For decades, the Indira Gandhi National Open University (IGNOU) has stood as a symbol of educational inclusion. In the Kashmir Valley- where political uncertainty, geographical barriers, and limited institutional infrastructure continue to shape academic life- IGNOU is not merely a university. It is an academic lifeline. For students, it represents access; for educators, it offers professional dignity and participation in public knowledge-making. In such a context, transparency and fairness in academic practices are not optional administrative ideals; they are essential for sustaining trust, equity, and institutional credibility.

Yet, beneath this noble mandate lies an uncomfortable reality- one that rarely enters official reports or public discourse.
My experience within the IGNOU system reveals a persistent gap between principle and practice. While academic responsibilities such as counselling classes, assignment evaluation, and examination duties are meant to be distributed transparently and on merit, they are often concentrated within a small and familiar circle. Access, it appears, is shaped less by qualification and more by proximity- who one knows, where one teaches, and how effectively one conforms to a culture where flattery is quietly rewarded while merit, professionalism, and ethical conduct remain undervalued.
In such an environment, excessive compliance and false praise often travel further than academic credentials. When buttering becomes a currency and integrity a liability, the system gradually normalizes inequality without ever formally acknowledging it. Over time, merit is pushed to the margins, and institutional trust begins to erode.
One of the most troubling manifestations of this culture is visible in the allocation of examination duties. When a study centre coordinator belongs to a particular discipline, exam-related responsibilities frequently gravitate towards staff from that same academic background. Similar patterns appear in the allotment of counselling classes, where preference is often extended to counsellors teaching in the host college of the study centre, while equally—sometimes more- meritorious educators teaching elsewhere are overlooked.
I recall an incident during the 2023–24 academic session while travelling with two colleagues from the psychology department. They were debating who had received more examination duties, attributing it to seniority. Listening quietly, I remarked- half in jest- that I had not received even a single day of duty, largely because I belonged to a different discipline. The moment passed lightly, but it exposed a deeper structural truth: opportunity within the system often follows affiliation and appeasement, not fairness.
Assignment distribution reflects an even deeper malaise. Instead of a clear, rule-based mechanism, assignments are frequently shared through prior personal contact. A phone call, it seems, can sometimes matter more than formal approval. What is more unsettling is the casual normalization of this informality. When concerns about the absence of a proper channel were raised with some senior counsellors, the response was shockingly candid- offering a small cash amount to the concerned non-teaching staff was suggested as a “solution.” When such practices are spoken of so openly, one must ask how deeply such unethical norms have been internalized.
Even the principle of “first come, first serve,” often cited in defense, collapses under scrutiny. Counsellors may arrive early only to find staff unavailable, while preferred individuals are quietly informed about exact timings. Rules exist, but only selectively.
The imbalance becomes stark when viewed over time. Despite being approved for multiple courses across two study centres for several years, my own academic engagement has remained minimal- limited to a handful of classes and assignments- while others are repeatedly entrusted with hundreds. This is not an isolated grievance but a pattern that many educators quietly endure.
Students, too, bear the cost of this dysfunction. Evaluated assignments are rarely returned, denying learners the opportunity to learn from feedback. Thoughtfully written comments- meant to guide, correct, and encourage- never reach those they are intended for. Instead, assignment scripts accumulate, only to be discarded later. Assessment, stripped of feedback, becomes a ritual rather than a pedagogical process.
At its core, this is not about individuals but about institutional ethics. IGNOU is a publicly funded university, entrusted with a mission of equity and access. That trust demands transparency, written norms, and accountability- not discretion governed by familiarity, flattery, or informal allegiance.
The solution is neither radical nor unrealistic. Class schedules, assignment allocations, and examination duty rosters should be published online for every study centre. Digital, time-bound systems can reduce arbitrariness and restore confidence. Capacity-building and technological support can help study centres manage these processes efficiently. Above all, UGC norms must be applied in letter and spirit- ensuring that PhD-holding, NET-qualified, and genuinely meritorious candidates receive due consideration.
IGNOU’s reputation has been built over decades. Preserving it requires introspection and reform, especially in sensitive regions like the Kashmir Valley, where education is not merely academic- it is social capital, hope, and stability.
This reflection is not intended at individuals or as an indictment of IGNOU’s institutional vision, which remains rooted in inclusive and democratic education. Rather, it highlights how localized practices- shaped by prolonged uncertainty, rising unemployment, and weakened accountability mechanisms- can gradually distort merit-based functioning within public institutions.
If IGNOU is to remain a beacon of inclusive education, fairness cannot remain an abstract promise. It must be visible, verifiable, and practiced- every day, at every study centre.

Email:---------------------rameezln777@gmail.com