(The Age, 30/11/2923)
I became a teacher because I saw it as a way to make positive change in the world. Despite reported staff shortages and burnout, I have always believed that education was the path to awareness and empathy, to a more active and just world.
Seven weeks ago, my students began to ask me about Palestine. The Palestine-Israel conflict is on every news site, social media feed – it’s everywhere they look. Is it surprising they wanted to ask their humanities and global politics teacher about it, to discuss and clarify?
During our studies, we have discussed numerous conflicts. We have explored World War II and the Holocaust. We have discussed Rwanda, Cambodia, Syria, Iraq, and the Gulf War. Our education system was OK with each of these. So, one would think that as a teacher and as a human, I had an obligation to discuss the thousands killed and trapped beneath rubble.
Imagine the confusion when my colleagues and I received an email from school management telling us to do the opposite. The email told us not to speak to students about the “conflict in the Middle East”. Instead, it suggested we deflect student questions by expressing our gratitude for being in Australia and saying that we did not know much about the conflict.
Were these really the responses I was expected to give to the curious young people in my classes? Was I expected to tell my Palestinian students they should feel lucky to be in Australia?
There is a misconception that by teaching specific content, this is “radicalising” or “swaying the opinion” of students. But why is this conflict different to learning about any other conflict? Is the solution to leave students to learn by themselves on social media, amid a swarm of misinformation?
I appreciate that personal politics and beliefs should not be brought into the classroom, but banning discussion of this conflict is unrealistic.
What does this email say about our duty to the thousands of children and dozens of teachers and school staff killed in Gaza? To the one Palestinian child killed every 10 minutes earlier this month, as the head of the World Health Organisation reported?
As an educator, I question the appropriateness of feigning ignorance on such critical matters. How could I pretend not to be knowledgeable on this topic? Hundreds of thousands of children in Gaza are not being educated right now because they have been driven from their homes and communities.
Beyond this being offensive to all teachers, I found it to be especially nullifying of the existence of Palestinian and Arab teachers. The Education Department’s approach ignores the possibility that some teachers have a personal connection to the conflict. I am the only Arab in my staff room, and one of very few at my school, despite the student demographic. I have sat at my desk feeling isolated, alone, and unseen.
In some cases, teachers who attempt to show solidarity with the Palestinian cause have been punished for speaking up. Such is the case for a teacher at an inner-city Victorian school who was sent home by the principal for handing out flyers to other teachers about the Teachers and School Staff for Palestine Week of Action. The week of action includes gestures such as wearing a keffiyeh (a Palestinian scarf) or a Palestine badge to work, or hosting an activity related to Palestine such as a film screening.
The second directive in the email from school management was that if a student was wearing a keffiyeh, to take it off them. Are we truly expected to ask a student who has lost family members as a result of Israeli aggression to relinquish their one small act of solidarity?
The underlying message became clear: rather than confront and witness something uncomfortable, we should hide it, dismiss it, erase their cultural identity, and do our best to ignore it. But how can I ignore the countless images and videos on social media of children’s bodies covered with dirt, rubble, and blood. I have seen footage of a young girl identifying her mother’s corpse. Of a man holding and gently kissing the forehead of his five-year-old-granddaughter’s lifeless body, pigtails still intact.
Alongside what I hope to be a growing number of teachers, I refuse to stay silent because trying to sweep this under the rug is just another form of oppression. To be silent is to be complicit.
We cannot as educators continue to teach our students to be “upstanders”, and in the same breath, be silent to the mass killing and displacement broadcasted to us clearly.
Farah Khairat is a secondary school humanities teacher working in a culturally diverse school in the south-eastern suburbs of Melbourne. She is a member of the Teachers and School Staff for Palestine Victoria action group.