‘You’re going to NLS Bangalore for Public Policy – are you kidding me?’, a random guy at a house party back in Delhi exclaimed. ‘You’re quitting your job for that?’; I just nodded nonchalantly in response. ‘Broooo, MPP is the step child of NLS, brooo’, he repeated with feverish concern as I continued to smirk and dismiss the drunken rant. Little did I know that I would soon have anecdotal evidence for the modern-day adage, “a drunk mind speaks a sober heart.”
Now, before I go on, I would like to give you the long and short of this article, especially to the defendants (yeah, I know that legal term). This piece is not meant to be a narrative of the aggrieved (nailing it) or a plea for more inclusivity. At best, the only phrase that can emote the sentiment behind this article is, ‘Lolol, but like why?’.
I was prompted to write all this down because a trespasser from the LLB territory (what territory?!) scribbled certain equations (literally and figuratively) between the LLMs, MPPs, and the LLBs (in no particular order) in our classroom.
When I first saw the graffiti, my knee-jerk reaction was to dismiss it as a childish gimmick, a reaction which resonated with a few others too. It was only after a few minutes of post-coffee brooding that I realised the folly of my uncritical bearing and the possible (albeit temporally far-off) consequences of such apathy. I began by taking a picture and sending out a mail which merely questioned the very motive (I am telling you, I could have been a lawyer) behind such an act. Why does anyone here feel the need to construct a hierarchy? I am genuinely seeking an answer to this. The utility of such bigotry (if I may take the liberty to call it so) is lost on me and the other plaintiffs (I should really stop). Even the battle cry for FUGS (Front for Undergraduate Solidarity) seemed offensive at first but now it just seems like a bad acronym. I mean, you really could have done a better job.
Even more baffling is the constant justification I receive from certain LLB students (I’d kill to take names but I ain’t in no witness box). Their justification? “Dude, not all LLBs hate your lot”. Whut? What am I to say to that? Express gratitude that the MPP-LLM hatred is not as pervasive as the gender-based harassment on this campus? Well, I mostly end up giving a chortle and walking away rather than arguing (wouldn’t have killed it as a lawyer after all).
So, what’s all the CLATter about?
I am assuming that a major source of any such sense of superiority flows from the fact that the LLBs are the top scorers in CLAT. I recognize that and hugely respect it. I also realize that the entry requirements for the MPP and LLM courses might not be as rigorous (though many might disagree) as the ones for LLB. I also concede that this is originally a law school and all of you are here for more years than us. But all these factors simply add to the narrative; none of them explain the partisan behaviour. I mean what drives this behaviour really? It can’t simply be “spaces like Chetta, Bistro, Library, Field and even Rohini have been monopolised and appropriated away from us”. That is not a battle-worthy cause. I mean, have you even eaten the food at Bistro? You can’t possibly be this possessive about the food-littered granite slabs and the artificially coloured gravies.
So, it obviously runs a lot deeper than that. I wonder if it’s got to do something with social conditioning (yes, I am going there). The kind of conditioning that debilitates one’s empathy towards people who they perceive to be less accomplished? It’s a question we all need to ask ourselves. We come with social and material privileges we take for granted and constantly fail to recognise that most of the people around us are fighting their own battles. Everyone is fighting a battle. The LLM student who fought with parents back home to come here; the MPP student who gave up the financial security of a salaried job for a place as promising as this; and the LLB student who finds it hard to stay away from home for the first time. So why make anybody feel any less worthy?
All in all, you know nothing about us except for the course we’re pursuing or may be the amount of space we take up on the grimy (and often covered with bird poop) bleachers in the field. Is that all that it takes to invoke hatred towards us? Sigh. If yes, then what is the difference between the ones who undergo the five-year-kick-you-in-the-crotch-spit-on-your-neck-fantastic (F.U.G.S.) training at NLSIU and the ones feeding off provocative WhatsApp forwards? And no, it’s not that far-fetched an analogy.
(Disclaimer: Not all MPPs)
]]>This article was written by Siddharth Chauhan (Batch of 2008).
Any recent graduate of Law School needs no introduction to Siddharth or more fondly known as simply ‘Chauhan’. The 20 months when he taught at Law School left an indelible mark on each student he taught. Always giving his all to Law School, his legacy still remains strong to this date. Writing in January 2005 for the first issue of Quirk, this article by Chauhan strikes an astonishingly prescient tone.
The entrance procedure for admission to NLSIU has been under the scanner on account of the consistent increase in the number of applicants each year. Some general criticisms offered are that the test inherently favours those with good English-medium schooling and that the high fee structure as well as requirements for ancillary spending create an ‘elitist’ profile of students. Another point made is that despite the provision of financial aid schemes, only the ‘well-off’ would have access to preparatory recourses. I do not intend to address these issues directly in this note. I propose a reform that might enable a slightly more diverse profile of incoming students. Though a common-entrance test for admission to NLSIU and the Law-schools that have subsequently followed its model, is not an exhaustive solution to the shortcomings in the admission procedure, it will, nevertheless be a step in the right direction.
The inclusion of institutions for the purpose of such a common-entrance exam, can be left to the discretion of an apex body comprising of members from the Bar Council of India or eminent academics. The modalities of designing and administering a common-entrance procedure can follow the example of similar tests conducted for engineering, medical and management institutions.
The primary motive for a consolidated entrance system is that it will bring about standardization across different institutions. It can work on the ‘rule of thumb’, that the applicant with better performance in test gets an earlier right of preference in respect of the seats available at the institution of his/her choice. Hence, the ‘brand name’ of the particular institute will be an important criterion and it will precipitate direct competition between various colleges.
The first benefit of implementing a common procedure is that it removes the need for individual spending on multiple admission forms, which as per current practice are highly prices and deter a substantial number of people from even applying for the preliminary process. A single application process will be convenient to applicants and also amount to a net saving of recourses spent in conducting the same. The criticism offered against this argument, is that separate entrance-tests also serve as income earning opportunities for institutions.
Second, a substantial number of high-school students are deterred from applying to individual institutions on account of regional considerations i.e. they are generally averse to the idea of moving to campuses in far-to locations. This tendency holds truer for prospective applicants who do not come from a legal background and are unsure of their long-term prospects with a law degree. A common test for several institutions will circumvent this trend.
The only argument against a common law-entrance exam that deserves attention is that of possible ‘brand-dilution’ or the disregarding of some distinct criteria demanded by individual institutions. It is true that in case of NLSIU, several people would feel that it enjoys a head-start over other five-year law courses in India in terms of recruitment prospects for students. This argument only proceeds on the idea of the need to maintain high standards in an institution – evaluated on how students perform through Law School and thereafter and not in the entrance-exam. On comparison of the test results for eminent law-schools like NALSAR, NUJS, NLU et al with the NLSIU list and it will be clear that the same individual applicant may not have performed consistently across the different tests. The entrance-tests are, therefore, not conclusive indicators of legal aptitude and for all the practical purposes there would be little to differentiate between the incoming batches in the top 4-5 law-schools. The argument for a common test is made to cover only the institutions following the NLSIU academic model in the short run. However, with more and more of the ‘old-school’ law departments in colleges and universities starting give-year programmes following the same structure, the coverage of the test can be widened on the conditions of an institution fulfilling clearly laid-down standards relating to administrative efficiency, quality of faculty and provision of infrastructure.
In the first trimester of Law School, I was crying on a friend’s shoulder in an autorickshaw, disappointed at my average performance in the university debate rounds. As somebody who believed myself to be a good debater, it was crushing to be shown my place in the university pool. My friend’s reaction though took me of guard. Concerned about me, and wanting to reassure me, he asked me why I kept feeling the need to prove I was good at extra-curricular activities. Was it because I had entered Law School through the SC quota, and I felt the need to prove I was as good as everyone else? He said, “Don’t worry, everyone already thinks you’re one of us. You don’t have to prove anything.” It was meant to restore my confidence. He was trying to be a good friend. It felt like a hard kick in the gut. My AIR had happened to be enough to qualify sans the quota as well. Therefore, I was not an usurper. The implication was that I ‘deserved’ to be at NLS. The implication was that others didn’t by virtue of getting in through the quota. That was my first real encounter with caste at Law School. That if your diction and pop culture qualified, you were one of us. It is one of the sharpest memories of my life. Not just what was said, but what was unsaid, and how it made me feel.
I am extremely aware of the position of privilege I enjoy. I went to an Anglican Christian school for three years which is among the top 5 in the country, was born to two highly educated parents, and have never faced economic hardship in my life. However, I am fully aware that skipping one generation, my ancestors weren’t allowed to sit inside a classroom, their shadows would pollute people if they walked past and that they worked with their hands and animal hide. I am aware that my mother belonging to an upper caste had to face tremendous social sanction and repercussions for marrying outside her caste twenty five years ago, a decision which many people in our generation still don’t have the courage to take. The caste system excluded people from the lower caste from gaining access to Sanskrit, Hindu education at top schools fifty years ago. Christian missionaries willingly took in everyone if you were willing to learn English and say ‘Amen.’ Then, English became the language of the market. My father went to a Christian school. And I benefitted in a twisted way from this discrimination. As somebody who sang in a Christian church choir as a child, I never fully understood how discrimination worked, until my grandmother read Ambedkar to me. And I didn’t appreciate its power till I met people in Law School.
At the outset I want to say that of all the things I am grateful for, having studied at NLS is among the highest. I had the opportunity to study under some amazing professors, develop useful skills, and forge friendships that will last forever. It taught me to question everything and express myself unabashedly. The place will always be a part of who I am which is why I feel that it is important that I am able to critique it with as much honesty as possible. Anything else would do the institute disservice.
As the supposedly top Law School in the country, an institute which has produced some fantastic human rights lawyers, and created an amazing vision to improve the quality of legal representation in India, as a student body at large, we’re a disproportionately apolitical bunch. Yes, the Law and Society Committee and the Legal Services Clinic and now IDIA have always gone out of their way to ensure that questions of inclusion, diversity, religion and politics are brought to the mainstream but there’s always an alternative vibe to it. I was particularly impressed by LawSoc’s activity for incoming freshers about recognising their privilege. We say that NLS allows everyone a space to pursue what they want. Yes, the spaces exist. However which spaces are the most crowded provide an interesting insight into our conscience. We need to stop pretending that people go to Allen and Overy partner talks and a screening of Jai Bhim in similar numbers. We are content to politicise mess coupons, but turn a blind eye to who is picking up our trash.
One of my immediate seniors was unpopular because he would keep discussing questions of caste on 19(1)(A), on ugstudents, and through his committee. I know several people who thought his activism was shrill, and unnecessary because caste was not an issue that affected NLS. Of course, NLS was that temple of education which honours merit over anything else; of students who got in on merit and worked hard to win the moots, debates, scholarships and jobs. So on several occasions, I have witnessed certain classmates emanate a “what else do you expect?” schadenfreude-like attitude when people who got in on the quotas have failed courses, lost years. As if, that is what happens when you don’t deserve to be here. That never happened when somebody who from the general category fell behind or failed courses. A junior, who was unaware of my caste status, once vociferously told me once that the best way to reign in NLS’ falling standards was to abolish the quota system, those people are bringing us down, that’s why our India Today ranking was in jeopardy. Another junior tried to explain to his classmates how we should advocate positive eugenics because let’s face it certain castes were just more intelligent and capable than others. An extremely successful senior told people over the mess table how she would “never date somebody who was an SC.”
To be fair, I haven’t encountered a single instant wherein any member of the faculty or administration has even exerted the tiniest of micro-aggressions towards students belonging to any of the backward classes, and in that, NLS might be a free space. However, as a student body, I don’t think we’re as guiltless as we would like to believe in our Chetta debates on organic change. The first instance when I felt that students were genuinely squirming about their privilege and thinking about caste was during P. Sainath’s single credit course on development, dissent and the media. His classes, I believe, genuinely forced people to think about law and society outside the sanitized and academic distance we are used to. One of the juniors did insist to Mr. Sainath in earnest after class that the caste system was useful as it helped organise society. But, P. Sainath is a celebrated, sophisticated English journalist who is listened to. Would people still have been willing to listen if the same questions had been asked by a Dalit journalist with vernacular experiences? It’s something to think about.
The advocates of meritocracy across the world have a very identical criticism of affirmative action. This is true for many white US students I have spoken to regarding African-American representation at US universities. They will always point out how certain people who have availed of the reservation system are extremely rich, drive around in fancy cars and don’t need the quota at all and that the criterion for affirmative action should be financial alone. We know there’s a very similar attitude at NLS as well. Pointing out individual examples as though caste has ceased to exist and it’s just another scam being pulled by the powerful. I agree that lack of opportunity due to dearth of funds from your primary schooling immediately excludes you from access to higher education and a chance to better your economic prospects. However, reducing it to this discussion assumes that one can buy themselves out of caste. That might be a gift of a capitalist economy which cares about your output and contribution to the economy over your lineage. However, the manner in which caste pervades our personal lives, the people who we make friends with, the people we marry, the people we idolise or give recognition to. Much of our lean-in feminism focusing on climbing the corporate ladder, does so while standing on the shoulders of domestic help from lower castes, perpetuating the same system of oppression with no attempts at reconciling these contradictions.
I am not qualified or intelligent enough to come up with a solution to our dilemma when it comes to representation in higher education. As campuses across the country begin to finally have conversations about caste following the horrific suicide of Rohith Vemula, a tragedy we all must take blame for as a system, it could be a moment for our alma mater to reflect seriously or it could be another missed opportunity like hundreds before it. The point of this piece is to highlight, from my personal observation that caste pervades the NLS student body more than we are willing to admit. First, by our silences and lack of engagement with the issue of caste within NLS and outside it, because this engagement offers no rewards or connections which can be vetted on your master CV. Second, because through our casual comments on meritocracy and hard work, we try to delegitimize and demoralise the presence of a section of the student body which is also legally entitled to the same educational experience as everyone else. •
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