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The University As A Site of Resistance Identity and Student Politics 1 Ed Edition Gaurav J Pathania All Chapter
The University As A Site of Resistance Identity and Student Politics 1 Ed Edition Gaurav J Pathania All Chapter
Gaurav J. Pathania
1
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TABLES
1.1 Political and Cultural Version of New Social
Movement Theories 37
1.2 Migration from Coastal Andhra to Hyderabad
District (1961, 1971) 43
1.3 Understanding the Telangana Movement as
a New Social Movement 50
MAPS
1.1 Hyderabad State before Its Merger with
Indian State in 1948 41
1.2 United Andhra Pradesh 45
were sipping tea and discussing the incident as if it was routine for
them. As I approached Arts College where students were protesting,
I saw that they had blocked the main road and burned an effigy of the
chief minister. Approximately 25 student leaders took turns addressing
the gathering and each renewed their demand for a separate Telangana
state, chanting, ‘abhi nahi to kabhi nahi!’ [(Telangana,) now or never!].
After a few hours of protest, police warned the crowd to disperse
but the students were determined to stay. In the meantime, a govern-
ment minister arrived and met student leaders. I noticed that from all
the student leaders speaking to the crowd, only one of them could
speak fluent English. As a result, he had been nominated to serve as
the national spokesperson of Osmania University-Student Joint Action
Committee (OU-JAC). He told the media that it was an unfortunate
fact that thousands of students had lost their lives in the 50-year long
struggle for separate statehood, while the government continues to
‘play its dirty politics’. Amidst this rally, I was curious to understand
how an ‘outsider’ could leave his college to commit suicide near the
Arts College building. ‘This is a sacred place for Telangana activists’,
one leader told me. While chatting with him, I came to know that he
faced more than 100 criminal charges since he led the biggest student
agitation in 2009 for the same cause. It shocked me even more when
he told me,‘There are 50 other student activists who are facing a similar
number of charges and need to appear in court almost every week’. He
expressed himself in broken English with the help of his friend. Once
he left, I enquired about his age and was told that he was the senior
most student leader of Arts College, more than 40 years old, and had
gained tremendous respect among students since he took an oath to
remain unmarried to serve the people of Telangana. There were other
activists who had made the same promise. During the protest rally,
I met a much older man, an alumnus of the campus who had written
80 novels and stories, and had publicly vowed to produce a book on
Telangana every month until it became a state. Such was their passion
that some students even used ‘Telangana’ as their surname. This piqued
my interest in such an intense movement for statehood that I felt the
need to explore this university as a site of resistance.
This book is the outcome of nearly a year of fieldwork in Hyderabad
and presents an ethnography of activists’ everyday life on campus. How
did their activism deal with the issues and problems of the Telangana
Preface xiii
region? How did their demand for Telangana statehood succeed? The
volume also provides a theoretical debate on old and new social move-
ments and argues that the Telangana movement should be viewed as
new social movement. This book attempts to establish the Telangana
movement as a cultural movement, rather than merely a political one,
as many scholars argue.
Social movement is a process of consciousness and representation
that requires material and cultural resources for its existence. But con-
sciousness of cultural resources has largely been given an industrial
answer. Culture1 cannot be reduced to mere economic or political
factors, it cannot be understood, either, without understanding the
economic context that surrounds and shapes it. What Telangana stu-
dent activists gained after joining an institution of higher education is
access to cultural capital and consciousness of cultural resources unique
to their identity. That is why cultural identities, whether custom or
costume, food or festivals, language or life-world, caste or region, are
instrumental to the functioning of Indian politics.
Without the help of my activist-friends from Arts College, Osmania
University, Hyderabad, and the English Foreign Language University,
this research would not possible. I would like to thank Dr Kolluri
Chiranjeevi, Dr Sujatha Surepally, Kota Rajesh, Mohan Dharawath,
Mothe Sammiaha, P. Mukhesh, Panthukala Srinivas, Shankar Sampangi,
Stalin, Sunil Shetty, and Srinivas Gellu for their unwavering support.
Similarly, several discussions with the late Professor G. Krishna Reddy
of Arts College compelled me to reflect on the importance of the
concept of Joint Action Committee ( JACs) in the Telangana move-
ment. His sudden demise in 2016 was a huge loss for scholars working
on Telangana issues. Several interactions with Professor Keshav Rao
Jadhav, one of the key figures of Telangana movement, shaped my
understanding of a mass movement.
During my fieldwork at Osmania, I also spent some time in the
library of Hyderabad Central University. I also benefitted from the
discussions with Dr Nagaraju Gundimeda, Dr Silveru Harinath, and
my friends Anthony Raj, Dickens, Kishor Aleti, and Prem.
At my alma mater, Jawaharlal Nehru University (JNU), I am grateful
to my supervisor Dr S. Srinivasa Rao for his guidance and insightful
comments. I also valued inputs from Professor Debal Singharoy (Indira
Gandhi National Open University, New Delhi), Professor N. Sukumar
xiv Preface
NOTE
1. Culture is ontologically super-organic only in the sense that it is not
transmitted genetically and in the Boasian sense that cultural variation among
population is not a function of their biological variation (Schwartz 1992: 327).
Abbreviations
Over the past few years, Indian universities have made headlines that
have sparked widespread debate among intellectuals about the uni-
versity autonomy, academic freedom, and freedom of expression. At
the start of 2016, the administration of the University of Hyderabad
(UoH) rusticated five members of the Ambedkar Student Association
(ASA). Two weeks later, on 17 January 2016, one of those students,
a lower-caste PhD student named Rohith Vemula, ended his life by
hanging himself in a hostel room. His death led to intense protests
at UoH which gradually turned into a massive student movement
in India known as the post-Rohith Vemula agitations. Uproar from
Rohith’s suicide burst out through protests, marches, and hunger
strikes. From Hyderabad to New Delhi, the incident spawned numer-
ous media analyses and parliamentary debates. Rohith’s suicide note
was a searing attack on the casteist and hierarchical society where, in
his words, ‘the value of a man was reduced to his immediate identity
and nearest possibility, to a vote, to a number, to a thing’, and where he
described his birth as a ‘fatal accident’.1
Meanwhile, another incident occurred suddenly after Rohith’s
suicide, and being in the nation’s capital at one of the country’s most
liberal institutions, it attracted rampant media attention. On 9 February
2016, Jawaharlal Nehru University (JNU) gained notoriety for allega-
tions of being an ‘anti-national’ campus. A group of JNU students were
allegedly opposing the death penalty while commemorating the death
anniversary of Muhammad Afzal Guru (a Kashmiri who was executed
in 2013 for involvement in a terrorist attack on Parliament). Some
students in the group were filmed sloganeering for a free Kashmir and
The University as a Site of Resistance: Identity and Student Politics. Gaurav J. Pathania,
Oxford University Press (2018). © Oxford University Press.
DOI: 10.1093/oso/9780199488414.003.0001
2 The University as a Site of Resistance
criticizing the Indian state. The media was called in and filmed the
event which became national news overnight. After right-wing stu-
dent body, Akhil Bhartiya Vidyarthi Parishad (ABVP), complained to
the police, the JNU Student Union ( JNUSU) president, Mr Kanhaiya
Kumar, and two others were arrested on 12 February on charges of
sedition and criminal conspiracy for organizing a programme wherein
anti-India slogans were raised. The media seized upon the nationalist
vs. anti-nationalist binary, and soon, public actions and behaviours were
interpreted in these inverse categories. Kanhaiya’s time in jail triggered
a wave of student activism in India.
Across universities, thousands of students and teachers participated
in protests. They argued against the government, voicing that dissent is
a vital right, not a crime.2 For weeks, media vans camped outside the
campus gates. After 20 days of imprisonment, Kanhaiya was released
on 2 March on interim bail. The entire movement became known
as the Azadi Campaign or Campaign for Freedom. Kanhaiya Kumar
then spoke to a huge crowd gathered in front of JNU’s administrative
building and raised the slogans: ‘We want freedom not from India, but
within India. We want freedom from hunger, freedom from poverty,
and freedom from caste system’.
Numerous video messages were posted on social media by army
personnel, discrediting the university and advising for its closure. JNU3
was tagged as ‘anti-national’, ‘a den of drugs, terrorism, and Naxalism’;
its students were labelled as ‘traitors’ and ‘sex-workers’ by the mass
media. These narratives by army and media created an image of JNU
students as social misfits in a ‘moral’ society, and overshadowed past
contributions JNU4 has made to the county through its scientific
research and democracy building by questioning the university’s very
existence. In its defence, the JNU community decided to engage
civil society and educate the country about nationalism, which they
felt was grossly misrepresented by corporate media and the ruling
government. The faculty of JNU, in association with several public
intellectuals, delivered a series of lectures on nationalism and created
a public debate. The lectures were filmed and made available online.
People immediately started commenting on these videos on social
media. JNU professor, Gopal Guru (2017), whose lecture initiated the
series, questioned if government’s ‘nationalism’ was territorial national-
ism. The space where these protests and speeches were held—in front
Introduction 3
the general intellectual ambience’ (Guha 2008: 9).30 Thus, with such
problems and changes in policies, higher education has become an
inaccessible and expensive ‘commodity’. This shift from being a public
good to private good has deeply impacted the society.
Thus, according to Dalit activists at IIT Mumbai, this ‘food diktat is try-
ing to dictate the agenda for the remaining 95 per cent’.36 Pant (2008)
writes that ‘Indian higher education has ended up becoming another
instrument for serving myriad socio-political goals and has lost sight
of its true purpose, relinquishing any vision of the role of education
in a liberal democracy’ (2008: 173). Professor Sukumar of University
of Delhi writes about the discrimination and animosity he and other
Dalits faced, while he was as a student at University of Hyderabad:
The university hostel, therefore, serves as a site for both the putative
national culture and unrepresented food cultures. Persistently ignoring
such food diversity symbolizes hegemony of a specific culture over
others (Pathania 2016: 265).
Another example of student resistance against the establishment
occurred at the English and Foreign Language University (EFLU) in
Hyderabad. For the first time in the history of Indian student activism,
the harvest festival of Onam was boycotted in 2012 by marginalized
students. A pamphlet37 issued by a number of student organizations
argued: ‘Dalits and Adivasis work from dawn till dusk to fill your gra-
nary. Why should we celebrate your harvest festivals when it always
left us landless, poor and deprived?’ Such examples point to a palpable
change in the nature of student activism in India.Whereas earlier it had
ideological roots, identity-based activism is the new norm (Pathania
2012). Rather than idolizing Gandhi, marginalized students hailed
Jyotiba Phule as the ‘Father of Nation’. B.R. Ambedkar, Periyar, and
Birsa Munda became the most powerful icon of campus politics.
Leftist parties in Kerala, who rejected the role of caste organizations
in the process of social formation, are now using caste icons such as
Sree Narayana Guru, Ayyankaali, and Chattambi Swamy in their party
conventions.38 Both OU and EFLU celebrated Savtiri Bai Phule’s
birthday on 3 January as National Teachers’ Day. Professor-activist
16 The University as a Site of Resistance
can one be recognized not for being included but for being accepted as
different, not for increasing the amount of exchanges, but the affirming
another kind of exchange?’ (Melucci 1985: 810).
converts seminar halls into a hostile structure that very often inflicts
humiliation on the Dalits, who then feel too nervous or intimidated to
enter such structure ...’ (Guru 2012: 20).
Language appears to be one of the most significant factors through
which Dalit identity represents itself. Most Dalit students come from
illiterate families and attend state schools where the language of instruc-
tion is a local regional language. Once at university, where English is
the dominant language, and by extension, a symbol of higher-caste/
upper-class status, Dalits face severe difficulties in dealing with language
barriers. Even after Dalits master some English, not infrequently their
pronunciation and way of expression exacerbates their difference to
students from English-medium private school backgrounds. Due to their
limited exposure to English, Dalits and other subaltern students do not
feel confident enough to express themselves publicly in English. As a result,
public speaking becomes dominated by students from upper-caste/class
backgrounds who are at ease in English. In the classroom, the English
language along with sophisticated intellectual jargon becomes a major
obstacle for Dalits to articulate themselves (Harinath 2013; Kumar
2005; Paik 2016; Pathania and Tierney 2018; Sukumar 2008: 15).
than rejecting the language of politics, critical pedagogy must link pub-
lic education to the imperatives of a critical democracy (Dewey 1961;
Giroux 1989). Giroux (1989: 32) refers to teachers as ‘transformative’
and schools as public places ‘to reproduce the idea of critical democ-
racy as a social movement that supports individual freedom and social
justice’. By viewing schooling as a form of cultural politics, educators
can bring the concepts of culture and differences together to create a
borderland where multiple subjectivities and identities exist as part of a
pedagogical practice that provides the potential to expand the politics
of democratic community and solidarity (Giroux 1991: 516).
The past decade of student activism shows a cultural deconstruction
of power. Dalit students demanded space and equality for self-
representation and the right to the availability of beef in the university
mess or at least the right to eat beef in public during the ‘Beef Festival’.
The beef debate reached a broader public when Dalit groups started
writing about it (Chandran 2012; Gundimeda 2009; Shyamala 2013) and
launching cultural programmes, including singing and poetry readings
to express the significance of beef in the lives of the untouchables.
As Dalit student activists acquire cultural capital through university
education, they revive their historical identity that emerged from the
tradition of struggle and sacrifice to devise a new language of resistance
against the dominant tradition.
Urban India is experiencing new forms of identity assertion, and
the geographical location of universities plays a crucial role in changing
the social landscape of the city. In December 2012, a brutal gang rape
in Delhi led to country-wide protests, largely led by female univer-
sity students. These protests made the public aware of power structure
of the traditional ‘malestream’ mind rooted in culture and tradition.
Activists raged against patriarchy: ‘Respect the sex which gives you
birth’; ‘I live in a country where a girl is neither safe inside the womb
nor outside it’; and ‘Don’t harass women, they are your lovely mothers,
sisters and daughters’.There was distress and pity for women, and anger
and shame for the state. Some other posters read: ‘Black Day—I am
ashamed to call myself Indian’; and ‘You can get raped but not protest
against rape: #WorldsLargestDemocracy’. Protesters carried candles
and wore black, their mouths bound with black cloth. This display
was a challenge to the traditional and patriarchal argument that girls’
short and tight attire provokes sexual urges among boys. Slogans such
24 The University as a Site of Resistance
as ‘Kapde chhote nahi, tumhari soch chhoti hai (our clothes are not short,
your thinking is)’ asserted women’s rights to live freely. One very
contentious slogan, ‘Better to chop “it” off than to rape’, shows the
intensity of public anger. Referring to the victim of the 16 December
rape, one poster read, ‘She is not dead, she has gone to the place
where there is no rape’.48 What is new in these slogans is the radical
tone. Unlike previous protests against rape, these slogans challenged
male and masculine notions of a patriarchal society (Pathania 2015:
286). In the preceding year in Delhi, hundreds of female university
students started a campaign called ‘Pinjra Tod’ to fight against gen-
dered hostel rules.49 For the past few years, activists are also organiz-
ing Gay Pride parades in Delhi. There are many women’s groups in
many cities across the country, which closely work with university
students and are trying to create a counter-discourse to patriarchy.
In September 2017, women led protests against an incident of sexual
assault at Banaras Hindu University (BHU), a central university in
Uttar Pradesh.50 The uniqueness of these protests was their diversity,
as they, in Butalia’s (2012) view, were not merely ‘women’s issues’, but
a symbol of the deep-seated violence that women and other mar-
ginalized people experience every day in society. With the continu-
ous expansion of higher education and access through reservation
policies, the class, caste, and gender profiles of universities has been
changing significantly but not without tension. For example, Richa
Singh, the first female president of the Allahabad University Student
Union ‘battled the entrenched patriarchy of the Hindi-belt campuses’
(Menon 2016), to become an inspiration for students who come from
socially and economically marginalized families.
These events question the ‘hegemonic oppressive Brahmanical
nationalist Hindu culture’ and seek publicity for the ‘counter culture
of ex-untouchables usually through the means of oppositional symbol-
ism’ (Hardtmann 2009: 236–7). In their social movement, Dalits have
created a broad counter-public sphere ‘where the politics of difference
can articulate itself, and caste can emerge as a legitimate category of
democratic politics’ (Pandian 2002: 25). Similarly, when Dalit literature
became a legitimate and popular category in the recent past, it started
with a never-ending debate that ‘literature cannot be Dalit’. Yet, as
literature is the mirror of society, if society is characterized by caste
inequality, then it is obvious that corresponding literature would
Introduction 25
evolve. But the emergence of Dalit literature was not limited to criti-
cizing caste but its origin as well, and it found Hinduism to be a system
based on structural hierarchy. It not only challenged the religion but
questioned the existence of caste. It has been argued that that since
Hindu culture is dominated by religion, the intellectual entrapment of
the Dalit cannot be eased unless a large-scale rewriting of the Hindu
holy texts takes place (Ilaiah 2001: 57).
India’s university-educated class51 lives in a paradox. While it proj-
ects itself as anti-caste, anti-patriarchy, progressive, and so on, it still
takes pride in using caste surnames for introductions and marrying
along caste lines. One can experience this paradox while reading the
morning newspaper from any corner of India. Matrimonial advertise-
ments highlight caste, sub-caste, region, and religion. This hints that
we need to look at higher education critically. How does the univer-
sity inculcate this parochial thinking among its students? According
to Beteille (2007: 447), ‘If caste has dug its roots deeper into the
university today, the main responsibility for that lies in the way in
which politics has come to be organized’. Therefore, the challenge
of the twenty-first century is to realize the cultural potential of those
who have remained at the margins of society for ages. It is possible by
diversifying our classrooms through inclusion of every caste, tribe, and
language in the classroom. Democracy ‘has to be judged not just by
the institutions that formally exist but by the extent to which differ-
ent voices from diverse sections of the people can actually be heard’
(Touraine 1997: 190). Its raison d’être is the recognition of the other.
It has been observed, with much justice, that ‘the relationship between
identity and inequality lies at the heart of secularism and democracy
in India’ (Tejani 2007: 265).
As more of India’s university student population has grown to
reflect the diversity in society, so have the issues of debate and conten-
tion. The university is a ‘futuristic institution that makes innovative use
of the past’ (Visvanathan 1999: 50). If the past is characterized by social
contradiction and animosity, one should expect from these institutions
to correct the historical wrongs. Various reports and committees have
suggested several measures to handle discriminations in universities
but there is no measurement of indirect discrimination. David Mosse
(2012) concludes that caste has turned inward and now resides as a
‘feeling inside the mind/heart’. Thus, the existence and persistence of
26 The University as a Site of Resistance