A precious instance of student agency

21/07/2021 

 

Last week, we had our dreaded MYP Audit. Through two weeks’ worth of blood, sweat, and mostly, tears we did manage to put on a good enough show. But putting aside whether we get authorized or not, the main takeaway was the insight we got into the IB program from actual IB professionals. 

One of the main points was that the auditors didn’t really see instances of student agency in classrooms. Now, student agency is a main IB principle. IB is all about empowering students- I mean learners (my bad), encouraging them to take charge of their own learning and blazing their own differentiated trails through the jungle of their academic careers. 

Let’s be honest, generally the way we teach doesn’t leave a lot of room for students to take control. Because hey, they’re kids: they can’t control themselves, much alone a daunting curriculum and the delicate balance of ephemeral elements that make a class. Hence the obvious solution is to teach with an iron board-marker, the teacher ruling over their own micro fascist state.

But that’s not the IB way. We have to give into the chaos. 

Fast-forward a week. Friday. Year 8, Language & Literature. 

 “Guys. We have to do the play.”

Cue the crescendo of anguished tweens wailing in absolute defiance in the face of utter tyranny. To be fair, their anguish isn’t entirely without cause. This cursed adaptation of Poe had been in the works for months with many an infuriating hiatus derailing any shred of momentum that we had been able to rally. But hey, when the boss says jump…

“SIR, NO.”

“We will protest.”

“I’ll burn the school down.”

“Do we have to do the play? We can do anything else please!”

“Guys let's sit-in on the basketball court.”

“But they’ll take away our field trip!”

“You got a match?”

You get the gist. 

On this particular Friday, I wasn’t really vibing with this display of cutesy rebellion and angst. It was a stressful enough day with nihilistic highschoolers and painfully bureaucratic accountants. The cacophony was getting a bit too much and me, generally being a nice person, instead of making a memorable example of a poor soul in my righteous fury, simply said: 

“Y’all let me know when you’re ready to do this, I’ll be outside.”

And I walked out, emailing yet another document to complete the ritual and satiate the Accounting demon’s thirst for paperwork. 

Couple minutes pass, and someone does come to get me. 

I return to a class of sullen faces, the air heavy with dejection. Chairs are dragged to the center of the room to begin rehearsals, their actions teetering on the edge of insolence and borderline insubordination. This is supposed to be a whole class thing but we are a divided lot. The “too-cool-for-you” crowd keeps on doing their thing, and the “please-don’t-notice-mes” still stick to their corner. 

Rehearsal starts with many a bickering and monotonous delivery. And I’m just not having it today.

“You know what? Pick two people to be directors of this play. I’ll be outside.”

Second walkout in the same class? New personal best. 

Five-ish minutes later I walked back in, having concluded my blood pact to get a cheque approved (don't even ask)  and overall very much near tears over the multiple stabbing turns this Friday seemed to be taking.

But I am greeted with something honestly spectacular. 

Two students, A (new girl, just joined, god bless her) and IM stand at the helm. A very obedient crew of actors perform their lines with as much rusty passion as they can muster. The rest of the class dutifully fulfill their role of extras, adding that perfectly timed oomph.

Picking my jaw up, I ninja-move to the back to observe this miracle: true student agency in action. Learners taking charge of their learning, assigning roles, actually working towards an objective. They said it couldn’t be done, a myth! And yet here I stood, recording on my phone to quell the naysayers. 

School in the time of COVID.

Hello everyone, and welcome to the summer vacation from HELL.

Where usually we would be trying to relax and catch up on thrilling turkish teleplays, waiting for our lives to restart come August, we are now catching up on those teleplays, while being quite annoyed about the whole global pandemic thing.

Seriously though, stay at home.

One of the things that was drastically affected by the pandemic and the subsequent lockdown was school.

Being termed as snotty germ factories more so than usual, governments all over the world cancelled school, sending everyone scrambling to the comforting arms of the internet.

I have felt that online schooling, or using the internet as a primary means of education, was an inevitability. The internet is supposed to be the “great equaliser” removing the cost of the physical infrastructure required to run a school, like buildings, desks, chairs etc. and providing easy access to literally all of the information and knowledge you could ever need. You know, like an actual school.

We saw this rising trend with initiatives like Khan Academy, UDemy, EdX, Coursera, Masterclass along with pretty much all major universities offering online versions of their courses as well.

Seeing this trickle down to the Highschool level was something i felt would have been commonplace in say 5 to 10 years. However, COVID accelerated that timeframe to a matter of days, as schools all over the world jumped online trying to transition as seamlessly as possible.

Now in Pakistan, as is usually the case between those who are privileged and those who are not, this move split students across the country into two major categories: those who did transition to online schooling and those who could not.

According to different sources, Internet penetration in Pakistan is around 35% of the total population. Meaning that only 1 in 3 people has ready access to the internet. So we can’t really consider online schooling as a one-size-fits-all solution when the infrastructure needed to access that learning is in such limited number of hands

As such, the government did launch a commendable initiative in the form of Television based learning, which has a significantly higher penetration rate. But again due to the passive nature of the medium, it is a temporary stop-gap solution at best.

Since I teach at an extremely privileged school, let's talk more about the online schooling aspect.

I feel as teachers we had to adapt really quickly and as is usually the case with new technology, there are growing pains. It takes some getting used to the new format and medium of instruction, with all the parental pressure for perfection not making things any easier.

In the last couple of months I saw that there was either a tendency to go for very lecturey-late night-talkshow-host-monologuey lessons (like meself, I do like to babble), or to go for a much more assignment-heavy strategy. Honestly speaking i don't think either of the two strategies are ideal; we just ended up translating our strongest teaching styles into these online classrooms.

I think most of us teachers would agree that the most important thing that has been missing so far is that level of social connection we would have with students when we would occupy the same physical space.

By its very nature, that is something really hard to effectively translate online. When someone is speaking to you over the phone or even through video, as compared to in person, our attention tends to slip. And I think going forward focusing on this element would be crucial. Trying to make our lectures and assignments as interactive as possible, so that there is a conversation going on and it's not just passive learning.

Which brings me to the other side of the equation: the students.

To say that it has been challenging for y’all would be a disservice and a gross understatement. Suddenly adapting to a new mode of learning amidst a global crisis and the mental and emotional strain that comes with that, is incredibly hard. Having that shared physical space was important and had a tremendous impact on how we absorbed and analysed information and it really feels like online schooling is but a shadow of its former corporeal self.

That being said, I think there is a key realisation that we all need to come and it's that, this isn't going away any time soon.

There is no deadline on the virus as of yet and most experts agree that this will take at least months to solve. Even if schools are opened when things seem better, there is quite the possibility that they just might be closed again if the virus behaves differently.

For better or for worse, online schooling is here to stay, What we have to do is come to terms with that fact and realise that we will not be getting this time back. It falls on us to adapt to these changes and make the most of them.

As students who have spent their lives in a strictly regimented academic program, this might feel like uncharted territory. Suddenly, there is no authority figure monitoring your every move, keeping you on track. You are not surrounded by like-minded peers who are also striving for the same goals as you. Learning has suddenly become quite a lonely experience.

And it is in this state that it becomes imperative to take responsibility for whatever it is we are doing. It is in fact in these times of crises that we find ourselves maturing a lot faster. We have to learn skills that will help us overcome these challenges, chief among these being self discipline.

Without the proverbial danda guiding our actions, it will fall on all of us to give ourselves that motivation to keep going and accomplishing. For that we’ll need a lot of awareness and reflection as to why we are doing the things we are doing and finding those ambitions and reasons.

So engage as openly and extensively as you can with online learning and think of the fortunate circumstances that have allowed you this unique experience. And what you can do for those who were not so fortunate.

If this crisis has taught us anything it's that humans have the fundamental capacity to adapt and overcome. We are definitely all in this together and InshAllah we will get through this together as well.

Elf and Mage - Pt. 3 (Epilogue - for now)

Part 3 - Epilogue

Tulin and Daim stood over the Priest’s still smoking corpse, his wolf-skull helm cracked in half.

Surveying the destruction strewn about the ruins, Tulin contemplated if the threat to Silverglade was over. His moody rumination was interrupted by rustling behind him.

He turned to see Daim straightening up, dusting his robes. Tulin caught his eye, but Daim quickly shifted his gaze, and cleared his throat.

“So, seems like all this is wrapped up. No casualties too!” he beamed.

Daim paused. “Well, apart from them,” he said, waving his arm at the handful of littered bodies.

He walked over and stood by Tulin.

“Nasty piece of work that,” he said, gesturing at the Priest.

With his mask off, Tulin could see how inhuman his features were: dark hairy skin, fangs protruding from his jaw, yellow baleful eyes now staring vacantly. He was not a full werewolf, but something in between.

Tulin shook his head. “What madness grips these fools to play with powers they cannot control,” he said darkly. “So much death, such loss, and for what?”

Daim laughed, and clapped Tulin’s shoulder, much to his chagrin.

“Power! When you aren’t born with it, you fight for every shred of it. Be it good or corrupt, it’s only power which separates the wolf from the sheep. It’s the only thing which can give us what we all crave so desperately.”

“And what is it that you crave?”

Daim smiled.

“Purpose, Elf. Meaning and purpose in this chaotic charade we call life.”

Tulin rolled his eyes. “Battle surely woke the philosopher in you.”

“Life threatening situations tend to give me perspective,” Daim laughed. “Come, let’s take our leave of this accursed place.”

Tulin clasped his arm.

“You were in chains for practicing death magic. What different are you from the Wolf-Priest? Maybe I should put you down too.”

Daim stared wide-eyed; Tulin’s stony face betrayed no thought.

With a snarl, Daim jerked his arm out of his grip. “Maybe because I saved your life, Elf. How about some gratitude instead?”

Tulin watched him carefully, his hand straying to the knife hilt on his belt. “Why did you help me?”

Daim sighed, exasperated. “Because you obviously couldn’t have done this on your own. And yes, I was curious. The werewolf that attacked us were different, imbued with necromancy. I wanted to see what had created them.”

He spread his arms. “But I’m not after power to wreak havoc like this madman. I believe necromancy, like any art, any tool, can be used for healing, for good. This was the work I researched at the College. The simpletons there, much like you, couldn’t see past their black and white idiocy and expelled me!”

Daim’s voice echoed around the cave. Tulin continued to check his every move.

“It doesn’t matter what you think,” Daim said in a low voice, shoulders sagging. “I consider you a friend and I won’t fight you. I was going to let you buy me a drink for saving your life in the next tavern over, and that offer still stands.”

He stared into Tulin’s steely gaze, the silence between them widening, until he turned and began to walk out of the cave.

“Your choice Elf,” Daim called out. “Shoot me in the back, or shoot down some ale.”

Tulin watched him leave, his thoughts abuzz.

As Daim’s figured receded into the shadows, Tulin exhaled deeply. There had been enough death for one day, he thought to himself.

He took one last look at the ruins and followed Daim.

Behind him, the Priest’s scorched remains lay splayed with limbs twisted and the soulstone distinctly missing from the thick gold chain around its shriveled neck.

Elf and Mage - Pt. 2

Part 2

“Oi! Having a nap, magic-man?”

The guard’s spear clanging against the metal bars jolted Daim awake. With manacled hands he best rubbed his bleary eyes against the late afternoon sun.

“Thought you wizard types didn’t need no sleep,” a voice guffawed from Daim’s left.

“Naw naw, you thinkin’ about them vampires, mate!” cackled the guard who so unceremoniously had woken him.

“Wot you a vampire? You can hang upside down from the top of the wagon, we won’t mind,” he teased, much to the amusement of the other guards in the convoy, who joined him in raucous laughter.

“Alright, alright, quiet down lads,” the Captain called from the front of the pack. “Poor bloke be losing his head soon enough, no reason for you lot to make him pray for it to come sooner.”

His head ringing, Daim tried to make out the Captain astride his steed through the cage.

“Thank you, sir-” he began.

“Oi shut it! Who said you can talk eh?” the guard said, smacking him with the butt of his spear.

Daim stared daggers at him, rubbing his bruised arm and imagining the horrific torments he would visit upon his captors. If only he was not bound, in a cage, in a prisoner convoy, with four armed guards, headed to the city where the magistrate was sure to take his head.

The hopelessness of his situation dawning on him, Daim slumped down defeated onto the dirty straw floor of his pen, as the convoy passed through Wickerwale forest, between the College and Stonehaven city.

His wrists and ankles ached under the heavy chains, and his head hung heavy with dark thoughts.

The forest road turned and twisted between the trees. “Eyes open lads, the road is treacherous,” the Captain warned his men.

The wagon driver nodded grimly. “Aye, there been reports of kidnappings in these parts. Some slaughtered livestock too. Reckon a new gang of bandits moved in.”

The younger guards marching on either side of the wagon smirked to each other.

“Aw bandits know better than to mess with the city-guard,” one of them swaggered, puffing out his chest and clapping spear against shield. “Haha yeah, let ‘em come, bet the magistrate would pay good coin for their heads,” the other chimed in.

Their bravado was cut short as a blood curdling howl echoed through the forest.

Roosting birds flew out of their nests in terror, and the Captain’s horse reared back, neighing hysterically, almost throwing him off.

“Easy, easy!” the Captain yelled, frantically pulling on his reins.

The wagon ground to a halt, as the guards peered through the trees and gloom, weapons at the ready.

Daim sat alert, heart pounding, his breathing quick and shallow.

“W-what was that?” a guard stammered.

“That didn’t sound like no bandit,” another mumbled.

The forest grew deadly quiet. Shadows seemed deeper, the trees taller and more unwelcome.

“Maybe you should let me out, I could help-” Daim began.

“Shut up!” a guard yelled out, hitting the bars with his spear again.

The metallic clang reverberated in the still air.

The Captain glared at the noise. “Quiet you idiot,” he hissed.

“The prisoner was being rowdy, Captain,” the guard drawled, staring accusingly at Daim.

He turned just as a mountain of fur, fangs and claws erupted from the brush, lunging at the guard with a deafening roar.

The werewolf crushed the guard against the wagon with such brutal force, the bars bent under the strain. Daim was thrown against the other side of the cage, and he watched in horror as his captor was disemboweled barely a foot from him.

The horses pulling the wagon screamed, breaking their reins. The driver was yanked off his seat as the horses galloped away, dragging him behind them until he untangled himself a couple dozen yards down the dirt path.  

Maw drenched in blood, the beast growled at the remaining guard, who stood shaking, his spear held out in front of him.

Thundering hooves drew the werewolf’s attention from its hapless prey, as the Captain charged towards the beast. His horse foaming red at the mouth, he bellowed a mighty warcry, drawing his blade.

The second werewolf leapt from the trees, slamming into both horse and rider.

The Captain hurled to the ground, his horse pinning his legs. His cries turned to bloody gurgles as the wolf snapped its jaw shut on his throat.

The last guard turned to flee, but to no avail. The first werewolf sped after him in a flash, and was upon him in seconds. The guard’s shield splintered under its savage claws, as the wolf went in for its second kill.

Daim prayed to whatever gods he could remember, old and new alike, for him to be spared from this grisly fate. His supplications were cut short by twin twangs ringing out from the trees.

The first werewolf paused, as if surprised.

Daim looked on as the wolf keeled over, two green arrows protruding from its thick throat.

A hooded and cloaked figure emerged onto the forest road with bow drawn and arrows nocked. Daim stared silently, mouth agape.

The other werewolf noticing the stranger, left its half-eaten wagon driver, and sprinted hungrily towards its fresh quarry.

Tulin moved faster than Daim could believe, and shot off two arrows towards the swiftly approaching beast.

One missed. The other embedded itself harmlessly in its mangy shoulder.

The wolf swiped at Tulin’s head, claws whistling through the air. He rolled out of the way, and fired another arrow, this one finding its mark in the beast’s leg.

Tulin shuddered and winced, almost losing his footing. Daim saw that he was bleeding through his cloak.

“The elf’s injured,” he realized, with rising panic. “And if he goes down, I’m next!”

Tulin steadied himself, face pale and set in a pained grimace. He cast his bow aside and drew a long curved knife from his belt.

The werewolf surveyed him carefully, pacing back and forth, eyeing the five feet of earth between them, and the slow trickle of blood dripping from his side.

With a vicious howl, it charged at him. Tulin steeled his footing and braced for the onslaught.

The air suddenly burned and an explosion blasted the werewolf off of its feet.

The stench of burned fur and flesh assaulted Tulin’s nose as he saw the smoking ruin of the wolf's back, melted down to the bone.

He turned to see Daim kneeling in his cage, hands outstretched and pulsating with arcane energy.

“You’re welcome,” he panted.

Tulin paused. He tipped his head in gratitude, and turned to leave without a word.

“Hey hey! Where are you going? Help me out of this!” Daim cried out behind him, rattling his chains.

Tulin continued without looking back. “You’re a criminal. You probably did something to deserve being in that cage.”

“What!” Daim yelled incredulously. “I saved your life, you owe me Elf!”

That made Tulin turn. “And I killed the other werewolf, I’d say that calls us even. Besides, a resourceful mage like you can make your own escape.”

“No no,” Daim shook his head, tired. “That was my last spell-scroll. I don’t have any left, I’m defenseless. And I’m not a criminal! My name is Daim and I am a member of the College of Misthold.”

“This situation,” he continued, gesturing around him. “Nothing more than a simple misunderstanding.”

“They put you in chains with an armed escort over a simple misunderstanding?” Tulin asked with raised brow.

Daim grew visibly exasperated.

“It doesn’t matter! Without me you would be a pile of meat and bones. I saved your life, you owe me!”

Tulin stared hard at him. Daim held his breath.

“Alright.”