Denying poor pupils access to quality education at former model-C schools would condemn us to a life of servitude, writes Malaika wa Azania.
A week ago, the Gauteng Department of Education won an important victory at the Constitutional Court. The court ruled in favour of the department on the issue of School Admission Regulations. This victory means that the department, and not schools, will have a final say in admission processes at schools in the province.
The Federation of School Governing Bodies had taken the department to court, arguing that the current regulations disempower schools and that schools should be allowed to set their own policies regarding admissions and language policy.
On the question of language policy, the court ruled that language policies that are set by School Governing Bodies (SGBs) constitute indirect discrimination that is racial in character.
Handing down the judgment, former Deputy Chief Justice Dikgang Moseneke (who retired from the bench a few days ago) said that judges agreed unanimously that because the department has an overall perspective on education within the province, it should be in charge of admissions processes.
This victory is personal to those of us who know too well the humiliation that some of the policies set by SGBs inflict.
In 2002, after completing my junior primary schooling at Tshimologo Primary School, a township school in Meadowlands (Soweto) where I was staying, my mother decided to send me to a multiracial school, Melpark Primary School, in Melville.
My poor mother wanted me to have quality education. The painful truth is that schools in many township areas across the country don’t offer quality education.
The legacy of an apartheid system where the state spent five times more money on the education of a white child than on that of a black child continues to find expression in township schools.
While there has been a significant improvement in township education, the reality is that former model-C schools are still far better in terms of infrastructure.
Going to a former model-C school was thus an attempt on the part of my mother to ensure that I stood a better chance of being accepted into a reputable higher education institution - because another reality is that universities in the country also perpetuate segmentation.
Most universities, particularly historically white ones, have a preference for students coming from multiracial former model-C schools. These universities have feeder high schools from which they receive a sizeable number of first-year students every year.
Because of their language policy, many students from township and rural schools find themselves having to do extended studies. This is based on the belief that such students, having done vernacular as home language and English as a first or second additional language, will not cope in university and will therefore need an extra year added to their degree or diploma.
In my book, Memoirs of a Born Free: Reflections on the Rainbow Nation, I speak about the challenges black students face in multi-racial former model-C schools. These challenges include racial discrimination and the presence of institutional barriers such as language policy. But what I don’t mention is the humiliation that one goes through even before being admitted.
Because of the autonomy that SGBs have over admission processes, they have used their power to perpetuate exclusion.
The rule that schools could only admit students living within a 5km radius meant students living in townships could not access multi-racial former model-C schools that are predominantly in white neighbourhoods.
Because I didn’t live in Melville or the surrounding suburbs within a 5km radius of the school, it was a given that I was not going to be admitted, despite my outstanding academic achievements and capacity. My mother had a friend, Aadilah, living close to the school, and asked her to lie on our behalf, stating that I was living with her (the friend) in Melville. Affidavits were signed. This was how I got admitted.
My mother, a woman who has always taught me the importance of honesty and integrity, was forced to lie for her daughter to receive quality education.
My mother was one of many parents who had to go to such great measures to get their children registered in schools that, through policies like the ones the GDE was fighting against, would never have opened doors of learning for us.
Supporters of such policies argue that schools must give first preference to children living nearby so that such children study closer to home. The benefit of this, it was argued, is that schools would not have to deal with issues such as late-comers and parents not attending meetings due to transport issues.
This argument, which sounds reasonable, is in fact another way of saying schools would not have to be actively engaged in the transformation agenda.
The spatial injustice that characterises our country demands the enactment of laws aimed at redressing injustices of the past and fostering inclusion. How do schools become part of this agenda if they’re going to insist on maintaining a status quo rooted in injustice and discrimination?
Furthermore, this argument underestimates the commitment that students living in townships have towards their education.
In all the years that I was at Melpark Primary School, I was late no more than five times - and none of those times was because I had overslept (my mother made sure I was up at around 4am every morning).
This was because I understood that to get an education, I needed to make a sacrifice. If that sacrifice meant being at the bus station at 6am, I was willing to make it. As were thousands of other students in Soweto who, as early as 5am, would be seen in queues waiting for trains, taxis and buses to take them to school.
To understand how problematic this 5km radius rule was, you need to understand that its impact was long-term and systematic. It not only meant that only white children and children of black upper middle class parents who lived in these suburbs could access these better schools.
It also meant these were the children who would later get places at reputable institutions of higher learning and, by implication, better chances of employment after graduation. The admission policy thus perpetuated and strengthened the segmentation of the South African society.
It would be a serious indictment on our government to allow policies that exclude people on the basis of their class background to find expression, particularly in public institutions.
Poor working-class black people have been dehumanised by this brutal system for far too long. And because we have nothing else, education is our only key out of poverty and disenfranchisement. To take away access to quality education from us is to condemn us to a life of servitude.
It is for this reason the victory of the GDE is not just a victory for the struggle for transformation and spatial justice, but a victory for the future of black people and indeed, of South Africa.
* Wa Azania is a student at Rhodes University, and author of Memoirs of a Born Free: Reflections on the Rainbow Nation.
** The views expressed here are not necessarily those of Independent Media.
The Sunday Independent