Has a school failed, if it had to be shut down? – Remembering an alternative school

Jane Sahi has taught in an alternative school near Bengaluru for several years. She has, until recently, been engaged in teaching at the Library Educators’ Course at Bookworm in Goa. She is presently involved in The Fig Tree Learning Centre, which works with local government schools, particularly in relation to library activities and sessions with children, looking at nature through observations, stories and artworks. She has written several books including “In our own words” which is about how to support children’s independent and creative writing. She has taught courses related to language pedagogy and children’s literature at Tata Institute of Social Sciences (TISS), Mumbai, and at Azim Premji University (APU), Bengaluru.

Thejaswi: Jane, you and a core group of teachers ran Sita School from 1975 until 2017. That was a long journey, but then things had to end. It would help if you could share some highlights of how it was in the early days, the times when you had doubts if this is something you could sustain, but then you found ways to go ahead. I think it would be useful if you could start with the genesis of Sita School and then share what it has been like over the years to sustain the school.

Jane: The school started in a very organic way. We had lived in a Muslim mohalla near Channapatna in 1970. When we moved there, most of the children were participating in the cottage industry of making bidis. The families had formerly been involved in lacquer work. However, because of mechanization, they had shifted to making bidis. We lived in a room given by the village. We were observing and watching these very young children sitting in family groups and making bidis. The children were not very strictly controlled. But they were expected, even from quite a young age—I’m talking about 6-7 years olds—to be involved in making bidis. So, that was quite an eyeopener in terms of thinking about what might be relevant to such children as a way of learning. In a way, we started there.

Thejaswi: When did you move to Silvepura?

Jane: We were there near Channapatna for a year. And then in 1971 we moved to the village where we stay today, in Silvepura, which is north of Bengaluru. At that time most children did not go to school. Many of them might have attended school very erratically for two or three years, dropping out by the third or the fourth standard. Two or three children had gone on to complete tenth standard. However, those children had been in residential schools. Otherwise, none of the villagers’ children had gone beyond lower primary classes.

The children of the people who helped build our house – carpenters, masons, etc. – did not go to school. The school, as I mentioned, began in a very organic way in our living space. By that time, we had two of our own small children. The other children came and played with our children and their toys, and painted and drew. But there was no fixed timing, and it was extremely informal.

Thejaswi: How did you inform yourself of working with children at that stage? Was it only through observation?

Jane: In 1973, when I met David Horsburgh, I felt ill-equipped to work in a school situation, especially with my minimal knowledge of Kannada.

David was encouraging and recommended about 10 books that I should read. These included Herbert Kohl’s 36 Children and books by John Holt and A. S. Neil. There was a book called The philosophy of primary education: an introduction by R. F. Dearden, which was a basic but insightful book. He also suggested some practical books on language teaching and math. I began to seriously consider the possibility of a more structured learning space but with vertical grouping, so that children could both learn from each other and from the different activities we did together.

I was extremely interested in Rudolf Steiner. I was attracted to his ideas of integrating art across all subjects. Through a friend, I contacted Emerson College, the Waldorf Teacher Training institution in England. I requested for a volunteer to come for one year to work in the school. Fortunately, one remarkably gifted person responded. She stayed with us for two years.

For me it was like an apprenticeship! One of the best things about her was that she kept emphasizing that Rudolf Steiner’s historical and cultural context was Europe. We in India were in a different situation. It was, therefore, impossible to simply attempt to uncritically transplant a Waldorf approach in a village in Karnataka in the 1970s. We adopted or adapted some elements of the Waldorf approach. However, the way the school took shape was largely due to the responses and contributions of the children, parents, volunteers and teachers over a number of years.

Thejaswi: I have a feeling that contemporary Steiner schools in India have much to learn from that approach of thinking about appropriate, contextual learning. Jane: We followed a rather eclectic approach. We drew inspiration from Rudolf Steiner, Gandhi and Tagore. Later, I was greatly influenced by the writings of Martin Buber. These provided a more philosophical perspective, yet rooted in practice. His texts prompted me to reflect on why we teach, how we teach, and how we learn as teachers.

These questions have stayed with me throughout the years.

Thejaswi: Was this journey part of understanding why you wanted to start a school? It sounds to me more like exploring schooling in an open way, more than starting a school.

Jane: We had informally begun around 1973. But I suppose, as Sita School, we began in 1975. Exploring these many approaches happened before and after the school started. We started by trying to understand why children were not attending school. Although there was a convent school in the village, it failed to inspire children to enroll there. At that time, I recognized the importance of inclusion in a broader sense. It was about embracing the diversity of everyone’s learning journey, rather than fitting them into a predetermined mould of success or failure.

Thejaswi: What were your observations of children in the village at the time?

Jane: In the village community, children of all ages learned together, from each other. There was never a sense of failure. Children were included at their own pace. Some children embraced their differences, despite any challenges they may have faced, and there was a genuine acceptance of diversity.

Thejaswi: I have often heard you speak about observing children in their context. There were moments where you witnessed them learning from each other. Over the years, this seemed to occur consistently in any space you observed. This observation influenced how you structured the classes.

Jane: So, yes, that led us to consider more of a vertical grouping rather than the horizontal grouping, which recently has been reinforced by the Right to Education (RtE) Act for various reasons. The RtE Act emphasized the idea that children shouldn’t be ‘left behind,’ deeming it discriminatory not to propel them forward. While there were valid reasons for this approach, I believe we can also question whether age is the only criterion that determines how children are grouped. A space to be curious and explore things individually and together, and a facilitator who encourages children to collaborate, may contribute to a richer learning environment.

Another aspect I noticed was the way children demonstrated responsibility through their work. Without romanticizing, children’s participation in purposeful work can often be very positive. At the same time, it is crucial to acknowledge the existence of labor laws that identify instances of child exploitation.

Thejaswi: Living in a rural community often entails participating in local activities, such as farming. Even today, children during harvest times may participate in these activities instead of attending school. Despite concerns about labor laws and exploitation, in certain situations, being involved in community activities is part of a rural child’s life.

Jane: Yes, traditionally children were clearly an integral part of a bigger community. There was a natural discipline in the context of participating in activities involved in providing shelter, food and care for each other. Another aspect I have noticed is the freedom of movement children had in the village. Nowadays, children’s lives are highly monitored and scheduled, nearly always under adult supervision. At that time, it was refreshing to witness how children could choose who they spent time with and where they went.

There were restrictions, of course, as children were only allowed within the village boundaries and agricultural land. However, within that space, they enjoyed some freedom of choice. The children also played a significant role in shaping the school’s evolution. Coming from a Western background, we initially had notions of individual choices and facilitating children to do what they wanted. However, we soon realized that in this context, children often preferred to work together, and an individualistic structure wasn’t always appropriate. We had initially envisioned catering to kindergarten-age children. However, by the end of the 1970s, this quickly changed. Older siblings, who had never attended school, expressed a strong motivation to explore possibilities. How could we turn away children in that situation?

Thejaswi: Since you started the school in the 1970s, did it evolve in a planned manner, or did you learn as you went along?

Jane: When people ask me how to start a school, I am always a little hesitant to tell them that we didn’t have a five-year plan. It might have seemed unstructured. However, our focus and commitment were always on responding to the children’s needs as far as we were able. Guided by Steiner’s ideas for young children, learning was deeply rooted in the local environment. Children learned about home life, clothing, agricultural practices, and more, using these as pathways to literacy and numeracy. We drew inspiration from Gandhi’s idea of correlation, emphasizing the interconnectedness of things rather than decontextualized, disembodied learning. Initially, the children were not working toward any formal certification. Gradually that changed. Some students were prepared for the seventh-grade public exam. This would enable them to progress to high school or to take courses in vocational training that were available at the time.

Thejaswi: You also had to meet the needs of a number of children, which involved many individuals including yourself. How did your relationship with the school influence your identity as a person?

Jane: Over its 40-year span, the school experienced its share of ups and downs. With a team of four members and generous support from volunteers, we navigated through various challenges. In the 1990s, I came to realize that one drawback of working in such a context is that your entire identity can become intertwined with your work and the school. This realization led me to understand that the work is vital and integral to my life. However, it shouldn’t consume my entire identity or impose on another’s.

There is a danger in projecting a teacher’s expectations or the lack of them on to children, instead of giving them space to make their own choices without judgment. It took me 25 years to recognize this imbalance. The school is certainly not my school. It is embodied in the teachers, the children, and the ongoing changes. Looking back, it surprises me that it took so long to realize the negative implications of this identity fusion. While it provides energy, it doesn’t necessarily sustain when faced with change.

Thejaswi: Your insight is fascinating. When the school becomes your identity, as someone who was there from the beginning, you realize that it is a two-way street. The work occupies a significant space in your mind. The school also relies on how you support and hold it together.

Jane: I believe it was in 1998, when I took a year off from school, that I was able to see the need to take some distance and yet at the same time be deeply involved. I wanted to pursue further studies, which turned out to be a very positive experience. Stepping back allowed me to see the school within a broader context. The rapid social, cultural, economic and political changes of the 1990s helped me understand the various forces at play. These also made me realize that the school was just one possible response to the challenges. Looking back, I see that the school served a purpose. Many children who attended would not have otherwise had access to education or exposure to different opportunities. However, it became clear that the school had its time and place.

Thejaswi: Why do you say that it had served its purpose?

Jane: One of the biggest challenges was coming to terms with people’s changing aspirations for certification, which did not necessarily coincide with actual learning. We had to acknowledge and understand that, only by chance, we had the resources, privileges and connections to make decisions for others. I read a book by Lisa Delpit during that time. It was pivotal for me in recognizing that people should have control over their own lives. As society underwent significant changes, it became increasingly possible for individuals to exercise that control.

Thejaswi: In traditional societies, opportunities for change were limited. Many people remained within that framework. However, after the 1990s, the pace of change accelerated remarkably, and we observed these shifts.

Jane: Trying to grasp what was happening was a zigzag, uneven but significant journey. After two decades, it became evident that the world was changing in a way that required a different awareness from the one with which the school began. Alternative schools have existed for a long time, dating back to the mid-18th century. When we discuss these, I believe it is essential to consider not just the specific details but the underlying reason for being alternative. The essence of being alternative lies in questioning dominant forces that may be unjust and oppressive to people. In this region and throughout India, most children are now enrolled in school. However, the crucial question remains: What are they doing in school? Are meaningful opportunities being provided, or are schools merely reinforcing a sense of failure? Being in school should be empowering. However, for some children, it can, unfortunately, be a disempowering experience.

Thejaswi: When you realized that changes were beyond your capacities or interests in addressing as a school, did you then decide to close it?

Jane: It took us, as a group, some time to realize that we needed to close the school and start anew, doing similar things but in a different context. The transition took eight years, from 2009 to 2017. It began from the moment we understood that the RtE Act was going to make it impossible to continue as we were, to when we actually shut down. We explored alternatives. These included offers of assistance to obtain registration. However, it didn’t feel right at that time. Registration and recognition would not necessarily have given the freedom to practice a more equitable or democratic mode of schooling. After 2016, we took one year to assess our resources and organize our affairs.

It was a challenging period because there were no children present. Suddenly, the bustling atmosphere of the school was replaced by an empty, silent space. During this time, we worked, we reflected on what had been and what could be in the future. Among other things, we organized the library. We also began reaching out to local schools to explore potential collaborations. But we felt it was important not to rush into something new. It was critical to allow ourselves that space to make a transition.

Thejaswi: What happened in the transition period over the next few years?

Jane: Eventually, we decided to work in three schools. Initially, we worked in a convent school. However, that proved to be unsatisfactory. We withdrew after one year. Over the next five years, apart from the time of the COVID-19 pandemic and the attendant lockdowns, two of the team members have been actively involved in three nearby governmental primary schools. The focus has been on environmental studies and literacy, including setting up classroom libraries. We have been fortunate to have been able to collaborate with NCF (Nature Conservation Foundation). Most recently, we have been again reconsidering our options. In April, we made the decision to start a small learning center in the nearby village of Kempapura. Here, the government school was the least effective.

The teacher welcomed us as a support for her to have free time. However, there was little engagement with the work that the facilitators were doing. Meanwhile, the children, mostly migrant children from north Karnataka whose parents were construction workers, were often neglected in the school. While we decided not to continue in the school, we remained committed to the children. This decision was made in the last two weeks, and it was a rather sudden development.

We happily found the right room in the right place at the right time, and it felt like a rebirth of sorts. Our hope is that, in this new setting, children will learn numeracy and literacy by engaging with their social and physical environments. We aim to meet both some of the parents’ expectations and children’s needs by providing an open space, and elements of structured support tailored to different children’s needs.

Thejaswi: Now that you have shared this, especially about the last period, I am curious if we could delve into some details, particularly regarding the transition that occurred around 2010.

Jane: TheRtE Act, for instance, enforced certain regulations, including how children were grouped, and how a uniform curriculum should be followed and assessed. In addition, specific certification for teachers was required. These changes all threatened to deeply alter certain aspects of the school as it had worked. It was not an unwillingness to be accountable. But we had a sense that the interests and needs of some children required a more open and flexible space.

As a group, we had to navigate this challenging time and decide which aspects of the school were key to supporting meaningful learning. Apart from the legal and bureaucratic demands, we also had to consider the community’s changing aspirations. From around 2005, many of the children coming to the school faced various challenges in the face of rapid change and urbanization.

We realized, more than ever, that a school could not be an island, disconnected from the community it claimed to serve. There was a growing sense of a lack of alignment in what we could provide and what families were expecting from a school. One decision we made about five years before closing the school was to limit the intake of younger children, unless absolutely necessary, to allow for a gradual phase-out. When the school finally closed, there were about 28 children.

We ensured they transitioned to other schools. We supported them financially, especially those in difficult economic situations. However, three children with severe mental health issues could not easily adapt to the more formal structure of a conventional school. We were fortunate that my son, Saumyananda (who had been part of the school in his childhood) decided to make a film about the school before its closure. It captured its essence without any voiceovers or interviews.

Meanwhile, I worked on a book about creative writing, using methods we had developed to support children’s independent writing. It wasn’t an easy process. We discussed it extensively as a core group. It felt akin to mourning a loss. However, we also understood that letting go was necessary for something new to emerge. Holding on to the past would have been paralyzing. Each of us experienced the journey differently. Ultimately, it is part of life’s evolution.

Thejaswi: Absolutely. Letting go is an inevitable part of our lives. Isn’t it? It’s like the seasons. Change is constant and necessary. Jane, your insights resonate deeply with how we accept the natural cycles of life, yet struggle with the changes we initiate ourselves. It is intriguing how work has become such a central aspect of our lives, making decisions like the transition of Sita school over eight years a complex process. You weren’t just responsible for the children at the school. You were also navigating personal and societal changes.

In earlier times, when Sita School began in Silvepura, the societal structure was different. Most villagers inherited professions from their forefathers. But as times changed, so did their occupations. This transformation sparked internal upheaval within the community. It mirrored the challenges you faced in responding to change. You have grappled with understanding which responses are viable and which are futile in the face of such shifts.

Reflecting on your words, I am left pondering the profound grip work holds over our identities and survival. It is not merely a means to exist but also a means to truly live. So, what does work mean to us? How do we balance immersion in our work while also maintaining a deeper understanding of why we do what we do? These are lifelong questions, ones that evolve alongside us. Jane: Indeed, these questions are perpetual and ever-changing.

Thejaswi: Yes, Jane, and we will keep returning to these.

Jane: It is a continuous journey of discovery. Understanding our motivations for the work we do is crucial. Are they rooted in compassion, romanticism, sentimentality, or idealism? It is a challenging introspection.