Class notes: Session 18 | Introduction to Philosophy HS 221

Film as a Catalyst for Social Inquiry

The session begins with students reflecting on Jai Bhim (2021), a Tamil courtroom drama that
exposes custodial torture, caste violence, and systemic bias in the Indian justice system. At first,
some students describe the film as “boring,” but as discussion unfolds, they recognize that it
captures the “reality of Indian laws” and the endurance of caste oppression in modern India. The
facilitator highlights that while Jai Bhim depicts police brutality and legal failure, the film’s core
theme is the persistence of caste-based discrimination that structures every layer of society.

By using Jai Bhim as a pedagogical device, the session transforms a cinematic experience into an
instrument of social inquiry. The film becomes what Paulo Freire (1970) would call a “problem-
posing text”, something that unsettles learners, prompting reflection rather than passive
consumption. Through dialogue, the facilitator draws out how the film’s story mirrors
contemporary India, where structural hierarchies remain entrenched despite legal reforms.

This process demonstrates how art can sharpen social awareness. The students’ initial boredom,
later replaced by emotional engagement, symbolizes the journey from apathy to recognition, the
transition critical pedagogy seeks. Jai Bhim functions here not merely as entertainment but as
evidence: a visual ethnography of how law, power, and prejudice intersect. The facilitator’s
framing of the film as a case study encourages participants to analyze their own reactions,
revealing how privilege shapes empathy. In doing so, the class redefines cinema as a site of civic
learning, one that invites moral, political, and intellectual engagement with India’s unfinished
struggles for justice.

Everyday Reality of Discrimination

After identifying caste discrimination as the film’s main theme, the facilitator asks whether the
events of Jai Bhim, wrongful incarceration, custodial violence, and denial of dignity, occur only in
fiction. Almost all students respond that such events happen regularly. The discussion then
deepens when the facilitator recounts a real incident: a caretaker from IIT Gandhinagar was
beaten at a local police station while he himself, though detained for hours, was spared because
he was a professor. This anecdote starkly demonstrates how one’s treatment by the state is
mediated by social location, education, and perceived worth.

The facilitator’s story embodies what bell hooks (1994) calls “engaged pedagogy”, learning
through vulnerability and lived testimony. It personalizes structural injustice, making visible how
caste, class, and institutional power intersect. The contrast between the caretaker’s suffering and
the professor’s immunity becomes a living illustration of intersectionality (Crenshaw, 1989).

The discussion reveals that discrimination is not limited to explicit violence but also takes subtler
forms, exclusion, silence, and unequal access to voice. The facilitator notes that the extent of
one’s “representation”, political, social, or economic, shapes the likelihood of justice. The
students are invited to recognize that their privilege often shields them from realities they have
never had to imagine.

By connecting Jai Bhim’s narrative with a firsthand account, the session collapses the distance
between screen and society. The line between cinematic fiction and lived fact blurs, leaving
students to confront how deeply normalized systemic violence has become. The facilitator’s
moral intent is not to accuse but to awaken, to show that privilege, unless interrogated, blinds
even the educated to the ongoing violence around them.

Field Exposure and Public Institutions

Following the conversation on discrimination, the facilitator invites students to translate their
awareness into observation. He asks how many have ever visited a police station or panchayat
office to understand how governance functions. Most have not. He urges them to take short
internships in such places, explaining that institutions like police stations and local governments
are mirrors of social reality, spaces where caste, class, and authority visibly intersect.

This proposal reflects a pedagogical philosophy grounded in experiential learning (Kolb, 1984),
where knowledge is built through immersion, reflection, and direct encounter. The facilitator
reminds students that their higher education is publicly funded; thus, they bear a civic
responsibility to understand how state mechanisms operate beyond campus walls. He contrasts
the enthusiasm for internships in global corporations like Google with the reluctance to engage
local public institutions, framing this avoidance as a symptom of privilege.

Encouraging students to “see for themselves” transforms the classroom from a space of abstract
discussion into a site of civic preparation. Such engagement echoes the principles of service learning
and social pedagogy, which emphasize empathy through contact with marginalized realities. By
positioning the police station or panchayat as legitimate learning sites, the facilitator redefines
what counts as valuable experience.

This suggestion carries a quiet moral argument: education in a democracy should not reproduce
distance from the poor or powerless. Observing how institutions treat citizens differently, who
waits, who is heard, who is ignored, can teach more about justice than textbooks. In this way, the
facilitator connects reflection from Jai Bhim to the practice of citizenship, turning awareness into
inquiry and empathy into responsibility.

Reservation as Affirmative Action

Transitioning from caste discrimination to structural response, the facilitator introduces the
concept of reservation, the constitutional mechanism of affirmative action in India. He reframes it
as an “equitable opportunity program,” emphasizing that the term “reservation” itself has been
stigmatized through decades of political distortion. The discussion begins with an open poll:
Who believes reservation is necessary, and who finds it unfair? Students voice differing opinions,
some argue it creates dependency, others insist it remains essential.

The facilitator situates this debate historically. He explains that reservation, far from being
charity, was designed to rectify centuries of systemic exclusion. Quoting Ambedkar’s
constitutional vision, he clarifies that equality before law means little without equality in access.
In this framing, affirmative action becomes a corrective, not a concession.

He critiques the popular narrative of “merit” that opposes reservation, arguing that so-called
merit often rests on inherited privilege, access to schooling, private coaching, and social
confidence. This reasoning aligns with sociological studies by Béteille and Deshpande, which
show how caste continues to shape life chances even in a market economy.

The conversation also introduces the idea that language matters: replacing “reservation” with
“equitable opportunity” shifts perception from privilege-granting to justice-restoring. The
facilitator urges students to move beyond moral discomfort and see the policy as a democratic
necessity, not a divisive one. By tying Jai Bhim’s portrayal of systemic exclusion to the logic of
affirmative action, he helps students grasp that policy interventions are not about reversing
discrimination but about creating the conditions for genuine equality.

Arguments Against and For Reservation

The discussion then evolves into a debate on the fairness and effectiveness of reservation. Some
students express skepticism: fake caste certificates, repeated benefits for the same families,
absence of proper regulation, and the argument that after seventy-five years, caste-based support
should be replaced by economic criteria. Others argue that reservations remain vital because
inequality persists at every level, from education to representation in government and business.

The facilitator validates these concerns but contextualizes them historically. Oppression lasted
thousands of years; seventy-five years of corrective policy cannot erase it. He further argues that
economic disadvantage cannot substitute for caste-based exclusion, because those who control
opportunity, in universities, bureaucracies, or corporations, largely belong to privileged castes.
Hence, economic criteria alone fail to address entrenched bias in decision-making.

To illustrate this, he draws on examples from IITs and Indian universities, noting that reserved
positions for faculty are often unfilled, or implemented only partially. This selective application
represents what scholars term “institutional sabotage”, formal compliance without substantive
inclusion. He highlights how postgraduate and faculty recruitment processes, unlike centralized
undergraduate admissions, are more vulnerable to bias.

Throughout the debate, the facilitator insists on free expression: “Unless we learn to talk about
uncomfortable topics, this country will not go anywhere.” Comparing India’s silence on caste to
Germany’s public engagement with the Holocaust, he emphasizes the moral and educational
need for dialogue. The session thus reframes reservation from an administrative question to an
ethical one, how long should justice continue, and who decides when it has been achieved?

Statistical and Structural Inequity

After the debate, the facilitator grounds the discussion in empirical evidence. He presents data
showing how caste inequality persists across education, governance, and the private sector. For
instance, among India’s nearly 500 vice-chancellors, only a handful belong to Scheduled Castes
(SC) or Scheduled Tribes (ST). Similarly, top bureaucratic positions such as secretaries and joint
secretaries are overwhelmingly dominated by upper-caste officials. Even within the corporate
sector, 85% of board members in major companies come from privileged castes. These figures
unsettle the assumption that the playing field is now level.

The facilitator uses these statistics to demonstrate that caste is not merely a social identity but a
structural filter that determines access to authority. Representation, he emphasizes, is not
symbolic; it directly shapes how institutions function and whom they serve. When decision-
making spaces lack caste diversity, the resulting policies unconsciously reproduce exclusion.

He also connects these data to Jai Bhim, arguing that the violence depicted in the film is the most
visible expression of a deeper imbalance, one that begins long before a police encounter. The
underrepresentation of marginalized groups in courts, universities, and media ensures that
injustices remain underreported or misinterpreted.
This argument aligns with Pierre Bourdieu’s theory of social capital, which explains how elite
groups maintain dominance not through merit but through inherited access to networks,
language, and cultural legitimacy. By revealing how power reproduces itself statistically, the
facilitator transforms abstract ideas of fairness into measurable inequality. The takeaway is clear:
without proportional representation and intentional redistribution of opportunity, meritocracy
becomes an illusion serving those already at the top.

Privilege and the Illusion of Meritocracy

As the discussion intensifies, the facilitator introduces the idea that “merit” is not neutral but
socially manufactured. He quotes a powerful line: “When you’re used to privilege, equality feels
like oppression.” Using this as a provocation, he asks students to reflect on their own paths to
IIT. Their success, he notes, depended on access to stable homes, good schools, private
coaching, and educated parents, factors unavailable to millions.

He argues that meritocracy in India functions as a moral shield for privilege. Students who
consider themselves “self-made” often overlook the structural supports that enabled their
achievement. This notion resonates with Amartya Sen’s capability approach, which defines fairness
not as equal outcomes but as equal access to the conditions that make achievement possible.
Similarly, philosopher Martha Nussbaum (2011) emphasizes that true justice must account for
human capabilities, not merely competitive scores.

By contrasting elite educational trajectories with those of marginalized students who battle poor
schooling, economic stress, and social stigma, the facilitator shows how unequal beginnings
produce unequal outcomes. He critiques the obsession with exam ranks, suggesting that cracking
the Joint Entrance Examination (JEE) may prove persistence but not moral or civic worth.

The tone here is deliberately provocative, a method of critical pedagogy designed to puncture
complacency. Students are asked to see merit not as personal virtue but as an outcome of
collective advantage. The facilitator’s challenge reframes success as responsibility: if privilege has
helped you rise, the ethical response is not denial but redistribution, to use education not for
self-congratulation but for collective uplift. In the moral framework of Jai Bhim, merit divorced
from justice is not virtue but blindness.

Emotional and Cognitive Costs of Inequality

The facilitator next examines the psychological burden borne by marginalized communities.
Drawing from classroom observations and data, he explains that intergenerational deprivation,
lack of nutrition, safety, and educational support, leads to chronic stress, which affects cognitive
performance. This, he argues, is why students from oppressed backgrounds may struggle
academically, not because of intellectual inferiority but because of sustained emotional strain.

He connects this point to the character arc in Jai Bhim, where the oppressed Irular tribe faces
constant humiliation and insecurity. Their exhaustion is not personal weakness but the
cumulative effect of exclusion. In academic settings, such stress manifests as reduced confidence,
lower grades, and self-doubt. The facilitator relates this to stereotype threat (Steele & Aronson,
1995), which shows how fear of confirming negative stereotypes can itself hinder performance.

He further notes that well-being is a prerequisite for learning. Privileged students, with stable
homes and social support, can concentrate on studies, while others juggle financial uncertainty or
family hardship. Hence, identical exam results cannot be treated as indicators of equal effort or
potential.

This explanation challenges the “skill issue” argument often raised against reservation. The
facilitator reframes it as a context issue, when someone runs a race without shoes, the slower finish
is not a sign of lesser ability. His analysis resonates with the social determinants of learning, showing
that education outcomes mirror broader inequities in health and security.

By linking psychology and policy, the discussion expands from morality to science: inequality is
not only unfair, it is neurocognitively exhausting. Justice, therefore, requires not pity but systemic
redesign to restore dignity and cognitive parity.

Bias in Institutional Decision-Making

To expose how systemic bias operates subtly, the facilitator cites data from IIT Gandhinagar: out
of 900 students who secured international internships, fewer than 15 were from SC/ST
categories. He clarifies that this may not reflect deliberate exclusion but indicates structural bias,
unconscious preferences that favor those with social capital. These biases are reinforced through
networks, recommendations, and informal norms of belonging.

He compares this to research in social psychology and economics, such as Bertrand and
Mullainathan’s (2004) study showing that resumes with upper-caste or Western-sounding names
receive more callbacks than identical ones with lower-caste or ethnic names. In India, surnames
often reveal caste identity, making anonymity impossible. The facilitator recalls how, in some
institutions, application forms even color-code reserved category candidates, reinforcing stigma
at the outset.

Students respond by arguing that selection criteria such as grades (CPI) are objective. The
facilitator counters that performance metrics themselves are influenced by privilege, access to
stable environments, mentors, and networks. Bias need not be overt discrimination; it operates
through trust, comfort, and similarity. Faculty and administrators, predominantly from upper
castes, may unconsciously favor those who “seem like them.”

This exchange highlights what sociologist Iris Marion Young calls structural injustice, harm
produced not by individual intent but by institutional patterns. The facilitator stresses that unless
representation exists in decision-making bodies, economic or performance-based selection will
remain skewed.

By returning to Jai Bhim, he reminds students that institutional bias begins not in police cells but
in schools, hiring rooms, and board meetings. The injustice of a false charge or a denied
opportunity follows the same logic: systems replicate the preferences of those who dominate
them.

The Problem of “Economic Reservation”

As the class revisits the proposal of replacing caste-based quotas with income-based criteria, the
facilitator unpacks why that model would fail in practice. While economic deprivation cuts across
castes, he explains, power over decisions does not. The committees that define “economic need” or
select beneficiaries are often upper-caste dominated. Hence, in a purely income-based model,
those with cultural capital would still favor their own, consciously or not.
He backs this with data showing that although OBCs, SCs, and STs constitute about 70% of
India’s population, most leadership positions in government, media, academia, and business
remain upper-caste. Economic reservation would thus preserve existing privilege while appearing
neutral.

To illustrate, he describes how even in faculty recruitment, applicants’ caste information is visible
and shapes perception. Studies have shown that two equally qualified candidates are judged
differently based on caste markers. Thus, merit and income alone cannot capture social
vulnerability.

The facilitator then makes a moral argument: societies that ignore historical debt risk future
instability. Unequal access to education, safety, and representation eventually leads to resentment
and unrest. Equality, therefore, is not charity but self-preservation. He stresses that until caste-
based barriers are actually dismantled, in villages, marriages, hiring, and politics, economic
substitution will only disguise injustice.

This conclusion returns to the core lesson of Jai Bhim: institutions appear impartial but carry the
weight of history. Economic deprivation may be temporary, but caste exclusion is inherited and
transgenerational. To ignore that distinction is to misunderstand the architecture of Indian
inequality. Reservation, in this light, is not an outdated remedy but an incomplete promise, one
that demands honest implementation, not premature replacement.

Moral Responsibility and Social Awareness

As the session moves toward closure, the facilitator shifts from structural critique to moral
introspection. He urges students to confront not only the external injustices of caste but also
their internalized comfort with inequality. His tone softens yet remains firm: “Unless we learn to
talk about uncomfortable topics, this country will not go anywhere.” This statement reframes the
entire session as an ethical exercise in dialogue rather than debate.

Drawing from Jai Bhim, where lawyer Chandru’s persistence symbolizes conscience in action, the
facilitator emphasizes that empathy is not sentimental but civic. Watching injustice without
responding, whether on screen or in life, reflects moral fatigue. The true measure of education,
he suggests, lies not in technical skill but in one’s willingness to face discomfort and act with
awareness.

He points out that caste discrimination endures partly because the privileged avoid
acknowledging it. Unlike European societies that openly confront historical atrocities such as the
Holocaust, Indian education often bypasses caste as a subject. Few students recall discussing it in
school. This silence, he warns, perpetuates denial. Confrontation, though uneasy, is necessary for
national maturity.

The facilitator encourages students to transform awareness into relational empathy, to build
friendships and conversations across caste boundaries. He challenges them to examine their own
social circles: how many friends, roommates, or collaborators come from marginalized
communities? Awareness, he insists, must translate into engagement.

His appeal echoes Freire’s idea of critical consciousness, where education aims not just to understand
the world but to change it. By foregrounding empathy as an intellectual and civic practice, the
facilitator redefines moral responsibility in higher education. Learning, in this view, is not escape
from society but participation in its repair, a call to humility, solidarity, and courage.
Concluding Reflection: Provocation as Pedagogy

The session ends with a blend of provocation and reflection. The facilitator acknowledges that
his tone was intentionally confrontational: “If I don’t provoke, it won’t go into your head.” This
self-awareness reveals a deliberate teaching philosophy, one grounded in critical pedagogy, where
discomfort becomes the catalyst for insight. The discussion has ranged from Jai Bhim’s portrayal
of injustice to real-life data on inequality, from personal privilege to institutional bias. Yet, rather
than concluding with certainty, the facilitator leaves the conversation open-ended, urging
students to “come back with better arguments.”

This pedagogical choice mirrors the spirit of Chandru’s legal struggle in Jai Bhim: truth is not
delivered but discovered through persistence. By framing learning as an unfinished dialogue, the
facilitator resists moral closure and keeps inquiry alive. He reminds the class that being educated
in a public institution funded by collective resources carries a moral obligation to use that
privilege responsibly. Knowledge, therefore, is not ownership but stewardship.

In emphasizing empathy, awareness, and historical understanding, the facilitator outlines an

The conversation thus ends not in resolution but in invitation, to think, question, and act. In the
tradition of transformative education, such provocation is not aggression but care; it treats
students as capable moral agents rather than passive learners. The final message, echoing the
moral weight of Jai Bhim, is clear: equality begins not in law or policy, but in the courage to
confront one’s own comfort.