In all seriousness, this chapter of Pedagogy of the Oppressed is straight up terrifying. When reading,
I of course wondered at the author himself: did he have a disastrous, truly
terrible run-in (or series of run-ins) with an education system? Was he the
most cynical, jaded student to ever exist in the presence of teachers? Did his
parents neglect him, and so looked to teachers to raise him and encourage him?
Did they, by virtue of not being his
parents and having to attend to other more pressing responsibilities, utterly
dash his expectations of having a spectacular education peppered with love and
approval?
Yes, if anyone would like confirmation, I am being a bit
mean and sarcastic. I find Freire’s descriptions of teachers and students to be
insulting and demeaning: mind you, that doesn’t suggest that I have zero issues
with the system of education I happen to be circulating in. I, as a student,
can’t stand it when a teacher descends upon the classroom with an air of
delusional grandeur; that act as though they are the very source of knowledge
itself, and arrogantly self-assured that they can mold me into a little receptacle
that they can fill at their leisure, and do so while expecting me to be passive
about the whole exchange. But that’s the thing: I’m not a passive receptacle,
and though I’ve met and tolerated teachers that would very much prefer that, I’ve
met and worked with twice as many that have encouraged me to think
independently and to share with others my passion for literature.
They treated themselves and their students with respect,
with the idea that every person in and out of a classroom has it in them to be
a conduit of knowledge rather than being separated into the “teachers that know
everything” and the “students who know nothing.” I’ve had teachers that have outright
stated that they have enjoyed learning from us, their students, and I will
always be grateful to them for their guidance and humility.
- Angela H.