Only gold medalists were invited to stage, while other graduates paid Rs 500 for gowns they had to return. There should have been decentralised ceremonies or multiple sessions to truly honour every graduate’s effort.
Bashash Wani
As the University of Kashmir organised its 21st Convocation on 26 February 2026, with the Vice President of India, C. P. Radhakrishnan, as the Chief Guest, the institution once again left no chance to turn the occasion into a spectacle reflecting the disparity and discrimination it has practised for decades.
The Chief Minister of J&K and Pro-Chancellor of the University, Omar Abdullah, while addressing the ceremony, stated that his government would ensure that recommendation is replaced by qualifications. Ironically, in the presence of these dignitaries, the University administration deemed it below their standards to invite students who passed their examinations with distinction but did not secure the first rank.
Shocking as it may sound, the University facilitates only gold medalists. No other student is permitted to enter the ceremony, let alone be given the honour of standing on the stage.
Across the world, universities celebrate their students on this day, honour their hard work, and confer degrees earned through dedication and perseverance. A convocation is meant to be a shared moment of academic closure and dignity. Here, however, it becomes an exclusive stage where a handful are celebrated while the majority of students, whose effort, resilience, and intellectual labour sustain the institution, are rendered invisible. When degrees are delayed, and recognition is rationed in this fashion, the ceremony risks becoming symbolic compliance rather than meaningful acknowledgement. Meanwhile, this very university remains infamous for delaying degrees, and students are repeatedly seen protesting examination delays and administrative lapses, only for the administration to turn a deaf ear.
In the name of “utilisation of funds”, students are charged five hundred rupees to wear a ceremonial gown that must be returned after the ceremony, while the University conducts this pseudo convocation only once in several years.
The message is unmistakable: education here is not equal for all.
To quote Paulo Freire, the renowned Brazilian educator and philosopher, in Pedagogy of the Oppressed, “The oppressors do not favour promoting the community as a whole, but rather selected leaders.”
Freire’s observation critiques systems of power that preserve hierarchy by elevating a small, visible minority while leaving the majority structurally disempowered. Selective recognition creates an illusion of progress and fairness. By showcasing a few exceptional individuals, institutions claim meritocracy while avoiding deeper reforms that would uplift everyone. The strategy is subtle yet effective. It rewards compliance, discourages collective questioning, and shifts attention away from systemic inequities. Instead of nurturing a community of empowered learners, such systems reproduce dependence and reinforce the idea that dignity and recognition are privileges reserved for the few.
Seen through this lens, the University’s practice of inviting only top rankers reflects more than ceremonial selectivity. It symbolises an institutional preference for visible excellence over collective recognition. In Freirean terms, such practices elevate selected leaders while withholding the sense of belonging and validation that should accompany educational achievement, reinforcing hierarchy instead of affirming the collective worth of the academic community.
The authorities may argue that, because the University oversees numerous affiliated colleges, the number of graduating students far exceeds the seating capacity of the convocation hall, making it logistically impractical to invite everyone. While spatial constraints are a genuine administrative concern, they cannot justify the selective conferral of dignity. Universities facing similar scale challenges conduct multiple convocation sessions or decentralised ceremonies at affiliated colleges to accommodate graduates while addressing capacity limits. When an institution chooses exclusivity over innovation, the limitation appears less architectural and more attitudinal.
A university convocation is not merely a seating arrangement; it is a symbolic affirmation that every graduate’s effort matters. If infrastructure cannot hold the students, the solution is to expand the format, not shrink recognition.
The writer is a lawyer and an alumnus of the University of Kashmir
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