In the university of the liberal arts where I teach, “Introduction to Critical Thinking” is a mandatory course for first-years. These are small seminar-style classes, with no more than twenty in a section. Over three months, we take our students through our own favoured texts—short stories, personal essays, argumentative OpEds, a smattering of academic writing—in order to instill in them a respect for the foundational principles that govern the critical thinking process: developing equanimity in the face of provocative positions, alertness to biases woven into the very fabric of language, an interest in ferreting out strong counter-arguments, cues to uncovering the structure of a piece, and, most importantly, to ask if the sources the author is depending upon are reliable.
Outside our classroom though, the world is crumbling, reliable sources are those who echo our biases and expect us to echo theirs, and critical thinking is quite definitively in retreat. Consider the last fortnight. The horror came within striking distance of our (undoubtedly privileged) campus. Riot-hit Jahangirpuri was recently in the news. We know it well. Jahangirpuri is where we critical thinkers stand patiently by the metro station, waiting for the university shuttle; where, many a time, I have pondered vaguely upon the quality of light at dusk, how it softens the harshness of the place, even the gutters and the unpainted tenements. THAT self-same ever-familiar Jahangirpuri, got quickly defamiliarised by the living realities of the place and by the language of newspaper reportage: provocation, stone-pelting, unauthorised protest route, swords-tridents-war cries.
I watched the painful videos. I felt a fever prickling under my skin. Strange as it sounds, I felt a wave of gratitude at that fever. After all, I asked myself, what was I expected to teach in my critical thinking classroom that week, transiting past bulldozers that had flattened to rubble structures that were purportedly illegal and belonged to “rioters”—a novel kind of justice system recently rolled out in the state of Madhya Pradesh—even as the Supreme Court ordered the NDMC to stop demolition?
Of course, I could reiterate hoarsely that we need to hold on to our critical thinking EVEN MORE—and other things that well-meaning liberals like me are always saying—but to tell you the truth, it felt quite abjectly false. There was, after all, in addition to all the communal hatred enveloping us, a pandemic, a war, climate change. I had little face left to show my 18-year-olds.
Over the next week, as I tossed and turned in bed under the sway of my mysterious illness, I came up with a list: Things I Want to Tell My Critical-Thinking Students and Other Young People.
(It is not a real list.)
1. Are you angry?
Well, yes, you should be, you must be. Anger helps you fight for justice.
The problem is that the angry vigilantes you have posted about on your Instagram, Twitter and WhatsApp groups, are also convinced they are fighting for justice.
2. But will they listen to you?
Everyone says dialogue is necessary, dialogue is important, but you find it IMPOSSIBLE to talk to the “others”, you find everything about them toxic, you look up in horror as I make this suggestion. The more you hear their views, the more you shun them—there is no dialogue possible, you feel.
3. And yet, how can bridges be built without dialogue? Why shouldn’t we just live in silos and participate in trench warfare forever?
Dear critical thinkers in my class and elsewhere, I hear you, I do.
I know how powerful self-righteous anger feels—of course I do, I was once young like you.
But I also know that anger leaves in its wake, exhaustion, weariness, and the long fight for justice needs energy. Indefatigable energy. And the only way to find that energy is to turn your crusade into one powered, not by hate, but by love. The greatest resistance to unequal regimes—and deterministic algorithms—are lovers who ignore its diktats and break its taboos. The State can vilify their love but cannot erase it. So, keep aside your even-minded critical thinking, and fall in love. Often. Deeply. Break the rules of hate and exclusion. Make friends with those whose views you find loathsome, and look beyond their views for just a minute—can you excavate that person inside their social media persona who is a friend, a child, a troll, a bot, a lover, a human being?
roydevapriya@gmail.com
Author and teacher; her latest book is Friends from College