Arday Weaponisation Of Excellence And Integrity Marginalised

Jason Arday’s death has raised pertinent questions about academic excellence and integrity, institutional practices pertaining to diversity and inclusion, and criticism in general. A sociologist of education, Arday was only 37 when he was appointed in March 2023 as a full professor in the Faculty of Education, University of Cambridge, making him the youngest Black professor in the university’s history. However, the very day he joined, there was a Freedom of Information request inquiring into his credentials.

Arday’s life was anything but ordinary. He did not speak till he was 11, started reading and writing when he was 18 and battled with a range of disabilities. However, during his stint at Cambridge, Arday was subjected to unrelenting scrutiny, invalidating every claim of his. What stood out were charges of plagiarism, something that recently gained massive traction after accusations made by Nathan Cofnas, a self-described “race realist”.

As the campaign against him turned abusive, Arday resigned from his position on August 5, categorically stating that it was not to be taken as an acceptance of the charges but as something he had to do for his well-being and that of his loved ones. Ten days later, he was found dead.

The public shaming and abuse Arday had to face urges us to think about the parallels between life experiences of race and caste.

Criticism of Arday was firmly rooted in the excellence narrative. While many questioned his scholarly credentials due to the plagiarism charges, a few dismissed him based on what they saw as the lack of extraordinariness in his scholarship. He did not deserve, in their view, to be a Cambridge professor. Dalits in Indian universities — both students and teachers — have struggled against this excellence narrative for several decades, with much of their labour going into constantly proving their merit in academic spaces.

The appeal of the integrity narrative can hardly be overstated. Arday was painted as a fraud by every media outlet. Academics, too, were quick in dismissing his integrity. However, the unambiguously personal nature of the campaign against him was more about the violator and less about the violation. In the case of Dalits, too, the slightest evidence of them cutting corners leads to them being crushed under the integrity narrative. In societies where race and caste continue to determine the majority’s standing, we ought to be mindful of the unethical foundations of such concerns for ethical conduct.

To question someone’s academic credibility is one thing but to violate their dignity is anything but responsible criticism. When asked what the blueprint is to become an academic, Arday remarked, “If you are black or Asian, it is: How much can you suffer?” Black people and Dalits are forced to hold on to whatever dignity is left with them, enduring everyday racism and casteism. They know that what routinely bypasses the social gaze will be unforgivable in their case.

Dalits in Indian academia are always managing themselves, projecting or living up to a certain image so as to keep hasty criticism at bay. If they stray a millimetre from the socially sanctioned script, disgrace of a kind that exists solely for them befalls them. Arday, too, was subjected to criticism that led to a specific kind of humiliation. It was directed at him as a Black person and not an academic.

In the days before his death, the fixation on Arday’s personal and professional life took a ghoulish turn. The disproportionate focus in the UK media and beyond has been rightly attributed to his racial identity. This media frenzy was justified as being in “public interest”. Perhaps one should also ask, what kind of public and in whose interest?

To be Black, to be a Dalit, or any kind of minority, is a costly thing in society. Even in educational institutions, many of the marginalised continue to pay with their life.

The writers teach at Indian Institute of Management Kozhikode, Kerala