By Robert Clements
Why We Rarely Question Authority..!
It is no wonder that politicians and priests get away with almost anything in our country.
Frankly, they deserve an award for consistency. Not for honesty or competence, but for surviving decade after decade without being questioned. This is no small achievement. It requires cooperation from the public, and we have delivered splendidly. We have spent generations training authority figures by practising obedience with Olympic-level discipline.
Nod on cue. Clap on command.
Stand up when told.
Sit down when ordered.
Never ask why. If questioning were a crime, we would be the most law-abiding nation on earth, with jails standing empty and conscience completely incarcerated.
The training begins early, usually at home, somewhere between the age when a child first asks “why” and the age when that same child learns it is safer not to. In the Indian household, respect for elders is treated like a divine commandment, handed down along with the pressure cooker and the advice not to waste food.
You may question the electricity bill, the neighbour’s dog, or even the existence of ghosts, but never an elder. The moment a child asks an innocent question, someone gasps dramatically and says, “How can you talk like that?” It is never explained what exactly is wrong with the question. The crime lies not in the content, but in the act itself.
Somewhere between childhood and adulthood, respect quietly turns into silence.
Silence, it must be said, is extremely useful. It allows elders to get away with everything, including behaviour that would land others in serious trouble. The child is told to keep quiet. The teenager is warned not to argue. The adult masters the fine art of looking the other way. When this silence matures, politicians step in and give it a respectable name. “This is our Indian culture,” they declare, smiling benignly, while doing exactly as they please.
This culture of obedience does not stop at the dining table. It obediently follows us into the temple, the church, and the mosque. Here, authority is upgraded from respected to sacred. Priests are placed on pedestals so high that even asking for an explanation requires oxygen support.
To question a religious leader feels sinful, dangerous, and vaguely responsible for everything that goes wrong afterwards. Ask a priest one uncomfortable question and suddenly your phone falls, your tyre punctures, your child catches a cold, and your promotion letter mysteriously gets delayed.
Superstition does the rest of the work.
People genuinely believe that asking a question invites divine displeasure. God, apparently, is very sensitive and deeply offended by curiosity. He prefers unquestioning silence, preferably accompanied by donations.
The result is predictable.
When nobody questions, corruption thrives. Today we have religious leaders who enjoy unquestioned authority and unquestioned wealth, a combination that would make even the most ambitious politician slightly jealous.
The second reason we rarely question authority is our education system, which operates on a simple philosophy: thinking is risky, memorising is safe. From a young age, we are trained to reproduce answers like photocopy machines. Asking why is treated as a distraction. By-hearting is celebrated. Curiosity is frowned upon. A child who memorises the textbook is called brilliant. A child who asks questions is labelled troublesome. Governments love this system. A thinking citizen is inconvenient. A memorising citizen is manageable.
Examinations reward recall, not reasoning. Teachers rush through lessons, students rush through notes, and everyone rushes towards marks. Lower the pass marks, shorten the syllabus, and suddenly success rates improve dramatically. Everyone passes, except logic. Years later, these same students grow up to vote, cheer, forward messages on social media, and defend authority with alarming enthusiasm, while having no idea why they believe what they believe.
The results are visible everywhere. A generation of well-meaning uncles and aunties, fathers and mothers, who confuse obedience with patriotism and silence with stability.
They genuinely believe that questioning the government is anti-national, questioning religious leaders is anti-faith, and questioning elders is anti-family. They did not choose authoritarianism. They politely nodded their way into it. Each nod seemed harmless at the time. Collectively, they became a national habit.
Authority, of course, loves this arrangement. When nobody asks questions, there is no need for answers. Speeches can be vague, promises can be recycled, failures can be blamed on someone else, and success can be claimed loudly. Television debates turn into shouting matches, not because people are questioning authority, but because they are defending it. The loudest voices are rarely the most thoughtful. They are simply the most obedient.
And yet, hope stubbornly refuses to die. It lives in the younger generation, those irritating creatures who ask too many questions, read the fine print, and refuse to be impressed by titles alone. They want to know why a policy exists, who benefits from it, and who pays the price. They are unimpressed by slogans and suspicious of anyone who demands respect before earning it. Naturally, they are told they lack values, culture, and discipline. This is usually said by people who confuse submission with virtue.
So here is a humble request to the young.
Please continue to ask irritating questions. Please read the fine print, because our short-sightedness prevents us from doing so. Please refuse to clap on command when something feels wrong. Please remember that respect and silence are not the same thing.
One can respect a person and still question their decisions. In fact, real respect demands it.
If you succeed in separating respect from silence, authority in this country may finally learn to fear the most dangerous thing of all. Not protests. Not slogans. Not anger. But a simple, calm, persistent question.
Why?
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