I am an alum of Azim Premji University (APU). For years, I thought of its motto, “Towards a just, equitable, humane and sustainable society,” not as a branding, but as a serious commitment. It was not decorative language. It shaped how we were taught to think. We were trained to interrogate power, to question dominant narratives, to sit with uncomfortable histories. We were told that institutions are moral actors, not merely administrative ones. Justice was not an elective theme; it was the through-line.Which is why recent events have felt less like a disagreement and more like a fracture.In late February, Spark, a student-run reading circle circulated a poster about a discussion on the 1991 Kunan-Poshpora mass rape allegations and broader questions of state violence in Kashmir. The university later clarified that no prior permission had been sought, as required by campus protocol. That evening, members of the Rashtriya Swayamsevak Sangh-affiliated Akhil Bharatiya Vidyarthi Parishad (ABVP), entered the campus, raised slogans and vandalised property in protest. A complaint was filed regarding the trespass.But the decision that shifted the moral centre of the episode came later. The university itself filed a complaint against the creators of the reading circle’s Instagram page. An FIR was registered under Section 299 of the Bharatiya Nyaya Sanhita, a non-bailable provision concerning outraging religious feelings, along with sections of the IT Act.Students accused of forced entry faced bailable charges. Students who organised a discussion now face a non-bailable criminal case.That difference is not procedural. It reflects a hierarchy of concerns.To be clear, universities operate within legal frameworks. They answer to regulators. They manage risk. They steward funding. I do not underestimate those constraints. Private liberal arts institutions in India exist within a precarious ecosystem, dependent on philanthropy, regulated by the state, vulnerable to scrutiny. Prudence is not cowardice by default.But when an institution that foregrounds justice retreats into bureaucratic defensiveness at the first sign of political pressure, it invites a deeper question: What, exactly, is the purpose of a progressive liberal arts university?The message many of us heard was not about compliance. It was about limits.Think critically, but cautiously.Engage politics, but privately.Question power, but do not expect institutional cover.This tension is not unique to APU. Last year, Ashoka University faced controversy after Ali Khan Mahmudabad was arrested following right-wing outrage over remarks attributed to him. In response to alumni criticism, founder Sanjeev Bikhchandani wrote a widely circulated letter arguing that activism is not intrinsic to liberal arts education; that social media speech is not academic scholarship; and that institutions cannot jeopardise themselves for political positions taken by individuals.The central claim was clear: a university’s primary obligation is institutional survival within the law, not political solidarity. Faculty and students are free citizens, responsible for their own speech and its consequences. The university is not a movement. It is not a shield.There is a certain logic to this. It is pragmatic, even disciplined. But pragmatism, when it consistently overrides principle, becomes a moral posture of its own.If liberal arts education is merely about cultivating critical thinking as a cognitive skill, something to be exercised within classrooms and journals, then institutional neutrality under pressure is defensible. But if it is about shaping citizens capable of ethical judgment in public life, then retreat begins to look less like institutional caution and more like a willingness to defend principles in theory but not in practice.Students are taught to analyse injustice. Faculty publish critiques of state power. Courses examine histories of repression and dissent. Yet when those analyses intersect with contemporary politics in ways that attract hostility, the institutional instinct is to clarify liability, emphasise procedure, and step back.This is not villainy. It is governance. But governance is never neutral. The choices institutions make in moments of pressure teach as much as any classroom does.Over time, the language of justice begins to sound aspirational rather than operational.Perhaps the uncomfortable truth is that private liberal arts universities in India are structurally designed to be cautious. They are built by philanthropists, sustained by donors, regulated by the state, and accountable to boards. They are not oppositional institutions. Expecting them to behave as such may be naïve.But then the story they tell about themselves must adjust accordingly.If survival will always outrank solidarity, say so plainly. If activism is an optional personal pursuit detached from the institutional project, articulate that clearly. If the university’s role is to teach critique but not embody it, acknowledge that boundary.What unsettles many alumni is not that universities comply with the law. It is that the promise of justice begins to feel decorative, invoked in classrooms, diluted in crises.And yet, there is an irony here. The very education that enables alumni to critique APU or Ashoka is the education those universities provided. The tools of analysis, the vocabulary of rights, the sensitivity to power. These were cultivated within these campuses. In that sense, the project succeeded.Perhaps this is the paradox of liberal arts education in contemporary India: it produces individuals who may be braver, or at least more publicly consistent, than the institutions that trained them.The question, then, is not whether universities should become activist platforms. It is whether they can sustain credibility while repeatedly retreating into managerial caution when their values are tested in public.I remain grateful for what I learned at APU. But gratitude does not preclude scrutiny. If we are serious about building a just and humane society, that seriousness must extend inward, especially when it is uncomfortable.Practising what you preach is not radicalism. It is integrity.And right now, for many of us watching from outside, integrity is what feels most at stake.Ashraf Shaikh is a wildlife biologist and conservation researcher working in Central India.