Reform or takeover? Centre’s radical PU overhaul sparks political, legal war

The Centre’s dissolution and reconstitution of the 59-year-old Senate and Syndicate of Panjab University (PU) has ignited a fierce national debate — one that cuts across law, politics and academia.

While the Centre calls it a structural reform to modernise governance and restore academic focus, the Opposition calls it an “illegal, dictatorial assault” on Punjab’s pride and autonomy. In the heart of this confrontation lies the future of an institution that, since its inception in Lahore in 1882, has symbolised academic independence and the intellectual soul of North India.

The Ministry of Education’s notification, issued under Section 72 of the Punjab Reorganisation Act, 1966, and signed by Joint Secretary Rina Sonowal Kouli, formally restructures PU’s top decision-making bodies. The Senate’s strength has been cut from 90 to 31 — 18 elected, six nominated and seven ex-officio — and the Graduate constituency has been scrapped altogether. The Syndicate, too, has been recast into a compact, largely nominated body headed by the Vice Chancellor and dominated by bureaucrats and government representatives. Chandigarh’s MP, Chief Secretary and Education Secretary now hold ex-officio seats for the first time, signifying an unmistakable assertion of Central and UT authority.

For the Centre, this is not a power grab but a course correction. A document explaining the decision, reviewed by The Tribune, argues that “the reforms in the Panjab University Senate and Syndicate were long due” and that there had been “continuous, consistent and persistent demands for structural reforms”. It asserts that the Senate’s working had “turned totally political and elections oriented”, with personal interests overtaking academic priorities. According to the statement, the changes are “in consonance with the recommendation of the high power committee” constituted by then Vice President and PU Chancellor M Venkaiah Naidu, which included representatives from the Punjab Government, UT Administration and the University. The decision, the document claims, will “restore the academic character of the university, encourage the academic community of a few disgruntled elements”.

That defence resonates with a section of the academic community that had long grown weary of the Senate’s factional politics. Elections to the body had turned into political contests, with slates backed by parties, teachers’ associations and ideological blocs vying for control. Successive VCs privately admitted that serious academic reform was often hostage to coalition-building and electoral appeasement. Viewed through that lens, the Centre’s intervention appears pragmatic, even overdue. A smaller, nominated, professionally oriented body could mean quicker decisions, better alignment with the National Education Policy, and insulation from parochial rivalries.

Yet, the backlash has been swift and unanimous across Punjab’s political landscape. The Congress, Aam Aadmi Party, Shiromani Akali Dal and the SGPC have all denounced the move as unconstitutional and politically motivated.

Congress MP from Chandigarh Manish Tewari termed it “patently illegal and a legal travesty”, arguing that only the Punjab Vidhan Sabha has the authority to amend the Panjab University Act, 1947. His contention hinges on the Act’s origin as an East Punjab statute — meaning, he argues, that the Centre cannot alter it through executive order under the Reorganisation Act. “What has to be done directly cannot and should not be done indirectly,” he said, suggesting that the move violates both federal principles and legislative sanctity.

Punjab Education Minister Harjot Singh Bains called the decision a “brazen attack on Punjab’s pride, democracy and intellect.” He described it as “political vandalism” aimed at silencing Punjab’s voice in an institution historically tied to its identity. Finance Minister Harpal Singh Cheema echoed the sentiment, labelling it “dictatorial centralisation” and “an attempt to destroy the democratically elected Senate.” Former Union Minister Pawan Kumar Bansal warned that the decision marked “a blow to democratic education” and a step toward “ideological control over universities.” Even moderate voices like Vidhan Sabha Speaker Kultar Singh Sandhwan cautioned that the move would “demolish the federal structure of this country.”

Their outrage is not entirely misplaced. PU’s hybrid identity — partly Central, partly State — has long been constitutionally complex. Though funded by the Centre and located in the Union Territory of Chandigarh, its governing law remains a Punjab-origin statute. That anomaly has often made it a tug-of-war between New Delhi and Chandigarh on one side and the Punjab Government on the other. Critics argue that instead of resolving this duality through consensus, the Centre has chosen a unilateral route, setting a precedent that could invite judicial scrutiny. The Punjab Government is reportedly preparing to challenge the notification in court, potentially turning PU into a test case for Centre-State academic relations.

Yet, beyond legal semantics lies a deeper question: has the Senate outlived its relevance? Over the decades, the body’s electoral structure — with thousands of graduate voters and hundreds of faculty representatives — had become unwieldy and susceptible to manipulation. Teachers and alumni often spent more time contesting elections than contributing to pedagogy or research. Academic issues routinely took a backseat to coalition-building, with Senate sessions devolving into political theatre. To that extent, the Centre’s claim that reforms were “long due” is difficult to dismiss. As the government’s statement notes, the move seeks to replace “group and sub-group” politics with academic focus -- a transition many universities globally have made in the name of efficiency.

The legal question, however, remains the fault line. If the 1947 Act is indeed a State law, only the Punjab Assembly — or Parliament through a proper amendment — can alter its provisions. The Centre’s use of executive notification under Section 72, which empowers it to make transitional or supplemental arrangements after reorganisation, could be viewed as overreach if it amounts to substantive legislative amendment. The Supreme Court, in past federal disputes, has maintained a fine distinction between administrative and legislative powers — and the Centre’s defence may hinge on that interpretation.

From a functional standpoint, the new system could streamline decision-making, end chronic election delays and ensure that academic issues are decided by professionals rather than political representatives. But critics fear the pendulum may now swing too far toward bureaucratic control. The inclusion of MPs and senior bureaucrats may ensure accountability, but it could also inject another layer of political influence — this time from the top.

Without transparent appointment norms, a “nominated” regime risks replacing one form of politicisation with another.

In essence, the battle over Panjab University is not merely about governance mechanics; it is about the soul of public education in a democracy. Should universities be governed by elected bodies that reflect their stakeholders’ voices, or by nominated experts insulated from populist politics? The answer, as always, lies somewhere in between.

The Centre’s move, even if motivated by genuine reform intent, has been executed with little consultation and poor political timing. Its opponents, while right to question procedure and legality, must also confront the uncomfortable truth that the university’s democratic structures had become dysfunctional.

Panjab University thus finds itself at a crossroads — between the need for reform and the right to representation. If the government can combine merit-based governance with transparency and institutional independence, this upheaval could yet mark a new chapter of academic rejuvenation. If not, it will stand remembered as a moment when a university that once survived Partition fell victim to politics of another kind — the politics of control in the name of reform.