I appreciate deep, intellectual discussions. I love talking about ideas so broad as to surprise me when I look down and find that my feet are still touching the ground. The more controversial and radical the discussion, the better. I'm most impressed when a person displays depth in knowledge and eloquence, especially in areas I care about. I find myself easily caught between awe and what must be envy and a sense of inferiority when in the presence of eloquent and learned people who share my values and faith.
This seems to pour over into my classrooms. I place a high emphasis on critical thinking in class and I consider my lessons a success when I am able to observe students being able to express their opinions with confidence and back their beliefs with sound reasoning. Whatever answer the kids give, I follow up with "Why?" "Defend your answer," "What proof do you have to support your argument?" and "What if this happened instead?"
As usual, I decided to challenge the norm in class today. I brought up the recent SCOTUS ruling (I can almost see the flinches and hear sharp intakes of breath headed this way), disguising the topic as a means to help the kids pick up the ability to brainstorm and structure their thoughts to prepare them for essay writing. I wanted for my kids to learn compassion at the same time, to be able to take a stand without hurting another person on their way to building their core values and without negating persons in favour of an issue. The art of being able to strongly disagree with a person without attacking the person as a human and the ability see one as a person beyond his/her labels have become such a lost art that I thought this would be the lesson I wanted the kids to take home for the day. (In retrospect, I realise that's ironic and hypocritical of me and I am really sorry. I may have objectified others by discussing the legalisation of same-sex marriage solely as an issue/teaching tool after all and this is the very reason I have been very careful about commenting on it, lest it speaks too little of who a person is).
Like every single lesson I deliver though, it didn't go according to plan. In a perfect world, the kids were supposed to take various stands, hurl arguments at me and at one another (like you know, many netizens) albeit civilly, calmly and gracefully (unlike you know, many netizens).
Instead, it took me ten full minutes just to explain the ruling and its context to the kids, and was then met with immediate, synchronised horrified gasps and loud protests. The concept of anything but the family institution they have always known is that foreign to them. My initial reaction was exasperation at their lack of awareness. Perhaps I had assumed that every other person's social media has also been subjected to mass profile picture changes and LoveWins hashtags or theological responses of various forms.
I had no choice but to meet them where they were and to help them make sense of the topic. I asked "Siapakah yang bersetuju dengan perubahan undang-undang ini?" Who agrees with the ruling?
No hands.
"Siapakah yang tidak bersetuju dengan undang-undang ini?" Who disagrees with the ruling?
Hands. Hands. More hands.
"Siapakah yang tidak dapat membuat keputusan?" Who can't make up their minds?
One hand. Two hands.
So, I begun to question them as is my modus operandi, "Ramai yang tidak bersetuju. Yang angkat tangan untuk tidak bersetuju, tolong berikan sebab." For those who do not agree, please give your reasons.
"Cikgu, Tuhan akan murka." Teacher, it'll upset God.
"Cikgu, siapalah yang buat anak nanti?" Teacher, who'll be producing babies then?
"Cikgu, tidak secocok." Teacher, there's no compatibility.
Their answers took me by surprise - though belatedly. It was not so much their answer (I'd just like to emphasise that this isn't about winning any arguments) but the manner in which they answered which struck me. They were a stark contrast to the way I would have responded. I would have given a speech, covered all bases. I would have done so with careful words. Guarded. Cautious. Wary of what others would think. I would have answered with my head, with that intellect I so love.
These kids answered with conviction. Their words were not eloquent but they were from the heart. It is okay that others may not agree, it didn't matter to them that half the world could be shaking their heads in disagreement at their simple-and-single-mindedness. The brilliant and beautiful thing is they attacked no one in the process. There was a striking innocence in how they answered me. They were genuine.
I realised that while I personally shared their views, I would never have been able to be so confident, so unwavering with my answer. I would never have been able to answer from my heart. I've always needed a reason behind my faith, a reason for the way things work. They didn't. They had pure conviction and that was enough for them. I would never trust anyone enough to speak my mind in truthful entirety. What a dangerous world we live in. We seem to have pitched ourselves against one another in disguise of defending our beliefs.
I set out with a goal in mind: I was going to teach these kids to think and for them to learn to defend whatever good values they adopt in life.
I left the class with a lesson from these kids: They taught me to be gentle in disagreement. They taught me to not only speak from my head but also from my very core. They taught me that we do not make friends so much with beautiful words as with sincerity. They taught me sheer belief and to not apologise for it.
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