In the intricate machinery of India’s republic, few figures remain as polarising, profound, and persistently relevant as Dr. Bhimrao Ramji Ambedkar. He is invoked in Parliament, debated in student unions, and revered in public squares. For many, he is the moral architect of India—a defender of dignity. For others, he is the figure unfairly linked to everything divisive about the reservation system. His image looms large, yet his ideas are often reduced to fragments. The irony is unmistakable: the more expansive his influence becomes, the sharper the criticisms he attracts.
Ambedkar the Architect, Not the Mason
A common myth persists that Ambedkar "wrote" the Indian Constitution, as if he single-handedly penned the world’s longest legal document. In truth, as Chairman of the Drafting Committee, his role was to synthesise, refine, and articulate the collective vision of the Constituent Assembly. It was an enormous task involving rigorous debate, countless drafts, and sleepless nights. Though not its sole author, Ambedkar’s intellect, moral clarity, and legal insight were pivotal in giving the Constitution its ethical backbone.
He championed constitutional morality, the rule of law, and individual dignity—principles that remain the foundation of India’s democracy. Yet ironically, few remember him for enshrining rights like liberty, equality, and legal remedy. Instead, public discourse often reduces him to a single, polarising topic: caste-based reservations.
Reservation: The Faulty Mirror
Reservations were not Ambedkar’s invention; they evolved from colonial-era affirmative actions for marginalized communities. Ambedkar defended them as a necessary instrument for social redress—not a permanent fixture. His reasoning was grounded in justice: how does a society built on centuries of exclusion offer genuine equality without structural correction?
Yet today, Ambedkar is routinely vilified when someone loses a job or college seat due to reservation quotas. The systemic issues—historic oppression, poor governance, lack of opportunity—are ignored. Instead, criticism is personalized, and Ambedkar becomes the scapegoat.
This is not only unfair but historically inaccurate. Much of the current reservation structure, especially the OBC quotas, was introduced decades after Ambedkar's death. Moreover, he had warned against over-reliance on state intervention for social reform. For him, reservations were a means to an egalitarian end—not an end in themselves.
Criticism from the Left, Right, and Centre
Ambedkar occupies an unusual place in Indian discourse—claimed and contested by nearly every ideological camp. The Hindu right has long harbored discomfort with his critique of Hindu scriptures and caste hierarchy. His conversion to Buddhism, his rejection of Hindu orthodoxy, and his searing indictment of social inequality are seen by some as rebellion rather than reform.
Meanwhile, certain leftist thinkers fault him for not being revolutionary enough—arguing that he placed too much faith in the Constitution instead of mass uprisings. Centrists often tokenize him, reducing his memory to calendar anniversaries and political symbolism.
In truth, Ambedkar wasn’t trying to please any ideological bloc. He was trying to save India from itself. “In politics, we must have unity, but in social life, we must have equality,” he warned in his final speech to the Constituent Assembly. It’s a warning many of his critics still refuse to hear.
The Politics of Memory and Selective Amnesia
Ambedkar is everywhere and nowhere. His image is ubiquitous—gracing posters, currency notes, and rallies. Yet his writings remain unread, his ideas misrepresented. Few engage with Annihilation of Caste, one of the boldest social critiques in Indian history. Even fewer explore his vision of democracy, labour rights, or economic equality.
Much of the criticism against him is rooted not in ideology but in discomfort. Questions like “Why is he glorified so much?” or “Why did he divide society?” are often veiled anxieties about equality itself. When someone speaks truth so unapologetically, it is often labelled as divisive—especially by those whom the truth unsettles.
Among Dalits and the marginalized, however, Ambedkar is not just a historical figure—he is a living force. His relevance is felt each time caste discrimination makes headlines. India returns to him not because he is faultless, but because he foresaw the fractures that still bleed.
Beyond Caste: The Full Spectrum of His Thought
To reduce Ambedkar to a “Dalit leader” or “father of reservations” is to ignore the breadth of his genius. A Columbia-trained economist, a barrister from London, a labour rights advocate, a scholar of comparative religion—Ambedkar’s intellect spanned fields that modern policymakers barely grasp.
His economic writings tackled land reforms and public finance. His views on women's rights were pioneering. His draft of the Hindu Code Bill sought to give women equal property and marriage rights—decades before feminism became mainstream in India. When the bill was stalled, he resigned from Nehru’s cabinet—on principle.
That is why he remains difficult to digest. He defied categorization, challenged every orthodoxy, and called out hypocrisy on all sides. Those who seek comfort in easy narratives will always find him inconvenient.
A Mirror to the Nation
He is a mirror in which India glimpses both its brightest hopes and its darkest truths. That discomfort is not accidental—it is earned. And the more luminous his legacy becomes, the longer the shadows it casts.
To critique Ambedkar is valid in a democracy. But when criticism is based on hearsay, resentment, or selective memory, it reveals more about the critic than the man himself. Ambedkar's enduring legacy is not just a list of laws or reforms—it is the vocabulary of justice he gave to those long denied a voice.
As India continues to evolve, the debate around Ambedkar will grow too. But the measure of a nation lies not in how it praises its heroes, but how honestly it engages with their truths.