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Suicide, Trauma, and the Terror of Education: A Young Student’s Death Sparks Outrage at the Apathy of University Administrators

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A caption for image: Entrance view of Lady Shri Ram College for Women. Photo is in the public domain.

The current year has witnessed a global pandemic, continued warfare, as well as several natural disasters. Amidst increasing concerns on mental health and community welfare, the chasms of inequalities in education sectors have been widened by a glocal lockdown, which shifted to an online mode of learning, was marred by digital poverty. In the Global South, intersections of gender, caste, and class have furthered the gaps in education. Digital poverty is defined as a lack of Information and Communications Technology and might be a feature of any population segment, whether or not economically poor. In India, understanding everyday conflict is not always through an analysis of only physical violence, which is often overt and therefore more visible. One must also investigate muted violence which affects millions of people in the field of education, where students have no access to technological tools such as mobile phones, or laptops, and do not have internet connections.

Questions on digital poverty have not been adequately addressed by stakeholders, as students worldwide continue to suffer in various ways through inaccessible modes of online learning.

As people in India battled with an ill-implemented lockdown, which caused a considerable number of migrants to travel by foot to their homes in faraway districts, without any intervention from the government, students too found themselves at the end of these policies. The sudden lockdown affected those without resources and capital the most. The working class, small business owners such as street vendors who sold fruit and vegetables, and uber drivers were left with no income for months on end. In a tragic incident, a bright young undergraduate student, Aishwayra Reddy, enrolled in the University of Delhi’s Lady Shri Ram College for Women, lost her life to suicide. In Ms. Reddy’s college, the Residence Hall announced an abrupt deadline forcing students to vacate their rooms. Ms. Reddy did not have the means to afford off campus rent, which in India’s capital continues to be at an all-time high. As online classes progressed, digital poverty led her to believe there was no way out and she wrote, “If I cannot study, I cannot live.”

A recipient of a national scholarship scheme, Ms. Reddy’s academic achievements were no small feat. Born to working class parents in a small state in southern India, making it to one of India’s top-ranking colleges, which on its website claims its popular acronym LSR stands for ‘Leadership with Social Responsibility’. It is not unironic to note that whilst the Student’s Union, democratically elected by the students, put forth the students’ issues of not having internet, or smartphones, let alone laptops, their voices were pushed aside. The hostel warden commented that, “she had never approached the authorities about her situation.” The Student Union however, had shared details from google forms sent to students, seeking to highlight the issues faced by them.

Ms. Reddy continued her attempts to learn but fearing the gaps in her education would now overtake her meritorious abilities, committed suicide on 2 November 2020 asking that the money she was to receive from the scholarship be transferred to her parents. Her younger sister, in Year 7, is unable to afford going to school and after the loss of her only sibling, the future looks even bleaker. The lack of resources and opportunities in India works on multiple levels. Often, higher education is seen as a catalyst for upward social mobility, and when that is thwarted, the absence of State support through national schemes leaves people’s future bleak. Ms. Reddy’s against all odds journey could not overcome a generational poverty divide, amplified through systemic marginalisation of her gender, in a country where 48.5 million girls have gone missing over the past fifty years. Suicide cannot be seen as a ‘choice’ by an individual, and as we have tragically witnessed in a young, brilliant scholar’s short life, one’s own agency and freedom can only be navigated through a circumscribed arena aligned to factors of gender, class, caste and ethnicity.

It is important to point out that after the case of her institutional murder, the college authorities have given tone-deaf remarks about her situation. In an interview with a national news channel, the Principal of the college, Dr. Suman Sharma, claimed that, “the college was not involved in giving the scholarship and that no one was aware of the young girl’s financial condition.” The tone-deaf unapologetic response of the college only leads one to believe that intersectional feminism has a long way to go in spaces which seemingly cite themselves as spaces for women. One can argue that in spite of being an all women’s college, LSR is yet to recognise feminism as intersectional and include pluralistic discourses on empowerment and independence.

It is evident that in India, where celebrities are quick to post their political affiliations on

social media, they are incapable of recognising or acknowledging solidarity with India’s systematically oppressed people groups.  Lady Shri Ram College boasts of several famous alumni, ranging from a former Foreign Secretary to various CEOs and theatre artists and even Nobel Laureate Aung San Suu Kyi. Suu Kyi’s own problematic silence over the Rohingya genocide has called for the removal of various awards granted to her, yet, LSR’s new academic block named after her continues to uphold similar stains of selective activism. Moreover, it fails to demonstrate if there are any policies in place which seek to overturn hegemonic modes of learning or education dissemination.

Traditional intellectuals whose power lies in interlinked histories of caste and class privilege fail to be considered where in the world’s largest democracy, over ninety percent of the judges in courts are both men and upper caste. In the remaining spaces aimed to provide egalitarian arenas for women, equality and equity are a far cry from reality. The various declarations from the college authorities have continually failed to address the central issue of digital poverty and access. Interviews given to the national media in India seem to be veiled attempts to save face in the public eye. It must be noted that the institution is funded by the government, and therefore is more easily available to be scrutinised by the public.

As the pandemic continues across the globe, the field of education in India remains in a deteriorating condition, with the gap between the privileged and the not so privileged becoming even starker. State policy has seen no intervention by the government, as elections continue in certain parts of India, with the elected leaders diverting their attention to electoral politics. The crises are multifold and widespread.

Child marriages increased soon after the pandemic began, and young girls dropped out of school to become child brides. Young boys became victims of indentured labour as families across the region lost their incomes and were forced to employ their most vulnerable family members. These issues are interconnected and represent the failure of both State and civil society. India’s richest continued to soar in profits, whilst the weaker sections of society plunged further to the margins.

The multiple systematic failures at various levels only prove that even when there’s one step forward for young women to enrol in women’s only colleges, the same spaces are unable to recognise and address the issues of their students and continue to perpetuate tokenistic gestures in the name of empowerment. The ironical existence of such various institutions which become spotlights to gauge ‘development’ or test the quality of education in the name of women’s spaces, are yet to be inclusive and till today, refuse to be held accountable.

Genocide and its Relevance Today (Part I) – The Ongoing Relevance of Holocaust Education in German Migration Society: Why this Topic at all?

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by Elisabeth Beck

A passage through the Memorial to the Murdered Jews of Europe in Berlin (Image credit: Flickr/Jerzy Durczak)

The debate on migration is an emotionally charged one, particularly when that migration was forced. The same also applies to the discourse surrounding the culture of remembrance in Germany. The weight of such a discussion is further exacerbated when migration and memory are simultaneously present. Politicians and educators get involved in the discussion when it comes to the aims that Holocaust education ought to pursue in an immigration country, asking whether the participation of immigration and their prior life stories impact the objectives of that education in any meaningful way. People from different countries are socialised with various narratives about the Holocaust and, therefore, remember it differently – or not at all. Consequently, there is also a debate about the obligation for immigrants to learn about the ‘German’ past and to remember it in an assumed and specifically ‘German’ way. These various expectations from different players have created challenges for Holocaust education and, hence, the question arises as to how educational approaches in this field ought to look like in a society characterised by migration [1].

In 2017, of the 82.6 million people living in Germany, 19.3 million of them were seen or marked as ‘immigrants’ or had foreign backgrounds. In this light, Germany is a highly diverse country[2]. However, there are still people who reject this and seek to portray German society as a homogenous entity. Such a nation-state-oriented production of an ‘us’ – as a counterpart to an ‘other’, a ‘them’ – negates plurality which has been present even prior to the refugee crisis of 2015-2016. Global history is history of migration, and yet, this understanding is conflictual because discussing migration and forced migration remains highly complex and politically divided. The focus in social, scientific, and media debates on migration and integration is mostly on the linguistic and vocational training of immigrants and refugees. Because of this, little is known on how migration influences the way we remember, or on how education about the German past deals with processes of pluralisation. Even more so, it remains uncertain to what extent there exists a necessity of a ‘different’ or a rather more ‘contemporary’ method of remembrance.

When it comes to the Holocaust, there is a specific way of remembering the past in German society. In the past, the country developed and upheld a strongly institutionalised remembrance mechanism. This fulfills both political and social functions, from state integration, the identification with the political system, and consensus building to the creation of mass loyalty and stability assurance[3]. For this reason, history and its remembrance forms ‘our’ identity and the way we see ‘our’ society and ‘ourselves’, in stark contrast to the ‘the others’. Still, the construction of an ‘us’ refers to the rigid entity of nation and, in many cases, neglects the heterogeneity in society that results from migratory processes. In so doing, one of the biggest contemporary challenges is the inclusion of different perspectives in the education of history and the avoidance of the production of an ‘other’ (symbolised by such terms as ‘here’ and ‘there’ or ‘us’ and ‘them’). In short, Holocaust remembrance and Holocaust education in Germany needs to be open to new spheres and develop new forms of remembering and training in order to enable all people living in Germany to participate and conceptualise the country’s history.

Different communities and diverse groups remember ‘their’ past in various ways. Since remembrance is such a powerful resource, conflicts can emerge as a result of its different conceptualisation, e.g. in the form of victim hierarchies or ‘competitions’. In addition to the question of what plural remembrance can look like, the question of the legitimacy of remembering in general is also not uncommon in Germany. However, it is important to cope with fundamental societal changes and, therefore, with upcoming changes in Holocaust education and equally in genocide education. Discussing the reason why we ought to still remember at all and why we should think and educate about cruel pasts cannot be a solution.

Since the Holocaust is an event in history that shook the foundations of civilisation, Germany has a responsibility in remembering and not having to repeat the tragedies of the past[4]. This responsibility, however, arises not only from ‘being German’ or living in Germany. As human beings and critical individuals we all have the responsibility to prevent the occurrence of atrocities, namely any exclusion, discrimination, genocide, or ethnic cleansing in the world. This responsibility cannot be delegated to a national or state level. It must just as well be located within the individual. Recognising and developing this accountability is widely regarded as a challenge for education.

As such, education is an essential tool in the prevention of genocide by promoting knowledge about past violence. It does so by studying the causes, circumstances, dynamics, and consequences of such violent episodes in history; as well as developing skills, values, and attitudes in order to prevent group-targeted violence and genocide. Consequently, education needs to respond to changes in society by taking the diversity of people’s backgrounds and experiences with discrimination, exclusion, and the violation of human rights (often related to processes of migration– into account. This is particularly important in cases of forced migration caused by war and violent conflict, both underlining the necessity and urgency to address crimes against humanity in education.

Still, by including different views and perspectives of Holocaust education participants, challenges may occur. Educators need to face problems like anti-Semitism and discrimination with increasing frequency. The number of people harbouring anti-Semitic attitudes – such as Holocaust denial, is widespread, not only in the German right-wing extremist scene[5] but also in the region of the Middle East and North Africa where more than fifty per cent of refugees who fled to Germany in 2017 came from. Holocaust education cannot immunise against anti-Semitism but it can raise awareness and sensitise individuals to the different and in many cases traditional images of the enemy, and their different functions in respective societies. In so doing, Holocaust education in Germany can contribute to an increasing awareness of prejudices and stereotypes without demonising and putting refugees and migrants marked as ‘the others’ under general anti-Semitism.

Furthermore, research on this topic is mostly conducted in secondary school and training that usually takes place in school and through extracurricular youth education. Adults are rarely recipients of Holocaust education. In 2017, thirty-three per cent of the non-German population was at the age between 18 and 35 years. Therefore, it can be assumed that – depending on the latest migration movements in Germany – the majority of this community has not had access to the German educational system. Access to formal training is furthermore often limited and not available to every immigrant.

Consequently, immigrants and refugees living in Germany do not necessarily come in contact with Holocaust education in any formal way. They may not know about the meaning of the highly institutionalised Holocaust remembrance which is a key pillar in the formation of a presumed ‘German’ identity. This laguna presents a challenge to adult education because participants carry their own narratives and also victim discourses with them. These past experiences have a major impact on the education itself. Educators have to make sure that different narratives and family connections to the Holocaust are thematised. At the same time, they have to moderate and contextualise the different discourses in order to avoid a marginalisation or trivialisation of the Holocaust. Only a collaborative debate on the past – or rather different pasts – can help to highlight the relevance of this topic for German society and lead to a better understanding of the reason why it is important to remember – not only for German nationals but for every person living in Germany.

Equally important for developing a contemporary Holocaust education and genocide education for adults is the inclusion of various experiences of migration, discrimination, exclusion, and even the violation of human rights. The conceptualisation of a ‘Holocaust Education and Beyond’ that has an emancipatory effect and highlights the values of democracy and human rights is essential. Holocaust education has the aim of strengthening people into taking responsibility for their own actions in the present and future. Beyond that, Holocaust education as one of genocide education can provide knowledge and an ethical imperative for present and future actions by people. It can build bridges into the world in order to carry these ideas further to ensure a ‘Never Again!’[6] pertaining to any violation of human rights. Genocide being one of them.

[1] A migration society is characterized by the assumption that migration is a societal normality and that a society is influenced and shaped by migration processes. Therefore, every society is a migration society. Old and new affinities are negotiated conflictually. Contradictions of presumed clearly defined concepts of belonging, space and culture are identified, shown and deconstructed. However, set boundaries and limits are problematised by migration.

[2] With the term ‘diversity’ in this blog post I only refer to different ethnic backgrounds and diversity.

[3] Dietmar Schiller, “Politische Gedenktage in Deutschland. Zum Verhältnis von öffentlicher Erinnerung und politischer Kultur” in Aus Politik und Zeitgeschichte, 1993, B25/93, p. 32-39

[4] The responsibility for remembering results from the certainty that atrocities in history mostly started with latent terms of exclusion and discrimination. This is what has to be prevented by remembering the past since history does not repeat exactly the same way it happened (see for example Jörn Leonhard, Die Büchse der Pandora. Geschichte des Ersten Weltkriegs)

[5] The German Federal Ministry of the Interior indicates a number of 25.000 people for whom there are indications of a right-wing extremist endeavour.

[6] Theodor Adorno states in his essay “Education After Auschwitz”: “The premier demand upon all education is that Auschwitz not happen again. […] Every debate about the ideals of education is trivial and inconsequential compared to this single ideal: never again Auschwitz.” (emphasis added by the author)

Elisabeth Beck is a research associate at the Center for Flight and Migration and a PhD student in educational science at the Department of Adult Education and Extra-Curricular Education, both at the Catholic University of Eichstätt-Ingolstadt. Her research interests include education in the context of heterogeneity, migration pedagogy, Holocaust education, human rights education, and civic studies. Furthermore, she is a lecturer at the University of Augsburg. During her PhD training, she also served as a research associate at the University of Augsburg, where she acquired her Master’s Degree. Her current research project focuses on new perspectives in Holocaust education in the German migration society.

Seeing through the fog of war: the need for Professional Military Ethics Education

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By Gwilym Williams:

A US soldier burns a Vietnamese dwelling during the My Lai massacre, 1968, when between 350 and 500 unarmed civilians were killed by US soldiers.
A US soldier burns a Vietnamese dwelling during the My Lai massacre, 1968, when between 350 and 500 unarmed civilians were killed by US soldiers. The massacre is a common case study in current military ethics teaching. (Photo: Ronald L. Haeberle, US DoD, Wikimedia)

Modern warfare is not a straightforward business. Amidst the fog of war, combatants are expected to make life and death decisions, weigh up the possible consequences of their actions, and consider whether their actions are right or wrong, just or unjust, in a matter of seconds. Ill-defined enemies, the presence of civilians, and intense media scrutiny all make these decisions, and therefore combat, particularly complex on land, at sea, and in the air. An ethical understanding is vital is this context, with an effective Professional Military Ethical Education needed to help guide military personnel when making such decisions.

In recent conflicts, professional service personnel of Western militaries have carried out acts in contravention of the Laws of Armed Conflict. In Iraq, there was the abuse of prisoners at Abu Ghraib, and the shooting of civilians and journalists in the infamous Wikileaks exposé dubbed ‘Collateral Murder’. In Afghanistan, there was the case of ‘Marine A’, convicted for the murder of a wounded enemy combatant.

Similarly, militaries are not exempt from the ongoing efforts to achieve equality and diversity in society. Scandals, such as the Deepcut deaths and allegations of abuse in Britain, and the revelations of rape within the U.S. military, are not only abhorrent events within themselves, but reflect very badly on the services as institutions, both domestically and abroad.

Henrik Syse and Martin L. Cook argued in 2010 that service personnel need to better understand the ethical demands of them, and the dilemmas they may face, so that they can act appropriately when faced with such situations.[i] The very fact that the aforementioned examples have occurred represent ethical failures on the part of some individuals, and thereby vindicates Cook and Syse’s argument.

Even if someone does not carry out an act but allows it to occur or does nothing to stop it once it is happening, there would be serious questions as to whether they acted appropriately, or whether they made the wrong decision when also faced with an ethical dilemma. This is not to say, however, that all military personnel will fail when posed with an ethical challenge. But the existence of such abuses and failings demonstrates that individuals are capable of making the wrong choices.

Both national and international laws such as the Laws of Armed Conflict and International Humanitarian Law tell military personnel whether something is legally permitted. However, ethics helps to answer the question of whether someone should do something. Although this is a different type of question, it is singularly important, particularly when a decision is made when lives are at stake.

Yet the existing methods of equipping the military to deal with ethical challenges are often lacking. At present, by learning certain values and standards expected of those in the military, and how they should apply these values to any ethical situation they may encounter, most service personnel are ‘taught’ how to tackle such issues. Instead, service personnel should be encouraged to consider the reasons and rationale behind these virtues, and how they should apply them. Although a somewhat subtle difference, this ‘education’ could prompt widespread change, and better equip service personnel to deal with ethical challenges.

Many militaries have neither the resources nor infrastructure to deliver ethical education to those within their ranks, instead relying on foreign academics to deliver ethics education.[ii] For example, one British academic has helped to deliver this education to the militaries of Baltic States, Brunei Darussalam, and Nigeria, amongst others.[iii] Whilst many countries are enthusiastic about the delivery of ethics education, other militaries have demonstrated a lack of interest in the matter, with the subject poorly, if at all, integrated into the curriculum, and the teaching only existing so that the military could be seen to deliver something on the issue.[iv] Clearly, in these cases, service personnel can receive an inadequate level of ethical training to cope with the demands of the jobs they will face in the future.

At the Royal Military Academy Sandhurst, British Officer Cadets are expected to gain an ethical framework by studying practical applied ethics via dilemmas presented both in the field and in the classroom.[v] This framework is ultimately derived from the virtues set out in Values and Standards, a document designed to shape and guide the character of those in the British Army.[vi]

Likewise, the other three services in the British Military (including the Royal Marines) have their own sets of values and standards. In the Army, these Values and Standards, together with the Laws of Armed Conflict are tested via Military Annual Training Tests (MATTs). Yet, having spoken to serving Army officers, many feel that all too often ethics education is reduced to being ‘a tick in a box’ – something to achieve before the end of the year.

Similarly, at West Point, the United States Military Academy, cadets are issued with cards detailing the seven virtues expected of American soldiers.[vii] However, as J. Joseph Miller argues, this removes the virtues from any context, which limits the ultimate value of knowing these virtues.[viii] In both the British and American systems, the risk of merely teaching service personnel ideal virtues in isolation is that whilst soldiers have an understanding of the virtues and characteristics that they should possess, they do not perhaps have a deep enough understanding of the reasoning behind these.

Whilst existing methods provide a good framework of virtues and standards, there is a danger that it instils a binary perspective on a dilemma – that is to say, there is a good or bad, right or wrong solution to an ethical challenge. As Patrick Mileham argues, ‘While principles can be taught, developing the ability to form moral judgements can only be achieved up to a point. That requires acute imagination and intelligence’.[ix]

Thus, the current military ethics teaching needs to be developed into military ethics education. By helping service personnel to form their own moral judgments, rather than just regurgitating codes of conduct, those in the military will be better placed to understand the ethical aspects of decisions facing them both on operations and in day-to-day life.

Critics might argue that this suggestion is merely idealistic. Yet tools have been, and continue to be developed to achieve this aim. For example, the Norwegian military use playing cards to promote and normalise the discussion of ethical issues, and a similar project also utilising playing cards as learning aids to supplement existing ethics discussion and education, and to prompt more informal interest in the subject, is being undertaken at the Defence Studies Department of King’s College London. The Defence Studies Department is also exploring the possibility of delivering Professional Military Ethics Education via a Massive Open Online Course (MOOC). This, however, requires both investment from militaries and academics, and uptake and implementation by military authorities so that the positive effects of this education can be as widespread as possible.

One caveat to note is that this is not an argument to suggest that service personnel should become high-level moral philosophers able to weigh up the pros and cons of Kantian ethics against utilitarianism. Nor is it trying to convince combatants to become pacifists and to lay down their arms. It is simply trying to improve the conduct with which wars are fought, and to ensure equality is achieved in everyday military life.

Ethical decisions are often difficult to make. But if Professional Military Ethics Education becomes widespread, service personnel should be better equipped to deal with the dilemmas and challenges which face them. And it is hoped that by having a greater understanding of these problems, military personnel will be able to make better decisions.

Gwilym Williams is an Undergraduate Research Fellow in the Centre of Military Ethics of the Defence Studies Department, King’s College London. He graduated from King’s in July 2015 with a BA in History, and is currently studying for an MA in War Studies at King’s College London.

Acknowledgements

My thanks to Dr. David Whetham and the editors of Strife for their helpful and constructive comments on earlier drafts of this piece.

NOTES

[i] Martin L. Cook and Henrik Syse, ‘What Should We Mean by ‘Military Ethics’, Journal of Military Ethics, vol. 9, no. 2, 2010, p119-120.

[ii] David Whetham, ‘Expeditionary Ethics Education’, in George Lucas (ed.), Routledge Handbook of Military Ethics, (Routledge, Abingdon, 2015), p124.

[iii] Ibid. p124-125.

[iv] Ibid. p127.

[v] Stephen Deakin, ‘Education in an Ethos at the Royal Military Academy Sandhurst’, in Nigel de Lee, Don Carrick, Paul Robinson (eds.), Ethics Education in the Military, (Aldershot: Ashgate, 2008), p16.

[vi] Ibid. p23.

[vii] J. Joseph Miller, ‘Squaring the circle: Teaching philosophical ethics in the military’, Journal of Military Ethics, vol. 3, no. 3, 2004, p202-203.

[viii] Ibid. p204.

[ix] Patrick Mileham, ‘Teaching Military Ethics in the British Armed Forces’, in Nigel de Lee, Don Carrick, Paul Robinson (eds.), Ethics Education in the Military, (Aldershot: Ashgate, 2008), p50.

Diary of a Teacher: Reflections of a South African MP on education during apartheid

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By Professor Gertrude Fester:

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My schooling was under apartheid South Africa (SA) and yes, the system taught us directly and indirectly that we were inferior. Fortunately, at High school we had teachers from the Trotskyite Unity Movement of South Africa (UMSA). They made us interrogate the system in SA.  So even though we were given ‘coloured’ education we rejected that we were inferior. We also knew that for the external examinations we should be careful about what we wrote and avoided any political critique of the country.

Later as a teacher at high school, we were confronted with all the contradictions, discrimination and exploitation of teaching – the syllabuses to teach, the hierarchical nature of the school and the omnipotent reactionary principal in all his patriarchal glory.  White teachers educated at the same institutions earned extra ‘inconvenience’ payment for working at a coloured school.  Male colleagues earned more than us women – and if any of us women dared to marry, we would lose our permanent positions, could re-apply but then had the ambiguous status of being ‘temporary indefinite’.  How did some of us as progressives survive? As some of us taught English, we used literature to explore totalitarian societies, exploitation, sexism and examined the parallels with our context. Newspaper articles were analysed to highlight propaganda and we examined the role of the media in reinforcing the status quo.  We put in extra hours, started film and debating societies and produced plays annually.   Shakespeare and Brecht were vehicles to critique social, economic and political aspects of our society.   We marched with our students against Bantustan education in 1976. In confrontation with black police who beat our students when they had peaceful protests, we challenged them.  Initially we tried to explain and later argued with the police that they were pawns in the regime.

Political unrest again flared up in the 1980s. I joined community structures.  One such was the United Democratic Front (UDF, an umbrella body of more than 100 anti-apartheid structures with all the contradictions- capitalists, communists, Catholics, atheists and Protestants, the Call of Islam, and Jews for Justice. Later the Organisation of Lesbians and Gays, OLGA, also joined. This was an indication of the broadening of our struggle.  In the UDF there was a student of mine from 1976. He was a radical who came for two meetings and left.   But before his departure, he accused me of ‘selling out’ in the 1980s as I had chased them into class when they wanted to boycott. I was puzzled as I also saw myself as progressive, supporting the students’ protests. I could not recall this. Later I then remembered he threw a stone at me when I walked into the classroom. The principal approached us while we were standing outside of the classroom. I then requested students to come into the classroom.  I then walked into the classroom.  Yes, the boundaries were blurred – being a teacher was also being part of the oppressors.

One of the challenges confronting us at a later stage on teaching student teachers was convincing them that getting quality education was also a means of defying oppression.  The student leaders had to be encouraged to not only make mobilizing impassioned speeches at political rallies but should balance attention regarding their academic work well.   Many of these student leaders were too busy ‘organising’ to do their academic work. Or even come to the few classes that materialized.

A state of emergency was declared in mid-1985 giving police and army draconian powers.  The students responded with boycotts and the community with petitions and protests in general. Mass arrests and police brutality with impunity followed.  This exacerbated the general uprising. The students were divided – whether to attend class or whether to continue boycotting and making SA ‘ungovernable’.  There was no teaching for most of 1985. Imagine our surprise when we as lecturers were instructed to set final exams. In the staff meeting I enquired on what we had to set exams as we had done minimal academic teaching. We were instructed to set exams as if there were normal teaching.  We also had to give students handouts on the exam- outlining relevant sections to prepare (and compromise standards, reinforcing the very gutter education the protests were highlighting).

I encountered students on campus crying, appealing to me, and I am sure other lecturers, whether they should write examinations or not. I emphasised that that was a decision that they alone could take. When the examinations came, some students chose to write while the majority boycotted.

Now as a teacher in Central Africa, new and different questions arise.  Currently I find myself in a context of a society emerging from horrendous political conflict.  Subsequently no culture of reading or rigorous academic enquiry exists.   I am teaching economic elites in English.  How does one teach and maintain a standard commensurate with levels at similar institutions elsewhere in the world?  What ‘standards’ do I promote and encourage given the response from students that they, as bureaucrats, have no time to read?  I am seen as having unrealistic demands. The director agrees. Shall I bow to the fallacy that as an African in a poor African country, I must be satisfied with mediocrity?  In SA we had a slogan:  ‘No normal sport in an abnormal society’.  Shall this be a case of no ‘normal’ standards, whatever ‘normal’ may be, in an underdeveloped country?   Another slogan we used was:  ‘La Luta Continua!’  So this is a case of the struggle continues.

 

Gertrude Fester is a former Member of Parliament in South Africa and Commissioner of the Gender Commission. A feminist political activist, she taught, until recently, Transitional Justice mainstreaming gender, at the Kigali Institute for Education. She is research coordinator of Rwandan Association of University Women and writes fiction and non-fiction, particularly on the lives of women and marginalised people’s.’ She currently lives in Rwanda.