Why we write books

ANANYA VAJPEYI in the hindu

Who becomes a scholar in order to insult and injure others? It is the bigots, propagandists, trolls and fundamentalists of the world who trade in insult and injury

Penguin India’s decision to withdraw Wendy Doniger’s book, The Hindus: An Alternative History, from publication — as a result of legal and possibly extralegal pressure from a right-wing organisation — has thrown up a series of questions in the public sphere. These include questions around the ethics of corporate action and the limits of corporate responsibility in supporting and protecting authors; the prevalence of two sets of laws in India — those governing freedom of expression and those governing insult and injury to groups defined around different vectors of identity, including religion and caste — and how these laws might constrain or override one another; and looming questions about the kinds of effects that a neo-nationalist and majoritarian political regime is likely to have on the spectrum of civil liberties and citizens’ rights in the coming months.

Together with five senior historians and Indologists of repute, I co-authored a public petition to our Parliamentarians and the Law Minister about the Doniger issue — (“Signing for freedom,” Comment page, The Hindu, February 15, 2014). Within a week of being up on the website Change.org, this petition garnered nearly 3,500 signatures worldwide. Whatever the actions of the book’s publisher, and whatever our judgment of those actions, I believe that a public conversation leading up to the review and reform of colonial-era laws dealing with hate speech and the incitement of communal passions is absolutely vital to expanding and strengthening freedom of expression in democratic India. But I write today as a scholar and an author, rather than as an expert on the law, or as an advocate of legal reform.

Section 295(A) of the Indian Penal Code, when pressed into service in a dispute of the kind involving Penguin India and the Shiksha Bachao Andolan Samiti, requires that the plaintiffs prove malicious intent — the intention to hurt and slander a community — on the part of the author. (It was not in fact pressed into service beyond a point in this particular case because the parties settled out of court, so let us not say this case but rather this type of case.) As a historian, I would like to examine this business of authorial intention more closely. When reframed as a problem of deciphering intent, the question really becomes: Why did the author write this book? (The implied answer being: In order to injure a given community, as assumption that, per IPC 295(A), the plaintiff must then prove by providing a corresponding interpretation of the text.) But if prima facie we reject this notion, that the author wrote with the intention of causing harm, then we must answer the next logical question: Why did the author write the book? More broadly, as scholars, why do we write?

A scholar’s journey

Writing is a deeply solitary and, at the same time, radically intersubjective exercise. One writes to engage with ideas, with language and with texts, but one writes also to communicate the outcome of that engagement to others. Most human beings think about things; writers take the further step of arranging those thoughts to convey them to a readership. A scholar’s labour is immense. One undergoes long and rigorous training; one tolerates poverty and material hardships; and one faces the very real prospect of never getting a big audience. One deals with the indifference, ignorance, contempt, misunderstanding, ridicule or sometimes outright hostility of others towards one’s work. Scholarship requires a belief in the meaningfulness of the human condition, a moral commitment to the idea of human flourishing, a desire to share in, understand and, if possible, alleviate the suffering surrounding us. Often, a scholar’s life is also a teacher and researcher’s life, spent educating hundreds of young people over several decades (like Wendy Doniger), and exploring the immense archives of human knowledge available in the different civilizations of the world. One plumbs the depths of the past to imagine a better future. One learns unfamiliar languages in order to enter, imaginatively, cultural worlds that can be jarringly unfamiliar, sometimes close to incomprehensible. One attends closely to what people say and how they say it, to the complex ways in which words generate reference, implication, connotation, and in certain sublime moments, an intimation of truth. Like artists, scholars too can tell you about the joy that comes from solving an intellectual problem — the “Eureka!” moment when everything falls into place. The perfection of certain sentences after hours of struggle to arrange the words just so. The sudden opening of a vista in the mind where immense swathes of jumbled, disparate human experience fall into a pattern, like the undulations in a landscape seen from a great height.

Indic traditions provide several concepts that begin to approach the inner processes of scholarship: sadhana, consistent practice which leads to perfection; tapas, a fiery determination to endure all the tests that truth demands; karuna, compassion for all sentient beings who suffer the ravages of time;maitri, the conviviality and goodwill without which no learning or teaching is possible; rasa, what it means to be human, to possess a consciousness shot through with impressions, passions and insights that can be recorded in language to outlast our mortal frames; samvad, the exchange and circulation of ideas in an intellectual community, the architecture of dialogue; chintan-manan, contemplation and reflection, turning things over in one’s mind, meditating on fragments so they may cohere into a whole, figuring out the effects of one’s statements on others. Every responsible scholar must cogitate deeply, to untangle the knots of meaning, to assess the flow of words, and to project the future entailments of whatever is claimed to be the case. Two of our greatest contemporary philosophers, Daya Krishna and Ramchandra Gandhi, even added swaraj to this list of what scholarship is about: the complete and final mastery over the self — self-knowledge, self-rule. In such knowledge alone, of and about the self, is there freedom.

Who becomes a scholar in order to insult and injure others? Apart from the Nazi academy, I am not aware of any other example in history of such a perversion of scholarship. If my agenda is harm, I will adopt the methods of himsa, intentional violence, not the laborious and fundamentally humane protocols of scholarly writing. I will go out and do politics, fight wars, extort the poor and crush the weak, not dedicate my entire existence to the love of language and the pursuit of truth. Whoever claims that scholars are power-hungry, money-grubbing, exploitative, aggressive, greedy, self-serving hate-mongers has no inkling what a scholar’s temperament, practice or life is like.

Wendy Doniger — like most of those who have signed our petition to revise the law and keep her book in print — is a practitioner of humanistic inquiry. So many of us work in the disciplines of philology, philosophy, history, literature, classics and the study of religious and cultural systems. Like her, we — Indians and foreigners, men and women, Hindus and non-Hindus, secular and pious — have devoted our lives to engaging the languages, texts, traditions, histories and knowledge systems of the vast universe we call India. What we do is, and cannot be other than, a labour of love. We do what we do because we are committed to our work, not because we expect great success, fame or riches.

As scholars we write because we want to share the knowledge we painstakingly discover and amass; we want our claims to be tested against the experience of others; we want to educate our readership, to enliven public life, to participate as best we can in the decisions that shape our collective future, and to improve the overall condition of our societies. We are in the business of comprehension and communication. It is the bigots, propagandists, trolls and fundamentalists of the world who trade in insult and injury. We reject their methods and condemn their motivations.

Why students need the right to copy

 

SHAMNAD BASHEER 

The lawsuit by publishers seeking to stop Delhi University from distributing photocopied course packs goes against the spirit of education for all

The HinduBREAKING FREE: The case also shows why it is necessary for academics to explore alternative open access models. A meeting in October 2012 at Delhi University to examine the implications of the case.

 

Late last year, leading publishing houses including Oxford University Press and Cambridge University Press brought a copyright action against Delhi University and a tiny photocopy shop licensed by it, seeking to restrain them from supplying educational course packs to students. This lawsuit sent shock waves across the academic community, leading more than 300 authors and academics including famed Nobel laureate Professor Amartya Sen to protest this copyright aggression in an open letter to publishers. Tellingly, 33 of the authors of various books mentioned specifically in the lawsuit (as having been copied in the course packs) signed this protest letter making it clear that they were dissociating themselves from this unfortunate lawsuit.

For those not familiar with the term, course packs are compilations of limited excerpts from copyrighted books, put together painstakingly by faculty members in accordance with a carefully designed syllabus and teaching plan.

‘FAIR USE’

What makes the lawsuit particularly egregious is the fact that publishers are effectively seeking an outright ban on all course packs, even those that extract and use no more than 10 per cent of the copyrighted book. Under U.S. law, reproducing up to 10 per cent of the copyrighted books is “fair use” of a copyrighted work, and therefore legal. Given that India is a developing country, with poorer students and more severe educational access constraints, it stands to reason that Indian courts ought to peg this number at 30 per cent or even higher.

Further, the Indian education exception is far wider than its U.S. counterpart. Section 52(1) (a) embodies the “fair use” exception and permits any fair dealing of a copyrighted work for the purpose of research and private study. In addition, unlike the U.S., Section 52(1)(i) embodies a separate exception, under which it is perfectly legal to reproduce any copyrighted work during the course of educational instruction. These exceptions reflect a clear Parliamentary intention to exempt core aspects of education from the private sphere of copyright infringement. Eviscerating these exceptions at the behest of publishers will strike at the very heart of our constitutional guarantee of a fundamental right to education for all.

In fact, copyright scholars have begun labelling these exceptions as “rights” accruing in favour of beneficiaries such as students. In CCH Canadian Ltd. v. Law Society of Upper Canada, the Supreme Court of Canada endorsed this sentiment noting that:

“…The fair dealing exception, like other exceptions in the Copyright Act, is a user’s right. In order to maintain the proper balance between the rights of a copyright owner and users’ interests, it must not be interpreted restrictively.”

PUBLIC INTEREST

Recently, an association of students and academics applied to be impleaded as parties to the lawsuit, so that they could help the court arrive at a robust interpretation of the copyright exceptions. While allowing these impleadments, the judge noted the critical importance of “public interest” in deciding intellectual property cases. These developments come close on the heels of the famed Novartis decision where the Supreme Court foregrounded the interests of the public in accessing affordable medication.

DANGER OF THIS LICENCE

Meanwhile, publishers have offered the tantalising option of acquiring a licence from the Indian Reprographic Rights Organisation (IRRO), an organisation set up by publishers to collect royalties on their behalf. This is a dangerous route to tread for three reasons.

First, taking a licence for course packs amounts to paying for a right that does not exist. It bears reiteration that photocopying for the purpose of educational instruction is a legal exception under copyright law and one is not required to seek the permission of the copyright owner and/or pay any licence fees.

Second, the IRRO and publishers are likely to offer a paltry licensing fee at the start. Once their foot is in the door, there is no stopping them from rapidly escalating licensing fees year after year. Canadian universities bore the brunt of this copyright greed around a year or so ago and refused to renew their licenses.

Third, the IRRO does not hold the rights to all published works. If Universities are to track down and enter into licensing deals with every copyright owner, this would lead to excessive delays in the preparation of course packs.

Academic institutions should therefore refrain from entering into any deal with the IRRO or publishers till such time as the case is disposed of. In fact, given the rather wide language of Section 52(1)(i), institutions are well within their right to presume that the creation of course packs and related educational material is legal, until a court holds otherwise.

NO INDIAN EDITIONS

Notwithstanding the egregiousness of this lawsuit, a key advantage is that it forces us to re-examine the current publishing and pricing model that places profit above the interest of students. Academics need to come together and explore alternative open access models in order to break through this private profit monopoly thicket that has come to plague academic publishing.

That a majority of educational textbooks are priced above the affordability range of an average Indian student is well known. A recent empirical study done by me along with my students reveals that a vast majority of popular legal and social science titles have no corresponding Indian editions and need to be purchased at rates equivalent to or higher than in the West.

Therefore, the claim by publishers that course packs would destroy their market for books and put them out of business is highly questionable. Given that this is the first copyright law suit to be brought against course packs, one can only assume that the healthy growth figures boasted by the academic publishing industry means that course packs have not done them much damage. If at all anything, the inclusion of extracts of copyrighted works in the course packs is likely to encourage readers to buy the books when they can afford them.

In the end, this lawsuit must be seen for what it is: a highly pernicious attempt to fill the coffers of publishers at the expense of students! It must be resisted with all the moral and legal force we have.

(Shamnad Basheer teaches IP Law at NUJS, Kolkata. He wishes to thank Amita Baviskar for her inputs in this piece.)

David Nicholls: The half hour that changed my life

Recently I became confused about my age. For some reason I came to believe that I was 46 years old, instead of 45. The error was pointed out to me, and once I’d got over the embarrassment of forgetting my own age (not the kind of mistake I’d make at 19 or 27 or even 36), I had a brief moment of elation. In some way, hadn’t I gained an extra year, a whole 12 months of time that I’d mislaid? What could I do with my precious 46th year? Take up the violin, train for a marathon, learn carpentry or juggling or Spanish?

What I really wanted to do was read.

I’ve been a compulsive reader for as long as I can remember. For the best part of my childhood I visited the local library three or four times a week, hunching in the stacks on a foam rubber stool and devouring children’s fiction, classics, salacious thrillers, horror and sci-fi, books about cinema and origami and natural history, to the point where my parents encouraged me to read a little less. I loved television and movies, too, but the solitary act of reading was always my greatest pleasure. Books were an obsession – an education, an escape and inspiration.

So why, as an adult, was I reading so little, less than even 10 years ago? Of course the multiple distractions of modern life, the increasing demands of work and a new family all played a part, along with the bleeps and trills of technology, the constant tap on the shoulder that comes from texts, emails, mobile phones, because God forbid that I should call someone back or reply to an email a whole hour later.

If reading is simply the act of consuming text, then in fact I was probably reading more than ever, but for the most part it was nonsense, jabber and jargon. Like most people who work in front of a screen, I’d developed a terrible internet tick, cycling endlessly around the same websites, reading the same urgent “breaking news” 10 times a day, peering pointlessly at film premiere reports, gossip and Twitter feuds, movie trailers, updating iTunes and Adobe Acrobat for the 25th time, habits that devoured hours of my day, the hours that presumably I once gave to reading books. 

I was still buying books, far more than I could ever possibly read, but buying them is not the same as reading them, or loving them. All they did was furnish the room. The piles got higher, the irritation and guilt and regret increased. Reading was like sunbathing – something that I only did for two weeks in August.

About a year ago I decided to do something about all this. Along with the usual vows about exercise and fresh vegetables, caffeine and alcohol, I resolved to set my alarm one half-hour earlier, to sit up straight and read again. Unusually for a resolution, I’m pleased to say that I have stuck to that routine, and now those first 30 minutes of solitary reading are all too often the best part of my day.

I’ve read missing classics and new authors. I’ve finally devoured those writers who’ve been repeatedly recommended to me – Patrick Leigh Fermor, Alice Munro, Elizabeth Taylor, Marilynne Robinson – and, yes, they are wonderful. I’ve managed to reread some of Cheever’s brilliant short stories, and rediscovered writers who’ve unaccountably fallen off the literary map, like the great US writer John Williams or the neglected H E Bates. It’s not just fiction, either – there’s the brilliant journalism of John Jeremiah Sullivan, contrasting histories of cinema by David Thomson and Mark Cousins. Robert Macfarlane’s fascinating mix of geology, mythology and natural history. The unread pile still teeters precariously, but at least I’ve made a start.

Of course, there have been lapses along the way. I’ve slipped back into sleep more than once during The Portrait of a Lady, and there have been one or two hangover-induced lie-ins. Getting up earlier means going to sleep earlier, which isn’t always much fun. And I’ve yet to conquer my shaming addiction to electronics. I still find it absurdly difficult to concentrate on a novel if there’s a phone or computer to hand; I have taken to locking them outside the room like noisy pets. Thirty minutes is also a fairly puny amount of time. I’ve tried to turn off the TV and extend the hours into the evening, but reading a book – even a great book – after 9pm has the same effect on me as a chloroformed handkerchief. Mornings remain the best time, especially in spring or summer when the house is quiet, reading as the sun comes up.

“Just half an hour a day can change your life.” It’s the sort of dubious claim you find in the back of a magazine, and I’m aware of a zealot’s shrillness in all of this. I know that for every reader who has lost the habit or can’t find the time, there are people who’ve never enjoyed reading and question the value of literature, either as entertainment or education, or believe that a love of books, and of fiction in particular, is sentimental or frivolous. Given an extra half-hour a day, I know that some people would much prefer to be jogging or bantering on social networks or simply sleeping some more. “No one reaches the end of their life and wishes they’d spent more time on Twitter” is a claim I’ve heard before, but perhaps that won’t always be the case.

But to allow the zealot his voice again, think of what you might be missing by not finding the time to read. Allowing for a steady pace of a page a minute, you could easily take in a short story by Chekhov or Raymond Carver or Richard Yates every morning of next week.

An Alice Munro might take two days, but it will be worth it. The Great Gatsby could be read in four mornings or, if that’s too obvious, there is always Tender is the Night, a much better book I think. Other novellas – there’s The Good Soldier or The End of the Affair or Franny and Zooey or Goodbye, Columbus. Or something more recent – Denis Johnson’s Train Dreams, a small masterpiece and the best book I read last year. Or something lighter; have you ever read Ian Fleming? Casino Royale ’s a terrifically invigorating book to read before breakfast. Or why not start something more ambitious: Anna Karenina or Bleak House or Les Misèrables might last you into March, but Great Expectations or Persuasion or Madame Bovary will take half that time.

And then there are the Man Booker nominations, and the fine new work that’s coming out of independent presses, and the book of that film you saw, and travel writing before you go away, and poetry and, come to think of it, isn’t now the perfect time to read a really good biography of Napoleon?