On Values and Education

I was in grade 8, sitting in our mandatory “Moral Science” class, which was taught by the teacher who was also known as the ‘Discipline Head’ of our school (the kind that made even the most courageous hearts begin to simper). You know, the kind who would storm into class and demand loudly, “Is there anyone here who does not believe in God?” (I forgot to mention it was a convent) and many of us would sink down into our seats to avoid any eye contact, all the while forcing our mouths to stay shut.

Every week, we’d learn about the importance of kindness, and patience, and respect; and every week, we would struggle to remain awake in the class. Occasionally, to break the monotony, we were divided into groups and asked to come up with a skit to show a particular value – but not even once were we given the option of saying, “But what if…?”

**************

During my four years in college in Canada, I met many people from Pakistan, and got to know so much about the country, that by the time I had to leave, my closest friends were all Pakistanis. When I joined Teach for India immediately after, I wanted to create a classroom where students thought about Pakistan as openly as I did, and yet, seeing that they were in Grade 2, I felt it was too early to engage in such a conversation. Plus, I think a part of me just balked at the idea of trying to infuse values with education, given the damage that my moral science classes had tried to do on me. So, I did nothing about it. And one day, one of my students walked up to me with a drawing he had made and showed it to me proudly, saying, “Yeh India hai. Aur yeh Pakistan hai. Aur yeh India Pakistan par missile daal raha hai.” [This is India, and this is Pakistan. And this is India throwing a missile at Pakistan.]

****************

Over the years, I’ve gone back and forth on my stance on values in education. On one hand, I feel really strongly about the need for education to include (if not entirely focus on) values; on the other, the notion of ‘moral education’ makes me squirm in extreme discomfort and want to run in the opposite direction.

My two years with Teach for India only furthered the tug-of-war. While part of me still resisted the idea of moral education, another part felt that there has to be something more to education that just the learning of facts and the passing of exams. And yet, I didn’t know how to even approach the subject of values.

In my second year as a teacher, that decision was taken out of my hands as the school adopted certain value-based rules that all classrooms had to comply with: something like a moral code of conduct. There were rules like respecting others and taking care of school property and being honest and kind. I think the intent was genuine, and the students actually seemed to love it. They were given incentives to comply with the rules, and would also come up with skits to act out these rules (I’m seeing the pattern only as I’m writing this).

Yet the entire time, I had this nagging feeling that something was off about this. Something wasn’t working. The students still fought as much as before; they showed respect only where they knew it was worth their while; and there was really no evident concern for each other’s well-being. And I kept wondering that if these values could not even get them to care about each other, weren’t concepts like Pakistan, the environment, humanity and the world out of line?

I joined the Fellowship enthused with the idea of completely transforming the lives of my students. I left the Fellowship so disillusioned by the entire education system, such that I couldn’t even say why we even needed education. On one hand, I could see the mess that we called our planet – the wars, the rapes, the hurt, the pain, the suffocation. On the other, there was a hoard of people hailing education as our only savior. And I just could not see the connection between the two.

I thought an MA Education would offer some answers. But by the end of the first year, after having studied the sociology, philosophy, and psychology of education, I couldn’t even say what education was in the first place. There were too many questions, and no solid answers.

The only thing that I knew for sure (though entirely based on intuition) is that there had to be more to education that just academics – whether we call it skills or values; whatever it is, there had to be something more. And so, I found myself subconsciously pushing myself to take on research projects that were about values, such as analyzing the approach to moral education in Krishnamurti schools through a philosophical lens, and studying how children’s literature is used to ‘teach values’. And the more I researched, the more I realized how complex this subject was. But somewhere along the line, I think I began to form a more solid opinion of where I stand on the issue.

So here it is.

Question 1: How does one teach values?

Do you give students a list of values that they must imbibe? Do you guise values in the form of rules? Do you incentivize students with rewards and punishments? Do you instill values using the fear of God approach? Or do you regale with them with old and tested ‘moral of the story’ tales?

For me, I think the answer lies in the question itself.

How does one teach values? You don’t, because values cannot be taught.

At best, you can make students think about values, but you can’t teach them.

At best, you can present students with situations where they are forced to look at all the perspectives in the situations, and understand the conflict that each position holds.

At best, you can encourage students to attempt to reason out their own position on issues through a thorough discussion.

At best, you can let students know that no value is absolute, and that it’s okay to feel confused about your thoughts.

But you still can’t teach values.

At least, not the kind of values we tend to think of. You know: kindness, perseverance, respect, courage, honesty, etc. The stuff that we believe we should force into our students when all around them they can see a world that is clearly going in the opposite direction.

This brings me to the second (and perhaps most important) question: what do I mean by values anyway?

Clearly, my idea of morality is not the imbibing of the list of values society generally tends to propagate. It’s something much more abstract, and because I can't explain it, I’m going to hand it over to an expert.

Krishnamurti said that morality is “an awareness of and sensitivity to an individual’s relationship with everything around – to people, to nature, to property, etc.”

That’s it.

Think about it. Could this definition work? Could the development of a social consciousness and awareness of self actually encompass the kind of students we want to see in our classrooms?

If yes, then perhaps an approach that encourages thinking and discussion and reflection doesn’t seem so far-fetched after all.

*********** Original End of Post *************

A friend messaged me saying that this post ended too abruptly. And that's true, but I think I stopped writing because I thought it was becoming too long already. But as a result, I skimmed over what was probably the most important part of this post. So, for those of you who have the patience to continue reading, here it goes.

Assuming you've thought about the definition of morality (yes yes, I'm being presumptuous about the interactivity of this medium), let me try to hash it out myself.

When we say awareness, it's not just an awareness of your surroundings, but an awareness of your relationship with the surroundings. This means, an understanding of how your actions affect the people and the nature around you, and vice-versa. For instance, an awareness that throwing out that wrapper on to the street because you can't find a dustbin would mean that it would either lie there forever and add to the garbage on the ground, or that another person would have to come and pick up after you. An awareness that when you brandish your victory in a competition, you're possibly taking away a notch of your opponent's self-confidence. An awareness that when you chain up that dog to prevent it from biting your child, you're probably causing the dog a considerable amount of discomfort and pain.

This list could go on. But I'm hoping that you can begin to see the kind of consciousness that emerge from this kind of awareness. 

Notice, however, that these statements do not suggest a simplistic right or wrong. In each of these situations, there is a clash of beliefs: personal convenience versus public cleanliness; the joy of victory versus the disappointment of defeat; concern for your child's safety versus concern for the dog's pain. There really isn't one simple way of making a choice here that could be applied universally.

[On a side note, I think this is where most of our attempts at teaching values gets sidelined. We assume that there is a universal right thing that everyone can agree upon. We approach values with a kind of simplicity that completely neglects the complexity with which they work in our lives; sometimes, against each other. We teach honesty. We teach loyalty. Yet we never consider difficulty of the situation where my honesty could lead to a friend getting in trouble. Or a situation where kindness to one means unfairness to another. Or countless other situations that represent life far more accurately than the fairy tale black and white versions.*]

Yet an approach to morality that emphasizes awareness presumes that value-based decisions are difficult, and might lead to different conclusions for different people. It will push people to approach any given situation with an openness and eagerness to understand the situation from all possible angles, and then leave the individual to make their choice.

And really, that's all we can ask of people. Consideration of different perspectives. Thinking about the impact of their actions (or inactions). Such that going forward, whatever decision they make, it stems from an understanding of its merits and demerits. Imagine a world where people made decisions with the humility to accept its limitations, instead of the conviction that it's the best decision and should appeal equally to every other person as well. Well, it might be confused world, I suppose. But it might just be a world willing to listen to and learn from each other.

************** 

*Thought for the day: If we were teaching a lesson in class that emphasized forgiveness, do you think it would be worthwhile to get students to think about why it doesn't apply to the legal criminal justice system?


Disclaimer: This post may not be representative of Krishnamurti's beliefs. I've used his definition of morality and interpreted it in my own way.

The Moral of the Story

Can you recall reading a story that made you smile, laugh, cry, fume, fear, and feel all those emotions that refused to leave you even as you forced yourself to try and sleep for the few remaining hours of the night? The emotions that made you want to grab the nearest person and discuss the story to no end, only to realize that everyone in the vicinity had already gone to sleep? The emotions that played on your mind for the next many days, surfacing randomly and unannounced as you went through your routine, triggered by the slightest of memories.

Now, can you also recall the last line of that same story, which said in big, clear letters, “The moral of the story is…”?

If you’re one of those few people who actually answered yes to both questions, there’s a high chance that you might want to write away this article as pompous and self-righteous (which admittedly, it is). But for the other group who read the second question and went “Huh? What…?” – a group that I’m hoping is in the majority – this might just be something you connect with.

For as long as I can remember, the stories that we read in schools – the ones that not-so-subtly taught us about good and evil – ended with a moral of the story. You know, ‘honesty is the best policy’; ‘slow and steady wins the race’; ‘a friend in need is a friend indeed’, etc.

Cringe-worthy, I know.

But the fact is, these ‘moral of the story’ stories have reigned children’s literature for the longest time. And as much as I criticize them, they’ve been a favourite of many teachers and parents. Why? Because we as a society tend to believe that children need to be taught values, and that stories are a great medium of doing that. And in a way, that does make sense. After all, a lot of what I've learnt has come from books. And what would be the point of having books for children if they can’t pick up these values through them?

A lot, actually.

Last year, I did a research project on children’s literature, and what parameters are / can be used to determine what qualifies as good children’s literature. I spoke to many writers and editors, and through that process, realized that one of the biggest issues with children’s stories is that they are written for children.

Read that sentence again if you need to.

Let me explain.

When people write a story in general, they write it because they want to tell the story. The basic intent is just that – telling the story. But when people write a story for children, they’re suddenly burdened with the subconscious task of teaching them something. About good. About bad. About choices. About struggles. And while some of these subjects are worth learning about, they come at the cost of the story itself. What results is a struggle, “a battle between instruction and amusement, between restraint and freedom, between hesitant morality and spontaneous happiness” (Harvey Darton).

Basically, the intent to educate overpowers the intent to tell the story.

And that’s tragic, because I loved Neil Gaiman's suggestion that the four words that best capture stories are: “And then what happened?” These words capture the pull of the best stories, the ones that leave you with the thirst for wanting to know what happens next, and the power that stops you from putting the book down.

Replacing those words with “What did we learn from this?” somehow doesn't match up to that excitement. It takes away not just from the story itself, but also undermines the children reading the stories.

The assumption that children need to be taught about good and bad, that they need to be protected from the complexities of difficult decisions, that they need to be presented with a world that exists in black and white, - really undermines the kind of thought they are capable of. An editor captured this by saying, “the happiest things are there in stories and the saddest things are there in stories…just as adults need exposure to them, so do children”.

So then, how does one write for children, really? Starting with a disclaimer that I personally have no experience in this particular field, I’d venture a guess saying: “the way you’d write for anyone”. Begin the story by asking yourself about what story you want to tell, and not what lesson you want to teach. Stop thinking of children as children, because the moment we do that, we dilute the story with the banalities of simplicity that pull out all the shades of colour from it.

But – what happened to the learning? If we say that stories are a great source of learning, how does that happen if we ignore the educational component?

Take the example of Harry Potter (because, let’s face it, how can any blog that I write [particularly one about good stories] be complete without a reference to Harry Potter?) A study found that children who read Harry Potter showed increasing tolerance to cultural diversity, and were less prone to prejudice. In fairness, I can’t vouch for the validity of such a claim, but I can completely see it happening. Who could read the Harry Potter series and escape without respect for people with all kinds of magical and non-magical abilities? Who can claim to love Hermoine and yet hate ‘Mudbloods’? And who can laud Harry's courage without admitting to his fear and anger as well? The book is a great space for grappling with values, but I doubt that J.K. Rowling set off to write these books with an intention to teach children to be good. At least, I hope not.

Think back to some of your favourite books and stories. What did they have? Personally, I think the best stories have it all: the choices, the conflicts, the struggles, the fear, the hope, the anger, the ups, the downs. The stories that stay with you are the ones that draw you into the lives of the characters and make you feel what they do. And watching the dilemmas and successes of the characters can foster empathy and tolerance, and important moments of crisis in the stories can aid emotional and moral development in children. But that development is incidental, not intentional.

An editor summed up these thoughts fairly well: “If you think about an issue and then write a story about it, then it doesn’t seem natural. You might as well write an article then.” Like this post. It’s self-righteous. It’s preachy. It’s presumptuous. But then, it was never meant to be a story.

Musings from Ladakh

Something that crossed my head as I gazed at the mountains in Ladakh...

Meandering through the roads

My eyes are drawn to you

Rising high

On each side

Standing stiff

Yet flowing

With an inexplicable ease

Towering

And soothing

So different from the others

Not a patch of green

Your head held high

Bare

Gorgeous

Gigantic

Unending

And…

Majestic

So majestic

It’s not a word I’ve ever used before

Nor felt any inclination to

But there’s no other way to describe you

As I crane my neck high

Feeling humbled in your presence

And I can’t help but wonder

Who was it

Who first looked upon you

And thought

I own you

You belong to me now

What was going through his head

As he chose to add you to his list of possessions

The clothes

The car

The dog

The child

And now you

What was it

That made him lay claim

To a peak he could hardy reach

To a range he could barely see

And what were they thinking

They who came after him

They who inherited you

They who called you theirs

They who went to all lengths to keep you as theirs

Believing

Strongly

Like their ancestors before

That they own you

That you can be owned

And you stood there

As generations passed

As wars passed

As claims passed

You stood there

Majestic, as always

Not in your pride

Not in your power

But in the simple belief

That you just don’t care.

On People and Stories

I’ve been an avid user of Facebook for many years now (8 to be exact), and I can look back and see how my relationship with this site has changed. It started at the end of my teen years, where the initial source of pleasure resided in the increasing number of ‘friends’ that you had. Over the college years, it moved to witty status updates, the ones that you felt strongly about, and yet also enjoyed seeing the number of likes go up. In the last few years, it’s become more about engaging in fleeting dialogues about social issues around the world – a way to shout out against the injustices and appreciate the nicer events.

But recently, it’s changed again. Now, it’s no longer about national or global issues. It’s not about political or social change. It’s about something that I’ve come to realize is so much more important to me.

It’s about individuals. And their stories.

*************

It started with a simple ‘like’ of the Humans of New York (HONY) page after having read a few of the anecdotes that were shared on it. A few months later, I came across of Humans of Bombay page, and decided to like it too. And then a Humans of Bangalore. And then, one day, I decided to search for ‘Humans of’ on Facebook, and decided to follow almost every page I came across: Humans of Vizag, India, Karachi, Dilli, Delhi, Singapore, Toronto, and probably a few others.

And every day, I found myself waking up to stories of friendship, love, inspiration, tears, struggles, death, smiles, passion – stories that resonated with me no matter which part of the world they belonged to. And each time I read and shared one of those stories (and trust me, there were a lot), I’d find myself thinking – why isn’t this stuff used in classrooms? Why do we read stories that have been created especially for the purpose of education, but ignore the stories where the real education is found?

I mean, imagine a classroom where one such story is shared with students on a daily basis – how much would they open their minds to the diversity that begins in their home and cuts all borders? And imagine the students themselves going out and talking to people and getting such stories – how could they not learn from such a direct and raw experience?

See, the thing is – stories have a power. And I don’t know if this is more true for me than for others, but stories are the only way I’ve ever learnt. The only way I could understand the digestive system was to think about what happens to the morsel of food from the moment it enters our mouth. Ask me to relay any sociological or development theory that I’ve learnt in the last two years, and I’ll draw up blank. But tell me the story of the worker who is forced into slavery by working in the brick kilns of Pakistan (Humans of New York), and I’ll never forget it. I’ve never been able to remember the structure or function of the government that we learnt in civics despite numerous attempts (my dad will attest to that), but the story of the old woman in Vizag who travels daily to the city to sell eggs because her entire family deserted her leaving her with no other source of income – I think I’ll always remember that. 

Increasing research is now suggesting that stories are the best way for a person to learn, because that's how our brains are wired. Think about it - HONY, in a single trip to Pakistan, has probably been able to tell the world more about this country than any history book or media coverage ever could!

And I've been trying to figure out what it is about stories that appeals to me that I can't find through information and data or even my favourite Wikipedia. And I think it boils down to stories being about people. About individuals. They may tell tales of political upheavels and social change; they may be about large events in history; they may be about complicated concepts; but they are still stories of individuals. And crazily enough, as violent and disruptive and thoughtless as we humans seem to be when we act as a group or a mob or a nation, as individuals, we’re very different. We become people who care, people who struggle, people who learn – people who feel. The concept of slavery in the states doesn't hit you as hard until you hear about the stories of individuals who suffered. Why did The Kite Runner become so popular? Not because it had a great plot (which it probably did), but because it gave us all a glimpse into life in Afghanistan from a single person, a glimpse that the media never could give.

And it doesn't matter if it' fiction or non-fiction - it's the story told through the eyes of the person that matters - a story that draws you in, makes you feel the fear and the hope of the protagonist to the extent that you know it'll never completely leave you. I mean, imagine if the Harry Potter books were just a series of events describing the magical world into which this new person has entered to fight the Dark Lord, without us ever experiencing it through Harry's eyes, and feeling his wonder, his confusion, his doubt, his determination?! (Okay, don't imagine that. It's shudder-worthy).

So where does this leave me?

It leaves me with a firm belief in the power of stories, and yet surrounded by textbooks that emphasize historical events and scientific concepts over stories. Sure, the NCERT has attempted to move in the direction of stories, but these stories are still limited, because they focus on creating a fictional story whose sole purpose is to introduce the topic of addition or fractions. They are stories created for a purpose - a purpose of teaching something (a whole other blog post needed on that topic). Whereas the stories that stay with us - the stories of HONY and Harry Potter and The Kite Runner - these are stories that were told just because someone wanted to tell them.

And those are the best kind.

The Clouded Mirror

There’s this object I own

An artefact, of sorts

Rather plain to look at

But the envy of lots

Don’t be fooled by its name

It’s not just a mirror, you see

Because it only shows

The very best version of me

The kind I want to be

The kind I want to look

The kind for which in my dreams

I am often, mistook.

And it’s not just me

My friends feel it too

One feels fairer, another, thinner

And one swears her breasts even grew.

And we stare at it for hours

Lost in a state of bliss

Because without that image

Everything feels amiss

Try and make us step aside

And you’ll see a state of despair

Because how we dream to look

Is all that of which we’re aware

We were told, after all

Since our very first birthday

That we want to look beautiful

And beauty only looks a certain way

So why would we bother

To even try to look otherwise

To be happy with ourselves

And treasure our bodies – what a vice!

To actually listen to that murmur

That’s coming from deep inside

Urging us to step away

And actually open our eyes wide

And see that what’s in the mirror

Is actually just a trick of a cloud

Blurring the image that is real

Of the one we should’ve been proud

But our response is outrage

Calling out the murmur on its lies

And we continue to gaze happily

While we drown it out with our cries

Because there’s a small secret, you see

That I haven’t shared with you as yet

We actually know all about the cloud

It’s kind of like our safety net

We put it there ourselves

To bring our ideals nearer

So we wouldn’t have to cringe each time

We decided to look at the mirror

Because each time we step away

Is a reminder of who we are

That we’re not good enough this way

That the journey ahead is far

And so we keep going back

To gaze and gaze all day

Because in that clouded image

We feel like we’re okay

Because the mirror doesn’t just show

The very best version of me

But the version the world’s convinced me

That shows how I ought to be.

I entered a writing challenge this week, wherein I was given a word that I had to weave into my writing. But the thing is, I knew what I wanted to write about long before I saw the word, because it’s something that’s been nagging me for a few weeks [*cough* years *cough*] now.

Acne.

Yea, I know. In an age where we’re faced with countless global problems encompassing humanity and our planet, the thing that’s been bugging me lately is the little pimple on my face. Okay, fine, it’s not really little. And neither is it singular. More like a break out. The kind that’s in [on?] your face. And a little hard to ignore. Because of the incessant pain. And also because it…you know…doesn’t look so nice.

So, for a little context – I’ve had acne problems well since my teenage years. It’s the kind of phase you realize isn’t actually a phase in your case – more like, a perpetual state of being. A partner in crime, if you like. A shadow. An incessant pest. The kind of friend you just can’t get away from. Okay, you get the picture.

And an occasional hazard of having such visible pimples on your face is that it comes up a lot in random conversations:

Me: Hi! How have you been? It’s been so long!

Other: Oh you poor thing. What happened to you?

Or

Me: Alright, let’s order some food?

Other: You’re getting a lot of pimples, you know?

While a lot of people limit themselves to random exclamations of pity combined with a look of being in pain themselves, some others feel that it’s their duty to give you advice on how to deal with acne: like that kind gentleman in Bhopal who stopped his scooter to ask me for directions, before sprouting advice on how to deal with the scarring; or the taxi driver in Mumbai who made me take off my ear phones so I could hear his remedy; or the fellow customer of a grocery store waiting at the counter line who thought it would be a nice way of passing time to hand out advice to strangers.

Hey, I’m not complaining. I live for this stuff – it keeps me laughing for hours afterwards. 

But see, the thing that a lot of people don’t realize is – telling someone a remedy for getting rid of the acne is also, in a way, telling them that they should strive for skin that is acne-free.

No, wait! Before you go all ‘duhh!’ on me, think about it. Yes, people should try to have clean skin, but most people who are prone to acne actually wash their faces far more often than others to strive for that cleanliness, which kind of takes away from the whole 'healthy skin' line of argument. So when you tell someone they should try everything possible to get rid of their acne, you’re really telling them – you’re not good enough the way you are.

Have you tried this product? It works really well. You’re not good enough the way you are. You’re going for a wedding? Make sure you put on some foundation and concealer. You’re not good enough the way you are. Hey did I tell you about this friend who managed to get rid of all their marks in just a few months? You’re not good enough the way you are.

And somewhere down the line, the person starts believing you. They stop looking at mirrors. They avoid posing for photographs. They’re afraid of drawing any kind of attention to themselves, because they think that the first thing others would notice about them is how hideous they look. Eventually, they’re even hesitant to be seen.

Basically, you can be sure that their self-confidence takes a major hit.

All because of bloody pimples.

Sounds a little ridiculous.

But it hit me these last few weeks, when I had the worst break out of acne I’ve ever had, and I reached a point where I cringed if I saw a picture of myself, and even considered backing out of a sports tournament because I didn’t want people seeing me. That was next level. That, and a question my friend posed to me: “Well, as long as the pain goes down, that’s all that matters, right?” And I couldn’t respond – couldn’t say out loud that while it should stop mattering beyond that, the fact is, it doesn’t.

And that’s kind of when I realized how messed up it is to live like this.

Granted, sometimes I myself go around asking people for advice, or seeking sympathy for my condition, but unfortunately, I'm a product of this bloody world too. But these last few weeks have convinced me that at least now I know that this isn't what I need in my life. I need to not care about the marks. I need to be okay with how I look. I need to stop striving for an ideal of how I’m supposed to be. I need to just start being happy with who I am.

Okay, that one really does sound ridiculous. It’s ridiculous that being happy with yourself should be anything but a perpetual state of being.

But I’ve been having a lot of conversations with friends lately about physical looks, and whether it’s possible for us to not care about them. Fact is, I don’t think I’ve ever come across someone who isn’t conscious about some aspect of their body, or else doesn’t care at all about how others look. But I’ve met enough people to inspire the hope that it’s possible to get closer to that ideal. And that’s a place I know I want to strive towards – the place where I’m beyond caring about how I look, or how others look at me; the place where my confidence isn’t controlled by every little dot on my face, or flab on my thighs, or the tan on my skin.

Basically, the place where I don’t care.

The Creators

Hey you...yes you. The so-called creator. You think you're so great, sitting there, smugly, in all that glory, staring down at your handiwork? 

Well, let me tell you. You've got competition, buddy. That's right, there's a new player in town. And anything that you can create...I'll match and raze.


You created land...
I created boundaries

You created water...
I created dams

You created animals...
I created arrows, spears and knives

You created plants...
I created chemicals

You created air...
I created smoke

You created the forests...
I created the axe

You created bodies...
I created clothes to cover the shameful work

You created blood...
I created ways to burst it from its vessels

You created voice...
I created words to use and misuse

You created eyes...
I created the prejudice

You created death...
I created carnage

You created me...
I created you.