Thresholds Open Doors. They Don’t Tell Us Who Will Walk Through.
13 January 2026 — Written by Naveen Mahesh
Thresholds Open Doors. They Don’t Tell Us Who Will Walk Through.
I read a report recently about postgraduate medical seats staying vacant, even after multiple rounds of counselling and lowered cut offs.
On paper, it looks solvable.
Seats exist. Aspirants exist. Criteria gets adjusted.
And yet, the seats remain empty.
What stayed with me was not the policy decision. It was the pattern underneath it. The quiet reminder that human beings do not move like spreadsheet cells.
In complex systems, thresholds can open doors. But doors alone do not tell us who will walk through them.
Why the obvious explanation is not enough
The obvious explanation is supply and demand.
But the more useful explanation is signals and stories.
Because when the stakes are high, people do not only ask, “Can I enter?”
They also ask, often silently:
“Will I be safe inside?” “Will I be respected inside?” “Will I regret walking in?”
You can lower a cut off and still fail to lower the psychological cost of trying.
Here are three everyday parallels that make this easier to see.
First, a gym offers a discounted membership. Many still do not join, because they believe they will be judged.
Second, a company opens roles to career returnees. Many still do not apply, because they assume the workplace has moved on without them.
Third, a college offers scholarships. Many still do not take them, because they do not feel they belong in the room where the scholarship is discussed.
Access is real. And yet hesitation is also real.
Merit is not only a threshold. It is a message.
For years, we have treated merit like a number you can calibrate.
Raise the bar. Lower the bar. Widen the funnel. Narrow it again.
But merit, as it is experienced by people, is not only a measurement. It becomes a message.
And messages do not change just because a cut off changes.
Here are three messages students absorb long before they reach an eligibility moment.
One, “If you are not at the very top, you should not attempt this.”
Two, “People like you do not really make it in spaces like this.”
Three, “If you fail once, the cost of failing again will be too high.”
These messages do not live in policy. They live in corridors, coaching centres, family conversations, and peer groups.
The three forces that decide participation
When a seat stays empty, we call it underutilisation.
But often, it is a system telling us something about participation.
In my mind, participation is shaped by three forces: signal, story, and self.
Let me explain, with three examples each.
1. Signal
Signals are what the system communicates without saying it out loud.
Example one: reputation. Students ask, “Is this college respected, or will this choice follow me as a label?”
Example two: peer comparison. Students ask, “Who else is taking this seat, and what does that say about me?”
Example three: pathway clarity. Students ask, “If I take this seat, where does it lead, and what doors does it close?”
If signals are noisy, people step back.
2. Story
Stories are the narratives people carry about risk, worth, and consequences.
Example one: the story of irreversibility. “If I choose wrong, I cannot recover.”
Example two: the story of embarrassment. “If I try and do not succeed, I will be seen differently.”
Example three: the story of family sacrifice. “If I enter, I must justify the cost, emotionally and financially.”
Stories do not respond quickly to policy tweaks. Stories respond to repeated experiences.
3. Self
Self is the internal sense of readiness and identity.
Example one: confidence. “Can I handle the workload, the language, the competition?”
Example two: belonging. “Will I be welcomed, or tolerated?”
Example three: permission. “Am I allowed to want this, even if it is not what everyone expected?”
This is the part we underestimate most.
Because it is invisible. And yet it decides everything.
Education decisions are rarely made at eligibility
We often assume decisions are made when the form opens.
But in education, decisions are shaped much earlier.
They are shaped when a child first learns what “good” looks like. They are shaped when they learn what failure costs. They are shaped when they learn whether their effort will be met with dignity.
Here are three points in time where the decision is often quietly made.
One, in early adolescence, when they internalise what they are “good at” and what they are “not good at.”
Two, during high pressure exam years, when the system teaches them that worth equals rank.
Three, after their first big setback, when they learn whether a second attempt is seen as courage or as embarrassment.
By the time eligibility arrives, many have already decided who they are.
The door opens. But the person has already walked away.
What this means for policy, and for parenting
This is not an argument against thresholds. Thresholds have a role.
It is an argument for humility about what thresholds can do.
If we want participation, we have to work on more than access.
We have to reduce fear. We have to restore dignity. We have to rebuild a sense of readiness.
That sounds abstract, so here are three practical shifts that help.
First, replace one shot judgement with guided iteration. More drafts, more practice, more feedback.
Second, make pathways visible. Not just entry criteria, but what life looks like after entry.
Third, normalise the second attempt. Celebrate the courage of trying again, not only the glory of clearing it once.
In other words, open the door, yes.
But also soften the room.
Key takeaways
- Thresholds change access, but they do not automatically change confidence.
- Participation is shaped by signals, stories, and the learner’s sense of self.
- In high stakes education, the real work is reducing the psychological cost of trying.
FAQ
If cut offs do not work, should we stop using them?
No. Thresholds can be useful for fairness and logistics. The point is that they are not enough on their own.
Why do students hesitate even when seats are available?
Often because the system’s signals and stories still communicate risk, shame, and uncertainty, even if eligibility has been expanded.
What can educators do inside their institutions?
Work on experience, not only criteria. Build clearer pathways, stronger mentorship, and a culture where learners can attempt, fail, and return without loss of dignity.