Respecting the Chair: A Moral Imperative in Educational Institutions
Heramba Nath
In the shifting landscape of Indian democracy, where political influence now permeates nearly every aspect of public life, an increasingly urgent question demands our moral attention: should political leaders, including ministers, occupy the chair of the head of an educational institution?
This is not merely an administrative concern, nor a matter of protocol alone. It is a deeply moral question—rooted in the fundamental values of education, autonomy, and dignity. The chair of a headmaster, principal, vice-chancellor, or dean is not just a seat of power—it is a seat of trust. It symbolises a lifelong commitment to scholarship, service, and ethical leadership. When a political figure, however well-intentioned or highly placed, occupies that chair even momentarily, the symbolic erosion of academic independence begins.
Across the country, and often without serious protest, we have seen elected leaders attending school or university events not merely as guests or supporters, but taking pride of place in chairs reserved for institutional heads. In many cases, ministers chair governing bodies, preside over managing committees, or appear seated behind the same desks from which educators lead their institutions. Whether intentional or casual, such acts cast long shadows over the sanctity of educational environments.
The moral discomfort arises not from the presence of the political figure, but from the assumption of authority that is not theirs by vocation or merit. A minister may be the policymaker for education, the architect of structural reforms, and a respected facilitator of institutional growth. But that does not qualify him or her to occupy the symbolic or functional seat of the head of an academic institution. That seat is earned—not through political mandate—but through years of classroom teaching, administrative discipline, research, mentoring, and the quiet endurance of service.
A democratic society thrives on boundaries—between the executive, judiciary, media, and academia. The autonomy of educational institutions is the moral cornerstone of their functioning. When political leaders enter this space not as supporters or well-wishers, but as de facto heads or patronising authorities, those boundaries begin to blur. And when power overshadows principle, education pays the price.
It is important here to distinguish between ceremonial respect and functional encroachment. Ministers or MLAs are often invited to inaugurate libraries, attend convocations, or deliver speeches to motivate students. These gestures, when exercised with humility, serve constructive purposes. But to sit in the principal’s chair or the vice-chancellor’s seat—even symbolically—is to step into a space that does not belong to them, morally or institutionally. The chair of the educational head is not ceremonial—it is sacred.
The image of a politician sitting in a chair meant for an educator sends a problematic signal to young minds. It suggests that power is more important than knowledge, that hierarchy overrides merit, and that academic leadership is dispensable in the face of political visibility. These are not the lessons a just society should be teaching.
Moreover, in an environment already fraught with ideological control, politically influenced syllabi, and increasing constraints on academic freedom, allowing elected officials to symbolically or administratively dominate educational chairs can pave the way for deeper institutional interference. In government-aided schools and colleges, the practice of appointing local MLAs or ministers as committee heads often leads to politicised hiring, biased transfers, and the silencing of dissent. This not only demoralises educators but corrodes the very soul of academic life.
Even if the individual is an elected MLA, a cabinet minister, or a senior leader of the ruling party, no one should sit in the chair meant for the academic or institutional head. That chair is not political property. It is not won through votes or party majority. It is earned through years of academic labour, ethical leadership, and institutional service. Political power has its place, but it must never override educational sanctity. To sit casually or ceremonially on that chair—even if one belongs to the ruling party—is to blur the sacred line between governance and education. And when that line is crossed, it sends a dangerous message: that authority can be borrowed, not earned.
One must recall the ideals enshrined in the National Education Policy, which emphasises institutional autonomy, merit-based leadership, and the de-politicisation of education. The University Grants Commission also maintains strict norms for the appointment of academic heads, with emphasis on scholarship and experience—not political stature. To allow these positions to be bypassed or overshadowed by political presence is to betray both the letter and the spirit of these policies.
This is, above all, a moral issue. Education is a moral enterprise. It demands humility, neutrality, and the capacity to foster dissent and inquiry. The moment an institution signals that it bows before political authority—even symbolically—it begins to lose its moral compass. The chair of the head of an institution is a place from which integrity flows. It is not a place for political assertion.
A minister can inspire from a podium. He or she can guide with vision. But the educator must lead the institution. That leadership is not transferable by power. It is earned through quiet years of shaping minds, managing staff, and preserving institutional values.
It is worth remembering that our best national institutions—the IITs, IIMs, and central universities—have built reputations not because of political intervention, but because of insulation from it. Their vice-chancellors and directors function best when left free from political encroachment. Respecting that freedom is a moral duty for every democratic government.
No political leader, no matter how senior or respected, should occupy the academic chair of an institution—neither in ceremony nor in structure. To do so is to disrespect the educator and to compromise the sacred neutrality of the academic space.
What is now required is a renewed public consciousness—a moral awakening that reclaims educational institutions as spaces of merit, truth, and independence. The chalk and blackboard must remain mightier than the party flag. The teacher must stand taller than the politician—not in terms of power, but in terms of the moral authority that only education can confer.
In our culture, we revere the Guru. In our Constitution, we cherish the freedom to think, question, and learn. That freedom begins by protecting the chair of the educator—from power, from ego, and from political interference.
Because some chairs are not made of wood or leather. They are made of trust. And once that trust is broken, no institution can truly teach again.