As the government purges political appointees in a radical bid to clean up higher education, a new crisis emerges: The glaring lack of incentive for the truly qualified individuals to take the helm of a university. For decades, the path to a university Vice Chancellor (VC) office in Nepal was paved with political patronage. That era, when the position was viewed as a reward for party loyalty, came to an abrupt halt this month. The newly formed government issued an ordinance vacating the posts of VCs, registrars and dozens of other officials in public universities across the country. Citing an urgent need to ‘depoliticise’ the education sector, the government has swept away many political appointees, arguing that the previous system fostered corruption, inefficiency and a catastrophic decline in academic standards.

On the surface, this is a welcome revolution. The public is exhausted by stories of student unions run by party cadres, examination papers leaked with impunity and university funds diverted for political purposes. Yet, as the Ministry of Education opens a ‘transparent’ application window for a range of major universities, a chilling question echoes through the faculty lounges of Kathmandu: In a role stripped of its illicit perks, burdened by immense pressure and vulnerable to shifting political winds, why would any high-calibre scholar actually apply to become a university VC?

To understand the reluctance, the context of the purge must be discerned. Nepal’s universities suffer from a centralised, manual operating system that leads to delayed results and deep political interference in the selection of examiners. The fundamental problems of rampant corruption, lack of digital infrastructure and the near-complete politicisation of faculty appointments are undeniable.

However, the cure of blanket dismissal without a transition plan or a thorough root-cause analysis has raised serious alarms. Senior education consultants require reform, but any reform that bypasses core governance norms risks undermining the very institutions it seeks to strengthen. This is the ‘cobra effect’ in action: A historical anecdote in which a government offering a bounty for dead cobras inadvertently led people to breed the snakes for the reward. When the bounty was cancelled, the breeders released the now-worthless cobras, increasing the wild population. In Nepal, the government has overnight killed the ‘political cobras’ in the universities, but in doing so created a governance vacuum so unstable that it may deter the very ‘snake catchers’—the qualified, dynamic leaders—from attempting to fix the system. A phased, strategic solution that methodically brings perpetrators of past corruption to justice would have been a more effective milestone.

The blunt economic reality is that the university VC position is economically irrational for a truly qualified, dynamic and active person. A senior university professor in Nepal earns a modest government salary. A university VC receives only a marginal premium above that. However, a professional holding a PhD with substantial research and administrative experience is globally marketable. They can earn several times the university VC’s stipend as a consultant for an international NGO, a mid-career academic in India or Southeast Asia or a tenured professor in the West. Thus, in this new context, the university VC’s position is anything but lucrative. It is now a position under constant pressure, laden with accountability and stripped of the traditional access to slush funds.

In past decades, the craze for the university VC position can be credited solely to its operating as a leaky bucket. Despite a low base salary, the job offered access to substantial non-salary benefits: Control over millions in internal revenue generated from examinations and student fees, kickbacks from university infrastructure contracts and the power to sell faculty positions or examination passing certificates. The role offered a lucrative procedure to sideline public funds, amass wealth through bribery and build patronage networks. The situation now, under the government’s new mandate, is expected to be devoid of corruption, wrongdoing and extra income.

The number of people who would work for the country with pure integrity, regardless of remuneration, is small and likely in their late career or retired. While examples of individuals in their late 70s and 80s who have performed remarkably well exist, the context is crucial. A retired academic can manage a prestigious university in Europe because the financial systems are automated, the faculty is professional, and the legal framework is robust. In Nepal’s context, however, building the system itself is still in a very early stage. Universities still rely on manual operations for exam registration, result publication and budget tracking. Digital interventions will need several more years to take hold effectively. Establishing effective systems requires dynamic, energetic and active individuals with all their motivation and zeal. So, the job of rebuilding a university cannot be handed to a septuagenarian patriot simply because no one else is willing to take the risk.

Furthermore, the current advertisement and selection process creates additional disincentives. The government has chosen to invite applications for university VC positions through open newspaper advertisements, much like a featured product. Would a person with a PhD from a reputable foreign university, a strong publication record, and a successful administrative career be interested in applying through such a mechanism? Probably not. Beyond the application itself, shortlisted candidates must then face a public hearing. While its intention is to ensure fairness and transparency, in practice, it becomes another significant hurdle. Why should a qualified individual willingly subject themselves to a potentially hostile public interrogation by political activists and student union leaders who may have no academic credentials themselves? The public hearing process, in its current form, risks killing intellect with populism. It sends a clear signal that even if you are the most qualified scholar in your field, your fate will be decided not by a panel of peers but by the loudest voice in a room.

The daily functioning of a university VC after appointment remains equally challenging. They have to face a section of faculty members and students who have been entrenched in inertia for decades. Change has come abruptly, and human nature resists change. The university VC will be caught between the government’s demand for rapid reform and the university establishment’s defence of its privileges. Any misstep could invite protests, media vilification or even another round of administrative purges. The wrongdoings that have occurred in universities must be addressed, but the solution is not to replace political interference with bureaucratic or populist control. There must be a system in place where the right person is placed in the right role, and that system must be built with patience and precision. The government must make the university VC position highly respected and secure, so that any candidate thinks twice before doing wrong. Only then will the advertisement in the newspaper attract not the desperate, but the dynamic.