LESSONS THAT STUDENTS LEARN: MoI IN TIMES OF CAA

It is four years since the tragic death of Hyderabad Central University scholar Rohith Vemula. Driven to commit suicide by a deeply casteist and discriminatory educational system, Vemula now is a symbol of liberation for all students who hail from minoritized- and discriminated-against backgrounds. In the context of the recent country-wide protests against the Citizenship Amendment Act, 2019, Vemula’s memory fortifies protestors to soldier on.

Vemula’s life and death is also an indication that thousands of people in India desire education, particularly higher education, even when the system is so discriminatory and fails to deliver quality education. Many of these people, just like Vemula, want to be writers, scientists and enjoy the pursuit of knowledge for its own sake. However, as Vemula’s life and pursuit of his dreams indicate, this aspiration for education and a better life is riddled with obstacles. Yet, it was through higher education and the university space that Vemula challenged the casteist politics in India—many like him do the same.

The access to higher education after the Mandal Commission reforms has resulted in many students from minoritized backgrounds thinking about how to make their lives and those of others better. It has also resulted in students from elite backgrounds coming in contact with their non-elite colleagues. Though not always in mutually respectful encounters, this sharing of educational space has led to a change in thinking about Indian society. In short, more people are challenging received wisdom and articulating their opposition to discrimination. More and more people want a say in their political futures.

                                                                                                     

Thus, many students, like and unlike Vemula, join schools, colleges, and universities to make something out of their lives, to succeed, and to have decent employment. If there is a disconnect between what students expect from education and the realities outside an educational institution, they realize that their hopes, dreams, and aspirations will not be fulfilled. Therefore so many students have taken the lead in safeguarding their futures by registering their protests against misguided policies of the government.

Despite having a less than ideal educational system in this country, it can be said that education has positively molded minds. Perhaps, it is the values that education imparts that makes some difference, however little it may be. In learning about ourselves and the world around us, students are automatically led to question: Why does a particular chemical reaction occur? Why does an equation work? Why is there so much poverty around us?

Hence, in Goa, it was not surprising to see the speech by a 14-year old student, Diksha Talaulikar, a student of Maria Bambina Convent High School, to make the news. This speech, made on occasion to mark 70 years of the Indian Constitution, organized by the Department of Education, was a passionate plea against the Citizenship Amendment Act, 2019. Naturally, the ruling establishment was utterly embarrassed by the moral clarity shown by a young student.

Talaulikar, perfectly trained in the art of formal elocution, pleaded, “And today this bill discriminates [against] them (Muslims), thus making a mockery of my fundamental duty to promote harmony and the spirit of common brotherhood among people, transcending religion, region, and linguistic diversities. The country is burning. The soul of the Constitution, the Preamble, the liberty, equality, and fraternity has been murdered.”

Considering that Talaulikar is not alone in expressing such an opinion as school, college, and university students across the country are increasingly vocal about the state of affairs, we have to ask how the educational system can be made better. For despite the less than ideal condition of the educational system, some students demonstrate a remarkable moral clarity that is crucial to the health of the Indian republic and democracy. One needs to urgently think of the reform of primary, secondary, and university system in Goa.

As stated earlier, the demand for a better system comes from the citizens, especially those who are socially discriminated and economically deprived. Take, for instance, the demand for government aid for primary schools using English as the medium of instruction. Popularly known as the MoI controversy, it was a movement that demanded quality education for children so that, much like the children of the rich, the majority of the poor children will have a better shot at gaining employment.

Learning from the MoI movement can inform our current debates over citizenship. While those who were opposed to English as a medium of instruction wanted the poor to bear the burden of learning Indian languages with no guarantees of gainful employment, the poor wanted education in a seemingly foreign language for a chance at a better life. The poor, therefore, was only asking for a deeper realization of their Indian citizenship—the constitutionally guaranteed right of equal education.

The present moment of widespread student protests is an excellent opportunity in Goa to revisit the basic issues of education, as I have tried to show in reference to the MoI movement. The stress by some to use only ‘mother tongue’ as MoI for primary instruction is a political ploy to keep poor children undereducated, thus stealing their right to equal opportunity in employment. By not providing proper education to all members of the society, without discrimination, citizenship only ends up being a hollow concept.

The answer to many of our current woes, then, is simple: the education system needs to be better. Because even if it is bad, many students have found a way to make the best out of a worse situation. How much better would it be if we had a better education system?

(First published in O Heraldo, dt: 5 February, 2020)

CENTRES OF EXCELLENCE: EDUCATION AND SOCIAL JUSTICE

The villagers of Loliem-Polem in Canacona are up in arms. They are opposing, it seems, a ‘mega project’. Only in this case, the ‘mega project’ in question is a proposal for a new sprawling 120-acre campus of the Indian Institute of Technology (IIT) to be set up in Goa. Considering that this is a plan for the development of cutting-edge higher education, some people are at a loss to understand the protest. However, given Goa’s history with large-scale projects that gobble up land and other natural resources, one can see why the villagers are anxious about the take-over of so much land.

That apart, those who argue for the IIT campus to be set up in order to bring quality educational institutions to Goa may have good intentions, but do not seem to see the larger picture of what education is supposed to do for society. Hence, there is another dimension to the issue, that of social justice in education; one that needs to be considered along with the land issue. Given that IITs have witnessed the emergence of pro-Hindutva lobbies, as well as the recent anti-caste assertion, one would expect that those who bat for the IIT in Goa will take these happenings on board as well.

If we ask ourselves what is the most basic function of education, the answer surely would be to enable a person to be gainfully employed due to the skills that he receives after years of schooling and college. Additionally, we can also say that the educational system needs to produce enlightened citizenry. To that end, everyone should have a right to an education. But in recent years, we have witnessed repeated instances of discriminatory practices that precisely undermine this right to education for all. While the issue of the Medium of Instruction (MoI) can be cited as an example of how primary education of young children is sacrificed at the altar of politicking, the unfortunate death of Rohith Vemula at the Hyderabad Central University illustrates how universities and higher educational institutions have a long way to go to secure social justice for the most marginalized of the population. This is why claims of excellence by elite Indian educational institutions need to be taken with a pinch of salt.

If we focus closely on the impact that the new IIT will have on Goa, it would seem that the benefits would not accrue to the majority of the locals as easily as one may think. Getting into IITs is not easy. Especially since admissions are done on the basis of the Joint Entrance Exam (JEE) in which lakhs of aspirants try their luck. The preparation for the JEE generally requires specialized ‘coaching’ in private institutes, where the candidates have to pay lakhs of rupees. There was an argument that the new IIT campus in Goa will be a boost for the largely agrarian communities of Loliem-Polem and surrounding areas. However, considering the immense financial capital necessary to prepare for the entrance exam, would the children of such agrarian communities in Loliem-Polem – or for that matter any such communities in Goa – be able to fairly compete? One doesn’t think so.

While an IIT may spring up, it is no guarantee of equal opportunity. To add to it, majority of Goan students would be disadvantaged because they do not possess the resources necessary to “crack” the entrance exam. Implementing policies of social justice and inclusiveness has been a problem for all educational institutions in India. The idea that ‘merit’ trumps everything is at the root of discriminatory practices – often relating to caste – in Indian universities. While the universities oriented towards the humanities will at least be mildly embarrassed to peddle the argument of ‘merit’, even if caste-based discrimination goes on unabated, there are many technology institutes in India that still recruit students solely on the basis of ‘merit’. What ultimately this would mean is that if the ratio of a section of students in these elite campuses is low (such as Goan to non-Goan, or lower-caste to upper-caste), then these groups of students can be seen to lack ‘merit’, ‘talent’ or ‘ability’. Activists working on the issue of Dalit students in campuses have highlighted how they are discriminated against for lacking ‘merit’.

Speaking specifically of higher education in Goa, one cannot leave out Goa’s only university. For a small place like Goa, a centre of excellence should necessarily be one with a range of courses from the sciences to the humanities and social sciences. An establishment like the Goa University could be better suited, as opposed to an IIT whose focus is largely the sciences and technology. This is not to say that moving away from ‘only technical education’ to a combination of ‘technical-humanities education’ will make all the problems of discrimination, as discussed earlier, go away. Indeed, if the recent news reports and analysis of the manner in which affirmative action is scuttled in Goa University are to be taken note of, then it is indicative that having humanities-based courses does not guarantee a level playing-field. And yet one can make the case that having a range of courses from the sciences and humanities would allow a student access and choice to an all-round curriculum.

For if we are interested in bringing quality education and in making sure that the fruits of education reach all students, then our conception of higher education should be broader. The one-sided onus and value that is placed on technical and science-based education should give way to valuing the acquisition of various types of knowledges, even if it seems that such knowledge does not have an immediate market value. Indeed, fostering a community and culture requires that we also promote education in the humanities.

Making an argument for Goan students benefitting from centres of excellence set up on Goan soil, does not mean that one is making a ‘Goan v/s outsider’ argument, or that one is trying to suggest that non-Goan students are not welcome. Indeed, educational hubs can only be lively spaces when there is a diversity of scholars and students who interact with each other. However, there is something ‘colonial’ about arguments that completely ignore the fact that communities who lose their lands do not get much in return. ‘Colonial’ because giving up land can itself be extractive with guarantees of any returns being at best debatable.

Perhaps, we need to be open to the possibility that the people of Loliem-Polem are not just fighting to save a lush, fertile piece of land. 

Illustration: Angela Ferrao.

(A shorter version was first published in O Heraldo, dt: 12 October, 2016)

CONVERSION AS POLITICAL PROTEST

The “institutional murder” of a Dalit PhD scholar, Rohith Vemula in January this year, saw the launch of a fiery protest across India. Rohith was driven to commit suicide due to the institutional harassment meted out to him because he was Dalit. While the investigation into the matter has not proceeded in any meaningful direction leading to justice, the protesting students at the Hyderabad Central University – the epicenter of the protests – have witnessed repeated and brutal attacks by the State to stifle the voice of those who demand strict action against the guilty and those complicit in the violence and discrimination. While the search for justice is on, this year’s 125th Ambedkar Jayanti saw the mother and brother of the deceased Rohith converting to Buddhism. Conversion is usually in the ‘national’ news nowadays only with ‘ghar wapasi’-like incidents in which minoritized communities are targeted, often violently; while violence against such communities continues unabated everyday. The conversion of the Vemulas is, therefore, a very different report and as such should be used as an occasion to reflect on the place of conversion in the social and political landscape of India.

Radhika and Raja Vemula’s actions should be understood as a form of political protest and an assertion of the essential dignity of the human being. The conversion to Buddhism of the Vemulas came after their repeated calls for justice, to the State and civil society, fell on deaf ears. Such a mode of protest is not new to the Dalit movement in India. One can refer to the first of such protests in 1956 when Dr. B. R. Ambedkar along with half-a-million followers embraced Buddhism, in order to walk out of the oppression of the Hindu caste system. Of course this conversion took years in preparation and theological reflection.

This sentiment of protest is precisely what Raja Vemula expressed in his press note before embracing Buddhism. He said that the conversion was due to a desire to change their lives, a life of “[t]he kind…that Babasaheb Ambedkar wanted us to lead. A life without blind belief. A life based on compassion and respect for fellow human beings. A life of dignity and self respect. A life outside the Hindu caste system”.

Though conversion-as-protest has more than half-a-century of history, yet conversions are generally perceived as ‘de-stabilizing’ by the ‘secular’ or left-wing and right-wing elites in India, thus necessitating suspicion. In this imagination, conversion is an act that violates the soul of India.

That conversion movements have been markers of protest against violence and oppression of marginalized communities is something that Indian nationalism has never properly acknowledged. Thus, the violence that has marked – and continues to mark – everyday realities of marginalized groups is conveniently not discussed. Which is precisely why the recent conversion of the Vemulas should remind us of the banal and non-banal violent conditions prevailing in India and that through conversion communities attempt to better their lives.

Following this line of thought, one should also re-think about how we feel and understand the history of Christianization in Goa. That today if we find a Goan landscape dotted by whitewashed churches it is not because of a violent process of proselytization but because Christianization had provided a way out of the violence that had marred the social and political landscape of Goa. Indeed, recent historical scholarship has strongly emphasized this point.

The fact that conversion to Christianity and Islam is seen as ‘de-stabilizing’ while that to Buddhism is not seen as such, exposes the cunning logic of Indian nationalism. The logic operates on two levels. The ‘foreign’ or Abrahamic religions are assumed to be fundamentally violent. Thus, Christianity is represented as responsible for forced conversions and Islam identified as having spread through the sword. However, conversion to Buddhism is understood differently. Buddhism cast as an Indic religion – or a religious tradition emerging from India – and in many ways appropriated as a sect of Hinduism could be used to deflect the radical, anti-caste edge of that re-articulated religious tradition. Mass conversion, whether to Islam, Christianity, or Buddhism, have always been a response to pre-existing violence and oppression of the society, and often also involves a spiritual preparation. These facts are always downplayed. The case of Ambedkar’s conversion in the textbooks is quite illustrative, for it is portrayed as an aberration in an otherwise peaceful Indian society.

Finally, detractors of the conversion of the Vemulas would predictably complain about the ‘ulterior’ political motives and how such conversions lack the necessary religiosity and spirituality fundamental to any religious practice. To them we could, perhaps, point out that religions such as Buddhism and Christianity emerged as political protests: the former against the excesses of the Brahmanical religion, and the latter against the oppression of the Roman Empire. To protest oppression is not to have ‘ulterior’ political motives, but to articulate a utopian and humane vision for the society. In the words of Raja Vemula, “From today, my mother and I will be truly free. Free from shame. Free from daily humiliation. Free from the guilt of praying to the same God in whose name our people have been tortured for centuries”.

(First published in O Heraldo, dt: 27 April, 2016)