A walk in the rain

Weathered fingers clasped tightly around a flashlight, its faltering beam cutting a narrow swathe through inky blackness. Unrelenting rain drummed a hypnotic rhythm as it pattered on dense foliage, interrupted only by the squelch of wet grass under tired feet. The man kept a steady pace, a tattered poncho pulled tight over his head, following the narrow trail with practiced ease. He seemed in no particular hurry, however, even sodden as he was. Every few minutes, a frog croaked, seemingly always from a few paces off to his right. It seemed he only had the frog to share the night with, every other denizen of the jungle driven to its den by the rain. Rainwater streamed down his face in rivulets, blurring his vision, before disappearing into his long gray beard. But, the man neither stopped nor slowed. He walked, unwavering as the rain itself. Alone, within the immense darkness, he was more sharply conscious of his own existence than he had ever been. His reality was limited to the ground underfoot and the flashlight beam and the future extended no further than the next step. As thunderclaps counted off the passing hours, neither the rain stopped nor did he. It was a contest of will, a man against the elements themselves, and it concluded just as faint wisps of pre-dawn light crept up hesitantly onto the eastern skies. His pace steady, he walked on as night gave way to day and rain-clouds retreated, humbled and in defeat, to reveal clear blue skies. Coming up on a precipice, the man paused, gazing at the vast expanse of green that stretched out below. At the very edge, stood a figure, sodden and haggard, his shoulders slumped. As he turned around, the old man saw a bespectacled, curly haired youngster and figured he must have lost his way during the night. Just then, the sun peeked over the horizon, illuminating the faintest of smiles on both their faces. Feeling content, the man stirred. He had fallen asleep at his desk again. He smiled. He would write of a dream, of an old man, long since confined to a wheelchair, who dreamed every night of walking. In a log cabin across the jungle, another set of eyes fluttered open. The old man had fallen asleep in his wheelchair yet again.

Academia: Conflicting Perspectives

This post is a crystallization of my thoughts after reading an article in The New Yorker about the problems facing the University of California. (http://www.newyorker.com/reporting/2010/01/04/100104fa_fact_friend)

As a graduate student, I play the roles of both student and educator at different times. From time to time, I’m faced with a situation that elicits conflicting responses from these two parts of me. These are often issues pertaining to the responsibilities of students and educators towards each other and towards society at large. To further complicate my existence, there is my primary role as a researcher – about which I am the most passionate, by far. The researcher in me is ever eager to apply reductionist methodology to life, never willing to engage more than one problem at a time. This part of me is also eager to dismiss the aforementioned issues as being unrelated to the scientific question(s) at hand and therefore, inconsequential. However, these are issues are anything but inconsequential: issues that affect students and/or faculty at academic institutions have far-reaching effects on research conducted within the system of academia. So, the question boils down to, “Which voice do I listen to? Do I think of myself as a student, an educator or a researcher? Or perhaps, there is a way to reconcile these disparate voices?”

I’ve tried different approaches in the past. I’ve tried to be purely a student of my discipline, which happens to be science – a virtual non-member of the student body, completely oblivious to the mundane, everyday realities. In a sense, this is very much along the lines of being a scientist focused solely on research, unmindful even to the business of conducting that very research. At other times, I’ve tried to be a more active and vociferous member of the student body, whether by involving myself in student politics or by simply sticking to principles and vocal about my ideas and opinions as an individual. The consequences have ranged from minor victories to boredom and disgust over time/effort wasted over trivial details to being subject to the wrath of those in authority. The end result has been disillusionment which has left me with little faith in student political bodies. However, given the successes student movements have achieved in the past and my inability to conceive of viable alternatives, I have little choice but to function within the so-called “system” and seek change from within. While that would seem like a viable solution, it does not address what, for me, is the greater question: “How do I keep apathy at bay when it is so easy wrap myself in a warm blanket of scientific problems and ignore the world outside the lab?”

If and, hopefully, when I have an answer to that question, it will be the subject of a new post on this blog.