The dangers of educated girls and women

Abstract

Why do educated girls and women constitute a danger in some societies and for this face extreme danger in their educational endeavours? This article argues that historical and contemporary educational discrimination of girls and women is the hallmark of a violently patriarchal society, and this stubborn injustice is exacerbated under conditions of poverty and political power struggles. After considering two recent examples of violent exclusion, deeper exploration of historical exclusion of learners in South Africa helps to reveal a web of gender-based injustice and violence created at the intersections of patriarchy, poverty and political power struggles. Interventions require the acknowledgement of these underlying causes as well as their systemic and complex interactions.

Keywords

education gender justice patriarchy violence

Introduction

The leaders of the world gathered at the United Nations on September 2015 to commit to a new set of global development goals and targets, the sustainable development goals (SDGs). Among others, the preamble to this document declares a vision of a ‘world in which every woman and girl enjoys full gender equality and all legal, social and economic barriers to their empowerment have been removed’ (United Nations, 2015: 4). This is the latest of a long list of such global visions and commitments to gender equality and justice. Such commitments are important, and while significant gender justice gains have been made in many parts of the world, some countries still lag in this regard.

Why is it then that in the 21st century, after many declarations, commitments and long-term global monitoring of the right to Education For All (EFA), educated girls and women still present such a threat in some societies and in return experience danger in their pursuit of this basic right? Are we as a global community paying enough attention to the underlying systems which buttress this stubborn gender-based injustice and violence? This article responds to these questions and in so doing brings the gender–violence–education nexus to the fore at a time when new global commitments are being made. It argues that the historical and contemporary injustice experienced by girls and women with regard to educational access and participation is a product of a patriarchal society, and this persistent injustice is exacerbated under conditions of poverty and political power struggles.

The two parts of this article illustrate contemporary and historical educational exclusion, respectively. In each part, the examples of Pakistan, Nigeria and South Africa are illustrative rather than representative. These examples were chosen because they exemplify the violence, both physical and structural, involved in cases of educational curtailment in these contexts. After considering two contemporary examples of violent exclusion in Pakistan and Nigeria, a deeper exploration of narratives of historical exclusion from learners in South Africa helps to reveal a web of violence against girls and women created by the intersectionality of patriarchy, poverty and political power struggles. Together, the two parts of the article help to make an argument regarding the persistence of gender-based violence in education and the need for greater efforts in its eradication.

Stubborn patterns of violent educational exclusion: contemporary and historical examples

In 2014, Malala Yousafzai, a 17-year-old Pakistani woman, became the youngest recipient of the Nobel Peace prize. She won this prestigious award for her courageous struggle for the right of girls in Pakistan to be educated. Malala, at the age of 14 years, was shot in the head by a Taliban gunman for being ‘pro-West’. She had been vocal in campaigning for girls’ rights to education, banned under the Islamist militant group. What is significant about this event is that in this century, a girl experiences extreme violence, which almost ended her life, because her desire to be educated was seen to be a threat to others. In this case, the right to education, covered by a long-standing International Covenant on Economic, Social and Cultural Rights (UN General Assembly, 1966), was considered dangerous enough to warrant lethal violence. It is noteworthy that this covenant which entrenches the right to free universal primary education and generally available secondary education was signed by Pakistan almost 50 years ago, long before the EFA campaigns and commitments. Why is it necessary then for a teenage girl to be waging a campaign for such a basic right almost half a century later? This draws attention to wider systems in society which authorize and perpetuate unjust thinking and acts. The major authorizing regime identified in this case is patriarchy with support from a second authorizing regime, namely, religion. Both these regimes coalesce in a context of domestic political power struggles in Pakistan.

Also in 2014, the world witnessed the violent abduction of 276 girls from a school in Chibok, Nigeria. The group, Boko Haram, took these girls as hostages in their battle with the Nigerian government. Boko Haram claims to be against the Westernization of Nigeria and believes that girls should not be educated. In the past, they have kidnapped girls and turned them into cooks and sex slaves of men in the group. In a recent abduction, 14 women and 2 girls were abducted on 25 March 2016 (New Straits Times Online, 2016). On 5 May 2014, a video in which Boko Haram leader, Abubakar Shekau, claimed responsibility for the Chibok kidnappings emerged. He claimed, ‘Slavery is allowed in my religion, and I shall capture people and make them slaves’. He said the girls should not have been in school and instead should have been married since girls as young as 9 are suitable for marriage (Lister, 2014). While the political nature of this incident is more overt in terms of Boko Haram’s conflict with the Nigerian government, there is a broader parallel political agenda with regard to the education of girls in a context where part of the society does not acknowledge such rights but rather see it as a danger requiring brutal curtailment. It is noteworthy that Nigeria is also a signatory to the International Covenant on Economic, Social and Cultural Rights (UN General Assembly, 1966). In this case, we also see similar authorizing regimes of patriarchy and religion at play, again within a milieu of domestic political power struggles. Such power struggles are important to consider because while there may be official state commitment to international declarations and commitments, rebel and oppositional formations can undermine these.

Both these incidents have become high profile and have attracted attention and condemnation from around the world. Both have involved direct physical violence and the use of arms. There is a lot that is common about these two prominent incidents, but there is also strong resonance with many similar cases in other parts of the world, albeit with much less attention. That both incidents took place in the so-called developing part of the world, in contexts of political power struggles, and by perpetrators who resort to a particular version of scripture to authorize their actions are just two aspects of the common underlying circumstances. However, throughout history, there have been many such incidents in different parts of the world and backed up by recourse to different scripture and/or ideology. Jenny Horsman’s (2000) book, Too Scared to Learn (see review by Raphael, 2002), provides ample evidence of the widespread prevalence of violence in the lives of women learners and that this is not a ‘developing world’ abnormality. Writing from the Canadian context, Horsman (2000) says,

In each region of the country, I heard again and again that violence [against women] was particularly widespread and that its effects were intensely present in classrooms. Finally, I could only believe that violence is widespread and everywhere in Canada, among all peoples, and speculate that patterns of violence are equally pervasive elsewhere. (p. 25)

Lee (2008) likewise reported on gender-based violence experienced by one in five learners who were attending a feminist course at a public university in the United States. While the incidents reported by Horsman and Lee are not of the rights to basic education being denied, they do indicate that violence in the lives of women in more developed countries also affect their on-going education.

In the light of this global problem, what is more important to draw attention to is the gendered violence in the education of girls and women; how this has become a stubborn feature across time and place; and the intersection of this violence with other socio-political factors like poverty, patriarchy and political power struggles. This is a primary goal of this article, to pick the thread of violence which creates a vicious web for girls and women pursuing their right to education. To do this, it brings focal attention to the fact that in both the cases of Malala and the Chibok girls, the perpetrators were men in strongly patriarchal societies directing violence at young women because their educational aspirations were considered dangerous. Likewise, in many other contexts, including South Africa, men and patriarchal value systems have and continue to disrupt and preclude such educational attainment. Such actions constitute both physical and structural violence (Galtung, 1969).

It is also important to note that both incidents occur at a time when there is widespread agreement on the rights and benefits of all children, especially the girl child, to be educated. We have two major reports emerging in 2014 which are relevant to the focus of this article, namely, The Global Gender Gap Report 2014 produced by the World Economic Forum (2014) and The World Survey on the Role of Women in Development 2014: Gender Equality and Sustainable Development produced by UN Women (2014). The Global Gender Gap report has provided an index for monitoring and tracking gender inequality since 2006, using four sub-indexes, namely, Economic Participation and Opportunity, Educational Attainment, Health and Survival, and Political Empowerment. By showing male dominance in these four spheres, it is thus a good proxy indicator of levels of patriarchy across the globe and in individual countries. On a positive note, this report shows that approximately 96% of the Health gap and almost 94% of the Educational Attainment gap between women and men have been closed by the 142 countries included in the study. However, substantial gender gaps remain in Economic Participation (40% gap) and Political Empowerment (79% gap). This 2014 report reveals that South Africa achieved a respectable rank of 18 of 142 countries in terms of overall gender equity (i.e. four sub-indexes combined) but slips to 85th position when only the Educational Attainment sub-index is considered. This is the only sub-index on which South Africa has declined since 2006. Since examples from Pakistan and Nigeria have also been referred to in this article, their gender gap status is also relevant for consideration here. Pakistan was ranked 141 overall (i.e. second last of all countries ranked) and 132 on the Educational Attainment sub-index, while Nigeria was ranked 118 overall and 134 on the Educational Attainment sub-index. It is the low ranks for Educational Attainment of all three countries (85, 132 and 134 of 142 countries) that are particularly significant.

The World Survey on the Role of Women in Development 2014: Gender Equality and Sustainable Development (UN Women, 2014) is clear that

The twin challenges of building pathways to sustainable development and achieving gender equality have never been more pressing … both challenges must be addressed together, in ways that fully realize the human rights of women and girls and help countries to make the transition to sustainable development. (p. 11)

This is an era when beside the acceptance of the equality and justice gains of universal education, we also have solid evidence of its widespread social, economic and political benefits. We know that literacy, as part of basic education, can be an important catalyst for personal transformation and has the potential to impact positively a family’s livelihood (Land, 2001; Lauglo, 2001) and community well-being and is furthermore a globally accepted human right. The latest Global Gender Gap Report 2014 confirms this finding when stating,

Multiple studies have shown that healthy and educated women are more likely to have healthier and more educated children, creating a positive, virtuous cycle for the broader population. (World Economic Forum, 2014: v)

For a relatively young democracy like South Arica, literacy is a constitutionally enshrined right and considered an important buttress for a democratic society where people can freely and actively participate as citizens in community affairs, governance processes and development (Crowther et al., 2001; Rule, 2006). So why does this problem persist? Why are educated women considered such a danger? Are the systems, like patriarchy, which prop up such prejudices and violence receiving sufficient attention? Are the foci on statistics and trends in setting and monitoring global targets in terms of EFA, Millennium Development Goals (MDGs) and now SDGs becoming too depersonalized, de-historized and sanitized? And what about the many, many incidents that do not gain high-profile attention? Responding to the latter question, this article explores cases of several South African women whose education was disrupted or terminated, so often with much violence. These cases show multiple types of violence and the intersection of such violence with patriarchy, poverty and political power struggles. It argues that even when there is an absence of direct, physical violence, each case must still be seen as an act of structural violence. Galtung (1969) helped to broaden the concept of violence beyond direct physical violence by classifying ‘avoidable impairment of fundamental human needs’ (p. 167), such as the denial of education to girls, as structural violence. While these cases refer to a past generation denied education and which were authorized by unjust racist laws, the fact that such incidents continue in democratic South Africa, Nigeria and Pakistan and other parts of the world today attests to the systemic nature of such violence and to the need to identify and name underlying cultures and structures which perpetuate it. And we must name this. Jansen (2009), writing about the domination of Afrikaner women by their men in South Africa, says, ‘Yet it must be named to be rendered impotent, for it is the silent and unchallenged operation of patriarchy, its normality of posture and it’s taken-for-grantedness, that make change so difficult’ (p. 166). Appropriate actions and inventions require such naming and a global consensus on this! While the SDG document places much emphasis on gender quality, it is noteworthy that the word patriarchy is not mentioned once in the 29-page document (United Nations, 2015).

An aspect of difference in the two cases referred to above is that we have the name of the young women in one (Malala Yousafzai) but do not have the names of the Chibok girls. The scale of the problem in many instances leads to depersonalized accounts which make the human tragedy less visible. This effect is magnified when national and global attention focuses on statistics and trends. A further argument which this article mounts is that attention only to statistics, trends and composite reports in large-scale planning and monitoring of EFA, MDGs and SDGs can have the effect of depersonalizing the incidents, dehumanizing the trends and depoliticizing the violence. When this happens, national planners attempt to address symptoms such as illiteracy or lack of access to education for girls and women, rather than focusing on the stubborn underlying causes such as patriarchy, chauvinism and violent-masculinity. In similar vein, the humiliation and pain are ironed out in such statistics-based planning and reporting. When educational redress is planned, little attention is given to the trauma experienced and how this may affect women’s reintegration into educational programmes. The historical and contemporary refusal, disruption and curtailment of education of girls and women is a complex phenomenon. This is a phenomenon that is interwoven into numerous values and norms of authoritarian, patriarchal and violent cultures. The violence with which such denial of basic rights is performed points to deeper desires to humiliate, subjugate and hurt. Such acts often stems from violent and hegemonic masculinities (Bhana, 2005). In many societies, patriarchal systems of honour and obedience thus come to mask extraordinary savagery. Ziauddin Yousafzai, Malala’s father speaks candidly about this problem:

If you glance to human history, the story of a woman is a story of injustice, inequality, violence and exploitation. You see in patriarchal societies, right from the very beginning when a girl is born her birth is not celebrated, she is not welcomed … (Yousafzai, 2014)

Decade after decade, such treatment provides cover for mass-scale, global, gender-based violence and sustains notions of the dangers of educated women.

In a study of the Human Rights Democracy and Development project (HRDD), an adult education and development project, seven educators and seven learners were interviewed (John, 2009). Most were women and all were from relatively under-resourced communities in rural areas of KwaZulu-Natal, South Africa. The extreme deprivation and levels of violence (physical and structural) in the life stories of these educators and learners were striking. A sense of ‘being born at the wrong time’ is no comfort when one realizes that the dangers posed by an educated woman or girl child are not just a historical blemish but a constant and contemporary scar of a stubbornly patriarchal and unjust society! Time and place are also not boundaries to this unjust and shameful practice. A return to the HRDD data helps to illustrate the gender–violence–education nexus in South Africa which gave rise to its present generation of illiterate and under-educated women. This shines a light on the violent interruptions and curtailment of basic education for women and girls and how this violence is fed and enmeshed in wider societal systems. This analysis of violence-producing institutions and social structures is guided by the work of Iris Young (1990) when arguing that

What makes violence a face of oppression is less the particular acts themselves, though these are often utterly horrible, than the social context surrounding them, which makes them possible and even acceptable. What makes violence a phenomenon of social injustice, and not merely an individual moral wrong, is its systemic character, its existence as a social practice. (pp. 61–62)

Methodology

As indicated, a large part of this article is based on data from a project in KwaZulu-Natal, South Africa, called the HRDD project (John, 2009). The project allows for key aspects of women learners’ and educators’ lives and educational experiences to be made visible. The HRDD project was an adult education and development intervention in seven rural communities of KwaZulu-Natal. Over a period of 10 years, the project offered a combination of literacy classes and income-generation activities to adult learners in Dalton, Tugela Ferry, Qanda, Estcourt, Trust Feed, Muden and Stoffelton. All of these areas are characterized by high levels of poverty and low levels of education and development. These communities also experienced severe political violence during the 1980s and early 1990s which resulted in much loss of life, property and displacement of people (see Aitchison, 2003a, 2003b). Educators for the literacy classes were recruited from the same communities and trained as a new group of community-based adult educators by a non-governmental organization (NGO) and university. The HRDD project was an adult education intervention with a livelihoods component and a strong curriculum emphasis on the themes of human rights, democracy and development, hence the acronym HRDD.

In-depth interviews were conducted by the author and a colleague with one learner and one educator from each of the project sites. Learners and educators were interviewed about their experiences of the project and their lives. These data are analysed here to expose different challenges experienced by women learners in their quests for education and the particularly violent character of their challenges. Some data from educators are included to illustrate the impact of the political violence on both learners and educators. Given the personal nature of some of the information provided by participants, pseudonyms have been used in this report and their learning sites are also not revealed.

Unravelling the gender-violence-education nexus in Kwazulu-Natal

Surviving tough childhoods

The HRDD learners were all resilient survivors of multiple and repeated economic, social and political challenges which negatively affected their education. One of the most common and striking features of learners’ life stories is the incredibly difficult childhoods they have experienced and how these are laced with multiple forms of violence. Their stories are replete with incidents of hardships, typically associated with growing up as an African child in apartheid South Africa. The home contexts of all learners and educators reflect severe poverty; harsh child labour practices; physical, sexual and emotional abuse; fractured family systems; fathers who were mostly absent; violence in the community, home and school leading to displacement, loss and trauma; and contexts where education, particularly for girls and women, was not valued and frequently disrupted and terminated. These common challenges are illustrated below.

Education for girls and women not valued

Most learners expressed regret about the termination of their own schooling and the cause of their low level of basic education. They enjoyed school but were often forced to leave school because of gender discrimination which generally placed less value on education for girls. Such patriarchal values strongly influenced the amount of schooling they were allowed. The following statements by Dora, Zinhle and Eliza, all show a similar pattern of male control of education and the consequent sense of loss and pain that these life-determining decisions have had for them. There is a clear sense of rejection of the patriarchy and chauvinism inherent in some of these reflections on male hegemonic power of fathers and husbands in restricting their education:

We were staying at my granny’s at Mpolweni. My father was drinking one day. When he was drunk he saw little girls of my age playing with the boys. He said his child would do the same and vowed to take us out of school … In the olden days, husbands were the only people who could give a final word, the wives could not argue. He came at school, I was with my younger sister, he took me out of class in standard 6 and my sister in standard 5. We went out of class and stayed at home until today. I’m now keen to attend adult classes because I like to have knowledge even though I’m old. (Dora)

My father was primitive he believed that girls should not be sent to school … I left school in second year, I didn’t even finish it. I thought I would not continue because my father said he cannot spend his money educating me for someone else [reference to her destiny as a wife who will move to her husband’s household]. I was attending at Mthizane and my school fee was 5 cents [less than half a US cent]. When I needed school fees my father said I should tell my teacher that nobody gives him money. (Zinhle)

We killed ourselves … I got married … but I loved school. I used to dream of myself being in class. I didn’t know how I can get back to class because we are in the rural areas. It was very difficult because women were not allowed to go to school once they were married. I thought my life had come to an end, then my only dream was to find a job. When the idea of school [literacy classes] came, I thought I should give myself a chance to learn … I never realised that this school can get to this stage [gaining employment as a nursing assistant]. (Eliza)

When one considers the consequences of such denial of education for purpose of control of girls or because it was seen as a poor investment for the family, one could see such acts as structural violence. Eliza evokes the sense of violence when she says, ‘We killed ourselves’. The name of the structure undergirding the denial of education to Dora, Zinhle and Eliza is patriarchy. And these narratives reveal the intersections of patriarchy with poverty.

While this structure may not be operating in exactly the same way (i.e. outright denial and termination of education) in relation to girls and women in present South Africa, extreme poverty and widespread life-threatening disease have given rise to child-headed households and fractured family systems where the education of girls and women are negatively affected (Nelson Mandela Foundation, 2005). So while the reasons for contemporary disruptions may be new, the underlying structures and consequences remain the same. Patriarchy’s intersection with poverty and crisis results in negative outcomes for girls and women – then and now.

Violence at school

While HRDD learners recall some aspects of their schooling years as joyful experiences, a number of experiences were painful for learners. Control and authority in schools were achieved through corporal punishment, emotional abuse and stigmatization of learners’ poverty and inability to purchase school requirements. Corporal punishment was widely accepted as a normal part of school life, and even in adulthood learners showed little negative reaction to early beatings received in school. Much of the narratives below are clear cases of abuse and violence which directly influenced learners to leave school and to carry negative memories of learning into their adulthood.

Dora spoke about her favourite teacher:

… there was a teacher who liked me who was teaching my younger sister. If my sister did not do her homework the teacher would call me and ask me why she did not do her homework. I would stumble and mutter and apologize on her behalf. He would say he would hit me. Sometimes he hit me. One day the teacher told me that he was doing that because he loved me. I thanked him because it was unusual to tell you that he loves you. I said that out of foolishness. (Dora)

In Zinhle’s case, her promising school career was cut short because of poverty and the way in which her poverty was stigmatized in her school:

During our time each person bought their own book. I was told to leave the class due to not having a book during the lessons. The teacher said I am disturbing other learners because I do not have books. All those things led me to take a decision to leave school so that I can work and fend for myself. Eventually my parents died and I looked after my siblings. I could not support their schooling because I earn little money here in the farm … The teachers were also cheeky in the olden days, when they saw me sitting outside the classroom they would ask me why I was outside during class. They would pass bad comments … I was only happy during break when we played netball because … I was devoted in whatever I did. But, I was very disturbed during class time because even the other children were laughing at me when they saw me sitting outside during class. (Zinhle)

The violence and disruption of child labour

Most HRDD learners described their childhood and school-going years as a struggle, involving harsh labour practices. This was often exacerbated by the placement of children in relative’s homes where they suffered abuse. South Africa has a long history of migrant labour and other factors which fractured families, making children vulnerable to exploitation and abuse. The violence and disruption to education posed by these living circumstances are tragically expressed by the following learners:

I had a problem because I was staying in somebody’s [a relative’s] house hence I did not finish my schooling through abuse. I was treated like an employee I got up early in the morning, cleaned the house, ensured my uncle’s clothes were prepared, bath the children. I went late to school. These chores resulted in me not having time to study. I came back in the afternoon and cooked when my aunt was not home. She would leave a note to say what I should cook. I cooked in the afternoon, bath the children and take them to bed, you can see all that. I was abused, I don’t want to speak about all that. Her husband once wanted to rape me. I did not even want to tell my parent. I told them later. I went to sleep at my aunt’s brother that night, they were next door to each other in the township. (Nothando)

Outside of domestic duties, child labour in farming communities also disrupted education as in Khetiwe’s case:

It was because I was a seasonal worker. I worked six months and spent six months at home, that would mean I would not be able to attend [school] throughout the year. That is why I left. (Khetiwe)

Displacement, loss and trauma caused by political violence

Growing up in a context of political violence in KwaZulu-Natal (Aitchison, 2003a, 2003b), a number of learners and educators too had thus survived violent experiences as children and adults in both home and community contexts. Political violence meant that learners have been displaced (sometimes repeatedly). Many lost their meagre possessions through political violence. One of the strongest themes in the narratives of HRDD learners and educators is the disruption caused to their schooling by the political violence. Several learners and educators moved to different locations in search of a peaceful area to continue their schooling and sometimes had to move a second time. The change of schools meant that some learners and educators were forced to take new subjects which they had not studied before. The disruption and trauma of the violence had negative effects on their performance, with some failing for the first time in their school careers. Some educators view the disruptions caused by the violence as having long-term effects in the ways it intersected with poverty to create a serious barrier to their post-schooling education and ambitions.

A learner spoke about the loss of her home which she had worked so hard to build:

I went to find a job. I worked for 14 years. Violence began after that. I lost everything I had through violence I was only left with what I wore on that day. Times did not go well. My mother suffered from heart attack, she eventually died … Most of the things were destroyed when violence started. That resulted in my house not becoming a good house. (Nothando)

Another learner spoke about a nomadic existence caused by political violence and intimidation:

I didn’t stay even a year in my new place when the political violence started. The people from Sobantu used to attack the people in Sweetwaters. [I] felt unsafe because I am from Sobantu. We decided to relocate to Emkhambathini at Ntembeni just underneath Maqongqo Mountain. My husband was busy working on a [building] site when he was approached by four men. They asked him why we relocated. They said to him that he must not build any further because they will kick all the new residents out. They said we would be the first one to be kicked out. We had bought all the building material at the time. We left everything there and relocated to Howick. We [again] bought the building material. I discovered that when a child did something wrong she or he was punished by the community along political party lines. I then decided that was not a home for me. I also left and came [here]. (Dora)

An educator, Malindi, had her schooling likewise disrupted by the violence. Her family moved twice and her high school education was completed in three different schools.

Nokthula, another educator, also shared similar experiences and also recounts the traumatic loss and displacement caused by violence. She was questioned about her political allegiance and had her life threatened. A family friend who intervened was later killed. Her story reveals the gendered nature of the violence and the sexual harassment which young women faced during times of political violence. She says,

We stayed in our shack … behind the Stadium … violence erupted. Where I was staying … whenever I went to school there were these boys who were always asking me why I was not coming to them when they were calling me. They accused me of being anti-ANC [ruling party] … One day they decided to necklace me with a car tyre … fortunately there was a person who was my mother’s friend … that person saw me … the painful part is that eventually they killed that person. My mother decided that we should leave … since she was about to lose me too. We came here … in 1992. It was difficult for me at school. I think my mind was disturbed because I did not pass. I repeated … Eventually I passed standard 9 until I found myself passing standard ten. (Nokthula)

In Nokthula’s story, we see the intersection of poverty (We stayed in our shack), with political power struggles (‘They accused me of being anti-ANC’). The next extract of her story clearly reveals a further layer of gender-based violence when she says, ‘It was common during the time of violence that people would force you to be their girlfriend, expecting you to do their wishes’. Her reference to sexual exploitation of girls and women, under the cover of a civil war in KwaZulu-Natal, shows the cruel web created by the intersectionality of poverty, patriarchy and power struggles and how this disrupted her education and limited her life-chances:

We left all our belongings, we did not even manage to come with a piece of our belongings. We only managed to bring our clothing. It was common during the time of violence that people would force you to be their girlfriend, expecting you to do their wishes … I heard when he [family friend] came to check the situation at my home they killed him. (Nokthula)

Domestic violence was a further common occurrence in the lives of learners:

I struggled a lot because their father abused me until I decided to leave him. The farmer advised me to find another place so that we can live separately because he [her partner] attacked me with a cane knife and did anything to me until I quit the relationship. Therefore, my three children did not get much education. (Zinhle)

History repeating itself…

The economic, social and educational deprivation experienced by HRDD learners in their early years was followed by similar and often worsened conditions in adulthood. They have spent the better part of their lives in constant struggle and survival mode. It is from such contexts that learners are invited to become participants in educational campaigns and global targets. Iris Young (1990) developed a plural categorization of oppression which captures both material and cultural forms. She identifies five faces of oppression, namely, marginalization, powerlessness, exploitation, violence and cultural imperialism. The lives of learners in the HRDD project show ample evidence of all Young’s faces of oppression.

While the HRDD narratives reveal historical exclusion, the experiences and conditions captured in this small-scale study resonate strongly with those emerging from other large-scale studies of contemporary experiences and conditions. A comprehensive study of education in rural South Africa (Nelson Mandela Foundation, 2005) has documented similar conditions of chronic deprivation and exclusion. This study identified as its singular finding,

that the great majority of children in rural poor communities are receiving less than is their right in a democratic South Africa … Moreover, the communities in which they live will continue to suffer the debilitating effects of poverty and inequality for as long as these problems remain. (Nelson Mandela Foundation, 2005: viii–ix)

The extent to which violence is a regular feature of current South African learners’ lives is well established by two recent large-scale surveys (Burton and Leoschut, 2013; Leoschut, 2009). The most recent of these surveys found that 22.2% of high school pupils nationally reported being threatened with violence or been victims of assault, robbery and/or sexual assault at their schools in the preceding 12 months (Burton and Leoschut, 2013). The figures show increased rates for KwaZulu-Natal, the home province of HRDD learners, with pupils’ assaults at 8.2% (up from 3.7% in 2008), sexual assault at 3.9% and theft from pupils at a staggering 49.9%. These statistics and trends are alarming but do not reveal the trauma and devastations conveyed through individual narratives, as with the HRDD data. But they do confirm that the violence exposed by HRDD learners continues.

The debilitating effects of patriarchy and political power struggles are very rarely mentioned in large-scale surveys. The HRDD study reminds us to name the patterns in terms of the socio-political context and gender dynamics affecting education in KwaZulu-Natal. This is also a reminder that when considering the failure of nations to meet targets under various global campaigns and plans, we need to look beyond the traditional barriers of limited funding, inadequate monitoring and evaluation and lack of political will. We need to consider the lives and experiences which make up statistics. When we remember this, as so powerfully conveyed in the HRDD narratives, we are confronted by two inescapable realties. The first is that educational deprivation is not only structural violence but also enacted with extreme physical and emotional violence. The second realization relates to the real underlying causes of such violence and its distinctly masculine and chauvinist character. Diezel (2014) believes that as ‘women have become more visible and dynamic in the real world, so more men seem to feel threatened, attempting to reassert their dominance, expressing their anger with increasing vehemence’ (p. 6). Snodgrass (2015) likewise points to a neo-patriarchal backlash as resistance to global gender equality gains. Global planning must then consider the urgent need for educational interventions with men which will disrupt stubborn and violent cultures, prejudicial attitudes and exclusionary practices which coalesce into structural and other forms of violence. Such interventions, in the long term, may help in establishing that the threat which educated girls and women present is a masculine construction. The eradication of this threat requires such acceptance and intervention with men. Battered women, survivors of domestic violence, have long being asking for such interventions (see Perilla et al., 2003). Ziauddin Yousafzai (TED Talks) says,

People ask me what special is in my mentorship which has made Malala so bold and so courageous, and so vocal and poised, I tell them don’t ask me what I did. Ask me what I did not do. I did not clip her wings and that’s all …

How can we create the conditions for men all around the world to respect, defend and advance the rights of girls and women?

The experiences of HRDD learners reveal a set of social pathologies which could receive attention via the curriculum and pedagogy in educational interventions. While such interventions alone cannot solve these problems, they can become a space for dialogue about such problems and for imagining new lives. The gender–violence–education nexus compels us to consider educational interventions and pedagogies which will heal, restore, build solidarity and forge new identities – this is what feminists call life-deep learning. Life-deep learning according to Ferris and Walters (2012) is ‘work with deeply personal issues … tapping into the cultural, spiritual, and intimate aspects of people’s lives’ (p. 77). hooks (1986) adds a political dimension to this when asserting, ‘For me teaching is political work and the classroom a space for radical political action’ (p. 126). The HRDD narratives show how poverty, violence and trauma contribute to fragmentation and disintegration of people and communities. The types of education advocated by hooks and by Ferris and Walters can counter the personal and social fragmentation of violence and foster reconnection and healing within people and communities. There have been many calls for educators and planners not to ignore the violence experienced by learners. Horsman (2000) advises that educators should not ignore the shame and trauma brought to the class by women who have experienced violence, nor should they be treated just as an individual problem in need of private therapy. Rather, educators can create ‘a climate of openness’, a supportive learning environment in which women do not feel ashamed of the violence or its effect on their learning (p. 290). Likewise, in response to a recently released video of the Chibok girls, in which they are crouched in a camp dressed in black hijabs and chanting Koranic verses, Pastor Ibanga observes, ‘You can hear the trauma in her voice’, … ‘When the girls are returned, it will take years and much community support to rehabilitate them to help them recover from this heinous experience’ (Holmer, 2014). By paying attention to such psycho-social needs, we acknowledge that it is not just education that has been affected and in need of redress. We also acknowledge that the disruption was distinctly and unjustifiably violent and that the humanity and dignity of these girls and women have been affected and that we have a responsibility to restore this in and through education.

Conclusion

The stories of Malala and the Chibok girls have brought an international spotlight on the violence in the educational quests of women and girls in the 21st century. But it is the directness and physical nature of this violence which allow for headlines and such global attention. While such attention is important and necessary, there is an on-going, less direct and less physical but equally powerful and painful violence that continues to slowly, and less visibly, disrupt and prevent girls and women from their rightful education endeavours – this is the hidden hand of poverty, patriarchy and power struggles which constitute systemic and structural violence. The two parts of this article have illustrated contemporary and historical educational exclusion in some countries and the physical and structural violence involved.

When we look more closely at these examples, we see that it is masculine scripts, religious scriptures and political structures which all serve as authorizing regimes for the disruption and termination of education for girls and women. In different combinations, these regimes interlock and create webs of educational exclusion for girls and women. Authorizing regimes are the male-constructed structures and systems which provide a level of ‘legitimacy’ for discriminatory and unjust practices. We find clues to these authorizing regimes in Dora’s critique: ‘In the olden days, husbands were the only people who could give a final word, the wives could not argue’, in Zinhle’s lament: ‘When I needed school fees my father said I should tell my teacher that nobody gives him money’ and in Nokthula revelation: ‘It was common during the time of violence that people would force you to be their girlfriend, expecting you to do their wishes … ’ Paying attention to the gender–violence–education nexus allows for such regimes to become visible and for the problem not to be seen as just educational deprivation, in need of a new target and international declaration.

The narratives of HRDD learners point to the need for a more gendered and critical lens to understanding illiteracy and under-education and to a more feminist and caring approach to its response. The stories of illiterate and under-educated girls and women are stories of historical and contemporary injustice. They are also stories of violence needing more critical attention and caring intervention.

Footnotes

Declaration of Conflicting Interests

The author(s) declared no potential conflicts of interest with respect to the research, authorship, and/or publication of this article.

Funding

The author(s) received no financial support for the research, authorship and/or publication of this article.

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