In defense of being educated

Imagine you are sitting at Bell Tower, eating lunch and complaining to a friend about your Miami Plan class. Perhaps it's about a reading you found unnecessarily long, an assignment you cannot see the relevance of or an entire subject you would never have chosen to study. You wonder why, as a political science major, you have to learn about public health.

Now imagine being a girl in Afghanistan. You are the same age, perhaps with similar ambitions, but you cannot attend a university. You cannot walk into a classroom and decide what you are learning is irrelevant to your interests. Your education has been taken away from you.

Since the Taliban returned to power in August 2021, girls in Afghanistan have been prohibited from attending secondary schools beyond the sixth grade. Women have also been barred from universities since December 2022. According to UNICEF, more than 2.6 million girls have been denied secondary education.

For these girls, education is not an obligation to fulfill before graduation. It is something they must actively fight to access. Their classrooms are hidden, their lessons interrupted and their futures constrained by restrictions imposed solely because they are women.

At Miami University, our frustrations are different. We complain about general education requirements, question the relevance of courses outside our majors and sometimes regard the Miami Plan as an obstacle between ourselves and the education we actually want. But the freedom to experience education as an inconvenience is itself a privilege.

As a political science student, I am naturally drawn to questions about governments and international relations. However, my “Introduction to Public Health” class this semester has challenged me to consider questions beyond those interests. Learning about racial disparities in American healthcare and their historical foundations prompted me to examine how social biases influence other aspects of society. It also enriched my political understanding by revealing how inequalities extend beyond political institutions and shape people's everyday lives.

I would not necessarily have sought out this perspective on my own. That is precisely what made the experience valuable.

Education outside one's chosen discipline offers the opportunity to encounter histories, ideas and experiences that might otherwise remain outside our understanding. A public health course can inform a political science student. A history class can change how an aspiring scientist understands the present. Learning does not always follow the boundaries we establish for ourselves.

Yet, in college, education is increasingly discussed through the language of utility. We ask whether a course will contribute to our careers, whether an assignment is worth our time and whether a particular requirement will matter after graduation. These are legitimate questions, especially when higher education demands considerable financial and personal investment. But when professional relevance becomes the only measure of learning, we risk overlooking everything education can offer beyond a degree.

The Miami Plan cannot guarantee that every student will find every course meaningful, nor should students be expected to abandon criticism of their curriculum. But there is a difference between questioning the structure of education and dismissing the opportunity to receive one.

In Afghanistan, girls are finding ways to learn despite being excluded from formal classrooms. Some attend underground schools; others rely on online education to continue studying. UNESCO's reporting on education in Afghanistan documents efforts to keep learning opportunities alive despite ongoing restrictions.

In a society where education is often treated as an ordinary part of growing up, we get to choose what we study, question what we learn and complain about the classes we take. For many others, even that choice remains out of reach.

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You may still find your Miami Plan class tedious. You may still complain about its assignments over lunch. But somewhere, a girl your age is trying to find access to a classroom she is no longer permitted to enter.

The opportunity to learn should not become so ordinary that we forget its value. We do not have to love every class. We should, however, recognize what it means to have the freedom to attend one.

For millions of girls, that freedom remains out of reach. For us, it is as close as the next classroom.

kaushav@miamioh.edu

Vedika Kaushal is a first-year student studying political science and economics. She is an aspiring journalist and international relations researcher. She spends time reading research on the politics of India and the Middle East. Beyond academics, she enjoys reading poetry, playing chess and finds joy in the kitchen.