Bulldozing Dreams: When Politics Targets a University

"Bulldozing a university isn't governance — it's an act of political vandalism that crushes the futures of thousands of young Indians."This article by Jameel Aahmed Milansaar is written at a moment when the Rampur Development Authority has ordered the demolition of 38 buildings at Mohammad Ali Jauhar University, a functioning institution serving over 3,000 students since 2006. What should have been a story about enforcing building norms has instead exposed something uglier: the use of state power to settle political scores, regardless of the human cost. 

Imagine this: a university that has been running for two decades, serving thousands of young people in a region that desperately needs more educational opportunities, suddenly faces the threat of the bulldozer. Not because of some catastrophic failure or scandal involving its teaching, but over paperwork—alleged unauthorised construction on its campus. Welcome to the latest chapter in Uttar Pradesh’s selective enforcement saga, where Mohammad Ali Jauhar University in Rampur finds itself in the crosshairs.

Established in 2006 by the Mohammad Ali Jauhar Trust and granted university status in 2012, this institution has grown into a functioning centre of learning with over three thousand students pursuing everything from engineering and law to humanities and Islamic studies. It carries the name of a legendary freedom fighter and journalist, symbolising a certain vision of empowerment through education, particularly for communities that have historically lagged behind. Yet today, the Rampur Development Authority has ordered the demolition of 38 out of 40 buildings on campus, claiming they were built without proper approvals. Only the medical college and one academic block apparently have their papers in order.

Samajwadi Party MP Dimple Yadav did not mince words. “There is a BJP government in power, it is a bulldozer government,” she said. “It is bulldozing the future of students. It can move a bulldozer on anyone. But when there has been such massive theft at Ram Temple, their bulldozer got tired there. The question is, why did the bulldozer get tired here?” Her words are sharp, even rhetorical, but they cut to the heart of a widespread perception: this is less about urban planning regulations and more about political vendetta against Azam Khan, the jailed SP leader whose brainchild the university is.

Pause for a moment and consider what bulldozing a university actually means. Classrooms, libraries, hostels, laboratories—structures that have hosted lectures, exams, debates, and dreams for years—reduced to rubble. The future of three thousand students and countless more who hoped to join them, tossed aside. Faculty who have built careers there, staff who depend on it for livelihood, an entire ecosystem of education in a relatively backward pocket of western Uttar Pradesh, dismantled. This is not knocking down an illegal farmhouse or a commercial complex slapped up overnight. This is an institution that has been operational, recognised by the UGC, and serving a public purpose.

The government and its defenders will, of course, argue the law is the law. Constructions violated the UP Urban Planning and Development Act. Notices were served, hearings given, replies rejected. Jurisdiction disputes—whether the land fell under the development authority at the time of building—were dismissed. Fair enough on paper. But governance is not merely about wielding rules like blunt instruments. It demands proportionality, especially when the collateral damage is mass educational disruption.

One cannot help but notice the contrast that Dimple Yadav highlighted. While the bulldozers rev up for Jauhar University, the response to the unfolding scandal at the Ram Temple in Ayodhya—where allegations of theft and embezzlement of devotee donations have led to arrests, resignations, and demands for CBI probes—has been markedly more measured. CCTV footage, recovered cash, internal trust controversies: the story has all the ingredients of a major breach of public trust, yet the machinery of swift demolition seems curiously fatigued there.

This selective enthusiasm for the bulldozer has become a signature of the current dispensation in Uttar Pradesh. It rolls out against political opponents, Muslim institutions, or inconvenient encroachments with fanfare. Against its own ideological ecosystem, the pace is gentler, the inquiries more deliberative. The message, intended or not, is chilling: certain names and certain communities invite exceptional scrutiny and exceptional punishment.

Critics from the ruling side will call this victimhood politics. Azam Khan, they point out, is no stranger to controversy—land issues, legal cases, the works. Why should his university get a free pass? But that misses the larger point. Even if Khan’s methods were aggressive or rules were bent during expansion, the remedy cannot be collective academic punishment. If buildings are illegal, the state has options short of annihilation. It could take over the institution, regularise viable structures where possible, bring it under government oversight, rename it if symbolism demands, and ensure continuity of education. Convert a private venture into a public asset. That would demonstrate genuine concern for students over score-settling.

Instead, the approach reeks of vindictiveness. The “illiterate BJP-Sanghi brigade,” as some opponents colourfully put it, stands accused of caring little for education when it doesn’t align with their political or cultural project. Uttar Pradesh has made strides in infrastructure and law and order under the current regime, but its record on broadening access to quality higher education, especially in minority-concentrated or rural areas, remains patchy. Demolishing functional institutions hardly helps bridge that gap.

Young people in Rampur and surrounding districts are not abstract statistics. Many come from modest backgrounds. For them, Jauhar University represented a local ladder of mobility—cheaper than distant metros, culturally familiar, practically accessible. Shuttering it midstream sends a devastating signal: your aspirations are collateral in our political battles.

The deeper tragedy lies in the normalisation of this spectacle. Bulldozers as political theatre have replaced patient institution-building. We have seen it with homes, shops, protest sites. Now universities. What next—schools? The message to administrators and founders, particularly those from opposition camps or minority communities, is clear: build at your peril; we can always find a technical violation later.

There is still time for course correction. The authorities should reconsider the blanket demolition. Engage experts to assess structural safety, academic continuity, and feasible regularisation. Prioritise students’ ongoing semesters and examinations. If takeover is viable, pursue it transparently rather than destruction. Education cannot be another battlefield in India’s polarised politics.

Bulldozing a university is not development. It is erasure—erasure of effort, of opportunity, of the quiet hope that higher learning can lift communities. In a country racing to become a knowledge economy, we cannot afford to treat functioning campuses as disposable. The future of thousands of young minds hangs in the balance. Surely, even the most hardened political warrior can recognise that some things are too precious to flatten.