Time to make the donuts
Raising four kids isn't easy. But it can be fun.
And this week we -- eight doctoral students from Harvard -- saw just how fun it can be as we gained a glimpse into the life and country of origin of Imad Fadlallah, former principal in Dearborn, Michigan, son-in-law to Lebanon's President of Parliament Nabih Berri, and dad to our friend and colleague Ali.
In two cars, our route stretched Lebanon north, south, and north again. Following Imad's lead, we visited schools, universities, an orphanage, a museum, a church, an interfaith meeting, government offices, and more. Our access was genuinely amazing. And I came mainly for that reason.
But to speak with heads of state and national education leaders yet walk away more impressed by a father and his son...well, that is a welcome surprise.
Joking, debating, sharing or exploring, Ali and Imad approach life and one another in a way that feels simple, like everything is going to be alright. Each cares and fights in their own way for the poor, the downtrodden, the orphan and widow. Each believes, as Mandela did, education is the greatest weapon to change the world.
Said repeatedly to us during the trip, and playfully, "It's time to make the donuts" was the phrase Imad used to use with Ali, his brother, and two sisters when they were children to wake them up.
And that's exactly what my colleagues and I did this week: we woke up.
To a part of the world unfamiliar to many of us. To beautiful terrain. To immensely hospitable people.
To a country in some ways modeling education for the rest of the world, and in some ways struggling to find its way.
In what follows I share my own takeaways and questions, and ask forgiveness now for anything oversimplified or insufficient. Despite having visited Lebanon four times previously, I feel like I just woke up.
To the possibility of an ever deeper commitment in education, modeled by father and son, to do what we can, where we are.
Helping those without.
And loving those we are with.
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Imagine for a moment.
On top of more universal duties, what if one branch of a nation's government was simultaneously in charge of educating a refugee population 40% larger than its own public K12 population, hiring every public school principal in the country, and closing schools for bad weather conditions not by region or district, across which weather varies dramatically, but for the entire country?
Welcome to the world of Dr. Elias Abou Saab, Lebanon's Education Minister and sitting Vice President of the American University in Dubai.
Dr. Abou Saab currently leads a practiced yet underfunded education ministry for the Republic of Lebanon whose National Education Strategy is based on "laws and regulations governing educational matters which emphasize freedom of and right to education and ensuring the accessibility and equality in opportunities and requirements of education to all."
Lebanon educates its youngest citizens in public, private, and semi-private K12 schools. And to those who in their final year pass a national standardized exam grounded in memorizing facts, or to those who purchase foreign passports to dodge the test altogether, Lebanon offers private or free, public university options.
In talking with Dr. Abou Saab in his Beirut office, we learned:
- Lebanese politics greatly influence education
- Both public and private schooling fall under the Ed ministry's purview, and all Lebanese students must take the high school qualifying exam
- While keen on embracing U.S. models, Ed leaders unwaveringly uphold middle eastern culture
- High school drop out rates are high, with some parents opting to keep their children out of school after experiencing failure
- Private schools are generally better and more desirable than public ones
- Like in the U.S., schools lack sufficient Wi-Fi infrastructure and devices for 1-to-1 computing
That current problems were emphasized over future solutions is understandable given present and external pressures Lebanon faces from Israel and Syria, especially the over 400,000 school-aged refugees who have entered in recent months hoping for solidarity and public services.
A colleague wondered aloud whether such a moment was ripe for reform.
In defense of the Ed Minister, the length of his term is unknown, and he operates in a politically-charged, sectarian environment where bold advancements are near impossible.
Among his plans is an upcoming April 2015 convening, at which education leaders will put forth papers, policies, and plans to make a dent in their national strategy. I am excited to see what comes of it.
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In schools, teachers and principals were proud to show their work, present their labs, tour their halls.
Special education methodology is nascent in the country. And we saw some schools making important strides.
Students who drop out or fail the national exam miss out on crossing the high school to college pipeline. And too few jobs await an abundance of college graduates. Many educated Lebanese leave Lebanon.
When asked how we might help in general, the Minister urged us to let others know about their work with Syrian refugee children. Though they have integrated some children into the regular school day to the tune of $150 per semester, and even began an entire second shift, after school, to serve ~125,000 students at $650 per child, still there is great need.
To execute on the plan they developed collaboratively with USAID, UNESCO, and Gordon Brown and the British Council, Dr. Abou Saab says since the international community has given $ billions toward the Syrian conflict, now they must step up and give $ millions to support education for those driven from their homes.
We must act, he says, so a generation of refugee children do not fall behind.
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From the get-go of our meeting with him, Lebanon’s Speaker of Parliament and Imad’s father-in-law, Nabih Berri, voiced his frustration with how resolutely his decades-long struggle for democracy has been, and still is, met with deep rooted devotion to religious sectarianism. He referenced, as an example, the once successful passing of a bill civilizing marriage in Lebanon that was ultimately vetoed by then Prime Minister Rafic Hariri. He used disease and illness as metaphors to describe the present political process. Even still, mentioning French, British, and U.S. examples, he asserted improvement is possible.
Since his life is threatened regularly, we learned, Speaker Berri does not leave his home-office, traveling once each year for vacation. For exercise, every night from 6-7pm EET he paces a long, narrow hall in his home, turning at each end like a swimmer turns at the end of a lane, during which he welcomes senior cabinet and family members to join him. To speak with the Speaker, because he does not stop walking, one must wait until he is alone and fall into step with his stride. This is how Ali, Berri’s grandson, scheduled our meeting with him, by falling in step, making the ask, and hearing a proud grandfather accept.
Beyond democratic ideals, the Speaker advanced little else during our time with him.
Following an hour of questions and answers, with Imad translating, the Speaker slapped his knees, stood up, and offered us chocolates from a bowl. Later, a colleague resolved to end her own meetings by doing the same.
The educator in me had hoped to hear more solutions in the works, or vision for the field. The minister in me prayed for wisdom for a leader advancing democracy, navigating stifling politics, and combatting what I know is religious persecution.
If I never meet another head of state again, I will count myself lucky to have sat with the Speaker and, through his eyes, see a land at the crossroads of history.
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Overall, our experience in Lebanon was positive because Ali and Imad were unbelievably conscientious hosts. They set up all meetings and tours. They fed us delicious meals. They coordinated drivers and vehicles. They kept our schedule. They regularly asked what we needed or wanted. They always had a pot of coffee ready. They told interesting stories.
One night after watching Fordson, the documentary chronicling the Dearborn high school where Imad was principal, we listened to Imad’s stories from the education field. The film follows the school’s football team as it prepares for its cross-town rivalry game during the last ten days of the Muslim holy month of Ramadan. But it was Imad’s behind the scenes victories and challenges in raising the level of teaching and learning that captivated us long beyondmidnight.
Imad has deep passion for orchestrating the best education for underresourced, overlooked children. We saw that passion over and over in Lebanon. Every time a leader shared a student success story, which happened plenty, Imad asked about the drop outs, the poor, or simply those carrying on in the lowest achieving schools. In truth he was disappointed with the diplomatic, inquisitive approach we took as a group. He wanted us to challenge these leaders we’d never met, perhaps hoping our visit would somehow spur fresh educational design.
Ali, it seemed, though sometimes embarrassed in the good way sons are with their fathers, felt proud of his dad. And inspired. And challenged. By the man who raised him, taught him, shed tears on his behalf, and, admittedly, pursued him steadily during darker days of youth.
When Ali pushes back on his father's ideas or plans, as he does, it is good-natured. Like they both know making the world better is what counts, and the rest is details.
Seeing their love on display, amidst incredible meetings, an embattled country, and beautiful people is what I will remember most.
One might say, and many did throughout our stay, that Lebanon schools need funding, technology, professional development, and international support to bolster student achievement.
I also think education in Lebanon, and in the U.S. for that matter, need more of what Imad and Ali have.
On the third to last day of our trip, back in the U.S., the wife of Imad's oldest son gave birth to a baby boy whose umbilical cord was wrapped around his neck. While we all carried on with our meetings, both Imad and Ali were introspective and prayerful. Imad withheld requesting video until the baby was no longer sedated and was fully in the clear. Which he eventually was.
Imad showed me the video early our last morning, and I felt his pride as he spoke of his first grandchild, Zane.
Imad has plans to visit the baby this weekend in Dearborn.
Ali, not too long after.
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A big reason Imad stayed with us instead of being present for his grandchild's birth was to show us a Lebanon not covered in the media.
For that and more, I wish to offer special thanks. To Ali and Imad Fadlallah for orchestrating an incredible trip and demonstrating such love and respect. And not only thanks but a special blessing upon Zane.
Thanks also to Khalil and Hussein, a few of Imad's reliable men, for taking good care of our group.
And to the myriad students and Lebanese Ed leaders who took time to be with us.
May we forge strong relationships with the next generation.
And may we not hesitate one bit...because Imad is right.
It's time to make the donuts.
