The ‘deshbhakti’ curriculum

Avijit Pathak

Sociologist

Who will deny that there is something more in education than academic specialisation and purely self-centric career interests? Education, all great pedagogues would assert, ought to sensitise our children, expand their horizons, cultivate the ethics of love and care, and make them responsible for the quest for an ethically enriched, ecologically sensitive and egalitarian society. And hence, when the Delhi Government decides to introduce the ‘deshbhakti’ curriculum, it arouses our interest. The intention or the stated objective appears to be noble and life-affirming because the curriculum wants our children to celebrate the ‘spirit of independence’, understand the ‘constitutional values’, become sensitive to ‘pluralism and diversity’, and realise the significance of ‘equality and fraternity’ in concrete life-practices.

Even though this experiment has a possibility, it is important to be alert. Let it be stated clearly that it is only the nuanced art of reflexive and critical pedagogy that can distinguish enabling patriotism from toxic nationalism. We should not forget that we are living at a time when the all-pervading discourse of hyper-nationalism seems to have poisoned the collective psyche, and reduced patriotism to a stimulant feeling of hatred for the constructed ‘enemy’. This sort of patriotism manifests itself in all sorts of war metaphors—defeating Pakistan in the cricket match, celebrating the militarisation of consciousness, cherishing the cacophony of noisy slogans through some sort of hyper-masculine aggression, and reminding the minorities of their secondary status.

However, a truly meaningful and enabling patriotism does not manifest itself through loud symbols and gestures. It is always subtle, silent and soft. It is the patriotism of a noble doctor, a caring teacher, a committed social activist working in silence. It doesn’t have a uniform. Likewise, the spirit of enabling patriotism reconciles the power of love and the creativity of resistance. The fact that you love your country is the reason why you should raise your voice against those who are corrupt, greedy and exploitative. True patriotism is not to mechanically recite ‘Saare jahan se achha’; instead, far from being a feel good sentiment, this is the critical awareness that the country can be good only when we free ourselves from the chain of corporate loot, politician-criminal nexus, demoralised bureaucracy and corruption in every sphere of life. It is only the art of critical pedagogy that can sensitise a young learner, and enable her to see that true patriotism manifests itself in the deeds of a rights activist, a committed environmentalist, and, for that matter, young students who served voluntarily to arrange oxygen cylinders, medicines and hospital beds for the Covid patients. Will our school principals acquire the courage to encourage this sort of critical pedagogy?

Second, it is equally important to make our children aware of the fact that there is something higher and nobler than bounded nationalism and associated patriotism. This is the quest for the spiritual unity of humankind; this is the quest for a sustainable relationship between development and ecology; and this is the quest for a global effort to rescue the world from the climate crisis, devastating wars, terrorist violence, and heightened disparity and inequality. This is to inspire our children to undertake a journey of constant evolution—from ‘near’ to ‘far’, from local concerns to our collective destiny, or from the nation with borders to the imagination of the world as a whole. Only then would it be possible for a young student in Delhi to feel a close affinity with her counterpart from Lahore or Nairobi. Only then would it be possible to expand the power of empathy. Let our children evolve with a deeper understanding of trans-nationalism. It is not about buying and consuming branded international products. Instead, it is the ability to see oneself beyond limited identities, and feel the union of Jesus and Buddha, Rumi and Kabir, Gandhi and Nelson Mandela, Tagore and Whitman, or for that matter, the National Anthem and John Lennon’s ‘Imagine’. Critical pedagogy can prepare the ground for rooted cosmopolitanism. But then, are we really ready?

And finally, it has to be realised that no noble values—ethical social behaviour, civic responsibility or environmental sustainability—can be taught through sermonising. Nor can it be limited to a slot in the official time table—45 minutes daily! As teachers, we need to engage in a rigorous process of introspection. Children are alert observers; they can see and understand whether we practise what we teach. Imagine a teacher who is a casteist and male chauvinist. What does it mean if he asks his students to practise the values of fraternity and equality? And imagine a power-hungry and arrogant principal who speaks rudely with not so ‘refined’ and ‘educated’ parents. What does it mean if she asks her students to follow the ideals of Gandhi and Bhagat Singh? Who will educate the educators? Accept it. We live in a society where most of the teacher training centres are of terribly poor quality; and acquiring a BEd degree is just a technical requirement. Moreover, the vocation of schoolteachers is seldom understood and respected. From the arrangement of the midday meal to election duty: teachers are expected to do everything. Where is then the time to reflect on critical pedagogy, read great books, think of Paulo Freire and Rabindranath Tagore, and strive for higher principles?

This is not cynicism; nor does it devalue the possibility of ‘deshbhakti’ curriculum. This is to be aware of the possible obstacles that need to be confronted.

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