Talking to the young

After reading a recent news report about a young civil servant caught accepting a bribe, it is easy to feel cynical—not just about the act itself, but about how early it occurred. It is as if corruption has become a lifestyle disease, like diabetes, bound to set in eventually. How can we resist this drift? How can we prevent public life from corroding the ideals of the young?

I am often invited to talk to young people, and I accept whenever possible. As a parent, a public servant, and the daughter of a schoolteacher, I know these conversations matter. The young brim with creative energy. They are honest, fearless, and unafraid to show vulnerability. They have a hunger to learn. They give me hope.  At the national academy in Mussoorie, Director B N Yugandhar introduced our cohort of young trainees to Gandhi’s talisman: Recall the face of the poorest and the weakest person you may have seen, and ask yourself if the step you contemplate is going to be of any use to them. Will they gain anything by it? Will it restore them to control over their own life and destiny? 

Gandhi’s words remind us that public service is not about charity or noblesse oblige, but about dignity, agency, and justice. 

Today, as a mother, I worry about the challenges before my sons’ generation: climate change, conflict, growing inequality, precarious livelihoods, malnutrition, poor education, gender-based violence, and oppressive social structures. The list is long and heavy.

Our common future depends on recognising, as poet John Donne wrote centuries ago, that we are bound together: “No man is an island/Entire of itself; Every man is a piece of the continent… Any man’s death diminishes me,/ Because I am involved in mankind. And therefore never send to know for whom the bell tolls; It tolls for thee.”

This truth became starkly clear during the Covid-19 pandemic. Those who worked from home could do so only because essential workers—healthcare staff, farmers, delivery personnel, sanitation workers, and others—kept society functioning. In an interconnected world, our lives are built on the invisible labour of others. 

What we are today is also thanks to those who came before us. If we are free, it is because others struggled for freedom. If we can read and write, it is because someone built schools. In turn, we owe it to future generations to build what we can. As Rabindranath Tagore wrote, “Those who plant trees, knowing that they will never sit in their shade, have at least started to understand the meaning of life.” 

Anthropologist Margaret Mead was once asked what she considered the first sign of human civilisation. A healed femur, she replied. In ancient times, an injured person would be left behind to die. A healed femur meant someone had stayed back, tended to the wounded, and cared until they could walk again. The story may be apocryphal, but its meaning is clear: civilisation is built on care and cooperation. 

Art and literature have always known this. Leo Tolstoy put it simply: “If you feel pain, you are alive. If you feel another person’s pain, you are a human being.” 

An ethics paper is not enough to teach integrity. Public institutions ultimately reflect societal values. But there are concrete steps we can take to nurture foundational values in the young:

First, teach the children well. Aristotle was right: educating the mind without educating the heart is no education at all. Teach children to strive for excellence but also to accept failure with grace and self-compassion. The most important life lessons, including social-emotional learning, are learnt in the early years. Warm and secure childhoods produce well-adjusted adults. 

Second, teach students the Constitution, in theory and practice. Civics education is the bedrock of a strong democracy.

Third, encourage field immersion. Instead of hothousing them in coaching classes, let them also work within communities. They will learn to regard others as equals. They will learn to work with people, not just for them.

Four, promote art and literature. As a counter to the self-obsession and instant validation of social media, the arts let us sit for a while with the lives and feelings of others. Literature teaches empathy and expands our imaginative vision. 

Five, model good living, service, and reflective practice. What we say matters less than what we do. When we serve, the young will see voluntarism as a natural part of life. Through reflective practice, the young will learn to pause, introspect, and consider the impact of their actions on the world around them.

Finally, be wary of sanctimoniousness. Moral arrogance is distasteful. As Nietzsche warned, “Whoever fights monsters should see to it that in the process he does not become a monster.” 

In a world full of chatter—panels, hashtags, schmoozing—action is fundamental. Action should be quiet, consistent, and local. The point is not to split hairs endlessly, but to make a difference on the ground. 

There are two billion young people in the world. We should prepare them to navigate the increasingly complex moral landscapes of the future with integrity and courage.

(The writer is a civil servant)