Being a Political Science teacher has been a journey filled with constant questioning and renewal. From the very beginning, I have lived with a persistent doubt; am I truly equipped to teach Political Science in a way that is meaningful to my students? How effective can my teaching really be, when I am dealing with a subject that is so deeply tied to the everyday lives, identities, and emotions of those who walk into my classroom? These questions have only grown sharper in recent years, with the sweeping changes brought by the National Education Policy 2020 on one hand and the rise of artificial intelligence and digital technologies on the other.
Political Science is never a subject that can be taught in neat, neutral terms. It is not a discipline that exists in abstraction from the world outside the classroom. Every lecture, every discussion, inevitably brushes against lived realities; caste and class, gender and religion, power and injustice. Students bring their own histories and worldviews into the space, and the classroom becomes a site where personal experience collides with theoretical frameworks. This makes teaching Political Science exciting but also challenging. On some days, I wonder whether the very sensitivity of political ideas allows us to fully explore them in the classroom. Do I create enough space for disagreement without losing the discipline of inquiry? Do I risk silencing students if I demand too much structure, or risk chaos if I allow every emotion to flow unchecked? Teaching Political Science often feels like walking a tightrope, where balance is everything.
The National Education Policy 2020 has intensified these reflections. On paper, the NEP speaks of critical thinking, interdisciplinarity, experiential learning, and the cultivation of values. These are all ideals that sit comfortably with the ethos of Political Science, and even more so with the spirit of Paulo Freire’s pedagogy of dialogue and conscientization. The promise of students learning across disciplines, engaging with real-life problems, and reflecting on social inequalities resonates with the best traditions of Political Science education. Yet I also cannot ignore the contradictions that the NEP brings with it. Its heavy emphasis on employability risks reducing the study of politics to a utilitarian exercise, as though its worth can only be measured by the skills it produces for the market. Its centralizing tendencies, where curricula and standards are tightly regulated, could flatten the diversity of voices and experiences that are essential to democratic teaching. For me, the question is always: can I harness the opportunities of NEP while resisting its risks of depoliticizing the discipline I love?
Into this already complex picture enters the world of artificial intelligence and digital tools. Today, many of my students can produce essays and analyses at the click of a button, drawing on chatbots that synthesize information faster than I can explain it. At first, this felt like a threat, a disruption to the very foundations of teaching. If information is so easily accessible, what do I really add as a teacher? But as I reflect, I realize that my role was never simply to transmit information. Machines can provide content, but they cannot teach judgment. They cannot nurture the habits of democratic patience, the ethics of listening, or the courage to dissent responsibly. My responsibility as a teacher of Political Science is to help students learn how to ask better questions, how to read power critically, how to live with disagreement without dehumanizing one another. These are things no machine can do. In fact, AI becomes most meaningful in the classroom when students are encouraged to critique its outputs, to ask whose voices are missing, whose perspectives are privileged, and what kinds of power shape the knowledge that algorithms produce.
Still, the dilemmas remain. Teaching Political Science is always a double-edged sword. On one side lies the demand of the discipline: rigorous study, theoretical grounding, comparative analysis, and the courage to address uncomfortable truths. On the other side lies the sensitivity of political ideas themselves; their ability to inflame, to polarize, to silence. As teachers, we constantly balance between encouraging fearless inquiry and recognizing the need for care, for sensitivity, for respect. It is in this balancing act that the humanity of teaching lies. The Political Science classroom is not simply a space for argument; it is also a space for listening, for empathy, for realizing that the ideas we debate touch real lives.
Over the years, I have come to see that my own effectiveness as a teacher does not lie in having perfect methods or definitive answers. It lies in my willingness to keep questioning, to accept that teaching is always unfinished. Each class, each discussion, brings new surprises, new challenges. Each student pushes me to think differently. I am as much a learner as I am a teacher, and perhaps that is the true essence of this profession. Freire reminds us that teaching is never a neutral act; it either reinforces domination or opens the door to liberation. In a subject like Political Science, that reminder feels especially urgent.
On this Teachers’ Day, I think less about celebrating what I have achieved and more about cherishing the ongoing struggle of teaching. To guide students through the complexities of political thought, to hold space for disagreement, to bring structure without suffocation, to introduce new technologies without losing the human connection; these are the challenges that define my vocation. They are not easy, and perhaps they are not meant to be easy. But they are also profoundly rewarding.
Teaching Political Science is about more than conveying ideas. It is about practicing democracy in the classroom, every day. It is about nurturing citizens who can question, who can dissent, who can imagine better futures. And it is about reminding myself, constantly, that I am not just teaching politics but living politics with my students. That, for me, is both the burden and the joy of being a teacher.
The writer is Assistant Professor, Political Science, in Akal University. He has also taught in Jamia Millia Islamia, Ambedkar University and Delhi University.
