Tag: Avijit Pathak

Suspension of teachers reflects the crisis emanating from the virus of ‘anti-intellectualism’

“When I chose to join the vocation of teaching in 1990, I was guided by a very noble idea of the university. The university, I thought, should function as a vibrant and living community of students and teachers walking together, and learning and unlearning through engaged pedagogy, meaningful research and constant debate and dialogue on culture, politics, and diverse modes of resistance for creating a just and humane world. And the administration, I thought, should play only an enabling role so that students and teachers can flourish in an environment of openness and freedom. I know this ideal is likely to be laughed at and ridiculed by the techno-managers who run our universities these days. The reason is that the instrumental logic of neo-liberalism seeks to depoliticize the university and, instead, transforms it into a ‘brand’ that cherishes the market-driven mantra of ‘productivity’ and ‘efficiency’, and transforms students into consumers and teachers into service providers.”

The other day, when I read news reports about the suspension of four teachers at Delhi’s South Asian University (SAU), I was shocked, but not necessarily surprised. Well, these professors, as I know, are quite good in their respective fields of specialization. But then, instead of defining themselves as purely ‘value-neutral’ professionals, they, it seems, behaved like true teachers with a conscience — and in communion with their students. Not surprisingly, when their students were opposing the reduction of their monthly stipend and demanding representation in certain statutory committees, they urged the university administration to talk to the students and find a dignified way (instead of reducing the entire struggle to a ‘law and order’ problem to be handled by the police) to resolve the issue. Students who raise their voice are seen as disruptive elements. Teachers in touch with these students are bound to suffer.

One of them visited the hospital where a student was admitted after falling severely sick during the agitation. In a good society, these teachers should have been appreciated for these qualities or virtues. However, we live in altogether different times that transform everything into its opposite: virtue into vice, compassion into non-professionalism, and scholarship into cold indifference. Hence, as I thought, their suspension was inevitable because the university administration could not tolerate their ‘misconduct’!

Well, it is not difficult to understand that this sort of disciplinary measure on the part of the university conveys two messages to the teaching community: (a) As a teacher, you should know your boundaries; draw your fairly attractive salary, remain silent and don’t bring ‘politics’ into the classroom; otherwise, be prepared for punitive action; and (b) Don’t underestimate the power of the surveillance machinery; it is continually monitoring you, observing your every move and action, and even recording whether you are taking part in ‘radical’ forums like the ‘Marxist Study Circle’. In fact, these twin messages will further intensify the psychology of fear, and most of the teachers will play it ‘safe’, remain diplomatic or through their silence encourage the administration to become more and more coercive.

When I chose to join the vocation of teaching in 1990, I was guided by a very noble idea of the university. The university, I thought, should function as a vibrant and living community of students and teachers walking together, and learning and unlearning through engaged pedagogy, meaningful research and constant debate and dialogue on culture, politics, and diverse modes of resistance for creating a just and humane world. And the administration, I thought, should play only an enabling role so that students and teachers can flourish in an environment of openness and freedom. I know this ideal is likely to be laughed at and ridiculed by the techno-managers who run our universities these days. The reason is that the instrumental logic of neo-liberalism seeks to depoliticize the university and, instead, transforms it into a ‘brand’ that cherishes the market-driven mantra of ‘productivity’ and ‘efficiency’, and transforms students into consumers and teachers into service providers. Under these circumstances, it is exceedingly difficult to retain the spirit of critical pedagogy that the likes of Paulo Freire and bell hooks embodied. Instead, a teacher/professor is supposed to be ‘value-neutral’. Politics is a diversion; she/he should only publish papers, keep in mind the mathematics of the ‘citation index’ and the ‘impact factor’, and enhance the ‘ranking’ of the university! And a student should think only of his/her utilitarian objectives. Possibly, SAU, too, is imitating this logic. No wonder the students who raise their voice are seen as disruptive elements; and as the suspension of four teachers indicates, if you are seen to be in touch with these ‘problematic’ students, you are bound to suffer. In a way, the teachers’ suspension cannot be seen in isolation.

Furthermore, as India is fast moving towards some sort of electoral autocracy, we are witnessing a new kind of crisis emanating from the virus of ‘anti-intellectualism’. Don’t think critically. Don’t question the establishment. Accept the dominant discourse of development, nationalism and religion. Is it, therefore, surprising that even the slightest trace of dissent is criminalized? Everywhere in India, the university administration is becoming overly cautious; it would not allow any activity, be it pedagogic, cultural or political, that questions the ruling regime or encourages critical thinking and radical life-practice. Well, for quite some time, I thought that SAU — a joint initiative by the eight SAARC countries — was of a qualitatively different kind. In fact, I visited this university on many occasions; my interaction with young students from Bangladesh, Nepal, Afghanistan and India gave me immense satisfaction; and the presence of bright and young teachers was a matter of great joy. Is the SAU losing its autonomy, receiving signals from the government and behaving like yet another Indian university producing a bunch of conformists and depoliticized careerists, or even hyper-nationalists?

My heart aches for these four teachers. What worries me further is that as the members of the upwardly mobile Indian middle class hesitate to take any ‘risk’, and prefer to live with their narrowly defined concerns — ‘my job, my career, my safety, my family, my car, my apartment, my EMI’ — these four victims are unlikely to get solid and sustainable emotional and political support from the larger teaching community. With their solitary struggle, they will suffer — financially and psychologically. However, I tend to believe that this turning point in their lives will further intensify their conviction, give them the strength to remain firm and help them emerge as sources of hope in these dystopian times.
(The author is a sociologist)

Death of critical thinking is what all authoritarian masters cherish

“No meaningful teaching/learning is possible if the psychology of fear robs us of our voice. In fact, the toxic politics we see around has created an environment in which one can be censored, disciplined and punished for any critical voice that seeks to interrogate the logic of the Establishment, say, the reduction of the supreme leader of the ruling party into a non-questionable messiah; the legitimization of his every act, speech or policy through the logic of popularity and electoral statistics; and the simple equation that divides us into two categories or binaries — deshbhakts or nationalists and anti-national conspirators.”

The politics of critical pedagogy probes the discourse of power, interrogates all sorts of authoritarianism, promotes the ethos of dialogue and art of listening, sees education beyond the acquisition of mere market-friendly technical skills, and strives for enlightened/democratic citizenship. However, these days amid the all-pervading toxic politics, and cultural/psychic pollution all around, a sense of despair or pessimism seems to be preventing many of us from celebrating or practicing the art of critical pedagogy.

It is vital to spread the ethos of critical pedagogy — the pedagogy of love, resistance and social transformation.

To begin with, let us acknowledge a simple fact: no meaningful teaching/learning is possible if the psychology of fear robs us of our voice. In fact, the toxic politics we see around has created an environment in which one can be censored, disciplined and punished for any critical voice that seeks to interrogate the logic of the Establishment, say, the reduction of the supreme leader of the ruling party into a non-questionable messiah; the legitimization of his every act, speech or policy through the logic of popularity and electoral statistics; and the simple equation that divides us into two categories or binaries — deshbhakts or nationalists and anti-national conspirators.

As this psychology of fear invades our campuses and classrooms through politically appointed academic bureaucrats, it destroys the soul of critical pedagogy. It becomes difficult to learn and unlearn through questions, conversations and dialogue. Imagine the intensity of the danger. A student or a teacher can be suspended or expelled if he/she dares to watch the much talked about BBC documentary on the 2002 Gujarat riots. Or, for that matter, a series of FIRs can haunt you if you print a poster revealing your unhappiness with the present regime. And you can be jailed if your critical reflections ‘hurt’ the sentiments of hyper-nationalists playing with the fire of religious fundamentalism.

How is it then possible to create a culture of learning that promotes dialogue and art of listening, and encourages us to ask uncomfortable questions? The fact is that the cult of authoritarianism, and even electoral authoritarianism, needs either non-reflexive conformists or indulgent consumers as market fundamentalism and religious fundamentalism often go together. This is like annihilating the spirit of critical pedagogy.

Likewise, critical pedagogy requires the cultivation of some mental/intellectual faculties, say, the quality of endurance and patience needed to examine an issue relating to politics, culture, religion or economy with alertness, facts and conceptual clarity; and the courage to amend and even alter one’s position through nuanced debates and conversations. However, the characteristic feature of toxic politics is that it is loud, noisy and abusive. And it has further been accelerated by the propaganda machinery and the instantaneity of social media. If your educator is primarily the noisy television news anchor who turns everything into its opposite, or if you continually see political spokespersons of different colors or even ministers spreading lies and false information without the slightest shame and guilt, or if anything beyond irresponsible and destructive messages disseminated through social media look ‘boring’, how is it possible to verify facts, think clearly and critically, and evolve an informed opinion?

To take an illustration, let us ask a question: In his Cambridge speech, did Rahul Gandhi really plead for foreign intervention in India to save Indian democracy, as the spokespersons for the ruling party want us to believe? Or, is it that while emphasizing this ‘internal’ problem — the growing danger to our democracy — he only urged his audience to be aware of it as Indian democracy is a ‘public good’? You can verify facts and respond with moral responsibility only if you bother to see beyond ‘viral’ videos, aggressive press conferences, catchy Twitter messages, and listen to Rahul’s long speech carefully.

Likewise, it is only through deep listening and alert thinking can you understand that if you are critical of Lalit Modi or Nirav Modi, you are not conveying a message that all those who bear the surname ‘Modi’ or belong to a particular caste are like these two corrupt persons. It is as simple as understanding that every Gandhi is not necessarily like Mahatma Gandhi, or, for that matter, every Savarkar is not necessarily a proponent of militant Hindutva. Imagine the damage that this intoxication with toxic politics and associated fake news has done to our collective psyche. Indeed, the death of critical thinking is what authoritarian/narcissistic masters all over the world cherish.

And finally, critically pedagogy is related to the pedagogy of hope. However, this hope seems to be eroding fast as the toxic political culture is transforming even children, adolescents and youth into cynics, or dreamless ‘pragmatists’. Imagine what it means to live in a world where our political bosses, ministers and demagogues do not have the slightest hesitation in vomiting filthy words and nasty slogans to castigate their opponents. Are we normalizing hate speech, like ‘Yeh Congress ki kaunsi vidhwa thi, jiske khaate mein rupaya jaata tha?’, ‘Goli maaro saalon ko’, or ‘Apne kabhi dekha hai 50 crore ka girlfriend?’ Such vulgar language has entered every locality; and ironically, decency in public life is seen as ‘effeminate’ as we normalise authoritarianism, religious fundamentalism and hyper-masculine aggression as the order of the day. Can we recover the lost language — the language of sanity, or the language of ethically responsible and intellectually nuanced conversations?

Yes, these are terribly difficult times. But then, those who believe in the efficacy of a truly transformative education ought to unite, raise their voice, interact with students and teachers, and spread the ethos of critical pedagogy — the pedagogy of love, resistance and social transformation.
(The author is a sociologist)