Reading, writing and politics

By Fayza Hassan
Children are taught at school many things that will not make a difference to their lives. One could argue that this does not really matter: the curriculum should be a painful exercise that encourages the mind to work. This is clearly not the case, unfortunately; nor has it developed the average citizen's good judgement or power of independent thought. Creative thinking is stifled early on, not only by the trivia that is taught but also by the suppression of topics that might develop such a quality. While those in charge of schoolchildren misguidedly consider trigonometry, for instance, accessible to young minds, they do not feel the same way about politics.
My generation, which barely caught the tail of the nationalist struggle and came of age in the first years of the revolution, was particularly deprived of political acumen, with the exception of those whose parents were involved in the events shaking the country as we pored over our useless homework.
This was not the case for my family. My father had withdrawn from political life before I was born, and I never heard him offer an opinion on current events, although he could discuss the Napoleonic wars at length.
I was therefore quite surprised when I discovered that several of my schoolmates were firm friends because they were all the children of Wafdists. "But I thought you were Egyptians," I commented stupidly when informed of their political convictions. More than any of my other faux pas, this one branded me as an outsider to that group.
There were other blunders. When Ahmed Maher was shot, the king went to pay his condolences to the family. Since Maher was our neighbour, our street was decked out for the royal visit with a profusion of flags and potted plants. Red sand was spread over the asphalt. I was allowed to join the crowd on the footpath, provided I stayed near our gate and did not try to push my way to the front. I don't think that my mother feared an attempt on the king's life in which I could get hurt, as much as she feared me catching a contagious disease from close contact with the populace. At any rate, I disobeyed orders and was able to see the motorcade and shout "God save the king" at the top of my voice. Somewhere, I had picked up the notion that the king was to be loved and respected and it is with utter astonishment that I witnessed a man in a galabiya spit in the direction of the motorcade and mutter: "And with God's permission you will die soon."
My father did not provide a satisfactory explanation of the man's conduct and I therefore sought the advice of my Wafdist friends, who seemed to know what it was about. My ignorance was so profound (I did not even know why Ahmed Maher had been shot), however, that they turned away in disgust, withholding useful information.
When Mahmoud El-Nuqrashi was murdered, I cried bitter tears because, although I did not know him, he was the father of my Alexandria summer playmates. This time my father had a few words of wisdom to impart. "This is what happens when you meddle in politics," he told me sternly, which convinced me that, like sex, politics was sinful and deserving of the ultimate punishment.
The forbidding atmosphere that reigned soon after the revolution did not encourage further interest, and during my university years I steered clear of any students with "strong opinions." They in turn kept to themselves.
Unfortunately my ignorance had other consequences. Although I graduated in economics (believed at the time to open the doors of a lucrative career), I never even began to understand the implications of what I was consigning to memory in order to earn my degree, nor did I take advantage of the fine minds of some of my teachers. Later, as a good housewife, I deferred to my husband's explanation of events and accepted his analysis as gospel. I often aped his opinions, repeating his assertions as if they were mine, never daring to examine them. In this, I did not differ from the majority of people I know, who rely on superficial information dished out by friends or the media to settle their "political" beliefs once and for all.
It took no less than my husband's death, which forced me out of my cocoon, to wake me up to some realities. My younger daughter's early, and for us unusual, interest in history and politics was instrumental at first in moving me out of my lethargy. With her father no longer there to tell her that young people were not entitled to an opinion, she began to talk more freely. Gingerly at first, I secretly borrowed some of her books when she went out in the evenings. Soon I was finding my bearings, and my mind became more agile.
It took hard work, but I finally understand clearly now why politics is not a subject taught in schools instead of or as well as biology and astronomy. What if an enlightened and politically savvy general public suddenly became able to judge the government's performance, to understand the real causes of "conflicts" and the reasons why particular people are despoiled of their most elementary human rights? What if everyone could detect the real meanings behind the empty words, and consequently resist brainwashing? Why, we could face a world where corporations would find it impossible to fill their coffers -- a world where the "necessity" to wage criminal wars would be questioned more thoroughly, and where no amount of lying would suffice to cover up hideous reality.
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