Indiscriminate employment of power and force, aslosh with egoism, vendetta or propaganda, fails to attain anything constructive. Power and force play an active, binding and controlling role in human interactions, from the classroom interactions to the high-stakes international politics and diplomacy.
To understand the nuanced masquerade of power and force, I have selected two short stories, “The Use of Force” by William Carlos Williams and “Thank You, Ma’am” by Langston Hughes. While the former story spotlights the moral corrosion of authority, the latter treats of the metanoic potential the force of empathy possesses.
Williams’ story enacts a doctor’s adamant pursuit of diagnosing an apprehensive child, Mathilda (who, like all the children, holds the doctor as a bogeyman), apparently to save her from a diphtheria outbreak in the vicinity. What begins as a clinical duty ends up becoming a violent clash between the “arch rivals”. The line of control between objective urgency and obstinate violence blurs.
The doctor rationalises his resorting to aggression to have a diagnostic look at the child’s tonsils as a community service. Yet his animalistic instinct against the girl’s dogged resistance is seen through his internal monologue: “I could have torn the child apart in my own fury and enjoyed it.” Williams critiques how sometimes force, though well-intentioned, dehumanises both the wielder and the subjected.
The parents’ passive presence at the scene of aggression reflects societal or world silence at systemic violence, whether in educational institutions or unbidden military adventures. Because of unmatched muscular power and power musculature between the doctor and the child, the doctor’s success in having the diagnosis is the microcosm of the Pyrrhic victories of punitive teaching or military interventions that “win” battles but endanger human peaceful existence as the child loses trust in the curative use of authority. America’s self-claimed victories in Iraq and Afghanistan and now India’s quackish diagnosis of terrorist hideouts in Pakistan sow nothing but future discord.
In Hughes’ story, Mrs Jones responds not with punishment but with compassion when the street boy, Roger, tries to steal her purse. Instead of criminalising Roger, she offers him food, trust and a lesson in dignity. She fulfils his unmet needs (hunger, desire for blue suede shoes) and thus neutralises his recalcitrance. Her attitude and actions embody restorative justice models in education, where acknowledging the root causes before chastising the students proves a centripetal force for the learning process.
Mrs Jones brings Roger home and shows trust in him to give him a sense of belongingness, as is shown in his repeated glances at the open door and not succumbing to the temptation of fleeing. Hughes touches the chord of belongingness through shared vulnerability when Mrs Jones admits, “I have done things, too.” Belongingness builds bridges, whereas power erects walls. In his poem, Mending Wall, Robert Frost says: “Something there is that doesn’t love a wall.” Research shows that a sense of belongingness reduces recidivism in students, as happens in Roger’s metanoia.
A classroom is the world in microcosm. The flaunting display of authority without offering any leeway to students will infect the society and world with power hysteria whose manifestations are seen in the individuals and countries browbeating each other.
As diphtheria usually breaks out in poor communities, global fractious interactions stem from resource imbalance. Not mere pulpit homilies, sustainable solutions like Mrs Jones’ offering shoes, which prevents Roger’s relapse to crime in the future, are direly needed to stop human rights violations like those in Kashmir and Palestine.
Power is not morbid per se; its morality lies in its locus and rationale. In education and statecraft, intentions behind the use of force must be questioned: Is force meant to achieve collective good, to inflate one’s ego, or to peddle any propaganda? Power and authority actually reveal the true colours of their wielders.
