Now that September 5, 2016 is past and we have joyfully accepted and acknowledged all the words of appreciation from our dear students, it is time to get back to serious work. We don’t really need a specific day in a year to feel valued but the day does deliver its own worth, sometimes in unexpected ways. It is good for our morale as teachers. It is worthwhile also simply because we get some breathing space and get to look at things from our students’ perspectives.
As a teacher myself, I can easily slip into this mode of thinking that I can and should talk and my students should listen whether they like it or not. And of course, because teachers are teachers and students are students, many things continue to go on as they have always been. But again, could this be why the products resemble the manufacturers after the process sees completion?
The many lapses in our educational system have been churning out more and more lapses and trespasses over the years. The irony is, we all share the brunt finally. As Nagas, we have amassed more educational degrees over the past few decades, our illiteracy rates have dropped, we speak and write better English, our private properties and personal possessions have undergone more modifications and accessorizations, and our towns now have big billboards announcing the presence of impressive shops, hotels, and projects. At a glance, some things look pretty good. But again, has the quality of our lives in general improved? Are we living happier and more-fulfilled lives? How do we fare at our empathy levels? Has the “education” we acquired from various sources made us better human beings in the final analysis?
Coming back to Teachers’ Day and its significance and implications, there are certain things that hover over my mind as I put away the nice Happy Teacher’s Day cards from yesterday. I am also re-reading a letter I read many years ago; a letter which moved me then and is doing now. It is a letter written by a holocaust survivor. There is no writer’s name. No date. Yet, the message is clear and timeless. It reads:
“Dear Teacher, I am a survivor of a concentration camp. My eyes saw what no men should witness: Gas chambers built by engineers; Children poisoned by educated physicians; Infants killed by trained nurses; Women and babies shot and burned by high school graduates. So, I am suspicious of your education. My request is: help your students become human. Your efforts must never produce learned monsters, Skilled psychopaths, educated Eichmanns. Reading, writing, arithmetic are important only if they serve to make our children more human.”
Buno Iralu, Sechü-Zubza