Summerhill Part Two – School Meeting and Views from the Principal

(Continued from earlier post)

We have lunch and then explore the gardens. As my friends happily swing on the swings (one also went up the tree-house – don’t we all have children inside us?), I notice that behind the swings are little paths that go into little caves of shrubbery. On the other side is a small meadow where a young girl is sitting peacefully,  reading alone. She is lost in her book and does not notice me, and since I like it that way, I quietly retrace my steps and rejoin my friends. 

But I love the fact that even in the midst of the calm, close-knit community, there are still places to be on your own, seemingly solitary, for those days when you wish to be so...

Right - The tree-house

Below - The hidden paths behind the swings

As we enter the meeting room and find places to sit, we are politely asked to “Please wait outside, as the children will vote on whether they’d like you to be part of the meeting”. Surprised and impressed, we trail out again, and wait for the verdict. Happily, they allow us in, but it is impressive to know that they have an option of keeping us out. Once inside, they also vote on whether we are allowed to take photos and videos (photos are okay with most but videos turned down, with the result that we aren’t to take photos of the dissenting students or any videos whatsoever).

The meeting is perhaps the most impressive thing in the whole visit. The children sit quietly, some comfortably on the floor, some on the benches on the sides of the room, some on the stairs and one even on the banister! 

The Chair (the previously mentioned teenage girl), we were told later, was voted for in the previous meeting and has absolute power. She could mete out punishments or fines for misbehaviour, or throw someone out if they disrupt the proceedings (during the session we witness, none are required, just a firm instruction to a new boy, who is hiding up the stairs sitting at the very top, to come down and join in nicely. After two failed attempts of ‘Come sit down here, please’, she raises her voice and says ‘I’m going to fine you if you don’t come down at once’ and is promptly obeyed). There are two meetings each week, and on Friday the next week’s Chair is decided. Few students do it, and they are normally the older ones, because you need experience, authority and fairness, as you have to keep about 70 children and 10 or more adults calm and interested for about an hour in addition to taking care of business.

There is a general meeting and a tribunal meeting – general where they discuss laws, or events, or new proposals for something. Tribunal is where you’d bring someone up for misconduct. The Chair has a previously prepared list of what is to be discussed, which includes proposals, notices or announcements amongst others. When someone needs to say something in a meeting, they speak to the Chair and Secretary (the record keeper and organizer of the meeting who assists the Chair) and are listed down before the meeting – they are given their chance to speak when their name is called out during the meeting.

As we settle down, the Chair reads the agenda for the day and the meeting begins. A few people make announcements about the week’s schedule, outings and events. The next thing on the agenda is a proposal by a child. He seems to have been “gated” previously (a sort of punishment, I assume, similar to being grounded, where one is unable to participate in events or go out) and is seeking to get that cancelled for the weekend when he wants to meet his parents. People raise their hands to respond and the Chair lets them speak one at a time (if you’re not picked, you don’t get a chance, but nobody seems to mind). Some suggest that he could be let off for the weekend and add an extra day to his punishment, some say add extra two days, some say gated is gated. As these are heard, the Secretary quickly compiles the options and the Chair promptly reads them out, then takes a vote which is something like this…

“All in favour of proposal?” (Some hands go up)

“All in favour of proposal but adding another day?” (Clear winner)

“All in favour of proposal but adding extra two days?” (Some other hands…)

“All against all?” (Barely one or two)

“Carried by adding an extra day!”

No time lost. It is amazing to see how quick and crisp and aptly worded the meeting is. It reflects not only a clarity in the discussion, but a clarity of thought among the students, a sense of fairness, a sense that the ideas are more important than the people who are saying them (no idea comes twice, there is no redundancy, hands are raised only by those who have something to add), and appreciation is conveyed by the generous “Hear hear!”s called out when fair things are said.

The second memorable case is a boy bringing up another boy for breaking his chair. What pleases me is that the second child does not deny the charge even for a moment. The question of a suitable solution (or what we'd unkindly call a punishment) is brought to the community. One suggests a fine, but others don’t find that useful. Another suggests that the boy could go to the woodworking studio and make another chair. One teacher then asks if the original chair can be mended, and if so, could the boy take responsibility for getting the chair fixed. This solution seems to appeal to everyone. But to add, a child suggests that the boy could mend the chair and get a new chair too. There’s an immediate sharp response of, “Why would anyone need two chairs?” and it is followed by a well-distributed chorus of “Hear hear!”

It isn’t hard to see that there is a strong sense of what is ‘fair’. If you ask me, such things are only taught by example and practice. No theory or laws can decide for you what is justice or what is goodness… even what is happiness. You can never define these, you just know them when you see them…

Top and below - Woodwork in the gardens

At the end of it, we walk out smiling. Not just because of how civilized and mature the discussions are (it is something to be respected, especially if you’ve ever seen the way adults discuss in meetings, or court, or worse, in parliament!), but because they are about little things. Insignificant they may seem, perhaps, but they shape the child, teach him/her how to respond to a disagreement or wrong done to them or others. It is the little problems that grow into big problems, and you cannot solve a larger problem if you haven’t learnt how to deal with smaller ones first. 

We then have a conversation with the principal Zoë Neill Readhead. She tells us that everything in this community is open and if someone does something seemingly wrong, it is encouraged to just confess and get over it. The principal also laughs about gossip. “We love our gossip,” she says, “We always know what’s going on where”. But it is never harmful; the students know it and are comfortable with it because nobody is judged. When asked if the freedom is sometimes ‘too much’, she says “We believe in freedom, not license.” When one realizes that others’ freedom is just as valuable as one’s own, it makes them caring and responsible. Surprising to many who are new to this idea is how well it works. There is barely any destructive behaviour – for example smoking isn’t banned but anybody who may want to smoke would have to compulsorily attend a ‘Smoker’s Talk’ regularly – a sort of lecture which gives them information about possible health problems, etc. A similar policy is in place for drinking and sex. Knowing the risks and consequences itself makes children more responsible and accountable for their actions.

                                                

Inspite of the openness (or perhaps because of it), it is a controlled atmosphere; students are chosen on the basis of how well they will fit into the community. There is a varied mix of backgrounds and nationalities that the children come from, and it is a very inclusive community, but some personality filters are in place.

Clockcards - Each child has a wooden block that can be hung to indicate where they are in the school

The more technical things (OFSTED reports, legal issues, insurances, finances, and other things, which I won’t go into here) are discussed and so are the limitations. This kind of school is resource-intensive, not easy to replicate without enough money or space or people. As the government is reluctant to fund and support the endeavour (without exerting control), Summerhill has to financially take care of itself (Zoë sadly admits that it is better to shut down Summerhill rather than let the government impose restrictions on it). That has the unfortunate effect of making it elitist – beyond reach of the lower sections of society. But as Zoë says, “Are we then saying it is better not to have Summerhill at all?"

View of the schoolrooms and garden

The question is one of preserving and experimenting with an ideal in an increasingly non-ideal world. What the significance of such a place is, is discussed in this very insightful article about Summerhill a friend of mine has written.
If you ask me, a large number of the world's problems will be solved in a few generations' time if governments all over the world direct maximum resources to liberal, free education, health and nature conservation. But that is a much complex, wider discussion altogether.

What must be said for now, is that we need more such spaces and chances for children to really grow into resourceful, responsible, loving adults – something we are definitely short of.

 

Summerhill Part One– School Tour and Informal Discussion

Last week two friends and I had an opportunity to visit a lovely school in Suffolk called Summerhill School. Founded in 1921 by a visionary named A.S. Neil, the school is one of the first of its kind. Formerly described as a ‘free school’ and increasingly called a (more reserved and respectable) ‘democratic school’, it is one of the few institutions in the world that practices an educational model where students are strong decision makers in the running of their school and, in effect, their lives.

As we approach the office, we see a view of the very pretty school building, and the path that curves and leads up to it. There is a sign that makes me smile. It says, ‘Beware! Children Playing!’. 

Above - The happy signpost
Left - The main school building

 

There are other smaller signs in the office, asking visitors not to take anybody’s photographs without their permission, to not go into children’s living spaces or touch their belongings, etc. The visitors (we are among the many who have come on this Open Day) are comprised of interested parents, curious educators and enthusiastic teachers - some wanting to enlist their children, some to join the school, and some to start similar models elsewhere. As the visitors slowly start interacting, a few teenagers walk up to us and ask us to divide into groups for a tour of the school.

We’re assigned to two charming young lads who lead us in. As we walk around we notice children on bicycles, skateboards, swings and some of the youngest ones on a trampoline! There are unicycles lying around in a couple of places too. Many children are wandering about (it happens to be an absolutely lovely, sunny day) and give us friendly smiles.

It is a very informal tour. The boys chat with us, tell us where they live, what they like. We’re taken to the woodcarving studio where students can make anything from little shields and swords to chairs (even the skateboard ramp outside has been made by a student with the woodcarving incharge’s help!), to the science rooms, past the lunch area to the meeting room (which was then empty and housed a table tennis table), art rooms and a small common room for the children to relax and read or just hang out. 

Above - Indoor hang-out room for 9 to 12 year olds stocked with games and reading material
Below - Science rooms for all classes

As we walk outside, a passing teacher calls out to us, laughing, “Don’t listen to them! They’re just children!” at which our two teenagers grin mischievously! They show us the swimming pool (which needs cleaning, and the students would help with that), the Big Beech – their largest tree, which has a huge ladder built onto it and rope to swing on (“But we don’t go there much, there are many rules about it”), and the many swings and benches all around.

Above - Skateboarding ramp made as a woodwork project
Below - The Big Beech and our two young guides

After the little tour of the school, we speak to one of the teachers who has been at Summerhill for about 12 years. We also get to see the Law Book, which has about 200 laws that the children follow. (“There are some silly laws, too,” says our teenage tour guide, with a chuckle “So sometimes we get rid of them if everybody agrees we don’t need  them”) There are rules like ‘You are allowed a lie-in on your birthday’ or ‘16 year olds are allowed out till 8pm’. Most laws can be changed or modified by the students in the meetings, by majority vote.  The teacher explains how things work, what students learn, how other schools find it difficult to follow these concepts. This is also more of a discussion, with the visitors asking all sorts of things, including how often children are allowed to go out, whether they have compulsory lessons, how many choose to attend the meetings, how do they handle violence (“We haven’t even had a fist fight” says the 13 year old student who is joining the discussion), what if a child doesn’t want to do anything at all, and many more.

Above and below right - Art room and
indoor area for games and books

The teacher answers it all in a wonderful spirit, laughing and joking as he enters the finer points of the discussion. “Our textbooks are designed to keep 30 or more children busy,” he says, when asked about how children manage to study if they spend so much time at play, “So they have a lot of repetition within them, there are examples and many problems to solve. But once you get rid of all the extra bits, it’s really quite simple and do-able”. And play is always a type of study, he insists. The conversation veers to flaws in the existing educational models the world over. The Finnish system is mentioned, as are other schools that are trying similar things. However the world is yet to catch up. Summerhill was radical in 1921 and it is radical even now. “I call it a problem of educational religion,” says the teacher, talking about why this may be, “where you believe (and are scared by being told) that success is economic heaven and failure, economic hell.”

As the teacher speaks to us, the teenage girl (who will later chair the school meeting) sits next to him completely at home as if it is a family discussion she is sitting in on. The few times she does speak, her manner betrays a sense of confidence and wisdom, but most of all, a deep love for her school. We break for lunch after this, and are to reconvene in the meeting room to witness the school meeting (or so we think!)

(More to come - a second post about the school meeting and a talk with the principal will follow shortly.)

The Bat and the Manjaa

(Warning - slightly distressing image below)

The other day, as I sat bent over my drawing, I got a frantic call from my mother. She was downstairs trying to stop our fellow colony residents from burning dried leaves under healthy trees (just one of the many tree-loving things she does). ‘Come down at once!’ she said, ‘There is a bat and it is injured.’ Injured, it appeared, by the manjaa thread used for flying kites.

Words like that seem to pierce my soul and fill a strange kind of fear in me. I suddenly become highly receptive, imagining and feeling all sorts of things that might have happened to the poor creature. Armed with a pair of scissors, a clean rag and some water, I rushed down to find the bat lying face down with a badly broken wing. It seems it had been caught in the manjaa hanging from the trees, struggled to get out and become even more entangled. The watchman saw it hanging and tried to get it down, the result of which was it crashing to the ground. It lay there, not moving, a crowd of children around it, but everyone too afraid (perhaps, thankfully) to touch it.

I’m not a vet and we couldn’t have done much. I gave it some water that it frantically tried to drink, and then tried to cut away the manjaa and clean the wound. It was a bad wound with the wing torn and part of the bone sticking out. As I tried cutting the thread away, gingerly so that it would hurt least, it struck me how strong it was. It was almost like wire and the wing was so tightly wrapped up in it, it was impossible to get it out. We decided to bring it upstairs at home to get away from the crowd; the poor thing must have been terrified. As I carried it in my arms, held up by rags and my dupatta, it felt so much like a baby, but one that was far beyond me in the way it was silently suffering. I think that was when it died. Because when we opened the door and lay it down, it wouldn’t move. It didn’t respond to anything. 

Maybe it was trauma of being handled, or the impact of falling from such a height, or that the intensity of the wound had finally triumphed. We will never know. But I do know that a strong piece of string, hanging in a tree and obstructing animals’ natural movement, did not belong there. And even after that, as I tried to get it out of the dead bat’s mangled wound (it just seemed something that needed to be done), it wouldn’t come out.

That manjaa has left a permanent wound on my mind. I think kite flying is a beautiful sport. But I think we have to be more responsible with what we leave behind after we’re done with it. It seems too sad and horrible that a simple thread left innocently behind should be the cause of so much suffering, not just for animals but also other people. No sport is worth that kind of pain.