The importance of a pedagogy of love

What could a pedagogy of love look like in South African classrooms? At the moment our teaching has been reduced to a string of pedagogical tricks to help pupils get over the line, pass their examinations and protect the reputation of the school.

In consequence, a dangerous instrumentalism that has come to define our teaching where content coverage (completion) is a means to a narrow end (passing). What counts as education has long left the classroom.

Pupils are pointed to online exam papers as a source of knowledge available on WhatsApp downloads.

How often this year I have heard the term “exam readiness” as opposed to readiness for life or, if you wish, the world of work.

There is a numbing process of desensitisation going on in which children are treated as cognitive machines that spew out memorised chunks of knowledge as opposed to humans with hearts and minds who thrive on connection and not merely content.

It has become clear to me this year that what estranges children from school and classroom life is the absence of love.

Let me say the obvious. By love, I do not mean physical or emotional attachment to young people in ways that exploit and abuse their trust.

In 2023 the department of basic education dismissed 36 teachers for irregular relationships with pupils, including impregnating young girls. This is exploitation and abuse of children, not love.

By love I mean a commitment to young pupils that regards them as whole human beings.

I mean the determination to teach them sacrificially, with all we’ve got, as if they were our own children.

A pedagogy of love means an ambition to expand their horizons beyond the classroom; the teachers at a school I worked in recently put the tourism students on the Red Bus in Cape Town to give them a real sense of what the subject means in practice.

I was surprised at first that many of these working class children had not yet been to the centre of their city, though less surprised that they had not been on an expensive bus that their parents could hardly afford.

But that is a pedagogy of love. It means doing more than the minimum which is to cover the government’s CAPS curriculum.

It means investing in children, sometimes using hard-earned money from your own pocket.

This kind of love means being in your class before the children arrive and remaining there after they leave.

Such a powerful pedagogy involves taking on the role of mentor as part of that obligation we call teaching. It requires a teacher with a listening ear and a guiding hand when the child needs that kind of love.

Sometimes I even wonder whether they like the children, I one day heard a senior teacher remark about her colleagues. I was stunned. How on earth can you teach children you despise or those to whose fates you are indifferent?

I hate this job, another teacher told me one day, making it clear that she was only there for the money.

Here’s the really bad news — children will pick up very quickly whether you love them or not and respond accordingly.

As a student of institutions, I understand how we are shaped as teachers to behave in particular ways, such as pursuing exam results at all costs.

Many of us are transfigured in the process from being educators, in the wholesome sense of that word, to little more than classroom technicians.

And yet I have witnessed how many teachers refuse to be institutionalised by understanding their dual roles — to ensure the child passes both the subject test and the test of life.

A pedagogy of love does not, however, imply permissiveness, that anything goes in our relationship with pupils.

Quite the opposite, for it means that having established an affirming relationship with pupils, we have the basis for exercising discipline.

Children, I have found over and over again, are more likely to accept firm discipline when they know it comes from a heart of love.

Sadly, the corollary is also true — they will resist discipline when it is perceived as harsh and heartless.

It is of course easier to demonstrate a pedagogy of love with primary schoolchildren through hugs and high-fives.

But such love need not involve physical touch, especially in high schools; it is love observed in how you talk to pupils, how you respond to their needs, and how you lead them by example.

Relatedly, a pedagogy of love means setting boundaries that do not compromise your commitment to the pupil. 

Unfortunately our teacher education curriculum for future teachers does not include modules on love. There is a queasiness even talking about such a slippery concept.

One thing I know, in a country where many children are traumatised and re-traumatised just walking back and forth between home and school, a pedagogy of love might be the only way in which to regain their attention to enable success in learning — and in life.