A right not a privilege …

Someone in our staffroom whinged that ‘it’ all went wrong when education became a right not a privilege. A mother had been on the phone because her daughter had sent a text message from assembly complaining about her maths teacher.

Someone else said something about education being an obligation and that because the law says they have to be at school they resent it – like when the boss says I have to wear a tie.

Someone else said something about it being society’s duty and responsibility to educate which was laughed out of the room by versions of ‘it takes a whole village…’ sung in sarcastic tones to the tune of ‘where have all the flowers gone…’ and someone snorted stale bran muffin in laughter.

As I understand it, and my knowledge of history is about as good as my ironing skills which are wrinkly and curse-riddled on the best of days, our schools were run by charities, a bit like the SPCA or Greenpeace or the NZRFU, sort of. They were free and kids felt lucky to be allowed into school and even luckier to be allowed off the farm. Kids liked going to school if only for the time away from stinking farm animals and fields of swedes and hay bales.

I once talked to a six-year- old Nepalese boy just home from school. He’d walked down a hill which was really a cliff and up the other side. What was a simple walk from school for him was several lung-gouging, back-breaking, leg-burning hours of high-altitude trekking for me. To make me feel even more of a slug he told me he walked home for lunch every day.

When I asked if he liked going to school he gave a look that said ‘duh, well of course’ but he was too polite to say it. And when he and his parents found out I was a teacher, my world changed. I’d been a tourist but I changed into an honourable guest.

A few other things I noted: the boy was perfectly behaved, extremely polite and respectful and very busy with his homework. He didn’t have a laptop, phone or PSP. He wore simple functional clothes that didn’t shout out brand names, sports teams or crude statements. His hair was neat, his shoes were clean and the laces tied and his shirt was tucked in. The food we ate was vegetarian and simple and plentiful and even more delicious than blackberry pie. I didn’t hear a raised voice never mind see a smacking referendum.

So I reckon all schools should be on a cliff and we should all be vegetarian and six-years-old.

— Peter Giddens