In a season when public discourse is increasingly hostage to outrage, Delhi University’s Vice-Chancellor, Prof. Yogesh Singh, has dared to speak an inconvenient truth. His remarks at Vigyan Bhawan on the menace of “urban Naxalism” have provoked predictable fury from the self-appointed custodians of academic virtue. Yet behind the clatter of condemnation lies a reality too long ignored: the infiltration of extremist romanticism and ideological subversion into our institutions of higher learning. The outrage, one suspects, is less about what he said and more about the fact that he said it aloud. For decades, Indian academia has prided itself on being a citadel of free thought. But freedom, as history teaches us, decays when it ceases to distinguish between dissent and destruction.
The phrase urban Naxal did not originate in party propaganda. It was first used by security agencies to describe a demonstrable network of sympathisers, fund-raisers, and ideologues who sustain the Maoist insurgency from India’s cities. Court proceedings in cases from Bhima-Koregaon to Gadchiroli have chronicled how a romantic cult of revolution found urban articulation in the rhetoric of rights. The Vice-Chancellor’s remark, then, was not an invention of paranoia; it was a reflection of documented reality. To acknowledge that infiltration exists is not to criminalise dissent but to prevent its capture by extremism.
The Vice-Chancellor’s primary contention that Naxalism no longer lurks solely in forests but also in faculty lounges is not an invention of the present government. It echoes a pattern observed since the 1980s, when Maoist sympathisers began shifting their operations from remote districts to urban networks of lawyers, activists, and professors who provided ideological cover and logistical oxygen to a violent movement. To point this out is not to malign academia; it is to protect it from being misused. Predictably, a chorus of student organisations and civil-rights collectives has denounced Prof. Singh as authoritarian, patriarchal with no evidence. The same voices that celebrate fearless speech in theory now shrink from it in practice. Their fury betrays the fragility of a narrative that cannot withstand scrutiny.
If the Vice-Chancellor’s words were baseless, they could be rebutted with evidence. Instead, his detractors resort to indignation, a reliable refuge for those short on facts. Consider the groups he mentioned, such as Pinjra Tod. Once hailed for challenging hostel curfews, the movement soon degenerated into a political theatre, issuing manifestos on every conceivable issue except academic reform. Its leadership aligned openly with radical collectives that glorified convicted insurgents as “revolutionary martyrs.” When a university head cautions against such ideological contagion, he is fulfilling his duty, not committing blasphemy.
To understand how real his prophetic verdict was, there is an imperativity to look again at what the so-called “urban Naxal” phenomenon really is. From the 2018 Bhima-Koregaon case to the 2023 Hyderabad module, official investigations have shown how urban operatives serve as intellectual nodes for Maoist insurgency by sending money, propaganda, and new recruits. Some of these people have worked in academia or for NGOs. Prof. Singh wanted to show how extremism is becoming more common in urban areas.
The term “urban Naxal” is not just a rhetorical flourish; it is a real category that security agencies and court cases have used. The university, as a public institution, cannot afford to be ideologically neutral when ideology leads to sedition. It is acceptable to teach dissent; however, it is unacceptable to teach contempt for the republic. When a professor praises violent revolution or brings in speakers who support armed rebellion, it becomes hard to tell the difference between teaching and inciting violence. Prof. Singh’s comments do not stop the debate; instead, they try to bring back that moral line.
When academic freedom is linked to civic duty and intellectual honesty, it can grow. Naxalism has killed thousands of people, including teachers, health workers, tribal children, and police officers who were only doing their jobs. It is wrong to talk about such a movement in terms of heroism. Prof. Singh’s warning that professors who “pollute minds” are morally responsible reminds us that academic work that is not compassionate is cruel in disguise. His critics use the scary term “McCarthyism” to say that the government is going after people who think differently. But this comparison falls apart when you look at it closely. McCarthyism was a witch hunt for fake communists.
Urban Naxalism is a real thing that has killed thousands of people across the states. To confuse vigilant oversight with persecution is to make both scholarship and suffering seem unimportant. Also, Delhi University is still full of people with different opinions, from Marxists to libertarians to unapologetic conservatives. Teaching Marx doesn’t get you in trouble; only those who help with violence do. Some people in academia have started to think that being politically biassed is the same as being morally brave. They preach about “critical thinking,” but they don’t like it when the criticism comes back to them. They praise dissent when it goes after the state, but they don’t like it when it questions their own beliefs. In this reversal of values, Prof. Singh’s speech was a way to take back what was lost. It was a reminder that universities are not places where grievance politics pretending to be scholarship can grow.
Delhi University, one of the esteemed in the nation, has been politicised several times. Rarely has the institution’s leader made a systemic diagnosis so clear. Respect his bravery, not mock it. India’s democracy is strong because it accepts different views. Tolerance does not preclude judgement. Liberties of expression are protected by the Constitution, not violent insurrection. When activists or scholars romanticise the Maoist insurgency as a “people’s movement,” they undermine democracy that lets them talk freely. This is patriotism for a reason, not intolerance. Prof. Singh’s position has morality.
Naxal violence affects school teachers, tribal villagers, policemen, and development personnel. Romanticising their killers as intellectual arguments is immoral. If the Vice-Chancellor says colleges should foster empathy for victims rather than veneration for killers, he supports humanity, not dictatorship. For too long, Indian academia has valued contrarian chic: reflexive state denigration, victimhood fetishism, moral exhibitionism that passes off cynicism as wisdom. This mentality fosters “performative radicalism”—rant without consequence, according to sociologists. Prof. Singh bursts this bubble. He reminds the intellectual class that only responsible critique and peaceful protest are noble. To defend his statements is to advocate accountability, not suppression. The university should be for debate, not agitprop. Leaders must preserve pluralism and vulnerable minds against nihilism masquerading as revolution.
A Vice-Chancellor who acknowledges this obligation should be congratulated for foresight, not criticised for candour. India wants what kind of university? Does it encourage contrarianism for its own sake or use it for constructive reform? Prof. Singh clearly states that universities should be beacons of reason, not revolt. This is an argument against cynicism, the false glitter of negation without alternative, not critique. His critics, hooked to protest, mistake constant antagonism for intellectual sincerity. Scholarship is judged by how honestly it searches, not how loudly it yells. Outrage has a headline lifespan, so the commotion after his remarks will fade. What will last is his hard question: can academia perpetuate ideological radicalism in the name of freedom? We must say no if we respect education and democracy. Prof. Yogesh Singh’s warning, without political spin, urges introspection. It asks instructors to teach, not preach, students to question, not mimic, and intellectuals to remember that truth cannot be promoted through violence. His warning worried the academic establishment, but also drove it to admit its hypocrisies. Finally, intellectual leadership means that. That may be unpopular, but clarity is worth it.
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