Who Controls My Data?

Data Privacy and Big Tech - Adarsh Badri

Big Tech and Data Privacy: The Way Forward

There is a saying, “when we get something for free, then we end up being the products.” In the age of information, all the clicks we’ve left behind — and would leave behind in future — are being (will be) used to analyze us, rate us, package us, and sell it back to us.

In a 2019 article, the New York Times outlined how each of us has “secret consumer scores”: hidden rating that determines how long we wait on hold when calling a business, and what type of service we receive. A Tinder algorithm of sorts — a low score sends you back the queue, and the high score will fetch you an elite treatment. The society we live in today is witnessing an enormous amount of data flow, and with it, a rampant surge in algorithm systems that make decisions for us without us knowing whether these decisions are fair for us or not.

How Does The Big-Tech Collect Our Data?

Big Techs, also known by the acronym ‘FAAMG’ (Facebook, Amazon, Apple, Microsoft, and Google), are competing with one another to harvest as much data as they can and sell it to third-party applications and businesses. Big Techs have acquired extraordinary amounts of data on individuals through internet browsers, email, weather applications, maps, and satellite navigations. These firms document how we browse, what food we enjoy, where we buy our socks, which music soothes us, what movies we watch, where we travel and how we let the world know about it.

Google contains 4.14 GigaBytes of data on me. (Those who wish to download their Google data may use this link.) When you download a copy of your Google data, you will see a folder containing multiple subfolders, each containing multiple .json files.  In a folder labelled location history, Google kept a history of my monthly location data since 2016 — with great details about whether I was walking, or running, or tilting, or cycling, or in the vehicle, along with timestamps of the activity, location name, latitude and longitude.

Another folder recorded the ads I may have seen based on the websites I visited. In another, the files contained the details of the sites I have visited, images & videos I have searched for, apps I have opened and for how long. Even the recordings of my Google voice search are listed in yet another file, along with the date and time. This is not just a story of Google.

In the New York Times report, Facebook was charged with holding a lot of personal data on their databases. Instagram, along with its parent company Facebook, holds data on removed friends, phone book, blocked contacts, pictures, chat conversations, photos & videos sent and received, among other things. Instagram, of course, retains your search history to show targeted ads.

Even, Alexa is listening — carefully. According to a 2019 Bloomberg report, Amazon Inc. employs thousands of people to help the Alexa digital assistant powering Echo speakers. Amazon, however, claims that they use the users’ requests to Alexa to train their “speech recognition and natural language understanding systems.” While we, the users of web services, maybe generating enormous amounts of data, we have no control over it. In turn, the Big Techs constantly monitor how we produce data and then recreate us – our choices – to make us better products.

We’re in an era of data collection and surveillance — whether we opt for it or not in several instances. Panopticon, that is what Michel Foucault would have called it. To gain a competitive edge over others, these companies have been hungry for hyper-personalisation of user data. As a result, they want to know everything about a particular consumer (his/her needs, desires, and behaviours) to make useful recommendations. It is this quest for hyper-personalisation, that leads to misuse of user data. A classic case of data misuse?

Cambridge Analytica Scandal

In the early March of 2018, two leading newspapers The Guardian and The New York Times carried out a chilling report on how political consulting firm Cambridge Analyticathat worked for the Trump campaign, had harvested personal data of millions of Facebook users without their consent to “build a powerful software program to predict and influence choices at the ballot box”.

The data was collected through an application called thisisyourdigitallife, built by academic Aleksandr Kogan of Cambridge University. Kogan, in collaboration with Cambridge Analytica, had paid hundreds of thousands of users to take a personality test and agreed to have their data collected for academic use. However, the app also collected the data of test-takers’ Facebook friends, leading to the accumulation of unprecedented amounts of data.

Cambridge Analytica, according to some estimates, had harvested the private information of the Facebook profiles of more than 50 million users without their consent, making it one of the largest data leaks in the social media’s history. The Cambridge Analytica Scandal was a clear expose of how third-party developers easily accessed user’s data, who in turn, sold it to companies that misused this information.

Now, we are in 2021. And since the 2018 Cambridge Analytica Scandal, user data privacy has become mainstream. These data privacy concerns have put Big Techs under the radar of privacy watchdogs.

In the last few years, we have seen (in many instances) how the Big Techs have mishandled consumer data or mined data without the user consent. Data privacy concerns do not just stop with personal privacy but encompass a wide array of issues related to what data protection means to democracy and who owns our data.

What Can We Do About Data Privacy?

Data privacy is centred around how data is collected, stored, managed, and shared with other third-party entities. It focuses on the individuals’ right to know the purpose of data collection, privacy preferences, as well as compliance with the privacy laws.

There are three ways of dealing with data privacy concerns – each interconnected and overlap with the other. At first, the onus of data privacy lies on the individual data users. On the personal front, we need to know what is personal to us and share the data only when necessary with entities we know we can trust.

When we open our emails, we should not click on links embedded in unsolicited emails as they may open an unsecured and harmful webpage. Always pay attention to the URL and ensure that it begins with “https://”, as “s” indicates that the URL is encrypted and secure. Do not give unnecessary access to cookies — and delete the cookies from your browser from time to time. These are some of the precautionary measures you (the users of data) may take while securing your data.

Secondly, we need our governments to take the necessary steps to regulate Big Tech and protect individual rights to data privacy. There’s GDPR (the General Data Protection Regulation) 2018, in the European Union that gives more control to the individuals over the personal data. According to the law, the data controllers must not collect any personal data without the consent of the data subjects. And that they must disclose any data collection, declare its lawful basis and purpose, and state how long data is being retained and if it is being shared with any third parties, or outside of the EEA.

In 2020, California State of the United States legislated a new data privacy law i.e., CCPA (California’s Consumer Privacy Act) to enhance privacy rights and consumer protection for its residents. The law empowers its residents to know what personal data is being collected about them and/or whether it is sold to third-party entities, and request these business entities to delete the personal data of its consumers. The proposed Personal Data Protection Bill in India seeks to regulate the collection, storage, and handling of personal data. However, there are looming fears about how these laws might turn the country into an “Orwellian state” — as a result of an exemption for government bodies to access personal data. There is more regulation likely to come in 2021.

Third, we need to innovate newer ways of dealing with data products, with primacy to data privacy. For instance, in 2018 Pittsburgh-based PNC Bank piloted a card with dynamic CVV, where the card’s CVV changed after every 30 to 60 minutes. The dynamic CVV technology is created to fight card-not-present fraud that has been on the rise for years. In another example, we can see that passwords are replaced with cryptographic keys and multiple layers of biometrics.

Signal, a California-based messaging application, run by a not-for-profit organisation, offers users end-to-end encryption. Signal’s “Sealed Sender” feature makes conversations more secure as the platform cannot access private messages or media, or store them on their servers. While WhatsApp provides end-to-end encryption for messages, it can access other private information — another good reason to shift sides.

In another such innovation, Presearch is a decentralised, open-source search engine with enhanced privacy features. Built on the blockchain, Presearch rewards its users with PRE crypto tokens. They do not track or store any information or searches, as a result, the users control their data. On the similar lines, Tim Berners-Lee, creator of the World Wide Web, has led an exciting project called “Solid” (derived from “social linked data”) that aims to radically change the way web applications work today and empower users of data, their freedom to choose where their data resides, and who is allowed to access it.

Solid is all about PODS – personal online data stores. Here, an individual has PODS in which all the personal data is stored. And you may choose to host the data wherever you may wish to. Instead of uploading data to remote services, the services are granted permission to access the data that lives in one of your PODS.

Interesting, isn’t it?


Picture: Yang Jing on Unsplash

Where There is No Caste: Utopia

caste-isabel wilkerson

In the winter of 1959, Martin Luther King, Jr., and his wife, Coretta, visited India. When they arrived in Mumbai, King told reporters, “To other countries, I may go as a tourist, but to India, I come as a pilgrim.” King was fascinated by the non-violent struggle of Gandhi against the British and had long dreamed of going to India. The couple stayed back in India for an entire month. One afternoon, King and his wife visited a high school where the children belonging to Untouchable castes were taught. The school principal made an introduction: “Young people, I would like to present you a fellow of untouchable caste from the United States of America.” King was appalled at the comparison. He never expected himself to be addressed as untouchable for he was an alien to the system. When King began to think about the reality of the lives of 20 million African Americans he was fighting for, he said to himself, “Yes, I am an untouchable, and every Negro in the United States of America is untouchable.”

The Lies That Divide Us

Isabel Wilkerson, a Pulitzer Prize-winning journalist, in her bestselling book Caste: The Lies That Divide Us, introduces caste as a guiding framework to analyse racial hierarchy and stigmatization that holds African-Americans at the bottom of the ladder. Caste is broadly divided into seven parts, each addressing the broad contours of caste, and the interplay between caste and race in the United States. Her work is lyrically absorbing with its brilliant use of anecdotes, allegories, and metaphors about “an old house.” Throughout her work, Wilkerson uses words such as ‘dominant caste,’ ‘middle caste,’ ‘disfavoured caste’ or ‘lowest caste’ instead of, or in addition to, ‘white,’ ‘Asian or Latino,’ and ‘African-American’ to refer to the American caste system. 

Wilkerson defines caste as the “architecture of human hierarchy, the subconscious code of instructions” for sustaining social order. A caste system “is an artificial construction, a fixed and embedded ranking of human value that sets the presumed supremacy of one group against the presumed inferiority of the other,” she writes. In her thesis, Wilkerson notes that the caste hierarchy is “not about feelings or morality”, but it is about power, resources, authority and respect — which groups have it and which do not, who gets to acquire and control them, and who does not.

To understand caste and its implicit use of unconscious ranking of human characteristics “used to justify brutalities against entire groups within our species,” Wilkerson draws stark parallels between the “tragically accelerated, chilling, and officially vanquishing caste system” of Hitler’s Germany that exterminated millions of Jews, lasting 12 years; the “lingering, millennia-long caste system of India” that continues to stigmatize Dalits — the former untouchables — even to this day; and the “shape-shifting, unspoken, race-based caste pyramid in the US,” that has been dehumanising the African-American community for centuries.

Race and Caste in the United States

Wilkerson, in her work, analyses the interplay between race and caste in the United States. For this purpose, she explores the writings of Ashley Montagu, Gunnar Myrdal, Allison Davis, and W.E.B. Du Bois among others. Allison Davis, an African-American social anthropologist, in his path-breaking work Deep South (1941) that examines the parallel between the African-Americans under the Jim Crow South in the United States and Dalits in India. Social economist Gunnar Myrdal, in his 1944 comprehensive report on race in America titled: An American Dilemma concludes that “the most accurate term for American society is not race, but caste.” 

Drawing from their works, Wilkerson contends that “caste and race coexist in the same culture” and they serve to reinforce one another. In the American caste system, the signal of rank in the form of one’s colour and appearance are known as race. And in the language of race caste as the underlying grammar defining it. Race is what one sees — the physical traits with arbitrary meanings — and caste is the “powerful infrastructure” that holds each group in its place. In Caste, Wilkerson identifies eight “pillars of caste” — divine will, heritability, endogamy, occupational hierarchy, dehumanization and stigma, terror as enforcement and cruelty as means of control, and inheritance of superiority and inferiority — that underlie the working of caste across societies. She illustrates these features using examples from India, Nazi Germany, and the United States.

Tentacles of Caste

In the “tentacles of caste,” Wilkerson describes various ways in which caste permeates in a society that is infected by it. She goes on to address the “unconscious bias” embedded deep within one’s culture and its function of perpetuating caste. And the role of lower castes as “scapegoats” of the caste system. Wilkerson notes, “As scapegoats, they are seen as the reason for societal ills.” She, further, adds that the “caste system thrives on dissension and inequality, envy and false rivalries” that builds up as a result of scarcity in societies. In another chapter, Wilkerson talks about the inherent “narcissism” that sustains the caste system.

The dominant caste acts as “the sun around which all other castes revolve” and these castes are ranked in “descending order by their physical proximity” to the dominant caste. “Caste behaviour,” Wilkerson writes, “is essentially a response to one’s assigned place in the hierarchy.” And the culture enables one to take instructions from dominant castes — follow them, revere them, and not argue with them when they are wrong. Although Wilkerson’s work elaborates on race in terms of the caste hierarchy, she doesn’t explicate on class privilege in terms of one’s inheritance of intergenerational trauma and post-memory among African Americans.

Wilkerson uses the most enduring caste framework, India’s, consisting of four varnas — Brahmin, Kshatriya, Vaishya, Shudra — and Dalits, former untouchables. However, jatis, the subset of varna, represent the sustained harsh reality of Indian society. These jatis are not rigid. And some jatis, as shown by several Indian social anthropologists, have climbed up the ladder and several others have slipped down. The postcolonial scholarship on caste has further shown us that British colonialism has imposed a certain rigidity in the structuring of caste as it exists today. 

What captures most of Wilkerson’s attention is the textualized division of caste in its purest form of hierarchy, division, and the normalised stigma — varna. Through this caste framework, she opens up a debate on what constitutes caste in our society. Wilkerson writes, “caste is the powerful institution that holds each group in its place”. When we apply this understanding to our day-to-day living, we see caste everywhere.

In my childhood, I attended a boarding school in Kadapatti — A temple town for the caste crusader, Basava, in southern India. On Sundays and other holidays, we, as children, would stand behind the windows of an unknown neighbourhood, peep through the tinted glasses, and stare at the Television watching dramatic Kannada movies, World Wrestling Entertainment (WWE), and the Cricket World Cup. As young as nine-years-olds, we knew our positions, roles, and functions as we huddled through those tinted glasses. When I look back, I understand that the mere notion of “peeping through the tinted glasses” and “owning a Television” shows us the caste structure — and the roles and behaviours it elicits.

Where There is No Caste: Utopia

Caste, in its truest sense, is one’s inability to accept the other as ourselves. And this form of caste exists everywhere. It is exactly this inability that enables the rich to look at the poor-in-tatters with a certain disgust. In a rural Indian household, the women — all their lives — are taught that their role is restricted to the four-walled kitchen. In international society, the third-world is looked down upon by developed countries. And the transgender community still faces perpetual stigma in South Asian societies among others. Wilkerson’s very appropriation of caste into western societies — the tendency to define caste in western terms — might blur harsh lived-realities of caste in India.

In the modern capitalist system, a new form of legitimised caste structure has emerged. A factory has a certain structure with foremen, supervisors, the board of directors, and the executive heads — each playing their roles, in their institutionalized hierarchy, with a scalar chain of command. In his Annihilation of Caste (1935), Ambedkar (whom Wilkerson calls the Martin Luther King, Jr. of India) wrote, “caste does not bring about the division of labour; it brings about division of labourers.” The caste roles enable the blue-collared employees to be treated in a certain manner as opposed to that of white-collared employees. It enables the watchman of an organisation ought to behave in a certain manner — and salute the ones that come through those gates. These caste behaviours are inevitably defined and structured in terms of one’s socio-economic and political power.

 What Wilkerson does not, however, delve deep into is the modern manifestations of caste in our society. But, she commences a debate on the term “caste” and its varied existence in human society, with Nazi Germany, America, and the Indian variant of caste as merely some of the many forms. As Wilkerson notes, “Caste, like grammar, becomes an invisible guide not only to how we speak, but how we process information.”

Caste is against humanity. It divides humans based on their, arbitrarily, presumed worth. It does not just assume that all humans are not born equal, but, caste provides the basis for our behaviour, rules of engagement, and encourages stigmatisation of the other. Wilkerson’s Caste enables us to rethink our complacency towards the perpetuating caste in our societies in various forms it exists. 

 In Wilkerson’s thesis, the caste framework helps one to understand “racism” and the “racial stigma” against African Americans in the United States. She concludes her important essay on caste by helping us to recognise caste and then enabling us to dismantle it. It is possible, Wilkerson writes, to create a “world without caste [that] would set everyone free” for it requires both individual bravery and enormous collective will of dominant castes.


We Don’t Need No Thought Control

education-thought control

Pink Floyd, Education, and Modernity

— Adarsh Badri, Vivin Nair

‘We Don’t Need No Education’ — a catchy first-line of a Pink Floyd’s 1979 release of ‘The Wall’ became an instant hit spanning multiple boundaries and reaching an audience that had never heard of the band before. The popularity of the album reached new heights with the release of “Another Brick in the Wall (Part-II)” in the early 1980s so much that numerous schools had to issue a ban on the song.

Roger Waters, a lead bassist and lyricist of the band, wrote the three-part song lyric, expressing his personal experiences in the form of a story of a character called Pink. The song did not only capture the reality of educational institutions but also deep-seated human beliefs and the authoritative institutionalisation of individuals.

The essence of the song could be captured in “We don’t need no thought control,” which expresses rebellion towards the school education and its indoctrination and conformity towards a rigid, predefined path of learning and knowledge. And such an institutional indoctrination makes us just “another brick in the wall.” Much of these ideas echo Orwellian sentiment towards a system that constantly feeds you with what to think and feel.

In the work, Pink Floyd and the Philosophy, George A. Reisch succinctly puts forth: “It is not an attack on education per se.” It was an attack on certain teachers, who torment their students with ridicule. And it is an attack on education when it becomes indistinguishable from ‘thought control.’ For instance, in a subject of History, the teacher becomes a tool of production of correct citizens – the ones that hold ‘right’ opinions and ‘patriotic’ beliefs – that do not question the status quo. It is in this context, Norman Douglas wrote: “Education is a state-controlled manufactory of echoes.”

Modernity and Education

With the “Birth of Modernity,” the school system began to introduce a certain form of mannerism. It taught the students ways to express the most profound human emotions, developed a new standard of behaviour – where self-discipline over desires and emotions became a civilised form of conduct. The enlightenment project gave the modern world the pedagogy of learning, which established a uniform grading-system, a certain doctrine of teaching-learning, merit, and the examinations.

In the words of Dennis O’Keeffe, “Modernity is the combination of capitalism and democracy. Its economic core is based on property rights, which mobilise the organisation of resources. It also requires mass education to select intellectual talent for a complex division of labour.” As a result, our education system tends to create individuals that are suited to benefit the capitalist structure. In the process, the school system indoctrinates us into what makes a good student and a bad one.

All-day long, the students do nothing, but follow instructions – solve so and so questions, add these numbers, multiply the other, do your homework, and stop talking. The industrial-age mentality of mass production and mass control is deep-seated in our school system. At schools, one is awarded for doing exactly as you are taught.

As children, our aspirations are destroyed to fit in a system that our society deems us to be. In the process, a child is taught to learn alphabets as A-for-Apple, B-for-Ball, C-for-Cat, instead of A-for-Apple, B-for-Big Apple, C-for-Custard Apple, for an Apple loving child. The creativity of a child is suppressed in such an education system. The students have become products in a factory – with labels of a good product and a bad product –  that are evaluated by a standard grading system.

Educated Subjects of The Society

In his work, The One World Schoolhouse, Sal Khan refers to a phenomenon known as “Swiss-cheese gaps.” We are taught multiple subjects in our prime days of schooling that we never really learn anything inquisitively. When a child is taught multiple subjects at school, he might show interest in a particular subject more than the other. Since the evaluation is based on ‘a minimum score’ required to pass, the student may end up only learning things in bits and pieces. The students have been constantly pushed ahead regardless of their mastery over a topic. And when this process is continued for several years, all the knowledge that a student might have acquired makes little sense.

Examinations – a mechanism that evaluates what gets written, how it gets written, and how not to write something – legitimises such an education and the values associated with it. The education system based on inauthentic rote learning, staying up all night to memorising useless facts that are forgotten the next day, and evaluating children based on their test scores is an acutely inhumane exercise. Thus, some children are tagged as dumb and others are praised as intelligent.

We are all a product of such a system. A system that judges a fish by its ability to climb a mountain. It rigidly curtails one’s interests, their ability to critically think, and propose a pre-defined path that most likely result in ‘another brick in the wall.’

The society we live in is changing rapidly, but our education system hasn’t changed much for hundreds of years. It is mired by an industrial-age mentality of churning out factory workers. However, we live in an Information Age. In the era of rapid unabated information flow, our education system also needs to tailor to individual needs and interests.

In the years that follow, there is a need for an education that is digitised, automated, interactive and individual-centric – with the pace of the learner. There has to be an increased encouragement towards peer-to-peer learning in the school system. Ceteris paribus, we don’t need no education that controls our thoughts.


Disclaimer: Adarsh Badri is a Masters student at the University of Delhi, and an author of a forthcoming book, the ‘Republic of Reservation’. Vivin Nair is an alumnus of the London School of Economics, and a Smart City Fellow with Government of India.

Police Brutality, Custodial Deaths, and (Un)Just System

police brutality in India

As millions of Americans march on the streets of Oklahoma, Washington D.C., Minneapolis, etc. to protest the institutional murder of George Floyd, the world’s attention now needs to shift towards the custodial deaths of Jayaraj and Bennix in India. The Police system in India is in a dangerous state of disrepair with skyrocketing cases of human rights violations, encounter killings and institutional murders. The custodial death of a father-son duo has sparked a nation-wide outrage against the police brutality in Thoothukudi district of Tamil Nadu. Their crime: Violation of COVID-19 guidelines.

Police Brutality in Thoothukudi

Earlier this week, P. Jayaraj and his son Bennix were arrested for reportedly keeping their shops open and thereby, allegedly violating the lockdown guidelines. Bennix owned a small mobile store in Sathankulam town in Thoothukudi.

On June 19, the police patrolling the town had visited the shop and argued with Jayaraj. They took him to the police station thereafter. When Bennix rushed to the police station to meet his father, he was arrested as well. The duo was booked under the IPC Section 188 (disobedience to order duly promulgated by public servant), and 353 (use of force to deter public servant from duty) among many others.

Two days after the arrest, both Jayaraj and Bennix died in police custody. Several eyewitnesses have accused the police of brutally harassing and sexually assaulting both men. A friend of Jayaraj recounted the incident and said: “When we saw the two, they were dripping with blood and badly hurt. Their clothes were soaked in blood.”

The incident has triggered a nation-wide outrage against police brutality. In India, it is largely “vulnerable” who become the victims of police brutality. Here, we take actions of institutional murders in the form of extrajudicial killings, lockup deaths, and police brutality as a given. In our society, we have normalised police brutality and encounter culture.

COVID-19 and Police Brutality

In the weeks following the COVID-19 lockdown in India, the police used their lathis on the poor and vulnerable to adhere to the guidelines, while the rich had complete impunity. An ambulance driver was beaten up by the police in the Indian city of Pune on suspicion that he was illegally transporting passengers in his vehicle, which he was not.

In another instance, a man in West Bengal was assaulted for stepping out to buy milk, who later died from his injuries. However, there has been no outrage against the police brutality all through the anti-CAA protests, and the lockdown that followed. The brutal custodial death of Jayaraj and Bennix has enabled many Indians to express their anguish on social media.

There is no denying that torture and beating up of suspects to extract confession remains a major source of police legitimacy in India. This legitimacy is derived out of ignorance of the people towards their constitutional rights, and the unfortunate arrogance of police as an institution. Policemen, who engage in such acts, are rarely punished by the system. In many instances, they are transferred from one district to another, bestowing them with clear impunity for their crimes.

Human Rights and The Police System

The National Campaign Against Torture (NCAT) in its “India: Annual Report on Torture 2019” reveals that as many as 1,731 people have died in police custody during 2019, i.e., death of above five persons daily. The torture methods, the report highlights, include hammering iron nails in the body, applying roller on legs and burning, beating on the feet, stretching legs apart, and hitting on private parts.

In a most striking admission to Human Rights Watch in 2009, a police officer said: “This week, I was told to do an encounter.” He continued, “I am looking for my target, and I will eliminate him.” There are police officers, who derive their pride in the total number of encounters they have carried out in their career. Many of the “super-cop” Indian cinemas romanticize torture, beating and encounters as an “ultimate justice”. This romanticisation gets strongly engrained in our minds that we tend to accept that police has legitimacy over violence.

Another report by Common Cause and the Centre for the Study of Developing Societies notes that there is a significant bias against Muslims among the police, where half of those interviewed said that Muslims are naturally prone to committing violence.

Vulnerable become an easy target for the police brutality: Muslims, farmers, Dalits, Adivasis, poor, transgenders, and migrant labours. People in the villages have a certain stigma attached to the police institution. It is often believed that “an honourable man will not enter a police station or courtroom”. Police itself has become an institution of oppression, an enforcer of fear, and a spear-header of morality.

Foucault and The Police System

Police, as an institution, is like an organ in a body. It is designed to perform a certain function, i.e., catch the bad guys. If one were to explain in a sophisticated language, the police function is to protect the citizens from crime. But what if an institution designed to protect citizens, becomes the perpetrator of the crime?

Michael Foucault, in his influential work, Discipline and Punish pointed out: Even when we believe that the prisons have failed at their tasks, we tend to keep them. Perhaps, we should not ask why the prison fails, instead what it actually succeeds at?

When we ask the same question regarding the police, we will know that the police succeed at treating the way you are intended to. If you are an educated elite, they do their best to keep you safe. In this process, they also succeed in suppressing the “vulnerable.” They suppress those who question the status quo. It is a result of a broken police system. A system that allows the police to investigate, prosecute and pass judgement for a crime at the same time.

To truly confront the problem of custodial death in our society, we need to completely overhaul the institution of policing. Improvised training is an essential element in that regard. The police officials ought to strictly abide by the procedural conduct, and have the utmost respect for human rights. The government should empower independent committees to investigate the matters of human rights violations and reduce impunity. The government also has to enact and enforce strict laws against torture, and inhuman treatment of the criminal suspects.


Picture Credits: The Guardian/Illustration by Nathalie Lees

The Morality of Saving Lives and COVID-19

The morality of saving lives

What is one of the most difficult tasks of a doctor in dealing with the pandemic? I say, it is the dreadful morality choice the doctor ought to make while saving someone at the cost of the other. This has been an intrinsic moral dilemma for centuries of human civilisation. Even as we begin, it is imperative to make one thing clear at the start: societies have scare resources. As a result of resource-constraint, the doctors are forced to ration ventilators, life-saving drugs, dialysis machines and the staff qualified to operate them.

Rationing ventilators has become a new normal in a world grappling with COVID-19. The hospitals get to decide which patient should receive access to mechanical ventilation and other medical procedures. Such an exercise often decides the fate of patients. It is excruciating to think of doctors making moral decisions of which patient gets to live and who dies.

Moral dilemmas are as antique as the medicinal practices themselves. However, in times of crisis, these dilemmas become more evident, unique and urgent. Thus, it is essential to take a look at the concept of morality and the dilemmas that we grapple with in our daily lives. We, humans, inherently belong to one of the two schools of moral philosophy: Millsean utilitarianism and Kantian deontology.

Utilitarian Philosophy and Doctors

Utilitarianism, often also known as consequentialism, was articulated by 19th-century philosopher Jeremy Bentham and popularized by John Stuart Mill. In 1776, in his work, A Fragment on Government, Bentham invoked what he defined as a “fundamental axiom, it is the greatest happiness of the greatest number that is the measure of right and wrong.” Benthamite utilitarianism surmises on “ends justify the means” morality.

Immanuel Kant wrote Groundwork of the Metaphysic of Morals in 1785. He argued that in order for one to act in a morally right way, one must act from duty. Kant argued that it is not the consequences of actions that make them right or wrong, but the motives that enabled the action. He concludes what truly good is: “Nothing in the world – indeed nothing even beyond the world – can possibly be conceived which could be called good without qualification except goodwill.”

Deontology and Kant

Deontology is a normative ethical theory that defines, as Kant had propounded, the morality of an action should be based on whether that action itself is right or wrong and not on what it achieves. Kant notes that a person has goodwill when he “acts out of respect for the moral law.” And that there are certain universal moral laws that are the guiding principle behind the ethical behaviour known as the “categorical imperative.” Deontological philosophy argues that it is “the means that justify the ends.” One of the most influential deontological works in recent times comes from Harvard philosopher John Rawls, in his work, A Theory of Justice propounds a social-contract based on the “veil of ignorance.”

In this essay, I argue that humans are not consistently inclined to a singular school of morality, they shift their goalposts based on circumstances they are encountered with. Let me illustrate this with two ethical dilemmas:

Imagine you are a doctor, and there are five patients in dire need of transplants to live. And each of them will require a different part of the human body. In the next ward, a healthy patient with a mild headache is unconscious due to a dosage of a drug. So, would you kill the healthy patient and harvest his organs to save five lives? Most of us will utterly reject the idea of killing a healthy person. In here, no matter what the consequence of the action is, it is morally wrong to kill a healthy human. Here, we are all Kantians.

Let us now imagine that there is a limited supply of a life-saving drug. Six people will certainly die if they are not treated with the drug. But, one patient requires all of the drugs if he were to survive. But, the other five would require only one-fifth of it. What would you, as a doctor, do in this scenario? Many of us would administer the drug to the five patients as it would fetch the maximum utility. At this point, we are consequentialists.

Taurek and Numbers 

John Taurek, in 1977, in a paper titled “Should the Numbers Count?” presented the above scenario and argued against the general notion of saving five patients than one. To Prof. Taurek, numbers don’t matter. He responds:

“Here are six human beings. I can empathize with each of them. I would not like to see any of them die. But I cannot save everyone. Why not give each person an equal chance to survive? Perhaps I could flip a coin. Heads, I give my drug to these five. Tails, I give it to this one. In this way, I give each of the six persons a fifty-fifty chance of surviving.”

Prof. Taurek adds, “I cannot see how or why the mere addition of numbers should change anything.” However, it becomes evident that Taurek underestimates the number-game a little too much. What if, the calculation was one life against a hundred, a thousand, or a million? Would numbers still not matter? One of the most compelling critiques came from Derek Parfit. In his article “Innumerate Ethics”, Parfit argues that equality meant giving equal consideration to each person’s life, rather than equalising their chances of survival. Parfit wrote, “We should save more people” as each person counts for his life and more people count for more.

Morality and the COVID-19

There are two schools of thought within medical departments about the action plan about the virus. One school of thought preaches that the resources must aim at guaranteeing intensive treatment to patients with a higher chance of survival. It privileges the “higher life expectancy” over those with less chance of survival. In other words, relatively young patients with health problems are prioritized over the elderly and sick.

Another school, deontological ethics, prioritises the elderly and sick over those who are less likely to be affected by the virus. Since the death-rate of the older population is high, the preachers of deontology believe that with proper care and treatment they are reducing the number of deaths. They argue that patients with lower risk are more likely to survive without proper medical treatment, but that is not true in the case of elderly people.

Even as we learn to live with the virus, there is a grave challenge to the inherent human-beliefs more than ever. John Authers, a leading business editor, wrote, “The pandemic is also a test of the strength of the ideas humans choose to help them form moral judgements and guide personal and social behaviour.”

Conclusion

The crisis challenges our abilities to justify what is right and what is wrong. More so, it questions our ability to interpret the purpose of human existence. The estranged society as it exists is its next target. It is at this point, we realise that humans are a product of unequal resource privileges, where one’s garbage is another’s gold. The constant fear engulfing our lives about the known and unknown strangers that might infect us with the virus.

The privilege of justifying our ability to quarantine the population – rich, and poor alike; at times, enabling the poor to toil for their livelihood and battle the virus; telling the destitute, elderly and sick that it is the time for you to sacrifice yourselves for the benefit of the larger society; spewing hatred in the name of primetime news;  watching the migrant women walk a thousand miles with babies wrapped around their shoulders; enabling the labourers to sleep on the railway track even as the train passes over them.

The virus shows us the world we have created – gravely unequal and subtly cruel. It is the marvellous creation of thousands of years of humanity’s obsession with greed and competition. Coronavirus has challenged the ability of humans to protect human society. Vulnerability has become the cornerstone of today’s world. In the post-COVID-19 world, humans ought to become human first, only then humanity will thrive. It is time to rethink and reconceptualise an equal and just society.


Picture Courtesy: Getty Images

Review: Nicholas Dirks’ Castes of Mind

Nicholas Dirks Castes of Mind

In the Castes of Mind, Prof. Nicholas Dirks documents the centuries of scholarship on caste, colonial intervention in the institution of caste, and its broad impact on Indian modernity. In the work, Dirks, at first, shows us the colonial understanding of caste as an Indian form of “civil-society” through the writings from the early attempts of Abbé Dubois to the late 19th Century scholarship of Louis Dumont. Dirks, then, provides a brief analysis of the colonial obsession with the caste system through its attempts of categorisation in the form of ethnographic censuses. Finally, Dirks analyses the politicisation of caste through the reservation policies, and the subsequent OBC politics.

The book is divided into four parts: “The Invention of Caste,” “Colonisation of the Archive,” “The Ethnographic State,” and “Recasting India: Caste, Community, and Politics.” The book can be categorised into two broad trajectories: first, the early ethnographic formulation of caste, before 1857; second, the post-1857 colonial understanding of Indian in terms of caste through categorisation. Dirks accounts for the colonial construction of knowledge and the institutionalisation of India on caste terms. He writes that colonialism was ‘made possible,’ and ‘sustained and strengthened by both the ‘brutal modes of conquest’ and through ‘cultural technologies of the rule’. By technologies of the rule, Dirks refer to the colonial forms of knowledge as espoused by Bernard Cohn in his “investigative modalities.” Dirks opines that colonialism itself was a cultural project of control. He writes, ‘Colonial knowledge both enabled conquest and was produced by it’ (p. 9).

The colonial effort to understand India, before 1857, could be seen in the writings of Alexander Dow, Robert Orme, Charles Grant, Mark Wilks, and James Mill. One of the earliest British efforts at the recording of Indian history emerged like a treatise by Alexander Dow, an officer in the East India Company’s army, in the form of History of Hindostan in 1768. Nicholas Dirks observes that ‘Dow [however] relied on the tutelage of a Brahmin pandit in Banaras and adopted a textualist and Brahmanic view of Indian society’ (p. 22). Dirks observes that the early colonial efforts of writing the history of India looked at caste, not the state that held the society together with villages and communities as its major constituents. Its impact, Dirks notes, could be seen in the writings of Louis Dumont as late as the 1960s.

Dumont (1966) in Homo Hierarchus held that the ‘political and economic domains of social life’ in India are encompassed by regions domain. Brahmana, to Dumont, was both a religious principle as well as the highest form of purity of a Hindu. However, Dirks counters Dumont’s views on caste as highly problematic as the kings were not inferior to Brahmanas. And that Indian society was shaped by political struggles. Identities, Dirks writes, were not restricted to caste itself. He shows us that there existed regional, village and residential communities, kinship groups, chiefs, factional parties, etc. that formed the basic character of pre-colonial Indian society.

The early colonial efforts at understanding India, as Dirks accounts, in the writings of the historiography of Abbe Dubois to ethnographic enthusiast Colin Mackenzie, in his efforts at mapping and surveying the southern states of India. There is not much mention of “caste” in both their accounts and those produced by the missionaries. But, with the 1857 revolt, the British begin their quest for understanding India with enthusiasm. However, the colonial efforts at understanding India drastically restructured society, in which the subjects became a mere tool for governance. The colonial administrators recorded censuses, wrote reports and conducted surveys based on caste, race, ethnicity, religion and colour. Such processes of categorization, Dirks notes, did not only reify the community but also created an entirely new form of communities.

In the Castes of Mind, Dirks writes, the British, soon after securing their hold over India, began to use caste [in Varna terms] as a tool to enumerate the population. The colonial ethnographic interest began from the 1870s, with caste as a primary object of social classification and understanding. The census of 1871 generated all-India procedures, standards, and categories for its enumeration. One of the general trends in the colonial caste census was its intolerance for multiple, blurred, at times changing identities. The colonial census fixed a particular category for the people. Several census officers, time and again, have written, as Dirks shows us, that the question of caste was inaccurate and conflicting and such a process would lead to a flawed understanding of the communities. Mr Prinsep, an officer who conducted the census of Benaras in 1843, accounts for not less than 107 distinct castes in one city alone (p. 202). In 1891, the Varna was formally abandoned as the basis for the census.

Herbert Hope Risley, a census commission of 1901, made it pertinent that he would return to the use of Varna for enumeration and classification. To the British, caste became a civilisational factor for India’s backwardness. As a result, Dirks shows us that, caste itself became a civil society of India. Caste was reformulated into the rigid Varna categories, while discounting for multiple identities, at times, politicising such identities. The Castes of Mind shows us that with the caste becoming a major category for understanding India, the process of politicisation of caste began as early as the 1930s with caste associations sprouting all across India trying to mobilise people on their caste lines. Dirks, in this well-structured essay, shows us that caste displaced every aspect of Indian social life. Caste, to the British, represented India as a whole. It was only the caste that represented India. It was also what the British thought was the caste system, that would represent India. Furthermore, it was the British alone that could determine to classify and reinstitute caste in a manner that would perfectly represent itself as a civil society.

In the final section of the work, Dirks argues that caste has taken a new shape in its influence on politics. He accounts for reform movements of Periyar, Gandhi and Ambedkar that helped in the uplifting of Dalits. In another chapter, Dirks talk about the politics of caste and the caste politics, providing multiple facets of the caste debate in Indian sociology, with Rajni Kothari at one end and Srinivas and Ghurye at the other. The caste system that took a new form of civil society did not fade away after independence. With upper castes resorting to violence to avail preferential treatment and its subsequent culmination in the OBC violence and its aftermath. Dirks, in Castes of Mind, argues that caste is a major threat to Indian modernity, even if it had helped in its process. Over the years, the caste system has reshaped itself as an important aspect of Indian society. Today, caste remains as resilient as it could have even been. Castes of Mind shows us that caste, as we know it today, is a colonial construct and it was perpetuated through colonial forms of knowledge.

Reference: Nicholas B. Dirks, Castes of Mind: Colonialism and the Making of Modern India, Princeton: Princeton University Press: 2001