[ Mimi Mangfi ]
I was on my way from Itanagar to Pasighat after casting my vote in the AAPSU election when we stopped for lunch near the Subansiri bridge. That’s where a conversation began among four of us batchmates, discussing the AAPSU election, 2026. It was during this casual exchange that I heard something shocking: some students had reportedly earned as much as Rs 1.5 lakh to Rs 3 lakh during this election – an amount equal to several months’ salary for many.
I found myself wondering how and from where our fellow students are earning such amounts.
As a student myself, I had received Rs 20,000 from one candidate contesting for a key post among a total of 13 candidates. At that moment, it did not feel unusual. That amount was given to me not just because I was a voter, but also because I was a worker. But looking back now, I can’t help but question whether that silence – my silence – made me a part of the very problem I am trying to speak about.
Student politics is often glorified as a training ground for future leaders. We’re told that campuses shape the conscience of a nation – that today’s students are tomorrow’s policymakers. But if we look closely at the ground reality during the AAPSU election, 2026, the picture is far less inspiring.
Let’s be honest for a moment: the problem isn’t just the system. The problem is us.
As a student, I’ve witnessed this firsthand. We often blame candidates, political groups, or the structure of student politics for corruption. But rarely do we pause to question our own role in sustaining it. The uncomfortable truth is that students are not just victims of corruption; they are active participants.
What makes it more concerning is how easily we justify it. “Everyone is doing it,” we say. “It’s just a token.” Some even convince themselves, “At least we are getting something out of it.” These justifications may sound harmless, but they slowly normalise a culture where integrity becomes optional and convenience takes priority.
One of the most striking scenes I observed during this AAPSU election was students standing in long queues – not to sincerely listen to candidate manifestos, not for debates, not for ideas or vision -but for a ‘token of love’: Rs 500, Rs 1,000 – small amounts, yet enough to buy silence and influence choices. Hours are spent waiting, not to engage with what a candidate stands for, but to collect what they are offering.
I have also witnessed another troubling pattern during candidate visits. When candidates come to interact with students – delivering speeches and sharing their manifestos – students are given a chance to engage, ask questions, and understand their potential leaders. Yet, in many such moments, I’ve observed that nearly 80% of students choose not to ask anything at all. In fact, there have been instances where students seemed irritated at others for raising questions. This lack of curiosity and engagement reflects a deeper issue. When students avoid questioning, it signals a lack of interest in accountability and, ultimately, in the development of the student community itself.
A student body that does not question cannot expect meaningful leadership. The courage to speak, to ask, and to challenge is fundamental to any healthy democracy – even within campuses.
At the same time, it would be incomplete to ignore the role of the candidates in sustaining this culture. The distribution of money is rarely random; it is calculated, strategic, and often seen as an ‘investment’. When elections begin to function like transactions, leadership risks turning into a means of recovering that investment, rather than serving the student community.
Another troubling and telling moment came when I overheard a group of students complaining – not about corruption itself, but about inequality within it. The concern was that students from Rajiv Gandhi University (RGU) were receiving more money compared to those from JNC and APU. It appears even ‘tokens of love’ follow a hierarchy. While some students receive around Rs 30,000 for key posts and Rs 1,500 for smaller posts, others reportedly get Rs 45,000 and Rs 3,000-Rs 5,000 for the same. No wonder some RGU students are said to be earning close to Rs 1 lakh during student elections.
It makes you wonder – when the conversation shifts from rejecting corrupt practices to negotiating better rates, where exactly are we heading? Perhaps the real issue isn’t that corruption exists, but that we now expect it to be fairly distributed.
And then comes the irony.
The same students who accept these ‘tokens’ are often the loudest voices speaking about development, accountability, and corruption. We criticise leaders for dishonesty, yet normalise it at the very foundation. We demand integrity, but rarely practice it when it becomes inconvenient.
There are also many students who choose not to participate in this exchange. Yet even among them, silence is common. Whether out of fear, indifference, or a desire to avoid conflict, this silence allows the system to continue unchecked. In many ways, not speaking against something we know is wrong can be just as enabling as participating in it.
Student politics was meant to be about ideas, representation, and meaningful change within the student community. Instead, it is slowly turning into a marketplace where support can be influenced, opinions can be swayed, and principles can be negotiated for surprisingly little.
In my earlier article, ‘The AAPSU Paradox’ published in The Arunachal Times, I had written: “If we allow student politics to be purchased by the highest bidder, we are not electing a representative; we are participating in an auction.”
We are, in fact, participating in an auction.
It raises a difficult but necessary question: if this is how we behave at the student level, what kind of politics are we preparing for the future?
Corruption does not suddenly appear when someone enters mainstream politics. It is learned, practiced, and normalised much earlier. And if students – who are expected to challenge the system – are already comfortable being part of it, then perhaps the system is simply a reflection of us.
This is not about blaming one group or defending another. It is about acknowledging a reality we often choose to ignore. Real change in student politics will not come from better candidates alone; it will come when students themselves begin to reject these practices.
But the questions remain: Are we ready to change?Are we willing to refuse the money? Are we ready to ask questions? Or are we just happily standing in line for the next ‘token of love’?
Because if that’s the case, maybe the system isn’t failing us – we’re running it exactly as intended.
Another irony we ignore is how casually we treat voting. Students stand in long queues for hours, not out of commitment to democracy, but often for the benefits that come with it. And after all that, some still cast invalid votes, as if the achievement was in standing in line, not actually voting.
Some even vote selectively, choosing only a few preferred candidates while ignoring the rest. In doing so, we not only weaken the process but also disregard the efforts of others – especially those contesting for smaller posts.
The least we can do is vote with fairness and a sense of responsibility (The contributor is a student of Arunachal Pradesh University, Pasighat)
