Spring Uprisings
I greeted this past Monday with the same pomp and circumstance I greet most Mondays – something like, “hhhhh, fu%*in Monday, already…” [I’m just kiddin’ Monday, you know I love you.] By 9:00 I was on route to BU’s lone destination of higher education. Outside my apartment the same broken glass, jagged rocks, and islands of waning snowfall littered the ground – the same howling winds blew across the Mongolian Steppe – the same bright blue sky radiated overhead – but alas, despite the abounding familiarity, this Monday would prove to be anything but ordinary in the halls of the technology college.
Not long after beginning my morning commute, a car behind me let off a sing-song horn that momentarily interrupted Lupe Fiasco’s latest lp, Lasers [4/5] playing in my ears. Unlike Midwestern, small-town Americans, like the ones I know and love, Mongolian drivers aren’t nearly as prudish with their horns. Mongolians honk at just about anything, including pedestrians – and that’s probably a good thing considering a great many of them drive like their break lines have been severed and there’s no possible way to slow their roll, so ya best mind the horn and look out because right of way means you’re right to get out of their way. And but so I didn’t pay much attention to the ordinary tune I heard from behind since I was a relatively safe 20 feet or so from the street. But when the car stopped and the backseat passenger side door opened, I saw three of my students beckoning me to join them. I entered the vehicle and exchanged the customary morning greeting as we shook hands. They seemed to be in high spirits. Apparently they were out for a morning cruise because when we pulled up to school I was the only one to exit. Before I got out of the rust-grey, mufflerless sedan, MC, a charismatic junior who loves basketball and tolerates my English classes, excitedly told me a story which included a throat-slitting gesture and a big smile. I assumed his story had something to do with the mass of bodies gathered outside the school’s entrance. Unlike the broken glass and bright blue sky, the scene of students was highly unusual – especially during winter. Typically at that time on a Monday morning students are trickling in and out of the building. I was greeted with smiles and heard my name called more than a few times as I made my way through the crowd. I returned their good vibes with an awkward wave to accompany the confused smile I wore as I walked up the steps and entered the building.
The school was eerily quiet inside. The upstairs classrooms were empty. My counterparts weren’t in the office, so I asked one of my officemates about the peculiar scene. Zoloo made me understand, as best she could, that the students were protesting some grievance born from something gone awry the previous week. This brought a smile of intrigue to my face as I watched the students from our second-story office window. Zoloo told me that all the bachelor students walked out of their 8 o’clock classes, gathered outside, and began chanting. At least one teacher went out to insist they return to class, but her demands were drowned out by their chants and she retreated. Soon Aldarmaa arrived in the office and gave me the full scoop. Last Friday was Students Rights Day. The student body government held a meeting wherein they intended to present a list of grievances to the school’s director. One problem: the director didn’t show. And so the following Monday, the students organized a protest that began with a walk-out and wouldn't end until the director agreed to an audience. My smile grew. Aldarmaa was momentarily called away on business, but when she returned she told me that a meeting had been scheduled for 10:30. It was 10:20.
The protest and accompanying unrest was confined to the bachelor students. It was business as usual for the 700+ vocational students and their faculty. Aldarmaa and I entered the room where the meeting was to be held from the room’s lone entrance along its east side. The students had already gathered en masse but we were among the first faculty members. Room 200 is an oversized classroom that has aspirations of one day attaining full-fledged auditorium status. It features rows of white washed pews with narrow isles on each side. Capacity is probably somewhere around 150 bodies, but it was pushed to well over 200 to account for the bachelor students and approximately 20 faculty members. 2 pews had been reserved at the front of the room for faculty. A row of 8 chairs and a table had been placed on the slightly elevated stage at the front of the room, presumably for the man of the hour. A desk was situated alongside the stage where student representatives were busy hashing out last minute strategy, coordinating their constituents, and setting up a p/a system. Aldarmaa and I were seated in the second row of pews so we were unable to see the room’s lone entrance behind us, but sporadic outbursts of applause and cheers announced the arrival of certain guests who had made an ill-fated v.i.p. list of sorts – only later did I realize that these cheers indicated a type of mocking satisfaction amongst the students. You see, unbeknownst to me at the time, the gauntlet had been thrown – the die cast – battle lines drawn – because included on the forthcoming list of grievances were the names and misdeeds of certain faculty members who had drawn the ire and wrath of their pupils.
Shortly after the director entered the room and assumed his position, he signaled for each of the department heads to join him on stage. I was a little upset by this announcement because Aldarmaa is the head of the general studies department, so this meant that she would be forced to join the ranks of the man instead of the people. Fortunately the inevitable Monday morning chaos that accompanies getting 3 young children ready for school ensured Soyol, my other counterpart, was among the last faculty to arrive. She sat directly in front of me which was nice because she graciously translated all the drama as it unfolded. I should also mention that the ensuing drama in room 200 wasn’t confined to the people in attendance. Two TV stations, whose camera crews are staffed by current students, were also present to capture the production. Their presence caused my smile to expose my teeth. However, my excitement and intrigue was momentarily stymied when the students unveiled their list of grievances just prior to the gavel sounding. In a serious face, I asked Soyol if there were any complaints directly pursuant to English teachers, or more specifically to gadaads on the list. She laughed and assured me there were not. I breathed a sigh of relief and soon my smile returned, albeit to a quote more appropriate level, considering the somber expressions worn by the people seated on the stage.
Gantuur, the student body president, and the director both gave preliminary statements. Afterwards, the students began addressing their grievances. Each item on the list was read by a different student. One by one, students from the audience came to the microphone. Their remarks were usually followed by an outcry of support in the way of cheers and applause. Once order was restored, the respective faculty member was given an opportunity to reply. The students enjoyed all the momentum at the outset. Their concerns seemed absolutely relevant and grounded with concrete examples of arbitrary favoritism, neglect, or indifference on the part of the staff. For example, one student asked, ‘Why does the school support and help sponsor a faculty sports competition in UB, but students aren’t given the same opportunities to compete in similar competitions at other colleges in the eastern region?’ Another example came from a second course student named Oogii. He estimated that of the 40 students in his software engineering class only a small percentage of them would find employment in their field. He also claimed that 45% of the school’s alumni are unemployed, and therefore shouldn’t the school offer a more diversified curriculum to help students better compete in what is a truly bleak economy? However, as the meeting progressed, the director and other faculty members began wrestling the momentum away by talking and talking and talking and talking some more. Of course, some of what was said was a rational defense of their positions. For instance, the director maintained that the math teacher, who the students singled out and wanted fired, was more than qualified and capable, and before the students make such demands, they ought to make sure they: 1. go to class, 2. do their assignments, 3. take responsibility for their scores – in a nut shell, they needed to point the finger at themselves before pointing it at another. There was a stretch during the middle of the meeting when the director seemed like a MLB slugger on a hot-streak during the homerun derby. He basically crushed everything the students served up and set it flying over the leftfield bleachers. At one point he even dropped the line, ‘give someone your hand, and he’ll take your arm.’ As the meeting wore on I was afraid the students would lose all momentum and be left feeling demoralized and defeated.
However, the highlight of the meeting was yet to come, and it was inspired by an unlikely voice. Naska is a junior at our school. He’s a small guy, and he takes some shit from his friends for not filling the role of stereotypical Mongolian machismo. That is to say, he doesn’t like going to bars, he doesn’t smoke, he doesn’t drink vodka, and he’s not really into basketball or wrestling [god forbid he can’t ride a horse]. Naska’s macho deficiencies came up last year in class during a discussion about gender roles. And so when this almost man appeared at the front of the room I was at once proud and nervous. Apparently the topic of Naska’s issue was already known by the director, because as soon as Naska took the microphone, the director demanded he return to his seat and said the matter would be settled in private. Naska balked momentarily at the director’s power play. He even took a step or two backward, but he was halted by cries of support from his peers. The students refused to be bullied and Naska was to be their spokesman at what proved to be the pivotal juncture of the meeting. With fire in his eyes Naska called out the P.E. teacher for what might be summarized as, ‘conduct unbecoming of a professional’ or more precisely, being an asshole without provocation. He pointed his finger as he spoke with a passion that didn’t need to be translated to be understood. This exchange with the director ultimately turned the tide back in the students’ favor where it would remain for the rest of the meeting.
When Naska finished, Soyol translated his remarks about the P.E. teacher, who happened to be seated directly to her right. This struck me as funny and potentially awkward, but the awkwardness didn’t seem to affect Soyol in the least. That’s Mongolia for you, they just tell it how it is, circumstances and seating arrangements be damned. In all, the meeting lasted 2 hours, with little being decided at its conclusion. I suppose that signaled a win for the director, but that wasn’t the point. In the cafeteria following the meeting, I asked Aldarmaa if anything like that had happened before. She shook her head. Then I asked if she’d ever seen or participated in anything like it when she was a student at university in UB. ‘No,’ she said. I told her that I recognized that some of the students’ demands were off base, like there’s not much to be done about cold classrooms considering the realities of a Mongolian winter, but despite these momentary oversights, it was inspiring to see them work together, organize, and stand up to the powers that be. She agreed. The next day in class I told my Business English students I was proud of them for what they had done. They asked me ‘why?’ which prompted the same smile I wore that Monday to return to my face. I told them whatever happens in this particular instance, I hope they show the same energy and level of engagement in the future as citizens. I told them that their demonstration was exactly what this school needed, and it’s exactly what their democracy [and every democracy for that matter] needs more of – now and forever. When I finished speaking, and more importantly, when Soyol finished translating for me, the students clapped. I shook my head and began clapping; I didn't know what else to do. A moment later I told them that they would have a test next Tuesday. There were no protests. Maybe 2011 will be a year of revolutions - and not only on the Dark Side of the Moon - Tood's earthling brothers and sisters in the Arab world seem to think so - I hope there's a revolution to be had in your world, too.
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