Editorial

The Draft IT (Digital Code) Rules, 2026, proposed by the government mark a decisive moment in India’s evolving relationship with the digital world. As online platforms increasingly shape public opinion, social behaviour, and political discourse, the state’s attempt to impose stricter norms on digital content is both understandable and contentious. The proposed rules—covering age-based classification, bans on obscenity, religious attacks, incitement to violence, and misleading material—seek to bring order to a rapidly expanding and often unruly digital public square.

At the heart of the draft is age-based content classification, a long-pending demand from parents, educators, and child rights advocates. In an era where minors have unrestricted access to social media, gaming platforms, and streaming services, the absence of clear content filters has raised serious concerns about psychological harm and exposure to inappropriate material. If implemented transparently and uniformly, such classification could be a meaningful step toward digital responsibility.

The proposed prohibition of obscenity and sexually explicit content aligns with existing legal and cultural norms. However, the challenge lies in defining obscenity in a medium that thrives on creative expression, satire, and evolving social values. Overbroad interpretations may risk chilling artistic freedom and legitimate discourse, particularly in cinema, stand-up comedy, and digital storytelling.

More sensitive still are provisions aimed at curbing religious attacks, hate speech, and incitement. Given India’s pluralistic and emotionally charged social fabric, the state has a legitimate interest in preventing online content that fuels communal tensions or violence. Yet, history shows that vague definitions can be misused to silence dissent, critical scholarship, or inconvenient opinions. The fine line between hate speech and harsh criticism must be drawn with constitutional precision.

Equally significant is the focus on misleading and deceptive content, especially in the age of deepfakes, algorithm-driven misinformation, and viral propaganda. Electoral processes, public health responses, and social harmony have all suffered due to unchecked digital falsehoods. Stronger accountability for platforms could help restore trust in online information ecosystems.

However, the overarching concern remains who decides and how. Centralised regulatory authority, opaque takedown mechanisms, and limited avenues for appeal could undermine freedom of speech guaranteed under Article 19(1)(a) of the Constitution. Regulation without adequate safeguards risks transforming digital governance into digital surveillance.

The Draft IT (Digital Code) Rules, 2026, thus sit at a critical crossroads. Done right, they can civilise the digital space and protect vulnerable users. Done poorly, they may erode democratic freedoms in the name of order. The need of the hour is wide consultation, clear definitions, independent oversight, and judicially reviewable processes—so that regulation empowers citizens without muting their voices.

The Supreme Court’s decision to examine a plea challenging the University Grants Commission’s (UGC) 2026 regulations on caste discrimination has reopened a sensitive but necessary debate on equity in India’s higher education system. The petitioners contend that the new rules, by confining institutional protections largely to Scheduled Castes, Scheduled Tribes, and Other Backward Classes, inadvertently create a hierarchy of discrimination—one that leaves other vulnerable students outside the formal grievance redressal framework. The issue has sparked student protests across campuses and renewed calls for a more inclusive understanding of discrimination.

At the core of the challenge lies the principle of equality before law. While the Constitution rightly mandates special safeguards for historically oppressed communities, critics argue that discrimination in universities today often operates in multiple and intersecting forms—based on region, language, religion, gender, disability, economic status, or even ideological non-conformity. By legally codifying caste-based discrimination in narrow categorical terms, the regulations risk overlooking the lived realities of many students who face exclusion but do not fall within officially recognised groups.

Supporters of the UGC framework counter that caste remains the most entrenched and structurally violent form of discrimination in Indian society. From classroom bias to hostel segregation and faculty evaluation, caste-based prejudice continues to shape academic outcomes. Diluting the focus, they argue, could weaken protections for those who need them most and blur accountability. In this view, the regulations are not exclusionary but corrective—designed to address a specific historical injustice.

However, the controversy exposes a deeper tension between targeted justice and universal fairness. A regulatory regime that appears to rank suffering or privilege some identities over others risks eroding confidence in institutional neutrality. Universities, ideally spaces of intellectual freedom and social mobility, cannot afford grievance systems that are perceived as selective or incomplete. Student protests reflect this unease, signalling that younger generations seek frameworks rooted in dignity for all, not compartmentalised empathy.

The Supreme Court’s intervention offers an opportunity to recalibrate the balance. The question before it is not whether caste-based discrimination deserves protection—it unquestionably does—but whether regulatory language should be expansive enough to recognise discrimination in all its contemporary forms. A more inclusive approach could retain strong caste safeguards while extending procedural remedies to any student who faces unfair treatment, without relativising historical oppression.

Ultimately, the debate around the UGC’s 2026 regulations underscores a larger truth: equity is not a zero-sum game. Protecting one group need not come at the cost of excluding others. As India’s campuses grow more diverse, the law must evolve from rigid classifications to a principle-based framework of fairness, one that affirms both constitutional commitment and lived reality.

• SAS Kirmani