The hollowness of ranking
AS a student-teacher, I have always cherished the idea of a life-sustaining and ethically enriched university — a university that activates the spirit of free enquiry, encourages students and teachers to strive for a humane and egalitarian world, and gives a deeper meaning to the pursuit of knowledge — knowledge as love, knowledge as the courage to question the discourse of power, or knowledge as awakening. Even though I have always experienced the gap between my ideal and the actual state of our universities, I continue to value my cherished ideal because it enables me to keep my dream alive. And without the dream of yet another possibility, or a feasible utopia, how can we resist the prevalent pathology that characterises most of our universities — yes, including the ‘top-ranking’ universities?
A student is no longer a seeker, or an awakened citizen; instead, she/he is turned into a consumer in search of a brand — a branded university, or a branded course.
However, before I refer to the celebration of ranking and branding in our times, let me begin with a harsh reality. The other day, a student of mine, teaching at a university in Bihar, told me: ‘Sir, I am demoralised and disappointed. Seldom do students come to attend classes. There is hardly any academic activity. And we seem to be quite adjusted to it.’ In her pessimism and anguish, I see the general trend. In most of our colleges and universities, there is hardly any meaningful teaching and research. In a country obsessed with medical and engineering degrees, it is not unnatural that most of the students who are compelled to come to colleges and universities for BA/MA degrees are already defeated and demoralised. They move around private tutors or coaching centres, read badly written guide books or ‘notes’, write unimaginative exams that demand nothing beyond rote learning, and get degrees — BA in Sanskrit, MA in Buddhist studies, MSc in botany and so on. Everything seems to be trivialised — from BEd to PhD.
Our country is full of paradoxes: five-star international schools in select elite enclaves amid poor-quality government schools; or for that matter, NIRF-approved top-ranking universities amid decadent institutions that only conduct exams, and distribute degrees and diplomas. Yet, amid the gloomy picture, I ask myself: Do I see a ray of hope in these top-ranking universities? Most of us — students and teachers, scientists and economists — who belong to these universities are quite happy with ranking and branding. Our egos are boosted; we congratulate ourselves, and feel proud of our achievements — awards and publications, seminars and international networking, and placement narratives and market value of our ‘products’. Amid this celebration — or, this enquiry whether Lady Shri Ram College in Delhi is a better ‘brand’ than St Stephen’s — I find myself lonely. I do not find my ideal even in these ‘top’ universities.
I am not denying that in some of these centres of learning it is possible to see good research, active classroom culture, the vibrancy of the mobile teaching fraternity, and the aspirations of young students for better prospects. However, we should not forget the sociology of the act of ranking and branding. As the parameters of neoliberalism — the mathematical scale of measuring even the immeasurable, the reduction of every pursuit into its utilitarian goals, or the supremacy of the market in determining the legitimacy of what one should teach and learn — invade the domain of education, a university, like a consumable product, ought to have its brand value. And it causes three damages. First, it hierarchises knowledge traditions as the market-driven research projects in techno-science, management and economics acquire more importance than liberal arts and humanities in terms of funding, infrastructure, research grant and recruitment of the faculty. Second, with undue emphasis on skill learning (skills demanded by the market-industry nexus), the erosion of critical pedagogy as an important component of the university academic culture becomes inevitable. In a way, this is like depoliticising the culture of learning, and producing a bunch of conformists who say ‘yes’ to the dictates of neoliberalism. And third, it distorts the meaning of studentship. A student is no longer a seeker, a wanderer or an awakened citizen; instead, she/he is turned into a consumer in search of a brand — a branded university, or a branded course. It also transforms a teacher. Now she/he ought to know the ‘art of networking’, the managerial skill of branding himself/herself, and the ‘science’ of ceaseless production of ‘research papers’. In a way, we are all commodities with price tags.
See the world we live in. From the climate crisis to the rising militarism and authoritarianism, from vulgar consumerism and tales of celebrity lifestyles to gross socio-economic inequality, from the meaninglessness in the routinisation of the hurried existence to the overflow of media simulations, we are in deep crisis. What is the meaning of education if it only produces ‘experts’ and ‘specialists’ without conscience and ethical sensitivity, and does not give us the intellectual and moral strength to resist this rot, imagine a better future and heal our wounded selves? What is the meaning of education if it remains trapped in a life-negating notion of ‘productivity’ and ‘efficiency’ — the factory production of academic papers, the vicarious pleasure in calculating the citation index, or the market value of the courses taught and research projects initiated when the world outside our labs and seminar halls is burning? Is there nothing beyond showcasing our CVs? In the age of ranking and branding, are we then fundamentally any different from the beauty queens in a race —narcissistic and burdened with the symbolism of ‘success’?
It is high time we began to ask these uncomfortable questions.
