*Ujjwal Sharma, MCIArb & Preksha Chordia

Indian law universities now match global standards but also create entrenched hierarchies. This article examines how entrance exams, campus experiences, and placements—seemingly neutral—shape unequal access and outcomes. It argues for dismantling dogmatic structures, redefining “success,” and implementing reforms that promote diversity, inclusion, and varied professional paths in legal education.

Introduction

India’s national law universities have transformed legal education, establishing academic standards that are at par with leading global institutions. This evolution has produced graduates equipped to handle complex legal challenges and has attracted international recognition. However, this progress has concealed a troubling reality. Indian legal education has created tiered structures that stratify students, graduates, and professionals into distinct hierarchical categories. It is high time these positive results were weighed against the costs at which they come and their long-term effects.

While it is true that our education system and these hierarchies finds their roots in the colonial institutions that were once designed to create a buffer class, our institutions have gone through significant changes. These hierarchical structures prevalent in modern law schools should no longer be dismissed as just colonial residue, since they have actively reinforced and normalised these structures. This blog argues that while Indian legal education has achieved notable improvements, there is still a long way to go before we can eliminate the systematic exclusion of diverse perspectives, if that is at all possible. This article also argues that, perhaps unknowingly, law schools are still reinforcing existing social hierarchies. The inherent trade-offs within this system raise questions about the priorities of legal education in India. Does technical brilliance that may produce individually successful lawyers justify failing to develop the diverse perspectives and social responsibility necessary to maintain the “nobility” or generosity of the profession? We conclude by proposing a few suggestions that may be implemented to tackle the issue.

The Architecture of Educational Hierarchy

The current system is made up of multiple moving, interconnected cogs that work together to decide who gets access, experience, and outcomes. It appears that our institutions have employed a possible “layered exclusion”: a series of filters may appear neutral but advantage certain groups while disadvantaging others.

Every law student’s journey starts with a competitive examination that, on the face of it, is objective, but reflects and reinforces existing inequalities in cultural wealth and social preparation. In other words, students from an advantageous background automatically have the upper hand, not just in terms of access to quality material and education, but also familiarity with norms, communication styles, and academic frameworks that these tests favour. Research on National Law School of India University (‘NLSIU’) reveals that students from metropolitan areas and English-medium schools significantly outperform their peers. This creates what Pierre Bourdieu called “the transformation of social privilege into apparent individual merit”, where existing advantages become legitimised as personal accomplishments. The coaching industry only adds to the problem. Students who could afford CLAT coaching programmes scored significantly higher than those relying on just self-preparation, creating a situation of “opportunity hoarding” by the privileged.

The 2017 report “An Elusive ‘Island of Excellence’” found that at NLSIU, students from families earning above ₹10 lakhs annually constituted a disproportionate majority, while rural and lower-income families have been underrepresented despite reservation policies. This gives the idea of “double messages”, where law schools teach abstract ideals of the rule of law, equality, and justice, while also inculcating deference to existing power structures and established authority. Students learn to talk about equal ideas while accepting and repeating hierarchical practices.

While the system of reservation of seats has, to some extent, countered this inequality, the evil, unfortunately, extends into our classrooms. This is evident from the pedagogical approaches that are prevalent in most law schools. For instance, students who do not come from a privileged background may struggle with English being the most common mode of instruction in law schools or may struggle with “fitting in” with the rest of their peers. What institutional support is being provided to flatten this hierarchy? Naturally, this goes beyond linguistics. Another example, although later discussed in more detail, is of treating clinical legal education and legal aid work as minor electives. This raises important questions about what kind of knowledge actually “counts” as law. Given the situation, it would not be surprising if students find themselves alienated from their classrooms, as these spaces then become places where students learn and incorporate hierarchies, alongside learning law.

Classroom Hierarchies

Hierarchy can also be observed in student-professor relationships in the classroom. The global legal education system is such that faculty members not only provide students with knowledge of black letter law but also with professional guidance. As a result, they also act as gatekeepers who regulate access to research opportunities, internships, and professional networks that shape long-term paths.

To understand the hierarchical structure in a classroom, we begin with the “sir-madam” culture in Indian education, which lies at the heart of the problem. Although it may seem only respectful, it places the faculty member on a pedestal where questioning becomes extremely difficult, if not impossible. Students who struggle with the language or confidence may, find themselves hesitating to questions or challenge dominant interpretations of law, because of the gap placed between them and their educator. Classrooms here become a space for passive absorption of words instead of a space for critical thinking, questioning, and debate. As a result, students are taught to accept any knowledge delivered from above. What is surprising is that this culture is also present among the students, with those who are older being referred to with such salutations.

While foreign institutions, and the original perpetuators of these rigid systems, have abandoned them, Indian legal education still clings onto them. In light of this, to dismiss them as “colonial residue” ignores how institutions normalise these practices and embed them as part of our lives. To some extent, this has contributed to discouraging those who are less privileged at the onset of their careers. Hierarchical classrooms create such authoritative spaces that faculty might view any challenge to the system as a threat to their professional credibility, rather than an opportunity for the growth of legal education. This dynamic can limit intellectual diversity and innovative approaches.

Issues of faculty biases, which often favour corporate or commercial legal careers over grassroot advocacy or socio-legal research, also stem from this. Students tend to adopt these indicators swiftly and view certain career options as more “accomplished” than the others. Although the traditional guru-shishya paradigm allows for individualised mentorship, it can serve as a means to sustain existing privileges by selectively investing in students who already have certain advantages. Upendra Baxi argues that “teaching law must be an act of provocation, not indoctrination,” emphasising the transformative potential of education through critical inquiry instead of passive acceptance of conventional norms. Due to this, many students often do not feel empowered to claim the space.

Career Hierarchies

One of the most evident hierarchical divisions that is cultivated in law school concerns career choices. It is not uncommon to see Indian law schools and graduates celebrating corporate law placements over careers in social justice or grassroots clinical work. Graduates who choose a career with legal aid clinics or NGOs often find themselves regarded as “less” accomplished by their peers who secured a law firm offer. Law schools play some part in peer-driven perception, as they devote enormous resources to corporate recruitment by organising networking events and pre-placement training, while providing minimal exposure to careers in social justice. Since NGOs or legal aid organisations may not be able to compete with the salaries or prestige that a top law firms, they are often not invited to campus recruitment drives. As a result, graduates who are deeply interested in pursuing these careers find themselves undersupported.
 
The problem runs deeper than salary. It lies in how “success” is defined in legal careers. Unfortunately, to some Indian law schools, careers that help duplicate privileged networks of the powerful and wealthy are viewed as more “accomplished” than those that serve societal development. Resultantly, students are more focused on shaping their backgrounds, as such, which would ease pursuing a career in corporate or commercial laws, rather than careers in social justice organisations. Law schools are to blame for instilling this narrative in students. This, therefore, contests the acceptance of diverse legal careers and contradicts the profession’s commitment to access to social justice.

The Way Ahead

This, however, isn’t the end of the road. Situations can be improved through targeted changes within our law schools. The authors believe that the most important and powerful change lies in demolishing the rigid and unnecessary “sir-madam” culture that shapes our student-faculty and student-student interactions, hence creating a more open and vocal law school.

By substituting this unwarranted hierarchical address system with accessible and egalitarian alternatives, law schools may be able to cultivate a more welcoming and accepting environment, one that encourages respectful questioning with learning, rather than inculcating fear of hierarchy. Developing mentorship programmes where students are divided into small groups can also assist in flattening the hierarchy. This would not only add personal focus on students, which large classrooms lack, but would also ensure that students perceive themselves as partakers in legal explorations, rather than passive listeners.

What is more important is that this cultural shift is accompanied by modern and varied assessment and testing techniques to accommodate students from diverse backgrounds alongside the traditional examinations. This will ensure that our law schools are well-equipped to test students’ capabilities and competencies more holistically. To aide in this, faculty development programs must be put in place to prepare them with the right tools needed to provide inclusive training.

Flattening career hierarchies necessitates a culture that values public interest and clinical legal work as legitimate career options. Here, a change in student curricula is crucial. Elective courses on social justice topics should be added as core components. In fact, the Centre for Research and Planning, Supreme Court of India reported the need to strengthen clinical and experiential learning through the setting up of legal aid cells. It is high time law schools develop systems that provide equal opportunity to students to explore these career paths, alongside law firm positions. Partnering with regional community organisations to expose students to these diverse career prospects is critical.

Perhaps, law schools should also be evaluated by their graduates’ contributions to access to justice rather than solely by high salary package placements. As Marc Galanter has argued, the profession’s legitimacy ultimately rests on its commitment to serving those most in need of legal assistance, not merely its most powerful clients.

With that thought, ultimately, any change depends on the recognition of the larger problems these hierarchies create. Currently, law schools, faculty, and their students all have active choices to make, and change does not happen overnight. It requires coordinated action. A change requires systematic implementation through pilot programmes and continuous assessment mechanisms. The task itself may seem complicated, but it is certainly achievable.

Ujjwal Sharma, MCIArb, is an advocate and arbitrator, and currently heads Sharma Kemp Chambers. He holds an LL.M. from King’s College London and a B.A. LL.B. (Hons.) from O.P. Jindal Global University. He has also studied international law, public policy and human rights at the University of Oxford. He specialises in Environmental Law, Public Law, Military Law, and Commercial Law. His experience spans both India and the UK. In the UK, he worked as a commercial litigator and has litigated several high-profile environmental and public law matters in India. More recently, he was tasked by the NGT to suggest measures to tackle climate change-induced contamination in crops.

Preksha Chordia is a molecular biologist by training, with research experience spanning across the globe. She holds an MSc from King’s College London and a BSc (Hons.) from Krea University. Outside of the sciences, she leads Business Operations at Sharma Kemp Chambers, driven by her interest in patent law.