Singing in the Echo Chamber: Notes from an Academic Refugee

In the age of podcasts, panel discussions and performative freedom, it has never been easier to say ‘debate is essential to democracy.’ We hear it in policy memos, institutional handbooks and classroom introductions. But what happens when the spaces that are supposed to nurture dissent—the academic spaces—start echoing only familiar tunes? What if we are no longer moulding students, but scripting them?

Let me tell you a story that might resonate with many of you.

When ‘Freedom of Expression’ Becomes a Group Song

We are constantly told: sing your own song. But here is the catch—your song must not disturb the harmony of the choir. If your tune synchronises with the rhythms of those self-proclaimed saviours of democracy, all is well. But dare to diverge—even slightly—and suddenly you are the dissonant note. A problem. An outcast.

You are gently reminded to go back, rehearse better, learn the lyrics of consensus. The message is clear: ‘Think less, sing along.'
Democracy, it seems, is fine—until your verse exposes the fractured melody of the chorus.

The Academic Illusion: Are We Really Encouraging Dissent?

Let us be honest, dear teachers and students: are our academic spaces really the homes of free thought we romanticize them to be? If you think so, you are either inside a cleverly inflated information bubble—or you are a connoisseur of status quo comforts. You hum safely inside your echo chamber, mouthing lines written by others, never needing to train your voice to be different.

But the moment your voice grows loud, clear, and misaligned with the dominant chorus, things change. You are silenced.  You are labelled ‘problematic.’ You are exiled.
Because, after all, “united we stand”—even if that unity is built on the ruins of critical thought.

Who Gets to Be Political?

Today, being ‘political’ often means being obedient. You are told that questioning the system is poisoning it. That to critique is being ungrateful. That challenging power is betrayal. This is not politics—it is performance.

Real political thought means refusing to be intellectually spoon-fed. It means seeing the cracks in the edifice and having the courage to mend them—not hide them with flags and hashtags. But in a world where neoliberalism has turned thought into a commodity, such courage is rare and risky.

Neoliberalism in the Classroom

Let us not pretend. Neoliberalism is not knocking at the doors of the academia—it is sitting inside the classroom.

• Learning is a ‘benefit’

• Knowledge is a ‘product’

• Teachers are ‘knowledge workers’

• Students are the ‘output’

And yet, when students ask, “What is the use of learning this chapter?”—there is no textbook answer. Because the use of critical thought cannot be captured in a PowerPoint slide or a performance appraisal. The benefit of studying Humanities is precisely that it refuses to be reduced to a benefit.

When We Quote Foucault but Fear to Question

We quote Foucault in lectures and Arendt in seminars. We celebrate Renaissance icons who dared to say that the emperor had no clothes. And yet—within our own institutions—we hush those who dare to do the same.

We offer surface cures to deep wounds. A token committee. A cautious statement. A temporary silence. But a swelling on the skin may signal a deadly disease. And if we keep applying band-aids while the cancer spreads underneath, who are we really saving?

A Personal Note from an Academic Refugee

When I began blogging, people loved reading my light-hearted posts—on food, festivals and family. But as my words began to question the architecture of power—politely, firmly, truthfully—those who once clapped turned away.

The silence has grown louder than applause. Eyes follow me with suspicion. The fear is subtle, systemic, neoliberal.

But I will write on. Because I carry in me the voice of a father who taught me to ask, to speak, to fight. Perhaps I came late to this war of words; but better a late rebel, than a lifelong puppet.

A Closing Note to You

To those who still read, respond and reflect—thank you.
To those who distance themselves—no bitterness. I only want you to realize this: you, too, are a victim of the very violence I speak of. Not with batons or bans, but with algorithms and applause.

The question is not whether you agree with me. The question is:
Do you even know what your own voice sounds like anymore?