HIDDEN CURRICULUM: LEARNING AND EXPERIENCES

Saurabh Khanna
3rd December, 2015

What do we understand by the term ‘Curriculum’? From a common sense perspective, the
formal course of study, the lessons taught and learnt in a classroom, or the academic content
covered in any specific course or program, might fall within the domain of curriculum.
Educationists might go one step further and propose that any conception of a curriculum can
be broken down into three major components – objectives, content, and learning experiences
(Lunenburg, 2011). Looking through a sociological lens, though, one could (and should)
question whether such content and learning experiences always stay within the confines of
intended objectives. My analysis throws light on the unwritten and often unintended lessons,
outlooks, and values that permeate a student’s learning experiences.

Schools can be considered as the building blocks of our formal education system. At the
expense of sounding too deterministic, we could also say that any form of ‘prescribed’
curriculum gets implemented within the four walls of a classroom in these schools. Hence, I
will situate my experiences (both as a student and as a teacher) and theoretical analyses in
formal school classrooms, but also draw out implications for surrounding contexts when
necessary. I must also qualify my claim here, as schooling institutions do not just stay limited
to being formal education providers for the masses. I have examined the institution of school
as performing two major concomitant functions as well – that of socialization and social
control, and that of identity formation. Although these two functions can be said to affect all
stakeholders involved in education in different ways, I will limit my focus to ‘the student’ in
favor of a deeper analysis.

FRAMEWORK FOR ANALYSIS

Since I intend to engage in a sociological analysis of school as an agency of socialization and

social control, as well as student identity formation, it is useful to have an appropriate
framework to look at the structures and processes which bring about such covert
transformations. I will be using insights gained from my theoretical understanding of two
concepts in the Sociology of Education – hidden curriculum, and cultural capital.

Hidden Curriculum

I have memories from my school days where praise and appreciation was meted out not only
for learning my subject curriculum, but also for appearing to do so with enthusiasm,
alertness, and with utmost respect for authority. In other words, I was gaining not only formal
content knowledge, but also an understanding of how to act ‘properly’ in school society,
which could be further extrapolated to the wider society. I further recall that in my school
time table, more time was reserved for Language and Mathematics as compared to Social
Studies or Art. These subjects also had classes scheduled in the morning prime time, rather
than in the afternoons when attention spans begin to waver. The frequency of assessment was
much higher in Mathematics and Language classes as well. All these factors were
surreptitiously underlining the relatively higher importance of Mathematics and Language.

Philip W. Jackson (1968) is credited for first using the term ‘hidden curriculum’ in his book
‘Life in classrooms’. But the idea had received sufficient attention already, though from a
functionalist perspective. With the rise of new perspectives in the Sociology of Education in
the 1970s, and the perspectives of inequality arising from Marxist ideologies, sociologists in
the field of education switched from functionalist perspectives to ideologies of radical
conflict. They started imbibing by the notion that education was being used as a means of
preserving social privileges, interests, and knowledge of the dominant classes, at the expense
of weaker groups (Whitty, 1985). Louis Althusser argued that ideological control through
influencing the way people think, was more effective in maintaining dominant class
hegemony, rather than coercion and force alone. He referred to education as an Ideological
State Apparatus that reproduced and legitimized class inequalities (Althusser, 1970).

Giroux has referred to hidden curriculum as ‘those unstated norms, values, and beliefs
embedded in and transmitted to students through the underlying rules that structure the
routines and social relationships in school and classroom life’ (Giroux, 2001, p. 47). He
further distinguishes three major approaches that have been followed towards dealing with
this concept – traditional, liberal and radical.

The traditional approach, evident in the works of Parsons, Dreeben, and Jackson, is an
approach of consensus and stability. The relationship between schools and the existing
society is accepted without any questioning or critique. The focus shifts to the ways in which
norms and values of the dominant groups (required by the existing society) are actually
taught in schools. The hidden curriculum is seen as a ‘relatively benign’ (Sharp, 1980) entity,
preparing students for their role in the wider society.

The liberal approach, evident in the works of Nell Keddie and Merelman, investigates how
meaning is produced in a classroom setting. All the same, how the social, political, and
economic conditions of society give way to these repressive features is ignored altogether.

Consensus in the traditional approach is turned into conflict in the radical approach. The
political economy of schooling hordes the limelight. Socializing influences in school and
classroom are seen to reproduce and covertly legitimize social and class divisions, hence
preparing students for different places in a hierarchically divided labor force. This approach
also has been criticized though, for providing a ‘blue-print for cynicism and despair’ (Giroux,
2001, p. 59) and reproducing the very modes of domination it claimed to resist. Such
criticism also gave way to neo-Marxist accounts of hidden curriculum, such as those by
Giroux, Penna, Apple, and King, where attention was given to the variety of mechanisms in
school working towards regenerating the capitalist structure and ideology. They also made an
effort to highlight radical classroom practices which could ‘counter the hegemony’ and
minimize the impact of a hidden curriculum.
Although I have gained from an understanding of traditional and liberal approaches to hidden
curriculum, my analysis and examples will draw its theoretical basis chiefly from the radical
approach.

Cultural Capital

Although the concept of cultural capital could even be considered as a subset of the
knowledge of hidden curriculum, it gives us a powerful framework to draw out correlations
with the radical approach of hidden curriculum. Bourdieu (1997) builds on the idea of capital
beyond its economic conception, which only emphasizes material exchanges. He incorporates
‘immaterial’ and ‘non-economic’ forms of capital, specifically cultural and symbolic capital.
He also elaborates on the modes of acquiring, exchanging, and converting different types of
capital. Bourdieu claims that an understanding of the multiple forms of capital will help
elucidate the structure and functioning of the social world.

Cultural capital refers to the collection of non-economic forces such as family background,
social class, and varying investments in and commitments to education, which influence
academic success. Bourdieu further classifies cultural capital into three different categories –
embodied, objectified and institutionalized. The embodied capital represents what a person
knows and can do. It is directly linked to, and incorporated within an individual’s identity.
This form of capital cannot be transmitted instantaneously, and forms a part of what Bourdieu
calls one’s habitus. Investing time into self-improvement in the form of learning is one way
of further developing one’s embodied cultural capital. Cultural goods, material objects such
as books, paintings, flags, instruments, or machines, all represent the objectified form of
cultural capital. Objectified cultural capital can be appropriated symbolically through
embodied capital, or even materially through economic capital. Finally, cultural capital in its
institutionalized state provides academic credentials and qualifications which create a
‘certificate of cultural competence which confers on its holder a conventional, constant,
legally guaranteed value with respect to culture’ (Bourdieu, 1997, p. 50). These academic
qualifications can then be used as a metric for conversion between cultural and economic
capital.

Bourdieu favors nurture rather than nature throughout his writing. He mentions that the time
and cultural capital invested in children by their parents, molds their abilities and
subsequently their cultural capital. He claims that ‘the initial accumulation of cultural capital,
the precondition for the fast, easy accumulation of every kind of useful cultural capital, starts
at the outset, without delay, without wasted time, only for the offspring of families endowed
with strong cultural capital’ and ‘the scholastic yield from educational action depends on the
cultural capital previously invested by the family’ (Bourdieu, 1997, p. 48).

Bourdieu has also defined social capital, which is determined by the expanse of an
individual’s network of relations, the resources possessed by these relations, and how
successfully and quickly can these resources be set into action. All types of capital are
considered to be derivable from, as well as convertible to economic capital. Bourdieu also
states that although cultural capital and social capital are fundamentally rooted in economic
capital, they can never be entirely reduced to an economic form. Rather, this concealed
relationship highlights their effectiveness.

We will see how the dominant groups (also referred to as the ‘reference group’ in my
writings) exercise ‘control’ through education. By only considering their own knowledge and
habitus as the cultural capital, they marginalize the interests and knowledge of the weaker
sections. In his work on ‘cultural and social reproduction’, Bourdieu shows how the
possession of cultural capital varies with social class (Bourdieu, 1997, p. 494). The higher
class students receive cultural capital as part of their family upbringing. But the education
system assumes the possession of this cultural capital by students from all backgrounds. This
makes it very difficult for lower-class pupils to succeed in the education system.
Consequently, higher-class students gain higher educational credentials than lower-class
students, which enable them to reproduce and consequentially maintain their class position.

STRUCTURES AND PROCESSES

I will be now be using the theoretical framework of hidden curriculum and cultural capital
outlined above, to analyze multiple structures and processes that socialize students, exercise
control over them, as well as mold their identities.

Texts

The role of texts employed in schools as a form of hidden curriculum has been effectively
highlighted by Michael Apple. He highlights the conflicting interests of different sections
towards deciding the worth of knowledge. He argues for the social nature of knowledge, and
the fact that the meaning and usage of texts are contested by communities with distinctly
different interests (Apple, 2000, p. 181). Textbooks cannot be simply considered as carriers
of ideas alone. They can be sold on the market for profit and have an economic value as well.
Moreover, authority possessed by the state to regulate textbook content provides them a
political value as well.

Content

The dominant groups control the cultural capital by defining textbook content which
legitimizes their knowledge as worth knowing. An instance can be found in the history
textbook controversy that emerged after the new National Curriculum Framework (NCF) was
implemented by the BJP-NDA government in India in 2001. The Central Board of Secondary
Education (CBSE) was asked to delete specific passages from textbooks with immediate
effects, without consulting the Parliament, or even getting approval from the advisory CABE
committee (Mukherjee & Mukherjee, 2001). There was a deliberate muddling of facts by
resorting to revisionism, for instance, by mentioning that the Qutab Minar in Delhi was built
by Samudragupta (a Hindu king), and not by the Sultanate ruler Qutb-ud-din Aibak. There
was also a marginalization of the Muslims by referring to them as ‘invaders’, who looted the
nation for centuries. The reference group here, that is the Hindu elite, was using the medium
of texts to legitimize their ideology at scale, as well as to redefine their knowledge alone as
worthy cultural capital.
This reference group also varies with the situation, as can be seen in the ‘Speaking volumes’
article by Levknecht and Ramanathan (2006). Three history textbooks, based on the exact
same curricular standards but published by different religious publishing houses, depict their
own religion in a positive light by deliberate omission and commission of details. For
instance, the invasion by Mahmud Ghazni is worded in the Hindu text as “he destroyed idol
worship by waging jihad or holy war”. The Christian text adds a positive bend to it by
mentioning the “idol breaker who was trying to reform the religions of the area”. The Muslim
text treats these invasions with a bland fervor, and rather emphasizes the “good Ghazni did
for learning and religion with those riches” (Levknecht & Ramanathan, 2006, p. 3856). I
clearly remember the portrayal of Aurangzeb in my own history textbook, that of a ‘tyrant’
who tormented all non-Muslims. No mention was ever made of the ‘firmans’ (administrative
orders) he issued to maintain Hindu temples or the lands he donated for construction of Jain
temples. Such processes of socializing readers (students here) through skewed examples, by
re-orienting consciousness and propagating their cultural superiority, are meant to establish
an effective form of social control.

I remember that many of the stories in my childhood books began with the common setting of
a king and his subjects, thus making the established social stratification all seem so natural.
The all wise and mighty kings were uncritically seen to mete out ‘justice’. Further, the
royalty was never even opposed, let alone deposed. On similar lines, Advani (1996, p. 2081)
throws light on the romanticization of rural India (as beautiful, peaceful, healthy, less
crowded) and rural people being depicted as wise and selfless. I can relate to this proposition
because whenever I was asked to draw a beautiful ‘scenery’ in my art notebook, I
compulsively drew out a rural setting – with a small hut, ample vegetation, a flowing river,
and flourishing plant and animal life. Advani goes on to label this an ‘unreal celebration’,
since we are always staring at the rural with an ‘othering’ gaze – that is, through an urban
lens (Advani, 1996, p. 2081). Our definitions consider modernity to be synonymous with
progress, silently ignoring the widespread problems of immigration, poverty, and
homelessness. Consequently, we are still making students absorb idea of the rural as being
beautiful but still backward, in indirect and subtle ways.

Such biases in textbook content contribute to student identity formation as well, since they set
multiple parameters for exclusion. For instance, a Muslim (or any non-Hindu) student will
feel excluded when a history text describes all non-Hindus as being of foreign origin. Apart
from exclusion, these communalized texts also provide standards of elevating an identity by
mythologizing history in a Hindutva narrative and removing critical secularist passages.
Apart from these religious overtones, Shalini Advani also argues against a monolithic
national identity that has been propagated through our education policy and language texts,
without understanding our diversity and differences. My memories as a student are etched
with passionate poems on national unity, especially in my Hindi textbooks. I remember
reading and writing essays in my primary grades beginning with ‘Taj Mahal is the pride of
India’. I further remember instances of imposing this nationalist identity beyond the texts. On
one occasion, my father was being rewarded for organizing charitable eye surgery camps.
Even though the camps were majorly catering to a low income Sikh community in
Kapurthala, he was awarded a big trophy with the Indian national flag etched on it.

Usage

The text has also subtly become a means of bodily and ideological regulation. Apple cites an
example where a school principal was unhappy with the school teacher because even though
her student was reading well, he was not reading in a ‘proper way’. I myself recall being told
to recite the page and chapter numbers aloud before beginning reading. If one was reading in
front of the whole classroom, the head was to be held straight, heels touching, and lines to be
read in loud unnatural tones. I further feel that through this regulation, a child might achieve
the so-called perfect posture to read, but the meaning and understanding of the text is lost in
the process.

Interpretation

The meaning of a text is not intrinsic to it. It is a ‘product of the system of differences into
which the text is articulated’ (Apple, 2000, p. 191). Apple also identifies three ways in which
readers respond to a text – dominant, negotiated, and oppositional. A dominant response
accepts the textual messages at face value, a negotiated response accepts most of the textual
messages except for a few disputed claims, and an oppositional one rejects all dominant
interpretations of the text. My point here is that readers do not just passively receive texts, but
interpret it subjectively. On a brighter note, this also provides leeway for counter-hegemonic
interpretations and radical classroom practices that may function to minimize the impact of
the dominant hidden curriculum, as pointed out by Giroux and Penna (Giroux, 2000, p. 60).

The Labeling Process

Rist (1977, p. 298) has pointed out the inequalities created between the student and the
teacher in a classroom, by vesting in the latter the power to label and evaluate his or her
students. He follows up on the theoretical basis of labeling provided by Becker, wherein
‘deviance’ is understood as a ‘social judgment imposed by a social audience’ (Becker, 1963,
p. 9). This is an important shift in attention from the deviant, to the judges of deviance and
the factors affecting their judgments. Such a process of social control has the paradoxical
effect of regenerating the very behavior it was designed to suppress.

Rist says that this power of judgment in a classroom entirely rests in the teacher’s hands. He
or she might form his or her opinions either based on first-hand sources of information (face-
to-face interaction with a child) or through second-hand sources (comments from other
teachers, report cards, meeting parents, test scores, counseling reports, etc.). An example is
cited where clean and neatly dressed children are perceived by teachers to be from better
homes, and are placed in higher tracks than projected from their academic performance. The
fact that these students performed acceptably even in these higher tracks brings us to the self-
fulfilling prophecy. The prophecy proposes that our expectations about people cause us to
treat them in a way that makes them respond just as we expect they would. Good and Brophy
have described a process where the teacher’s opinion and behavior communicates to the
students the behavior and achievement expected of them. In case the students make no active
attempt to alter the teacher’s expectations, their behavior and achievement will gradually fall
in line with that actually expected of them (Good & Brophy, 1973).

We can use the framework of labeling theory to analyze the way teachers inadvertently
introduce biases into their ways of evaluating or assessing students. I recall my own example
when I was teaching in Seelampur, Delhi as a Fellow with Teach for India. Aman, a student
in my class, was not performing well in his tests. But he was often on lookout for any chance
to make mischief or disturb the students around him. Even though I never intended to do so,
this first impression of Aman gradually engendered a fixed pattern of my behavior towards
him. I would often make him sit separately so that others would not get distracted. I would
still ask him questions during lessons in order to encourage the entire class’s participation.
But I hardly expected any worthwhile answer from him, even while correcting test papers. I
was in a way aiding his transition from a primary to a secondary deviant. It was no surprise
that Aman’s behavior went on deteriorating, along with his academic performance. I later
realized that this label of an ‘unruly weak student’ that I had assigned to him, further made
him align his behavior to my expectations. And this alignment further made me evaluate each
of his behavioral or academic response in a prejudiced manner.

Rist also highlights an instance of biased evaluations in his study where a kindergarten
teacher had fixed seating arrangements of students after only eight days, based on her
perception of their academic ability. Along with interaction patterns in the classroom, the
actual assignment was based on multiple socio-economic criteria as well – the poor children
from public welfare families at one table, the working class children at the second, and the
middle class ones at the third. By second grade, the students were performing in clear
accordance with the labels that had been assigned to them. In a very subtle way, the
kindergarten teacher’s subjective evaluation and labeling had turned to objective evaluation.
This gradual socialization inside the classrooms had subtly altered those children’s realities
and shaped their identities in the long run.

Classroom Practices

Although Talcott Parsons’ (1961) functionalist views align more with the traditional
approach to hidden curriculum, we can gain ample knowledge of socialization processes from
his works. He has viewed the classroom as a unit of analyzing the socialization prevalent in
schools (Parsons, 1961, p. 435). The nature of this socialization is to prepare the child for his
adult role. This is evident through his demand for commitment (towards the broad values of
society, and towards a specific role within the social structure) and capacities (to be skilled in
one’s individual role, and to live up to other people’s expectations). Building upon this
theoretical basis, he mentions the current trend of educational and occupational upgrading,
and draws attention to the reasons why certain students reach college while others do not.
Parsons proposes that the selection for college happens in junior high school itself, based on
the relative excellence in living up to the expectations imposed by a teacher (and
consequently receiving pre-college training) as a future agent of the adult society. Due to
relatively similar family backgrounds (students from the same neighborhoods) and equal
ages, Parsons argues that the differentiation in the classroom occurs along a single main axis
– that of achievement. This falls in line with the structural functionalists’ views exalting equal
opportunity and meritocracy. The achievement here is further broken down into cognitive
(technical mastery and empirical knowledge), and moral (good work habits) components.

It is argued that the child’s socialization in the school classroom, through the peer group as
well as the teacher, results in the outcomes that – the child is emancipated from his primary
emotional attachment to the family; he or she internalizes social norms a level higher than
family alone; he or she gets differentiated based on actual achievement (including a
differential valuation of that achievement); and from society’s view point, a selection and
allocation of human resources occurs in accordance with the acquired adult role. I clearly
recall that since my elementary grades, I had gradually internalized this motivation for
achievement and the authority of selection procedures based on differential achievement.
Then, during my secondary grades, my attention shifted towards what Parsons calls a
differentiation based on qualitative types of achievement (cognitive and moral). I saw this all
as a natural progression, since these grades were going to be a launch pad for my future
occupational roles. Parsons mentions how a secondary school student interacts with multiple
subject teachers, unlike in elementary grades where mostly one teacher caters to multiple
subjects. He is also exposed to optional elective courses. Consequently, the child forms
associations with a diverse group of people – both adults and same age peers.

While the child’s socialization is not under his own control through his family and school,
peer group provides the child with a form of ‘voluntary association’. This voluntariness was
visible to me through the continuous making and breaking pattern of my own childhood
friendships. The peer group provides the child with an opportunity to exercise independence
from adult control by associating with those of equal status (in terms of age). Secondly, the
child is introduced to a source of non-adult approval and acceptance, by showcasing his or
her prowess, as well as gaining a sense of belonging to the group. Parsons also realizes that a
system of selective rewarding creates a status-differentiation within the school class. He
mentions that extra emphasis on school success might disrupt the child’s association with
family and peers. He also claims that this selective rewarding system is a cause for the rising
anti-intellectualism in America. Moreover, due to the rising levels of minimum acceptable
qualifications, persons at the lower end of the achievement spectrum are forced into a state of
repudiation of these expectations. While peer group dynamics serve as an object of emotional
dependence outside the family in elementary grades, at the secondary school stage they
further showcase themselves as youth culture. There is an emergence of cross-sex
relationships, as well as a much sharper prestige stratification of informal peer groupings. I
remember my adolescent years when maintaining a worthwhile image in front of my
classmates meant the world to me. If I could showcase my skill or prowess by painting or
playing the guitar to my friends, it was an even better ego boost. So was impressing the
opposite gender. The youth culture also has a selective function of differentiating people who
will play different roles as adults. Hence, we can say that it is acting as a ‘bridge between the
achievement order and the adult stratification system of communities’ (Parsons, 1961, p.
451).
Parsons also interestingly compares and contrasts the role of a teacher with that of a parent,
arising out of a generalize superiority due to adult status relative to children. Citing larger
numbers of female teachers, he mentions the continuity represented by a ‘woman teacher’
with the role of a ‘mother’. At the same time though, he differentiates saying that the role of a
teacher is much more universalistic in nature, since she has to look after a larger number of
students along with differentially rewarding their achievements as well. I can vouch for this
from my teaching stint at TFI. My students used to call me ‘bhaiya’ (brother), which was still
alluding to an adult authority. Even though I had developed a strong attachment with them
all, I always had to try and stay objective in my role of evaluating them on multiple
parameters as a teacher.

INSIGHTS FROM THE INDIAN CONTEXT

Azra Razzack has brought out the struggles she faced as a Muslim child where she was
continuously reminded of her Muslim identity in school. The ill-effects of a hidden
curriculum can be seen from situations when her peer group expected her to be well-versed in
Urdu, and that she was asked to bring a ‘gharara’ (lower garment traditionally worn by
Muslim women) for a school ceremony, things expected to be inherently attached to her
Muslim identity (Razzack, 1991, p. 31). This subtle and continuous socialization at the hands
of the majority non-Muslims never let her see herself as an Indian, without thinking of herself
as a Muslim first. She also highlights a perpetual unease in the minds of the majority towards
witnessing the Muslims progress, since they are only comfortable with seeing them as
impoverished, confined to their seemingly fanatic identities, and bound within their
respective ghettos. I also witnessed this identity crisis while teaching my all-Muslim
classroom with Teach For India. The students asked me on my first day itself ‘Bhaiya aapka
dharma kya hai?’ (Brother, what is your religion?) Even after a span of two years, some of
them were not willing to accept that I was a Hindu, often mentioning that ‘Aap toh achhe
hain, aap musalman hi honge.’ (You are a good person, you must be a Muslim).

This dichotomized identity (religious versus national), is also evident in Matthan and
Thapan’s paper. Post the 2002 Hindu-Muslim riots in Gujarat, the school intends to imbibe
civic and citizenship ideals in order to be integrated into the vision of a modernizing India.
But these intentions go against protecting their endangered Muslim identity in a hostile
region. The impulse to negotiate these divergent interests is visible in school projects such as
teaching Science in Urdu (Matthan et. al., 2014). The reinforcement of the Muslim identity
inside a Madarsa (Islamic educational institution) is portrayed well in Arshad Alam’s
writings. Madrasas had become a means of gaining institutionalized as well as embodied
cultural capital (becoming ‘ba-adab’ (courteous) from ‘be-adab’ (rude)) for poor and low
caste Muslim families (Alam, 2013, p. 228). Practices considering the teacher as father and
elder student as a brother were covertly legitimizing these parallels to parental authority and
the demand of respect. Suppression of women and their sexuality was also evident through
practices of making them lower their gaze while talking, never questioning an order, never
sitting cross-legged, and occupying a restricted space.
These processes are socialization, social control, and identity formation also pervade
institutions catering to the both dominant and weaker sections. Bhandari’s study (2014) at St.
Margaret’s School in Delhi highlights the challenges faced by a religious minority school that
aims to impart civic and citizenship ideals to students coming from different religious and
socio-economic backgrounds (p. 185). The fact that the school derived its notion of morality
from Christianity went against its desire to treat students equitably. The superiority of the
Christian identity was covertly upheld through Christian prayers and festival celebrations,
biased treatment by teachers, and the fact that all positions of authority in students’ council
and administration were held by Christians. Even though there was an attempt to assert a
unified national identity through the Indian Flag, or a secular outlook through the portraits of
various religious leaders (such as Guru Nanak), the sculptures and portraits of Jesus and
Virgin Mary outnumbered these structural symbols considerably. Such a system was further
engendering a clearer dichotomy of Christian and secular values in the school. Since I have
studied in a convent school in Punjab, I have witnessed this dual identity that I was exposed
to, in school and at home. The prayers (‘Our Father in Heaven’) I sang in my school
assembly, or regular Feasts and holidays like Good Friday and Easter, often fell victim to
dining table jokes in my Hindu family. Bhandari has also observed an important role played
by peer group dynamics in St. Margaret’s School, which further showed that the students’
identities were not developing on the basis of religion alone, but also on the basis of class and
social status. Branded apparel, invitations to parties, and boyfriends had become social
markers of the privileged group identity, the ‘Hi-fi’ group, as Bhandari calls them (Bhandari,
2014, p. 221).

Sarkar has highlighted how the Indian identity is uncritically equated to a Hindu identity in
the saffronist regime of Rashtriya Swayamsevak Sangh (RSS) schools (Sarkar, 1996, p. 11).
This Hindu identity is covertly enforced almost everywhere on the child from an early age –
both inside and outside the classroom, through co-curricular activities, and at home. The
schools are called ‘mandirs’ (temples) in the first place. Apart from ubiquitous images of
Ram, posters and prints of Hindu leaders who fought against Muslims, like Shivaji and Rana
Pratap, are also omnipresent. Muslims and colonialists are equated to demons in a continuous
textbook narrative. Women are portrayed in domestic roles as good wives and mothers.
Teachers are mostly recruited from RSS supporting families, and have to wear uniform as
well (Dhoti-kurtas (garment worn by male Hindus) and sarees (garment worn by women)).
There is an aura of sanskritization with teachers referred to as acharyas, and nomenclature of
school spaces like the Vashisht kaksha (master’s office). From Hindu form of school
greetings and birthday celebrations to inter-school competitions in reciting shlokas (holy
verse) and epics, there is a subtle Hindu-ization of contexts. Learning itself is considered as
an act of faith or religious devotion. There is an added emphasis on physical culture through
yoga and physical training in knife and stick wielding, and repeated encouragements to be
prepared to ‘defend the nation’ (Sundar, 2004, p. 1612). Nandini Sundar has highlighted
questions being asked in Sanskrit Gyan Pariksha (an examination of cultural knowledge)
which refer to the 3.5 lakh ‘Rambhakts’ (devotees of Lord Rama) who have sacrificed their
lives to liberate the Ram Mandir destroyed by Babur in 1582. She has also mentioned that the
middle class lure for good exam results and desire for service jobs has made even this
communal learning approach being seen as an alternative form of schooling.

Krishna Kumar (1989) has brought out multiple aspects of classroom practices which
reinforce the notion of being backward in a tribal student’s mind. In the Kendriya Vidyalaya
(a well-established chain of Central Government schools) under consideration, Kumar has
highlighted that English is being used as the instructional language, which was not
understood by a Scheduled Tribe (ST) student (Kumar, 1989, p. 61). The meanings portrayed
in the text, such as those connecting ‘tantricism’ to the tribal culture, are derived from the
views of dominant classes. The textbook author has also put a stamp of certainty on these
origins through the language used, which in fact should have been underlined as his own
interpretation. The teacher then acknowledges this interpretation by approving of the answers
given by the girls on the front benches. The ‘tribal’ or ‘aboriginal’ label has further been used
for all Scheduled Tribe members, irrespective of their varied backgrounds. Kumar also
mentions that individuals belonging to Scheduled Castes or Scheduled Tribes are never
portrayed as the protagonists in Indian textbook stories. He cites the example of Eklavya
from the epic Mahabharata, who had to sacrifice his thumb out of respect for his upper caste
guru. Such skewed examples limit the ‘exposure to reality’ gained by students in a classroom,
even for those from upper castes, and lead to development of a restricted and narrow-minded
identity. Kumar interestingly highlights the lose-lose situation for the ST boy – who either
becomes backward as a student by not answering the question connecting ‘tantricism’ to the
tribal culture, or becomes backward as a part of the larger society by answering it (Kumar,
1989, p. 68).

FINAL THOUGHTS

Looking through a sociological lens reveals the shortcomings in our commonsensical

conceptions of curriculum as benign teaching-learning content operationalized in classrooms
through prescribed syllabi. Although I gain much from the traditional and liberal approaches
to hidden curriculum, the radical perspective particularly enriches my thoughts with valuable
insights through its notions of conflict and constriction of meaning. We have seen how the
different structures (such as objectified cultural capital exhibited through texts, time tables,
flags, statues, etc.) and processes (such as labeling, meritocratic differentiation, reading and
interpretations of texts, etc.) in schools socialize students in line with dominant ideologies,
reinforce social control, and mold identities by selectively accentuating class, caste, tribal, or
religious differences. I further believe that the covert nature of these divisive practices makes
them difficult to observe, analyze, and counter, hence rendering them even more detrimental
to solidarity in any society.

The teacher has a central, albeit complex and difficult, role to play if such structures and
processes are to be countered in schools. He or she has to imbibe knowledge from multiple
aspects, be aware of his or her students’ multicultural backgrounds, and design transformative
curricula and assessments to bridge the gap between theory and actual practice. Further,
schools collectively need to embrace a critical pedagogical approach, which arises out of
constructive deliberation. This deliberation should also be held in such a way that no
marginalized voice is left unheard. A critical educational discourse is essential for
engendering tolerant and open-minded individuals through our education systems, and also to
undo the damage that has been done already. Glorifying the diversity of our nation, without
adequately understanding our differences, is just another step in the wrong direction.

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