Teaching the teachers

May 27, 2009 at 9:09 am (Stray thoughts)
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I had an unusual request last week — to lecture a group of about 40 secondary school teachers who were undergoing a government course at the Directorate of Technical Education in South Mumbai.

A number of professionals from different fields had spoken to them, and I was asked to speak on mass media.

I was more than apprehensive. It’s one thing lecturing teenagers, but teachers are a different ball game altogether. Their thoughts are more evolved — teenagers’ opinions are still evolving and they subconsciously know that, which makes them a lot more open to what you’re saying. (Before that remark sets off a storm of protest, let me qualify that — I don’t mean teenagers don’t think hard about things that should matter to them; it’s just that at a younger age your thoughts are more flexible.)

There was another complication. Like my last talk to a group of students and parents, the teachers by and large were not comfortable with English. They came from across Marathi, Hindi, Urdu and some English schools.

So, when I walked into the classroom last Monday (May 25, 2009), I was on tenterhooks. I became even more nervous when the entire group stood up and wished me good morning — yes, just like their students would greet them!

I spoke for about five minutes in broken Hindi and asked them if they had any questions. They had been waiting for the chance.

Most of them were very curious about how we arrived at our news decisions. Many of them admonished me — actually, journalists in general — for publishing “indecent” photographs in the feature sections. “Our students are corrupted by this,” complained one teacher. “Do you apply any standards of morality when you plan such sections,” asked another.

My response was what it has always been down the years: “How many of you’ll have ever bothered to walk into a newspaper office and voice your displeasure? Or written to the editors? A newspaper can be highly interactive, provided you take the trouble of talking to it. It’s pretty obvious, but most readers actually don’t bother.”

There was another point I made: Your opinion is not necessarily the same as everybody else’s.

Also, let’s not forget, a newspaper is an easily-supervised medium. You can simply deny your children or students access to the sections you find offensive. It’s a lot tougher to do that with the internet (parental-supervision software is as vulnerable as child-proof bottle caps).

The teachers seemed pretty satisfied with that answer and moved on to how they could guide their students on careers in the media. Apparently, a lot of students ask them this and they wanted to know everything there was to know — from the qualifications required and the starting salaries to the best mass media institutes in the country.

Many of them were furiously jotting down notes and the very strong vibe I got was that they cared deeply about their students.

The teachers came from places as far away as Raigad district. Alibaug, which is its headquarters, is over 100 km from Mumbai by road. And they had been making this journey every day for several days just so that they could be better teachers in the end.

It was humbling. I know I could never make such a commitment myself.

This July, I start teaching mass media again — at the Mumbai Educational Trust in Bandra. I know that just because I speak English better I will not make a better teacher than the ones I encountered that day. Those guys are a tough act to match.

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Cricket meets life

December 16, 2008 at 9:01 am (Stray thoughts)
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Would I be a little over the top – or worse, jingoistic – if I say Sachin Tendulkar’s century in Chennai was one of the strongest replies to the terror attacks in Mumbai?

 

But first, let me take you back two decades, to February 1988. I was a schoolboy at the nets at Mumbai’s Azad Maidan. I wasn’t very good at the game, so I spent a lot of time fielding, stopping balls stroked by people who could actually bat.

 

It was just a couple of days after two then-unknown Shardashram Vidyamandir students, Sachin Tendulkar and Vinod Kambli, had gone berserk in a Harris Shield game against St Xavier’s High School. The two scrawny kids had belted everything hurled at them to the boundary, notching up a world record 664-run stand.

 

It was all Mumbai could talk about.

 

Coincidentally, just a couple of days later, Shardashram coach Ramakant Achrekar brought his team to practice at a pitch just a few metres away from ours. Their regular pitch at Shivaji Park had been dug up, if I remember right.

 

Our net practice ground to a halt as soon as we heard which team had arrived. We asked – in fact, demanded – to see Sachin. Our coach walked up to the Shardashram lads and yelled “Sachin, ikde ya!” (Sachin, come here!) A small, thin kid walked out from the crowded net, reluctantly, staring at the ground, too shy to look at us.

 

Someone asked: “Ae, tu hain Sachin?” (Hey, are you Sachin?)

 

A slight, almost imperceptible nod was the reply.

 

We tried to talk to him, but it was obvious he wouldn’t utter a word. Unimpressed, we let him go.

 

Then, he padded up.

 

There’s one thing common about greats in any field: there’s just something different about them as they go about their work. Not necessarily an extra flourish, just an aura that seems to engulf them as they get going.

 

Sachin, bat in hand, was no longer meek, shy or unimpressive. My eyes popped out as he creamed every ball. But more than that, there was something very perfect and beautiful about everything he did, even the simple act of picking up the cherry and tossing it back to the bowler.

 

Sachin’s success and subsequent anointment as Bradman’s successor is history and doesn’t bear repetition.

 

From all the wonderful innings he’s played, there are two that I will always remember. The first was in the 1999 World Cup. He had just lost his father, having to fly to India in the middle of the tournament and then choosing to return for that was what the poet-patriarch of the Tendulkar family would have wanted. He scored a century in the first innings after his return, against Kenya. He looked up at the heavens, as if to say this one’s for you, dad.

 

Chennai, December 15, 2008, was the next. Mumbai had just suffered the horror of a terrorist attack that lasted three days. Two hundred people had died. The city and nation were shaken, bruised. A sense of fear and despair hung heavy in the air.

 

Day 5, India chasing a record 378, a score never before achieved in the fourth innings in the sub-continent.

 

Sachin refused to get out. The analogy his bat drew was clear: It’s a terrible time for the nation, crunch time for the team. But, we can win.

 

And we did.

 

Here’s the difference between Sachin and any other modern-day great: An innings like this by anyone else would be a cricketing joy. But such an innings by Sachin can change the way a country views itself.

 

I’m not saying the century suddenly made India feel great again, but in the space of a few hours Sachin made many people like me feel hopeful once more.

 

“From my point of view, I look at it as an attack on India, and it should hurt every Indian, not only people from Mumbai,” he said after the match. “I dedicate this hundred to all those people who have gone through such terrible times. In no way am I trying to say that this will make everyone forget what happened in Mumbai… What happened in Mumbai was extremely unfortunate and I don’t think by India winning or my scoring hundreds people who have lost their dear and loved ones would feel better. It’s a terrible loss and our hearts are with them. All I can say is that in whatever way we can contribute to make them feel better, we’ll make that effort.”

 

As Sachin says in his latest endorsement: “I play for India, now more than ever.”

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Change we must

November 3, 2008 at 8:16 am (Stray thoughts)
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This is a piece Shahid Latif, editor of Inquilab, asked me to write for his paper. It was part of a series on what the ‘Indian Muslim Should do now’. It was translated into Urdu — a first for me — by Shahid saab and published in Inquilab on November 2, 2008.

 

I interviewed the Dalai Lama just after the US began its post-9/11 campaign in Afghanistan. What he told me still rings in my ears. “We often forget we’re all in this together,” he said, referring to our stay here on Earth.

 

The journey of the Indian Muslim, from Partition, to December 6, 1992, and from then to today has been a ride through a perfect storm. My view is that we sit perched atop the crest of a mammoth wave that will either send us crashing to the bottom of the ocean or one from which we will sail to calm waters.

 

It will depend on how well we steer our ship.

 

It is the nature of choice that in being forced to make one, there is discomfort. The Indian Muslim finds himself in exactly in that situation.

 

The choice is this: Give up hope and rebel. Or effect a positive change.

 

We live in an age of bomb blasts, a right-wing threat and an increasing gulf between the haves and have-nots. There could not be a more dangerous combination. And the Muslim is at the centre of it. What should he do now?

 

As a business management student, I got familiar with a technique known as SWOT (strengths, weaknesses, opportunities, threats) Analysis that is often used by firms to gauge their environment and how well they are doing. It may be useful to apply the technique to the community.

 

Strengths: At 150 million, Muslims may be a ‘minority’ in India, but in fact outnumber populations of most countries. The numbers cannot be ignored. Muslims form a potent political force. They also consider themselves Indian; they don’t — or at least shouldn’t — feel they are in the wrong place even if it’s the wrong time. India is home. Also, their faith is strong, and among the younger generation at least there is a quest to underpin it with a modern view of the world.

 

 

Weaknesses: As a political force, they are splintered. There is no unity of views on the way forward. Quality leadership is conspicuous by its absence.

 

There is a huge gap in education levels. This is not just a weakness, but a serious threat. If Muslims don’t make an effort to up literacy on a war footing, the battle will be lost before it begins. And I don’t mean just primary education. Higher education — especially for girls — is critical. The community could rapidly find itself underqualified for a fast-changing world, making it turn further inward.

 

There is another serious weakness: Many tend to see everything through the prism of religion. I will never forget the experience I had while waiting for my wife in a spa lobby. Some staffers were chatting there and one of them mentioned that Shah Rukh Khan reads the newspaper while sitting on the toilet seat. While everybody else burst out into giggles, a Muslim gentleman flew into a rage and said: “If he does that, then Shah Rukh is not a true Muslim. Islam does not permit such things.”

 

I was appalled.

 

On the face of it, it was an incident to be laughed at and forgotten. On the other hand, it highlights how seeing life through the prism of faith is taken to extremes. It is this attitude that worries me because the community is then seen to be irrational, which is only one step away from extremist.

 

Opportunities: There is an opportunity to create educational and commercial institutions like Islamic banks that can make a real difference. There is an entrepreneurial streak in the community that can be used to great advantage. Sometimes, big finance is not the answer. There is an urgent need for a microfinance institution. It may achieve what government sops and reservations have not. Even small sects have grown to be prosperous and powerful. There’s no reason a great faith cannot do the same.

 

 

Threats: The community has an image problem. And it’s not doing enough to counter it. I have already mentioned education levels. Parts of the community — and not just the not-so-well-to-do sections — seem to be vulnerable to fundamentalist rhetoric. This is disastrous. Again, education will help. The right-wing baiting of the community is being responded to all too often. This will only escalate the tensions. Concentrate on bettering your lot.

 

The debate within the community seems to centre around only religion. There are other things to talk about. Open your minds to other issues: inclusive growth, education (here I go again), women’s empowerment, business, health.

 

This is, of course, no socio-political thesis. It merely skims the surface of what can — and needs to — be done. All life-altering change is difficult, but change we must. Not by weakening our faith or redefining our core, but by thinking differently. It’s an idea whose time has come; in fact, it’s long overdue.

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Did I do the right thing?

September 14, 2008 at 6:55 pm (Stray thoughts)
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As I write this, India is still recovering from five bombs that snuffed out 30 lives in Delhi.

 

Terrorists have struck once again. With impunity.

 

Over the last 13 years I have put together more editions dominated by terror than I care to remember. It scares me that newsrooms now have the drill down pat. We no longer need to discuss what needs to be done every time a bomb goes off. We have a standard operating procedure.

 

Every time this happens, I also come away disturbed at how the media react. The shrill tone of the TV channels and their readiness to go on air with any scrap of unverified information is scary. I watched in horror as one Hindi channel said a young boy with a bomb strapped to his body had been found and that the police were taking him away to a safe spot to defuse the device, somewhere there wouldn’t be too much damage if it did go off.

 

The truth came out a little later – the boy was a poor balloon seller who had seen two men dressed in black deposit a packet into a dustbin. The bin exploded some time later and the packet those men had thrown in it was probably the bomb.

 

He was a witness, not a suicide bomber.

 

But was the print media above reproach? Did it not make any mistakes?

 

While it was a whole lot less alarmist, there is one question: Did we do the right thing by publishing the boy’s photograph?

 

Two things go against it. One, the boy’s a minor. Even witnesses in many court cases who are under 18 are granted anonymity in the media. Two, as somebody who could potentially identify the men behind a terrorist attack, his life could be in serious danger.

 

My paper published his name and picture too. And it was on my shift. I saw the page. I saw the picture on it. I saw the boy’s interview.

 

Yet, it never struck me that perhaps we weren’t doing right. That’s the problem with standard operating procedure. It’s more like an assembly line. Less like a newspaper.

 

I’d like to know what you think.

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Dhoni-spotting

August 9, 2008 at 7:02 am (Stray thoughts)
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Mahendra Singh Dhoni

Mahendra Singh Dhoni

Aboard IC 809 to Delhi, August 8:

Guess who was with us on the flight – Mahendra Singh Dhoni. The India one-day cricket captain was in Mumbai for a team selection meeting and was returning home.

 

 

 

 

My colleague, a cricket-hater with a cricket-mad son, went wide-eyed, saying: “I don’t like cricket, but I must get Dhoni’s autograph for my son.” I told her to just walk up to him on the flight and say hi.

 

She did so, returning to our seats with a huge grin. “He was so cool! He obliged without a fuss and even asked how to correctly spell my son’s name,” she gushed. Dhoni just got himself a new fan – a cricket-hater at that.

 

It struck me how much Dhoni actually symbolises the brave new India. A boy who grow up in the middle of nowhere (Ranchi, till recently, wasn’t a town most people would know of) to become one of India’s youth icons. And he never forgot where he came from, never lost his small-town courteousness.

 

People love him for various reasons – looks, achievement, etc. I’m quite taken up with him because of his attitude to cricket. It has a certain abandon, complete fearlessness and a bedrock of confidence that comes with not being afraid of failure. He’s also a superb man-manager, which for me is his greatest quality.

 

Some day, I’d like to interview him. Not now, because he’s on a high and what he says might be predictable. I’d like to ask him, at a time when he’s looking back on his career, to describe in detail what it was like as the last ball of Twenty20 world championship was bowled – the strategy, the emotion, what his young team said and what he felt as the ball looped off Misbah-ul-Haq’s bat and landed in the fielder’s hands.

 

I’ve always felt that at such times, when you know things will never be the same again, your life flashes before you – in a pleasant sort of way. I wonder whether that’s what he will say.

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Coloured thoughts

May 27, 2008 at 6:39 pm (Stray thoughts)
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Visited a Kerala Ayurvedic therapeutic massage clinic on Sunday, at my wife’s insistence.

Having been informed that I’d have to wait half an hour, I turned my attention to the magazine rack.

I froze as I found several copies of a rabidly communal magazine. It was one long rant against ‘pseudo secularists’, the government’s ‘minority appeasement’ and, of course, ‘the jihadis in disguise spread across the country’.

It was obvious that the proprietors subscribed to the magazine and, probably, believed in what it had to say.

I had a choice: walk out or go ahead with the massage.

After much deliberation, I chose the latter.

There are just too many places to walk out of nowadays…

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My faith, my conundrum

May 16, 2008 at 10:09 am (Stray thoughts)
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Coincidences have the knack of perfect timing.

I happened to see Subhash Ghai’s Black & White the day after the May 13, 2008, Jaipur bomb blasts. It was a terrific story of how a Gadhian professor of Urdu — a Hindu — makes a suicide bomber change his mind about killing hundreds of innocents seconds before he is supposed to set off the bomb.

I thought it was a poignant tale that dealt delicately with what makes a young man with everything to live for turn to terror.

I was similarly impressed with Pooja Bhatt’s (imagine!) Dhokha. Because it came came from the Bhatt stable, the film went by unacclaimed, but it was actually a well-told tale that ended with the police-officer protagonist telling his superiors: “I was told this by an enemy, but it’s true nonetheless. First we create terrorists, then we kill them.”

Coincidentally, again, I happened to exchange a couple of e-mails with Shahid Latif, editor of the Urdu daily Inquilab, on the plight of the Indian Muslim just a few days earlier. He felt that the crisis that has befallen the community should make it introspect whether many of its problems are self-created, by way of a skewed perspective, and also that there is a need for a new Muslim leadership.

While I don’t have permission to reproduce what he wrote, I am reproducing my reply below.

Dear Shahid Saab,
Just went through your piece carefully. I agree on many of the points mentioned, especially on the need for a new leadership.
A large part of the problem has been the self-imposed exclusion of the community from mainstream debates. This is because everything is being sought to be seen through the prism of religion. That view of life is sometimes taken to silly extremes. I can never forget the experience I had while waiting for my wife in a spa lobby. A few of the staffers were standing around gossiping and one of them mentioned that Shah Rukh Khan reads the newspaper while sitting on the toilet seat. While everybody else burst out into giggles, a Muslim gentleman flew into a rage and said: “If he does that, then Shah Rukh is not a true Muslim. Islam does not permit such things.”
I was appalled at this kind of thinking — I’m pretty sure Islam has no views on reading newspapers on the pot.
On the face of it, it was an incident to be laughed at and forgotten. On the other hand, it highlights my point about how seeing life through the prism of faith is taken to extremes. It is this attitude that worries me because the community is then seen to be irrational, which is only one step away from extremist.
Maybe it has a lot to do with years of being forced to live on the fringes and being discriminated against that has forced many to withdraw ever more inwards rather than step out and engage, be part of the mainstream.
I would never advocate that we forget our faith or where we come from. But the solution to the community’s problems is education foremost and economic prosperity next.
You’re absolutely right that the time for introspection has come, though I would not use words like ‘intolerant’, ‘violent’, ‘anti-social’, ‘unlawful’ and ‘unhygienic’. Instead, I would say, “Look around you. Are you happy? Is this what we aimed to become in our long journey in this country and world? If not, think about what you can be. Even small sects — the Swaminarayan sect, for instance — have grown to become powerful, prosperous and respected while still never losing sight of their faith. A great religion like ours can do so too. But it requires a change of mindset. It requires maturity from the people who follow this great faith. The challenge before us is to show these qualities.”
Shahid saab, one of the reasons I accepted the speaking engagement at Islam Gymkhana (see ’Walking the Talk’ and ‘My Speech’ below) that day was because it seemed like a chance to discuss things other than religion. This is vital for the community because there are many other things that affect us. The threats to our faith are great but the greater threat is us confining our stay on Earth to dealing only with such threats.
I hope my reply is not too long-winded and also that I have been able to articulate what is on my mind.
Regards,
Ashraf

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How do you explain Gandhi to a 5-year-old?

March 9, 2008 at 5:32 pm (Stray thoughts)
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 gandhi.jpg

This blog also appeared in the Hindustan Times, Mumbai, on  March 16, 2008.

I had an unusual experience this morning (Sunday, March 9). I had taken my daughter to the planetarium, but landed up early. Having bought the ticket, we had an hour to kill, so I took her to the Discovery Of India permanent exhibition at the Nehru Centre next door.

She was quite excited to see sepia-toned photographs of the freedom movement, old utensils, photographs of Nehru’s childhood and a pictorial representation of the jails freedom fighters were often incarcerated in.

Then, she came upon the photograph of a bald, gentle-looking, frail man in a loincloth. “Who is this?” she asked. “It’s Gandhiji,” I replied.

I knew the answer was inadequate because, to a grown up, the name Gandhi is enough to conjure up images of the Freedom Struggle, Satyagraha and a way of life that seems far removed from the consciousness of an India that’s setting the standard in economic growth. But, to a five-year-old, all this may as well be Greek.

My daughter, of course, wasn’t letting me get away with just telling her the name of the man in the photograph. A child’s curiosity isn’t that easily satisfied. “But why is he here?” she demanded to know.

I could have told her about the barrister from Porbandar, who studied in England, settled down in South Africa and whose life changed when he was thrown out of a train just because he was a coloured man with the right ticket in the right compartment.

I have recently read a superb biography of Gandhi’s by Louis Fischer, and I could have told my daughter about how he lived in ashrams, what he meant to our struggle to be free, how he refused to raise his voice or hand, or lift a fire-arm. Yet, he was among the bravest men who ever lived.

I could have also made the connection to Pune, where we spent a wonderful year. Gandhi had been imprisoned in the Aga Khan Palace. It was where he lost his beloved Kasturba, whose own role in the liberation movement is rather underplayed by history textbooks.

But, I knew, none of this would make sense to my little girl. I was struggling to find a way to make Gandhi strike a chord, make him relevant to her. And then, inspiration struck.

“Gandhi is the gentle old man who helped Munnabhai, remember?” I said. Her eyes lit up. “Yaaay, Munnabhai!” she shouted. “Yes, Gandhiji told him to always speak the truth, not to trouble others and say sorry if he made a mistake.”

That day, though my daughter may not have been able to articulate it, Gandhi became simply the symbol of what it means to live right. It took Munnabhai for her to learn that.

Thanks, Mamu!

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Walking the talk

February 17, 2008 at 6:22 pm (Stray thoughts)
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A lot of you may be wondering what happened at the talk I was supposed to give on the Broadcast Bill and freedom of expression. I apologise for updating you a week late.

I chose not to read from a prepared text, speaking extempore instead. I’m glad I did because the gathering wasn’t looking for oratory; it wanted to be made aware.

Let’s put aside for a moment the issue I spoke about; my views on it are clear from the earlier blog. What struck me was that maybe there is a growing fatigue — even irritation — among Muslims about secularism and bias being the only topics of debate as far as they are concerned. Maybe, just maybe, there are other things to talk about. Maybe there are other issues on the community’s mind – employment, education, per capita incomes, housing, being part of the mainstream and the debates that are so much part of it, like freedom of expression.

I know I cringe every time there is a photograph of Muslims celebrating Diwali, Ganesh Chaturthi or Holi. Or of Hindus celebrating Eid. As if the media feels the need to keep giving evidence of inter-faith tolerance, as if it is afraid it doesn’t exist at all. 

If that  is the media’s fear, then let me assure it that is not the case. I am convinced the so-called divide doesn’t exist at all in the minds of an overwhelming majority of Indians. Inter-faith tolerance, in fact the celebration of our vast diversity of faiths, is a done deal, it’s cast in stone. We don’t need anybody to keep underscoring it  with cliched visuals. What we need is to move on to real issues, the kind I mentioned above.

The Jamaat-e-Hind Islami’s Maharashtra unit, which hosted the talk I gave (there were two other speakers too), is doing well to organise such events. It ensures Muslims talk about more than a sense of victimisation (justified in very many cases, but the only way the community can break out of it is to have more on its mind).

I do hope there are more such talks. And I hope the Jamaat invites me to them.

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My speech

February 7, 2008 at 9:16 am (Stray thoughts)
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 A few days ago I had said I was invited to speak at a meeting on freedom of expression. Here’s the speech I came up with. Is it any good? I’d really like to know what you think. Here it is:

 

I don’t believe in selective freedom. You either have it or you don’t. It’s like being pregnant — you either are, or you aren’t. You cannot be a little pregnant.

That’s exactly why it’s a matter of concern, and dismay when you see publications or films being blocked. We’ve seen problems over the film Fire, the play Mee Nathuram Godse Boltoy…

In fact, the state government, if I’m not mistaken, actually banned the play. To me, this is the worst kind of curtailment of freedom of expression. While I may never ever agree with Godse, I do believe that if there is an opposing point of view, there must be freedom to express it. There were all kinds of arguments — how can we have an assassin’s point of view, he killed the Father of the Nation, he was among the most misguided men in history, etc. But, I think, Gandhi himself may have disagreed with all the naysayers.

Also, I believe, suppress a misguided voice and you drive it to radicalism. To some, it may even become a voice of heroism.

The point is, the more you suppress something, the more people want to know about it. The more you push something down, the greater the will to fight back. Forced silence may create the loudest bang of all.

An idea has enough strength to hold its own. So, ban a play, a book, a film, and you only land up giving it the kiss of life. A point of view that may have run the course of a debate and eventually died out, is kept alive and even strengthened by a ban.

Wouldn’t the government actually be far better off by staying out of it and letting the people decide for themselves?

We are all entitled to our choices — political, cultural, sexual.

I chose to speak about the Godse play to highlight exactly how the freedom of expression we pride ourselves is really not absolute. We are all capable of understanding what is right or wrong and choosing for ourselves. But it’s almost as if we are afraid of choice.

In the Broadcasting Bill, the Information and Broadcasting Ministry talks about a ‘content code’. It says it is to regulate the “quality” of programming and to ‘protect consumers’ interests”.

It sounds innocuous on the face of it, so why is the media so upset?

The big problem is that it seems the government is intent upon controlling what broadcasters can and cannot show. It is seen as an infringement on the rights of the media.

How? A stringent content code, and the reference to “national interest” could actually be translated to mean, “We will block many forms of investigative journalism, like, say, sting ops.” It could also be interpreted as “toe the line or we’ll crack down on you”. The right of the media to question, expose corruption, etc, could be severely curtailed.

Theoretically, the government could retaliate to an expose by, say, claiming that the content code was violated, privacy was violated. It could yank away your licence, it could put your ownership structures under scrutiny.

We’ve already had one such case of a government crackdown — Tehelka faced probes about financial irregularities and almost shut down after Operation West End, which forced George Fernades to resign as defence minister after an expose about irregularities in defence spending.

The question is, why is freedom of expression such a big issue?

It is, because it guarantees that a universe of ideas will always be part of our society. The universe of ideas is important for opinions to be expressed, debated and eventually a path to the truth found.
Why should we have limits on what to discuss?
If multiple parties disagree, then the very fact that that disagreement can be expressed, heard and one point of view either dismissed or accepted is the very lifeblood of society.
Huge changes are often sparked off by a single voice. It may meet with a wall of opposition in the beginning, but eventually others join this first brave voice. In time, the minority could even become the majority.

But you can’t have all this by suppressing expression.
Political and social movements, say, civil rights, women’s rights, etc, all started small. Today, those tiny voices have created enough awareness for these issues to occupy a large part of our bandwidth.
Repression of an opinion you don’t want is censorship of the worst kind.

It was the American historian Alfred Whitney Griswold who said: “Books won’t stay banned. They won’t burn. Ideas won’t go to jail. In the long run of history, the censor and the inquisitor have always lost. The only weapon against bad ideas is better ideas.”

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