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Scholars who do wish to intervene in the “real” world are widely seen
to have three choices open to them: detached analysis and its attendant
powerlessness, service for the state or those in power, or alignment with
forces seeking to challenge the status quo (see Flacks 1991: 3; Gagnon
1987: 3). Yet as Dick Flacks pointed out, salvation is hard to come by,
whether in the state, in political parties, or in university halls:
I told him [Mahatma Gandhi] how scientific research was my true vocation
[swadharma], while serving in the political campaign, even when it was
by intellect, was no more than an emergency duty [apadharma].
activity of social value. From the 1920s through the 1940s, universities
(at least in the modern sense) were new, students had to be attracted to
a fledgling discipline, and sociology-anthropology had to be popularized
as a professional “career.” Entrenching anthropology and disseminating
its importance to a wider world was work enough. In addition, there
was so much to study, document, and research (albeit much of it in
“salvage” mode) that an inquiring mind could not but feel itself to be
doing something useful.
The desire to secure a footing for anthropology in universities as
well as in the wider public image was of course not unique to India
in that period; virtually any biography of Malinowski, Mead, or Boas
deals with his or her conception of the usefulness of anthropology as
an academic discipline or branch of knowledge. What was different
about Indian sociologists-anthropologists was their concern with the
specifically Indian nature of Indian sociology and anthropology, an
issue that continues to animate discussions in the discipline today
(Uberoi, Sundar, and Deshpande n.d.).
The first generation of scholars might have been less successful
than they wished in “Indianizing” the discipline, whether in terms of
concepts or of texts, but at least the number of anthropology-sociology
departments has grown in India. Although economics and history are
still the most popular social sciences for undergraduate degrees (if
less popular than science and professional subjects such as medicine,
engineering, and accounting), sociology-anthropology is no longer
seen as an unusual career choice for a young person. Nor is it seen as
requiring any great “commitment.”
The professionalization of anthropology within the university has
had its advantages and disadvantages, Much that is relevant and
contemporary in society and that should be incorporated by sociology-
anthropology is written in other forms, notably literature. For example,
the Marathi essayist Anil Awachat, writing about ecological problems
in Marathi, Dalit writers describing their experiences as “untouchables,”
and Maoist guerrillas debating with the government (see Committee
of Concerned Citizens 2002) often bring out contemporary social
issues more sharply than do scholarly debates about caste, class, or
ecology. Yet little effort is made to incorporate such writings into syllabi
or, even more importantly, to revise our notion of what sociology or
anthropology should be about in India. That certain anthropological
debates may make little sense to underprivileged students may have to
do with the poverty of the concepts themselves rather than the quality
of the students. “Neutrality” in this context can be a way of suppressing
190 Nandini Sundar
There is much to this point of view, but the problem goes beyond
the mundane question of juggling timetables and schedules to thinking
of time and location. E. P. Thompson’s (1993) distinction between pre-
capitalist and industrial time provides a useful point of departure; one
might ask whether there is a similar disjunction between “academic
time” and “activist time,” especially when it comes to human rights
work. Academic time is intensely subjective and personal (the time it
takes to write a paper, for example) and in many of its stretches and
cadences is closer to precapitalist time. Yet it shares a certain rhythm
with industrial time—there are classes to be taught relentlessly week after
week during term time, papers to be published for tenure, conference
deadlines to be met.
Activist time, especially in human rights work, is also slow on occasion
but desperately frenzied when press releases have to be written, authorities
contacted, and statements made on the basis of limited information.
Nicholas De Genova (personal communication) has suggested that the
pace of both academic and activist time is speeded up precisely when
they come into contact with regimes of capital or power and lose their
autonomy either to think or to plan for an alternative world. Yet there
may be serious differences between the two kinds of time and the kinds
of work they imply. Absorbing ethnographic information takes time,
against the activist need to get information out fast. Audiences and
styles of writing differ; for scholars, it is often as important to under-
stand perpetrators and those in power as it is to talk to victims. Often,
moreover, scholars face a basic ethical dilemma: taking an activist stance
may jeopardize future research that may have greater value in the long
run, but this can often seem, to the scholar concerned and to others, a
feeble excuse for not taking a stand.
Location also matters, as was particularly obvious in different resp-
onses to the pogrom against Muslims in Gujarat in 2002, organized
by the BJP-ruled state of Gujarat (see Varadarajan 2002). At the time,
some forty citizens’ reports giving victims’ testimonies were produced,
in many of which university teachers participated. Such reports have
value in mobilizing public opinion and serving as a record of violence.
But from the perspective of the victims themselves, what was required
was a different sort of activism, which university teachers were unable
to provide, such as helping victims file compensation claims, attending
court hearings with them, and ensuring witness protection. A small
group of feminist activists took up the rape case of one victim and
worked with her to collect evidence and sustain her morale. Others,
lawyers and Gujarat-based activists, provided legal aid, monetary
194 Nandini Sundar
Conclusion
I have tried to grapple in this chapter with the different ways in which
anthropologists might respond to contemporary working conditions.
Some of these situations are not so new, and academics, like others, have
often been overtaken, if temporarily, by the demands of citizenship.
Yet it is hard to decide when “emergency duty” is required that would
involve giving up research and what a suitable response is, as citizen and
as anthropologist. In other senses, however, anthropology, especially
when it relates to development concerns, has to deal with new ways of
doing research—in large teams or in alliances, often shifting, contextual,
and tension ridden, with different social and political actors. In both
cases, the hard task is to be true to one’s self-proclaimed profession
as an anthropologist, even as one sees ways in which the discipline is
being and should be challenged from without. The practical problems
in a country like India are to keep in mind that our salaries are paid by
a state that draws on the resources of the poor to subsidize a middle
class or elite; to engage in extending the democracy and equality that
we routinely learn and teach about; and yet to seize the time and
space required for reflection and produce research that is seen to be
“disinterested” or at least rigorous and honest enough to be respected
by those it displeases.
The Dilemmas of “Working” Anthropology in Twenty-first-Century India 199
Acknowledgments
I am grateful to Dick Fox, Les Field, Ramachandra Guha, Nicholas
De Genova, and all the participants in the Wenner-Gren Foundation
“Working Anthropology” seminar for their comments on this chapter.
Notes
1. This observation is substantiated by a tabulation of articles up to 2000
in the two main Indian journals of sociology, Contributions to Indian Sociology
and Sociological Bulletin, made by Nandini Sundar and Aradhya Bharadwaj,
respectively.
2. Vinay Srivastava (2000) noted that there were thirty-three anthropology
departments in the country, of which four were composite departments of
sociology and social anthropology.
3. For a discussion of the differences between left- and right-wing activism
within the academy, see Sundar 2000.
4. Karve, who taught for thirty-one years at the University of Pune, pub-
lished some one hundred papers on a variety of topics, notably kinship and
the family but also caste, urbanization, and displacement. She also wrote
prolifically in her native Marathi. Her novel Yugant, based on the Mahabharat,
won the Sahitya Akademi Award, one of India’s most prestigious literary prizes
(Sundar n.d.).
5. The “Subaltern Studies” historians spring easily to mind, although they
reflect the long-term strength of Indian history instead of Indian sociology-
anthropology.
6. I coordinated eight research fellows in the field, in teams of one man and
one woman per state, and liased with two forest officers in the forest research
institute, Dehradun, with which the project was affiliated. I also coordinated
four senior academics in Edinburgh, three sociologists-anthropologists, and
one historian—altogether a team of fifteen people, including me.
7. As research coordinator, I found it was one thing to study the weapons of
the weak in external settings and quite another to have them directed against
oneself in the form of unsent field notes and absences from duty, and to have
to play the role of overseer in an academic plantation economy.