내 딸이 나에게 무종교 어린이와 종교 어린이 모두를 위한 공교육의 중요성을 가르쳐 준 방법

다원주의에는 어려움이 있습니다. 그러나 서부 시드니와 같은 초다양성 사회의 경우 공립학교를 통해 이를 지원하는 것이 계속해서 가장 낙관적인 방법입니다. (courtneyk / E+ / 게티 이미지)
종교를 믿는 가족은 아니지만, 우리 집에서는 종교가 화두입니다. 의심할 바 없이 우리는 세계에서 가장 “초다양성” 지역 중 하나인 시드니 남서부에 살고 있기 때문입니다. 하지만 종교 문제를 거론하는 사람은 나와 남편뿐이 아닙니다. 우리 7살짜리 아이도 “이 초콜릿이 할랄인가요?”라는 토론을 촉발할 가능성이 높습니다. “아줌마는 왜 정원에 마리아 동상을 세워두나요?” “개를 키우는 것은 하람인가요?”

나는 내 딸과 나눈 많은 대화를 통해 친구와 이웃의 삶에서 종교의 역할에 대한 딸의 이해가 딸의 인도적인 관점을 발전시키는 데 어떻게 결정적인 역할을 하는지 알 수 있었습니다. 이러한 복잡성에 대한 그녀의 탐색은 나에게도 도움이 되었습니다.

내 딸이 다니는 공립학교는 대부분의 아이들이 무슬림인 학교인데, 이는 딸아이가 위치한 동네를 반영합니다. 딸아이는 신앙 전통에서 자라지 않는 소수의 일부입니다. 무슬림이 대다수인 학교라고 설명하면 획일적인 것처럼 보이지만 현실은 훨씬 더 다문화적입니다. 내 딸의 가장 친한 친구로는 인도네시아, 레바논, 파키스탄 출신의 소녀들이 있습니다. 그녀에게는 무슬림 교사와 비무슬림 교사가 모두 있었습니다. 일부는 히잡을 착용하고 일부는 착용하지 않습니다.

내 딸의 혼혈 정체성은 다문화 학교 공동체에 속함으로써 강화되었습니다. 그녀의 베트남인성을 강화할 필요가 있다고 생각되면 나는 그녀의 친구들과 그들의 문화 유산을 유용한 비교 지점으로 지적할 수 있습니다. 그녀의 “앵글로” 유산과 그것이 실제로 의미하는 바에 대해서도 종종 길게 논의됩니다. 따라서 우리 가정에서는 우리가 누구인지, 무엇을 믿는지에 대해 불안감이 거의 없습니다. 이것이 바로 우리가 현대 다문화 호주의 풍요로움을 높이 평가하는 이유일 것입니다.

물론 특정 종교에 충실한 수많은 사람들 가운데 속한다는 것은 우리의 세속적 삶의 빈약함을 어느 정도 직시하도록 강요합니다. 더 강한 문화적 연속성을 만들기 위해 나는 명목상 가톨릭 가정에서 자라지 않은 전통을 소개하기까지 했습니다. Tết를 위해 사원을 방문하는 것이 더 축제적인 일이기 때문에 이것이 우리가 하고 있는 일입니다. 이것이 내 딸이 우리가 “대부분 불교도이고 약간의 가톨릭 신자”라고 생각하는 이유입니다. 나는 그녀가 그런 말을 했을 때 그녀의 말을 바로잡지 않았습니다. 엄밀히 말하면 사실은 아니지만, 어쨌든 내 가족 입장에서는 두 종교 모두 우리 문화 및 영적 유산의 일부라는 것은 충분히 사실입니다. 최근에 나는 베트남 가정의 전통적인 설비이지만 현재는 가지고 있지 않은 제단을 갖는 아이디어를 탐구하고 있습니다.

“두 사람은 결코 만나지 않을 것이다”
저는 비종교인이든 종교인이든 자녀를 공립학교에 보내는 것을 두려워하는 많은 사람들을 알고 있습니다. 아마도 그들은 자신의 자녀가 소수자가 되는 것을 원하지 않기 때문일 것이며, 어쩌면 다수(이 경우에는 종교적 다수)에 의해 두려워하거나 압도당할 수도 있습니다. 일부 사람들이 느끼는 감정을 부정하지 않는 것이 중요합니다. 그러한 현실과 씨름하는 것이 우리의 다원주의를 견고하게 유지하는 유일한 방법입니다. 결국, 우리 사회 기관 중 다수가 “다양성” 문제로 어려움을 겪고 있으므로 호주의 일상적인 다문화주의가 어떻게 경험되는지 명확하게 이해하는 것은 상당한 가치가 있습니다.

현재 호주의 공공 생활에는 상당한 긴장감이 있습니다. 그 이유 중 하나는 우리 사회에서 다양한 집단이 점점 더 분리되기 때문입니다. 이 때문에, 호주 어린이 중 64%만이 공립학교에 다니고 있다는 사실은 우려할 만한 원인이 됩니다. 이는 불평등이 심화될 뿐만 아니라 사람들로서 공동 생활이 침식된다는 의미이기 때문입니다. 다양한 계층, 문화적, 종교적 배경을 가진 사람들과 평화롭게 공존할 수 있는 기회를 피하십시오.

나는 가톨릭 신자도 아니고 특별히 종교적이지도 않은데도 자녀를 가톨릭 학교에 보내는 것이 자녀에게 가장 좋다고 믿기 때문에 가톨릭 학교에 보내는 부모들을 상당히 많이 만났습니다. 일반적인 인식은 이들 학교가 “저렴한” 사립학교라는 것입니다. 여기서 계급은 신조와 문화를 가로지르는 지배적인 요소입니다. 마찬가지로, 나는 문화적 유지와 그들의 더 열망적인 성향을 반영하기 위해 자녀를 이슬람 학교에 보내는 많은 무슬림 가족을 만납니다.

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How my daughter has taught me the importance of public education for non-religious and religious children alike
Sheila Ngọc Phạm
Posted 27 Feb 202427 Feb 2024, updated 4 Mar 20244 Mar 2024

Pluralism is not without its challenges — but for a superdiverse society like western Sydney, supporting it through public schooling continues to be the most optimistic way forward. (courtneyk / E+ / Getty Images)
Religion is a hot topic in our household, even though we are not a religious family. No doubt it’s because we live in south-western Sydney, one of the most “superdiverse” areas of the world. Yet it’s not only my husband and I who bring up matters of religion; our 7-year-old is just as likely to prompt these discussions: “Are these chocolates halal?” “Why does Aunty have a statue of Mary in her garden?” “Is owning dogs haram?”

Through the many conversations I’ve had with my daughter, I can see how her understanding of the role of religion in the lives of her friends and our neighbours is proving to be crucial to her development of a humane outlook. Her navigation of these complexities has been helping me as well.

The public school my daughter attends is one where most of the children attending are Muslim, which reflects the neighbourhood it’s located in. She is part of the small minority not being raised in a faith tradition. Describing it as a Muslim-majority school makes it seem monolithic, however, when the reality is far more multicultural. My daughter’s best friends include girls whose heritages are Indonesian, Lebanese, and Pakistani. She has had both Muslim and non-Muslim teachers; some wear the hijab, while others do not.

My daughter’s own mixed-race identity has been bolstered by being in such a multicultural school community. If I ever see the need to reinforce her Vietnameseness, I can point to her friends and their cultural heritages as useful points of comparison. Her “Anglo” heritage and what that actually means is often discussed at length, as well. So there is little insecurity in our household about who we are and what we believe in — which is probably why we do appreciate the richness of modern multicultural Australia.

Being among so many faithful to a particular religion does, of course, force me to confront some of the thinness of our secular life. To create a stronger sense of cultural continuity I have even been introducing traditions I didn’t grow up with in a nominally Catholic household. It’s more festive to visit a temple for Tết, so that’s what we’ve been doing. This is why my daughter thinks we are “mostly Buddhist and only a little bit Catholic”. I didn’t correct her when she said that — it’s not strictly the case, though it’s true enough that both religions are part of our cultural and spiritual heritage, on my side of the family anyway. Lately I’ve been exploring the idea of having an altar, which is a traditional fixture in Vietnamese households but is not something we currently have.

“Never the twain shall meet”
I know many people — non-religious and religious alike — who would be afraid to send their child into the public school situation we have. Perhaps because they do not want their child to be a minority, and perhaps they are even fearful or overwhelmed by the majority — in this case, a religious majority. It’s important not to deny this is how some people feel. Grappling with such a reality is the only way to ensure our pluralism remains robust. After all, many of our social institutions are struggling with questions of “diversity”, so there is considerable value in clearly understanding how everyday multiculturalism in Australia is experienced.

There’s a good deal of tension Australian public life at present, due in part to the increasing segregation of different groups in our society. Because of this, the fact that only 64 per cent of Australian children attend a public school should be a cause for concern — not only because of what that entails for widening inequality, but also because it signifies the erosion of a common life, as people retreat from opportunities to peacefully co-exist with others from different class, cultural, and religious backgrounds.

I meet more than my fair share of parents who send their children to a Catholic school, even though they are neither Catholic nor particularly religious, because they believe it’s what’s best for their child. The common perception is that these are “cheap” private schools. Class is the predominant factor here, which cuts across creed and culture. Similarly, I meet many Muslim families who send their children to an Islamic school, both in the interests of cultural maintenance and because it reflects their more aspirational dispositions.

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I attended Catholic schools until I was 10 and experienced a real sense of belonging. By contrast, the sense of alienation that I felt in a public primary school was awful; it’s also where I first encountered the ugly face of racism, from teachers and students alike. Which is to say that I do understand the appeal of Catholic schools for many parents, especially if they are Catholic, because of the strong commitment to pastoral care that many of them exhibit. Even so, it’s not the option I’ve taken up for my daughter.

Perhaps the most intriguing group of parents I’ve been meeting lately are those who homeschool their children, or would like to. Some of their reasons for doing so are understandable: institutionalised learning has its limitations, and there’s no doubt that opting out may be best for some children. But conscientious objections to the school system seem to me to be motivated in large part by fear: of the government, of religion, of society. Whatever its deficiencies, I don’t think the solution to the “problem” of public schooling is homeschooling — not least because it harks back to a time before universal education.

Exposure to difference
Being part of a public school community, in which people hold a range of different beliefs and values, has been enriching in ways I did not anticipate. Our family has been given an incredible opportunity for cultural exchange and friendship, which I do not take for granted. It is important for my daughter not to need to be part of a majority of people “like her” to feel safe. What would that even look like in her case, anyway?

There’s a false idea which is often perpetuated that children don’t see difference — of course they do, and allowing them to discuss what they observe provides opportunities for us to learn more ourselves. (I’ll confess I often ended up searching for answers to my daughter’s questions on the internet; it always fascinates me that seemingly simple questions never seem to have simple answers.)

Not long ago, my daughter was telling me how one of her friends was afraid of using hand sanitizer because it’s made of alcohol. I told her I was fairly certain that sanitiser wasn’t haram because it wasn’t being eaten, and that it was okay to clean your hands with. She nodded, saying that the idea of haram seemed to come up a lot with this one friend in particular; her other Muslim friends never brought up such issues at all. I made sure to add that, yes, there are rules to follow in Islam. However, there are Muslims who do drink alcohol and not everyone prays five times a day. “Like who?” she asked. I want her to understand that people’s interpretations of their religion sometimes vary and there is no one way of being a Muslim — just like there is no single way of being Vietnamese.

Such conversations between us confirm for me just how central education and exposure to difference is for societal cohesion.

The importance of religious and language education
One thing I have changed my mind about is the vital importance of religious education (RE) in public schools. I know that RE has long been a contentious aspect of Australian public schooling, and that public opposition is one of the main reasons why programs like Primary Ethics were developed as an alternative. But have we fully reckoned with the effect that the reduced participation in RE is having on our society’s capacity to sustain its commitment to multiculturalism and pluralism?

I do not believe that non-religious children, like my daughter, who end up going to the library while other kids attend RE are necessarily receiving “less” education. After all, the library can be a sanctuary in and of itself. When I attended a public school I always enjoyed retreating there when RE was on. But I object to the idea that there is some kind of neutral Australian mode of education — free from the peculiarities of language and culture, including religion — which reinforces the presumption of “whiteness” in a way that is at odds with the richness of multicultural life.

And then there is the way that same presumption of neutrality diminishes our children’s exposure to linguistic diversity. For example, during the first two years at my daughter’s school she had half an hour of Vietnamese each week on Fridays, which was incredibly affirming. She is also the only non-Arab and non-Muslim kid who attends Arabic class each week. I find it immensely troubling that language learning is optional in the Australian education system and not integral to the curriculum. It’s no wonder that when it comes to language education we’re the worst performing of all OECD countries. We are lucky that my daughter’s school does offer some languages other than English, but that’s not true of other schools in our area, despite the superdiversity.

The benefits of spiritual maximalism
There is no longer a mass culture and Australia does not have a homogeneous population, which makes social cohesion a constant work in progress. I suppose that’s why I keep coming back to the thought that spiritual maximalism is healthy. In any case, it’s what we already have and developing policies for education which don’t acknowledge this will only be to our detriment.

In Australia, people have a choice as to how they would like their kids to be educated. But this should not come at the expense of under-funding public schools, which arguably play a preeminent role in bringing together and holding together multicultural local communities.

Pluralism is not without its challenges. But for the superdiverse society in which we live, supporting it continues to be the most optimistic way forward.

Sheila Ngọc Phạm is a writer, editor, producer and curator working across the arts, media and public health. She is currently completing her PhD on women’s healthcare experiences and is a casual lecturer of public health ethics at Macquarie University. Sheila lives on Dharug land with her husband and two children.

Posted 27 Feb 202427 Feb 2024, updated 4 Mar 2024