What I’ve Learned From Teaching Online-By Muhammad Hanif

(Great column by Muhammad Hanif, a novelist turned teacher. f.sheikh)

“Let’s read,” I told the students in my writing class, trying to invoke the authority of my own high-school literature teacher. I was hoping they would unzip their backpacks, pull out the books and start reading. I had become a visiting teacher at a university in Karachi, Pakistan, a couple of years before the pandemic, and I was struggling. It felt nice to be called a professor, but I was reluctant to call my students, “my students.”

After a lifetime in journalism and of writing books, teaching seemed like a proper grown-up job. If you get something wrong in a newspaper article, you try to do better the next time. When your novel’s plot goes wonky, you can try a different approach — or repeat the same mistakes and give them another title.

But when I started teaching, I realized that I wasn’t likely to get a second chance with the mind of a 20-year-old.

I tried to make up for my inexperience with gray-haired authority. I wanted students to read what I loved, but I wasn’t quite ready for how they read it.

That day two years ago, instead of opening their bags, they pulled out their phones, as if they had just received an important message or needed to call someone to tell them about the confused man in their class. Noticing the panic on my face, one student pointed out that they were doing their reading on their phone.

It took me a few more classes to accept the fact that they had our whole damn syllabus on their phones and were actually reading, not watching TikTok videos.

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Hiroshima & Morality of Victors-By Kenan Malik

‘If we’d lost the war, we’d all have been prosecuted as war criminals.’ So said Curtis LeMay, US Air Force Chief Of Staff, after America obliterated Hiroshima and Nagasaki with two atomic bombs in August 1945.

LeMay was no bleeding-heart liberal. The US air force chief of staff who had directed the assault over Japan in the final days of the Second World War, he believed in the use of nuclear weapons and thought any action acceptable in the pursuit of victory. Two decades later, he would say of Vietnam that America should ‘bomb them back into the stone ages’. But he was also honest enough to recognise that the incineration of Hiroshima and Nagasaki was not regarded as a war crime only because America had won the war.

Last week marked the 75th anniversary of the world’s first nuclear attacks. And while Hiroshima has become a byword for existential horror, the moral implications of the bombings have increasingly faded into the background. Seventy-five years ago, LeMay was not alone in his verdict. ‘We had adopted an ethical standard common to the barbarians of the Dark Ages,’ Fleet Admiral William Leahy, chair of the chiefs of staff under both presidents Roosevelt and Truman, wrote in his autobiography, I Was There. Dwight Eisenhower, too, had, as he observed in the memoir The White House Years, ‘grave misgivings’ about the morality of the bombings.

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A friendship,a pandemic, a death beside the highway-NYT

Mohammad Saiyub cradling his childhood friend, Amrit Kumar, after he collapsed from heat stroke. The image was shared widely on Indian social media.

DEVARI, India — Somebody took a photograph on the side of a highway in India.

On a clearing of baked earth, a lithe, athletic man holds his friend in his lap. A red bag and a half empty bottle of water are at his side. The first man is leaning over his friend like a canopy, his face is anxious and his eyes searching his friend’s face for signs of life.

The friend is small and wiry, in a light green T-shirt and a faded pair of jeans. He is sick, and seems barely conscious. His hair is soaked and sticking to his scalp, a sparse stubble accentuates the deathlike pallor of his face, his eyes are closed, and his darkened lips are half parted. The lid of the water bottle is open. His friend’s cupped hand is about to pour some water on his feverish, dehydrated lips.

I saw this photo in May, as it was traveling across Indian social media. News stories filled in some of the details: It was taken on May 15 on the outskirts of Kolaras, a small town in the central Indian state of Madhya Pradesh. The two young men were childhood friends: Mohammad Saiyub, a 22-year-old Muslim, and Amrit Kumar, a 24-year-old Dalit, a term for those once known as “untouchables,” people who have suffered the greatest violence and discrimination under the centuries-old Hindu caste system.

Over the next few weeks, I found myself returning to that moment preserved and isolated by the photograph. I came across some details about their lives in the Indian press: The two came from a small village called Devari in the northern state of Uttar Pradesh. They had been working in Surat, a city on the west coast, and were making their way home, part of a mass migration that began when the Indian government ordered a national lockdown to prevent the spread of the coronavirus. Despite our image-saturated times, the photograph began assuming greater meanings for me.

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Why Affluent Indians Speak Up about Race but stay Silent about Caste- By Aarushi Punia

The death of the African American citizen George Floyd on 25 May 2020 in Minneapolis at the hands of police has sparked off countrywide protests in the United States. Both Black and White citizens have taken to the streets to protest against the entrenched racism in public structures and prevailing attitudes of the American people. Police brutality and racism in America are being condemned globally, particularly from South East Asia and the Middle East, whose citizens have also suffered through racism and discriminatory immigration policies at the hands of the US administration and its people.

Given South Asian solidarity with the African-American demand for political and social equality, Indians are amongst the first to speak against the racism that has now proven to be endemic in the US. However, the same Indians who abhor racism and protest racial discrimination in the US, choose to remain silent about caste and its practice in India and abroad. This is a virulent reality that is much closer to home and has been documented as a two-thousand-year-old form of discrimination practiced against Dalits (a term which means ‘oppressed’ or broken and has been self-appropriated by lower castes in India). It is practiced even today in the form of untouchability and remains uncontested by these apparently ‘woke’ Indians who publicly question race.

That is because there are two types of Indians who have tried to express solidarity with the African-American cause. The first are the bourgeois, diasporic upper castes who stand to gain directly from the abolition of racism by getting sought after jobs in the U.S. from which they have been excluded because of systemic racism. They only question racism and not casteism because they speak from a position of upper-caste privilege which can only play a limited role abroad when confronted with racism. The second are Dalits who have historically drawn strength from the African-American struggle through organizations like Dalit Panthers inspired by the Black Panthers;  the solidarity between B.R. Ambedkar and W.E.B. DuBois; slogans such as #DalitLivesMatter and Dalit literature which is protest literature like African-American literature with which it has had a productive relationship.

To White Americans who are asking why the slogan #AllLivesMatter is not preferable to #BlackLivesMatter, it must be pointed out that by subsuming black lives under all lives, the systemic discrimination against Blacks and the social construction of ‘race’ is made invisible. This invisibility produces, as the civil rights advocate and legal scholar Michelle Alexander asserts in her book The New Jim Crow, a “color blindness”, which prevents us from seeing certain acts, such as a policeman pressing down on the throat of an African-American, as effects of racist ideology. This is similar to the acts of upper caste Indians who wish to rewrite history from the perspective of the upper-caste and view the inclusion of caste politics in mainstream history as muddying or polluting of the hegemonic Indian image abroad. It results in, as the social psychologist Yashpal Jogdand stresses, a “caste-blindness”, which is the product of a deliberate refusal to see the role of caste in an individual’s professional and personal success or failure.

‘Black Reason’ is what the philosopher Achille Mbembe calls a set of practices “whose goal was to produce the Black Man as a racial subject and site of savage exteriority”. He argues that racism has the “power to distort the real and to fix affect”. Individual failures in society are attributed to Blacks and Dalits being naturally stupid, ugly and brutish, as opposed to their being subjected to centuries of racial discrimination. They are made to feel inferior in every way possible because of these failures. This is what the psychiatrist and philosopher Frantz Fanon referred to as the “psycho-affective” predicament of the Black and Dalit who has to look at himself or herself through the White man’s or the upper caste’s eyes. It would be insidious to see this failure as individual for it is deliberately caused through the structural implementation of race which ensures that the African American or Dalit cannot succeed.

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