The conflict between Power and Knowledge is very well established. It can be seen very clearly when we look into the administrative apparatus of a university. We see the cradle of knowledge bequeath power; nonetheless, it is the power that breaks the cradle. One example of the conflict between power and knowledge is seen in Plato’s experience. Plato was indeed a wise man, for he conceived of the idea of ‘philosopher-king’. This idea weds the two notions in the most platonic way. How does one intuit the impossible marriage of power and knowledge? This has been the question that academia has been grappling with for times immemorial. Plato himself was the victim of the same. Plato taught and educated Dionysius II to transform him into a philosopher-king, but Dionysius II became suspicious that the knowledge Plato exhibited would undermine his power. Being an obtuse person, it was never possible for Dionysius II to acquire the wisdom Plato wanted to bestow. Eventually, Plato was detained. As does the story of our times go.
Sometimes, when a Vice chancellor enters a building, the overwhelming feeling is of power. One sees heads bowing, shoulders slouching, and people rising deferentially. Hardly does it evoke enlightenment or intellectual elevation. The presence of a VC is essentially the presence of power, and thereby the state. It is never happy with genuine free thinkers and is always insecure in the presence of wisdom, but continually elated with submissive, conniving, and sycophantic minions. So, the question arises, can the VC ever be a knowledgeable and moral person? The question of morality is particularly poignant and relevant in the Indian context. The entire freedom struggle of India and its intellectual front were bred in institutions established or funded by the British. However much the power tried to suppress it, the fiercer the criticism and activism turned. Particularly important is the role of charitable private institutions, such as Darul Uloom Deoband and numerous small madrasas, in disseminating anti-colonial thought and providing theological legitimacy to resistance against oppression. One must reflect on whether the British government ever behaved morally in response to it. And do we really expect any modern government to act otherwise?
Banality of Rules
One of the ways to undermine academic freedom is through ‘disciplinary measures.’ The rules and regulations invoked every once in a while, supposedly to prevent injustice, are mobilised to perpetrate injustice. The highest virtue regarded in faculty members is to never think of questioning the rules and regulations. In one of the reports by the American Association of University Professors in 1986, they observed, ‘In many instances a show of disrespect for a discipline is, at the very same time, an expression of dissent from the prevailing doctrines of that discipline.’ In similar terms, St. Augustine said, an unjust law is no law at all. And who better can make the normative judgment about the justness of a law than an educator? But the mindless execution of rules critically undermines the questions of legitimacy and moral desert of a rule in itself.
Public universities are funded by the public and, by design, do not serve any private interests. Their function is to enable free thinking for all sections of society. However, this is where the government shows its full might of rule and regulations. The obsession with rules in public universities is such that, despite the UGC’s clarification that CCS rules are non-binding, several universities have voluntarily imposed them on themselves. The CCS rules are designed for mindless bureaucrats whose job it is to execute their masters’ orders. Needless to say, the nature of bureaucracy in India is to function in an Eichmannian way. The similar non-reflective and routine job expectations from a faculty member are simply outrageous.
Similarly, the administration’s forceful implementation of the NEP is fundamentally aimed at subverting the nature of educational discourse. The idea of the state implementing its own education policy is oxymoronic and antithetical to academic freedom. It is not just about the NEP, which is a notably sardonic joke of an educational policy; it is about all the policies any state would find itself enunciating for academia. Added to this are the echo chambers of Viksit-Bharat, as created by the ICSSR and universities at large. It is a routine response one hears from highly qualified colleagues that their project was not accorded a research grant. It becomes clear why, once you hear the title. If there is a slight mention of critical evaluation of the government, there is zero chance of the project being accepted for grants. The senior professors recommend quite emphatically that one must ‘paraphrase the proposal’; invariably meaning that one must pander to the administration or make the proposal palatable for the government.
Good Teacher, Bad Teacher
Imagine an ordinary teacher in an Indian University. There can be any number of sets they can be coming from, but from the university administration’s vantage point, there are only two types. Good and Bad. A good teacher is an agent of instrumental knowledge production, as opposed to a bad one who attempts (for one can never presume) to enquire freely. A good teacher is quick to render willingness to execute every half-cooked idea proposed by the administration or the government. They are incredibly grateful for having a job itself, because they are aware that, unless the administration had been benevolent towards them, they would not have had the position by dint of their merit. They are quick to get over the syllabus without raising any critical streak of enquiry among the students. They follow the syllabus by the tooth. They don’t ask questions in the exam papers about the alleged violence against Muslims in India. They are most happy when they are allowed to share the stage with the ‘dignitaries’. For every event, conference, paper publication, and so on, they are quick to extend credit to the administration, without whose support the event wouldn’t have been possible. For every single ‘mistake’, they are ready with apologies to pander to the administration. To the extent that writing apologies is a cultural practice in universities.
The bad ones have opinions. They are proud and arrogant, ostentatiously drawing confidence from their own merit. They dismiss any notion of administrative benevolence, insisting they’re merely discharging their duty—never dispensing charity. They never like any interference in their teaching and research from the administration, and especially from the government. For them, every single guideline from the Ministry of Education is housed in a dustbin. They ask for a copy of the rules and regulations to be handed over to them before acquiescing to any arbitrary order by the administration. Most damning of all, they themselves do and openly ask students to question not just power, the syllabus, and content, but also themselves. They refuse to write apologies as the administration demands or expects. In turn, they are terminated, suspended or transferred.
The university apparatus has a known record of rewarding the ‘good’ teachers and penalising the ‘bad’ ones. It should have been the other way around, as Joan Scott mentions in her seminal essay, citing a university president who had eloquently stated the view, “Certain professors are refused re-election lately, apparently because they set their students to thinking in ways objectionable to the trustees (read, the administration). It would be well if more teachers were dismissed because they fail to stimulate thinking of any kind.” Imagine the extent of joblessness if this moral principle is followed to the letter.
Killing Commendatore
The teachers’ association and the students’ union are forms of participatory governance. They are the fundamental source of distribution of power, ensuring that power does not become concentrated in the ignoble government officers appointed to universities. The real stakeholders of any institution are the teachers and the students. They have the capacity and, thereby, should have the right to determine the affairs of the university. Scott argues in her attempt to devise a theory of academic freedom that academic freedom insists on ‘the moral principle of non-intervention by trustees (read the administration) in faculty work, but also on the incompetence of these people to judge the value of the work produced.’ It is not the magnanimity of the administration that allows for freedom or decentralisation of power, but instead, they are simply incompetent to do the job of teachers and students. This is why executive councils and Academic Councils have been established in universities. They have, however, been reduced to another mechanism for providing a faux power to the stakeholders. All appointments to the EC are along the lines of parroting the government agenda. The members of AC, despite being faculty members, are overwhelmingly from the category of ‘good-teachers’ who are toothless and have no real assertive power over the administration. The unions of teachers and students do not have, in most universities, any statutory powers. Even if in any of such councils with administration, the representatives of these bodies are invited, they are usually to praise the ‘cooperation’ of the administration and as a show of magnanimity of the administration.
Furthermore, both the teachers’ and students’ unions have lost sight of the ontological grounds. They are not a grievance redressal cell, a rights protection cell, a cultural activities cell, or a submission of representation cell, as they presume to be. They are the fundamental agents of governance within the university. And within the role of exercising self-governance, they can contemplate firstly to improve the conditions of creating and disseminating not instrumental knowledge but the knowledge necessarily emanating from categorical imperatives. Secondly, they are supposed to create an environment conducive to such gutsy and daring attempts at enquiry. Finally, they can cater to the basic demands of faculty and students regarding increments or better food in the canteens.
In one of the most piercing pieces of commentary written recently, Farooqi and Gogoi argue that the subversive nature of education requires taking risks and demands that even institutions reciprocate in protecting this behaviour. They argue, ‘While our vocation demands willingness towards risk‐taking (taking sides) in our reflections on social and political issues of consequence, our institutions’ indifference to that pivotal duty hits the very foundation of the reciprocity that defines a scholar’s relationship with their institution.’
Although the buck when referring to ‘institutions’ usually stops with the administration, the complacency of teaching and student bodies also needs to be addressed. In a recent instance, a faculty member of Jamia Millia Islamia was suspended for exercising his academic freedom. Except for JNUTA, no other teachers’ association came out in support. While the Jamia Teachers Association should have been the first one to come out in support of the faculty, they kept quiet. DUTA went on to condemn the question asked by the faculty member, thereby registering their condemnation of the exercise of academic freedom itself. The extent of complacency is such that a presential candidate for the teachers’ association, when asked if they were willing to confront the administration, said, ‘It’s not wise to confront the administration; we have to take them with us.’ In essence, they were advocating for alignment with the administration’s directives.
A comprehensive restructuring and reorientation of these bodies, beyond a view of mandate for working for rights, complaints, and redress mechanisms, towards a total capture of university administration, should take place. The representative bodies themselves have to be the primary source of governance within the university apparatus. Along with AC and EC, there must be a significant and meaningful distribution of power among the stakeholders of the university. They should be able to determine the portfolios (in contrast to the concentration of portfolios in a few keep-my-mouth-shut professors); they should be able to elect or appoint Vice Chancellors, determine the structure of education, evaluation, promotion, appointments and so forth.
The larger Malaise
Among all the practices of administrative overreach, two universities stand out particularly. At one level, it is surprising, but on the other hand, when contextualised with crony capitalism, it is rather routine. South Asian University and Ashoka University. They both appear to be independent of the larger ecosystem of public universities in India. However, they have been responsible for some of the worst examples of crimes against academia. The push for resource starvation in public universities and the relaxation of norms for private universities indicate the double-edged sword of market-driven censorship and governmental restrictions. They behave in the exact same way that Dionysius II behaved. But they forget that it is not their tyranny, but the legacy of Plato that prevails.
It is necessarily the time to rejig and reevaluate the entire system of higher education in India. Academia can serve neither the money nor the muscle. Its relevance emanates from the ontological necessity of cognition and enlightenment. The cycle of complacency, mediocrity, and conformity has to break. It is with genuine courage and question that the eternal quest for knowledge be continued.
