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Carrot, stick and a new leaf

When there's love and trust between the teacher and the taught, there is no place for power play, writes C.K. MEENA

I salute the philosopher who made that immortal statement about power. You might remember him — not Karl Marx, the other old guy — yes, Uncle Ben. In the movie Spider-Man, he tells young Peter Parker: "With great power comes great responsibility." It sounds like a line tailor-made for the U.S. Government. It is also a line that teachers, who form an equally powerful body, would do well to keep in mind. Few can beat them when it comes to the expert use of carrot and stick.

The stick, first, and let's get the unpleasantness over with. Even in these so-called enlightened times we hear of pupils in villages who face torture and sometimes death at the hands of their teachers. Outmoded methods of chastising the child prevail nationwide.

From colonial times

In Karnataka, for example, the parangi mane is a form of punishment where the child is made to half-squat as though sitting in an imaginary chair. It has been in existence from colonial times and still occasionally rears its ugly head. The name appears to have been inspired by the foreigner (or parangi) who uses chairs in his mane instead of sitting on the floor.

Elite city schools may have dispensed with corporal punishment altogether but elite citizens are not above behaving in a debased manner. An "educated" young couple in Bangalore, who would have fitted in neatly in Abu Ghraib, regularly tortured their servant girl. Before leaving for work, the two software professionals would brand the child on various parts of her body for being tardy with her chores. They are no different from teachers who order pupils to stand on one leg the whole day or pound them into a state of unconsciousness. They are driven by the same diabolical impulse to crush the powerless. When their victims are petrified into silence, they mistake their muteness for stupidity and become all the more enraged. The violence builds up to a crescendo. A lack of protest, an absence of reaction, only serves to heighten the sadistic urge.

Most of us believe we are not capable of such brutality, but it's good to recognise its source — power — so that we can keep it in check as rigorously as we exercise it. Teaching can be a power trip. Dictatorship reigns in kindergarten and a relatively democratic approach in college but nowhere along the way does the teacher stop being a figure of authority. When you know that your word is law it is easy to get carried away, to use marks and grades as the ultimate weapon, and to humiliate in the guise of being witty. Power in its most benign form is exhibited when you give the class a snap test (ah, gotcha!) or set an impossible deadline (you may be persuaded to unbend, but the final decision lies with you).

Most teachers believe they have to flex their muscles in order to "maintain discipline". But they face the danger of overdoing the tough act. I heard two college students in a bus discussing a former teacher. "She is one torturous female," said one of them. "Every day she used to complain to me about my brother, saying, your brother's not studying, your brother is not listening in class, your brother didn't do his homework today." The other one said: "She taught us bio." Pause. "She won't forget me in her life." "What did you do?" asked her friend, laughing in delight. "When you sit next to me I'll tell you," was the reply. Since I was the one sitting next to her, it meant the story would be told only when I'd got up, which was a pity. It must have been a deliciously shocking tale, possibly one of revenge.

Strictness is usually a mask. Some wear it to cover up their inadequacies. Others fear that without it they cannot "control" their students. Either way, it is a sign of insecurity. It might fool the very young, but older students will see through it in no time and wait for an opportunity to tear it down. The shishya who implicitly obeys the guru and quakes at the sight of his shadow has become a bit of an anomaly, and why not? As long as teachers have knowledge and the ability to impart it, they will earn their students' respect, and no amount of cracking the whip can achieve the same end.

Power need not turn you into Darth Vader. Don't forget its beneficial side: the power to influence the young. A schoolboy who had got his idioms slightly mixed up wrote to his teacher rather endearingly: "Thank you for turning me into a new leaf." As the teacher mirthfully quoted the sentence to me, I wondered whether it was his behaviour or his marks that she had improved. The point was that she had changed him in some way. Every day, millions of teachers effect changes big and small in the lives of their young wards. It's an awesome responsibility.

When there is love and trust between the teacher and the taught, there is no place for power play. They are honest with each other and not afraid to expose their soft underbelly or wear their convictions on their sleeve. Teaching young adults can be one of the most fulfilling experiences of one's life. As a teacher of journalism, I can vouch for that. But right now, I need all good teachers to come to the aid of humanity. Well, if not the entire human race, at least the tribe I represent. My begging letter reads as follows:

Dear Teacher,

I request you to exert more force than you have done before on the minds of teens and twenty-somethings. If media pundits are to be believed, young people are no longer interested in reading newspapers as you know them today. I am told that they prefer vital statistics to plain ones, and the bikini line to the poverty line. Act Now! Save young minds from putrefaction (and please teach them how that is spelt). Use your power like Luke Skywalker for a noble cause and rescue Princess Media. May the Force be with you.

Yours sincerely,

Endangered Journalist

P.S.: Don't forget your mission. Turn all your students into new leaves.

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