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| Naarender Modi Pm. |
In the heart of India's bustling capital lies Delhi University (DU), an institution that has shaped the minds of millions. Its annual examination results are, under normal circumstances, a matter of public record—a dry list of names and numbers soon forgotten to time. But in 2015, a simple request for one such ancient list, specifically for the Bachelor of Arts graduates of 1978, spiralled into a significant national conversation about transparency, power, and the public's right to know.
This wasn't a random historical inquiry. The information sought concerned the academic credentials of the country's most powerful individual: Prime Minister Narendra Modi.
To understand the controversy, we must rewind to the watershed 2014 general elections. Narendra Modi, then the BJP's Prime Ministerial candidate, presented himself as a man of humble origins who had risen through the ranks through sheer determination. In an affidavit filed to the Election Commission of India—a legally binding document—Modi stated that he had completed his Bachelor of Arts (BA) degree from the School of Open Learning (then known as the School of Correspondence Courses) at Delhi University in 1978.
The affidavit was accepted, the elections were fought and won, and Modi assumed office. His government championed the slogan "Sabka Saath, Sabka Vikas, Sabka Vishwas" (Together with all, Development for all, Trust of all). Central to this trust was the implied promise of accountability and transparency, values enshrined in a powerful tool of Indian democracy: The Right To Information Act (RTI), 2005.
The RTI Act was a revolutionary piece of legislation, empowering every single Indian citizen to ask questions of their government. Its stated purpose was to promote transparency and accountability in the working of every public authority. For a decade, it had been used by activists, common citizens, and journalists to unearth corruption, clarify government functioning, and hold the powerful to account.
In 2015, an applicant (whose identity remains largely private) decided to use this very tool. The request was seemingly straightforward: under the provisions of the RTI Act, they asked Delhi University to provide information on the results of all students who had secured their BA degrees in 1978.
On the surface, the request was broad and non-specific. It did not name Narendra Modi. It simply asked for a dataset—a class result. Such information, pertaining to a batch from nearly four decades prior, should have been innocuous. It was historical data, part of the university's archives.
However, Delhi University's response was anything but routine. The university flatly refused to provide the information.
Their reasoning? They argued that digging out and compiling results from 1978 would divert their limited resources disproportionately, a clause allowed for rejection under Section 7(9) of the RTI Act. They also hinted at concerns about the privacy of other students, though the applicant had not asked for personal details like addresses or contact information, merely the results already declared in a public forum decades ago.
The matter, as is the legal right of any RTI applicant, went into appeal. The refusal turned a simple query into a legal battle, instantly elevating it from a matter of administrative procedure to a major political talking point.
The university's refusal raised more questions than it answered. Critics and transparency advocates were puzzled:
1. The "Diverting Resources" Argument: How could one of India's largest and most prestigious universities claim it lacked the resources to locate a single year's result? Was data from 1978 not archived? If not, what did that say about record-keeping?
2. The Privacy Paradox: If the result was declared publicly in 1978, how could sharing that same information now violate privacy? The names and marks of students who pass university exams are traditionally considered public information once the results are announced.
3. The Selective Transparency: The refusal seemed to contradict the government's own public stance on transparency and accountability. Why was this specific piece of historical information being treated as sensitive?
Supporters of the PM and the university's stance argued that the request was mala fide—not made in good faith but with the explicit political motive of embarrassing the Prime Minister. They questioned the applicant's intent, arguing that the RTI Act was not meant for fishing expeditions into a leader's personal history.
The debate over the DU degree transcended the specifics of one academic credential. It struck at the very heart of what the RTI Act was meant to achieve.
- The Chill Effect: Would this refusal set a precedent for other institutions to deny similar historical data, effectively creating a new zone of secrecy?
- Accountability of Public Figures: To what degree does the public have a right to know about the foundational claims of its highest elected leaders? When does personal privacy end and public accountability begin?
- The Weaponization of RTI: Is an RTI request's validity determined by the applicant's motive or the nature of the information sought? The Act itself states that an applicant is "not required to give any reason" for requesting the information.
The saga of the RTI request for the 1978 DU results is more than a political footnote. It is a compelling case study of the constant, dynamic tension between power and transparency in the world's largest democracy.
It forces us to ask uncomfortable questions: Does the right to information have an expiry date? Should the stature of the person the information concerns influence its disclosure? And ultimately, in a democracy, who gets to decide what the public has a right to know?
The answers to these questions define not just the legacy of a single RTI request but the very health of democratic accountability for years to come. The quest for a simple list of names from 1978 revealed a complex truth: that the path to transparency is often paved with unexpected obstacles.
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