December 22, 2024
DAWN
The writer is a journalism instructor
IN 2019, when I was teaching full time, our institute collaborated with a university in Canada in their Global Reporting Programme where three of our students, along with students in Kenya and the US, were selected to work on an academic year-long project. The three students and I would log on at 9pm on Zoom — before that became a thing — for a three-hour weekly class. That year’s theme was on how new curricula were transforming students around the world. Stories focused on education issues in Norway, Kenya, Nepal and for us, Pakistan’s efforts to include madressahs in the mainstream. The first semester we studied/ taught journalism preparing for our time in the field in the aforementioned countries, and then we were meant to go to Canada for post-production in March. But then, the pandemic happened and everything changed.
Since madressah registration is back in the limelight, I wanted to present a personal perspective from that academic year spent on our story. We instructors from all universities helped students flesh the story from so many angles — the history, the politics, the politicians, the opposition, the curriculum, but, most importantly, the students, past and present. The collaborative approach ensured no story was done through a Western or Eastern lens and to teach that reporting is not about parachuting into a country with minimum knowledge and reliance on fixers.
The students on the Pakistan story spent considerable time with SS, a young father of three, a madressah graduate whose three boys (then aged eight, 11 and 12) were also enrolled in a madressah; his six-year-old daughter did not go to any school. SS supported the push for the Single National Curriculum (SNC) and hoped the madressahs would incorporate math, English and science into their curriculum so his sons had better opportunities. His boys told us they wanted to become a doctor, army officer and engineer and their father was willing to put in the extra hours to help them fulfil their dreams. He himself wanted to become a nurse but couldn’t fulfil his dream because he had only studied religion. His parents, who opposed madressah reforms, had no regrets about sending their son to seminaries.
Many of the men who were pro-reform have since reneged.
Students at Jamia Binoria Alamiya seemed to have had a different experience, especially the many foreign students we met from countries as diverse as the US and Thailand. Everyone received both religious and (for lack of better word) regular education; they could even study Mandarin. Here young Pakistani girls told us they wanted to become doctors, pilots and engineers. We spent a good time discussing the school’s transformation with Mufti Muhammad Naeem, and his son, Noman who took over after his father’s passing in 2020. This madressah has been pitched as a model one and was a favourite destination for foreign dignitaries and reporters when Pakistan needed to show not all madressahs foster hate.
I was told to dress appropriately when visiting Mufti Taqi Usmani at the beautiful campus of Darul Uloom when I went with my male student. This was a pre-interview meeting where we talked about our project prior to the Canadians’ field visit. In that meeting, he did not address me and replied to my student. He, like everyone we met for this story, supported the mainstreaming of madressahs. Everyone would add that their institutions were not the source of contention or “problem” — I understood this as code for terror camps. We also flew to Islamabad to meet then education minister Shafqat Mahmood who discussed both the SNC and the madressah reforms, saying all students needed equal access to education and oppor-tunities.
I’m giving you an overview of all stakeholders’ comments because, as the saying goes, this isn’t your first rodeo. You’ve long heard iterations of these commitments to ‘reform’/ ‘mainstream’/ ‘fix the problem once and for all on our terms’, etc., but you also know how deep the trust deficit is. Many of the men we met who were pro-reforms have since reneged. There are attempts to resolve this issue before it is taken to the streets where, you know as well as I, what will happen next.
As we watch to see how this plays out, the children of SS will not be near to having their dreams fulfilled.
In 2019, I suspected our story would have no ending. My co-instructors said it didn’t need to, we needed to report on the efforts, the challenges, the promises. How do you report that the powerful make promises they know they can’t (won’t) keep because that promise can be used as leverage later? People are pawns here.
We function in survival mode; it is the only one we know. We can’t imagine what thriving — growing, developing, prospering — looks like. Many reporters have been telling this story in the hope that one day it will change and we’ll have a different ending.
X: @LedeingLady
Published in Dawn, December 22nd, 2024
IN 2019, when I was teaching full time, our institute collaborated with a university in Canada in their Global Reporting Programme where three of our students, along with students in Kenya and the US, were selected to work on an academic year-long project. The three students and I would log on at 9pm on Zoom — before that became a thing — for a three-hour weekly class. That year’s theme was on how new curricula were transforming students around the world. Stories focused on education issues in Norway, Kenya, Nepal and for us, Pakistan’s efforts to include madressahs in the mainstream. The first semester we studied/ taught journalism preparing for our time in the field in the aforementioned countries, and then we were meant to go to Canada for post-production in March. But then, the pandemic happened and everything changed.
Since madressah registration is back in the limelight, I wanted to present a personal perspective from that academic year spent on our story. We instructors from all universities helped students flesh the story from so many angles — the history, the politics, the politicians, the opposition, the curriculum, but, most importantly, the students, past and present. The collaborative approach ensured no story was done through a Western or Eastern lens and to teach that reporting is not about parachuting into a country with minimum knowledge and reliance on fixers.
The students on the Pakistan story spent considerable time with SS, a young father of three, a madressah graduate whose three boys (then aged eight, 11 and 12) were also enrolled in a madressah; his six-year-old daughter did not go to any school. SS supported the push for the Single National Curriculum (SNC) and hoped the madressahs would incorporate math, English and science into their curriculum so his sons had better opportunities. His boys told us they wanted to become a doctor, army officer and engineer and their father was willing to put in the extra hours to help them fulfil their dreams. He himself wanted to become a nurse but couldn’t fulfil his dream because he had only studied religion. His parents, who opposed madressah reforms, had no regrets about sending their son to seminaries.
Many of the men who were pro-reform have since reneged.
Students at Jamia Binoria Alamiya seemed to have had a different experience, especially the many foreign students we met from countries as diverse as the US and Thailand. Everyone received both religious and (for lack of better word) regular education; they could even study Mandarin. Here young Pakistani girls told us they wanted to become doctors, pilots and engineers. We spent a good time discussing the school’s transformation with Mufti Muhammad Naeem, and his son, Noman who took over after his father’s passing in 2020. This madressah has been pitched as a model one and was a favourite destination for foreign dignitaries and reporters when Pakistan needed to show not all madressahs foster hate.
I was told to dress appropriately when visiting Mufti Taqi Usmani at the beautiful campus of Darul Uloom when I went with my male student. This was a pre-interview meeting where we talked about our project prior to the Canadians’ field visit. In that meeting, he did not address me and replied to my student. He, like everyone we met for this story, supported the mainstreaming of madressahs. Everyone would add that their institutions were not the source of contention or “problem” — I understood this as code for terror camps. We also flew to Islamabad to meet then education minister Shafqat Mahmood who discussed both the SNC and the madressah reforms, saying all students needed equal access to education and oppor-tunities.
I’m giving you an overview of all stakeholders’ comments because, as the saying goes, this isn’t your first rodeo. You’ve long heard iterations of these commitments to ‘reform’/ ‘mainstream’/ ‘fix the problem once and for all on our terms’, etc., but you also know how deep the trust deficit is. Many of the men we met who were pro-reforms have since reneged. There are attempts to resolve this issue before it is taken to the streets where, you know as well as I, what will happen next.
As we watch to see how this plays out, the children of SS will not be near to having their dreams fulfilled.
In 2019, I suspected our story would have no ending. My co-instructors said it didn’t need to, we needed to report on the efforts, the challenges, the promises. How do you report that the powerful make promises they know they can’t (won’t) keep because that promise can be used as leverage later? People are pawns here.
We function in survival mode; it is the only one we know. We can’t imagine what thriving — growing, developing, prospering — looks like. Many reporters have been telling this story in the hope that one day it will change and we’ll have a different ending.
X: @LedeingLady
Published in Dawn, December 22nd, 2024
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