How long does it take to remove a teacher from a class? The English Department of Dhaka University recently answered this. Less than a night.
She has been teaching for almost 34 years. One Tuesday, she had a few minutes of conversation with a student in a Master's class. By Thursday, she learned that all her courses had been divided among others. None of them asked her what really happened that day.
A conversation took place for a few minutes in a class. Why an opinion column in a national daily? The question might arise. The answer is, the issue is no longer confined to that class. It now involves a decision by the country's oldest university. What Dhaka University does, others take as a precedent. And the incident is not isolated.
A few months ago, a similar dispute at a private university led to the dismissal of two teachers. And the question isn't just about one teacher. Every day, hundreds of thousands of students and thousands of teachers enter classrooms across the country. It could happen to anyone tomorrow. Most importantly, the inclusive society of diverse opinions we dreamed of after the 2024 uprising is being tested in this classroom.
This writing is not a defence of anyone. The question lies elsewhere. Is this debate about the niqab? Or is it about who owns the classroom? In my opinion, it's the latter.
There are two versions of what Associate Professor Tasneem Siraj Mahboob said that day. Students allege that she made objectionable comments about the niqab and types of veils. In her video message, the teacher said she only mentioned the difficulties of identification and communication when the eyes aren't visible, nothing more. Which one is true, I don't know. Those who made the decision didn't try to know either.
One thing must be admitted. A student left the class in distress. That pain is real. Whatever the intention, speaking about someone's attire in front of everyone is not the mark of a prudent teacher. A mistake could have been made. But making a political tool out of the issue is not a remedy.
Now let's talk about the process. The basic lesson of justice is known to all. Complaints should be submitted in writing. The accused will be informed and given an opportunity to speak. An impartial committee will review the evidence. Then a decision will be made, consistent with the severity of the offence. None of this was followed here. An emergency departmental meeting was called the previous evening. The students' written complaint reached the administration the following afternoon. In other words, the ''verdict'' was ready; the ''case'' was filed later.
Some might say, it's just a temporary relief. But there are few punishments greater than taking away classes from a teacher. And this happened publicly. Even if later proven innocent, will her honour be restored?
The responsibility isn't solely the department's. The authority to take disciplinary action against a teacher lies with the university, not just the department. The administration received the complaint but didn't stop the department from following due process. At least publicly, we haven't heard of an inquiry committee. If a university that prides itself on the autonomy of the 1973 ordinance, becomes an executor of Facebook verdicts, what remains of autonomy?
The classroom is the primary component of the educational ecosystem, where learning is produced. Brazilian educator Paulo Freire viewed education as a dialogue. The banking model, where teachers deposit knowledge and students store it, was to him the death of education. But communication comes before dialogue.
And the first language of communication in the classroom is eyes. By looking into the eyes, a teacher understands who understands, who is lost, who wants to ask but remains silent. However, seeking eye contact and advising on attire are not the same. The teacher has to draw this boundary.
In fact, the classroom is the place where uncomfortable questions can be raised. But the condition is trust. If I know my every sentence is being secretly recorded, edited, and posted on Facebook, I won't speak while thinking. I'll speak cautiously. Students will do the same. Then the class will exist, but education won't. In my own class, debates often occur on politics, religion, social change. We sometimes don't agree. Sitting together without agreeing is also a beauty of the classroom.
There is now a need for a clear policy on attire that doesn't allow recognition. This decision cannot be left to an individual teacher's discretion. The administration's prolonged silence has put both teachers and students at risk.
A familiar pattern is exploiting this silence. First, a fragmented video appears. Then anonymous Facebook accounts stir up a storm with religious sentiments. After that, human chains are formed, demanding dismissal. A section of extremist politics is re-emerging after the uprising. Their first targets are questioning teachers. Because their biggest adversary is questions.
There's one thing almost no one is saying. The biggest loser in this lack of process might be the student herself. Her complaint hasn't been proven, nor dismissed. Her grief is now a slogan of a procession and capital for politics. Due process is not just a protection for the accused. It is also the dignity of the complainant.
So whose classroom is it? It's not solely the teacher's. Not solely the students'. Certainly not Facebook's. We, teachers and students together, have to take it back. A face with a niqab and an open face can coexist in the same class. Only fear cannot.
#Kazi Maruful Islam is Professor, Dhaka University
*Opinions expressed here are the author's own
#This article, originally published in Prothom Alo print and online editions, has been rewritten in English by Rabiul Islam