessity and proportionality. APAAR ID fails on all counts. To achieve the principles that were laid down in Puttaswamy, there has to be a well-drafted statute with the focal point being protection of the right to privacy, not to venture into every aspect of it. While the government has introduced the Digital Personal Data Protection Act, 2023 (DPDP Act), APAAR’s implementation does not ensure strong privacy protections. Who owns the data? How long is it retained? Can students opt out? These critical questions remain unanswered. Without explicit guarantees, APAAR risks becoming another mass surveillance tool rather than a student welfare initiative.
APAAR’s implementation does not meet the necessity test laid out in Puttaswamy. What is the pressing state interest in centralising student records through a system that necessitates Aadhaar? The government has yet to convincingly establish why existing university and school records cannot serve the same function.
India is not alone in grappling with the implications of digital identity programmes. Countries worldwide have attempted to implement digital ID systems, but the most successful models have emphasised consent, transparency, and strong privacy safeguards. In 2021, Kenya’s High Court struck down the country’s Huduma Namba digital ID programme because it lacked an adequate legal framework for data protection. Similarly, in the United Kingdom, the government scrapped its ID card system due to concerns about privacy and excessive state control over personal data. These examples highlight a crucial principle: Digital ID schemes must be voluntary, lawful, and proportionate. APAAR, in its current form, meets none of these criteria.
APAAR sets a dangerous precedent for how the state interacts with digital identities. It normalises the practice of conditioning fundamental rights and state services on mandatory digital identity schemes. Today, students are being subtly coerced into the Aadhaar system through APAAR. Tomorrow, similar mechanisms could be introduced for employment, healthcare, and social security, creating a system where access to essential services depends on compliance with state-mandated identity programmes. This is a slow but systematic erosion of personal autonomy.
The policy also has serious implications for marginalised communities. Students from rural areas, those without stable digital access, and individuals who have faced Aadhaar registration difficulties will be structurally disadvantaged in education. A system that claims to enhance inclusivity may instead exclude those who cannot comply with its rigid mandates. If the government wishes to introduce a national academic registry, it must first ensure that the system operates independently of Aadhaar, with explicit legal safeguards, clear data protection measures, and truly voluntary participation. Until then, APAAR remains a classic case of governmental overreach — an attempt to resurrect Aadhaar’s ubiquity under a different name.
The Supreme Court, having already ruled against the compulsory use of Aadhaar in education, must now address this backdoor manoeuvring. Right to privacy in India stands at a crossroads as it can either reaffirm its commitment or continue down a path where state surveillance is disguised as convenience. The fate of APAAR will determine whether digital governance is guided by constitutional values or administrative expediency.
The writer is a legal researcher specializing in Constitutional Law, based in Delhi