Day: December 17, 2019

We have to leave the teacher in the classroom, isn\’t it?

Parimal Patel, a CRC coordinator from Gujarat, faced the following difficulty. To which there are no easy answers, but here\’s an attempt. Feel free to add your views!
Parimal Patel
Two days ago, I had a discussion in my cluster to make school history and to make school bio-data (which was made by me for my school by spending extra time in the school). Teachers liked  my idea but said that that in which time they would make it? They have had a lot of work since June. I\’m asking this question because this is only one example – but there are so many policy-makers and the worker is only one. If we want quality we have to leave teacher in the classroom, isn\’t it? Please think about it – this is a more difficult question in primary education than any other.

Subir\’s response

Parimal (and many other friends struggling with the same problem) – you are right that the worker is one and policy makers are many, and all of them are trying to get the worker to do something or the other! So what can be done? Here are a few points for you all to consider:
  • The curriculum development process is one very important way to create a framework and common understanding so that the different decision-makers and policy-makers can think in a coordinated way. In the next few months this will be shared across the state and a process to coordinate accordingly will start. In the beginning, though, you can expect a lot of struggle, since everyone will not agree on what the SRG has developed! Be prepared for different ideas all trying to occupy the same place. 
  • When we work in the field, we do have to keep in mind specific actions. At the same time, don\’t worry if the teacher does not do what you are asking for – AS LONG AS HE/SHE IS WORKING TOWARDS THE SAME OBJECTIVE. The problem arises when the objectives themselves are different (as will happen this year in the Gunotsav). 
  • The need to leave the teacher to work in the classroom is really important. We have opposite views about what is happening: some claim the teacher has got too many non-teaching tasks, and some say that the teacher is simply not spending the time in the class. Which view is the correct one? I think both are. People like me will keep on working with policy makers to ensure that non-teaching tasks are reduced, and other colleagues at field level will have to keep on working to ensure that teachers do spend the time available in the classroom. 
  • I like the idea of the school bio-data. Maybe it does not have to be done in one go. How about putting up a chart or board, and letting teachers, children, even community members add things to it when they have the time. Then, perhaps after a month, in the morning assembly this can be shared (it is not necessary to keep doing the same things in morning assembly every day!). Different classes could be given the tasks in different subjects, related to the school bio-data (in language – do the writing work; in maths – make maps, tables with data; in social studies – trace the history; in drawing – make pictures of different aspects of the school, etc.). So making it a project, spreading it over time, and connecting it with ongoing processes might help. This has to do with how we imagine different things being done. 
  • Finally, pl also read the post on \’How Teachers Change\’, and also \’How Teachers Learn\’ in my blog.
https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCCzOJDJZHoBttdHAjJsnN9w?sub_confirmation=1

AYUSH Ministry hosting WHO Meetings on developing Standardizeditional M Terminologies and Benchmarks documents of Practice for Tradedicine

Ministry of AYUSH is hosting two important WHO meetings during the last week of November and first week of December 2019 at the Institute of Prost Graduate Teaching and Research in Ayurveda (IPGT & RA), Jamnagar, Gujarat and another is Morarji Desai National Institute of Yoga & Naturopathy, New Delhi.

 

The WHO – International Experts Consultation Meeting (IECM), held from 26th to 29th November 2019, shall host 51 selected international experts (from all six WHO regions) of Ayurveda, Unani and Panchakarma, as well as Traditional Medicine practitioners, researchers, health policy makers, regulators and administrators.

 

The WHO Working Group Meeting (WGM), held from 2nd to 4th December 2019, shall host 42 selected international experts (from all six WHO regions) of Traditional Medicine literary research, and other related academics including different language experts (Sanskrit, Arabic, Persian, Urdu, and Tamil) with specific knowledge and considerable experience in working in the area of Traditional Medicine languages and scripts.

 

WHO is developing Benchmarks Document for Practice of Ayurveda, Panchakarma & Unani and International Terminologies Documents in Ayurveda, Siddha & Unani as part of its global strategy to strengthen the quality, safety and effectiveness of Traditional and Complementary Medicine (T&CM).  Development of this benchmarks document is included in the Project Collaboration Agreement (PCA) signed between World Health Organization (WHO) and Ministry of AYUSH, Government of India on Cooperation in the field of Traditional and Complementary Medicine under WHO strategy on T&CM covering the period 2014-2023.

The consultation meeting of international experts (IECM) on the benchmarks for practice is a continuation of the Working Group Meeting (WGM) WHO organized on the same subject during the September of 2018 at National Institute of Ayurveda at Jaipur.

 

The practice benchmark documents are expected to serve as international benchmarks for qualified practice of Ayurveda, and Unani. They will frame the safety requirements for practicing Ayurveda, Panchakarma, and Unani and provide qualifying criteria for practitioners of Ayurveda and Unani among addressing other details and nuances of medical practice. These documents shall serve as reference to national authorities to establish/strengthen regulatory standards and ensure practice of Ayurveda, Panchakarma, and Unani, and assure patient safety.

The purpose of the WHO Working Group Meeting (WGM) is to review, comment and revise the draft documents prepared on the Standard Terminologies of Ayurveda, Unani and Siddha by a select group of nine experts. The WGM shall help in arriving at an international consensus regarding the structure and content of each of the documents, including on occasions, consensus on the meanings and definition of words used in these systems. The documents are expected to provide: list of terms in the respective systems,  their definitions (short or explanatory descriptions as required) including contextual meanings of the terms,  classical usage/ of the terms with references to the definitions,  suggested English terms, synonyms, and even define exclusions to the meanings of the term in medical context.  The documents shall cover terms related to basic principles, fundamental theories, human structure and function, diagnosis, pathologies, patterns, and body constitutions, pharmacognosy, pharmacology, preparation of food and medicines, therapeutics, and preventive and health promotion interventions, and miscellaneous terms in the respective medical systems.

 

The 93 International experts are  being invited  from  nearly 30 different countries (Covering all six regions of WHO ) including Japan, New Zealand, Malaysia, Singapore, Bangladesh, Nepal, Sri Lanka, India, Mauritius, Ghana, South Africa, Tanzania, UAE, Iran, Italy, Switzerland, Spain, Germany, Latvia, Austria, Denmark, Russia, Hungary, USA, Canada, and Argentina.

***

\’What We Learn Cannot Be Burnt – \’An Afghan Neo-Literate Woman

As we work in education, it often tends to get too \’sanitized\’ – as if it is not about real people in real situations, where education has a meaning that\’s almost impossible to comprehend. Here\’s a story from Afghanistan, from a programme called Learning for Life that sought to provide initial literacy and health awareness to enable women to become CHWs (community health workers, sorely needed in the country). This story was documented in June 2005, by Judie Schiffbauer, and shared by Katy Anis.


Each morning, six days a week, 40 year old Zeba Gul wraps a light gray shawl around her head and shoulders and leaves her family’s mud-walled compound in the Afghan village of BegToot.  She follows a path that winds through dusty alleyways and then along green fields to arrive at a two-story building constructed of unbaked brick made from mud and straw.  Inside, a set of narrow stairs leads to the Learning for Life classroom, where other women are already gathered.  Removing her shoes at the doorway, she enters and lowers herself to the mat-covered floor, tucking her long legs beneath her.  
In December 2004, when the LfL health-based literacy program began in BegToot, wind whipped snow against the classroom windows, but on this fine summer day, the windows are open to admit a pleasant breeze.  The room looks out over groves of mulberry trees, for which the village is named.  Tall, creviced mountains rise high in the distance, still bearing traces of winter snow.
But the 26 women in the class are not admiring the view.  Instead, each attends to Qotsia, their 21-year-old teacher, who stands beside a small blackboard at the front of the room.  One of millions of Afghans who fled the war-torn country, Qotsia grew up as a refugee in Iran, where she received 12 years of formal education.  Now she has returned to BegToot, and the women are grateful.
 Dressed and coifed in black, Qotsia begins to write with a piece of chalk.  Carefully demonstrating each stroke, she writes a word in Dari composed of several letters from the alphabet displayed on a poster on the wall.  The dark black letters on the poster are easy to see, but six months ago, no woman in the class could have named or written a single one.  Today, hands shoot up when Qotsea asks someone to spell out and then read what she has written.  One woman rises and comes forward:  k a r u m (worm).  “Very good, Pashtoon Jan!” says Qotsia.  Pashtoon Jan smiles as her fellow learners sound out the word, repeat it in unison, and write it in their notebooks:   k a r u m.  Worms are the topic of today’s lesson.  
To the left of the blackboard, a series of drawings depicts women busy with women’s chores:  one is cleaning vegetables; one is boiling water to be stored in an earthenware jar; another is feeding a sick baby; and one is washing a child’s dirty hands.  Now the women in this Level One literacy class are going to learn how worms and a child’s dirty hands are related. 
As one of six Community Health Workers enrolled in the class, Zeba Gul already knows a lot about worms.  Their life cycle and method of transmission were explained to her when BRAC, a REACH NGO-grantee, trained her as a CHW.  But until now, Zeba Gul has never known how to spell, read or write the names of the parasites– roundworm, tapeworm, and pinworm—that sicken so many children and adults in the village. 
As Qotsia begins the lesson, Zeba Gul leans forward and points to a young woman sitting nearby: “That’s my daughter,” she whispers. “Because of this class, she is learning to read and write before her hair turns gray.”
Later, the class at an end and women lingering to talk, Zeba Gul told her story.  She was born in Paghman, but she has not always lived there.  When she was sixteen, she married and moved to Kabul with her husband to live with his family. Her daughter and several other children were born in the city.
“It was good,” says Zeba Gul.  “My husband had a small shop.  He worked hard.  In the morning, he opened the shop.  In the afternoon, he had a second job in a government building.”
Even during the dark days of war, the family chose not to leave Afghanistan for sanctuary in Pakistan or Iran.  “We stayed,” she says, remembering their struggles with a hint of pride in her voice.  “We were hard workers, and we stayed.” 
For a time after the Russians left, Zeba Gul thought the worst was behind them.  But peace did not last long.  “After that,” she said, “I wasn’t sure what the fighting was about; I know only that it did not stop.  So much fighting.”
When Zeba Gul explains that both the family’s shop and home were near Damazang in Karte Seh, the room grows very quiet.  Everyone knows that Karte Seh was virtually destroyed during the civil war.  “Ay, Khoda!” the women whisper, as Zeba Gul continues her story:
“One night, our shop was ablaze. How it burned!  And our house burned too.  Everything we had was swallowed in fire.  Oh, God.  What could we do?  We had nothing left!  So we returned to Paghman.  It was more than ten years ago.  Here, my husband is a farmer.  Thanks to Allah, he is alive.” 
Many of her listeners have been less fortunate, and the widows nod in agreement as Zeba Gul utters her prayer of gratitude.  The women in the room have known great sorrows, but it is resilience that binds them. 
“Now,” continues Zeba Gul, “I am a CHW.  And I am learning to read and write in this class.  See there: my daughter is also here! Faz l’Khoda–Give thanks to God.  What we learn cannot be burned.”  
https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCCzOJDJZHoBttdHAjJsnN9w?sub_confirmation=1

\’What We Learn Cannot Be Burnt – \’An Afghan Neo-Literate Woman

As we work in education, it often tends to get too \’sanitized\’ – as if it is not about real people in real situations, where education has a meaning that\’s almost impossible to comprehend. Here\’s a story from Afghanistan, from a programme called Learning for Life that sought to provide initial literacy and health awareness to enable women to become CHWs (community health workers, sorely needed in the country). This story was documented in June 2005, by Judie Schiffbauer, and shared by Katy Anis.


Each morning, six days a week, 40 year old Zeba Gul wraps a light gray shawl around her head and shoulders and leaves her family’s mud-walled compound in the Afghan village of BegToot.  She follows a path that winds through dusty alleyways and then along green fields to arrive at a two-story building constructed of unbaked brick made from mud and straw.  Inside, a set of narrow stairs leads to the Learning for Life classroom, where other women are already gathered.  Removing her shoes at the doorway, she enters and lowers herself to the mat-covered floor, tucking her long legs beneath her.  
In December 2004, when the LfL health-based literacy program began in BegToot, wind whipped snow against the classroom windows, but on this fine summer day, the windows are open to admit a pleasant breeze.  The room looks out over groves of mulberry trees, for which the village is named.  Tall, creviced mountains rise high in the distance, still bearing traces of winter snow.
But the 26 women in the class are not admiring the view.  Instead, each attends to Qotsia, their 21-year-old teacher, who stands beside a small blackboard at the front of the room.  One of millions of Afghans who fled the war-torn country, Qotsia grew up as a refugee in Iran, where she received 12 years of formal education.  Now she has returned to BegToot, and the women are grateful.
 Dressed and coifed in black, Qotsia begins to write with a piece of chalk.  Carefully demonstrating each stroke, she writes a word in Dari composed of several letters from the alphabet displayed on a poster on the wall.  The dark black letters on the poster are easy to see, but six months ago, no woman in the class could have named or written a single one.  Today, hands shoot up when Qotsea asks someone to spell out and then read what she has written.  One woman rises and comes forward:  k a r u m (worm).  “Very good, Pashtoon Jan!” says Qotsia.  Pashtoon Jan smiles as her fellow learners sound out the word, repeat it in unison, and write it in their notebooks:   k a r u m.  Worms are the topic of today’s lesson.  
To the left of the blackboard, a series of drawings depicts women busy with women’s chores:  one is cleaning vegetables; one is boiling water to be stored in an earthenware jar; another is feeding a sick baby; and one is washing a child’s dirty hands.  Now the women in this Level One literacy class are going to learn how worms and a child’s dirty hands are related. 
As one of six Community Health Workers enrolled in the class, Zeba Gul already knows a lot about worms.  Their life cycle and method of transmission were explained to her when BRAC, a REACH NGO-grantee, trained her as a CHW.  But until now, Zeba Gul has never known how to spell, read or write the names of the parasites– roundworm, tapeworm, and pinworm—that sicken so many children and adults in the village. 
As Qotsia begins the lesson, Zeba Gul leans forward and points to a young woman sitting nearby: “That’s my daughter,” she whispers. “Because of this class, she is learning to read and write before her hair turns gray.”
Later, the class at an end and women lingering to talk, Zeba Gul told her story.  She was born in Paghman, but she has not always lived there.  When she was sixteen, she married and moved to Kabul with her husband to live with his family. Her daughter and several other children were born in the city.
“It was good,” says Zeba Gul.  “My husband had a small shop.  He worked hard.  In the morning, he opened the shop.  In the afternoon, he had a second job in a government building.”
Even during the dark days of war, the family chose not to leave Afghanistan for sanctuary in Pakistan or Iran.  “We stayed,” she says, remembering their struggles with a hint of pride in her voice.  “We were hard workers, and we stayed.” 
For a time after the Russians left, Zeba Gul thought the worst was behind them.  But peace did not last long.  “After that,” she said, “I wasn’t sure what the fighting was about; I know only that it did not stop.  So much fighting.”
When Zeba Gul explains that both the family’s shop and home were near Damazang in Karte Seh, the room grows very quiet.  Everyone knows that Karte Seh was virtually destroyed during the civil war.  “Ay, Khoda!” the women whisper, as Zeba Gul continues her story:
“One night, our shop was ablaze. How it burned!  And our house burned too.  Everything we had was swallowed in fire.  Oh, God.  What could we do?  We had nothing left!  So we returned to Paghman.  It was more than ten years ago.  Here, my husband is a farmer.  Thanks to Allah, he is alive.” 
Many of her listeners have been less fortunate, and the widows nod in agreement as Zeba Gul utters her prayer of gratitude.  The women in the room have known great sorrows, but it is resilience that binds them. 
“Now,” continues Zeba Gul, “I am a CHW.  And I am learning to read and write in this class.  See there: my daughter is also here! Faz l’Khoda–Give thanks to God.  What we learn cannot be burned.”  
https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCCzOJDJZHoBttdHAjJsnN9w?sub_confirmation=1

\’What We Learn Cannot Be Burnt – \’An Afghan Neo-Literate Woman

As we work in education, it often tends to get too \’sanitized\’ – as if it is not about real people in real situations, where education has a meaning that\’s almost impossible to comprehend. Here\’s a story from Afghanistan, from a programme called Learning for Life that sought to provide initial literacy and health awareness to enable women to become CHWs (community health workers, sorely needed in the country). This story was documented in June 2005, by Judie Schiffbauer, and shared by Katy Anis.


Each morning, six days a week, 40 year old Zeba Gul wraps a light gray shawl around her head and shoulders and leaves her family’s mud-walled compound in the Afghan village of BegToot.  She follows a path that winds through dusty alleyways and then along green fields to arrive at a two-story building constructed of unbaked brick made from mud and straw.  Inside, a set of narrow stairs leads to the Learning for Life classroom, where other women are already gathered.  Removing her shoes at the doorway, she enters and lowers herself to the mat-covered floor, tucking her long legs beneath her.  
In December 2004, when the LfL health-based literacy program began in BegToot, wind whipped snow against the classroom windows, but on this fine summer day, the windows are open to admit a pleasant breeze.  The room looks out over groves of mulberry trees, for which the village is named.  Tall, creviced mountains rise high in the distance, still bearing traces of winter snow.
But the 26 women in the class are not admiring the view.  Instead, each attends to Qotsia, their 21-year-old teacher, who stands beside a small blackboard at the front of the room.  One of millions of Afghans who fled the war-torn country, Qotsia grew up as a refugee in Iran, where she received 12 years of formal education.  Now she has returned to BegToot, and the women are grateful.
 Dressed and coifed in black, Qotsia begins to write with a piece of chalk.  Carefully demonstrating each stroke, she writes a word in Dari composed of several letters from the alphabet displayed on a poster on the wall.  The dark black letters on the poster are easy to see, but six months ago, no woman in the class could have named or written a single one.  Today, hands shoot up when Qotsea asks someone to spell out and then read what she has written.  One woman rises and comes forward:  k a r u m (worm).  “Very good, Pashtoon Jan!” says Qotsia.  Pashtoon Jan smiles as her fellow learners sound out the word, repeat it in unison, and write it in their notebooks:   k a r u m.  Worms are the topic of today’s lesson.  
To the left of the blackboard, a series of drawings depicts women busy with women’s chores:  one is cleaning vegetables; one is boiling water to be stored in an earthenware jar; another is feeding a sick baby; and one is washing a child’s dirty hands.  Now the women in this Level One literacy class are going to learn how worms and a child’s dirty hands are related. 
As one of six Community Health Workers enrolled in the class, Zeba Gul already knows a lot about worms.  Their life cycle and method of transmission were explained to her when BRAC, a REACH NGO-grantee, trained her as a CHW.  But until now, Zeba Gul has never known how to spell, read or write the names of the parasites– roundworm, tapeworm, and pinworm—that sicken so many children and adults in the village. 
As Qotsia begins the lesson, Zeba Gul leans forward and points to a young woman sitting nearby: “That’s my daughter,” she whispers. “Because of this class, she is learning to read and write before her hair turns gray.”
Later, the class at an end and women lingering to talk, Zeba Gul told her story.  She was born in Paghman, but she has not always lived there.  When she was sixteen, she married and moved to Kabul with her husband to live with his family. Her daughter and several other children were born in the city.
“It was good,” says Zeba Gul.  “My husband had a small shop.  He worked hard.  In the morning, he opened the shop.  In the afternoon, he had a second job in a government building.”
Even during the dark days of war, the family chose not to leave Afghanistan for sanctuary in Pakistan or Iran.  “We stayed,” she says, remembering their struggles with a hint of pride in her voice.  “We were hard workers, and we stayed.” 
For a time after the Russians left, Zeba Gul thought the worst was behind them.  But peace did not last long.  “After that,” she said, “I wasn’t sure what the fighting was about; I know only that it did not stop.  So much fighting.”
When Zeba Gul explains that both the family’s shop and home were near Damazang in Karte Seh, the room grows very quiet.  Everyone knows that Karte Seh was virtually destroyed during the civil war.  “Ay, Khoda!” the women whisper, as Zeba Gul continues her story:
“One night, our shop was ablaze. How it burned!  And our house burned too.  Everything we had was swallowed in fire.  Oh, God.  What could we do?  We had nothing left!  So we returned to Paghman.  It was more than ten years ago.  Here, my husband is a farmer.  Thanks to Allah, he is alive.” 
Many of her listeners have been less fortunate, and the widows nod in agreement as Zeba Gul utters her prayer of gratitude.  The women in the room have known great sorrows, but it is resilience that binds them. 
“Now,” continues Zeba Gul, “I am a CHW.  And I am learning to read and write in this class.  See there: my daughter is also here! Faz l’Khoda–Give thanks to God.  What we learn cannot be burned.”  
https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCCzOJDJZHoBttdHAjJsnN9w?sub_confirmation=1

\’What We Learn Cannot Be Burnt – \’An Afghan Neo-Literate Woman

As we work in education, it often tends to get too \’sanitized\’ – as if it is not about real people in real situations, where education has a meaning that\’s almost impossible to comprehend. Here\’s a story from Afghanistan, from a programme called Learning for Life that sought to provide initial literacy and health awareness to enable women to become CHWs (community health workers, sorely needed in the country). This story was documented in June 2005, by Judie Schiffbauer, and shared by Katy Anis.


Each morning, six days a week, 40 year old Zeba Gul wraps a light gray shawl around her head and shoulders and leaves her family’s mud-walled compound in the Afghan village of BegToot.  She follows a path that winds through dusty alleyways and then along green fields to arrive at a two-story building constructed of unbaked brick made from mud and straw.  Inside, a set of narrow stairs leads to the Learning for Life classroom, where other women are already gathered.  Removing her shoes at the doorway, she enters and lowers herself to the mat-covered floor, tucking her long legs beneath her.  
In December 2004, when the LfL health-based literacy program began in BegToot, wind whipped snow against the classroom windows, but on this fine summer day, the windows are open to admit a pleasant breeze.  The room looks out over groves of mulberry trees, for which the village is named.  Tall, creviced mountains rise high in the distance, still bearing traces of winter snow.
But the 26 women in the class are not admiring the view.  Instead, each attends to Qotsia, their 21-year-old teacher, who stands beside a small blackboard at the front of the room.  One of millions of Afghans who fled the war-torn country, Qotsia grew up as a refugee in Iran, where she received 12 years of formal education.  Now she has returned to BegToot, and the women are grateful.
 Dressed and coifed in black, Qotsia begins to write with a piece of chalk.  Carefully demonstrating each stroke, she writes a word in Dari composed of several letters from the alphabet displayed on a poster on the wall.  The dark black letters on the poster are easy to see, but six months ago, no woman in the class could have named or written a single one.  Today, hands shoot up when Qotsea asks someone to spell out and then read what she has written.  One woman rises and comes forward:  k a r u m (worm).  “Very good, Pashtoon Jan!” says Qotsia.  Pashtoon Jan smiles as her fellow learners sound out the word, repeat it in unison, and write it in their notebooks:   k a r u m.  Worms are the topic of today’s lesson.  
To the left of the blackboard, a series of drawings depicts women busy with women’s chores:  one is cleaning vegetables; one is boiling water to be stored in an earthenware jar; another is feeding a sick baby; and one is washing a child’s dirty hands.  Now the women in this Level One literacy class are going to learn how worms and a child’s dirty hands are related. 
As one of six Community Health Workers enrolled in the class, Zeba Gul already knows a lot about worms.  Their life cycle and method of transmission were explained to her when BRAC, a REACH NGO-grantee, trained her as a CHW.  But until now, Zeba Gul has never known how to spell, read or write the names of the parasites– roundworm, tapeworm, and pinworm—that sicken so many children and adults in the village. 
As Qotsia begins the lesson, Zeba Gul leans forward and points to a young woman sitting nearby: “That’s my daughter,” she whispers. “Because of this class, she is learning to read and write before her hair turns gray.”
Later, the class at an end and women lingering to talk, Zeba Gul told her story.  She was born in Paghman, but she has not always lived there.  When she was sixteen, she married and moved to Kabul with her husband to live with his family. Her daughter and several other children were born in the city.
“It was good,” says Zeba Gul.  “My husband had a small shop.  He worked hard.  In the morning, he opened the shop.  In the afternoon, he had a second job in a government building.”
Even during the dark days of war, the family chose not to leave Afghanistan for sanctuary in Pakistan or Iran.  “We stayed,” she says, remembering their struggles with a hint of pride in her voice.  “We were hard workers, and we stayed.” 
For a time after the Russians left, Zeba Gul thought the worst was behind them.  But peace did not last long.  “After that,” she said, “I wasn’t sure what the fighting was about; I know only that it did not stop.  So much fighting.”
When Zeba Gul explains that both the family’s shop and home were near Damazang in Karte Seh, the room grows very quiet.  Everyone knows that Karte Seh was virtually destroyed during the civil war.  “Ay, Khoda!” the women whisper, as Zeba Gul continues her story:
“One night, our shop was ablaze. How it burned!  And our house burned too.  Everything we had was swallowed in fire.  Oh, God.  What could we do?  We had nothing left!  So we returned to Paghman.  It was more than ten years ago.  Here, my husband is a farmer.  Thanks to Allah, he is alive.” 
Many of her listeners have been less fortunate, and the widows nod in agreement as Zeba Gul utters her prayer of gratitude.  The women in the room have known great sorrows, but it is resilience that binds them. 
“Now,” continues Zeba Gul, “I am a CHW.  And I am learning to read and write in this class.  See there: my daughter is also here! Faz l’Khoda–Give thanks to God.  What we learn cannot be burned.”  
https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCCzOJDJZHoBttdHAjJsnN9w?sub_confirmation=1

\’What We Learn Cannot Be Burnt – \’An Afghan Neo-Literate Woman

As we work in education, it often tends to get too \’sanitized\’ – as if it is not about real people in real situations, where education has a meaning that\’s almost impossible to comprehend. Here\’s a story from Afghanistan, from a programme called Learning for Life that sought to provide initial literacy and health awareness to enable women to become CHWs (community health workers, sorely needed in the country). This story was documented in June 2005, by Judie Schiffbauer, and shared by Katy Anis.


Each morning, six days a week, 40 year old Zeba Gul wraps a light gray shawl around her head and shoulders and leaves her family’s mud-walled compound in the Afghan village of BegToot.  She follows a path that winds through dusty alleyways and then along green fields to arrive at a two-story building constructed of unbaked brick made from mud and straw.  Inside, a set of narrow stairs leads to the Learning for Life classroom, where other women are already gathered.  Removing her shoes at the doorway, she enters and lowers herself to the mat-covered floor, tucking her long legs beneath her.  
In December 2004, when the LfL health-based literacy program began in BegToot, wind whipped snow against the classroom windows, but on this fine summer day, the windows are open to admit a pleasant breeze.  The room looks out over groves of mulberry trees, for which the village is named.  Tall, creviced mountains rise high in the distance, still bearing traces of winter snow.
But the 26 women in the class are not admiring the view.  Instead, each attends to Qotsia, their 21-year-old teacher, who stands beside a small blackboard at the front of the room.  One of millions of Afghans who fled the war-torn country, Qotsia grew up as a refugee in Iran, where she received 12 years of formal education.  Now she has returned to BegToot, and the women are grateful.
 Dressed and coifed in black, Qotsia begins to write with a piece of chalk.  Carefully demonstrating each stroke, she writes a word in Dari composed of several letters from the alphabet displayed on a poster on the wall.  The dark black letters on the poster are easy to see, but six months ago, no woman in the class could have named or written a single one.  Today, hands shoot up when Qotsea asks someone to spell out and then read what she has written.  One woman rises and comes forward:  k a r u m (worm).  “Very good, Pashtoon Jan!” says Qotsia.  Pashtoon Jan smiles as her fellow learners sound out the word, repeat it in unison, and write it in their notebooks:   k a r u m.  Worms are the topic of today’s lesson.  
To the left of the blackboard, a series of drawings depicts women busy with women’s chores:  one is cleaning vegetables; one is boiling water to be stored in an earthenware jar; another is feeding a sick baby; and one is washing a child’s dirty hands.  Now the women in this Level One literacy class are going to learn how worms and a child’s dirty hands are related. 
As one of six Community Health Workers enrolled in the class, Zeba Gul already knows a lot about worms.  Their life cycle and method of transmission were explained to her when BRAC, a REACH NGO-grantee, trained her as a CHW.  But until now, Zeba Gul has never known how to spell, read or write the names of the parasites– roundworm, tapeworm, and pinworm—that sicken so many children and adults in the village. 
As Qotsia begins the lesson, Zeba Gul leans forward and points to a young woman sitting nearby: “That’s my daughter,” she whispers. “Because of this class, she is learning to read and write before her hair turns gray.”
Later, the class at an end and women lingering to talk, Zeba Gul told her story.  She was born in Paghman, but she has not always lived there.  When she was sixteen, she married and moved to Kabul with her husband to live with his family. Her daughter and several other children were born in the city.
“It was good,” says Zeba Gul.  “My husband had a small shop.  He worked hard.  In the morning, he opened the shop.  In the afternoon, he had a second job in a government building.”
Even during the dark days of war, the family chose not to leave Afghanistan for sanctuary in Pakistan or Iran.  “We stayed,” she says, remembering their struggles with a hint of pride in her voice.  “We were hard workers, and we stayed.” 
For a time after the Russians left, Zeba Gul thought the worst was behind them.  But peace did not last long.  “After that,” she said, “I wasn’t sure what the fighting was about; I know only that it did not stop.  So much fighting.”
When Zeba Gul explains that both the family’s shop and home were near Damazang in Karte Seh, the room grows very quiet.  Everyone knows that Karte Seh was virtually destroyed during the civil war.  “Ay, Khoda!” the women whisper, as Zeba Gul continues her story:
“One night, our shop was ablaze. How it burned!  And our house burned too.  Everything we had was swallowed in fire.  Oh, God.  What could we do?  We had nothing left!  So we returned to Paghman.  It was more than ten years ago.  Here, my husband is a farmer.  Thanks to Allah, he is alive.” 
Many of her listeners have been less fortunate, and the widows nod in agreement as Zeba Gul utters her prayer of gratitude.  The women in the room have known great sorrows, but it is resilience that binds them. 
“Now,” continues Zeba Gul, “I am a CHW.  And I am learning to read and write in this class.  See there: my daughter is also here! Faz l’Khoda–Give thanks to God.  What we learn cannot be burned.”  
https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCCzOJDJZHoBttdHAjJsnN9w?sub_confirmation=1

\’What We Learn Cannot Be Burnt – \’An Afghan Neo-Literate Woman

As we work in education, it often tends to get too \’sanitized\’ – as if it is not about real people in real situations, where education has a meaning that\’s almost impossible to comprehend. Here\’s a story from Afghanistan, from a programme called Learning for Life that sought to provide initial literacy and health awareness to enable women to become CHWs (community health workers, sorely needed in the country). This story was documented in June 2005, by Judie Schiffbauer, and shared by Katy Anis.


Each morning, six days a week, 40 year old Zeba Gul wraps a light gray shawl around her head and shoulders and leaves her family’s mud-walled compound in the Afghan village of BegToot.  She follows a path that winds through dusty alleyways and then along green fields to arrive at a two-story building constructed of unbaked brick made from mud and straw.  Inside, a set of narrow stairs leads to the Learning for Life classroom, where other women are already gathered.  Removing her shoes at the doorway, she enters and lowers herself to the mat-covered floor, tucking her long legs beneath her.  
In December 2004, when the LfL health-based literacy program began in BegToot, wind whipped snow against the classroom windows, but on this fine summer day, the windows are open to admit a pleasant breeze.  The room looks out over groves of mulberry trees, for which the village is named.  Tall, creviced mountains rise high in the distance, still bearing traces of winter snow.
But the 26 women in the class are not admiring the view.  Instead, each attends to Qotsia, their 21-year-old teacher, who stands beside a small blackboard at the front of the room.  One of millions of Afghans who fled the war-torn country, Qotsia grew up as a refugee in Iran, where she received 12 years of formal education.  Now she has returned to BegToot, and the women are grateful.
 Dressed and coifed in black, Qotsia begins to write with a piece of chalk.  Carefully demonstrating each stroke, she writes a word in Dari composed of several letters from the alphabet displayed on a poster on the wall.  The dark black letters on the poster are easy to see, but six months ago, no woman in the class could have named or written a single one.  Today, hands shoot up when Qotsea asks someone to spell out and then read what she has written.  One woman rises and comes forward:  k a r u m (worm).  “Very good, Pashtoon Jan!” says Qotsia.  Pashtoon Jan smiles as her fellow learners sound out the word, repeat it in unison, and write it in their notebooks:   k a r u m.  Worms are the topic of today’s lesson.  
To the left of the blackboard, a series of drawings depicts women busy with women’s chores:  one is cleaning vegetables; one is boiling water to be stored in an earthenware jar; another is feeding a sick baby; and one is washing a child’s dirty hands.  Now the women in this Level One literacy class are going to learn how worms and a child’s dirty hands are related. 
As one of six Community Health Workers enrolled in the class, Zeba Gul already knows a lot about worms.  Their life cycle and method of transmission were explained to her when BRAC, a REACH NGO-grantee, trained her as a CHW.  But until now, Zeba Gul has never known how to spell, read or write the names of the parasites– roundworm, tapeworm, and pinworm—that sicken so many children and adults in the village. 
As Qotsia begins the lesson, Zeba Gul leans forward and points to a young woman sitting nearby: “That’s my daughter,” she whispers. “Because of this class, she is learning to read and write before her hair turns gray.”
Later, the class at an end and women lingering to talk, Zeba Gul told her story.  She was born in Paghman, but she has not always lived there.  When she was sixteen, she married and moved to Kabul with her husband to live with his family. Her daughter and several other children were born in the city.
“It was good,” says Zeba Gul.  “My husband had a small shop.  He worked hard.  In the morning, he opened the shop.  In the afternoon, he had a second job in a government building.”
Even during the dark days of war, the family chose not to leave Afghanistan for sanctuary in Pakistan or Iran.  “We stayed,” she says, remembering their struggles with a hint of pride in her voice.  “We were hard workers, and we stayed.” 
For a time after the Russians left, Zeba Gul thought the worst was behind them.  But peace did not last long.  “After that,” she said, “I wasn’t sure what the fighting was about; I know only that it did not stop.  So much fighting.”
When Zeba Gul explains that both the family’s shop and home were near Damazang in Karte Seh, the room grows very quiet.  Everyone knows that Karte Seh was virtually destroyed during the civil war.  “Ay, Khoda!” the women whisper, as Zeba Gul continues her story:
“One night, our shop was ablaze. How it burned!  And our house burned too.  Everything we had was swallowed in fire.  Oh, God.  What could we do?  We had nothing left!  So we returned to Paghman.  It was more than ten years ago.  Here, my husband is a farmer.  Thanks to Allah, he is alive.” 
Many of her listeners have been less fortunate, and the widows nod in agreement as Zeba Gul utters her prayer of gratitude.  The women in the room have known great sorrows, but it is resilience that binds them. 
“Now,” continues Zeba Gul, “I am a CHW.  And I am learning to read and write in this class.  See there: my daughter is also here! Faz l’Khoda–Give thanks to God.  What we learn cannot be burned.”  
https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCCzOJDJZHoBttdHAjJsnN9w?sub_confirmation=1

Democracy isn’t enough!

It is often said that the solution to fundamentalist Islam is democracy. “Look at Turkey”, say these advocates, “or look at how Muslims thrive in the West.” The singular example of Turkey is considered the proof-of-concept that democracy can tame Islam. Let’s look at the picture in more detail.

Turkey didn’t become modern by adopting democracy. It was the autocratic rule of Ataturk – a dictatorial almost totalitarian-like ruler – that changed the culture of Turkey. Democracy came later. (The closest Ataturk imitator was the Shah of Iran.) For years the Turkish military stood ready to prevent Islamic recidivism, making Turkey known as a “guided democracy.”

Consider the case of Algeria. The military suspended democracy when it was clear that fundamentalists were going to be elected. Algeria wasn’t always a fundamentalist hotbed. After the French abandonment of Algeria, the rise of Islamic fundamentalism came with a revival of Arab culture and the goal of establishing “authenticity.” Over the last 15 years, over 150,000 have perished in civil strife in Algeria. If this is Arab authenticity, donne-moi les Francais.

Many Muslims in America and Europe embrace liberal values (perhaps this is self-selection by emigration). However, some turn to Islamism. Mohammad Atta turned to radical Islam in Hamburg – not Egypt. In France, children of secular Muslims are turning to fundamentalist Islam. In Holland, a policy of permissive toleration has failed to inspire toleration in some Muslims and the policy is discredited. This raises doubts about assimilation.

Liberal democracy is still a proper long-term goal but it requires a critical examination of Islam. The first order of business must be an honest and open discussion of Islam. Until the problem is discussed, faced, judged, and when found harmful, condemned, no lasting change can take place. Since this may not be possible in societies where you will be killed for being critical of Islam, this must happen here – in America – and in Europe.

If we fail to pass moral judgment, if we tacitly sanction the jihadist ideology, if we become morally complicit in whitewashing Islam, if we stand by and do nothing we have failed as human beings. This is not a job for governments; this must be done by individuals – especially intellectuals. How often have we looked back in history and said we would have taken a moral stand? Why not now?

Politics and the average Chinese

The man in the street simply does not care ! At least politically !!
In a country of 1.2 billion, such a sweeping  statement is an outrageous generalisation. But it is broadly true. The average Chinese does not care because (a) what is the real choice (b) she has very little access to information that is even remotely political in nature and (c) she doesn\’t seem to be hugely interested anyway
And this is despite a startling fact; the country with the maximum number of protests from citizens is actually China ! On any given day, there are probably 800 odd protests happening throughout China. If there is such vigorous activity, how come the assertion that the average Joe (Mrs Li) doesn\’t care ?
Two sweeping statements can be made about the average Chinese\’s views (a) she believes (and it does not matter where or who she is) that the local government is utterly corrupt and inefficient
and (b) she believes that the central leaders in Beijing are extremely efficient, working hard for the country, are the best humans on earth and if only they knew of their specific problem, it would be instantly fixed.
All the protests are predominantly on local issues, and mostly against land grabs by local officials. It is therefore mainly economic in nature, not political. There are simply no political protests of any sort.
A major issue in China is that public opinion is greatly hampered because of virtually no access to true political information. The following is the information environment in which the average Chinese lives
– There are no independent newspapers at all. Foreign newspapers are mostly not available.
– There is only government TV . No foreign channels, except in top end hotels. Even those are censored – can you believe that CNN\’s broadcast to China is routed through a Chinese government controlled satellite !
– All films are subject to censorship. Foreign films are severely limited in number and if you have anything remotely political in your film, fat chance of being cleared. Ditto books. Ditto music. Pirated DVDs are freely available but then the market is mostly for sexually explicit stuff rather than political content.
– The Great Firewall of China, behind which the internet sits in a parallel universe, is one of the most remarkable operations of all. The Hall of Fame of sites that are completely banned and inaccessible from China includes Facebook, Twitter, YouTube, Google plus, Maps, Docs, Picasa, Dropbox, Flickr, ….. I can keep going. Every one of these have local equivalents which are of course severely censored by the authorities
– The Chinese are avid users of social media, but only on domestic providers. These are hugely monitored by armies of machines, men and software. Every offending post is deleted . If you realise that there are half a billion internet users in China and they are as active as anybody in online activities, you can imagine the scale at which censorship takes place.
Consequently, the average Chinese is poorly informed on political matters and therefore has limited and not fully informed views. In any social gathering in the West (even more so in India), the conversation will turn political. Not so in China.  Mao has been glorified as \”70% right\” – very few of the younger generation know anything about the horrors of the Great Leap Forward and the Cultural Revolution. The Tiananmen incidents of 1989 have been airbrushed from history – when I lived in China I was amazed that my colleagues knew virtually nothing about what happened.
The sum total of all this is that public opinion in China is less intense and formed than in virtually any other country. Therefore the Party and the government are under less pressure than anywhere else. You see, the true check on any government in any country is not judiciary , or the constitutional checks and balances – it is really public opinion  represented by the media. In China, that check does not exist. The Chinese have made a pact with the Party – give us continuous economic advancement and we won\’t care about the politics. Thus far, that pact has held good.
https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCCzOJDJZHoBttdHAjJsnN9w?sub_confirmation=1