How Indian Universities Are Clamping Down Free Speech On Their Campuses

There was a time when university campuses were vibrant nurseries of debate, dissent, and discovery. Students huddled in lecture halls, under trees, and along dusty corridors, questioning the world, challenging authority, and forging ideas that often seemed too radical for polite society. That was the essence of education: to teach not just facts, but the courage to ask why. 

Today, however, that essence is under siege. Across many universities, the right to dissent, protest, or critique the status quo is increasingly curtailed. Policies, surveillance, and punitive measures quietly or sometimes openly choke the space where curiosity should thrive.

The paradox is stark. Universities are designed to produce thinkers, innovators, and leaders. Yet, by discouraging dissent, they risk producing obedient test-takers rather than critical minds. Students are told to conform, to toe the line, to refrain from rocking the proverbial boat. The message is clear: question at your peril. The result is not just a stifled classroom but a stifled society. When the next generation of citizens is trained to accept without challenge, democracy itself loses its pulse.

This trend also speaks to a broader cultural unease with discomfort. Dissent is uncomfortable, it forces institutions and individuals to examine their assumptions, to face inconvenient truths. But discomfort is the heartbeat of learning. Education without questioning is memorisation; it is a gilded cage masquerading as a hall of enlightenment.

Reviving the culture of dissent requires courage, from administrators, faculty, and students alike. It demands the recognition that disagreement is not disruption, but dialogue; that protest is not disorder, but engagement; that the true purpose of education is not to create compliant graduates, but thoughtful citizens. 

In Out of Syllabus, Outlook’s November 1 issue, we explored how the spirit of questioning, debate, and dissent, the lifeblood of true education, is being stifled in universities across the country, where conformity is prized over curiosity, protests are curtailed, and critical thinking is replaced by rote learning, raising urgent questions about the future of student agency, intellectual freedom, and democratic engagement.

N. Sukumar provocatively asks that why are young citizens entrusted with the power to vote at 18, yet barred from engaging in politics within university campuses? This paradox exposes a troubling disconnect between civic responsibility and intellectual freedom, highlighting how educational spaces suppress debate, stifle dissent, and undermine the very principles that nurture informed, active citizens.

Amid the wave of Gen Z uprisings across the globe, Ravi Ranjan turns his lens to Bihar, examining the state’s political landscape to underscore the crucial influence and transformative potential of young voters in shaping the outcome of the upcoming assembly elections, and the future of democratic participation in India. Anand Teltumbde’s words on Stan Swamy’s death cut deep, equal parts emotional and incisive. He explains how Swamy’s passing was not the inevitable toll of age, but the tragic consequence of systemic neglect: a judiciary and prison system that routinely withholds timely medical care, denies external treatment, and exposes the shocking inadequacy of prison hospitals. Teltumbde also highlights that the Ladakhis are not asking for radical change, but seek statehood and the protections of the Sixth Schedule enshrined in the Indian Constitution, measures designed to safeguard their cultural identity, political autonomy, and rights over land and resources within a democratic framework.

Vineetha Mokkil engaged in an insightful conversation with legendary Manganiyar maestro Barkat Khan, tracing the rich tapestry of his musical journey, his heritage, inspirations, and the enduring legacy of Rajasthan’s folk traditions.

Debanjan Dhar reviews Kiran Desai’s latest novel, The Loneliness of Sonia and Sunny, noting how it cleverly navigates the collision of India and the wider world, using a postponed romance as a lens to explore cultural dislocation, longing, and the complexities of modern life.

Kabir Deb examines Teltumbde’s The Cell and the Soul, revealing how the book offers profound insights into the prison system, the authorities who govern it, and the ways in which these institutions exacerbate the breakdown and delays within judicial processes.