So, this is the result of a lot of research, and some very hard work. It is the paper I will be submitting to the CSUN Honor's program for the conference that will be held in the spring.
I hope you find it riveting. Don't be afraid to let me know what you think, whether you love it or hate it or just aren't moved by it. Whatever. Enjoy.
Noa Zilberman
9 December 2010
English 392
Barnard
Consequences of an Informed Mind
The developments of language, art, and music are only a few of the enriching facets of our society, and the learning of these crafts is paramount to their sustained development. It is therefore undisputed that education is an essential part of the human condition, without which mankind cannot hope to prosper. However, education, like a weapon, can be used to defend or destroy. While generations of teachers have transferred a wealth of knowledge on to their pupils, generations have been similarly indoctrinated with irrational ideas that threaten the stability of their population, and perpetuate unproductive living conditions for the society. While this is a globally relevant discussion, and can apply to any population, or section thereof, it is especially relevant in several texts and films explored in this paper: the collection of short stories No Sweetness Here and Other Stories by Ama Ata Aidoo, Sembene Ousmane’s novel God’s Bits of Wood, and 100 Days (film written and directed by Nick Hughes. The countries discussed include Ghana, Senegal, and Rwanda, respectively. While this suggests a rather limited view, it does offer some level of diversity of example, while attempting to remain concise. In these forms of media, the authors explore and manipulate the consequences of teaching in its various forms—from the classroom to ancient oral tradition—and how the older generation equips their successors. While many approaches to education and many milieus are depicted in the various stories, a common thread is woven through each instance: with each teaching, the student acquires a weapon, whether intentionally or otherwise. And while in many cases the desired result of an education is enlightenment and information, it is also, as in the case of many in colonized African nations, used to control.
Although Ghana is home to 47 individual languages, as a result of British colonization In Ama Ata Aidoo’s home country of Ghana, the language of politics and business is English. Likewise, schools are closely modeled on the English style, with minor adjustments: the curriculum includes reading, writing, and mathematics, as well as literary cannon and other forms of Western exposure (CIA World Fact Book). Aidoo’s submersion in this decidedly “Western” approach is seen in her book, No Sweetness Here, especially in the complexity of writing and a clearly English writing style, demonstrated through diverse use of vivid imagery, and a distinctly poetic narrative form, reminiscent of English romanticism: “It was not just the smell of green leaves. Green leaves and wet earth, fire spilling from a gun and fresh-spilt human blood were different, to be sure”(Aidoo 21). The juxtaposition of nature (viewed in this case with a nostalgic attitude) against the human-constructed guns and manmade violence supports this idea—one that Aidoo would have unlikely been exposed to, were it not for her “Western” education.
Ghana’s education system, established by the British, was originally intended to “Make civilization march hand-in-hand with evangelization” (Barthel) which suggests the desire to indoctrinate and control the colonized through religion, injected into the classroom, and placed unknowingly into the minds of their children. There is also the implication of creating a work force, which, while excellent for Ghana’s infrastructure, has a more sinister outcome. Creating a workforce to do the bidding of the colonizer, and ensuring that the colonized are imbued with the desired behavior and ideals is paramount to the success of controlling a population.
The concept of manipulation of the mind to do another’s bidding is well portrayed, not in a physical sense, but an emotional one, in Aidoo’s story “Everything Counts.” In this story, an educated young woman discusses the implications of wig-wearing by Ghanaian females with her male counterparts, arguing that for them, as men, “it was so much easier…to talk about the beauty of being oneself. Not to struggle to look like white girls. Not straightening one’s hair. And above all, not wearing the wig” (Aidoo 1). It is important to note that the story implies a level of education in all those involved; there is even mention of going overseas, to Europe, to study further, as well as being “a student of economics” (Aidoo 1). However, the story contains a certain complexity of ideas on the part of the protagonist and narrator, who remains unnamed. She initially argues with her male friends, taking the unpopular attitude: “But what has wearing wigs got to do with the revolution…” but maintains an ambivalence, “struggling not to understand” their opposition to the idea (Aidoo 2). She returns from her honeymoon in Europe after three months, and is taken aback with the number of wigs she sees being worn by women of all social classes. The sight is troubling, and upon returning to the college as a lecturer, she experiences a moment of deep agitation, upon realizing that all of her female students wore wigs (Aidoo 4). The protagonist’s position as a teacher is an important one, because she is now responsible for transferring knowledge to her students. These students, however, turn out to be more like peers, as, “…she recognized one or two who had come as first years, when she was in her fifth year” (Aidoo 5). The narrator’s realization of the unnaturalness of the situation causes her to question the validity of her position, and to strengthen her opposition to wig wearing, as well as disillusioning her against the men’s talk of revolution.
However, she does not come to grips with the severity of the situation until the beauty pageant. “…all the contestants had worn wigs except one. The winner. The most light-skinned of them all…Her hair…quite simply, quite naturally, fell in a luxuriant mane on her shoulders…” (Aidoo 7). This causes Aidoo’s character to descend into a temporary crisis, in which she concedes that, “they had been so very right. Her brothers, lovers and husbands. But nearly all of them were still abroad. In Europe, America or some place else…Others were still studying for one or two more degrees….that was the other thing about the revolution” (Aidoo 7). The horror of the indoctrination, and ultimate failure to achieve the new ideal of beauty, unbeknownst to the girls, resonates with the unnamed protagonist. At the end of the story, the revolutionary mentality taken by the men seems rife with hypocrisy, as if they have deserted their revolution and adopted Eurocentric ideals. The final quote also seems to suggest that the protagonist realizes the inadequacy of her education.
However, there is one very relevant stipulation to be considered, and an ultimate question to be asked. Does education facilitate understanding of the world, and teach a person to perceive the finer points of life? If this is indeed the case, then it is important to acknowledge that the protagonist—as well as Aidoo herself—is armed against the colonizer with various methods of analysis, as well as an increased perception of her surroundings. The narrator would have been unable to gather the conclusions she did, and would have more likely felt an unnamed terror, which she could never have understood without exposure to, and the practice that education provides in areas of introspection. These are the very abilities, revealed by the discussion in the beginning of the story, and woven throughout with revealing comments by the narrator, that allow for questions to be asked, revolution to arise, and for the populace to take control of their territory.
To the West of Ghana lies Senegal, home country of Sembene Ousmane, author of God’s Bits of Wood, originally written in French, under the title Les bouts de bois de Dieu. Unlike Aidoo, Ousmane’s education was primarily religious; his education consisted of Islamic school, as well as French school, which he left at thirteen. After working for two years, he was drafted by the Senegalese Tirailleurs (a corps in the French Army). He never returned to school, but went on to be a prolific author, both of literature and film (Le Pere de Cinema Africain). This distinct difference between Aidoo and Ousmane underscores the importance of self-teaching. The idea that education can only happen in the classroom is a myopic a narrow-minded one, which Ousmane proves through his sheer volume of work. He chose to read, and through this practice, he acquired the tools to create his own craft. His contributions to African film are also essential, and he is often referred to, both in French and in English as “The father of African Film.” In his obituary in the British newspaper “The Independent,” he is introduced as “subversive and controversial”. His success is directly related to his drive to educate himself, and to arm himself with the tools necessary to construct a revolution. Indeed, in his novel God’s Bits of Wood, Ousmane does exactly that, with the railroad workers’ strike plotline that carries the reader through the novel. More interesting, though, is how children—ideal vessels for knowledge—are treated in the novel.
The first chapter is titled first with the geographic location of the chapter, and then with a name: Ad’jibid’ji, the name of the youngest character in the novel. But it does not introduce her first. Instead, Niakoro, one of the novel’s oldest characters, is surveying the village in which she lives, and its people, the Bakayoko. “Only the women. As they went about their household tasks they chatted constantly, each of them completely indifferent to what the others were saying” (Ousmane 1). This very revealing sentence indicates an interesting problem very early in the novel, specifically that this environment is one not conducive to learning. An essential part of education is an open mind, whether through listening to those with experience in the particular field (which involves silence), or a desire to understand ideas with which the student does not necessarily agree (demonstrated by eclectic reading to pursue information). The women’s incessant talking and lack of acknowledgement suggests a stagnancy that, later in the novel, is challenged by the plot and ensuing events. The first challenge, however, comes in the form of Ad’jibid’ji, who is verbally accosted by Niakoro as she leaves her house to “the gathering of the men” (Ousmane 4). Niakoro goes on to berate Ad’jibid’ji, inquiring,
‘Why are you always poking your nose in the affairs of the men? They are preparing a strike, and that is not a thing for you. Can’t you stay here for once?’
‘Yes, but today I must take this book to Fa Keïta,’ the child responded holding out a schoolbook that was clutched in her hand…
‘Why must you spend all your time with the men?’
‘Petit père always used to take me with him, and besides, I am learning’ (Ousmane 4).
This final statement overwhelms Niakoro, and she reprimands Ad’jibid’ji for “learning the white man’s language” and ending her statement by saying, “In my time we learned only some verses of the Koran, for our prayers” (Ousmane 4). There is something to be said for Niakoro’s anxiety regarding Ad’jibid’ji’s education; Niakoro embodies tradition, and by losing her native tongue in the wake of French, Ad’jibid’ji is in a sense abandoning her roots. However, Ousmane’s characterization is such that Ad’jibid’ji goes to the gathering anyway, and, throughout the novel, plays an important role in demonstrating the hope to be found in the next generation. This is done through her incessant innocent, yet poignant questioning through the whole novel, never being intimidated by older, more experienced people. Her questioning embodies the drive inherent in some to pursue knowledge, even when it is inaccessible, unpopular, or difficult to acquire.
Many novels in the scope of African literature are rich with critique about education, but films are also an excellent venue for communicating themes and issues. This is because film adds an audiovisual component to the viewer, creating a more engaging and lasting impression. Such was the idea behind the film 100 Days, a fictional tale of real massacre during the Rwandan genocide. The film was written and directed by journalist Nick Hughes, who witnessed much of the bloodshed firsthand. The circumstances that caused the Rwandan genocide are essential to understand, because they are inherently related to the topic at hand. During the colonization of Rwanda, the Belgian presence jammed a wedge of prejudice between the two major “ethnic groups” in the area, the Hutus and Tutsis, by creating an artificial hierarchy. The Tutsis, which were considered slightly lighter in appearance, taller, slimmer, and with more “European” facial features, where placed in power by the Belgian government as a means to control the population. (It is important to realize that actual distinctions between the groups were minimal, and based mostly on physical appearance rather than heritage.) When the Belgian presence began to wane, the Hutu population overthrew the existing Tutsi rule, and in the months that followed, 800,000 Tutsis and moderate Hutus were slaughtered in the rage of the uprising (CIA – World Fact Book).
This concept of justice through retribution has long been disputed for its efficacy, but it is not the topic of this discussion. It is simply important to address the events and the consequences thereof, without judgment, but with a critical eye to find the truth in those actions. In 100 Days, Nick Hughes captures education at its most sinister: reinforcing prejudice. A poignant and disturbing scene describes this tendency perfectly. A beautiful Tutsi girl, the main character of the story, has been taken by the Hutu priest to his territory and used for sex. She carries his child as a result, and the priest justifies this as “protection” from being slaughtered because she carries a Hutu child. Again, glaring issues of religion being used for control and abused for pleasure are present, but in this case detract from this argument. Within this Hutu territory, the audience sees an elderly woman talking to her granddaughter. She physically describes the Tutsis to her granddaughter, and speaking in a voice that is slow, eerie and full of foreboding. This, as well as her final words, “beware the Tutsis,” to a young child is enough to instill in them an inherent fear; children, perfect vessels for knowledge, are such for their impressionability, malleability, and trust in their elders. It is difficult to explain to a child under six why what her family told her is incorrect and baseless, stitched in to her psyche with the intention to perpetuate ignorance. Thus, education is indeed a powerful weapon—with enough convincing, a population will indeed decimate itself with the right things told to them—and with enough injustice to outrage them into violence.
African film and literature is irremovable from politics. The theories on why this is are many, and it is too early in the history of post-colonial Africa to support many of them. However, this may be partially due to the nature of Africa’s trading of hands for centuries, and, just within the last few decades, its countries attempting to identify themselves as independent entities. Nevertheless, the topic of education is an important one in every political sphere, and no less so in the literature of the artists discussed. For Aidoo’s unnamed protagonist in “Everything Counts,” her education allowed her to think critically about a sensitive situation, and to see it more clearly. Ousmane’s youngest character in God’s bits of Wood, Ad’jibid’ji, displayed the unwavering tenacity necessary in the ideal scholar, always asking questions and never fearing the truth. Hughes, startled by the effect the teachings of the dominant presence had on the people it controlled, was compelled to depict the more sinister face of education: as a method of indoctrination and a tool to perpetuate ignorance. Aidoo, Ousmane, and Hughes, all moved by the extent to which education affects the population and its strength, as well as its sense of identity and power. Nelson Mandela, the first democratically elected State President of South Africa (1994), said, “Education is the greatest weapon which you can use to change the world.” With this consciousness in mind, it is clear that education can be used in any way the teacher chooses, and furthermore in any way the student chooses to wield it. Regardless of its use, however, it is important to realize that humankind’s greatest and most permanent achievements, including architecture, art, and literature, are as a direct result of diligent pursuit of knowledge on the part of the auteur. Although someone is born with talent, that talent is limited by the access the user has to it, and often, without guidelines: line, form, and shade for artists, and plot, theme, and characterization for writers, just to name a few. The artist is confined to his own devices, which are never as great as the collection of knowledge acquired over centuries of teachers teaching students. Furthermore, without a foundation, the mind is unguided, and cannot think clearly, for education trains the thinker in the act of thinking. From this thought questions arise, and finally ideas, and from these ideas works are synthesized, and often, actions taken. This series of events cannot exist without that important catalyst—the student, choosing to expand their faculties, and actively engaging in the act of thought. Therefore, regardless of the use of the teachings, those teachings are an irrevocable and essential part of the human condition.
Works Cited
Aidoo, Ama Ata. No Sweetness Here and Other Stories. New York: Feminist at the City University of New York, 1995. Print.
Barthel, Diane. "Women's Educational Experience Under Colonialism: Toward a Diachronic Model." Signs: Journal of Women in Culture & Society, 11.1 (1985): 137-154.
"CIA - The World Factbook." Welcome to the CIA Web Site — Central Intelligence Agency. Entry: Ghana. Web. 08 Dec. 2010. <https://www.cia.gov/library/publications/the-world-factbook/geos/gh.html>.
"CIA - The World Factbook." Welcome to the CIA Web Site — Central Intelligence Agency. Entry: Rwanda. Web. 08 Dec. 2010. <https://www.cia.gov/library/publications/the-world-factbook/geos/rw.html>.
"CIA - The World Factbook." Welcome to the CIA Web Site — Central Intelligence Agency. Entry: Senegal. Web. 08 Dec. 2010. <https://www.cia.gov/library/publications/the-world-factbook/geos/sg.html>.
"Le Pere de Cinema Africain - Ousmane Sembene, Le Dakarois En Perpetuelle Revolte | Courrier International." Courrier International - L'anticipation Au Quotidien. Web. 08 Dec. 2010. <http://www.courrierinternational.com/article/2004/12/16/ousmane-sembene-le-dakarois-en-perpetuelle-revolte>.
"Ousmane Sembene - Obituaries, News - The Independent." The Independent | News | UK and Worldwide News | Newspaper. Web. 08 Dec. 2010. <http://www.independent.co.uk/news/obituaries/ousmane-sembene-452880.html>.
"Ousmane Sembène." Wikipedia, the Free Encyclopedia. Web. 08 Dec. 2010. <http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sembene_Ousmane>.
Sembène, Ousmane, and Francis Price. God's Bits of Wood. Oxford: Heinemann, 1995. Print.
