These are Schools, not Factories

When I was a toddler, I loved science. Each and everyday I would come up to my mother and ask her to read books to me, not fairytales nor fables, but entries from encyclopedias and magazines the likes of National Geographic. My mother recalled those days with both joy and horror. As she was glad that her son was deeply interested in academics, yet dreaded having to stay up until midnight just to dictate endless articles until I would fall asleep. With the addition of the endless questions that would undoubtably come up the next morning.

Of course, as I grew older I learned to read by myself. And in these days as well, my love for science never wavered. Especially in the field of biology. My days were filled with paragraphs upon paragraphs that involved mammals, reptiles, plants, and the ever-popular subject with children, dinosaurs. I didn’t loathe reading, much to the surprise of my childhood classmates and teachers. Instead I welcomed all opportunities to do so. When I was punished for being disruptive or tardy and sent to the library for detention, I would scour the shelves to look for anything interesting, and actually hated the prospect of getting sent back to the classrooms and playgrounds.

Yet my passion for the natural sciences waned over the years. Partly because of  personal laziness, but also due to the approach my educators applied when it came to teaching. I won’t deny the fact that I wasn’t a model student. When I was still enamored by science, any other subject I considered to be unimportant. Language, art, history classes those I lumped in the same category I regularly dismissed, resulting in quite unsatisfactory grades. But then I threw biology, chemistry, physics, all the fields that once enraptured me into the same grouping of what I deemed to be “boring.” The first part of my academic underperformance can easily be blamed on my personal failings, but the latter, not so much.

To expand the scope of this article beyond my life story, we will begin discussing the failings of the Indonesian educational system. Why this expansion is necessary is because Indonesia’s approach to education led students akin to myself to be disinterested in topics they were previously captivated by. And we need to find out how these instances of sudden disinterest came to be, should we wish for the youth of Indonesia to perform better academically not just on the national, but also international level.

The reasoning behind the abrupt apathy to academics, as implied in the above paragraph, is related primarily to how the system itself regards Indonesian pupils. After years of spending time within the system, and speaking to those who hold little praise for Indonesia’s education—including school teachers and university lecturers—it’s rather simple to determine the system’s failings: It doesn’t allow for subjects to be intriguing, it actively hinders either creative or critical thinking, and rote memorization grants better grades than comprehension, giving the system the image of being akin to a factory. Explanations are indeed in order, as these claims are fairly harsh.

Now why would I say that Indonesia’s educational system prevents the many fields of study from becoming intriguing? In other words, causing students to not want to dig deeper into the subjects they’re currently learning and simply sticking to the explanations they’re given without doubt. From the experiences I’ve underwent, as well as those that have been describe to me by friends and family, and unpleasant image begins to draw itself.

When Indonesian pupils enter their classrooms, they are not expected to inquire. Lessons are written on whiteboards or at times projected, the letters on textbooks are recited and sometimes sprinkled with minor elucidations should the students be lucky enough to be granted an active teacher. Yet all the while, these schoolboys and schoolgirls sit, listen, and take notes without—as the educators instruct—making a sound.

At times, the students are permitted to ask about the current topic of discussion. But not to further the lesson by inciting more in-depth explanations nor debates within the classroom, or god-forbid point out the errors found in the teacher’s or textbook’s  accounts. Rather the questions serve more as requests from the students for the teacher to reiterate his or her words, should the students in question fail to grasp the concepts laid out before them. There are no other functions observable in querying educators. In fact, in certain schools—whose names I will avoid mentioning for fear of defamation charges—these pleas of help are sufficient grounds for reprimands. Since the students who voiced them are often perceived as either “slow” or “disturbances to the classroom.”

At this point, we can discern a clear problem: Students cannot truly learn, in the sense of completely understanding their lessons, without asking questions. How is a pupil supposed to comprehend topics as complicated as a human being’s right to live, when the explanation amounts to nothing more than “because they’re allowed to.” Replies which eliminate any possibility for detailed discussion, and a sudden halting of a student’s desire to further explore complex subjects. Altering the concept of learning into no more than memorization, which I will speak of later on in the text.

We, the students, educators, and national curriculum should always encourage questions, discussions and debates in the classroom. For each of these acts promote curiosity in the minds of students. Compelling them to read, watch, and listen to whatever content that could expand their comprehension on the countless subjects in academics. Furthermore, this spurring of curiosity could induce a thirst for creativity and critical thinking.

The concept of introducing creativity and critical thinking into academics is more commonly found in the Western world. And perhaps their dominance in Western academic culture is why they are rather under-appreciated in Eastern countries the likes of Indonesia. Yet under-appreciation does not make these approaches to learning any less significant. In actuality, perhaps these methods are more necessary than at any other point in Indonesia’s academic history.

One of the most common complaints I encounter from my university lecturers, is that a great number of freshmen are unable to write essays. Sure they might be able to explain theories, cases, and so on, but for some reason providing basic explanations is the most that many of them can do. I do not believe that their failure to conjure up worthwhile essays—ones that introduce concepts, criticize theories, and so on—is because they lack the capacity to write. Rather, their shortcomings originate mainly from how assignments are given and how these works should be completed during their school years. From the elementary to the high-school levels.

Both the school-works and home-works of Indonesian schools are quite dull. In the sense that they ask simply for answers that could be found from text-books, without urging the students to formulate their own opinions. While such a method could work for certain cases, when even the writing of essays require pupils to not stray from the material provided by the school, nor research the contributions of other scholars on the topic at hand, an issue arises. The students are trained to follow whatever texts and lectures they are given, and are urged to subdue their own ability and willingness to think creatively and critically. Reducing them into overtly similar products, rolled off the production lines of factories disguised as academic institutions. An obvious deviation from the fundamental purpose of schools.

Indonesian students are forced to be memorizers, not learners, but sponges of information; unquestioning, unthinking humans, who are constantly in pursuit of better grades instead of greater understanding. How could Indonesians then, as a people, ever hope to achieve a greater stature in the international level of academia, when schools actively discourage students from actually thinking? Is it any wonder then, that the wealthiest of Indonesians choose to send their children to schools in foreign lands, and that their offsprings are viewed as cleverer than the Indonesians who chose to learn in their homeland? There is no mystery here. The wealthy have simply realized that for their children to fulfill their academic potential, Indonesian schools need to be avoided.

For all the reasons I’ve listed above, and the explanations that accompany them, I hope that I have managed to adequately illustrate why Indonesia’s approach to education needs to be revised. How to do so, can be done merely by avoiding the pitfalls that have been listen in the previous paragraphs. Failure to heed this call for reform would result in more and more generations of apathetic students. Who attend their classes for the sake of grades. Who, when challenged to think, will struggle as they have been stripped of that right by the educational system. For Indonesian schools do not seek to produce the brightest pupils. They are rather akin to factories, breeding humans who are forged to see and understand the world in an overtly similar, unquestioning manner.

Indonesia is a nation blessed with countless bright minds, yet we have failed them by not providing the proper tools with which they could hone their cognitive abilities.

 

A Brotherhood of War

I often wonder what it is that binds us together, as a species? What kind of ideology, object, concept, or anything for that matter could unite the disparate societies of humanity under a single banner? There are of course many hypotheses that could be considered as feasible answers to this question: a desire for peace, a fear of anarchy, a search for justice, so on and so forth. Yet perhaps the answer is a much simpler and less tasteful one; that the strongest rope to bind us with lies in conflict. Or to put it in another way, that we are at peak cohesion when we have found a common enemy.
To say that a common enemy is a unifying element, is to reiterate the words, “The enemy of my enemy is my friend.” It is to accept the axiom that we are creatures bred for war, chaos and all suchlike undesirable affairs. But it is not to declare that we are entirely incapable of peace.
Take for instance the post-colonial nations of Africa, Asia, the Americas, et cetera. Lands once ruled by a bourgeois class uncaring of the common native, who views the latter more so as objects than members of the same species—conducting pseudo-scientific researchers proclaiming that the non-Caucasian races are biologically inferior, even at times categorizing them as a sub-species of homo sapiens. These were likely the darkest years of the natives. An era of repression brought about not by Mother Nature, not born out of their own errors, but birthed by the insatiable hunger of the more advanced societies of the globe. Fortunately, said state of oppression could not last without end.
From Algeria to Indonesia, the natives of colonies eventually overpowered their captors—with the aid of a variety of external factors. They united under their respective banners; the Algerians, Indonesians, and their conquered kindred all shouting “We are our own people! We are not slaves!” and other similar sentiments. To put it simply, they identified with their fellow natives—most of which were once of different and clashing tribes—to overthrow the unjust colonialist powers. An undertaking of this kind must allow for newfound years of nationalist fraternity, should it not? Sadly, the answer is blunt “no.”
As soon as the colonial powers were driven out of the picture, segregation began. Old, nearly forgotten blood feuds between clans resurfaced. Struggles of power over who should be the ruler of the infant nation took place. And of course, religious and ethnic conflicts reared their despicable heads. How could a once proud, unified people, capable of defeating foes who are technologically, economically, militaristically superior to them suddenly forget that for a brief window in time, they were all brothers and sisters? Quite paradoxically, it is because there no longer are foes with the fortitude of colonialists to fight.
The colonialists completely occupied the agendas of the natives, instilling in them the same desire to be freed from occupation; to have total control of their own lives, to have futures not predesignated by arbitrary owners, and many more sensible desires. Yet when these desires could finally be realized, conflicting goals rise up. Many long to be the replacement bourgeoisie, some feel that they should be better rewarded in their efforts against the colonialists, a few want nothing more than to seek justice from archaic feuds overshadowed in the days of colonialism. But these are a mere few of the newly minted goals of the free natives—all of which harboring the potential for endless conflicts. And as such those beautifully patriotic days are gone once more, replaced by infighting amongst a people who had managed to realize their past, singular dream.
For mankind is a species consisting of countless varieties. Contrasts which, when brought to light, could be the spark to decades of chaos. For us to find peace, we must continuously—without any end in sight—search for menaces to fight; ones that require the combined efforts of each and every member of our kind.
We can find endless illustrations of this particular phenomena of brotherhoods in arms; from the alliances of the Greek states against the might of Persia, to the partnership of the United States of America and the Soviet Union against the Axis powers—the latter of which very quickly dissipated once the antagonists were eliminated.
Today we find ourselves fighting in numerous fronts, for radically different causes: the war on terror, drugs, climate change, and so forth. Each of these grounds hold their own respective merits and demerits, yet they hold a common ground in that they bring forth cooperation between parties with conflicting, personal agendas. Moreover, save for the war on terror, most of the mentioned and unmentioned phenomena are ‘wars’ in name only, not in the manner by which they are conducted. Hence, unifying threats do not instantly necessitate the production of fresh soldiers and corpses, but also that of scientists, legislators, philosophers, the fighters of peaceful warfare. It is for this specific reason that I wish for an endless struggle.
Humans are not gentle animals. We have survived up to the present thanks primarily to our extensive skills in violence—pushing many other species to the brink of extinction, cutting down forests to build our nests, enslaving animals to serve our wants and needs, crushing our fellow man for an assortment of purposes both reasonable and insane, and the list goes on and on. Though violent we may be, it is possible to divert our tendency to slaughter into a more beneficial direction.
By focusing the strategic, ruthless cunning we have cultivated over millennia we can conjure up opposition forces and bond over the prospect of defeating them. Again these forces may not necessarily be other human beings, but any and all things which threaten our ways of life or even existence. But to do so, a list of criteria must be fulfilled for an opponent to actually be unifying.
Firstly, an enemy must observably—either directly or indirectly—affect diverse groups of peoples at some level. Without it having any effect whatsoever, it would be nothing more but news. Second, that beating it would be directly beneficial to those who partake in the conquest. Realistically speaking, humans are not at all altruistic, though this is a discussion for another time. And thirdly, that it could serve as a direct opposite of moral human universals. That is to say, the other side has to be in one way or another be able to be construed as pure evil—in the moralistic and survivalist senses— for there to be no doubt that one should freely volunteer him or herself in the war.
War is in our nature. It is an inescapable trap of the human condition which we can never escape from. We must fight, day and night. But what we fight against, what we fight for, does not have to bring about our own destruction. It could, instead, be the push we have for our entire existence needed to finally be an eternally united species.
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Reference: The Wretched of the Earth by Franz Fanon