Gershwin Wanneburg
I remember the relief and elation I felt when my son was accepted at UCT’s online high school.
I suppose my first reaction was based on the sense of security I had, knowing that he would be with me every day as I worked from home, away from the threats posed by the virus that was still very much dictating our every move.
The joy I felt went beyond myself and my child. I come from a family – and a community – where education is a luxury, where passing matric is deemed an achievement.
His entrance to UCT online school meant that one of us had broken through whatever barriers society and history had put in front of us. It meant that at least one of us had made it over, as that famous gospel song celebrates.
And one of us was bearing the name of my late grandmother, a brown woman who crashed through social barriers to become a teacher but was forced by family obligations to abandon her career. I’m not sure my family ever recovered from that or the death of my grandfather, which left my granny with six children to raise on her own.
They became what we now call backyard dwellers, and as a result, my aunts and uncles quit school at young ages to support the family.
Of course, I wasn’t dazzled by all the heaven-and-earth promises of the UCT press releases. But I calculated that, even if they succeeded in 80% of what they were offering, it would be worth it.
Foolishly, as it turns out, I placed my faith in the army of experts that the school assembled to take care of our children: class coaches, wellness gurus, and leaders with impressive CVs.
After a few months, the first red flags started appearing. The school announced changes to its assessment deadlines, and the introduction of more face time with teachers, acknowledging that the much-vaunted DIY model was not going well. Still, I was heartened by their apparent honesty, the regular updates, and the easy access to staff.
My son, who had always been a competent student, at times even an A-student, fell behind from the get-go. Knowing that his discipline is sometimes lagging, I instantly assumed that it was his doing and that he simply needed to pull up his socks. We had multiple conversations and meetings with his academic coach, but even after several interventions, he just could not catch up.
The only advice I was given was that he should follow the study guidelines. There was no attempt to understand what his specific problems were. The diagnosis was always: it’s simply a question of workload, not his academic aptitude.
Unaware of the widespread complaints, I made the mistake of trusting the school’s reassurances. I tried to help him organise his schedule, regularly checked up on his progress, and alerted the coach when he was lagging.
Ultimately, I don’t fault UCT for failing to live up to our expectations. It was always clear that this was going to be an experiment. However, I am disappointed with the inhumane response of those who should know better – as educators and as parents themselves.
The school has offered no remedial action to assist the dozens of parents and children who are undoubtedly taking heavy emotional strain as their young ones are forced to pick up the pieces of their budding academic lives.
The school has not even offered to redo the exams, especially when it is obvious that this was a systemic failure. Even our deficient public school system offers such an opportunity in matric. Yet, this year, UCT demanded even higher fees. (Full disclosure: On January 12, I requested reimbursement for this year’s fees from the admissions team and was referred to the finance department. I wrote to them on January 18 and am yet to receive a response.)
UCT vice-chancellor Mamokgethi Phakeng said the online venture was part of the university’s commitment to “addressing the systemic challenges facing our education system”. My challenge to UCT is: prove it.
Conveniently, the university made sure to disassociate itself from the online school from the start, making it clear that the platform was run by the Valenture Institute. But, let’s not kid ourselves, it was the university’s brand that sold the school.
This is not about privileged kids and their parents lodging a nagging consumer complaint. We are not “Karens” insisting on speaking to the manager. We are a community of parents who want the best for our children. Our only mistake was believing that UCT wanted the same.
Weekend Argus