Opinion | J&K’s Reservation Conundrum: Between Social Justice and Falling Standards

In a rural village close to Rajouri, a mother smiles as her son holds his appointment letter for a government job. It’s a moment of pride and delayed recognition- one the family lays at the door of the reservation system that finally provided them with a fair chance. A few blocks away in Kathua, a general-category candidate, having scored 88 out of 100 in a competitive exam, sits empty-handed- while a person with 45 gets a seat, courtesy quotas. This is the paradox of Jammu and Kashmir’s reservation system today: it serves to uplift, but also unsettles.

From being a thin ladder of justice for Dalits and tribal communities, J&K’s reservation policy has now expanded to be a multi-lane highway with 70% of all educational as well as government job opportunities reserved under some sort of quota. The ride here has been anything but smooth.

In the aftermath of Article 370’s abrogation in 2019, the reservation system in the region faced seismic changes. The 2023 modifications included the Pahari community under the Scheduled Tribe (ST) list and doubled the Other Backward Classes (OBC) quota from 4% to 8%. The supporters cheered this as overdue recognition; the critics labeled it as a game of numbers- more ballots than proportions.

Now, the figures are different: 20% ST, 8% SC, 8% OBC, 10% EWS, and then quotas for residents of the borders, defence families, and physically challenged. Left out is the open merit category, now holding on to merely 30% of opportunities in a society in which it continues to constitute the majority.

In state-run hospitals, patients whisper anxiously about young doctors who graduated after being admitted with fewer than half as many marks as their unreserved counterparts required. In engineering schools, where the margin between design error and disaster is knife-thin, there are whispers about whether competence is being sacrificed for accessibility. “I don’t object to social justice,” counters Zoya, a high-scoring student from Anantnag who did not make it into medical college. “But when someone takes the same seat with 45%, whereas I had to obtain 90%, it’s difficult not to feel penalized for being ‘general’.”The sentiment echoes across the region. A 100-day sit-in by general-category youth in Jammu last year wasn’t just about unemployment- it was about fairness. “We’re not angry at those being uplifted,” says Aditya, one of the protestors. “We’re angry that merit no longer seems to matter.”

To its credit, the reservation system has yielded fruits. ST representation in civil services has risen six times from 2010. Enrollment in universities of tribal students has doubled. More than 50,000 EWS students got scholarships last year alone. From the Poonch hills to the Uri border belts, opportunity has come to areas that were left behind by development. But numbers also reveal uncomfortable truths. In the EWS group, no more than 15% of its beneficiaries earn less than ₹2.5 lakh annually- the absolutely poor. The rest, according to critics, are mere “poor enough on paper.” Among the OBC and ST groups, the so-called ‘creamy layer’ tends to reap most of the benefits, with nomadic and illiterate communities like the Bakarwals being kept at the fringes. “Like saving a seat on a bus, but the same people keep getting on and on,” remarks a youth leader from Rajouri.

Nowhere does tension become more apparent than within the tribal quota itself. The grant of ST status to Paharis has caused unrest among Gujjars and Bakarwals- groups that have long struggled for the little they gain. With scarce jobs and scholarships to be had, they perceive the opening up as a dilution, not a correction.“The Paharis have political support, we have tents,” laments Bashir, a Gujjar from Kulgam. “We’re being asked to share our crumbs.”

In order to tackle these escalating tensions, government instituted a Cabinet Sub-Committee in 2024, inviting student and civil society opinions to scrutinize the reservation system. Suggestions of sub-categorizing STs, reducing the EWS income cap, and experimenting with models that combine caste, income, and place of residence into a “poverty-plus-caste” formula have been made. Pilot projects in Kupwara, where scholarships were awarded based on multiple hardship criteria rather than blanket reservation, show promise. Yet many remain skeptical. “We’ve seen committees come and go. This smells more like political insurance than policy reform,” remarks a student union leader in Srinagar.

Demands for change are mounting: some want a caste census to have a better picture, others propose sunset clauses- gradually phasing out quotas over one generation. Moderates suggest rotation schemes, or five-year revews, to ensure benefits don’t turn into entitlements. But firebrands are not united. “We must shift to an equal-opportunity economy,” says a Jammu University professor. “This culture of dependency is strangling ambition.” Nevertheless, the price of doing nothing could be higher. If a boy grows up to be a doctor just on account of a certificate of merit from a community, what does it foretell for the life he has in his hands the day after tomorrow? Can a bridge constructed by a person who passed engineering with half the marks necessary resist an earthquake zone?

Jammu and Kashmir is at a delicate crossroads. Equity and excellence cannot be set against one another- they need to be intertwined. And that takes nerve: to see beyond caste only, to prioritize data over dogma, and to create a system in which justice and merit find space. Then, and only then, will the promise of an inclusively- and competently- society be more than a policy document.

The writer is an author, speaker, mental health advocate and a social rights activist, currently pursuing bachelors at Amar Singh College, and can be contacted at musaibbilal.216061@gmail.com