A Wasteland Of The Mind

Below the high and mighty clouds
Of education reports and master plans,
That have been swirling above
Our heads since Merdeka,
Here I am down on all fours
On the living room floor
In an honest-to-goodness
Staredown with a year six mind
Who cannot write "with," "the,"
Or even "a" during an
English dictation class.

This after millions of ringgit
Have been expended,
Tons of textbooks -
Wooed in January, jilted in December -
Have been churned out,
Scores of teacher-training colleges -
A beehive to no-option jobseekers -
Have been expanded,
And six years of SRK classes -
Which parents who could afford the move
Turn their backs on in preference
To the system across the causeway -
Have been dumped,
All to no apparent valor or avail.

So where is the hitch?
Is it the fault of the lecturers
Of the trainee-teachers who write
Notes for them to copy?

Or is it the doing of the
Trained teacher who sits
At her desk after writing
Notes on the blackboard
For the pupils to copy?

Or maybe it is the pupils -
Who copy the notes from the blackboard
Or the exercise books of other pupils
In order to complete their school
And home work -
Themselves who are at fault?

Or maybe it is the parents who
Went through the same treadmill
Thirty score years ago and are
Now the proud parents of pupils
Whose school exercise books are
Full of copied notes?

Or maybe there is an unseen hand,
Who concertedly and persistently
Frustrate the efforts to get the pupils
To read, 'rite and regurgitate -
Because they are convinced
Mainstream education, for
The same reasons or reversed,
Is a self-serving ploy to secularize
The masses or beat them up
Into submissive footsoldiers
Of the prevailing ethos?

What if this unseen hand
Is right in our midst, nay,
Right in our own hearts?
A succubus, a worm,
A Trojan horse, the enemy
Sharing our mosquito net?
What then?

Does anyone care or dare
To point out that note-taking
And rote-learning, however convenient
A cover-up, a conspiracy,
Is no substitute for real learning,
Nay, it may even be a slayer
Of curiosity and enthusiasm,
The true call of learning?
Do you dare do the unthinkable -
Wrench out your diseased heart -
And replace it with a brand new
Bionic one?

Will the story of Hang Nadim
Be reprised here,
Or does the story of the Emperor's
New Dress ring too close for comfort?
Or is this vain verse of mine
Be the tree that fell in the forest
Which no one uptown could hear?