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    Plan détaillé Texte intégral 1. The diversity of the teaching staff 2. Teachers: social status and working conditions 3. The authoritarian and martial school space 4. School sociabilities: the violence of assigned identities Conclusion Notes de bas de page

    Educating the Nation in Ethiopia

    Ce livre est recensé par

    Précédent Suivant
    Table des matières

    Chapter 4

    The State Homogenisation Project and Social Heterogeneity: The School Space in Tension

    p. 125-148

    Texte intégral 1. The diversity of the teaching staff 1.1 Priests and people who received their education before the occupation 1.2 Graduates of the teacher training institutes 1.3 Foreign teachers: Indians and American Peace Corps volunteers 1.4 Students of the Ethiopian University Service 2. Teachers: social status and working conditions 3. The authoritarian and martial school space 3.1 Paternalism and pastoral pedagogy 3.2 Rituals and theatre: cult of personality, patriotism, morals 3.3 The bodies of autocracy 4. School sociabilities: the violence of assigned identities 4.1 The schoolgirl fighter’s journey: forging oneself against the norm 4.2 Putting homogenisation to the test 4.3 The difficult transgression of social hierarchies: the dismissal of Leul-Selassie Temamo in 1953 and the brawl of 1971 Conclusion Notes de bas de page

    Texte intégral

    1We will now attempt to understand how the encounter between the national school project and local social realities was translated into practice in the school space, and to analyse the forms of social interaction and the tensions they generated by looking as closely as possible at the actors and their school experience. School “sociability” implied power relations between teachers and pupils, males and females, urban and rural, Orthodox and Protestant Christians, and “Amhara” and “Wolaita.” These tensions lay at the heart of the contradictions in the school institution, which simultaneously assimilated and differentiated, and levelled and prioritised. In the first place, the pedagogical and disciplinary practices through which the knowledge, values and behaviours expected by the state were transmitted were put into practice by a very diverse teaching staff, whose composition changed between the 1940s and 1970s, at a time when the process of inculcation was not just at work in the classroom: school life was punctuated by rituals and animated by associative activities aimed at political socialisation. Finally, the daily coexistence of pupils from social groups that maintained adversarial relationships—the children of regional dignitaries, melkegna or landowners and the children of peasant farmers—was a sometimes violent source of tension.

    1. The diversity of the teaching staff

    2When schools opened in 1941, Ethiopia was desperately short of teachers. While Addis Ababa was privileged, the 1940s were years of improvisation in the provinces. In the absence of trained Ethiopian teachers and teaching materials, the Ministry of Education recommended the use of all directly available resources.1 Before teacher training institutes were established in the mid-1950s, anyone who could read and write could teach at primary level: they included priests, former students of the national church schools and people educated in the few government and missionary schools that had been open before the occupation (Teshome 1979, 85). Teaching in all schools was therefore dependent on the respective skills of available teachers. Secondary education, on the other hand, relied heavily on expatriate teachers, who were primarily Indians and Americans.

    1.1 Priests and people who received their education before the occupation

    3The pedagogical team of the first school to open in Wolaita in 1941 consisted of Bogale Wallelu, director of the Wolaita Provincial Education Office and occasional teacher; Wanna Wagesho, school headmaster and English teacher; Telahun Welde-Berhan, mathematics teacher; Basha Dinkneh, a priest of the national church, and Qegnazmach2 Seyum, both of whom taught Amharic (Demeke 1985, 5). For a short time, between 1941 and 1944, girls were taught at a separate school by teacher AsKale Seyfe-Gabriel. Bogale Wallelu and Wanna Wagesho had been educated before the war in national church schools and the Menilek II government school, the latter even doing a short stint at the Swedish mission in Addis Ababa. Given the subjects they taught, it is very likely that Telahun Welde-Berhan attended a government school and Qegnazmach Seyum received religious training. Finally, the subjects that were taught at the girls’ school—cooking, sewing, childcare and basic reading, writing and arithmetic3—suggest that AsKale Seyfe-Gabriel was a former pupil of a missionary school or of Empress Menen Girls’ School, which was the only government institution offering education for girls before the war (Guidi 2016).

    4In addition to languages and mathematics, boys learned geography and history (Demeke 1985, 7). The latter two subjects were taught by Amharic teachers, who taught biblical history and official national myths, as evidenced by the 1947 curricula, which took note of what was being practised rather than prescribing new teaching.4 In the early 1950s, grades 1 to 4 were taught by priests, who took over teaching from the national church schools.5

    1.2 Graduates of the teacher training institutes

    5Teacher training became a priority for the Ministry of Education in the mid-1950s.6 The previous decade had only seen an early stage. In 1944, an accelerated training course was set up at Menilek II School in Addis Ababa in collaboration with the British Council. The curriculum included Amharic, religion, English, arithmetic, science, history and geography. Apparently there were no pedagogy courses. The training centre was transferred to Harar in 1952 and became a teacher training institute; a second centre was created in Kotäbä, a suburb of Addis Ababa, and a third in Debre Berhan in 1957 (Teshome 1979, 127). A four-year programme was established, with courses in child development and pedagogy being added to the academic subjects.7 After Grade 8, one year of training was required to teach up to Grade 4, and four years to teach grades 5-8.8 The first graduating class in 1947 consisted of 33 people. Ten years later, there were 4,627 graduates.9 The Ministry of Education did not consider the training of secondary school teachers a priority, preferring to leave it to expatriates; it did have a plan to gradually replace expatriates with trained Ethiopians, however, but it provided no further details.10

    6In 1965, the teacher education programme was reduced to two years after Grade 10. It placed special emphasis on social sciences and moral and civic education, with objectives that focused on the individual and his or her responsibilities towards fellow citizens, family, community, profession and society. Home economics courses were set up for girls. The first year was devoted to the role of the individual in the family, the role of the family in the community and the upkeep of the home. The second was devoted to “nutrition, child care, health and hygiene.”11 Primary schools were gradually staffed with trained Ethiopian teachers. In 1962, 62% were not graduates, but this figure had been reduced to 5% by 1971 (Teshome 1979, 162). The teaching force remained predominantly male until the end of the regime. The proportion of women in teacher training institutes increased from 2% to 18% between 1960 and 1970; in 1970, women made up only 10% of teachers (Teshome 1979, 164).

    1.3 Foreign teachers: Indians and American Peace Corps volunteers

    7In secondary education, the Ministry of Education employed Indian and American teachers. In the 1950s, almost all teachers in grades 9 to 12 were foreigners, and in 1966 they still made up 60% of the workforce.12

    8The idea of employing Indian teachers preceded the Italian occupation. The reason behind the interest in them was twofold: they had had a Western-style education but did not come from a colonising country, and they were cheaper than European expatriates. The first initiative in this direction came from Workneh Eshete, the first bursar of Tefari Mekonnen school, who had himself been educated in India in his youth. In 1930, he hired 16 Indians for the Ethiopian government, two of whom were teachers (Bahru 2002, 40). By the 1950s, most provincial schools had Indian teachers from Grade 7 upwards, many of whom were headmasters. Between 1950 and 1960, for example, all the headmasters of the Soddo school were Indians (Demeke 1985, 62). The arrival of American Peace Corps volunteers in numbers in the 1960s reflected a change in the United States’ policy on Ethiopia. The State Department was very concerned about the East-West geopolitical struggle, and pushed for the expansion of cooperation programmes. After USAID was established in 1961, thousands of volunteers went to Ethiopia to work in government, the military and education (Marcus 1995, 7). In Wolaita, the first Peace Corps volunteers arrived in 1964, when the secondary school curriculum was initiated with the first Grade 9 class. In the same year, classes began with five Ethiopians, two of whom were qualified teachers, four Peace Corps volunteers and three students from the Ethiopian University Service (Demeke 1985, 32).

    1.4 Students of the Ethiopian University Service

    9The Ethiopian University Service was a project set up by Addis Ababa University after students had repeatedly enquired how they could make themselves useful to their country (Balsvik 2007, 21). In 1962, Mesfin Wolde-Mariam13, Dean of the Department of Geography, submitted a proposal to the university hierarchy for a one-year civil service period in the provinces during which students could use their knowledge and skills to serve peasant communities. Two years later, the final project was developed jointly by the administration, teachers and student representatives. Between their third and fourth years of study, all students were required to complete a compulsory period of service, which was needed for validation of their diploma. In principle, the aim was for students to apply the knowledge they had acquired in their higher education to activities such as literacy, health and engineering. The objective was to provide a response—albeit a limited and temporary one—to the lack of graduates in rural areas, as well as to improve the participating students’ knowledge of the country (Korten & Korten 1966, 482). Because of the severe shortage of teachers and the high cost of employing expatriates, the Ministry of Education soon took a keen interest in the project (Balsvik 2007, 142). Of the 134 students who left in the first year, 114 taught, most of them at grades 7 and 8 (Korten & Korten 1966, 482), with primary and secondary levels well-staffed by professional Ethiopian and expatriate teachers, respectively. The number of participants increased rapidly, reaching 685 in 1969. From then on, they were redistributed to higher grades in secondary schools due to the gradual departure of the expatriates (Peace Corps volunteers because of the United States’ disengagement and Indians because better opportunities were opening up elsewhere in Africa).

    10In the 1960s, there was a wide range of priests, qualified and unqualified Ethiopian teachers, Indians and Americans in teaching positions. This variety of profiles meant a division among both levels and disciplines. The authors of a 1966 report commissioned by the Ministry of Education noted that a high proportion of the Ethiopians who were teaching grades 7 to 12 were being assigned to sports, morals, home economics and handicrafts, while the academic subjects were being assigned to expatriates.14 The school system became more and more Western as the curriculum progressed; proficiency in the English language assumed a central importance, and teachers and teaching became increasingly foreign to the Ethiopian world.

    2. Teachers: social status and working conditions

    11The objectives of the Teacher Training Institutes Programme developed in 1965 included the encouragement to make sacrifices and to live in difficult conditions.15 The educationists on the editorial board saw teaching as a particularly difficult profession, and in the 1960s, it had deteriorated sharply in terms of salary, living conditions and social status.

    12According to two former students, teachers in the early 1950s were viewed as “gods,” and were respected by everyone—students, parents and notables alike. They also enjoyed good salaries. Particularly indicative of the high esteem in which they were held was a wedding song that went: “Our bride, what pride! The teacher took her [in marriage]!” (እኛ ሙሸራ ኩሪ ኩሪ ወሰዳት አስተማሪ)16 This situation deteriorated from the mid-1950s onwards, however, as an increase in teacher numbers and the rising cost of living, coupled with stagnating wages, caused a decline in teachers’ living standards. A new progressive scale based on qualification and experience was adopted in 1955, but it was too burdensome for the Ministry of Education’s budget, and was never implemented (Lipsky 1962, 95).

    13Their social status diminished greatly, especially in the case of rural teachers. The authors of the 1966 report noted:

    The widespread feeling among teachers is that they are given a low status in society. They are ignored by provincial government officials. For example, it appears that they are often not invited to official functions and public celebrations, although other civil servants are given invitations.

    14They were alarmed by the fact that:

    Teachers in rural locations, who are few in number, feel isolated. […] They regard service in [remote] areas as a banishment, entailing serious economic and often physical hardship, and they are disenchanted with their Ministry, which appears to have abandoned, neglected and forgotten them.17

    15All in all, it seems that the glory days of the teaching profession were short-lived. Under these circumstances, it is not surprising that the designers of the Teacher Training Institutes Programme insisted on a spirit of sacrifice as a required quality.

    16Germa Bekele arrived in Wolaita in 1965. He was 20, and had just finished high school. Originally from Dilla, one of the larger towns in the Sidamo region, he was sent by the Ministry of Education to Walisho, a remote canton. From the Ministry of Education to the District Education Officer, no one had informed him of where he was to go or what his future living and working conditions would be. He remembers the anguish he felt along the way, the shock of his arrival and then his despondency. This episode was still very much on his mind 45 years later, in 2010:

    ሶዶ እንደመጣሁ የወላይታ አውራጃ ሥራ አስኪያጅ አቶ ዋና ዋገሾ የሚባሉ ወደ ቦዲቲ ላኩኝ ። ለቦዲቲ ትምህርት ቤት ርዕሰ መምህር ታምራዬ ሲማ የሚባል ደብዳቤ ሰጡኝ ። ደብዳቤው “ይህን አዲስ አስተማሪ ወደ ዋሊሾ ተማሪዎች እንዲፈልግ ላከው” አለው ። እኔ አገሩን ንእኳን አላውቅም የወላይታን ቋንቋ አላውቅም። አሁን ታምራዬ ሲማ “ወደ ዋሊሾ ሂድና ተማሪዎችን ፈልግ !” ብሎ አዘዘኝ ። ከዚያም ለየሹ ሚባል ልጅ “ወደ ዋሊሾ ወሰደው” አለው። በበቅሎ ወደ ዋሊሾ ሄድን። እና ልንሀድ ስንል “ቅርብ ነው ከቦዲቲ 15 ደቂቃ ነው” አሉኝ። ስንሄድ ስንሄድ አንደርሰም ። በመጨረሻ ዋሊሾ ስንደርስ መሸ። ወላይታ ቤት ያለው ሣር ቤት ቁጭ አልኩ አለቀስኩ ። እዛ ሕዝብ አልነበረም፣ ጫካ ብቻ፣ እባብ ብቻ ነበር።

    When I arrived in Soddo, Wanna Wagesho, the school administrator of Wolaita, sent me to Boditi. He handed me a letter addressed to Tamraye Sima, the headmaster of the school in Boditi, instructing, ‘Send this new teacher to find pupils in Walisho.’ Unfamiliar with the region and the Wolaita language, Tamraye Sima commanded me, ‘Go to Walisho and find students quickly.’ He then said to a young man named Yeshu, ‘Bring him to Walisho.’ We journeyed to Walisho on mules. During departure, they mentioned it was close, just 15 minutes from Boditi. However, we continued walking without reaching our destination. By the time we finally arrived, it was dark. I sat in a thatched house in Wolaita and cried. No one was there, just the forest, and the snakes.18

    17The next day, he travelled in the opposite direction on foot to ask to be allowed to leave, but the administration refused his request. In the early years he was seriously ill with malaria. Then, while he was desperately waiting for his transfer, he ended up getting married and settling down for good. Many of the teachers of his generation stayed for years, if not for their entire lives, in their first place of employment, without any substantial salary increase or possibility of promotion.

    18The situation was rather different in other branches of government, where regular increments based on experience were the norm (Mordechai 1970, 52). Under these conditions, the best-trained people taught in Addis Ababa, or chose another career. By the 1960s, when job opportunities were becoming scarcer, the teaching profession was no longer seen as a path to social success. Many embraced it as a career for lack of anything better. According to the authors of the 1966 report, it was a major reason for the limited efficiency of primary schools.19 After all, qualifications could be secondary: with experience and an interest in the job, a person who had completed seven or eight years of education could make a very good primary school teacher. Discouragement and a loss of self-esteem caused by poor living conditions and low social status were far more problematic.

    19The students of the Ethiopian University Service brought a breath of fresh air to this situation. A study carried out by an evaluation committee set up within the university provides insight into student attitudes towards the programme. They were given two questionnaires: one before they left for the countryside and the second a few months later, when they had completed their period of service. The first revealed a rather mixed reception (Korten and Korten 1966, 487). The initial problem was that the service was compulsory, and was a requirement for validation of their diplomas. This coercive aspect bothered them, and they viewed the long year of service as a sacrifice. In the second place, many of them only knew only Addis Ababa and the place where they had been born. They were extremely unaccustomed to travelling, and were anxious about their ability to adapt to the country’s great linguistic and climatic diversity (Balsvik 1985, 141–42). Finally, those who did not want to become teachers did not see why they should serve in schools. On the other hand, the opportunity to gain better knowledge of the country and a first experience of leadership attracted their support (Korten and Korten 1966, 482). Finally, the proposed monthly salary of 175 ber (Balsvik 1985, 142) was a pleasant surprise, especially for students from modest backgrounds (at the time, a primary school teacher earned about 200 ber).20 In the end, the experiment proved successful, and in 1965, as the year of service was coming to an end, the second questionnaire distributed to students showed that 87% of the respondents thought the programme should be extended (Balsvik 1895, 144).

    20Statements collected in Wolaita from former students testify to a high level of engagement on the part of the students from Addis Ababa.21 However, it is more difficult to evaluate the level of commitment of the Indian teachers. Their working conditions in the provinces were not especially comfortable. Those who went to Wolaita stayed no longer than two years. One even interrupted his service in February, during the school year (Demeke 1985, 62). During a field trip to Lalibela in northern Ethiopia in 2007, I was told that two Indian teachers had left very soon after they arrived. They had not been able to adapt to the living conditions in this mountainous region, which was several hours’ drive from the nearest urban centre.22 In 1958, 64 expatriate contract teachers left Ethiopia to work elsewhere where far better conditions were available. By 1965, expatriate salaries had not increased for 20 years. Those who remained were often forced to supplement their income with other activities.23 It is difficult to imagine much enthusiasm for teaching under these conditions.

    21On the other hand, it seems that the Peace Corps volunteers were energetic and conscientious in their teaching. They clearly wanted to do a good job during their two-year stay in Ethiopia. They showed an interest in their students, even outside school hours (Balsvik 1985, 198). On the whole, however, the expatriates were only passing through, and they remained out of touch with their students’ real lives.

    3. The authoritarian and martial school space

    22Teaching practices and discipline in Ethiopian schools were adapted to Haile Selassie’s politically authoritarian and morally conservative regime. The pedagogical power that was applied was pastoralist in nature. According to Inès Dussel’s definition: “Pastoral power is exercised as the rule of the shepherd over his flock. The shepherd guides the flock to salvation, which requires sacrifices at times, and has to watch over it all the time, looking after each individual to guarantee that it does not follow the wrong track.” (Dussel 2001, 218). This pastoral power was based on paternalism: in theory, teachers were to be extensions of Haile Selassie, the father figure to whom obedience, devotion and affection were due. Life in schools was regulated by rituals that inculcated the cult of the sovereign’s personality, nationalism, devotion and sacrifice. Other activities outside the classroom, such as the “pupil police,” scouting and physical education gave the school space a disciplinary and martial character.

    3.1 Paternalism and pastoral pedagogy

    23Textbooks had a photograph or drawing of the emperor on the first page. On the one hand, he was shown in all his majesty, in his ceremonial costume, with his head held high, his gaze stern, turned slightly upwards and not looking at the lens. This image expressed a figure of authority characterised by distance, which inspired fear and respect. On the other, he also appeared as a benevolent father, with a short beard that one might guess was slightly grey, affectionate eyes looking at the children, a smile; an image of closeness and warmth. These two complementary aspects were also found in the teaching method.

    Figure 8: Haile Selassie in majesty and as a “benevolent father”

    Sources: Left: ታሪክና ምሳሌ ፫ኛ መጽሐፍ (Tarikenna Messale [Stories and Fables], book 3) (1965 [1942]); Right: MOEFA, ታሪክና ምሳሌ ፩ኛ መጽሐፍ (Tarikenna Messale [Stories and Fables], book 1) (1973 [1941]).

    24The authority of the teachers was indisputable. Corporal punishment for disobedience could be very severe, and it was inflicted with the hands or a cane. Blows were also inflicted on students who were slow or did not study, or simply when they made a mistake. In Wolaita, the priests who taught lower classes used to beat pupils every time they committed an error.24 These practices were an integral part of the pedagogy, and were socially accepted (Ayelew 1996, 199).

    25While the young people who passed through the teacher training institutes from the late 1950s onwards did not avoid these practices, they probably made less use of them. The fact that they experienced this pedagogical method and received it as a model does not mean that they totally inherited it: they were also exposed to other teaching practices in the course of their training. The teacher training institutes provided instruction on respect for the integrity of the students25, which inevitably had some impact, albeit a limited one. While former students from the 1940s and 1950s mentioned physical violence spontaneously, those from the generation that followed did not. There is also reason to believe that the students from the Ethiopian University Service made far less systematic use of corporal punishment, and that it was alien to the Peace Corps volunteers. For these reasons, and in view of the greater generational closeness between teachers and students, pedagogy in secondary schools was becoming gentler.

    26The educational relationship based on a paternal image also had an emotional component that was inseparable from its authoritarian aspect. Some teachers saw their paternal role as involving helping their pupils. Voluntary tutoring outside school hours and material help for the poorest in the form of donations of clothes, food or supplies were not uncommon: “The teacher was a father at that time. If a pupil had problems, he would help him, set him up in his house, help him with his lessons, dress him” (ያኔ አስተማሪ አባት ነበር። የተቸገረም ተማሪ ካለ ይረዳል ቤቱ አስቀምጦ ያስተምራል ያለብሳል). This help was usually provided in exchange for services: “In addition, if the teacher ran out of water, he would say, ‘Please my children, go and get me water with a canister.’ The pupil would fetch water with the canister […] and would come back, the teacher would give a reward. It was a pleasure for us” (አስተማሪ ደግሞ አንዳንድ ጊዜ ውሃ ሲያጣ እባካችሁ ልጆቼ ውሃ በበርሚል አምጡልኝ ይላል ። ተማሪም ከዳሞታ በበርሚል ገፍቶ ውሃ ለመምህሩ ያመጣል አስተማሪውም በምትኩ ማበረታቻ ምክር ለተማሪው ይለግሳል፣ምስጋናም ያቀርባል).26 The Indian teachers helped the pupils from the countryside in the same way:

    “At that time, our biggest help, those who supported us the most, were the Indian teachers. There were a lot of Indian teachers here. If you are an Indian teacher, before you arrive in Soddo, we are waiting for you at the bus station and ‘I arrived first and I’ll carry your suitcase and come with you and…’ That’s why, you see? ‘I’ll take your kitchen, you take the big house, you don’t use the kitchen, so we live in the kitchen. If I take your kitchen, I’ll call my friends, three, four, five, like this.’ […] They were good friends, good teachers for us. They helped us, even by giving their kitchen away. It was a good opportunity for us.27

    27Children stayed with Indian teachers in exchange for multiple services that might be seen as a form of domestic help. This was consistent with the usual role of children in Ethiopian families, however, and ultimately, the relationship between teachers and students was a mixture of coercion, protection and affection, and respect, fear and a specific devotion to paternalism.

    28In the classroom, the transmission of knowledge was based on memorisation. In religious schools, pupils learned and then recited entire passages of the Bible in Geez, a liturgical language they did not even understand until they had reached an advanced level in their studies. Priests imported this practice into government schools. Until the end of the regime, Ethiopian pedagogues deplored memorisation, accusing it of not stimulating the imagination and suppressing children’s curiosity. It was explained that the legacy of Ethiopian religious education was responsible for this pedagogical “delay.” In its most rudimentary formulation, a “good” modern “education” could not flourish properly because it bore the burden of the practices inherited from the “bad” traditional “education.”28 Although it might have enabled one educational system to be rehabilitated cheaply to the detriment of another, this is not a satisfactory explanation. As early as the 1960s, Germa Amare pointed out that the almost exclusive practice of memorisation in Ethiopian government schools was due to the languages of instruction. English was the language of instruction from Grade 4 until the end of the 1950s, and then from Grade 7 from the 1960s. The distance that separated Amharic and English made it difficult for young children to understand the concepts that were being taught. If they wanted to pass their examinations, therefore, they were faced with the need to memorise their lessons without understanding them (Girma 1963, 30). The barriers were even greater for students whose mother tongue was not Amharic, who had to learn two new languages. Moreover, while Ethiopian teachers who were fluent in English were able to translate the concepts that were used in Amharic, Indians and Americans were not.

    29The central focus on memorisation was accentuated by the examination method set up by the American experts from Addis Ababa University. In the mid-1950s, they replaced the writing exercise for the national primary school leaving examination with a multiple choice questionnaire. This was done despite opposition from Ethiopian and British educationists, who rightly saw the intellectual impoverishment that would inevitably follow. This type of examination left no room for self-expression or the formulation of ideas (Paulos 2006, 81). In 1972, the authors of the Education Sector Review—a major study commissioned by the Ethiopian government to reform the school system—found an overemphasis on rigid examinations (Paulos 2006, 150).

    3.2 Rituals and theatre: cult of personality, patriotism, morals

    30The school space was highly ritualised. Every morning, pupils stood in a row to sing the ‘Our Father,’ an affirmation of Ethiopia’s Christian identity. This was immediately followed by the raising of the flag, which was accompanied by a song that exalted the model of the hero and sacrifice for the homeland:

    ደሙን ያፈሰሰ ልቡ እየነደደ ባርበኝነት ታጥቆ ጠላት ያስወገደ ፣
    ንጉሡን አገሩን ክብሩን የወደደ ነጻነቱን ይዞ መልካም ተራመደ ፣
    ገነነው ክብራችን ስንደቅ አላማችን ያኮራሻል አርበኛነታችን 

    In fervent heart, blood spilled, armed with patriotism, the foe repelled.
    He who cherishes his king, his land, his honor, strides with glory toward freedom’s stand.
    Our flag, a beacon of abundant glory, our pride in patriotism, the tale of our story.29

    31Another flag ceremony was held every evening and an hour a day was devoted to songs that were written in their hundreds. Here is another example:

    ከአምስት አመት በፊት ጠፍተህ የነበርህ እሰይ የምስራች የኛ አለም ተገኘች ፣
    ፀሐይ ወጥቶልናል እልል በሉ ሰዎች ፣
    ጨለማን የሚያርቅ የሚሞቅ ለደሆች ሕዝብህን ጠባቂ ተበቃይ ሌቦችን ፣
    ያላንተ ማን አለን ለኛ ለሁላችን 

    Five years away, congratulations on your return to our land.
    The sun has risen, and joy radiates across the strand.
    Dispelling darkness, warming the poor, guardian of the people true,
    You’ve punished those who robbed us, our gratitude to you.
    Without you, who would stand? For us, for all, our heartfelt demand.30

    32This song evoked Haile Selassie’s five years of exile during the Italian occupation before giving him all the credit for independence, as the history textbooks did. Other songs compared him to a father, to an apostle, to the daylight that illuminated the country, and always to a providential figure. They were a vehicle for a form of propaganda that appealed to the emotions, where history and civic education programmes inculcated nationalism from a rational standpoint. The same power can be given them that Benedict Anderson attributes to the daily ritual of reading the national press: ‘a mass ceremony […] performed in silent privacy, in the lair of the skull’ (Anderson 2006 [1983], 35). When Ethiopian students sang in a group, they knew that at the same time, in every school in the country, thousands of other students were lined up like them, singing the same song. The simultaneous celebration of the rite contributed to the emergence of the nation as an imagined community.

    33Theatre also played an important role in schools. Plays were performed on national holidays and at end-of-year ceremonies, both inside and outside the school. At first sight, the content appeared to be less political and more moral than that of the songs. Temherté Yä’ayné Berhan Mästawäté (My school education: the light that illuminates my eyes) is a play written in 1957 by a teacher in Dässé, Wällo. The pupils’ performance was so successful that the governor of the region immediately decided that it should be published (Em 1958, 10). The story begins in a small, isolated village that has no school. Kenfu’s father, a wealthy peasant, is dying. As the whole family is illiterate, he calls on a friend to write his will. But this friend turns out to be a sad character who robs the heirs by committing forgery. The widow and her two fatherless children (Kenfu has a sister) are ruined. Kenfu’s mother decides to send him to school, believing that they were victims of the fraudster because they were illiterate. Kenfu goes to the town alone and meets a policeman who decides to help him by offering him lodging. Kenfu always behaved in an exemplary fashion with everyone; he is loved by his host and held up as an example by his teachers. His academic career is brilliant and he even studies abroad. While he is at school, he finds a surrogate father in Haile Selassie, whom he did not know existed when he was in his remote village: what would have become of him without the emperor, who had schools built for the good of his people? On his return from abroad, instead of taking up the high office he had been promised, he chooses to return to his village to found a school named after the emperor. Rather than thinking about his personal career, he decides to devote himself to the well-being of his community, to bring school education, the figure of Haile Selassie and awareness of belonging to a nation to the mountains.

    3.3 The bodies of autocracy

    34To ensure discipline outside the classroom, staff relied on the “pupil police” (Demeke 1985, 27). In the early 1940s, they were made up of groups of pupils whose most important role was to attract young people who were not working to come to school.31 They were also in charge of discipline in the schoolyard, a function they later retained. The “pupil police” were an element of the pastoral power, the surveillance of every individual at all times. By making the schoolyard a policed area, the administration acquired a means of increasing its ability to control. Above all, through peer-to-peer surveillance, the “pupil police” gave adult supervisors access to a level of involvement that was otherwise forbidden to them. It opened up spaces that children and adolescents typically reserved for themselves and from which adults were excluded. The breaking down of this boundary meant that no place was safe from power, thereby instilling a political culture of control of everyone by everyone, and of denunciation.

    35Scouting, which instilled obedience, discipline, respect for religion and love of country, was introduced into the Wolaita Soddo school by an Indian teacher in 1954 (Demeke 1985, 27). A flagship activity of schools in the capital since the 1940s, it spread to several provincial schools in the 1950s. According to Mesfin Wolde-Mariam, a pupil at Tefari Mekonnen school in the late 1940s, scouting was one of the ways of instilling a sense of responsibility and hard work, all in a joyful atmosphere.32 The oath to do one’s duty to God and the emperor, to help one’s neighbour at all times and to obey the Scout Law was perfectly in accord with the political and moral conduct expected by Haile Selassie’s autocratic regime. It was a question of taking responsibility, but within a precise framework: service. At the same time, the playfulness and pomp—the uniforms and the parades—were highly attractive to children. In Wolaita, it was a very popular activity with pupils, about 200 of whom were scouts in the second half of the 1950s.33 With scouting, children learned not only to obey but also to command. The future elites of the nation also developed an esprit de corps based on a sense of distinction. Scouts were in charge of the flag-raising ceremony, where they stood in front of the other pupils.34

    Figure 9: Scouts students

    Source: Sylvia Pankhurst (1995).

    36In physical education classes, children learned to march in orderly rows, in rhythm, with their chests out and their heads held high. In the 1940s and 1950s, these classes were for boys only. Sports formed virile and martial bodies, and it would have been considered shameful for girls to engage in sporting activities in public, so they were given lessons in domestic work instead. Physical education classes became coeducational in the 1960s, but the nature of the classes did not change. Girls had to adopt a masculine dress code, with shorts—at a time when showing off one’s legs was considered particularly indecent—and virile bodily attitudes. The ideal of virility, which was initially associated with being masculine, ended up applying to female bodies as well.

    Figure 10: School sports ceremonies for boys and girls

    Upper photo, the text reads: “Young students at a major sporting event.”
    Lower photo, the text reads: “Young girls in physical education class.”

    Source: MOI, ትምህርት በኢትዮጵያ (Education in Ethiopia) (1968 [1960 EC], 47–49.

    37Ultimately, schools were places with outside classroom activities with a political function. They imposed the cult of Haile Selassie’s personality and the homeland, and instilled obedience and devotion. Surveillance, coercion and propaganda combined to shape individuals with the morals and political conduct developed by the authorities.

    4. School sociabilities: the violence of assigned identities

    38If we examine Wolaita more closely, it becomes possible for us to understand how the objective of homogenisation also impregnated social relations within the school space. The gender and class relations that governed the social order outside were transposed within it in specific forms.

    39The hierarchy between Wolaita and “Amhara”—categories that were understood as metaphors of positions of power—tended to reproduce itself. The point here is not to posit a binary conflict between essentialised identities, but rather to understand how the imposition of a dominant “national” culture affected scholastic sociabilities. The definition of an exclusive Ethiopian identity in the official curricula—Semitic, Amharic-speaking and ‘orthodox’ Christian—drew a boundary line along which pupils occupied distinct positions. The precise role of the school was to fit the future elites of the nation into this unique mould. For their part, girls, being a tiny minority, faced multiple forms of gender oppression and had to fight for their legitimacy. The school was therefore a place of identities in tension. From humiliation to open conflict, these tensions were expressed in symbolic, psychological and physical violence, but although they were restricted by these power relations, and in spite of everything, spaces for solidarity still existed.

    4.1 The schoolgirl fighter’s journey: forging oneself against the norm

    40There were very few female students, and very few female teachers. In 1959–60, one-quarter of primary school students were girls, and they made up one-tenth of secondary school students.35 By 1974, on the eve of the revolution, these figures had only increased slightly (27% and 17%, respectively) (World Bank 2004, 117). In Wolaita, of the 428 students who sat for the national primary school leaving examination (Grade 8) in 1973, only 54 were girls.36 A year later, only 4 girls took the national secondary school leaving examination (Grade 12), compared with 350 boys.37 Those girls who completed their studies owed it to their willpower and the tenacity of their families. Both female students and their parents needed to be prepared to face social disapproval, and there was also no protection from gender violence inside the school.

    41Differences also appeared in the pedagogical relationship, with some teachers nursing prejudices that devalued girls’ intellectual abilities. They attributed the poor results of boys to their lack of work, and of girls to their lack of ability, without questioning the girls’ added burden of domestic work, which was not compatible with success at school. This resulted in discouraging comments, humiliation and even insults. Tsehai Zerihun, a pupil in the 1960s, recalls how his classmates were treated when they answered questions poorly:

    “The teacher said: ‘You girl, you are old enough to have a baby now, you are studying in grade 4 and still you don’t know this!’ The teacher used to talk like that. There were insults for two or three girls. I don’t know why they insult them. Most of the time they insult. They were sitting at the back, because they are a bit tall, a bit older. The insult is in gender condition? I think so.”38

    42This testimony also highlights the role of age, as it was from puberty that the problems really started. On the one hand, it seemed incongruous that a girl of marriageable age should be attending school. Marriage was a social obligation, and a girl who had reached puberty no longer had a place in school. Also, from that age, girls were subject to pressure from teachers who wanted to “get married” to them.39 Such a request, which was part of the teacher-pupil hierarchical relationship and made in a social context of male domination, obviously placed the pupil in a particularly difficult situation. How could she refuse if her success at school depended on it? How could she not fear reprisals?

    43Relationships were no less tense with male students. Yemesrach Alula, one of the first four girls to complete secondary school, recalls: “At that time, since very few men believed in equality, boys freely sexually assaulted girls on the way to and from school. Because of this, many girls stopped going to school.” (በዚያን ጊዜ በእኩልነት የሚያምኑ ወንዶች ጥቂት ስለነበሩ ወንዶች ልጆች ሴቶቹን በመንገድም ሆነ በትምህርት ቤት ይደበድቡቸዋል ከዚህም የተነሳ ብዙ ሴቶች ትምህርት ያቁርጡ ነበር).40 Aggressive proposals for sexual relations were frequent. Being old enough to have sex and spending their days in the company of boys, even in a classroom, made teenage girls feel very immoral. In the end, female students were routinely confronted with violence by male teachers or students. According to Yemesrach Alula, only a few particularly experienced girls would defend themselves.

    44This difficult school experience had a considerable impact on the construction of the individual and collective identity of women who completed the secondary school curriculum. They were led to think differently about women’s social norms and stereotypes. Faced with the weight of social determinism and their limited room for manoeuvre, they adopted an attitude of particular resistance: in the face of the teachers’ low appreciation of their intellectual abilities, they worked assiduously to be the best; and to combat their alleged immorality, they adopted a model code of conduct and kept as far away from boys as possible. Being in tension with the norm made them realise the extent of its power, as well as its constructed nature. The school experience gave them the will to influence this state of affairs from their adolescence onwards. One of the means at their disposal was to be role models, so that other girls would follow suit.41 They had to be strong and exemplary to complete their schooling. Indeed, the four “pioneers” who graduated from secondary school in 1974 were heroines to their younger sisters. Ayelech Tekle-Maryiam remembers: “Yemesrach, Kassech, her sister and Nehasse were my models. Seeing them gave me strength to continue. They were so strong!”42 A young teenager’s classic admiration for “grown-ups” was reinforced by the strength of the grown-ups’ character and their determination, which were essential traits given the harsh studying conditions for girls.

    4.2 Putting homogenisation to the test

    45School was also sometimes a hostile space for pupils from the countryside. Homogenisation was achieved primarily through two practices: changing one’s name and making Amharic the only language worthy of being spoken. This cultural supremacy of the north, which justified its domination over the south, was a particularly sensitive point of tension.

    46The adoption of “Amhara” names as a way of integrating was widespread among conquered peoples: it was partly a strategic decision and partly an obligation. Having an Oromo or Wolaita name, for example, led to discrimination. The practice began at the beginning of the 20th century among people who had adopted the “orthodox” Christian religion, and was accentuated by schooling after the Italian occupation. Wolaita pupils were required to adopt an “Amhara” first name if they wanted to go to school. Changing one’s first name was a common and valued feature of “Amhara” society, and the same person might have one first name in their family, another for friends, another at work, etc. While this may explain that this practice was used for members of the conquered peoples, in this context it nevertheless became an act of symbolic violence.

    47The names of the former schoolchildren who allowed me to interview them are revealing in this regard. Lemma Didana, Abebe Fola, Gebre-Mikael Kuke, Desalegn Tanga, Bogale Gesamo etc., all have “Amhara” first names followed by their father’s Wolaita first name.43 Similarly, the lists of candidates for the national exams include only “Amhara” first names,44 and Wolaita pupils are only identifiable by their surname. According to Abebe Fola, who switched from a missionary school to a government school in the early 1960s: “We have to change, we can’t come with our Wolaita name to the school, we have to change at the gate. When we give our registered name, the registrar changes it.”45 Zebdewos Chama, who started going to the government school ten years earlier, says the same thing with a mixture of resentment and humour:

    I was myself asked to change my name! My name is Zebdewos, my father was named “Chama.” “Chama” is a Wolaita name. “Chama” means “nasty,” nasty for who? For the enemy. If “Chama” is called, the enemy runs. They asked me to change my name: “Don’t say your father’s name Chama but Choma.” Choma means “fat” [the fat of animal meat in Amharic].46

    48The change in meaning was humiliating. Meat fat is certainly appreciated in Ethiopia in general and in Wolaita in particular, but being a brave warrior who makes an enemy flee is far more rewarding than being a “good piece of meat.” In the vast majority of cases, however, young people adopted or were given a common “Amhara” first name.

    49The requirement to master the Amharic language posed two types of problems: the first was the sometimes painful learning process, and the second was passing the exams. The teacher training institutes prescribed that future teachers should develop a tolerance of different languages, religions and groups,47 but it seems that mockery and humiliation were frequent:

    The attitude of the teachers in the school… When you speak, you might not be able to pronounce the Amharic letters properly. For example, the first letter of ‘b’ is ‘bä’ and a Wolaita calls it ‘baa.’ ‘Baaaaaa!!!’ Don’t say ‘baa,’ ‘baa’ is the language of sheep! […] So as soon as he comes, he points to that student and stands and says ‘baa,’ demoralizing the students. […] They are mocked. So that type of many thousands of words like that demoralize the people, and students sometimes hide from the teacher. […] And hence, we were feeling shy towards ‘Amhara’ teachers.48

    50Some teachers taught Amharic by reducing the language of their Wolaita students to the level of an animal, to an incomplete level of humanity. Although it is likely that not all Amharic teachers did so, even if only some of them practised this form of humiliation, the memory that remained very present in the former pupils is testimony to its traumatic nature.

    51Students whose mother tongue was not Amharic were further penalised by the rule that made Amharic an examination subject that might lead to disqualification: “During the reign of Haile Sialassie, in the Grade 12 National Examination, a student who failed in Amharic was not admitted to university. Even if he or she had received an A in mathematics and other subjects” (በኃይለ ሥላሴ ጊዜ የ12ኛ ክፍል ብሄራዊ ፈተና በአማርኛ ትምህርት ተማሪ ቢወድቅ ወደ ዩኒቨርስቲ አይገባም ነበር። በአንድ የትምህርት አይነት በአማርኛ ስለወደቀ ብቻ ሂሳብን ጨምሮ በሌሎቹ የትምህርት አይነቶች A ቢኖረውም እንኳን ዩኒቨርስቲ አይገባም ነበር).49 Failure to pass the Amharic exam was a persistent problem, despite years of schooling. The authorities had imposed a sanction that reminded students that despite their efforts, they did not meet the criteria required to be fully Ethiopian. As a result, the Amharic examination was “terrifying.”50 This rule, the main objective of which was homogenisation through the official language, created a harsh hierarchy among the pupils. If it had been based on pedagogical considerations, it should have been English, which was the language of instruction at the university, that might result in possible disqualification. In many ways, for young Wolaita students from rural areas, entry into the government schools system meant entering the “other world,” one in which they were at a disadvantage.

    52Those whose mother tongue was not Amharic were even more heavily penalised because the school system valued students’ language skills first and foremost (Paulos 2006, 150). As a result, English had a powerful pull for Wolaita students. At the end of the 1960s, Paolos Sorsa left the government school for two years to return to the missionary school because the English classes were better:

    By then, what I thought was that the government school’s English teaching method and English teachers were not very good. […] Two children of my uncle were learning at the Ottona missionary campus. Weekly, on Fridays, we were meeting in Bekolo Senio and visiting our family together. They were conversing in English. By then, I was not clever enough to talk in English as they talked in English. So I thought they were educated in a better education and better school, and this Ottona Missionary School was a better school. So I have to join that school just to speak English language as they speak. […] My first intention was to speak English fluently. You know our society… recognizes one who speaks a language very fluently, Amharic or English, with no other education. If you speak the language fluently, if you write that language in a good manner, our society considers you to be an educated person. So by then my intention was that, so I started to study English.51

    53English was politically more neutral and enjoyed greater prestige in their eyes than Amharic, and was therefore a potential alternative. By learning English, Wolaita students gained access to a prestigious international language spoken by distant nations that did not directly dominate them.

    54While forms of solidarity existed with some teachers and students, Wolaita students resented receiving their education from an institution where they were constantly reminded that they remained second-class Ethiopians.

    4.3 The difficult transgression of social hierarchies: the dismissal of Leul-Selassie Temamo in 1953 and the brawl of 1971

    55Those who wanted to help rural pupils had only limited room for manoeuvre. In 1953, in Soddo, Teacher Leul-Selassie Temamo—who was well-known for later becoming the Minister of Culture—obtained permission to set up a self-help association for pupils of modest means. The idea was to raise money to distribute school clothes and supplies. As he noticed that pupils from the countryside were dropping out of school because of the long journeys and the impossibility of finding accommodation in the city, he undertook to build accommodation at the school. It did not take long to build mud houses with thatched roofs (Demeke 1985, 21). However, his initiative soon met with opposition from the city notables, who were not particularly supportive of education for the peasants’ children. Leul-Selassie Temamo refused to give in, and the resulting conflict led to his dismissal. On the day he left, the students who were not children of notables abandoned their classes to gather outside the school entrance. In tears and with song, they showed their support for him and their opposition to the authorities’ decision. On the one hand, this event testifies to the fact that social hierarchies must not be disobeyed. Leul-Selassie Temamo had crossed the line between charity and the promotion of peasants’ children, and the call to order came immediately. On the other hand, it was the first demonstration by Wolaita pupils against the school management, and also against the power of the local aristocracy.52

    56Relations were particularly strained with students from neighbouring provinces who came to Soddo to complete their secondary education. They were all from “settler,” melkegna or landlord families; children from modest families could not afford to study away from home. One day in the second semester of 1971, a violent conflict broke out after a pupil from Gedeo insulted a Wolaita. In response, Wolaita students armed themselves with sticks and stones to attack the group from which the person who had launched the insults was found. The teachers and administration could do nothing. The fight lasted more than half an hour before being dispersed by the police. Two Wolaita students and four others were seriously injured and rushed to hospital. Tensions had risen to a level that had not been anticipated by either the school or the provincial authorities. Governor Wolde-Sama’et Gebre-Wold took the initiative to close the school for 25 days to find a solution. The same day, he contacted the governors of the provinces of Gedeo and Sidamo, and the three of them decided to convene a committee made up of students’ families. Those who had taken part in the confrontation were suspended for one year (Demeke 1985, 40–41). According to Wolde-Sama’et Gebre-Wold, it was a simple dispute that had no consequences, and was caused by banal competition between young people from different places, a “War of the Buttons” in short:

    The people who came from Sidamo and some Wolaita they were some… a little fight. […] Sometimes you see students are envious: ‘Look, they come from Dilla and they study here, maybe their grade is higher.’ And sometimes when the grade is higher, the Wolaita students’ grade is higher: ‘ha! Because he is Wolaita he is getting a higher grade because of this.’ This is all over the world.53

    57These kinds of opinion must be taken into account, of course, but other interviews reveal that the conflict had deeper causes than mere jealousy between students, and that they were embedded in the relations of domination specific to southern Ethiopia:

    The Soddo town “Amhara” children and also those who come from Dilla and Yirgalem […], they said to the people here: “Wolamo.” They say it again and again. ‘These Wolamo became educated and they look down on us. Now they have to eat their potatoes.’ The young potatoes… the young potato eaters … they are injera eaters and these Wolaita were young potato eaters. So they insulted like that and then one day […] the Wolaita students […] talk together and […] there happened a great struggle inside the compound of the school […] ‘What is education for you’ they say. ‘You have to eat your potatoes and you have to serve the “Amhara,” education is no need for you’ they said.54

    58These insults had a powerful political dimension. “Wolamo” was the name the conquerors had given to the Wolaita after defeating them. This pejorative term was rightly perceived as an insult by those concerned: it meant subjection. The potato was considered by northerners to be a degrading type of food. It grows underground, which is the domain of the devil and worms. It symbolises animal food, whereas the enjera, a wafer made from tef, was human food.55 These insults were based on the idea that one group of humans was superior to another and on the legitimate submission of the Wolaita, hence the opposition to their being educated, which might emancipate them from servitude. The aristocracy opposed the assimilation the school system sought to achieve because homogenisation, which included a significant amount of violence, also implied a levelling off of inequalities. Pupils reproduced the discourse of the “balabbat, princes and aristocrats” that had been denounced by Bogale Wallelu in 1942 in his letter to the Ministry of Education, which basically said: “If the peasants are educated, who will serve us?” In 1971, as in 1942, the survival of the aristocracy as a class depended on its ability to exploit the peasants. On the contrary, the rural children who went to school showed an eagerness to study that evoked a real struggle to escape the condition of the overtaxed and exploitable peasant: living in the kitchen of an Indian teacher in a group of five, running errands in exchange for a little money or food, or enduring the humiliations experienced in school.

    Conclusion

    59The nationalist discourse of inclusion and exclusion in education led to powerful contradictions for those pupils who were furthest away from the dominant culture. The humiliating practices used by some teachers made them feel that they were developing in an environment in which they were not welcome. There was an evident paradox between a school that defended and imposed assimilation while also reproducing practices that reanimated marginalisation outside its walls. It was the school experience of those students who were candidates for assimilation that lay at the heart of this tension.

    60Compared to the large, partly idealised state projects, this phenomenon bears witness to the deep-rooted involvement of schools in local power relations. The national school system claimed that it wished to assimilate the heterogeneous components of the nation into a homogeneous political community, but in Wolaita, relations of domination were based precisely on difference. The upward social levelling implied by assimilation meant that social hierarchies would eventually be disrupted, leading to tensions within the dominant group, and threatening its position. This was reflected in the tensions between pupils from the “settler” group and those from the countryside who were seeking social ascent through assimilation, as well as in the humiliation inflicted by teachers from the dominant culture on pupils born on its fringes. The heterogeneity of the components of the nation was one of the conditions for safeguarding the system.

    61The system created by the knowledge taught and the pedagogical practices welded the figure of the emperor and the concepts of nation and progress into one single symbolic system. However, the tensions between the state’s project and the realities of practice led to distinct forms of reception, in which the workings of this system were to be dismantled and rebuilt. School discourses were reinterpreted because of the identity tensions generated by the school and because the regime promised a future of progress that appeared to students in the 1960s to be far less feasible than it had in the 1940s.

    Notes de bas de page

    1 MOEFA, Elementary Schools Curriculum, Years I-VI (1971), 4.

    2 Qegnazmach is an Ethiopian military title meaning “commander of the right wing,” which has become a civilian title by extension.

    3 Wanna Wagesho, interview, December 2010.

    4 A reading of these early official curricula shows that they were developed from available teaching materials, and not the other way round; MOEFA, Curriculum for Ethiopian Schools 1–8 (1947), 91–110.

    5Gebre-Mikael Kuke and Desalegn Tanga, interview, November 2010.

    6 MOEFA, The Controlled Expansion of Ethiopian Education—a special report to the Long-Term Planning Committee (1954–55), 2.

    7 MOEFA, Teacher Education in Ethiopia (1965), 7–8.

    8MOEFA, The Controlled Expansion of Ethiopian Education… (1954–55), 54 and 8.

    9MOEFA, Teacher Education in Ethiopia (1965), 7.

    10MOEFA, The Controlled Expansion of Ethiopian Education… (1954–55), 19.

    11MOEFA, Curriculum Policies and Standards. Teacher Training Institutes (1965), 41–45.

    12MOEFA, Report on the Current Operation of the Education System in Ethiopia (1966), 56.

    13Mesfin Wolde-Mariam (1930–2020) was a very famous intellectual and political activist in Ethiopia.

    14 MOEFA, Report on the Current Operation of the Education System in Ethiopia (1966), 56.

    15 MOEFA, Curriculum Policies and Standards. Teacher Training Institutes (1965), 21.

    16 Gebre-Mikael Kuke and Desalegn Tanga, interview, November 2010.

    17 MOEFA, Report on the Current Operation of the Education System in Ethiopia (1966), 46 and 49.

    18 Germa Bekele (retired teacher), interview, Bedessa, 9 December 2010.

    19 MOEFA, Report on the Current Operation of the Education System in Ethiopia (1966), 46 and 49.

    20 Ibid., 48–57.

    21 For example Wanna Dea (civil servant), interview, Soddo, 11 December 2010; Saol Akamo (civil servant), interview, Boditi (Wolaita), 15 November 2010).

    22Tesfaw Derebe (former pupil), interview, Lalibela (Lasta), 15 February 2007.

    23MOEFA, Report on the Current Operation of the Education System in Ethiopia (1966), 61–62.

    24 Gebre-Mikael Kuke and Desalegn Tanga, interview, November 2010.

    25 MOEFA, Teacher Education in Ethiopia (1965), 3.

    26Gebre-Mikael Kuke and Desalegn Tanga, interview, November 2010.

    27Abebe Fola, interview, November 2009.

    28This simplistic interpretation was so tenacious that it was still to be seen in 2001 (Teklehaymanot 2001, 9–15).

    29MOEFA, የፊደል መማሪያ (Writing Manual) (1956), 97.

    30A song from the 1960s reported by Yitbarek Abebe (teacher and school administrator), in interview, Lalibela, 26 February 2008.

    31Wanna Wagesho, interview, December 2010.

    32Mesfin Wolde-Mariam (pupil at Tefari Mekonnen from 1945 to 1949, geographer, celebrated academic and influential public figure in Ethiopia), interview, Addis Ababa, 11 August 2009.

    33 Gebre-Mikael Kuke and Desalegn Tanga, interview, November 2010.

    34Getachew Kassa (pupil at Tefari Mekonnen School from 1967 to 1971, teacher), interview, Addis Ababa, 8 August 2009.

    35 MOEFA, Government, Mission, Community and Church Schools (1959–60), 7.

    36 Lists of the National Examination, grade 8, 1973 (Archives of the Ligaba Beyene school, Soddo).

    37 Yemesrach Alula, interview, January 2010.

    38 Tsehai Zerihun, interview, January 2011.

    39Yemesrach Alula, interview, January 2010.

    40Ibid.

    41Ibid.

    42Ayelech Tekle-Mariam, interview, November 2010.

    43There is no such thing as a “family name” in Ethiopia. People use their first name followed by their father’s first name.

    44Lists of the national examination, grade 8, 1973 (Ligaba Beyene school archives, Soddo, Wolaita).

    45 Abebe Fola, interview, November 2009.

    46 Zebdewos Chama, interview, November 2010.

    47 MOEFA, Curriculum Policies and Standards. Teacher Training Institutes (1965), 41.

    48 Zebdewos Chama, interview, November 2010.

    49 Lemma Didana, interview, December 2009.

    50Zebdewos Chama, interview, November 2010.

    51 Paolos Sorsa, interviews, Addis Ababa, 14 and 21 December 2010.

    52Gebre-Mikael Kuke and Desalegn Tanga, interview, November 2010.

    53 Wolde-Samaet Gebre-Wold, interview, January 2011.

    54 Zebdewos Chama, interview, November 2010.

    55I thank Thomas Guindeuil, specialist in food history in Ethiopia, who gave me this information.

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    1 MOEFA, Elementary Schools Curriculum, Years I-VI (1971), 4.

    2 Qegnazmach is an Ethiopian military title meaning “commander of the right wing,” which has become a civilian title by extension.

    3 Wanna Wagesho, interview, December 2010.

    4 A reading of these early official curricula shows that they were developed from available teaching materials, and not the other way round; MOEFA, Curriculum for Ethiopian Schools 1–8 (1947), 91–110.

    5Gebre-Mikael Kuke and Desalegn Tanga, interview, November 2010.

    6 MOEFA, The Controlled Expansion of Ethiopian Education—a special report to the Long-Term Planning Committee (1954–55), 2.

    7 MOEFA, Teacher Education in Ethiopia (1965), 7–8.

    8MOEFA, The Controlled Expansion of Ethiopian Education… (1954–55), 54 and 8.

    9MOEFA, Teacher Education in Ethiopia (1965), 7.

    10MOEFA, The Controlled Expansion of Ethiopian Education… (1954–55), 19.

    11MOEFA, Curriculum Policies and Standards. Teacher Training Institutes (1965), 41–45.

    12MOEFA, Report on the Current Operation of the Education System in Ethiopia (1966), 56.

    13Mesfin Wolde-Mariam (1930–2020) was a very famous intellectual and political activist in Ethiopia.

    14 MOEFA, Report on the Current Operation of the Education System in Ethiopia (1966), 56.

    15 MOEFA, Curriculum Policies and Standards. Teacher Training Institutes (1965), 21.

    16 Gebre-Mikael Kuke and Desalegn Tanga, interview, November 2010.

    17 MOEFA, Report on the Current Operation of the Education System in Ethiopia (1966), 46 and 49.

    18 Germa Bekele (retired teacher), interview, Bedessa, 9 December 2010.

    19 MOEFA, Report on the Current Operation of the Education System in Ethiopia (1966), 46 and 49.

    20 Ibid., 48–57.

    21 For example Wanna Dea (civil servant), interview, Soddo, 11 December 2010; Saol Akamo (civil servant), interview, Boditi (Wolaita), 15 November 2010).

    22Tesfaw Derebe (former pupil), interview, Lalibela (Lasta), 15 February 2007.

    23MOEFA, Report on the Current Operation of the Education System in Ethiopia (1966), 61–62.

    24 Gebre-Mikael Kuke and Desalegn Tanga, interview, November 2010.

    25 MOEFA, Teacher Education in Ethiopia (1965), 3.

    26Gebre-Mikael Kuke and Desalegn Tanga, interview, November 2010.

    27Abebe Fola, interview, November 2009.

    28This simplistic interpretation was so tenacious that it was still to be seen in 2001 (Teklehaymanot 2001, 9–15).

    29MOEFA, የፊደል መማሪያ (Writing Manual) (1956), 97.

    30A song from the 1960s reported by Yitbarek Abebe (teacher and school administrator), in interview, Lalibela, 26 February 2008.

    31Wanna Wagesho, interview, December 2010.

    32Mesfin Wolde-Mariam (pupil at Tefari Mekonnen from 1945 to 1949, geographer, celebrated academic and influential public figure in Ethiopia), interview, Addis Ababa, 11 August 2009.

    33 Gebre-Mikael Kuke and Desalegn Tanga, interview, November 2010.

    34Getachew Kassa (pupil at Tefari Mekonnen School from 1967 to 1971, teacher), interview, Addis Ababa, 8 August 2009.

    35 MOEFA, Government, Mission, Community and Church Schools (1959–60), 7.

    36 Lists of the National Examination, grade 8, 1973 (Archives of the Ligaba Beyene school, Soddo).

    37 Yemesrach Alula, interview, January 2010.

    38 Tsehai Zerihun, interview, January 2011.

    39Yemesrach Alula, interview, January 2010.

    40Ibid.

    41Ibid.

    42Ayelech Tekle-Mariam, interview, November 2010.

    43There is no such thing as a “family name” in Ethiopia. People use their first name followed by their father’s first name.

    44Lists of the national examination, grade 8, 1973 (Ligaba Beyene school archives, Soddo, Wolaita).

    45 Abebe Fola, interview, November 2009.

    46 Zebdewos Chama, interview, November 2010.

    47 MOEFA, Curriculum Policies and Standards. Teacher Training Institutes (1965), 41.

    48 Zebdewos Chama, interview, November 2010.

    49 Lemma Didana, interview, December 2009.

    50Zebdewos Chama, interview, November 2010.

    51 Paolos Sorsa, interviews, Addis Ababa, 14 and 21 December 2010.

    52Gebre-Mikael Kuke and Desalegn Tanga, interview, November 2010.

    53 Wolde-Samaet Gebre-Wold, interview, January 2011.

    54 Zebdewos Chama, interview, November 2010.

    55I thank Thomas Guindeuil, specialist in food history in Ethiopia, who gave me this information.

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    Guidi, P. (2024). The State Homogenisation Project and Social Heterogeneity: The School Space in Tension. In Educating the Nation in Ethiopia (1‑). Centre français des études éthiopiennes. https://doi.org/10.4000/12iyk
    Guidi, Pierre. « The State Homogenisation Project and Social Heterogeneity: The School Space in Tension ». In Educating the Nation in Ethiopia. Addis-Abeba: Centre français des études éthiopiennes, 2024. https://doi.org/10.4000/12iyk.
    Guidi, Pierre. « The State Homogenisation Project and Social Heterogeneity: The School Space in Tension ». Educating the Nation in Ethiopia, Centre français des études éthiopiennes, 2024, https://doi.org/10.4000/12iyk.

    Référence numérique du livre

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    Guidi, P. (2024). Educating the Nation in Ethiopia (S. Dix, Trad.; 1‑). Centre français des études éthiopiennes. https://doi.org/10.4000/12iy3
    Guidi, Pierre. Educating the Nation in Ethiopia. Traduit par Simon Dix. Addis-Abeba: Centre français des études éthiopiennes, 2024. https://doi.org/10.4000/12iy3.
    Guidi, Pierre. Educating the Nation in Ethiopia. Traduit par Simon Dix, Centre français des études éthiopiennes, 2024, https://doi.org/10.4000/12iy3.
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