Education after Dakar

2009/01/09

NO FESTIVE season would be complete without the annual orgy of recrimination and congratulation around the national and provincial matric pass rates.

And although the critics repeatedly point out that poor Grade 12 results are only an indicator of a deeper social and educational malady, at least the media attention gets ordinary people thinking about education.

So maybe this is a good time to look at some other important indicators of our education system, particularly the six goals we set with 163 other countries in Dakar nine years ago, when we promised to provide Education For All (EFA).

The first of the EFA goals is to provide early childhood care and education. We’re not so good at this, although we know that children’s early experiences have a profound effect on later learning and wellbeing. So we let 20percent of Eastern Cape children under nine go hungry, and nearly 80percent suffer income poverty. A total of 72 out of 1000 South African children die before they turn five, mostly from diseases of poverty. I don’t even mention the levels of child abuse that scar children for life.

And although policy provides that every child should have a pre-primary year, we need to ask serious questions about quality when Grade R classes are tacked onto unsafe, insanitary and ineffective schools in an attempt to meet numerical targets. We need to question why the “teacher” in charge of Grade R children – arguably the most important of a child’s school career – needs only the equivalent of Grade 12, while a high school teacher must have a degree and a teaching diploma.

The second EFA goal is to provide a universal primary education. Here we’re doing well, and in fact we’ve been improving steadily since about 1950. By 2007 over 93percent of South Africans aged between 18 and 22 had at least a Grade 7, when 15 years ago 84percent of the same age group had a primary education. Our children have more years of education than their parents and grandparents. But we have to ask more hard questions about quality and inequality.

The Grade 6 children of very rich parents, for example, achieve 39percent more in natural sciences and 44percent more in maths than very poor children. And the top fivepercent of our children in the Progress in International Reading Literacy Study achieved five times more than the bottom fivepercent. Something’s very wrong.

The third goal is to meet the lifelong learning needs of youth and adults. According to the United Nations Educational, Scientific and Cultural Organisation’s (Unesco’s) 2009 report, this idea is so hazy that few governments in the world really know what to do. South Africa has a welter of skills programmes and learnerships designed to improve adult skills. These are governed by the South African Qualifications Authority (SAQA) and funded through 27 Sector Education and Training Authorities (Setas). The acronyms and bureaucracy are so confusing that it’s no surprise that the Expanded Public Works Programme (EPWP), designed to combine training with job provision, has only achieved 19percent of its training goals, and spent only 59percent of its three-year budget.

We’re doing comparatively well with the fourth goal, adult literacy. About 87percent of people over 15 in the Eastern Cape are literate, and younger adults have a much higher literacy rate than older adults. But again, there’s a wide gap in quality of literacy between rich and poor.

The fifth goal is gender equity. Our gender disparity, unusually for a developing country, is in favour of girls. In fact, for many years boys have been less likely to get through high school, despite teenage pregnancies and social discrimination against girls. Boys are the needy ones in our society.

But we really fail badly with the sixth goal, that of quality.

The evidence is in our low literacy and numeracy achievements, particularly in poor communities. And our lack of quality education is reflected throughout the system, not only in Grade 12.

Grade R in a failing system

2009/02/13

I FELT proud of the principal of Sinempumelelo Primary School in Beacon Bay for speaking out about the appalling conditions Grade R children suffer at her school (Crammed like sardines in ‘kitchen classroom’, DD, February 4). Let’s hope it’s a sign of growing public intolerance of sub- standard education.

We should share her anger at the way we treat children, but perhaps we shouldn’t be too surprised.

Many schools in the Eastern Cape are not suitable for children of any age, let alone for the five year olds who are increasingly enrolling in Grade R. Such schools are neither safe nor clean. They don’t have enough classrooms, furniture or resources for everyone. The evidence is clear that children don’t learn to read, write, use numbers or learn to think creatively and critically. Nor do they learn firm moral values, or develop a strong work ethic. In fact, research shows that very few South African schools make a positive difference to the 12million pupils who attend them, and some actually do harm.

Knowing this, why do we relentlessly follow government policy that lays down that Grade R classes must be attached to primary schools by 2010? How can such schools be suitable when school principals and teachers often have no background in early childhood development, and expect a Grade R classroom to be a mini version of Grade 1?

Although Grade R practitioners receive specialised, accredited training in early childhood development, they remain the “aunties” of education. The minimum ECD (early childhood development) qualification is only the equivalent of Grade 12, and both salaries and status are much lower than those of real teachers. Practitioners who improve their qualifications immediately try for “promotion” to the Foundation Phase.

And why do we insist that every child should have a year at pre-school by 2010, even when it means penning them up in a small shack with nothing to do? Sinempumelelo is certainly not the only school that offers a poor environment. One GradeR class we know of was relegated to a sheep shed after the specially-built Grade R classroom was commandeered as a staff-room. Five-year-old children play in storerooms, amongst rubbish, dust and rolls of barbed wire. Many children are still taught by rote and threatened with a stick if they make a mistake.

It’s not that the policy is bad. On the contrary, in 2001 the Education White Paper 5 on early childhood development broke new ground in acknowledging the profound importance of the early childhood years for the development of human potential. It argues convincingly that society benefits enormously if young children are healthy, well nourished, and are offered creative opportunities and safe surroundings to learn about each other and the world. Therefore, so White Paper 5 argues, government should invest money, time and energy in the wellbeing of all young children, particularly the poor.

One of its main thrusts was to set out a plan – substantiated by international and national research – that every child should be provided with a good quality pre-primary year by 2010. Nothing wrong with that, except that we’ve tacked it onto an already dysfunctional system.

It must have seemed a wonderful idea, in the heady excitement of new and progressive policy development, to airily propose using the existing school system “with some additional investment in building rehabilitation” to accommodate the requirements of Grade R.

Seven years later, the Eastern Cape Department of Education annual performance plan admits that it is so “handicapped by budgetary constraints” that Grade R classes have been attached to schools without the necessary resources or training of practitioners, and that the physical infrastructure is ill-equipped and classrooms in short supply.

It’s time to get our priorities right. Too strong a focus on Grade R at schools not only detracts from the responsibility of communities and families to nurture and educate young children, but also exposes young children too often to what we can only call abuse.

A Lesson in Poverty

2008/09/12

LAST week a group of students taught me about poverty and compassion. But hang on a second – I was supposed to be teaching them a course for their Diploma in Early Childhood Development (ECD). The curriculum, amongst other things, specifies that they should know about the grim effects of child poverty, so I had come prepared with a bunch of book-learned theories to teach them.

Early childhood development practitioners can be amongst the most important influences in a young child’s life. They should know about barriers to child development, including how poverty affects children and families. They must understand the wide and deep reach of poverty – that it is not just a lack of money, but comes with a whole bundle of disadvantages that interact to keep people poor for generations. They need to know that poverty deprives children of the chance to thrive and grow, that it prevents them getting good food, good health, safety, education, support, and adequate care and stimulation. Without these things children are more likely to grow up stunted physically, emotionally and cognitively. They are far less likely to break through the wall of poverty that keeps people back. They will probably grow up as poor as, if not poorer than, their parents.

And so the poverty cycle rolls on, generation after generation.

This understanding is particularly pertinent for Eastern Cape ECD practitioners, since the children of this province suffer deeply. The statistics show that eight out of ten Eastern Cape children live in income poverty, and by far the majority of municipalities in which children suffer most from multiple deprivations are in this province.

Clearly, then, limiting the appalling effects of poverty is sure to be a major part of the ECD practitioners’ everyday work. They need to identify poverty and try to mitigate its effects.

These women – very few men enter the nurturing world of professional ECD – have a pivotal role to play in the future of the children in their care. They should be able to offer a safe, stimulating environment where children can explore, play, and learn freely. Perhaps even more importantly, they should be able to provide the warmth, respect and encouragement that children so desperately need to build resiliency, that wonderful quality that helps us bounce back when life deals us a backhander. They could make all the difference to the children in their care.

But back to the class. One of the many burdens of poverty is the stigma that often goes with it. In my naivety, I was half-expecting to uncover the poisonous, and all too common, belief that the poor are somehow to blame for their condition, that handouts will only make them lazier, and that the cure for their poverty is to get off their backsides.

After all, as a middle-class woman, I have many acquaintances – including, memorably, at least one devoutly religious person – whose convictions that poor people are lazy, dirty, and deserve their fate rise to the surface like scum as fast as you can say “social grant”.

Talking of social grants, I was also ready for the old stories of how the child grant promotes reckless breeding, and that adults spend the R210 per month on alcohol and luxuries rather than the children – this when about 65 percent of grant recipients’ budgets are spent only on food.

But these ECD practitioners showed me that they know far more about poverty and compassion than I ever will. Our discussions showed they have a bone-deep understanding of the way poverty grinds at self-respect, energy levels, and hope. They gave examples of how much harder poor people have to work to gain the smallest benefit. They understand poverty because, like many in South Africa, they live intimately with it. To condemn the poor for their poverty means to condemn your mother, your neighbour, your sister and your friend.

So I came away from the class feeling uplifted, confident that these practitioners can contribute enormously to children’s wellbeing, and deeply humbled by the depth of their understanding and compassion.

Lessons in Violence

2008/04/18

A WHILE ago I was invited to a Children’s Day celebration at a local primary school. Since I’m all for spreading the idea that children should be nurtured and valued, I accepted with pleasure.

The school had made a huge effort to celebrate the day, despite having very few resources. The teachers had made posters; mothers were cooking up a storm in a make- shift kitchen; a blue-and-white tent housed the honoured guests; plates piled high with sweets dotted the elegant guest-of-honour table. An exhaustive programme had been planned, a Master of Ceremonies appointed, speeches rehearsed, and gaggles of cute children trained to entertain us.

After making such an effort, it’s a pity they missed the point of Children’s Day.

The children were almost entirely excluded from the celebrations. The posters, the tent, the flowers, the speeches, the whole day had been designed for the adults. The only children who were allowed into the inner sanctum were those who performed for us. The rest, gawking at the spectacle, were kept at least 10 metres out of the way.

Wait, the story gets worse. They were kept out of our way – by violence.

Every now and then the throng of excluded children – they were no more than seven or eight years old – were overcome by childish curiosity to see what was happening. They squeezed forward, eager to hear and see. And every time they pressed too close, a teacher would sweep round the circle of little legs, whacking at them with a stick until they backed away.

The appalling thing about this incident was that it was tolerated, by the children as well as the adults, as ordinary and acceptable. Even the principal seemed unaware of the irony of the abuse taking place just a few metres away while he listened to grand speeches about children’s rights.

Unfortunately this was not an isolated incident. Corporal punishment is still doled out regularly in schools around the province, along with pinching and insults.

Apart from it being entirely illegal in terms of the Constitution and the law, the question that begs answering is what on earth are we teaching our children? That it’s okay for the strong to control the weak with violence? That it’s fine to resolve problems by hurting others?

South Africa has come a long way since the bad old days when the state used violence to control us.

Then corporal punishment was not only an acceptable feature of schools, but of the justice system. It’s no surprise that judicial corporal punishment increased steeply when the National Party came to power. Over 2500 people were punished by whipping in 1947, which is nothing compared to the 18500-plus 10 years later, or the over 17000 whipped between 1960 and 1961. Many of those punished were protesting against apartheid.

Thanks to the efforts of those who would not accept the state’s attempts at violent control, we now have a Constitution based on social justice, democracy and fundamental human rights. Our Constitutional Court ruled that corporal punishment not only violates the dignity of the punished, but also the person who administers the punishment. The Schools Act makes corporal punishment in schools illegal. Excellent.

Don’t get me wrong, children need firm discipline – especially in a society where crime and violence are endemic.

But it starts with the behaviour of adults. The recent Human Rights Commission report found that the crime, bullying and violence in schools is a reflection of wider society. Children learn their behaviour from their elders.

The little children at the Children’s Day celebration were learning about a culture of violence. Their elders were teaching them that you don’t have to respect others, particularly the weak or vulnerable. They learned that problems are not solved by thoughtful planning, creative thinking and negotiation, but by laying into you with a stick.

Teaching discipline is far more difficult, and far more effective in the long run than a quick smack. It takes a life-long, thoughtful commitment on the part of both adult and child. It means creative thinking about how to involve children in their own moral development. It involves adults actively showing children what acceptable behaviour is. It means not using violence. Ever.

The tragedy of dropping out

2008/05/23

SIPHOKAZI, aged 17, is one of thousands of Eastern Cape girls not attending school due to pregnancy. “They want the child support grants, that’s why they have babies,” say some rural teachers. “It’s called the ‘thigh grant’ because the girls spread their thighs for it.”

But Sphokie, as she prefers being called, didn’t get pregnant for money, even though R210 would make a big difference to a household of seven, depending on her grandmother’s pension. In fact, Sphokie hasn’t even applied for the grant yet, although her baby is over four-months old. The trek to town to apply for it would cost too much and take too long.

Anyway, what money the family has is for food, not bureaucracy.

Her grandmother wants her to return to school. But although the school is on the no-fee list because it serves a poor community, there are other prohibitive costs – there is no money for a uniform or transport. Incidentally, child grants are not a common motivation for schoolgirl pregnancy – despite public opinion to the contrary. A Human Sciences Research Council study, found that adolescents across all social sectors get pregnant, even those too well-off to be eligible for the grant. Furthermore, the pregnancy rate among adolescents has apparently declined since the grant was introduced in 1998, and, then only a relatively small proportion of adolescent mothers actually get them. So, most girls are not in motherhood for the money.

But why do schoolgirls like Sphokie get pregnant? Do they not consider their educational future, the financial strain on the family – the risk of HIV?

As Sphokie tells her story, it becomes clear that the most profound human need – that for love and acceptance – led to her falling pregnant. She was traumatised by the painful, and, finally fatal sickness of her mother two years ago. She had also never really known her father, who left for the mines when she was little. She had heard he got sick – something to do with his lungs – but isn’t sure what happened to him. She still feels an aching sense of loss for her parents.

So Sphokie – like any other teenager – longed to be loved and to give love in return. When a good-looking boy gazed at her with desire, she felt her dream of being loved coming true. So she had her baby – a baby whom she adores – for love.

Sphokie never told the school she was leaving, and they never tried to find out where she was. But now there seems to be no way back. Her grandmother, who can’t read and write, feels too shy to talk to the “learned people” at the school.

And while Sphokie believes education is a good thing, she thinks she would probably not have progressed to Grade 12 – let alone passed matric. She wasn’t coping with Grade 10, and would have had to repeat the year anyway.

She adds that she didn’t like school much. She hated the humiliation of being chased away when she couldn’t afford the uniform, and hated being slapped and called udom (stupid) when she didn’t understand her school work. And what of Sphokie’s boyfriend? He failed Grade 11 and is looking for work in Port Elizabeth, she says.

She doesn’t see him now.

Surprisingly, more adolescent boys than girls leave school prematurely in the Eastern Cape, according to a General Household Surveys’ finding. Yet boys don’t get pregnant and very few leave due to family commitments – unlike the many teenage girls who drop out because they must care for other children, parents and siblings. So why do boys leave school early? Poverty is the main factor for both genders. Nearly 43 percent of the boys and 35 percent of girls, who drop out, say it is because they cannot afford the school fees.

That figure, we hope, will drop as the no- fee schooling policy starts to work effectively in the province.

But, almost as worrying as the depth of poverty that thwarts education, is the perceived pointlessness of school amongst boys who drop out. After poverty, the most common reason for leaving school prematurely is that it “is useless or uninteresting”. In fact, this is a far more common reason for dropping out than pregnancy.

That is scary. At least Sphokie, in her way, found some meaning for her existence. But thousands of disaffected young men with no work, money and little hope, offer a bitter vision of the future.

Network for Optimism

2008/12/19
ODDLY enough, this week I’ve felt a little more optimistic than usual about the state of education. Don’t mistake me. I didn’t say that education is getting better, only that I feel more optimistic about the future.

And, please note, my upbeat attitude has nothing to do with the education policies of any political party, whether in power, hoping to be in power, or clutching at straws. Policy is one thing, performance is another.

Nor is my optimism founded on hope for improved matric results. Although I’ll be the first to rejoice if we see an improved National Senior Certificate pass rate, it’s not the best indicator of the effectiveness of the education system. Matric pass rates only measure the achievement of the relatively few who actually write the exams. They don’t tell the stories of the more than 50 percent of children who fall out of the system on the way.

No, what I’m pleased about is the growing realisation among ordinary people that education, while it is a state responsibility, is too important to be left to government. With that understanding, on Monday this week, hundreds of teachers, parents, academics, religious leaders, non-profit organisations and education activists across the country formed Sekolo, a non-partisan network to encourage public participation in education.

And public participation is desperately needed. We need vigorous discussion, fearless debate and strong mobilisation to resolve what is clearly a serious crisis.

It’s unacceptable that our education system still fails the majority of children. It’s unacceptable that 14 years after the end of apartheid, and despite much policy that talks of redress and equity, the majority of children are hardly able to read and write, let alone earn a living once they leave school. Again and again, research shows not only that South African children do badly in comparison to other countries (including countries in our own region), but also that most children simply do not achieve the learning outcomes set out in our own curriculum.

It’s unacceptable that most schools don’t have libraries or laboratories, and it’s unacceptable that nearly half of households with school- going children experience a lack of learner support material. It’s unacceptable that we spend money on a dubious and yet-to-be-investigated arms deal while our children don’t have the means to practise reading and writing.

It’s unacceptable that we expect the majority of children to learn, be taught and assessed in a foreign language when we know how this compromises their ability to learn. We need to encourage parents and schools to give their children the advantage of learning in their mother-tongue, while at the same time ensuring that all children feel at ease in English. Not an easy issue to resolve, but we need to work on it.

It’s unacceptable that Grade R teachers are not expected to be as well-qualified nor as well-paid as other teachers, and that the schools they are attached to often don’t begin to understand the profound importance of early childhood. It’s unacceptable to dump young children into dreary classrooms to chant meaninglessly and wait endlessly for the teacher. It’s unacceptable that many are beaten when they make a mistake.

It’s unacceptable that the children who suffer most from the crisis in education are still poor and the rural. It’s unacceptable that for “poor and rural”, we need to read “black”. It’s unacceptable that over the poorest 40 percent of school communities educate 70 percent of Eastern Cape school- children.

And let’s not trot out the old lie that the poor are to blame for their condition. We – society as a whole – must take responsibility to change things.

Part of that responsibility is to call for an independent commission to investigate the issues and propose solutions. You can do that with a click of the mouse button: www.ppen.org.za or e-mail info@ppen.org.za for more information.

Your involvement would be a great Christmas gift to the children of South Africa.