Skip to main content

Critical Wisdom


The Department of Curriculum and Teaching at Teachers College has a reputation for being difficult, especially at the doctoral level. It isn’t difficult in the way my advanced data analysis class is difficult, where we are expected to learn complex statistical concepts while also learning how to code in the dreaded Stata software. Instead, it is impossibly abstract and theoretical, with most classes requiring us to write papers where we construct complex arguments supported by plenty of other people’s theoretical musings. These frameworks challenge us at our very core, a process that is fraught with emotional ups and downs, so much so that a professor in the department has called the program as a “Pedagogy of Monsters” and written an article about it.

The program has changed the way I see the world. For example, I recently went to go see Isn’t it Romantic with some colleagues from the Writing Center. Besides the social aspect of actually going somewhere that wasn’t to work or accomplish a necessary task, I wanted to see this movie because Priyanka Chopra is in it and I love (and feel a sense of trepidation as I hope that the actor/actress has represe
nted Indians well) seeing Bollywood actors finally be acknowledged by the West.

Instead of enjoying the eye candy that Chris Pine was supposed to be, or the ridiculous dance number that happened on the middle of the street, I had two thoughts: Priyanka Chopra was given very little screen time, she was given a vaguely Hispanic name that completely ignored her actually cultural heritage, Bollywood has been doing better, more elaborate dance numbers for years.

So the result of my 3/4 of a year in Curriculum and Teaching has been that I cannot go anywhere—the movies, the mall, walking down the street—without thinking about how power and privilege are exerting their control in every situation. Every week in one of my classes we read articles about exclusion, isolation and discrimination immigrants, migrants and refugees face, which adds to the sense of the world being a very unwelcoming place to be anyone who is not a white heterosexual male.

Besides this new, alien mindset, the program also quietly pushes you to be a voice when faced with these injustices. We must be constantly vigilant and ready to spin verbal and written arguments that pull of Foucault, poststructural theory, CRT (the list can go on and one, and if you don’t know what they are, that it is perfectly ok).

Yet I have been realizing that being critical all the time is ok for some, for others, however, it only causes a constantly disturbed mind. By disturbed, I do not mean dark and brooding but rather as the opposite of serene.

And here is where there is a gap in all of these studies that we are doing. While our intellectual abilities are being nourished, that intellectualism is not helpful without wisdom to know when to use it. That wisdom must be rooted in community, love and compassion so that when we must stand up to injustice, we do it not only out of love for the victim, but also with love for the victimizer. I’m still trying to figure out what that wisdom looks like in an academic space. But it is a journey well worth taking.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

The Monkey Mug

We have these mugs in our house that have Japanese-anime-style whales on them. Their smiles are wide and innocent, the shade of blue in which they swim is pleasant, not the sad kind that makes you cry inside. Years ago, my parents decided they wanted more of these mugs but the store they bought them in no longer stocked them. So we went online and discovered that there were yellow monkey mugs, and pink rabbit mugs too, a whole world of cute animal mugs that kept their chai hot long enough for them to slowly drink it each morning while they read the paper and ate khakra. So they ordered the monkey mugs. My mother only had my dad order 6 of them. Each mug is $12 so this felt like a splurge. The monkey’s joined the whales in the shelf, breaking up the sea of blue with their gentle yellow. She now regrets that decision. These mugs were already a Prized Possession then for their superiority to other mugs. But they are more valuable now because we can no longer find ...

Heart of the City

The past week in New York was jarring to say the least. Though the city still makes me overwhelmed by even the smallest of tasks (where do you go to buy a pack of cards??), I have begun to slowly get used to the constant movement of the city and everything that comes with it. The sound of airplanes flying constantly from La Guardia over my apartment doesn't register any more. I can estimate how crowded the train will be based on what time I am leaving my apartment in the morning or TC in the evening. And although the feeling of always needing to do more still raises the specter of anxiety to make everything I do feel inadequate, I've become resigned to its presence to the point that it is part and parcel of the city itself. Solitude is rare in the city, but last week it was the norm All of these things fell apart this week though, one by one, as another phantom seeped into our lives. Starting with an email from our college president that optimistically called off only no...

Songs of Stillness

Two weeks ago it felt like the world was ending. The numbers from New York, which captured me with their stunning speed and the realization that I had left just before the situation became so much worse, grew rapidly each day. It began to dawn on the US that this was going to change everything. The grocery stores were filled with empty shelves. Empty shelves could only indicate that the world was ending. Until I heard the birds singing . I was on a run in a park when I heard them. They jolted me out of a reverie thinking about the headlines. Pandemic, economy, toilet paper. I looked around at the space around me in the park. The prairie grass expanded around me even in its dormant winter state. I saw the sky, blue with flecks of white clouds drifting above me. Nature is still in business. Even though the news is dire and the world we humans have built seems to be falling apart at the seams, buds are appearing in the trees. I see birds now on the roof through my childhood bedroo...