Our editor looks back on how a certain teacher taught him the importance of raising a difficult question.
Back when I was in my fifth year of the Primary level in the early 2000s, I had two teachers who adopted two very contrasting approaches in teaching their respective students.
The first teacher—let’s simply call her “Mrs. A”—taught maths. To invigorate her students’ enthusiasm to master the subject, she would give extra points to anyone willing to raise their hand and attempt to answer the maths problems on her blackboard. The faster they can solve the problem, the bigger the points. As a result, whenever it was time for Mrs. A to teach maths, it always felt more like a race than a class.
The second teacher, however—let’s simply call her “Mrs. B”—was different. She taught social studies, and to encourage her students’ inquisitiveness and proactivity in class, she would give extra points to anyone willing to raise their hand and ask a question. Mrs. B did not care whether the questions being raised were clever or not. And she was especially very keen on having her students ask questions when she taught the history part of social studies.
More than 20 years have passed since then, and seeing the reality of today, I can confidently conclude that Mrs. B’s approach in education turned out to be more influential (and relevant!) than Mrs. A’s approach. The ability and, more importantly, the willingness to question things has prepared me better in life as a grown-up.
Admittedly, it is, indeed, such a perplexing discovery. We, as human beings, always prefer getting an answer as opposed to digging up a question. Life is only worthwhile when we can swiftly get the answer to solve all our problems—that is, more or less, how our brain is wired. Even Hollywood films, on a much deeper subconscious level than what anyone might realise, perpetuate such an ideal. In those films, happiness is only possible when the problems are neatly answered and solved. When the protagonist finally figures out their strength, their purpose and their soulmate in less than 100 minutes.
A question, on the other hand, is terrifying—especially the difficult one. Rarely is there a time when a question is not immediately followed by a degree of discomfort that plagues everyone in its orbit. In a religious context, questioning is often misconstrued as doubt, a decay in faith or worse—a heresy. Questioning your significant other’s love and loyalty can easily be interpreted as betrayal. And it rarely matters whether the question is valid or not, as our impulsive response would be to immediately penalise the questioner. The one who just shattered the peaceful status quo.
Back in Mrs. B’s class, we usually came up with goofy questions. All the questions were very jokey, laughable and ultimately, harmless. That was until one day, one of the students—let’s simply call him “ZZ”—asked a very difficult question about something that was not covered in Year Five’s curriculum. No one was laughing anymore. We all furrowed our eyebrows. Even Mrs. B was speechless. The mood of the classroom turned sour in an instant.
I still remember my disappointment in Mrs. B. I thought that, as a teacher, she should have been able to answer everything, then and there. But the person in whom I was disappointed the most was ZZ. I thought that he was just being a buzzkill—pesky on purpose.
Never did my naive self ever expect that, one day, as I got older, I would frequently be in ZZ’s shoes.
As I grew up and became an adult member of society, I couldn’t help but notice that many things in life actually elicit more questions than provide easy, undebatable answers. When I had my first job, even though I was happy to receive a stable income that should have been my ‘happiness’ moment, I ended up questioning why I was still struggling to save up despite my frugal spending. As I started paying more attention to the governance of this country, I also started questioning whether we, together as Indonesians, could consistently move forward—and not backward.
I also started questioning what society considers a perfect score. For instance, marriage before 30 used to be acclaimed as the ultimate ‘happiness’, the answer to any human being’s restlessness. No one really dared to question it at the time, but cut to today, the number of divorces across Indonesia continues to skyrocket. Turns out, those people did not find that answer satisfactory after all.
But is there such a thing as a satisfactory answer? Even that question might be too difficult to address.
Yes, questioning anything is always uncomfortable. It means that there remain some loose ends. It suggests that the reality in which we live is far more imperfect and perplexing than we would like to acknowledge. However, not raising a question about it does not erase the existence of those loose ends. In fact, deliberately not raising a question is oftentimes no different from being complicit in blind ignorance.
The following week, before Mrs. B began her social studies class, she decided to take a few minutes to answer ZZ’s question. Despite its difficulty, she acknowledged that ZZ’s question was nonetheless valid, and that she would always welcome all kinds of questions from her students. Mrs. B also said that she had done her research, then she gave the best, most satisfactory answer possible to ZZ and everyone in the class. My disappointment in what I used to perceive as Mrs. B’s incompetence subsequently faded—and so did my disappointment in ZZ. To my surprise at the time, Mrs. B took ZZ’s question seriously, and she made a serious effort to answer it.
As a grown-up, I have learned not to feel guilty whenever something does not logically sit well with me and prompts me to question it. I also understand very well that hoping for a straight and swift answer is futile. Still, I preserve my faith that there are still people like Mrs. B in this very complicated world.
Last but not least, I hope the children of today (and tomorrow) can learn to be comfortable in the discomfort of raising a difficult question. Life is less like a logically straightforward maths problem and more like social studies—filled with differing perspectives, interpretations and eyebrow-raising curveballs. To prepare these children for what is to come, I also hope that teachers in every classroom out there can take some cues from Mrs. B.
That is the lesson that I carry home until today. Extra points are more deserving for those who are willing to uncomfortably question nonsensical narratives. But gold stars should be awarded to those who—just like Mrs. B—are earnest enough to embrace those questions with an open heart.
DISCLAIMER: Any opinions expressed in this article are those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of Indonesia Expat.