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Gautam Patel
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LatestLaws.com
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and the college could not pick its student. The student could specify
preferences, but was to be allotted a seat by a nodal agency.
The National Eligibility and Entrance Test or NEET, a successor
to the All India Pre-Medical Test, was introduced in 2012. Let me
explain how this works. The government decides how many seats any
college may have for any particular course. Exactly 15% of these are
free for the college to fill in any way it wants. Only 15%. One lawyer
recently described this to our bench in Bombay as the colleges’ ‘bread
and butter’. It is more like caviar, but never mind. The remaining 85%
is entirely controlled. There is a state level quota from that 85%. There
are affirmative action reservations, per class or category—different
ones for scheduled castes, scheduled tribes, what are called ‘other
backward classes’—a truly horrible expression—nomadic tribes and so
on. Within each, there are then some form of regional restrictions.
Maharashtra has been divided into three such regions: Marathwada,
Vidarbha and, unbelievably, a region called the ‘Rest of Maharashtra’.
In the constitution, this is supposed to be an administrative division,
but it has been engrafted into the college admission structure. An OBC
candidate from the Vidarbha region is restricted to colleges in that
region.
The strangest thing in all this, as I said, is that no college has any
say at all in who it will or will not admit or enrol in this 85%. All
placements in that percentage are done and only done by some external
government-run agency and there is actually something called a
‘matrix’, a computer-generated prioritized listing. The student herself
or himself has no option to select this or that college. She or he may
indicate preferences, but then must accept whatever is allotted or lose
a year and try again in an exercise known as ‘betterment’.
If this sounds bizarre, it is, and it has become a victim of the law of
unintended consequences. In the last academic year, several thousand
seats in Maharashtra went unfilled. All were in properly affiliated
colleges. But all these colleges were outside the major metros. Within
the major metropolitan areas, the problem was the reverse:
overcrowding. Everyone wanted a college in Mumbai or Pune, and
there was at least one case before us where the physical size of the
classroom was too small to accommodate an intake randomly increased
by the regulator for no reason at all we could tell, with the result that
students were standing in the corridors and hallways outside. Three or
four highly fancied colleges went full. Others, because of their
geographical locations, ran to empty rooms. This again has a
downstream effect, because if a college does not fill its seat, its next
year intake sanction might be affected.
This control extends to curriculum design too. In another case,
there was a problem with one particular course—sculpture. It was not
specifically mentioned anywhere, neither in the fine arts nor in the
applied arts, and all these course are compulsorily approved, regulated
and controlled by an all India body. Some 60 odd aspiring sculptors
were left in this twilight zone, wanting to study it but unable to do so
because the was not ‘recognized’ or ‘approved’.
This kind of top-down external structural re-engineering
undermines educational institutional autonomy in a fundamental way.
One can have no argument at all against some level of capping on fees
to be charged, or on a reasonable direct affirmative action scheme. But
to allow for this level of regulatory over-reach presents another
problem, one to which we have shut our eyes. It is only skill-set
training by numbers. That freeing and opening of a young student’s
mind, the expansion of horizons so essential to a true education are
eliminated by removing autonomy from the equation.
Contrast this with any educational system in England or America,
our two most sought-after educational destinations, even for those
scrabbling to get into our professional training institutes. Can you
really imagine anyone telling the law, medicine or engineering schools
you take away the space and opportunity for his fundamental
construct.
Educational institutions throughout history have always been the
crucibles and birthplaces of dissent and opposition, spaces for the
positioning of countervailing perspectives. We know this since at least
the 1960s in the US and possibly even earlier. This is what we mean
when we speak of a liberal education.
A liberal education does not end with a degree. It sets the tone and
stage for a career and a lifelong engagement with new issues as they
come up. If a true educational institution is the birth place of liberal
thinking, then a life after and outside—and that includes governance,
law and politics—is the battlefield for a continued defence of
liberalism. It is for this reason that illiberal governments first target
centres of education and learning. They leave the skill-set training
institutes alone. They pose no threat. They cannot. But if you want to
rid yourself of the troubles of dealing with doubt, dissension and
looking askance in daily governance—in a word, liberalism—it is best
nipped in the bud, and what place better to quash it than its breeding
ground, centres of true education? This is the end of liberalism, and
the beginning of the end of what it means to be a democratic republic.
It is also the beginning of something else, and I will come to that very
soon.
By the way, I wrote this several weeks ago, not yesterday.
The most timeless and enduring defence of a liberal education and
what it his really means goes back to the nine astonishing lectures
delivered in 1852 by John Henry Cardinal Newman to the Roman
Catholics of Dublin. Long considered one of the great masters of
English prose, Newman’s religious journey took him from Anglicalism
to the Roman Catholic Church. These nine discourses have been
described as an ‘epoch’ in the life of every college student. Historians
rank it with Aristotle’s Ethics as among the most valuable of all works
on the aim and purpose of education.
Newman’s position, beautifully stated, was that a truly liberal
education is founded on a knowledge of first principles and relations
rather than mere facts. This, he argues, is the idea of a university, the
best preparation for any career. Its attributes are ‘freedom,
equitableness, calmness, moderation and wisdom’. Liberal knowledge
is not just utilitarian information. True knowledge comes from
investing facts or mere learning with ideas. A truly educated person is
someone who is neither a man of mere information, one who
generalizes nothing, nor the merely opinionated man impatient with
facts and therefore unreliable in his assertions. Newman spoke to an
ideal, one of ‘clear, calm, accurate vision and a comprehension of all
things as far as the finite mind can embrace them’, something to be
achieved—he does not exactly how—by the ‘science of sciences’.
This is from the introduction in the University of Notre Dame’s
1982 edition of Newman’s work:
“If, divided in head and heart and crushed by his
vastly multiplied learning, modern man ... studies or
works in universities where specialists in the humanities
are cut off not only from those in the sciences but even
from one another, and where sometimes it almost appears
that every student and every teacher is simply on his own,
he might at first be inclined to dismiss an ideal like
Newman’s as the faded dream of a bygone age. Yet it is a
dream that somehow persists, even now, in demanding to
be lived; and we have in recent years seen our leading
universities making intense efforts to integrate their
students’ learning so that it does become something like
what Newman meant by knowledge. ... Today’s student
might well test his own university by asking himself what
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autonomy to its institutions and their processes. Its future is all but
assured. Ideas are bullet-proof. Dissent is what dissent does, and it
takes no defined form and is therefore impossible to stamp out. A
government that, instead, demands or even expects ideological
conformity from its key institutions, and thereby shrinks the space for
dissent, is an illiberal and undemocratic government that acts contrary
to a fundamental tenet of our constitutionalism. Any government that
demands such ideological conformity hunts the snark. It is a venture
doomed to failure.
Again, as I said at the beginning, this is not about any particular
government, or even any particular ideology, let alone any specific
state action or enactment. It is about the need to engage with the
theoretical underpinning of the importance of dissension in a liberal
democracy constitutionally required to be subject to and under the rule
of law.
These are, therefore, the conflicting choices before us today. To
one side is the perceived political threat that all dissent poses,
whatever its form. On the other is the peril of a loss of liberalism,
freedom, democracy and the rule of law.
Scylla and Charybdis were two mythical sea monsters from Greek
mythology. They lay on either side of the narrow strait of Messina
between Sicily and Calabria. Scylla was a six-headed monster or rock
shoal on the mainland, the Calabrian side. Charybdis was a horrific
whirlpool off the coast of Sicily. Between them, they posed an
inescapable threat to voyagers. Heroes from classical Greek mythology,
including Odysseus and Jason, had to pass between these two perils.
So do we today.
Homer says Odysseus was advised to sail closer to Scylla, thus
risking the loss of maybe a few sailors, rather than moving towards
Charybdis and risk losing the whole ship.
That is also our choice today. And the choice we make will
determine not just our nation’s future, but its survival.
Thank you all again for being here, and for your patience.