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)