Fighting for the Future

Summary: Gender inequality in education is always a hot topic, especially in rural villages. However, abstract conversations are insufficient in preparing you for dealing with the sense of learned helplessness first-hand, as I recently experienced on a trip to Mauthri.

Lately, I’ve been going into the field with Tanuja to talk to the teachers and students about DSH, as part of an effort to build an impact story for DSH. These visits have generally been very uplifting, even when taking the testimonials with a few grains of salt. Once in awhile, though, you encounter a roadblock, and hear things that make your heart sink.

Our latest visit was with Mauthri, an NGO-run center where girls from the village learn and do embroidery as a way to earn some extra money for their families. Their age ranges from 14-18, and they come from such poor backgrounds that in some households, the girls will not get an evening meal if they don’t work in the field. Through working, they earn just enough for food in the morning and in the evening. As such, these girls generally haven’t had formal education; through DSH they get minimal education in English, math, and science while they do their embroidery work.

The following is a profile of one of the girls and what she had to say:

Deepshikha has been doing embroidery at Mauthri for the past five years or so. Earlier, she attended a nearby government school until Class 8, but she cannot appear in school (or at the exams) for Class 9 because she has not received her transfer certificate and mark sheet from Class 8. Until her father takes the time to pick up these forms from her former school, she cannot continue her studies. When asked what she wants to do later with her studies, she responds, “What can I do with this level of study? I’ll try to study until class 12, because the school is just until then. And I’m in a village, where would I go for further studies? There are some girls who leave the village, but I don’t think I can. I don’t even know how to ride a cycle.” She continues with her family background and their education levels: “My father is a graduate in law, my older brother is a graduate and is working in Lucknow, and my younger brother is studying. I am the one sitting around – why does it happen that boys can get educated while girls are left behind?”

Nilu, another girl at Mauthri, shared similar sentiments:

Nilu studies at home and appears for her Class 9 exams, but doesn’t attend school, as (such is the state of the educational system that) her time can be better spent doing embroidery and earning for her family. She helps her younger brothers with their studies, claiming that “they are more intelligent than I am.” When asked about the possibility of pursuing education beyond class 12, she also states that as a female, it would be difficult to leave the village for studies.

When you spend your entire life in the village, it’s easy to confine your worldview to such, abiding by its rules and seeing only the opportunities that lie within. It’s frustrating to hear these girls crush their own dreams, make excuses for themselves, and accept the future imposed upon them by someone else.

It’s frustrating to me because I was lucky – I was born to parents who encouraged my dreams, in a society that respected my desires. I was encouraged to think for myself and push the boundaries every step of the way. And yet even I, with all of my opportunities and resources, still make excuses for (and to) myself, just as the girls do.

Perhaps it’s that I expect these girls to be stronger than I could ever be, fighting the fights I never had to fight. But this is a fight that needs to be fought – if not by them, then by their children. And I’d rather it be now, because I’m sure that when the time comes, their children will have a different battle they’ll need to wage. Perhaps by then, my own children will be fighting with them, for them.