Thoughts from a Poetry Convocation - I

One of the days last week belonged to the Teacher.

No. No. Not to one particular teacher, but to teachers in general.

Actually, to all the world’s teachers; to any teacher anywhere, and all teachers everywhere.

That day was christened International Teachers’ Day; when we all get to celebrate the landmark importance of the men and women that scratch black boards with white chalk for a living, in classrooms (and in many cases, under trees) around the world.

While few of us who studied under domiciles that looked blindly (or kindly) upon corporal punishment, can deny that there were teachers in our schooling days whose specialty seemed to be the infliction of the maximum possible pain upon the pupil by administering a cane to the rump, twisting an ear red-hot, or knocking a knuckle to the head; our memories remain awash with mellow reminiscence for the gentle, re-assuring and empathetic personalities that taught us to hold our first crayon, say 'a', write out letters, count to ten, derive the quadratic formula, square a circle etc. etc. etc.

It was in contemplating the humongous value teachers, however unacknowledged, contribute to our formative stages of learning that I was impelled to draw parallels between the eternal imprint schoolmasters make on our personae and the thinking or mentation-straitjackets young writers and other artists are maneuvered into by the expectations and cautions of the people in their family and peer circles, which more often than not amount to a form of very implicit censorship.

The inference was in response to a question one young lady, named Miracle, asked at a fortnightly convention of Uganda’s Lantern Meet of Poets in Kampala’s diminishingly green, yet tranquil (on Sunday afternoons at least) Central Business District.

‘I have an Aunt that’s a locally celebrated writer, but every time I pen down something even mildly controversial and take it to her for  review, she out-rightly tells me to abandon such irreverent notions and desist from demeaning symbols of tradition like the church, marriage, family etc …

‘Is it right for a writer to listen to the dictates of their heart or play it safe and toe the line of convention stipulated by society – like the Maya-Angelous and Achebes did …?’

Now, while there were varied responses to the lass’s dilemma, ranging from advice to stand her ground and follow her heart; to concessional approaches like striking a golden mean betwixt defiance and respect for tradition; what bestirred me to ponder the issue further was a response from another maiden at the gathering;

‘My advice would be this – If you can bear the repercussions of defiance, defy! If not – conform!’

Wow! I thought to myself, befuddled upon hearing such a terse but clearly pointed remark, voiced by an otherwise timorous and seemingly seraphic lass named Brenda.

The first thought which occurred to me was how no-nonsensical and impatient the attitude of Africa’s younger female (writers) was becoming – probably inspired by contemporary suffragettes like Nigeria’s Chimamanda Adichie, among other fire-breathing and iconoclastic women artists.

I was vigorously appalled by what came across as a strong conviction to assert-self and challenge the traditional ‘patriarchal’ order, with a headstrongness and lack of concession that seemed to say – ‘Woe betide whosoever standeth in the way of here-yonder rolling boulder – for their unfortunate person shall be flattened or altogether bulldozed.’

Indeed – our generation’s feminism has arrived.

Second – I was unnerved by the tacit dichotomy of Brenda’s rejoinder to Miracle’s query, as well as the implied resignation-to-consequence therein.

Dichotomy - because for me, to think that one can either write, draw or live as a rebel or a conformist and not anything else in-between or outside the bracket is to create a false dilemma and condense the fullness of an artist’s possible experiences to just the two mutually exclusive and putatively incompatible bubbles of defiance and conformance.

Resignation-to-consequence; because herein is implied an acceptance of the unfortunate notion that society cannot find it within herself to look supportively or at least sympathetically upon the work of an artist, when that work’s central message speaks against the popular and orthodox. I find this attitude both patronizing and pejorative.

Patronizing – because it reveals the veiled pomposity of the artist who from the backdrop of limited experience, instantaneously labels the collective of society as insular, ultra-conservative and incapable of accommodating ideas that don’t correspond with its accepted world-view.

Pejorative – because for an artist to lump together all people in society based on preconceived notions taken from interface with a handful of persons, is both an assault on their expected artistic objectivity, as well as an insult to the ‘rational’ (and hopefully majority) members of society who suffer the disapproving label earned by a few.

On a final note – I’d say it pains me acutely to realize that we inhabit a world where individual human expression is subject to fear, doubt and suppression on account of the great unsympathetic ‘mob’ – who have made it their arbitrary business, hinged on de facto authority, to sieve and vet the rightness and propriety of what artists compose or paint; and what individuals in general think, say or do.

The gag of tradition is oft subtle ... [and no, I'm not a teacher :-)]