BACK in 2005-6, I asked a fellow academic and friend, originally from Argentina, who was visiting Pakistan for an extended period, what some of the differences were in what he saw in Pakistan and in South American countries. I wanted to steer the conversation towards increasing inequalities in Pakistan: some of the South American countries have had persistent and high economic inequality.
My friend surprised me. He asked me to explain why people in Pakistan, especially from more economically challenged backgrounds in particular, but in general as well, lacked confidence and were excessively obsequious and servile. I asked him for examples. He mentioned three: “The doorman at the hotel entrance: his duty is to be polite, welcome people and facilitate them in their comings/goings: why does he bow and scrape so abjectly? The driver who takes me around: why does he treat me as if he were less human and I were more human? The professionals I am interacting with, why do they lack confidence irrespective of how good they are in what they do? I understand politeness and duty, but to efface oneself so! Why?”
I had noticed the obsequiousness and the lack of confidence. But it had not hit me as a substantial issue until my colleague pointed it out to me. This article is an attempt at framing some hypotheses that have developed over the ensuing years.
Most students live in local contexts, but they do not exist in local contexts.
I interact with hundreds of students every academic year and in multiple institutions, and have been doing so for a couple of decades. Most of the students I interact with, irrespective of which economic class they come from, irrespective of whether they attended English-medium schools or state/low-fee private schools, seem to have a few characteristics in common.
Invariably, they are cut off from their mother or regional languages. Punjabis are probably the worst in this regard. Most students from Punjab are not comfortable speaking Punjabi even if many understand it. They have little respect for the language and most have strange notions of how Urdu/English are more ‘refined’ or more ‘evolved.’ The same, though to a lesser degree, is true of students from other linguistic groups as well.
But this is the least of the issues, though language is an important conduit through which other issues also arise and become entrenched. Most students are also cut off from local cultures: they have little knowledge and understanding of and respect for local cultures, local knowledge, local traditions, and local contexts. They live in local contexts but do not exist in local contexts.
Ask them, when was the last time they had kanji or sattu to drink? Do they know how these drinks are made? Or many of our traditional foods? Most students will not even know what you’re talking about. Others will just find you backward and less evolved: when colas are available, who needs sattu drink?
Education is not just about numeracy and literacy skills, or even subject knowledge; it is also about the development of the critical faculty of children; it is about their ability to be situated individuals who can interact as responsible community members and citizens in any given society. Every society also feels that the knowledge and understanding that previous generations have developed should be passed on to their children through education: our traditions, values, culture and languages do that.
Our education system is failing to do a number of the things mentioned above. Millions of children never get to go to schools. But even those who do, and we have plenty of evidence on this, are not getting the quality of education that we, as a society, should be imparting to them. Literacy and numeracy competence is low except in a small percentage of students who are fortunate enough to have been enrolled in an elite private school or an exceptional state or low-fee private school. Critical thinking skills are almost never focused on. And we are failing, almost completely, in imparting cultural and contextual knowledge/understanding to our children. It is no wonder then, that generally speaking, we lack confidence and are not grounded.
My grandmother could read and write Urdu but she was not a graduate and did not have any degrees. What always impressed me about her was her confidence in herself, her ability to hold her own against all, and her confident and balanced interaction with the world on the basis of how secure/situated she felt in any situation. And she had amazing knowledge, understanding and wisdom. Her interpersonal skills were quite astounding. Her knowledge of agriculture, local foods, traditional medicinal remedies, local crafts, animal husbandry, local and national politics and local society was legendary. She managed her own lands, ran refugee camps on her own (post-1947), and even delved in local politics (supported Fatima Jinnah against Ayub Khan) – all of this without much formal education and mainly on the basis of her ‘education’ that had been gained in the local context of her family and through living.
She sent her children to the best possible schools and colleges in Lahore. And, though her children have led and are leading very successful lives, in terms of confidence and wisdom/understanding, none of them come close to her.
This is not a diatribe against formal schooling or education, or even against English. We need all of that. On the contrary it is a plea, to society, to rethink and re-imagine what we teach and how we teach it. Apart from literacy/numeracy and other skills and subject knowledge, we need to work on giving our children the ability to think for themselves. We need to contextualise and possibly localise their knowledge. We need to situate them better in our languages, cultures and traditions.
They should be at home in all worlds. But for that to happen, they have to be grounded in their own world first.
The writer is a senior research fellow at the Institute of Development and Economic Alternatives and an associate professor of economics at LUMS, Lahore.
Published in Dawn, July 31st, 2015
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