Among the list of demands made by yoga guru , at the center of a sensational political maelstrom in India, is the necessity for instruction in vernacular languages, a topic of debate with a long history in India. He first created waves when he came out in strong support of regional language instruction back in March, stating: "In no other country is a videshi [foreign] language the medium of instruction in schools, except in India. By trying to introduce English as a medium of instruction in schools there is a deliberate attempt by a few to destroy our culture, language and heritage." Through a particular kind of discursive posturing that taps into nationalistic sentiment, he aligns himself clearly in the vernacular camp in the debate.
First, he crafts the problem in the rhetoric of exceptionalism, as if it were unique to Indians. Even the most cursory review of the field of international education will reveal that this is a patently false claim (English, Spanish, and French, for example, find favor as media of instruction in many contexts where they may be considered "videshi," from Baba Ramdev's perspective). Second, conceptualizing English as "videshi" is problematic, given that it is Constitutionally recognized as the secondary official language; enjoys a considerable linguistic circulation as a second or third language; and has quite a bit of history within this land. However, none of this has the effect of rendering its colonial ("foreign"?) antecedents invisible: the term "videshi" clearly acts as a colonial marker. Third, by linking the two statements, he sets up English as a "foreign" agent posing a tangible threat to "our culture, language and heritage" - a pretty powerful, if not unusual, claim to lay at the feet of the language.
A remarkably different narrative emerges at the educational policy making levels. I headed over to National Council of Educational Research and Training (NCERT) campus earlier this year to pick up some policy texts, as a part of my dissertation work as an Indian researcher (from the , Berkeley), exploring language and literacy socialization of boys at an orphanage in a suburb. I grew up within a mile of the sprawling campus, and was raised on a steady diet of textbooks, like millions of other students in India, all the way through class 12. As the seat of influential educational policymaking, NCERT makes decisions that impact schooling at both Central and local levels.
In its bookstore, which had a largely empty storefront, I found a couple of bookshelves stocked with children's illustrated books and "National Focus Group Position Papers," which are: "expected to produce a research-based position paper, providing a comprehensive review of existing knowledge, representing an awareness of the field reality, especially in rural schools. The main objective of these position papers [is] to provide an accessible resource to curriculum designers and writers of textbooks and other material, including teacher handbooks."
My eyes immediately fixed on the position paper "On Teaching of English." As I thumbed through the first few pages, I felt a frisson of excitement upon noticing that one of the focus group authors was my 8th grade English teacher. I started to read the introduction, which began: "English is in today a symbol of people's aspirations for quality in education and a fuller participation in national and international life. Its colonial origins now forgotten or irrelevant, its initial role in independent India, tailored to higher education (as a 'library language,' a 'window on the world'), now felt to be insufficiently inclusive socially and linguistically, the current status of English stems from its overwhelming presence on the world stage and the reflection of this in the national arena."
The second sentence made me stop in my tracks. The claim- in a national position paper by the most influential educational research body in India - that the "colonial origins" of India are "now forgotten or irrelevant" is surprising, to say the least. I cannot deny that English is wedded to the fabric of Indian society in too many ways to enumerate. Millions of parents - from across socio-economic classes - think English is critical for providing better opportunities: in the words of a Delhi-based government school teacher I interviewed, there is a "craze" for English-medium instruction, even among parents who cannot speak one word of it. However, I have found that its colonial association is neither "forgotten" nor "irrelevant."
Baba Ramdev's comments reveal specific anxieties about English bubbling just below the surface of the Indian linguistic landscape, as well as concerns for students disadvantaged by the privileging of hegemonic languages in schools. He is not alone in his concerns ( , e.g., last made a similar call in 2005), and their expression reflects real residual discomfort with how and from whom we came to acquire the language. This kind of thinking, however, stands at odds with the "globalizing" India narrative, which represents English as a driving force in the rapid development.
The proponents of this vision for either do not hear or choose to ignore voices such as Baba Ramdev's. Polarized as these camps are, however, language policy makers need to acknowledge different sides to these debates. It is undeniable that English skills are coveted and highly valued in many Indian contexts. But to deny our ambivalence towards English is to fundamentally misunderstand a crucial aspect of the politics of language in this country.
First, he crafts the problem in the rhetoric of exceptionalism, as if it were unique to Indians. Even the most cursory review of the field of international education will reveal that this is a patently false claim (English, Spanish, and French, for example, find favor as media of instruction in many contexts where they may be considered "videshi," from Baba Ramdev's perspective). Second, conceptualizing English as "videshi" is problematic, given that it is Constitutionally recognized as the secondary official language; enjoys a considerable linguistic circulation as a second or third language; and has quite a bit of history within this land. However, none of this has the effect of rendering its colonial ("foreign"?) antecedents invisible: the term "videshi" clearly acts as a colonial marker. Third, by linking the two statements, he sets up English as a "foreign" agent posing a tangible threat to "our culture, language and heritage" - a pretty powerful, if not unusual, claim to lay at the feet of the language.
A remarkably different narrative emerges at the educational policy making levels. I headed over to National Council of Educational Research and Training (NCERT) campus earlier this year to pick up some policy texts, as a part of my dissertation work as an Indian researcher (from the , Berkeley), exploring language and literacy socialization of boys at an orphanage in a suburb. I grew up within a mile of the sprawling campus, and was raised on a steady diet of textbooks, like millions of other students in India, all the way through class 12. As the seat of influential educational policymaking, NCERT makes decisions that impact schooling at both Central and local levels.
In its bookstore, which had a largely empty storefront, I found a couple of bookshelves stocked with children's illustrated books and "National Focus Group Position Papers," which are: "expected to produce a research-based position paper, providing a comprehensive review of existing knowledge, representing an awareness of the field reality, especially in rural schools. The main objective of these position papers [is] to provide an accessible resource to curriculum designers and writers of textbooks and other material, including teacher handbooks."
My eyes immediately fixed on the position paper "On Teaching of English." As I thumbed through the first few pages, I felt a frisson of excitement upon noticing that one of the focus group authors was my 8th grade English teacher. I started to read the introduction, which began: "English is in today a symbol of people's aspirations for quality in education and a fuller participation in national and international life. Its colonial origins now forgotten or irrelevant, its initial role in independent India, tailored to higher education (as a 'library language,' a 'window on the world'), now felt to be insufficiently inclusive socially and linguistically, the current status of English stems from its overwhelming presence on the world stage and the reflection of this in the national arena."
The second sentence made me stop in my tracks. The claim- in a national position paper by the most influential educational research body in India - that the "colonial origins" of India are "now forgotten or irrelevant" is surprising, to say the least. I cannot deny that English is wedded to the fabric of Indian society in too many ways to enumerate. Millions of parents - from across socio-economic classes - think English is critical for providing better opportunities: in the words of a Delhi-based government school teacher I interviewed, there is a "craze" for English-medium instruction, even among parents who cannot speak one word of it. However, I have found that its colonial association is neither "forgotten" nor "irrelevant."
Baba Ramdev's comments reveal specific anxieties about English bubbling just below the surface of the Indian linguistic landscape, as well as concerns for students disadvantaged by the privileging of hegemonic languages in schools. He is not alone in his concerns ( , e.g., last made a similar call in 2005), and their expression reflects real residual discomfort with how and from whom we came to acquire the language. This kind of thinking, however, stands at odds with the "globalizing" India narrative, which represents English as a driving force in the rapid development.
The proponents of this vision for either do not hear or choose to ignore voices such as Baba Ramdev's. Polarized as these camps are, however, language policy makers need to acknowledge different sides to these debates. It is undeniable that English skills are coveted and highly valued in many Indian contexts. But to deny our ambivalence towards English is to fundamentally misunderstand a crucial aspect of the politics of language in this country.
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