How does the moral obligation to ‘pay back to society’ manifest in the lives of early-career researchers (ECRs) from the Dalit community? While this obligation is imperative for social justice, and they attempt to contribute to society either through political activism or creative expression, this often appears as a source of anxiety and guilt, especially among those who are already grappling with low self-esteem and self-doubt. Failure to pay back often exposes them to the threat of being discredited.
In a social context where the pursuit of a secure government job is often prioritized and considered an achievement, the decision to engage in higher education is already considered a deviation from the expected norm. This decision is particularly fraught with complexities specially for students from marginalized backgrounds. It is not merely an individual choice but one that is imbued with the collective aspirations and ‘unspoken’ expectations. The concept of “paying back” is deeply embedded in this dynamic, where the success of one is viewed as a form of resistance against the status quo, and every academic failure is a potential confirmation of the deep-seated biases against their community.
Consider the case of a friend of mine, named Dilip (used pseudonym), a 29-year-old first-generation scholar from a Dalit community from rural West Bengal, who shared how he embodies this tension. He often woke up in the middle of the night, not simply out of a fear of ‘failure,’ it is the fear of being seen as proof of it. He shared how his decision to pursue an academic career was initially seen as matter of pride for his family and community. However, over time, his extended years of study were viewed with increasing skepticism and exhaustion. As he navigated the uncertainties of academia, the very people who once encouraged him began to express doubts. Along with other’s expectations and doubts, his struggles with his low self-esteem in academic institutes, coupled with the precarious nature of academic employment, became a focal point of contention in his everyday life.
Dilip’s struggles are not isolated; they have broader implications and challenges. When his younger sister received an opportunity to study MA in History at a Central University, it was seen as an extension of his own academic journey. However, efforts to persuade the family to allow her attendance were met with resistance. “What happened to you? You are still struggling to earn money, right?” his uncle questioned, reflecting a growing disillusionment with the academic pursuits that once seemed promising. Similarly, one of his elder brothers from his village expressed scepticism: “You can’t even guide your sister well. Why do you want her to harass? What’s the point of all your learning?”
He expressed a sense of guilt for the fact that his under-achievement and growing dis-interest in academic career—had failed her sister, drowned his arguments for advocating effectively for his sister’s aspiration for higher education. Not just as a brother, but as someone who had once believed in the transformative power of education. As a beneficiary of affirmative action, Dilip felt a moral obligation to “pay back” by succeeding in academia. Instead of emerging as hope, he is filled with a paralyzing fear of becoming a symbol of failure–a symbol which can be used to discourage people like him to enter in the academic spaces.
For Dilip, the shift in perspective from those who once guided Dilip—is a bitter pill to swallow, only deepened his sense of inadequacy. A college teacher, who had initially inspired him to pursue higher education from academic spaces like Jawaharlal Nehru University, now expressed regret over his advice. “It was wrong of me to suggest Dilip pursue higher education,” the teacher reportedly said, lamenting that he would have been better off preparing for competitive exams and securing a government job. The very people who had once pushed him toward academia were now questioning the value of his achievements.
These perceptions were not mere expressions of frustration but were rooted in a broader societal skepticism about the value of higher education for marginalized communities. The morality of “paying back” that had once motivated Dilip now felt like a burden that often make him suffer. He struggles to get sleep, wake up in the midnight with the dreams of he being humiliated for several reasons, afraid to return back to his village without any ‘good news’. The expectation that his success would serve as proof of the efficacy of affirmative action and reservation policies was overshadowed by the immediate realities of financial instability and professional uncertainty.
This narrative is not unique to Dilip; it reflects a broader pattern experienced by many scholars marginalized background who find themselves navigating the dual pressures of academic achievement and community representation.
The financial and emotional challenges that come with this responsibility are significant. The isolation of being one of the few scholars in predominantly upper-caste academic spaces, coupled with the lack of adequate support systems, exacerbates these challenges. The very policies designed to provide opportunities for marginalized communities also place them under scrutiny, in a trap.
Dilip’s experiences challenge the simplistic narratives of success and failure that often dominate discussions around affirmative action. Recent debates around sub-classification of Scheduled Caste quota which are frequently focused on the necessity of reservation only to represent their community—are a source of anxiety for him. His struggles highlight the need for a more nuanced understanding of what it means to “pay back”, especially for those who are struggling with low self-esteem and self-doubts—continuously self-surveilling themselves like the ‘walkers in the tightrope’.
While it is encouraging that more Dalit students are gaining access to universities, we must ask whether they are all truly equipped to navigate themselves effectively within the traditionally dominated by upper-caste educators. Are they securing jobs and grants, or are they caught in a cycle of precarious employment and limited opportunities? As privileged-caste academicians migrate to other parts of India or abroad, are Dalit scholars left to navigate the challenges of a changing academic landscape with insufficient resources and support?
Dilip’s story is a microcosm of the broader struggles faced by Dalit scholars in India. The morality of “paying back” is a double-edged sword, providing motivation while also imposing an often appear as burden. The path to higher education is fraught with challenges, but it also offers the potential for transformation—both for the individual and the community. To realize this potential, it is not enough to simply provide access. It is necessary to ensure that those who enter these spaces have the resources and support they need to succeed.Contact Information:
Dhiraj Singha is a Doctoral Candidate at the Sociology Department of Ambedkar University Delhi (AUD). His research examines the issues of social inequality, discrimination, and development along the dimensions of caste, gender, stigma-induced threats, collective action, and others. He holds an MPhil in Development Practice from AUD and an MA from the Centre for the Study of Regional Development, Jawaharlal Nehru University. He is keenly interested in applying his analytical and communication skills to further research and social change.