Today these two gorgeous young whipper snappers came into the gallery and “found it really interesting”. For context when they first arrived it was like they’d just been listening to Eye of the Tiger on repeat for premium ampage. There was a lot of running around and I was dubious about the “30 minute immersive audio-visual experience pitched at the older crowd,” and how long it would be before their frazzled mom packed it up and called Time of Death on Culture. 

I got down to some editing, thinking, “any minute now”. 

The minute didn’t come.

I love being surprised. These kids were magical. Afterwards, we had a chat and it turns out they love art and are en route to buy canvases and art supplies from, let’s call it “Bonkers Bazaar of Plastic Shit”. Apparently, they’re going to “buy the whole shop”. It made me think back to my school holidays and that feeling of being able to hunker down with Judy Blume and a cold glass of Clifton (because it’s holidays).   

Kids just look happier when they’re not in school uniform. It’s a fact. Or maybe it’s just that they feed off my happiness and can’t be threatened by my resting bitch face? 

And it’s not that I didn’t love school. Laddsworth was the best. Things just started to get a bit ropey in high school. Which is kind of where this story comes from. It also comes from Hilton Chat. 

Yesterday a rad dad posted this absolute cracker… Photos of his two girls going science befok. Apparently, their holiday pursuit is fixing broken electronics. Judy Blume and heaped teaspoons of Clifton just don’t cut it anymore. Rad dad says they have a 50% success rate, which I find astonishing. I’ve had maintenance work done and it’s a helluva mixed bag of Bertie Botts… I mean, when my mum accidentally programmed her dishwasher into Lithuanian or Latvian or whatever it was, she basically had to install Duolingo to fix the problem. Honestly, learning a new language was more straightforward than dealing with the hoards of “Mr Fix-Its” who crossed the iron curtain into her kitchen.

So there I was, 38 years old, looking at Facebook and thinking, “Jeez Dorothy we are not in Kansas anymore;” I’m Toto in case you’re wondering. Here are these two young girls buzzing off their collective nerdery/genius, and I reckon they’re between 9 and 11 going on height. I understand height is a stupid measure of age because I’ve been the same height since I was 14. But, my poor measure of height is by no means the dumbest thing about me. I’m loaded with stupidity. I call left and right “up and down”, and I constantly dazzle Jono with my inability to name colours correctly. His blue jumper is actually green, or maybe it’s the other way round, and today I told him to take the red pills. They’re pink. You can imagine how my colour deficit annoys an artist? Not to mention the real danger he has of killing himself accidentally by taking red pills instead of pink ones.

Which leads me neatly to one of my favourite stories about how thick I can be for a nerd. It’s 1998 and I’m in Grade 9, or Std 7 as I call it because no amount of Judy Blume could make me adopt the American system. I’m in “General Science” and the word “project” gets thrown into the ether. At this stage of my life, I’m terrified of Science and my creative brain just thinks it’s all connected to magic, and there’s no explaining that shit no matter how assertive your Science teacher is. This was before I listened to podcasts on magic and learned how David Copperfield made the Statue of Liberty disappear. Anyway, I can’t remember what the assignment details were, but it involved a poster (yay!) and research (not so yay). Sadly my poster-making skills were not enough to save this absolute car crash of a shitshow.

The research question I carefully cooked up: Are Ants Colourblind?

I can still imagine my poor Science teacher’s face, as she looked at the calendar towards her now-early retirement vision. 

Here’s how my rigorous research went down, in case any of you would like to replicate this study at home. 

First, you will need sheets of coloured paper (number of sheets and colours not specified).

OK, so you know I was bossies for making posters? Well, I had shit loads of colourful paper. I had rainbow-coloured pads busting with pastels and neons and good old primary colours. It really is a fucking wonder I can’t tell pink from red, or green from blue. Oh yes, cream is a universal colour for anything from beige to light brown. 

You will also need sugar (I used granulated white, the amount left in the Huletts bag)

So get out your best colourful paper, and go straight to the kitchen to grab the sugar. 

Identify a popular ant zone. 

Then make your way to the pool area because this has a “high incidence of ant activity”. Sadly, my proficiency in English and adopting the “bullshit baffles brains approach,” was not enough to save me from this horror show of quantitative research. Armed with paper and sugar I began. 

Randomly place sheets of coloured paper all around the pool. 

Place an unmeasured amount of sugar on each piece of paper. 

Return to the lounge to watch Echo Point and wait for ants to gather. 

After a few hours of K-TV, it was time to record my results. A few pieces of paper were in the pool, and the red, or was it pink, paper had the most ants from what I could gather. Green also had a lot of ants, which makes sense because nature is green, and ants like nature. I didn’t count the ants because I was on an advert break and the results… well this was hardcore academic rigour. The results spoke for themselves.

Or did they?

Obviously I didn’t have Google in those days, but this will blow your mind… ‘Ants do not have color vision and are red-green blind (able to detect only yellow and blue). However, their ability to distinguish between contrast levels is greater than that of humans. They can also differentiate ultraviolet light which helps them find food.’ (misfitanimals.com)

If you’re looking for a Science tutor for your struggling child, my Science teacher described me as “original,” I’m that good. 

Six years ago, I broke my rule- ‘don’t read or engage in the comments section’. The shit hit the fan. I was called every name under the sun. My crime? I responded to an article listing the most expensive schools in the country. I said that just because these schools are the most expensive in the country, does not make them the best. And, after what has happened over the past few days, I feel the need to hurtle back into the metaphorical comments section and revisit my previous arguments. Call me whatever names you you like; I maintain my position.   

Previously I have used a favourite metaphor of mine to compare a lot of private schools to The Emperor’s New Clothes, and because I’m me, I have also added some of my trademark Jaqui Hiltermann facetious comments. I have used words such as “entitlement”, “privilege”, and “elitism”, which the Internet has not thanked me for. I wrote an article called “Private: Access Denied”, which doesn’t exist anymore because a few years ago my blog was hacked by Russians. (The blog ate my homework…) The article had a mixed response, which is a kind way of saying most people hated what I had to say. The pitchforks were out, and I was declared ‘bitter and twisted because I probably went to a government school’ (the Pitchforkers named a few appropriately “low-grade” schools for their trouble). As a full disclaimer, I attended one of the schools on the list, the Wykeham Collegiate, and over the years I have been pretty vocal about what I liked about it (I had a few exceptional teachers who inspired me beyond measure), and what I didn’t like about it- I have not gone back to the school since leaving in 2001 if that gives you any idea of ratios.  

I have learned a lot in the past six years; I am less gung-ho about flying into arguments without taking pause, I take time to sit with my opinions and thoughts, and I try to listen a lot more. Despite this, I absolutely maintain my position on private school education in this country. Expensive does not necessarily mean better. And education should be more focused on developing better, more critical, more socially aware human beings. And, as the current landscape is showing, we are failing miserably- this goes beyond the standard IEB or NSC curriculum.

I hope Tim Barry, a bit of a legend in the psychology circuit, doesn’t mind me quoting him. Tim Barry gave an excellent speech called “Differentiating a child-friendly school” where he said,

‘I suspect that if I do my job properly today, I shall be your most irritating speaker. This is because much of the literature about what makes for a child-friendly school stands in stark opposition to the rules of a consumerist market’.

Cue the Emperor and his new clothes. And Barry critiques this further by arguing that schools are in the market of offering a “differentiated position”, and how they do this is through the use of symbols. Jean Baudrillard (1981), a bit of a hero of mine, spoke about symbols and simulacra and how often symbols become more important than the reality you are working within. Tim Barry uses the example of a lawn to show how symbols operate in schools at the most basic level;

‘Although a well mown lawn has nothing to do with a child’s education, it is not hard to see how a parent may feel disgruntled if she is paying a premium for a differentiated service and the lawns have not been mown. It must be easy to be seduced into a situation where one feels bound to be bristling with symbols that reflect your commitment to children.’   

‘It must be easy to be seduced into a situation where one feels bound to be bristling with symbols that reflect your commitment to children’. Give Tim Barry a proverbial Bells (the ultimate symbol of “you’ve nailed it”). Private schools are littered with symbols and simulacra that become part of the fabric of tradition; and they are like glitter to a wet behind the ears Grade 7 learner with an obsession with Harry Potter books (OK, OK I’ve run away with creative licence, Harry Potter wasn’t a thing when I started high school).

I remember going on numerous high school “walk-throughs” when I was in Grade 7, and being completely seduced by red brick buildings, Hogwarts style boarding schools, modern buildings, comprehensive school uniforms, expansive lawns, sport’s fields and astroturfs only a few of the most sporty amongst us you would ever use, libraries that would be taken for granted, and fountains with pretty young school girls frolicking. Show me an all girl’s school where there isn’t a statue of a thin white chick with neat hair and a smiling face- often seen dancing amongst a spray of sparkling water. That statue becomes the ultimate symbol of the paragon of virtue at the all-girls private school. That’s the ideal that’s packaged to us as prospective new girls, usually along with a nice school motto; and a hefty price tag.

These symbols differentiate what is understood to be a “high-quality education”. And while all of these symbols, and resources, and opportunities do ultimately add value, they are not the education.  How many of us question the credentials of the teaching staff, the demographics of the board of governors, policies on integration and diversity, and the values that go outside of religious doctrine?  

So, one has to question what the fuck do we value when it comes to education in a South African context? And I think the past couple of days have really opened the lid on “differentiation” and intrinsic value. As an example, my mother was schooled in Swaziland, and many of her classmates were political exiles who weren’t allowed to be schooled in South Africa. Over the years I’ve been enraptured, while feeling incredibly envious, by the stories that my mother has told me about her high school experience. The education that she received, and the lessons on integration, solidarity, and unity that she was privileged to have had, especially under the backdrop of apartheid, is something that I know she values beyond words. As a school, Waterford Kamhlaba ran completely counter to the manicured perfection that we’ve come to value and expect, I present the school cricket “pavilion”.

So, what do many of these private schools value? From where I’m sitting they value religion, school uniform, and tradition. Oh, and the burgeoning use of technology in classrooms. Now before the technophiles amongst you start shouting and calling me a luddite, let me clarify… Technology is fucking fantastic and being digitally literate is pretty essential- trust me I’m not arguing that technology isn’t fucking excellent. But, when it comes to selecting schools, too much emphasis is placed on how much technology they’re throwing at the problem of basic teaching.  And, when it comes to learning and remembering content, there is absolutely no match for the simple art of good contextual teaching; and of course writing shit down. And do you know what’s even better than that? Engaging in critical debates, having difficult conversations, promoting empathy, and listening.

The past few days have really destabilised the homophily in these private school institutions. And it’s time we all start to look at the misdirected value that we place on fancy symbols, while glossing over and denying insidious narratives and discourses.

So fasten your seatbelts and maybe bust out those half time oranges.

Religion:

As a white woman it is not up to me to tell people what to believe, and how to believe. As an individual I don’t do religion in any shape or form, and I do think that it’s a political tool- ‘they came with their guns and their bibles’. However, religion has been used as an incredibly powerful weapon for marginalised groups and communities and this needs to be celebrated.

One of my main issues with religion as a symbol at a lot of (private) schools, it that it frequently smacks of patriarchy, and is used to support the status quo. Furthermore, if you suffer from mental illness, having the right amount of faith is enough to get your through the “dark times”. “A good Christian school” is peddled as a core value, and “good Christian values” become an excellent veil to hide behind; a great way to disguise or stamp out any nasties. When there are issues of racism, intolerance, bigotry, the bible is thrown at the problem. Those who have been victimised are told to ‘turn the other cheek’ and to ‘forgive’, because that is the “Christian way”.

Do you know what happens when people aren’t allowed to be angry? Yes you do. And that friends is why we’re in this hotbed of anger and resentment… and “Kumbaya!” is not going to solve this problem. The time of “praying this away” has gone. It’s time to allow anger and resentment to rise, and white people, this is a time to listen.

School Uniform:

School uniform is a pile of shit. School uniform for girls is the biggest pile of shit ever. Let me elaborate (I could literally write a book on the bullshit that is school uniform but here’s a fragment for your viewing displeasure)…

School boys get to dress like little “mini-me businessmen”. And sure, I’ve never seen a London currency trader wearing Bata Toughies, but at least the uniform represents some sort of version of pre-manhood… trousers, shirt, tie, blazer… An unstylish, and not exactly tailored version of the future men of the world, but it’s a close enough representation of the future careers these boys/men aspire to.  

School girls on the other hand are dressed in outfits that can only be described as ‘we decided on this uniform when women didn’t have careers, so we just “wung” it, and now it’s tradition so you’re stuck with it.’ I’ve never seen Angela Merkel in white ankle socks- in fact, I’ve never seen anyone other than toddlers and school girls in ankle socks. ‘This winter Jacinda Ardern steps out to deliver her address in a gymslip and girdle’. ‘Thuli Madonsela dazzles in her floral button up dress paired elegantly with a navy-blue V-Neck jumper and ample sunhat’. And, if you know anything about body shapes, as someone who has a fair amount of junk in her trunk, I can say with confidence that these uniforms are designed for the skinny white chick- the one who dances in the fountain without a care in the world. Anyone with a body shape that isn’t “fountain of youth”, looks shit in a school uniform. There’s gaping, there are hem issues, it’s just not a vibe… Usually you’ll see us wearing jumpers in the height of summer to disguise the numerous wardrobe malfunctions. So do you know what we do? We rebel.

Enter the school uniform checks. If staff interrogated why students fuck around with their uniforms they’d solve a big problem. If you don’t respect the school, you don’t respect the uniform. And why don’t you respect the school? Sure, some kids are just rebellious little assholes and like to push the boundaries, but I’m hazarding a guess here… lots of young women, are using their uniform, as with their hair, as a political symbol. ‘The uniform does not fit me!’

Listen.

Tradition

When I was at school, I was told that I’m a Wykeham Collegiate girl 24 hours a day, 365 days a year. Talk about instilling a spirit of independence. Obviously, I took this doctrine to heart and really went out of my way to be a credit to the school- unfortunately, I was never caught drinking or smoking; my bad behaviour went completely unnoticed. For the most part I was not buying what the school was selling from an ideological perspective… I ignored the symbols, and focused on the subjects I enjoyed, the friends I had, and some of the excellent teachers who I loved. But there should have been more, Neil Postman says that ‘education creates a public’.

Before one of our “rite of passage” school balls we were given lessons on how to be ladies. I remember one of the fundamental lessons was the importance of moisturising one’s elbows- my eyes are a metaphor for Jane Austen rolling over in her grave. At this ball, one of the father’s pitched a fit because his daughter was paired with a black guy for one of the dances. The name of this ball was “the Women of the 90s Ball”. He wasn’t the only racist father… I heard one say, ‘my daughter really dodged a bullet’, when a black guy missed his daughter and went for one of the other girls beside her. I repeat, that was the year that we learnt that ‘one of the most important things is to have soft elbows and knees, because these are neglected areas of grooming’. One of the most important things.

So, as fifteen-sixteen year old girls (“women”) we were paraded out into society at our traditional Women of the 90s school ball, groomed and fully versed in the fox-trot, behind whispers of blatant racism. Tradition.

Tradition needs to be interrogated because it’s a wonderful symbol to hide behind. ‘We can’t change because we need to protect our traditions’. Traditional school values.

Tradition works for those in power.

The powerful need to listen.