fees?—That’s the government’s affair.—
What would the result have been? Agreement that the Convocation would meet to consider an inquiry into the implications etc. of social responsibility implied by free tuition at university level? Who can pay and who can’t. A means test?
—I couldn’t even get together a so-called delegation to tell the minister the university’s little problem, attempting to teach students who come out of school half-literate. What choice is there for them. Out from the lecture halls and our baby-care seminars, to the campus!—
He tells her like a confession only just realised—to himself, that when the swell of bodies landed him back near the science block he ejected himself and went back up to his room, met nobody in the corridors—keeping themselves scarce in their rooms, quit the campus or holed up in the faculty coffee room. But what did he have to feel himself more honest about as he stood again at his window, looking down at what was officially referred to collectively inoffensively as ‘The Student Body’ and now really was that, a mythological entity of many limbs. So down again, leaving the room open.
—The campus is really badly trashed? What’s the sense in that. They have to live with the mess, themselves. No, no what’m I saying, the black cleaners’ll have to come on…—Jabu still has in her the discipline of the Struggle: you must answer for your own actions…
Burnt documents trampled kicked about like dead leaves. A computer (whose from where) lying among broken shrubs. Who knows what, from bins in the women’s toilets. As someone offering knowledge, however mingy the access, one who’s accepted to be an academic, wouldn’t he be against students fouling their nest. If he believes in the purpose of a university existing however inadequate to circumstances it may be. If not, why be there? Teaching in the limitation of what you’re able and writing some fucking thesis so that you can pass on something more to those who need it, whose right it is.
Principal, Vice-Chancellor, faculty and representatives of the students were summoned to a meeting where the students succeeded in the university’s condemnation of brutal police action and arrests; and the principal and faculty succeeded in condemning the destruction by the students of campus facilities.
Sindiswa was born at a time when the new life of freedom was just three years old, child of change. She was even-tempered and happily responsive to everyone and everything. Her brother, Gary Elias, who had taken his first steps in the security of the suburban house was not, as Steve, while distrustful of fatherly judgements said, ‘easy’; would not go further than that. Jabu laughed—this was a naughty boy, as someone might say ‘tall for his age’. His primary schooling was at a local school, as Sindiswa’s had been before the Greek school, where she was reported by her teachers as top of her class. But the character of naughtiness the boy’s mother saw as usual began to be troubling. He punched a classmate, narrowly missing the eye—Steve and Jabu had to visit the parents to apologise. Gary ‘borrowed’ without her permission Sindiswa’s treasures (a conch in which she had been shown you could hear the sea, a carved box one of her Indian friends had given her) and damaged or, as he said, lost them. She was forgiving but hurt; and that seemed to annoy him. Jake told Steve he ought to take the kid along to watch football, the university games, join Jake and his rather older boys, giving him innocent male status. Gary listened to his father’s and Jake’s explanatory comments of what was happening on the field without reaction: tugged Steve’s shirt—When will it finish—
—I’m going to take Gary home over the long weekend.—
—That’s an idea. We’ll all enjoy a break.—
—Stevie, I want to take him to my father. He’s experienced with boys, he’s been head of that school,
What would the result have been? Agreement that the Convocation would meet to consider an inquiry into the implications etc. of social responsibility implied by free tuition at university level? Who can pay and who can’t. A means test?
—I couldn’t even get together a so-called delegation to tell the minister the university’s little problem, attempting to teach students who come out of school half-literate. What choice is there for them. Out from the lecture halls and our baby-care seminars, to the campus!—
He tells her like a confession only just realised—to himself, that when the swell of bodies landed him back near the science block he ejected himself and went back up to his room, met nobody in the corridors—keeping themselves scarce in their rooms, quit the campus or holed up in the faculty coffee room. But what did he have to feel himself more honest about as he stood again at his window, looking down at what was officially referred to collectively inoffensively as ‘The Student Body’ and now really was that, a mythological entity of many limbs. So down again, leaving the room open.
—The campus is really badly trashed? What’s the sense in that. They have to live with the mess, themselves. No, no what’m I saying, the black cleaners’ll have to come on…—Jabu still has in her the discipline of the Struggle: you must answer for your own actions…
Burnt documents trampled kicked about like dead leaves. A computer (whose from where) lying among broken shrubs. Who knows what, from bins in the women’s toilets. As someone offering knowledge, however mingy the access, one who’s accepted to be an academic, wouldn’t he be against students fouling their nest. If he believes in the purpose of a university existing however inadequate to circumstances it may be. If not, why be there? Teaching in the limitation of what you’re able and writing some fucking thesis so that you can pass on something more to those who need it, whose right it is.
Principal, Vice-Chancellor, faculty and representatives of the students were summoned to a meeting where the students succeeded in the university’s condemnation of brutal police action and arrests; and the principal and faculty succeeded in condemning the destruction by the students of campus facilities.
Sindiswa was born at a time when the new life of freedom was just three years old, child of change. She was even-tempered and happily responsive to everyone and everything. Her brother, Gary Elias, who had taken his first steps in the security of the suburban house was not, as Steve, while distrustful of fatherly judgements said, ‘easy’; would not go further than that. Jabu laughed—this was a naughty boy, as someone might say ‘tall for his age’. His primary schooling was at a local school, as Sindiswa’s had been before the Greek school, where she was reported by her teachers as top of her class. But the character of naughtiness the boy’s mother saw as usual began to be troubling. He punched a classmate, narrowly missing the eye—Steve and Jabu had to visit the parents to apologise. Gary ‘borrowed’ without her permission Sindiswa’s treasures (a conch in which she had been shown you could hear the sea, a carved box one of her Indian friends had given her) and damaged or, as he said, lost them. She was forgiving but hurt; and that seemed to annoy him. Jake told Steve he ought to take the kid along to watch football, the university games, join Jake and his rather older boys, giving him innocent male status. Gary listened to his father’s and Jake’s explanatory comments of what was happening on the field without reaction: tugged Steve’s shirt—When will it finish—
—I’m going to take Gary home over the long weekend.—
—That’s an idea. We’ll all enjoy a break.—
—Stevie, I want to take him to my father. He’s experienced with boys, he’s been head of that school,
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