When Vinesh Phogat took a stand during the 2024 Olympics, raising her voice against what she perceived as an unjust disqualification, she stirred not just the world of sports but also my own memories of a time when I, too, had to fight against an oppressive system. Though I am far from an expert on wrestling or the intricate rules of the Olympic Games, the emotional discussions on social media—some in support of Vinesh and others against—struck a chord deep within me. I found myself empathizing with her battle because it resonated with my own experience during my PhD.
In December 2018, I completed my dissertation writing and was prepared for pre-submission. However, my supervisor insisted I delay until September 2019. Trusti
ng his guidance, I waited, but when I attempted to move forward with my pre-submission, I was confronted with an unexpected hurdle: a rule that dictated a minimum five-year waiting period before pre-submission could be made. This revelation was nothing short of a nightmare. It meant that I would have to wait until September 2021 just to begin the pre-submission process, followed by another six months for the final submission, viva, and other formalities. In total, I was facing a delay that would stretch my PhD to a painful six years.
Social science research, unlike many other fields, doesn’t always require such an extensive timeline. The rule, however, was indiscriminate, treating all disciplines the same. Frustrated and feeling increasingly harassed by the system, I decided to take action. I applied for a change in the regulation and wrote to the Vice-Chancellor, explaining the irrationality of the rule and the emotional toll it was taking on me. But my plea fell on deaf ears. The VC neither responded to my emails nor gave me time to meet, a silence that only deepened my sense of harassment.
Desperate for some form of acknowledgment, I turned to a mutual contact, Archna, to act as an intermediary. But instead of empathy or understanding, the response I received was a dismissive and demeaning label: “manipulative lady.” The VC, rather than considering the logic of my argument, chose to side with my supervisor, instructing him to “deal with” me using pressure tactics. My supervisor caught between the VC’s command and the validity of my concerns, resorted to various methods to discourage and silence me. These included insisting on changes to my work that he had previously agreed were unnecessary, further compounding the mental harassment I was experiencing.
Despite the tremendous strain and unnecessary delays, I refused to back down. I knew this wasn’t just about me; it was about a system that needed to change. My persistence eventually led to a landmark revision of the regulations: the waiting period for research was reduced from five years to two. Although I had suffered greatly, my experience sparked a change that would benefit countless scholars who came after me.
Reflecting on this, I can’t help but see a parallel with Vinesh Phogat’s situation. In her case, it was a matter of 100 grams—an inconsequential difference that led to her disqualification and the loss of her hard-earned victories. But Vinesh didn’t just accept her fate. She raised her voice, not just for herself but for the fairness and integrity of the sport she loves. She might win or lose her battle, but her defiance forces the governing bodies to reevaluate the rules, to question whether such a minor discrepancy should overshadow her accomplishments.
Raising a voice for change often comes with severe consequences. People who dare to speak out are frequently branded as frauds, troublemakers, or manipulative. The system they challenge is quick to defend itself, often at the expense of the individual who dares to question it. This is not a new phenomenon; it’s a pattern that has repeated itself throughout history. Those who push for change are rarely welcomed with open arms. Instead, they are met with resistance, scorn, and, in many cases, persecution.
Yet, it is precisely this resistance that makes their voices so crucial. Unjust rules and practices go unexamined without someone willing to challenge the status quo. Progress remains stagnant, and countless others continue to suffer in silence. The courage to speak up, to face the backlash and the personal cost, is what drives societies forward. It is what leads to the dismantling of oppressive systems and the creation of more just and equitable structures.
In my own experience, I felt the full weight of the system pressing down on me, trying to silence my voice. There were moments when I questioned whether it was worth it, whether I should simply accept the rules as they were, and move on. But I couldn’t. I knew that if I gave in, I would be allowing an unjust system to continue, and I couldn’t live with that. My voice, though small, was part of a larger chorus calling for change, and I had to play my part.
Vinesh Phogat, too, is part of that chorus. Her fight is not just about her achievements or the medals she deserves. It is about fairness, about ensuring that the rules of the game are just and that they serve the athletes rather than hinder them. Her voice, amplified by the support and criticism it has received on social media, has sparked a broader conversation about the way we treat our athletes and the standards to which they are held.
I am not an expert on the rules of wrestling or the specifics of Vinesh’s case, just as I was not an expert on university regulations when I challenged the PhD rules. But I am intimately familiar with the feeling of being up against an unfair system, of being told that my concerns were unimportant, that I was simply being difficult. I know what it’s like to be labeled as “manipulative” for advocating for my rights, for standing up against what I knew was wrong. And I know how lonely that fight can be.
But I also know that change is possible. It is slow, and it is often painful, but it is possible. My battle with the university led to a change in regulations that will benefit future scholars. Vinesh’s battle, regardless of its outcome, will undoubtedly leave a lasting impact on the world of sports. She has forced us all to reconsider the rules, to think about what fairness really means, and to ask whether the systems we have in place truly serve the people they are supposed to.
This is why it is so important to raise our voices when we see something that isn’t right. It is not easy, and it comes with risks, but it is the only way to bring about change. Whether we are fighting for academic reform, sports justice, or any other cause, our voices matter. They are the catalysts for progress, the sparks that ignite the flames of change.
As I write this, I am filled with gratitude for those who have raised their voices before me, for those who are raising them now, and for those who will continue to do so in the future. Each voice, no matter how small, contributes to the larger movement toward a more just and equitable world. And for that, I am deeply grateful.
So, to anyone who is considering speaking out against an unjust system, I say this: Do not be afraid. Your voice has power. It may not seem like it at first, and the road ahead may be difficult, but your courage can make a difference. Change begins when one voice dares to speak against the silence. Without that courage, rules remain unchallenged, and progress stands still.
Raise your voice, and let it be heard.