A tale of two teachers, true Palestinian heroes

My father, now in his 70s, has told me this story of his teacher, Ibrahim Abu Touq, many times.

"I was in year four in the village school and we were attentively listening to the religious studies teacher explain Surat al-Alaq, chapter 96 of the Quran.

"I distinctly remember the scene; we heard shots fired outside the class window. All of a sudden our teacher, Ibrahim Abu Touq, yelled: 'Hide under the desks.' Then we heard shots fired in the classroom. Mr Ibrahim had pulled out a gun from his waist and started shooting at a foot patrol from the Haganah [a pre-state Jewish paramilitary group] that was passing behind the school.

"Then, from under our desks, we saw Mr Ibrahim leave the class and continue shooting outside. This incident was only days before we were forcefully displaced. Mr Ibrahim left for Jordan with thousands of our people. He worked as a teacher in Suwaylih and died in the early 1970s."

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In the sixth volume of his diary, published by the Institute of Palestinian Studies over eight volumes, the Palestinian teacher and thinker Khalil al-Sakakini wrote:

Mr Ibrahim had pulled out a gun from his waist and started shooting at a foot patrol from the Haganah passing behind the school.

"My resignation from the Palestine Broadcasting Station [in 1931] in protest over the Jews saying that Palestine was the land of Israel caused a commotion up and down the country, and I witnessed its effects in the local newspapers.

"People were surprised at my resignation, given that I was a senior government official, and my actions would anger the government and paint me as rebel or at least a troublemaker.

"People, along with the government, thought this long service had tamed me and made me easier to subdue, they thought that whenever the government would order me to do something I would rush to comply with the orders to please the government over anything else."

Every time I think about leaving the teaching profession because it has destroyed half of my intelligence and three quarters of my mental clarity as a result of its fascist, stagnant order, I remember these heroic teachers, Ibrahim Abu Touq and Khalil al-Sakakini.

I postpone thinking about leaving, and enjoy the fantasy of change, of creating an island of light in a sea of darkness and the chivalry of challenging the intellectual quagmire into which Palestinian education is sinking.

The terrifying thing about our education system in Palestine is that it still does not realise the extent of the damage it is causing.

It is gradually extinguishing the Palestinian spirit.

An exemplary teacher in our educational institutions is one who is able to write his or her name above the red line in the teacher's attendance book, and who is able to prepare their lessons every year with the same precision within the time permitted.

One of these exemplary teachers once bragged to me that he went through his attendance record for the past twenty years and found that his lesson preparation time was completely uniform.

I asked him why he didn't just prepare one lesson for all future classes. He replied: "The ministry (of education) does not allow that and wants me to prepare every year."
 
Devoid of passion

A teacher in Palestine has become a lifeless body that enters the classroom every morning with another lifeless body called the teacher's preparation book. The preparation book does not teach students to debate, search for answers, contemplate, refuse common wisdom or respect their personal view on life.

Instead, it teaches them to become exemplary lifeless bodies that all look the same, submissively accepting information, holding on to the outdated, afraid of adventure and research.

The teaching profession has destroyed half of my intelligence and three quarters of my mental clarity as a result of its fascist, stagnant order.

Thousands of students graduate with this dead mentality every year. Unfortunately, they are carbon copies of their brain-dead teachers.

How can we build our future country like this? How can we become a part of the world while we cannot enjoy a poetic piece written by a great such as al-Mutanabbi or Mahmoud Darwish?

Here, they teach students to memorise poetry without teaching them to appreciate it, or live its beauty.

In our schools they teach students to stand in regimented lines in the morning assembly and force them to listen to lectures supervised by a teacher - who, in turn, is forced to oversee the line of students, in a school supervised by a principal, who is forced to document the morning lectures.

There is no passion for learning in our schools, no love and no enjoyment.

The mentality of force is supreme in our educational institutions in Palestine. Every day I think about leaving the profession, yet every day I come back.

Opinions expressed in this article remain those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the opinions of al-Araby al-Jadeed, its editorial board or staff.

This is an edited translation from our Arabic edition.