Island Students Force Policy Pause
By Manu Shrivastava
At the centre of the unease stood a proposal that promised to redraw the educational map of the islands: the creation of the Netaji Subhas Chandra Bose Institute of Higher Learning. The plan envisaged transitioning six leading institutions, including JNRM, Andaman Law College and ANIIMS, away from their long-standing affiliation with Pondicherry University and into the fold of a newly-constituted local deemed-to-be university. To policymakers, it was a stride towards autonomy and academic consolidation. To students, it appeared as a leap into uncertainty without a visible safety harness.
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| Image for representational purpose only |
Their anxieties were neither abstract nor ideological. They were grounded in lived realities. There was the recognition dilemma, the fear that degrees issued by a fledgling deemed university might not command the same national or international credibility as those conferred by Pondicherry University. There was the financial apprehension, the spectre of fee escalations that could quietly but decisively edge out the islands’ middle-class families. There was also the transition conundrum, the practical question of how ongoing courses, examinations and academic schedules would be insulated from bureaucratic turbulence. As one student representative observed during the sit-in at Sri Vijaya Puram, the opposition was not to progress itself, but to the prospect of becoming subjects in an experiment conducted without adequate safeguards.
As murmurs of a full-scale Andaman Bandh on February 16 gathered momentum under the banner of the Joint Action Forum, the Union Territory administration, steered by the Lieutenant Governor’s office, recalibrated its approach. Reassurances gave way to concrete commitments. In a display of responsive governance, the administration effectively paused the pace of transformation to address the tremors of distrust.
It was clarified that examinations for the 2025-26 academic year would continue under the aegis of Pondicherry University and that current batches would receive their degrees from the established institution. A written assurance was extended that there would be no hike in fees, and existing stipends would continue without interruption. These were not merely administrative adjustments; they were signals that continuity would not be sacrificed at the altar of reform.
The episode stands as a telling reminder that structural change, however visionary on policy paper, must be tempered by dialogue on the ground it seeks to alter. Educational reform cannot be parachuted into place without first earning the confidence of those it most directly affects. By choosing to maintain the status quo for the current academic year, the administration has offered not just respite but a bridge between ambition and assurance. It recognises that the aspirations of a territory cannot be scaffolded upon the anxieties of its youth.
For now, the placards have been lowered and classrooms reclaimed. The immediate storm over the Bay of Bengal has subsided. The students, though, remain watchful, attentive to the fine print of promises made. What lingers after the agitation is not merely relief, but a reaffirmation that reasoned, collective voices still possess the power to recalibrate policy, and that in the delicate interplay between aspiration and administration, dialogue remains the most durable instrument of balance.
The shift toward a Deemed University status in the Andaman and Nicobar Islands is a classic double-edged sword that cuts through the very heart of the archipelago’s academic future. On one hand, the birth of the Netaji Subhas Chandra Bose Institute of Higher Learning promises a liberating autonomy. For decades, the islands’ premier colleges have been tethered to the mainland via Pondicherry University, a geographical and administrative stretch that often resulted in delayed results and a curriculum that felt a world away from the unique socio-economic realities of the Bay of Bengal. By becoming a deemed entity, the islands gain the power to craft courses specifically tailored to their environment - think marine biology, sustainable island tourism, and blue-economy logistics - offering the youth a chance to become experts in their own backyard rather than just another cog in a generic mainland machine.
However, the flip side is a narrative of profound unease. For a student in a remote territory, the "Pondicherry University" tag is not just a brand; it is a shield of credibility. It ensures that a degree earned in a quiet corner of Sri Vijaya Puram carries the same weight in a global job market as one earned in a major Indian metro. The move to a nascent deemed university naturally triggers fears of "degree dilution" and the loss of that hard-won institutional reputation. There is also the very real anxiety regarding the financial burden; while the administration has currently frozen fee hikes, the long-term fiscal reality of an autonomous body often leads to a "pay-for-quality" model that could eventually alienate the very local students it was meant to empower.
Ultimately, the success of this transition hinges on whether the administration views "autonomy" as a tool for innovation or merely a way to decentralise responsibility. If the new institute can leverage its freedom to attract world-class faculty and secure high NAAC and NIRF rankings quickly, it could turn the islands into an educational hub for the entire region. But if the transition is rushed without transparent student participation or a robust financial safety net, it risks creating an academic silo - isolated not just by geography, but by a lack of competitive relevance. The students have made it clear: they are willing to embrace a new identity, provided it doesn't come at the cost of their future security.
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