Age, privilege and gender hierarchies plague Indian academia
Kartik Shanker and Siddhartha Krishnan
Originally published in Scroll, December 2018. Click here.
The world has been shaken over the last year by the revelations of sexual harassment in various professional spheres. Harassment was generally discussed with reference to the ‘sleazy’ world of cinema, where the ‘casting couch’ embodied such activity. Perhaps it is not even surprising in the world of commerce or politics, where patriarchal power is known to be exercised, and corruption is almost to be expected.
However, the spectre of sexual harassment has also loomed large over the world of academia, an arena often portrayed as comprising the noble pursuit of knowledge (and renouncing of worldly pleasures) by benign, absent minded professors with only the lofty goal of making grand discoveries or the world a better place. Perhaps that's an exaggeration, but it is true that the academia is generally considered (or considers itself) to be freer of the more sordid sentiments that afflict lesser mortals.
The recent outing of Inder Verma (Science, April 26, 2018) as a serial harasser is only likely to be the tip of the iceberg and just the most newsworthy of many similar cases around the world. Tweets, petitions, emails and blogs have been circulating in India accusing faculty at academic institutions of sexual harassment. There have simultaneously been calls for caution, that we not assume guilt until so proven.
While not in the least diminishing the importance of the anti sexual harassment campaign, we would argue that this is only part of a much larger malaise plaguing science, particularly in India. The dominion over various disciplines from business to politics by the ‘Old White Male’ has been the subject of much feminist–sociological analysis and existential angst (for the younger, the non-white, and other genders), enough to appear in many movies and novels. What is less publicized is the extent to which OWMs (also in India, OBM or Old Brahmin Males) dominate and influence science and academia. However, there are both similarities and differences and we believe that it is important to distinguish the phenomena of Age, Race and Gender Hierarchy (ARGH) from UGH (Universal Gender Hierarchy, of which sexual harassment is an extreme case).
Firstly, Indian academia has been very, very ‘white’ – read privileged. Dominated by upper castes (mostly Brahmins) for centuries, this has been strengthened by post independence socio-economic structures. For example, Indian Institute of Science, established over a 100 years ago by the (Parsi) Tatas was so Brahmin dominated at one time that it was popularly known as the Iyer-Iyengar Institute of Science. Cultural capital or an urban education and elite schooling makes such institutions more accessible to elite students. And once one completes one’s doctoral education in these hallowed institutions, the rule of triumphant thumb is that one goes abroad for a postdoctoral fellowship to have any chance of being considered for a faculty position. Needless to say, this must be to a white country – one imagines that a postdoc from the University of Dar-es-Salam is not cutting any ice. In fact, applicants with both PhDs and Postdocs from Western universities (and an American accent, literally or metaphorically) have the best chance of all.
Second, gender hierarchy or patriarchy is ubiquitous in India. It pervades every aspect of our lives and is widespread in academia as well. To be fair, in this regard, academia may actually fair no worse than the rest of Indian society. As if to reproduce masculinity and femininity, some ‘hard’ fields are still male dominated (engineering) while other ‘soft’ fields are actually female dominated to a small degree (biology). However, this tends to decrease with increasing levels of seniority (the proportion of women drops from graduate students to faculty to senior positions of power), and is still a significant problem.
While issues surrounding gender and privilege are critical, we draw attention here to a third axis: age. Age based discrimination is as much a prejudice as favouring able-bodied people. Seniority based on age plays a vital role in global academia. In India, we make an art form of it. Age is a very important number. We are brought up to respect elders. . Most Indian languages have different epithets for older and younger siblings, and similarly for other family. Add to this the cultural norm that we must respect, in that order, one’s mother, father, teacher and then god, and this translates beautifully into deeply entrenched academic hierarchies. This is dinned into our students from school onwards, and runs all the way through higher education to the way science itself is governed.
Unpacking the origins and mechanisms of these problems may provide a pathway to a solution. The three – age, privilege and gender – have very different modes of action. Privilege acts early in the career and makes opportunities for higher education available to those that are from particular castes and classes. Gender differences stem from patriarchal norms, and gendered prospects also differ between privileged and non-privileged groups. There are, however, social movements that address both issues, and academia will benefit eventually from processes that lead to more equitable and gender-neutral societies. Indeed, many regions of the world have made remarkable progress in this regard. Much has improved in India as well in the last couple of decades – institutions are more explicitly inclusive, and good practices are at least discussed, though there is a long way to go.
On the other hand, academic hierarchies resulting from seniority, while having roots in culture, are a particularly egregious trait that academia can claim with great ownership. And deeply does it run in the vein of Indian science. It is an accepted practice that is reinforced by institutional structures. Age in academia in India confers many privileges. More foreign trips, less administration, less teaching sometimes. Always inordinate power over decision making. There is a little chance, for example, that anyone would become the Chair of a department at forty, let alone the Director of an institution, while many of India’s most successful businessmen today are just that age. And in both academia and business, women’s prospects of early success are just that much duller.
Sexual harassment has become well defined enough that it is treated as a binary where actions are either construed by law as harassment or not. The influence of age and privilege are however very insidious. The abuse of academic hierarchies occurs in one form or another in every Indian institution. There may be some notable exceptions, but this remains the norm. Most scientists have had to kowtow to a senior academic at some stage of their career, and few will have difficulty in naming OWM/OBM Indian scientists who have influenced their lives directly or indirectly. No doubt its worse for women, as gender and age-based hierarchies can have a cumulative effect. Everyone decries it but it remains an amorphous beast.
We end by referencing two of our most famous poets. In one of Subramania Bharati’s famous poems ‘Agni kunjondru kanddaen’ he writes of hiding a small flame in the hollow of a tree in a forest. When the fire burns the forest down, he asks what the difference is between a tiny spark and a blazing fire. We must rid academia of age hierarchies not simply because it benefits science but to embed values that will benefit society. Rabindranath Tagore implored us to free our minds, but in order to that, the prisons created by our own academic institutions must crumble.
The world has been shaken over the last year by the revelations of sexual harassment in various professional spheres. Harassment was generally discussed with reference to the ‘sleazy’ world of cinema, where the ‘casting couch’ embodied such activity. Perhaps it is not even surprising in the world of commerce or politics, where patriarchal power is known to be exercised, and corruption is almost to be expected.
However, the spectre of sexual harassment has also loomed large over the world of academia, an arena often portrayed as comprising the noble pursuit of knowledge (and renouncing of worldly pleasures) by benign, absent minded professors with only the lofty goal of making grand discoveries or the world a better place. Perhaps that's an exaggeration, but it is true that the academia is generally considered (or considers itself) to be freer of the more sordid sentiments that afflict lesser mortals.
The recent outing of Inder Verma (Science, April 26, 2018) as a serial harasser is only likely to be the tip of the iceberg and just the most newsworthy of many similar cases around the world. Tweets, petitions, emails and blogs have been circulating in India accusing faculty at academic institutions of sexual harassment. There have simultaneously been calls for caution, that we not assume guilt until so proven.
While not in the least diminishing the importance of the anti sexual harassment campaign, we would argue that this is only part of a much larger malaise plaguing science, particularly in India. The dominion over various disciplines from business to politics by the ‘Old White Male’ has been the subject of much feminist–sociological analysis and existential angst (for the younger, the non-white, and other genders), enough to appear in many movies and novels. What is less publicized is the extent to which OWMs (also in India, OBM or Old Brahmin Males) dominate and influence science and academia. However, there are both similarities and differences and we believe that it is important to distinguish the phenomena of Age, Race and Gender Hierarchy (ARGH) from UGH (Universal Gender Hierarchy, of which sexual harassment is an extreme case).
Firstly, Indian academia has been very, very ‘white’ – read privileged. Dominated by upper castes (mostly Brahmins) for centuries, this has been strengthened by post independence socio-economic structures. For example, Indian Institute of Science, established over a 100 years ago by the (Parsi) Tatas was so Brahmin dominated at one time that it was popularly known as the Iyer-Iyengar Institute of Science. Cultural capital or an urban education and elite schooling makes such institutions more accessible to elite students. And once one completes one’s doctoral education in these hallowed institutions, the rule of triumphant thumb is that one goes abroad for a postdoctoral fellowship to have any chance of being considered for a faculty position. Needless to say, this must be to a white country – one imagines that a postdoc from the University of Dar-es-Salam is not cutting any ice. In fact, applicants with both PhDs and Postdocs from Western universities (and an American accent, literally or metaphorically) have the best chance of all.
Second, gender hierarchy or patriarchy is ubiquitous in India. It pervades every aspect of our lives and is widespread in academia as well. To be fair, in this regard, academia may actually fair no worse than the rest of Indian society. As if to reproduce masculinity and femininity, some ‘hard’ fields are still male dominated (engineering) while other ‘soft’ fields are actually female dominated to a small degree (biology). However, this tends to decrease with increasing levels of seniority (the proportion of women drops from graduate students to faculty to senior positions of power), and is still a significant problem.
While issues surrounding gender and privilege are critical, we draw attention here to a third axis: age. Age based discrimination is as much a prejudice as favouring able-bodied people. Seniority based on age plays a vital role in global academia. In India, we make an art form of it. Age is a very important number. We are brought up to respect elders. . Most Indian languages have different epithets for older and younger siblings, and similarly for other family. Add to this the cultural norm that we must respect, in that order, one’s mother, father, teacher and then god, and this translates beautifully into deeply entrenched academic hierarchies. This is dinned into our students from school onwards, and runs all the way through higher education to the way science itself is governed.
Unpacking the origins and mechanisms of these problems may provide a pathway to a solution. The three – age, privilege and gender – have very different modes of action. Privilege acts early in the career and makes opportunities for higher education available to those that are from particular castes and classes. Gender differences stem from patriarchal norms, and gendered prospects also differ between privileged and non-privileged groups. There are, however, social movements that address both issues, and academia will benefit eventually from processes that lead to more equitable and gender-neutral societies. Indeed, many regions of the world have made remarkable progress in this regard. Much has improved in India as well in the last couple of decades – institutions are more explicitly inclusive, and good practices are at least discussed, though there is a long way to go.
On the other hand, academic hierarchies resulting from seniority, while having roots in culture, are a particularly egregious trait that academia can claim with great ownership. And deeply does it run in the vein of Indian science. It is an accepted practice that is reinforced by institutional structures. Age in academia in India confers many privileges. More foreign trips, less administration, less teaching sometimes. Always inordinate power over decision making. There is a little chance, for example, that anyone would become the Chair of a department at forty, let alone the Director of an institution, while many of India’s most successful businessmen today are just that age. And in both academia and business, women’s prospects of early success are just that much duller.
Sexual harassment has become well defined enough that it is treated as a binary where actions are either construed by law as harassment or not. The influence of age and privilege are however very insidious. The abuse of academic hierarchies occurs in one form or another in every Indian institution. There may be some notable exceptions, but this remains the norm. Most scientists have had to kowtow to a senior academic at some stage of their career, and few will have difficulty in naming OWM/OBM Indian scientists who have influenced their lives directly or indirectly. No doubt its worse for women, as gender and age-based hierarchies can have a cumulative effect. Everyone decries it but it remains an amorphous beast.
We end by referencing two of our most famous poets. In one of Subramania Bharati’s famous poems ‘Agni kunjondru kanddaen’ he writes of hiding a small flame in the hollow of a tree in a forest. When the fire burns the forest down, he asks what the difference is between a tiny spark and a blazing fire. We must rid academia of age hierarchies not simply because it benefits science but to embed values that will benefit society. Rabindranath Tagore implored us to free our minds, but in order to that, the prisons created by our own academic institutions must crumble.
The political ecology of science as the language of power
Kartik Shanker and Meera Anna Oommen
Originally published by Radical Ecological Democracy, October 2018. Click here.
NOTE: This article was rejected by Stanford Social Innovation Review as not being of sufficient interest. But 2 years later, they published an article by our partners, Blue Ventures, UK, which makes an almost identical point and even quotes me from this article. Read 'The political ecology of science'. Period.
There is something particularly tranquil about the Lakshadweep Islands – the communities that live there, the lagoons that surround the atolls, and perhaps even the reef fish that swim beneath the calm waters. It seems almost too good to be true but Lakshadweep is an exception in many ways. The predominantly Muslim population is economically fairly well off, education levels are high (literacy is 100% or thereabouts) and they are largely comfortable with their dependence on coconuts and fishing as their main sources of income.
The Lakshadweep fisheries story is a heart-warming one. Pole and line tuna fishing came to the islands about 50 years ago. The method evolved in the Maldives and the southern most island of the Lakshadweep group, Minicoy, more than a thousand years ago. The pole and line method targets only tuna and has practically no bycatch at all. The live bait are small abundant planktivores (fish that feed on plankton) caught in the lagoons. Oceanic skipjack tuna, which are the main target, are cured and sold as a dried product.
In fact, Rohan Arthur, a marine biologist with the Nature Conservation Foundation, who has worked there for 20 years, calls them the fish that saved the reef. This is because the absence of extensive reef fishing has ensured relatively intact reef fish communities, including herbivores (surgeonfish, parrotfish, etc), which in turn has ensured that algal growth does not overwhelm reefs after bleaching events. This has meant that the reefs could recover over periods of time.
There are of course some wrinkles in this fairy tale. There have been declines or at least ups and downs in the tuna catch, particularly since the 2004 tsunami, a point that the fishers identify with a change in trends. Live bait, which were once abundant, also appear to be fluctuating. Of late, there is an increase in reef fishing, and talk of creating long-line fisheries and refrigeration facilities, both of which would open the floodgates for export. There is already a booming trade in grouper fisheries in the Andamans and it would take little for Lakshadweep reef fish to lock into that market chain. But for now, the lack of infrastructure and transport (fewer flights), and a cultural affinity for pole and line fishing have ensured that reef fishing has remained largely at subsistence-level.
In 2012, Dakshin Foundation started a project on community monitoring of the tuna fisheries in the Lakshadweep Islands. The main goal was to monitor trends in tuna catch as well as live bait. Led by Mahima Jaini and Naveen Namboothri, the team designed catch monitoring books in consultation with the fishers and distributed these to each of the boats. Not all boats were interested in the programme initially, and several took the books but did not enter any data. However, participation in the programme has improved over time, especially with the entry of Ishaan Khot (a Maharashtrian who learned Malayalam to engage better with the community) and Mahaboob Khan, a local from Kadmat Island with a degree in Social Work.
This data has been used to compile reports to the Administration and indicates the need for more careful monitoring of trends. It also points out the gaps in fishing infrastructure and facilities. Community support has also improved since 2015 when Dakshin began distributing ‘Fish for the Future’ calendars. In addition to featuring the boats that collected the ‘best data’, the calendars include info-graphics that provide visual representations of the data collected by the boats, and illustrations that promote sustainability and rights-based fisheries governance. As community-centric products, these calendars are printed in the local languages of Lakshadweep – Malayalam as well as Mahl, a dialect of the Dhivehi language of Maldives, spoken only in Minicoy, the southernmost island of Lakshadweep. This is probably one of the few or only publications that is made in Mahl in India outside of Minicoy. This has gone a long way towards making the data meaningful and relevant to the fishing community.
However, one can still ask a larger question about the role played by such community-based programmes in conservation and development. Do they merely provide datasets for management or do they play a larger social role?
Science as ‘English’
Community-centric conservation has received a great deal of emphasis in recent years. One aspect of community involvement is monitoring of fisheries, wildlife and natural resources. This is generally viewed as contributing to the body of knowledge in conservation science, towards developing policy and management.
However, we propose an alternate framework for understanding the role of such monitoring from the realm of language politics, where power is related to and can be exercised through the use of language, including specific dialects, accents and jargon. As is well known from both scholarly work in sociolinguistics as well as in popular currency, certain languages confer power, privilege and prestige. This is true at many scales. At both national and regional levels, some languages get privileged as ‘official’ and others not. At a global scale, many colonial languages have established dominance over native languages. Spanish in Latin America, French in North Africa, English the world over. In India, for example, the best jobs in most sectors are clearly available to those who can speak English fluently, a phenomenon enforced by and correlated to class, caste and economic status. The simple thumb rule here is, you have a better chance of getting what you want if you speak English.
In order to communicate knowledge, one needs to speak the same language. Despite all the efforts to privilege local knowledge, the official language of the State and of those in power remains that of ‘modern science’ and all of its trappings, including codification (data collection), representation (tables, figures), analysis (statistical) and communication (written forms such as reports and papers).
Though it might seem that States pay little real attention to science (especially given the existence of climate deniers), they largely support the scientific industrial enterprise, and it pervades their entire structure in terms of how they recognize, record, document and use information.
This leaves communities doubly disadvantaged.
First, local communities often speak an IM (indigenous and minority) language (or at least a dialect) which means that they either run the risk of marginalization by the State, or have to adopt a major language, which can result in the loss of culture and knowledge encoded in their local language.
Second, the modern scientific method as a system of discourse itself acts as a major language and can be used to exercise power in society. Hence, metaphorically, local knowledge formulations involving observations (or local science) are like an IM, and Science is like a foreign language. So, Science is really ‘English’, or ‘Latin’ if one wishes to go further back in history. If you don’t speak science, you cannot communicate knowledge in a form that has any influence. At least it is not sufficient to let these communities play a role in making decisions about their own resource use.
For example, the tuna fishers in the Lakshadweep were well aware of the challenges they faced (the variable catch, the decreasing size of tuna near fish aggregating devices (FADs), the lack of availability of diesel, etc). However, until they are able to show this in a ‘language’ that the modern State (including its scientific community) understands, i.e. data in the form of tables, figures and statistics, their knowledge provides them with little leverage.
A leap of language
Rather than take the ideological (and idealistic) position that all knowledges should be privileged equally, it may be more pragmatic to take a two-pronged approach. We know English ‘ain’t going nowhere’, and one may as well learn it (while trying as much as possible to preserve linguistic diversity). Similarly, we argue that, as much as or more than providing data for the science-State enterprise, community-based monitoring can provide an entry-point into the discourse of power, namely the scientific method, and thereby play a critical role in the empowerment of local communities and their engagement in conservation. ‘Speaking science’ thus becomes an enabler like speaking English. It provides access, acknowledgement and acceptance, all necessary for communities to have role in managing their resources.
Simultaneously, a greater engagement in and strengthening of IM languages (like Mahl in the Lakshadweep) is required to prevent further devaluation and marginalization of local cultures. This can strengthen the influence of indigenous knowledge systems and their contribution to more inclusive and democratic strategies in management. Here it is critically important to acknowledge the role of 'cognitive justice' as a possible pathway that recognizes the validity of different forms of knowledge as well as endorses their to coexist.
Many contemporary conservation paradigms acknowledge the need to empower local and marginal communities in their engagement with the State and dominant sections of society over the management of natural resources. In order for this to succeed, it is imperative that we explore collaborative initiatives and examine how these approaches can be applied in a manner that promotes the plurality of knowledge systems and empowerment in local communities in the context of natural resource management and conservation. At the same time, a community that is well-versed in the intricacies of modern scientific practice as well as confident in its own traditional knowledge-base will be a doubly-empowered one: it can not only contribute to hybrid, democratised knowledge processes but also hold its ground against dominant paradigms of language, knowledge and science, all of which are usually the stronghold of the elite. Participatory community engagements in resource management are therefore geared to serve several ideals: conservation, sustainability, democratic governance and social justice.
NOTE: This article was rejected by Stanford Social Innovation Review as not being of sufficient interest. But 2 years later, they published an article by our partners, Blue Ventures, UK, which makes an almost identical point and even quotes me from this article. Read 'The political ecology of science'. Period.
There is something particularly tranquil about the Lakshadweep Islands – the communities that live there, the lagoons that surround the atolls, and perhaps even the reef fish that swim beneath the calm waters. It seems almost too good to be true but Lakshadweep is an exception in many ways. The predominantly Muslim population is economically fairly well off, education levels are high (literacy is 100% or thereabouts) and they are largely comfortable with their dependence on coconuts and fishing as their main sources of income.
The Lakshadweep fisheries story is a heart-warming one. Pole and line tuna fishing came to the islands about 50 years ago. The method evolved in the Maldives and the southern most island of the Lakshadweep group, Minicoy, more than a thousand years ago. The pole and line method targets only tuna and has practically no bycatch at all. The live bait are small abundant planktivores (fish that feed on plankton) caught in the lagoons. Oceanic skipjack tuna, which are the main target, are cured and sold as a dried product.
In fact, Rohan Arthur, a marine biologist with the Nature Conservation Foundation, who has worked there for 20 years, calls them the fish that saved the reef. This is because the absence of extensive reef fishing has ensured relatively intact reef fish communities, including herbivores (surgeonfish, parrotfish, etc), which in turn has ensured that algal growth does not overwhelm reefs after bleaching events. This has meant that the reefs could recover over periods of time.
There are of course some wrinkles in this fairy tale. There have been declines or at least ups and downs in the tuna catch, particularly since the 2004 tsunami, a point that the fishers identify with a change in trends. Live bait, which were once abundant, also appear to be fluctuating. Of late, there is an increase in reef fishing, and talk of creating long-line fisheries and refrigeration facilities, both of which would open the floodgates for export. There is already a booming trade in grouper fisheries in the Andamans and it would take little for Lakshadweep reef fish to lock into that market chain. But for now, the lack of infrastructure and transport (fewer flights), and a cultural affinity for pole and line fishing have ensured that reef fishing has remained largely at subsistence-level.
In 2012, Dakshin Foundation started a project on community monitoring of the tuna fisheries in the Lakshadweep Islands. The main goal was to monitor trends in tuna catch as well as live bait. Led by Mahima Jaini and Naveen Namboothri, the team designed catch monitoring books in consultation with the fishers and distributed these to each of the boats. Not all boats were interested in the programme initially, and several took the books but did not enter any data. However, participation in the programme has improved over time, especially with the entry of Ishaan Khot (a Maharashtrian who learned Malayalam to engage better with the community) and Mahaboob Khan, a local from Kadmat Island with a degree in Social Work.
This data has been used to compile reports to the Administration and indicates the need for more careful monitoring of trends. It also points out the gaps in fishing infrastructure and facilities. Community support has also improved since 2015 when Dakshin began distributing ‘Fish for the Future’ calendars. In addition to featuring the boats that collected the ‘best data’, the calendars include info-graphics that provide visual representations of the data collected by the boats, and illustrations that promote sustainability and rights-based fisheries governance. As community-centric products, these calendars are printed in the local languages of Lakshadweep – Malayalam as well as Mahl, a dialect of the Dhivehi language of Maldives, spoken only in Minicoy, the southernmost island of Lakshadweep. This is probably one of the few or only publications that is made in Mahl in India outside of Minicoy. This has gone a long way towards making the data meaningful and relevant to the fishing community.
However, one can still ask a larger question about the role played by such community-based programmes in conservation and development. Do they merely provide datasets for management or do they play a larger social role?
Science as ‘English’
Community-centric conservation has received a great deal of emphasis in recent years. One aspect of community involvement is monitoring of fisheries, wildlife and natural resources. This is generally viewed as contributing to the body of knowledge in conservation science, towards developing policy and management.
However, we propose an alternate framework for understanding the role of such monitoring from the realm of language politics, where power is related to and can be exercised through the use of language, including specific dialects, accents and jargon. As is well known from both scholarly work in sociolinguistics as well as in popular currency, certain languages confer power, privilege and prestige. This is true at many scales. At both national and regional levels, some languages get privileged as ‘official’ and others not. At a global scale, many colonial languages have established dominance over native languages. Spanish in Latin America, French in North Africa, English the world over. In India, for example, the best jobs in most sectors are clearly available to those who can speak English fluently, a phenomenon enforced by and correlated to class, caste and economic status. The simple thumb rule here is, you have a better chance of getting what you want if you speak English.
In order to communicate knowledge, one needs to speak the same language. Despite all the efforts to privilege local knowledge, the official language of the State and of those in power remains that of ‘modern science’ and all of its trappings, including codification (data collection), representation (tables, figures), analysis (statistical) and communication (written forms such as reports and papers).
Though it might seem that States pay little real attention to science (especially given the existence of climate deniers), they largely support the scientific industrial enterprise, and it pervades their entire structure in terms of how they recognize, record, document and use information.
This leaves communities doubly disadvantaged.
First, local communities often speak an IM (indigenous and minority) language (or at least a dialect) which means that they either run the risk of marginalization by the State, or have to adopt a major language, which can result in the loss of culture and knowledge encoded in their local language.
Second, the modern scientific method as a system of discourse itself acts as a major language and can be used to exercise power in society. Hence, metaphorically, local knowledge formulations involving observations (or local science) are like an IM, and Science is like a foreign language. So, Science is really ‘English’, or ‘Latin’ if one wishes to go further back in history. If you don’t speak science, you cannot communicate knowledge in a form that has any influence. At least it is not sufficient to let these communities play a role in making decisions about their own resource use.
For example, the tuna fishers in the Lakshadweep were well aware of the challenges they faced (the variable catch, the decreasing size of tuna near fish aggregating devices (FADs), the lack of availability of diesel, etc). However, until they are able to show this in a ‘language’ that the modern State (including its scientific community) understands, i.e. data in the form of tables, figures and statistics, their knowledge provides them with little leverage.
A leap of language
Rather than take the ideological (and idealistic) position that all knowledges should be privileged equally, it may be more pragmatic to take a two-pronged approach. We know English ‘ain’t going nowhere’, and one may as well learn it (while trying as much as possible to preserve linguistic diversity). Similarly, we argue that, as much as or more than providing data for the science-State enterprise, community-based monitoring can provide an entry-point into the discourse of power, namely the scientific method, and thereby play a critical role in the empowerment of local communities and their engagement in conservation. ‘Speaking science’ thus becomes an enabler like speaking English. It provides access, acknowledgement and acceptance, all necessary for communities to have role in managing their resources.
Simultaneously, a greater engagement in and strengthening of IM languages (like Mahl in the Lakshadweep) is required to prevent further devaluation and marginalization of local cultures. This can strengthen the influence of indigenous knowledge systems and their contribution to more inclusive and democratic strategies in management. Here it is critically important to acknowledge the role of 'cognitive justice' as a possible pathway that recognizes the validity of different forms of knowledge as well as endorses their to coexist.
Many contemporary conservation paradigms acknowledge the need to empower local and marginal communities in their engagement with the State and dominant sections of society over the management of natural resources. In order for this to succeed, it is imperative that we explore collaborative initiatives and examine how these approaches can be applied in a manner that promotes the plurality of knowledge systems and empowerment in local communities in the context of natural resource management and conservation. At the same time, a community that is well-versed in the intricacies of modern scientific practice as well as confident in its own traditional knowledge-base will be a doubly-empowered one: it can not only contribute to hybrid, democratised knowledge processes but also hold its ground against dominant paradigms of language, knowledge and science, all of which are usually the stronghold of the elite. Participatory community engagements in resource management are therefore geared to serve several ideals: conservation, sustainability, democratic governance and social justice.
How the illiberal left lost its way
Originally published in The Wire, December 2017. Click here.
The media is rife with the excesses of the BJP run Central government and its followers. Interestingly, unlike ‘Western’ nations such as the USA and Australia, many of our prominent newspapers are liberal left in their leanings, and have come out strongly against the communalism and general intolerance (though most TV channels are strongly pro BJP). The secularism that is written into our Constitution, the tolerance which is supposedly at the core of Hindu doctrine, and the multi-culturalism that was ensured in the very formation of the nation, have all been invoked to argue that the current policies of the government and the practices of its acolytes are irrational and anti-democratic.
Historians, sociologists and political commentators have long noted that the polarization of issues can lead to escalation of conflict, often culminating in anger and physical violence. This may extend from conflict within families (most commonly spouses) to internecine conflict to warring nations. The very adversarial nature of such arguments renders the possibility of common ground impossible, or at least, implausible. It is easy to cast the right versus left battles in India (or for that matter, Australia, US or Western Europe) in that light, whether seen along political, economic or religious axes.
However, all this has been said before: that the liberal left has lost is way in falling prey to polarization, succumbing to an adversarial battle which it cannot win, because by its very engagement, it has lost. What I will attempt to argue here though is that there is a fundamental reason, an inherent trait, that has been responsible for the descent of the liberal left into near–hysteria, that explains why the same conflict exists throughout the world, even in the ‘most developed’ nations. The argument has two interlinked parts, namely the nature of rationality and the communication of knowledge.
One of the most fundamental of human traits is xenophobia. In the early evolution of human or pre-human societies, this must have conferred higher fitness on individuals who possessed a ‘fear of strangers’ as they were more likely than not to do you or your kin/village, tribe harm. Regardless of the other advances of the Christian Era, and the technological revolutions of the last two centuries, little has changed in this regard. From internecine conflict in Asia, Africa and south America, to battles between adjacent nations, to the globalized wars of the twentieth century by its superpowers, each one can be traced to a xenophobic response. At a cultural level, this surfaces in developing societies as a hatred of peoples with languages, religions and lifestyles other than one’s own, and as a fear of immigrants in developed societies.
The liberal left has long believed that the emancipation of the ‘other’ is a matter of rationality. If you are of this left leaning ilk, you have likely made or heard statements such as ‘I can’t understand why they should be so intolerant’ or ‘I find it hard to understand why you cannot live and let live’. But the ‘other’ view of the world was not to created by the same value system. Equally importantly, the ‘other’ world view has been treated with scorn and ridicule for its lack of rationality. For its lack of adherence to a set of values held dear by the former. However, as irrational as the rights’ fears and beliefs are to the left, they are nevertheless real to them. Some may be instigated by malicious politics, but at an individual level, most beliefs are as real to the individuals who hold them. In addition to the polarization of arguments, the ridicule of irrationality has personalized the problem. It is now a direct insult to the individual, rather than a mere contradiction of an idea.
Another critical error relating to the nature of rationality is the belief that sufficient rational argument over time, in other words, education and more education, will weed out irrationality and therefore the right. Surely this is the most irrational belief of all, rich in irony. The presence of a prominent and highly educated right wing in the West should be testimony enough that this is not true. Growing right-wing movements and parties in Scandinavian countries (which routinely top the HDI charts) provide further support for this, even if it is the relatively less educated within those domains. A related belief is that humans who are capable of rationality in one sphere (thanks perhaps to a modern education) can apply it in all their interactions, but this is patently untrue. It is quite common to be rational in understanding how planes fly, and irrational in one’s belief about god or abortion.
The second serious misunderstanding of the left relates to the nature of communication. Rationalists believe that modern knowledge, which is based on the doctrine of evidence and empiricism is communicated rationally ie. that it is received by the recipient independent of the relationship with the donor, and of the recipient’s perception of the donor, examined and weighed and accepted if the evidence supports it. This is how, in fact, we purport to teach science at institutions of higher education across the world. The objectivity that is built into this form of learning is one of the cornerstones of science. However, this is patently untrue of much of even how knowledge is communicated in the universities, let alone the rest of the world. Much of knowledge that is communicated is taken on authority, what is in fact defined as pre-modern in the history of scientific thought.
A prime example of this flawed thinking is Richard Dawkins, eminent evolutionary biologist and evangelist for atheism. Apart from his wonderfully rich and evocative books on evolutionary biology, Dawkins has also written a book on ‘The God Delusion’, delivered lectures, and engaged in debates with the clergy on the existence of God. In each of these, Dawkins makes the fatal assumption that his argument will win because it is (a) rational and (b) supported by evidence. But Dawkins convinced few of his opponents, nor has he won many hearts from the other side of the fence. If anything, random religious members of his audience have heaped scorn and abuse upon him (for amusement, view Dawkins reading out some letters to him on Youtube).
One can argue that the ‘illiberal’ left lost its way the day it decided to deride and ridicule the right. The day it decided that its rationalism was superior and that the right would ‘evolve’ to catch up. That relentless rationality would by itself, without considerations of trust and understanding, lead to change. That metrics like literacy and per capita income would correlate to a degeneration of the right. Needless to say, none of this has happened. Without a doubt, there is something to be said about the nature of education, that degrees and literacy do not necessarily correspond to values and sensitivity, to either other people or their environment.
Communication can only happen when the channels between donor and recipient are completely open. Therefore, a transformation must involve a non-adversarial meeting of cultures, an acknowledgement of each other, before any rapprochement can take place. One has to consider alternate rationalities and find common ground that has the greatest consensus. There may be a path to change, but it has to lie in the realm of building trust and understanding.
Given the current socio-political goals of the right, there seems little possibility of that happening. And, of course, there may be little scope to negotiate with white supremacists, religious zealots and all those who would resort to violence. But surely they constitute a minority (if a vocal and powerful one). And one must oppose those forces in every way possible. But should we not make at least an attempt to reach out to that wider world that is unlike us and yet may be willing to talk ?
I am a rationalist and yearn for a world that is governed by rationality. But given human sociology and psychology, relentless rationality is unlikely to win friends or move mountains. On the other hand, a little humility and an iota of empathy may help the left and the right at least begin a conversation.
The media is rife with the excesses of the BJP run Central government and its followers. Interestingly, unlike ‘Western’ nations such as the USA and Australia, many of our prominent newspapers are liberal left in their leanings, and have come out strongly against the communalism and general intolerance (though most TV channels are strongly pro BJP). The secularism that is written into our Constitution, the tolerance which is supposedly at the core of Hindu doctrine, and the multi-culturalism that was ensured in the very formation of the nation, have all been invoked to argue that the current policies of the government and the practices of its acolytes are irrational and anti-democratic.
Historians, sociologists and political commentators have long noted that the polarization of issues can lead to escalation of conflict, often culminating in anger and physical violence. This may extend from conflict within families (most commonly spouses) to internecine conflict to warring nations. The very adversarial nature of such arguments renders the possibility of common ground impossible, or at least, implausible. It is easy to cast the right versus left battles in India (or for that matter, Australia, US or Western Europe) in that light, whether seen along political, economic or religious axes.
However, all this has been said before: that the liberal left has lost is way in falling prey to polarization, succumbing to an adversarial battle which it cannot win, because by its very engagement, it has lost. What I will attempt to argue here though is that there is a fundamental reason, an inherent trait, that has been responsible for the descent of the liberal left into near–hysteria, that explains why the same conflict exists throughout the world, even in the ‘most developed’ nations. The argument has two interlinked parts, namely the nature of rationality and the communication of knowledge.
One of the most fundamental of human traits is xenophobia. In the early evolution of human or pre-human societies, this must have conferred higher fitness on individuals who possessed a ‘fear of strangers’ as they were more likely than not to do you or your kin/village, tribe harm. Regardless of the other advances of the Christian Era, and the technological revolutions of the last two centuries, little has changed in this regard. From internecine conflict in Asia, Africa and south America, to battles between adjacent nations, to the globalized wars of the twentieth century by its superpowers, each one can be traced to a xenophobic response. At a cultural level, this surfaces in developing societies as a hatred of peoples with languages, religions and lifestyles other than one’s own, and as a fear of immigrants in developed societies.
The liberal left has long believed that the emancipation of the ‘other’ is a matter of rationality. If you are of this left leaning ilk, you have likely made or heard statements such as ‘I can’t understand why they should be so intolerant’ or ‘I find it hard to understand why you cannot live and let live’. But the ‘other’ view of the world was not to created by the same value system. Equally importantly, the ‘other’ world view has been treated with scorn and ridicule for its lack of rationality. For its lack of adherence to a set of values held dear by the former. However, as irrational as the rights’ fears and beliefs are to the left, they are nevertheless real to them. Some may be instigated by malicious politics, but at an individual level, most beliefs are as real to the individuals who hold them. In addition to the polarization of arguments, the ridicule of irrationality has personalized the problem. It is now a direct insult to the individual, rather than a mere contradiction of an idea.
Another critical error relating to the nature of rationality is the belief that sufficient rational argument over time, in other words, education and more education, will weed out irrationality and therefore the right. Surely this is the most irrational belief of all, rich in irony. The presence of a prominent and highly educated right wing in the West should be testimony enough that this is not true. Growing right-wing movements and parties in Scandinavian countries (which routinely top the HDI charts) provide further support for this, even if it is the relatively less educated within those domains. A related belief is that humans who are capable of rationality in one sphere (thanks perhaps to a modern education) can apply it in all their interactions, but this is patently untrue. It is quite common to be rational in understanding how planes fly, and irrational in one’s belief about god or abortion.
The second serious misunderstanding of the left relates to the nature of communication. Rationalists believe that modern knowledge, which is based on the doctrine of evidence and empiricism is communicated rationally ie. that it is received by the recipient independent of the relationship with the donor, and of the recipient’s perception of the donor, examined and weighed and accepted if the evidence supports it. This is how, in fact, we purport to teach science at institutions of higher education across the world. The objectivity that is built into this form of learning is one of the cornerstones of science. However, this is patently untrue of much of even how knowledge is communicated in the universities, let alone the rest of the world. Much of knowledge that is communicated is taken on authority, what is in fact defined as pre-modern in the history of scientific thought.
A prime example of this flawed thinking is Richard Dawkins, eminent evolutionary biologist and evangelist for atheism. Apart from his wonderfully rich and evocative books on evolutionary biology, Dawkins has also written a book on ‘The God Delusion’, delivered lectures, and engaged in debates with the clergy on the existence of God. In each of these, Dawkins makes the fatal assumption that his argument will win because it is (a) rational and (b) supported by evidence. But Dawkins convinced few of his opponents, nor has he won many hearts from the other side of the fence. If anything, random religious members of his audience have heaped scorn and abuse upon him (for amusement, view Dawkins reading out some letters to him on Youtube).
One can argue that the ‘illiberal’ left lost its way the day it decided to deride and ridicule the right. The day it decided that its rationalism was superior and that the right would ‘evolve’ to catch up. That relentless rationality would by itself, without considerations of trust and understanding, lead to change. That metrics like literacy and per capita income would correlate to a degeneration of the right. Needless to say, none of this has happened. Without a doubt, there is something to be said about the nature of education, that degrees and literacy do not necessarily correspond to values and sensitivity, to either other people or their environment.
Communication can only happen when the channels between donor and recipient are completely open. Therefore, a transformation must involve a non-adversarial meeting of cultures, an acknowledgement of each other, before any rapprochement can take place. One has to consider alternate rationalities and find common ground that has the greatest consensus. There may be a path to change, but it has to lie in the realm of building trust and understanding.
Given the current socio-political goals of the right, there seems little possibility of that happening. And, of course, there may be little scope to negotiate with white supremacists, religious zealots and all those who would resort to violence. But surely they constitute a minority (if a vocal and powerful one). And one must oppose those forces in every way possible. But should we not make at least an attempt to reach out to that wider world that is unlike us and yet may be willing to talk ?
I am a rationalist and yearn for a world that is governed by rationality. But given human sociology and psychology, relentless rationality is unlikely to win friends or move mountains. On the other hand, a little humility and an iota of empathy may help the left and the right at least begin a conversation.
New plans instead of new pills
Originally published in The Hindu, August, 2016.
I recently read Amitav Ghosh’s book, The Great Derangement: Climate Change and the Unthinkable, where he says that contemporary literature has simply failed to acknowledge the new reality of climate change outside of the realms of fantasy and science fiction. There are few books in which climate change and its impact are simply embedded in the narrative as part of the twenty first century world we live in.
The more I thought about it, I realised that there seemed, at least superficially, to be a parallel with the health crisis. A variety of health-related messages abound in our lives — warnings, articles, advertisements. And we are aware of the changes that have occurred in our own lifetimes. More of our friends and family, including young people, now have cancer compared to when we grew up. Just two decades ago, we reacted with shock and horror when someone was diagnosed with cancer. Today we take a deep breath and say we hope it was diagnosed at an early stage. If it was, we nod and say, that’s tough but he or she should be fine. Indeed, many of them get treated and survive (sometimes without too much trauma). Others, sadly, don’t. But this simply doesn’t make the casual appearance in novels that we would expect based on their real-world occurrence. However, I would argue that the parallels go beyond the fact that our imagination has failed to cope with the not-so-brave new world.
Ecology and health
The most straightforward nexus is that environmental problems cause health problems. Air pollution has caused a range of respiratory problems, and has been implicated both directly and indirectly in rates of increase in cancer. Water scarcity, water-borne diseases and pollution lead to considerable loss of lives, but also high health-care costs and loss of work days and school hours for children. Climate change itself has led to changes in distribution of both pathogens and their vectors, leading to epidemics and spread of a variety of infections.
This much is obvious. But there are more insidious similarities. The most fundamental of these is the belief — both individually and collectively — that the current models of development and lifestyle cannot be compromised or changed. In fact, as Ghosh argues, our very notion of freedom (and therefore happiness) is tied up irrevocably with it. The idea that substantial changes in lifestyle can reduce environmental or health problems exists but appears almost impossible to adopt. This is particularly peculiar in the case of the latter. With environmental problems, individual efforts can be perceived as having a negligible effect and therefore lead to inertia. With health, on the other hand, individual choices can make the difference between life and death, literally. And yet, barring a few, there seems to be the same collective lethargy towards making those choices.
This resistance to change leads to an interesting conundrum — we are likely to spend far more money on cure than on prevention. This is more obvious in the medical world. Millions of dollars are spent on cancer, but little on changed lifestyles that would prevent it. Even in less crisis-ridden fields such as dental care, the onus is entirely on post-hoc filling than on preventing. Given that this makes little sense even economically, why then does this persist across the globe?
The answer to this lies perhaps in the nature of modern neo-liberal economics, which is held captive by the state-industry-science nexus that is responsible for creating a world where technological solutions are given primacy. This drives both industrial and economic growth (both are normative within this paradigm) which keeps governments in power. So, in fact, there is nothing to be gained in people not falling sick or the Earth being ill.
The Cuba model
One of the few counter examples to this global paradigm comes from Cuba, a country much reviled across its Bay. But Cuba has a lower infant mortality rate than the U.S., and its life expectancy is nearly as high. Moreover, Cuba spends 4 per cent per capita of what the U.S. does on healthcare. While some of this difference may come from low wages, it is still a significant difference. While there are numerous factors that drive Cuba’s success, two stand out. First, there is a great emphasis on preventive medicine — as its model shows, this is both more effective and cheaper. Second, there is an interlinked emphasis on social rather than technological solutions. Much has been written about how doctors and nurses are embedded within communities, thus understanding their patients and improving their ability to treat. This is a model not just for poor countries but for the world. Yet, only a few Latin American countries have started to adopt it.
What is the lesson for the environmental movement which has to deal with the cancer of climate change, apart from a host of equally debilitating environmental ills? The first is that supply-side economics is not the solution. There have to be changes in lifestyle at a societal level that are preventive in nature. While it has been widely argued that one cannot expect a return to a Gandhian lifestyle, my argument here is more about collectivising the focus on prevention. Simultaneously, one has to recognise that social solutions are as important as technological ones. Certainly, the right buttons must be pressed and the right switches flipped, but in society, not on a machine.
Finally, and most importantly, none of this is possible unless we understand the politics of change. One can ask, how did Cuba successfully achieve as good a health-care system as the richest, most technologically advanced country in the world? Certainly, one is not advocating ‘communism’ — democracy remains paramount. However, as long as the current forms of democracy also allow complete ‘freedom’ to the modern state-industry capitalist enterprise, no meaningful change is possible.
The parallels between human health and environmental health are not absolute. Nevertheless, they do provide insights that I believe could help in addressing both challenges and provide new paths (rather than pills) to a healthier future.
I recently read Amitav Ghosh’s book, The Great Derangement: Climate Change and the Unthinkable, where he says that contemporary literature has simply failed to acknowledge the new reality of climate change outside of the realms of fantasy and science fiction. There are few books in which climate change and its impact are simply embedded in the narrative as part of the twenty first century world we live in.
The more I thought about it, I realised that there seemed, at least superficially, to be a parallel with the health crisis. A variety of health-related messages abound in our lives — warnings, articles, advertisements. And we are aware of the changes that have occurred in our own lifetimes. More of our friends and family, including young people, now have cancer compared to when we grew up. Just two decades ago, we reacted with shock and horror when someone was diagnosed with cancer. Today we take a deep breath and say we hope it was diagnosed at an early stage. If it was, we nod and say, that’s tough but he or she should be fine. Indeed, many of them get treated and survive (sometimes without too much trauma). Others, sadly, don’t. But this simply doesn’t make the casual appearance in novels that we would expect based on their real-world occurrence. However, I would argue that the parallels go beyond the fact that our imagination has failed to cope with the not-so-brave new world.
Ecology and health
The most straightforward nexus is that environmental problems cause health problems. Air pollution has caused a range of respiratory problems, and has been implicated both directly and indirectly in rates of increase in cancer. Water scarcity, water-borne diseases and pollution lead to considerable loss of lives, but also high health-care costs and loss of work days and school hours for children. Climate change itself has led to changes in distribution of both pathogens and their vectors, leading to epidemics and spread of a variety of infections.
This much is obvious. But there are more insidious similarities. The most fundamental of these is the belief — both individually and collectively — that the current models of development and lifestyle cannot be compromised or changed. In fact, as Ghosh argues, our very notion of freedom (and therefore happiness) is tied up irrevocably with it. The idea that substantial changes in lifestyle can reduce environmental or health problems exists but appears almost impossible to adopt. This is particularly peculiar in the case of the latter. With environmental problems, individual efforts can be perceived as having a negligible effect and therefore lead to inertia. With health, on the other hand, individual choices can make the difference between life and death, literally. And yet, barring a few, there seems to be the same collective lethargy towards making those choices.
This resistance to change leads to an interesting conundrum — we are likely to spend far more money on cure than on prevention. This is more obvious in the medical world. Millions of dollars are spent on cancer, but little on changed lifestyles that would prevent it. Even in less crisis-ridden fields such as dental care, the onus is entirely on post-hoc filling than on preventing. Given that this makes little sense even economically, why then does this persist across the globe?
The answer to this lies perhaps in the nature of modern neo-liberal economics, which is held captive by the state-industry-science nexus that is responsible for creating a world where technological solutions are given primacy. This drives both industrial and economic growth (both are normative within this paradigm) which keeps governments in power. So, in fact, there is nothing to be gained in people not falling sick or the Earth being ill.
The Cuba model
One of the few counter examples to this global paradigm comes from Cuba, a country much reviled across its Bay. But Cuba has a lower infant mortality rate than the U.S., and its life expectancy is nearly as high. Moreover, Cuba spends 4 per cent per capita of what the U.S. does on healthcare. While some of this difference may come from low wages, it is still a significant difference. While there are numerous factors that drive Cuba’s success, two stand out. First, there is a great emphasis on preventive medicine — as its model shows, this is both more effective and cheaper. Second, there is an interlinked emphasis on social rather than technological solutions. Much has been written about how doctors and nurses are embedded within communities, thus understanding their patients and improving their ability to treat. This is a model not just for poor countries but for the world. Yet, only a few Latin American countries have started to adopt it.
What is the lesson for the environmental movement which has to deal with the cancer of climate change, apart from a host of equally debilitating environmental ills? The first is that supply-side economics is not the solution. There have to be changes in lifestyle at a societal level that are preventive in nature. While it has been widely argued that one cannot expect a return to a Gandhian lifestyle, my argument here is more about collectivising the focus on prevention. Simultaneously, one has to recognise that social solutions are as important as technological ones. Certainly, the right buttons must be pressed and the right switches flipped, but in society, not on a machine.
Finally, and most importantly, none of this is possible unless we understand the politics of change. One can ask, how did Cuba successfully achieve as good a health-care system as the richest, most technologically advanced country in the world? Certainly, one is not advocating ‘communism’ — democracy remains paramount. However, as long as the current forms of democracy also allow complete ‘freedom’ to the modern state-industry capitalist enterprise, no meaningful change is possible.
The parallels between human health and environmental health are not absolute. Nevertheless, they do provide insights that I believe could help in addressing both challenges and provide new paths (rather than pills) to a healthier future.
