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By:

C.S. Krishnamurthy

21 June 2025 at 7:45:51 pm

A Spade Has No Party

There is something reassuring about a spade. It does not ask who is holding it before doing its job. It digs where it is told to dig. A hole made by a government worker is no different from one made by an opposition worker. The earth, fortunately, has no political affiliation. That simple image offers a useful way of looking at the Cockroach Janata Party, or CJP, a youth-led movement that has emerged around concerns over education, employment and accountability. Its significance may...

A Spade Has No Party

There is something reassuring about a spade. It does not ask who is holding it before doing its job. It digs where it is told to dig. A hole made by a government worker is no different from one made by an opposition worker. The earth, fortunately, has no political affiliation. That simple image offers a useful way of looking at the Cockroach Janata Party, or CJP, a youth-led movement that has emerged around concerns over education, employment and accountability. Its significance may ultimately lie less in whether it becomes a political force and more in what its emergence says about the changing relationship between young citizens and traditional politics. The CJP story reportedly began almost as a joke. But jokes sometimes possess an inconvenient habit of revealing truths that solemn speeches avoid. What began as satire attracted digital attention and developed into youth mobilisation. Beneath the humour lies something more serious: a generation that may not want another political flag, but wants existing flags to pay attention. A New Language Established political parties appear increasingly uncertain about how to speak to Gen Z. The problem may not be a lack of communication, but its direction. Traditional politics has often spent too much time speaking at the young and too little time speaking with them. Gen Z’s concerns are hardly confined to the digital world. Education, employment, security, dignity and accountability remain real-life concerns. Social media may provide the vocabulary, but the grievances are not virtual. Digital platforms have simply provided a meeting ground where concerns that conventional political structures may have failed to accommodate can find expression. This does not automatically make CJP a political party, nor does every participant necessarily subscribe to a common ideology. Its significance may instead lie in its ability to provide a forum for a generation-based articulation of concerns. We use the word “political” rather carelessly. Anything involving public affairs, government or collective decision-making is political in the broadest sense. But political does not necessarily mean partisan. A citizen demanding better examinations, employment opportunities or accountability from a minister is participating in democracy. He need not be preparing an election manifesto. This is where CJP becomes interesting. Its real test is whether it can remain an independent voice without eventually becoming another conventional political formation. Imagine a movement saying: we will criticise the government when it is wrong, the opposition when it is wrong, and ourselves when we are wrong. That would be an unusual political creature. It would also be a useful one. The real test of non-partisanship is not what a movement says about neutrality. It is whether it applies the same yardstick to everyone. If a government mishandles education, question it. If another government does the same, question it again. If a political party demands accountability in opposition but forgets the principle in power, call that out too. A spade should remain a spade even when somebody paints it in party colours. The Cricket Test The temptation to choose sides is understandable. Political discourse increasingly resembles cricket played by spectators who have forgotten that the scoreboard exists. A batsman from our team can edge the ball and we call it bad luck. The same edge by the other team becomes evidence of cheating. The problem is not cricket. It is our loyalty to the shirt. Democracy suffers from the same habit. We become so invested in who said something that we forget to ask whether it is true. An independent political voice must therefore be prepared to disappoint its own supporters. That is easier said than done. Digital technology has made mobilisation remarkably easy. But digital reach is not democratic depth. Followers are not necessarily volunteers, and viral outrage is not sustained civic engagement. The CJP’s challenge, therefore, is to convert attention into participation and measurable accountability. Every movement born outside established politics eventually encounters the gravitational pull of politics. Remaining independent is considerably harder in practice than in principle. CJP’s credibility will depend upon whether it can resist becoming what it criticises. Yet there is another, more interesting measure of success. If, a year from now, political parties begin placing education, employment and youth concerns more prominently at the centre of their agendas because they fear ignoring younger citizens, the CJP may have achieved its purpose without becoming a conventional party. Perhaps that is the deeper relevance of CJP that it may remind political forces that citizens are not permanent spectators in the democratic arena. (The writer is a retired banker and author. He can be reached at krs1957@hotmail.com. Views personal.)

Credentials in Crisis

Karnataka’s fake degree scandal reveals a deeper collapse of scrutiny in public higher education.

How did counterfeit doctoral degrees slip past official scrutiny in a State that prides itself on academic heritage? Who verified the credentials of those appointed to mould young minds? How many deserving scholars were denied opportunity while forged certificates quietly opened doors?  Can an education system endure when suspicion clouds the integrity of its own faculty?


These questions are neither rhetorical nor exaggerated. They cut to the heart of public trust.


The recent mass resignation of nearly 200 guest faculty members across government degree colleges in Karnataka, following a probe into allegedly fake doctoral and MPhil certificates, has shaken confidence in the system. In districts such as Bagalkot, dozens of lecturers across several colleges stand accused of submitting dubious credentials, many purportedly from institutions outside the State. Irregularities in certificate design, inconsistencies in language, and mismatches in subject offerings have raised disturbing doubts. This is not merely a bureaucratic lapse but a moral crisis that ought to alarm us.


Oversight Failure

At its core, the scandal reveals a breakdown in verification processes. Advanced degrees command respect and often entitle holders to enhanced remuneration and academic standing. When financial incentives converge with inadequate scrutiny, malpractice finds fertile ground.


One cannot help but compare this episode with the robust systems followed by premier Indian institutions such as the Indian Institute of Science and Jawaharlal Nehru University. In these universities, credential verification is centralised, digital, and rigorous. Documentation is cross checked through structured processes, and appointments often involve layers of academic peer review.


Globally, universities such as the Oxford University and Harvard University maintain transparent archives, accreditation safeguards, and multi-stage recruitment scrutiny. Referee reports are independently verified, doctoral theses are catalogued in searchable repositories, and institutional reputation rests upon uncompromising standards.


The contrast is painful. If counterfeit certificates circulated across multiple colleges undetected, the lapse is not clerical alone. It signals either grave negligence or possible collusion. Resignations cannot substitute for accountability. A thorough inquiry must determine whether recruitment chains were compromised and whether supervisory authorities failed in their duties.


Ad-hoc Culture

The roots of the problem run deeper than forged paper. Chronic dependence on guest lecturers to fill permanent vacancies has created an ad hoc culture. Temporary appointments, initially conceived as supplementary, have become structural substitutes for sanctioned posts. When academic sessions approach and vacancies remain unfilled, speed often eclipses scrutiny.


This environment weakens institutional discipline. Guest faculty are invaluable when they bring specialised expertise for limited tenures. However, when they become long term stand ins for regular appointments, oversight mechanisms tend to fray. The system begins to prioritise expediency over excellence.


India’s higher education landscape is expanding rapidly. New colleges and universities emerge each year, promising access and aspiration. Yet quality assurance has not kept pace. Regulatory frameworks exist, but enforcement varies widely. When doctoral degrees, the apex of scholarly achievement, can allegedly be commodified, the credibility of the entire ecosystem suffers.


Students are the silent victims. Families invest hope, time and scarce resources in higher education, trusting that those who teach possess authentic scholarship and hard-won credentials. When that trust is betrayed, the injury does not stop at a compromised classroom or a sullied appointment letter. It corrodes faith in meritocracy itself, signalling that deception can trump diligence and that appearance matters more than intellectual labour. For first-generation learners in particular, such revelations deepen cynicism about institutions that were meant to be ladders of social mobility, not mirrors of the very inequities they promised to transcend.


Anguish, however justified, must give way to constructive reform. Moral outrage alone cannot repair a system whose vulnerabilities are now plain.


Transparency must become non-negotiable. Universities and higher-education departments should maintain publicly accessible digital registries of verified doctoral and MPhil degree holders, updated in real time and open to scrutiny. Integration with national academic repositories would allow instant cross-checking across institutions and states. Credentials should be verifiable facts, not matters of faith.


Second, recruitment and promotion processes must insist on independent verification before appointment or advancement. No increment, seniority benefit or academic allowance linked to advanced qualifications should be released without authentication received directly from the awarding institution through secure channels. The burden of proof must rest not on whistle-blowers or rival candidates, but on the system itself.


Beyond these immediate fixes lies a larger imperative of restoring respect for intellectual labour. Degrees are not ornamental titles; they represent years of disciplined inquiry, failed experiments, revisions and doubt. Safeguarding their integrity is not bureaucratic fastidiousness but an ethical duty to students who still believe that effort matters. If universities cannot guarantee the honesty of those who teach, they risk teaching a far more damaging lesson than any flawed syllabus ever could.


Independent periodic audits of faculty credentials should become standard practice. External subject experts on recruitment panels can minimise localised influence and reinforce credibility.


Finally, there must be a moral reckoning. Universities are custodians of civilisation’s accumulated wisdom. They shape civic character and intellectual honesty. When academic credentials are treated as commodities, society risks normalising deception.


Karnataka, home to vibrant research hubs and technological innovation, cannot afford reputational erosion in its academic institutions. Nor can India, which aspires to global leadership in knowledge and innovation, tolerate decay within its educational foundations.


Degrees represent years of disciplined inquiry and original thought. If they are reduced to instruments of convenience, the loss is collective. Restoring integrity will require courage, transparency, and sustained reform. Only then can higher education reclaim its moral authority and renew public trust.

 

(The writer is a retired banker and author of ‘Money Does Matter.’ He can be reached at  krs1957@hotmail.com. Views personal.)

 


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