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10.1177/0002764205284719American Behavioral ScientistGolan-Agnon / Separate but Not Equal
Separate but Not Equal
Discrimination Against Palestinian
Arab Students in Israel
Daphna Golan-Agnon
Hebrew University of Jerusalem, Israel
Palestinian Arab education in Israel receives inferior allocations for training, supervi
-
sion, nature, and art lessons. In general, the physical conditions in the schools are bad and
they lack basic study aids. The Palestinian Arab schools have significantly fewer of the
unique programs in which the Ministry of Education invests. But discrimination in bud
-
gets and “how many” questions cannot lead to an understanding of the whole picture of
inequality. Employing questions and methods used by various waves of feminists to
explain and combat inequality between men and women, the author asks, How could the
education system benefit from equal representation of the voice of Arab leadership? Bor-
rowing from feminist discourse that raises the importance of the diversity of voices and
multiculturalism, the author explores and proposes ways of respecting and reinforcing
diverse cultural and national identities in the Israeli education system.
Keywords: equality; discrimination; Palestinians; Israel; feminism
I
n the summer of 1999, Yossi Sarid, the head of the liberal Meretz Party, was
appointed Minister of Education under Labor Prime Minister Barak. He promised,
in an eloquent torrent of words, to focus all his efforts on equality in education—or as
he called it, “bridging the gaps.” I was hired to develop a plan for the Ministry of Edu
-
cation to address inequality.
I devoted about 2 years to studying the ways that the education system aggravates
the inequality between the center and the periphery, between poor and rich, between
Arabs and Jews, and between boys and girls. The more I learned, the more alarmed I
became at the growing disparities. I tried to translate them into simple questions: How
can we give Jasmine, the third-grade student in Azzazme school, or Jasmine who lives
in a development town, or Jasmine in a wealthy settlement, or Jasmine in the big city
equal chances of a decent education? There are no private schools in Israel, and
the state is supposedly providing a good education for all, but only 8% of students
1075
American Behavioral Scientist
Volume 49 Number 8
April 2006 1075-1084
© 2006 Sage Publications
10.1177/0002764205284719
http://abs.sagepub.com
hosted at
http://online.sagepub.com
Author’s Note: I am grateful to the Minerva Center for Human Rights at the Hebrew University of Jerusa
-
lem for a research grant that allowed me to write this article. An earlier version of this article has been pub
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lished as part of my book Next Year in Jerusalem: Everyday Life in a Divided Land (New Press, 2005).
accepted to universities are Arabs, and the percentage of Jewish students from devel
-
oping towns is not much higher. Looking at the data of the Ministry of Education—
which clearly show that the percentage of Arabs who pass the matriculation exams is
much lower than that of Jews—I tried to understand why. In this article, I want to share
with you the process of learning about inequality and the problems that we faced on
the road to change.
Early on in my work, I was told that my job was not meant to address Arab educa
-
tion. “By equality in education,” I was told, “we mean the gaps between underprivi
-
leged and rich neighborhoods, the periphery and the center in Jewish education. In
Arab education there are so many gaps that they have a 5-year plan.”
The 5-year plan, which proposes an addition of NIS 50 million (approximately
US$10 million) per year for 5 years, amounts to a small tranquilizer administered too
late and does not even pretend to solve any of the problems that have emerged from
years of neglect of Arab education. As one of the Arab superintendents told me, “It is
like giving a child a dollar out of your salary and asking him to believe that you have
just opened up a world of opportunity for him.” Despite Sarid’s statements about the
need for an approach that promoted social justice rather than charity, the 5-year plan
was based neither on a sense of justice nor on long-term change. It contained no addi-
tion to the basic budget for Arab education, it did not empower the Arab teaching per-
sonnel for the long term, and it was not even managed by Arabs. A retired army cap-
tain was hired to direct the implementation of the 5-year plan—not a single word of
which was ever translated into Arabic. It was astonishing that even a minister who pre-
sumes to be on the left, who heads the Citizens Rights Movement, did not see fit to
appoint an Arab educationalist to head the designated plan for Arab affirmative action.
In the spirit of Margaret Thatcher’s education reforms, the 5-year plan was contracted
to large private companies. But the bid was publicized only in the Hebrew newspapers,
and the requirements were such that no Arab company could have competed. One of
the companies to win a contract to improve the reading capacity of Arab students was a
college in the West Bank settlement of Ariel.
I, therefore, insisted that in addition to the 5-year plan, and parallel to it, my recom
-
mendations would be to address the entire education system in Israel, both Jewish and
Arab, in the plans for equality in education. The intention was not only to speak about
social justice but also to build plans for a more just distribution of resources and
empowerment of teachers so that they could lead the required change. For that pur
-
pose, we formed the Committee for Equality in Education, which I coordinated with
the key bureaucrats of the ministry, academics, teachers, and principals. Through long
sessions, we proposed fundamental changes in budget allocations: Poor schools
would receive more than rich schools and teachers’ status and pay would be raised,
mainly in development towns and underprivileged neighborhoods. We proposed and
developed programs for training teachers and suggested changes in the curriculum to
reflect the presence of many cultures and two national identities in Israel (Betts, 2003;
Golan-Agnon, 2001; Human Rights Watch, 2001). I soon found out that although the
tenure of Yossi Sarid provided opportunities to talk about injustice, lack of equality in
the country, and how the education system nurtures, facilitates, and preserves that lack
1076 American Behavioral Scientist
of equality, Sarid did very little for change. He was so preoccupied with his battle
against the education system of Shas, the religious Mizrahi Party, that he missed the
opportunity to produce real change in the state education system and he resigned after
a short time in office. But some of our recommendations were adopted by Likud Edu
-
cation Minister Limor Livnat and some were the base for the newly appointed Dovrat
Commission for the reform of the education system.
1
Looking for the sources of inequality in education, and trying to design a plan for
change, I employed questions and methods used by feminists to explain and combat
inequality between men and women. I learned the various nuances, implications,
sources, and, hence, also the various questions asked in the attempt to understand
inequality from feminist approaches that propose different and diverse ways of ana
-
lyzing sources of inequality and ways to effect social change (Humm, 1992; Kristeva,
1981).
2
Questioning Inequality—First Wave
First-generation feminists searched for egalitarian social relations and ways to
change unequal social conditions through the search for equal citizenship. They
believed that if institutions of the state (electoral politics, higher education, etc.) were
opened to women, women would become equal citizens. From Olive Schreiner to
Simone de Beauvoir, first-generation feminists were preoccupied with the issue of
women’s material differences from men. In her book, Woman and Labour, Schreiner
(1911) argued that women’s candidature for the political sphere depends on not only
access to that sphere but also an alteration in the meaning of public and private. Vir-
ginia Woolf (1929), as well as other first-wave feminists, argued that women need
financial independence.
Thus, women from the first generation of feminism focused on questions that I
term the “how many” questions: How many women hold key positions in government,
the parliament, and other public offices? How many women writers are taught in
schools? How much do women earn in relation to men? These questions touch on the
formal aspects of equality and are based on the assumption that the greater the repre
-
sentation of women in key positions, the more their status will improve. The task of the
struggle for equality is to create numerical equality between women and men in pay,
positions, opportunities, representation, and access to key positions.
The question I asked was, How much does the Ministry of Education invest in one
student in Yeruham and Dimona and Raanana and Jedida? And although they kept
telling me this was not a good question, and that there was no answer to it anyway,
I kept asking how much the Ministry of Education invests in Arab education. It took
me months to figure out the numbers. But the figures clearly show at least some of the
discrimination: Arab education receives inferior allocations for training, supervision,
nature, and art lessons. In general, the physical infrastructure of the schools is more
dilapidated. The educational situation of the children in the unofficial Bedouin vil
-
lages is extremely dire. Many students are forced to walk kilometers to the nearest bus
Golan-Agnon / Separate but Not Equal 1077
stop and then travel large distances (up to 70 km) to reach their schools. The physical
conditions in the schools are bad and they lack basic study aids. The Arab schools have
significantly fewer of the unique programs in which the Ministry of Education invests.
We found, for example, that the money invested in an Arab student who falls under the
category of “extra need for nurturing” is on average only one fifth of the amount
invested for Jewish children and, thus, through our efforts, the Ministry changed its
measurement and budgeting methods of its “nurturing budgets” (Kahn & Yelinek,
2000). In a study we planned with the Israeli Central Bureau of Statistics, all school
principals in Israel had to reveal the budgets they have, not including teachers’ sala
-
ries. We found that for each Jewish student, schools have an average of NIS 4,935 a
year (approximately US$1,097), and for each Palestinian-Israeli student, NIS 862
(US$191). In the south, for each Palestinian-Israeli child, there are some NIS 270
(US$60) compared to children of Jewish settlers in the West Bank, for whom there are
some NIS 6,906 per year (US$1,535; Israeli Central Bureau of Statistics, 2004).
How much money is invested in Arab children in Israel as opposed to Jewish edu
-
cation? The data are hard to comprehend—the information is hard to find and the dis
-
crimination it reveals is tough to explain. Of NIS 22 billion (approximately US$5 bil-
lion)—the Ministry of Education’s budget for 2001—the Ministry was supposed to
invest at least NIS 4.4 billion in Arab students, who represent more than 20% of chil-
dren in Israel. How much does the Ministry of Education actually invest in Arab edu-
cation? It is hard to say, but the investment definitely falls far short of the above
amount. If we examine the payment to teachers for teaching hours (the form of pay-
ment that is the major part of the Ministry of Education’s budget and is calculated per
hour), in elementary education an average of 1.7 hours are invested in a Jewish student
and 1.4 in an Arab student; 43.8 hours are invested in an Arab class as opposed to 48.7
in a Jewish class. Until 1997, all programs funded by the Ministry and aimed at provid-
ing extra care (the Shahar programs) were for Jews only. Subsequent to the Israeli
Supreme Court case Follow-Up Committee for Arab Education v. Ministry of Educa
-
tion (1997), the Ministry promised that these extra care programs would also operate
in Arab education. In recent years, many programs have indeed been developed for
Arab education. Still, even if the Ministry honors its commitment to the Supreme
Court and allocates 20% of the Shahar division’s resources for Arab education, there
will still be discrimination because the proportion of Israeli Arabs who constitute a
needy population by the definition in the Shahar division plans is much higher than
20% of the general population.
The unequal distribution of support funds that the Ministry of Education gives to
associations and nongovernment organizations acting outside the education system is
especially interesting. In 1999, the Ministry of Education gave NIS 1,309,588,679
(approximately US$350 million) to associations, less than 1.5% of which went to
Arab associations. In other words, every year the Ministry of Education assists in the
promotion of associations and bodies working on behalf of education (youth move
-
ments, newspapers, museums, etc.) but gives almost no help to Arab associations.
Why are classes more crowded in Arab education? Why does the state of Israel
fund fewer school hours for Arab students? Do they need to learn less? When we talk
1078 American Behavioral Scientist
about our children, I kept asking at Ministry of Education board meetings, do we not
include the Arab children? The Bedouin children? Are they not also our children?
Then why are some of our children studying in such poor conditions? Why do we
invest less in them?
Questioning Inequality—Second Wave
First-wave feminism won legal and public emancipation for women, the vote, and
welfare rights for women. But women did not gain full equality. Thus, although first-
wave feminists pressed hard against the notion of separate spheres, arguing that
inequalities between the sexes were socially divisive, second-wave feminists, while
agreeing that sexual differences shaped the sexual division of labor, nonetheless
argued that women’s needs and rights were not identical to those of men. They
claimed that inequalities between the sexes could not be overcome by allowing
women into male-run society but rather, by changing the society to include the needs
and interests of women.
Second-generation feminists started focusing on the specifications of women’s dif-
ferences from men; they focused on the conditions of women’s everyday difference
from men in the street and at home (Humm, 1992). The second wave challenged the
traditional understanding of politics by expanding the discussion to all women in soci-
ety and arguing that “the personal is political.” Introducing the term sexual politics,
Kate Millet (1997) asked, “Can the relationship between the sexes be viewed in a
political light at all?” And Millet went on to affirm her answer by defining the political
as “power-structured relationships, arrangements whereby one group of persons is
controlled by another.” Thus, to understand inequality in education, the discrimination
in budgets—the how many questions—cannot lead us to comprehend the whole pic-
ture of inequality. Just as women learned that the liberal notion of equality is not good
enough—that it is not enough to make the same salary to create a society in which
women are equal—I added some how questions in the spirit of the second-wave of
feminism that asked why the female voice is marginalized. Considering this feminist
discussion of the diverse qualities and different perceptions held by men and women
that could enrich our society (see Gilligan, 1982), I asked, How could the education
system benefit from equal representation of the voice of Arab leadership?
Arabs are not partners in the Ministry of Education’s decision-making system, in
the outlining of policy, or in planning. There is no Arab district manager, no Arab
administration head, and no Arab representation in the Ministry’s management. Of the
thousands of people who work in the Ministry’s administrative headquarters, not even
10 are Arab, and most of them work in the cafeteria. The education system that pur
-
ports to teach our children democracy, human rights, and active citizenship does not
apply these values itself.
3
One of the Ministry of Education board meetings was held during the month of
Ramadan. I asked if the cafeteria could be opened for the early dinner of breaking the
fast, and in an unusually generous gesture, they did. It was the first time that such a
Golan-Agnon / Separate but Not Equal 1079
request was ever made. I invited to that meeting a number of Palestinian-Israeli intel
-
lectuals, and one of the senior participants from the Ministry told me: I have been
working here for 25 years, and I have never met such Arabs; people who are intellectu
-
als and not appointed as yes-men or collaborators with the security services.
The Arab head of the Arab education system not only has no authority or budget but
also never even says anything at the meetings. Between us we call him “the plant.” His
deputy, a Jewish man appointed by the General Security Service, actually runs the
department.
The fear of the Arab voice is so great that even today, every appointment of an Arab
teacher requires the approval of the General Security Service via the deputy super
-
visor of Arab Education. My attempts, as well as those of human rights organiza
-
tions who appealed to the high court, to stop this situation in which each teacher needs
the approval of the General Security Service have been unsuccessful. This situation
creates fear and lack of trust in the Arab teachers and principals and increases the
sense among the Arab public that the education system discriminates against it and
neglects it.
The fact that Arabs have no representation in the Ministry of Education reflects
their absent presence in the lives of most Jews in Israel and especially in the lives of
most of the decision makers. The inequity in budgets, curriculum development, and
subject materials that respect the culture and identity of Arabs are the problem of not
only the Arabs in Israel but also Israeli society as a whole. There can be no education
without empowerment, and this situation in which Jews make decisions, plan, and
develop curricula is one that represses not only the Arab minority but also the Jewish
majority.
Dr. Khaled Abu Assba (2004), as well as other Arab educators, claimed that equal
representation of Arabs in planning and management positions will be possible only if
an autonomous Arab administration is established. Why not acknowledge our differ-
ent voices, the Arab educators ask. To preserve the unique interests and characteristics
of the Arab population, and to determine the order of priorities and the content of
study materials, perhaps autonomous administration is necessary. In the current politi
-
cal situation, when all Arab teachers are suspected unless proven innocent, the idea
that Arabs will run their own education system seems very far from materializing.
The discussions of the Committee for Equality in Education were part of the Minis
-
try of Education’s dialogue on renewal and change, a process called Michlolim. The
title cannot be easily translated into English, as even in Hebrew the word is not clear.
But what it meant was that the Ministry should go through a holistic change.
One of the meetings of the Michlolim team took place in the hall of a hotel in
Zichron Yaakov. In attendance were 62 senior members of the Ministry of Education.
The conference was devoted to change and the fear of change and was facilitated by
three organizational consultants, all of them formerly organizational consultants in the
military. We sat at six round tables, about 10 people per table. One of the facilitators
asked those sitting at my table to change places with those at the next table. “Why
should we?” I asked. The facilitators used our refusal to change places to demon
-
strate the different stages of the fear of change. Using diagrams they had prepared in
1080 American Behavioral Scientist
advance, with accompanying transparencies, they explained the fear of change that
exists in every organization.
“Meaningful change,” I suggested,
would be if everyone at our table were to get up and leave the room and other people,
Arabs, were to come in and replace us. There are 62 of us, senior staff of the Ministry of
Education, and only 2 of us are Arabs. Today the Arabs make up about a fifth of the popu
-
lation of the state of Israel and there should therefore be at least 12 Arabs in the workshop
run for the top echelon of the Ministry of Education.
My words were met with an utter silence.
These questions—of Arab representation in the leadership of the Ministry of Edu
-
cation—are ones that have never been asked. The two Arab representatives were never
given any budget or power to make a difference. And it was agreed that the education
of Arabs should be run only by Jews.
Questioning Inequality—Third Wave
I knew all along that I could not comprehend the full meaning of inequality in edu-
cation in Israel. I knew that as a Jew, the texts I learned at school in Israel respected my
history and culture but not those of the Arab minority. I also knew that as it is not
enough to know the answers to the how many questions and the how questions, we
also have to study the curriculum, to ask, What is Fairuz, an Arab student in Um Al-
Fahm, or Rahat, or Ramle taught? What is she taught at school? About herself? Her
people? Her past? Her future? Relying again on feminist theories, I looked for ques-
tions asked by third-wave feminists.
Second-wave feminism turned to psychoanalytic as well as to social theories about
gender differences to create new feminist ethics (Cixous, 1993).
4
What remains con
-
stant throughout all waves of feminism is the idea that women are unequal to men
because men create the meaning of equality. But the third wave of feminists criticized
“the false universalism” in feminist theory, arguing that there is more than one wom
-
en’s voice, articulating the historical and cultural differences of race and class (Davis,
1981; Smith, 1984).
In the third generation of feminism, women raised the importance of the diversity
of voices and multiculturalism. To the prevailing second-generation notion, according
to which women have a different voice, were now added questions of diversity and
multiplicity among women. Black feminists in the United States claimed that their
struggle for equality was not necessarily like the struggle of middle-class and upper-
class White women’s struggle for equality (Damari-Madar, 2002; hooks, 1991). In
Israel, these voices belonged to Mizrahi and Palestinian women, women who empha
-
sized that their socioeconomic status and cultural origin influenced their perceptions
and their voices and that the creation of an egalitarian and just society would be possi
-
ble only if the variety of voices and cultures were given room within it. Borrowing
from the feminist discussion, we considered, studied, and proposed ways of respect
-
Golan-Agnon / Separate but Not Equal 1081
ing and reinforcing the different identities in the Israeli education system. Just as femi
-
nists started talking about different voices rather than a single different voice, so we
tried to look for the roots of inequality by studying what Arab children are taught and
how their curriculum can be diversified.
In a brilliant and innovative lecture delivered to the management of the Ministry of
Education, Dr. Ramzi Suliman (2004), head of the Department of Psychology at Haifa
University, claimed that the political and economic marginality of Palestinian citizens
of the state of Israel engenders cultural marginality. The void that resulted from their
alienation from their national culture is partially filled by their assimilation in a mar
-
ginal and distorted type of Israeli culture with ghetto characteristics. The product of
this culture is the “half Israeli–half Palestinian” who is meant to successfully integrate
the two identities, national and civil. Suliman stressed that the state and its various
institutions, in particular the education system and state media, continue to play a key
role in creating and perpetuating the marginal “Arab-Israeli” culture.
The emphasis on Jewish-Zionist values, with no respect for Palestinian national
identity, has increased the sense of alienation between the two nationalities and the
Arab minority’s sense of being disregarded in Israel. The Arab education system in
Israel institutionalizes the fear: fear of connection with the past, fear of sharpening the
sense of cultural and national identity, and the teachers’ fear of engaging current
affairs. It is not only the Arab schools that are damaged by this discriminatory educa-
tion policy; the denial of Palestinian history is also a characteristic of the Jewish
textbooks.
It was my friend Samie Sharkawi who taught me most of what I know about the dis-
crimination against Palestinians in Israel. Samie joined me in working at the Ministry
of Education after much hesitation and long deliberations about whether to work for
the establishment. For hours I tried to convince her that there was no choice; that if we
wanted to effect change we had to work in the education system. It is easy, I told her, to
say that this is a discriminatory system, but come try and change something to give
more children a chance. She never felt at home at the Ministry. Neither of us had
worked for the government, and although I found the freedom to ask questions, to
make many new friends among those who did not question the system there, Samie
could not stand the long drive to Jerusalem, the ugly office, and the loneliness that
came with being the only Palestinian in a building of thousands of people. For me it
was coming home, in a strange way: My mother worked at the Ministry of Education
for 35 years, and when I arrived, I met many of her old colleagues, mostly women,
who adopted me as their daughter and told me many things they would have never said
on record.
Samie Sharkawi joined the Ministry of Education not long before the second Inti
-
fada started. In the days of riots, she called to tell me about her meetings with Palestin
-
ian teachers who were afraid to let the children talk about their pain and anger. Two of
those killed by the police in October 2000 were high school children—not a single
official of the Ministry of Education came to the families to console them, and not a
single psychologist was sent to their schools.
1082 American Behavioral Scientist
Samie was mostly interested in trying to change the curriculum at Arab schools—
until now, no significant effort has been made to facilitate curricula that reflect Arab
culture, history, and literature in Arab schools. “Why do we have to learn Bialik and all
the Jewish poets and literature, learn history from a Zionist point of view, when there is
not a single textbook at school which is devoted to our own Palestinian history?” she
asked. Samie led a group of Palestinian-Israeli educators in writing and planning their
own curricula in history and civic education—they tried to develop programs in
Arabic (not just translations from Hebrew) based on Arab culture.
Samie is particularly pained by the lack of respect with which the school curricu
-
lum addresses the identity of Palestinian students in Israel. She wrote about her experi
-
ence, as a child, of negotiating the disparity between the story she was told at home and
the story she was told at school. About the poems that her father, a poet, wrote about
their family lands, which today are the lands of Kibbutz Metzer, and about her teacher
who was afraid to read those poems in class. Throughout the months we worked
together at the Ministry of Education, Samie told me that very little has changed since
her own days in school; her children go to schools that are still driven by fear. She
concluded,
At home I was pulled towards my roots; at school, consistently and powerfully, I was
uprooted. Looking back I can smile at how home won in the end. Education—that was the
magic word, the key word. That’s where we have to bring both the light and heavy tools
and continue to work.
Yes, there is much work to be done—in making sure budgets are allocated in a just
way, in allowing Arab educators the freedom to plan and run their education programs,
and in changing the curriculum. Reforming the education system is essential in our
pursuit of justice, and there is room for much research to understand the roots of
inequality and methods for change.
But as my friend Samie Sharkawi taught me, we should not lose our optimism. She
told me an old saying that her mother, who was her yesterday, today, and tomorrow,
used to say: “You can’t hide the sun with a sieve.” For years the establishment has been
trying, mainly by means of the Ministry of Education, to do so. It has not yet under
-
stood that this is impossible. You cannot hide the sun with a sieve.
Notes
1. For the first part of the report of Dovrat Commission, see http://www.education.gov.il.
2. There are different ways to categorize feminist theories. Julia Kristeva (1981), for example, suggested
that the first phase—suffrage and existential feminism—demanded economicand professionalequalitywith
men. This phase, Kristeva argued, identified with masculine time, which is linear and is characterized by a
progressive evolutionary model of social change. The second phase sought to construct a counter society
whose ethics would be shaped by female-identified concerns in “female time.” Finally, Kristeva envisaged a
third phase of feminism where the very notion of a stable identity can be called into question through what
she termed a “demassification of power.” For this article, I have used the discussion by Humm (1992) on two
generations of feminism and added the Palestinian-Israeli and Mizrahi Jewish Israeli women’s discussion of
Golan-Agnon / Separate but Not Equal 1083
third-generation feminism as was manifested in the annual feminist conferences, especially the conference
of 1996.
3. Education for human rights and democracy should be introduced to school curriculum. One of our
achievements was the declaration of International Human Rights Day on December 10, as a celebration day
at schools. We produced educational materials, videos, and teacher guides, but that was a very small step on
the way to educating for human rights in Israeli schools.
4. Second-generation feminists developed a new knowledge from the standpoint of women and were
involved in the writing of a new language—for example, the @0233criture feminine of French feminist
Helene Cixous (see, e.g., Cixous, 1993).
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Daphna Golan-Agnon is a sociologist who currently teaches human rights at the Hebrew University of
Jerusalem. She is the director of the Human Rights Fellowships Program, the Minerva Center for Human
Rights Law School, and is a research associate at the Harry S Truman Institute for the Advancement of
Peace. She is the cofounder and former research director of B’Tselem, the Israeli Information Center for
Human Rights in the Occupied Territories, and the founding director of Bat Shalom of the Jerusalem Link, a
Jerusalem-based feminist center of Israeli and Palestinian women.
1084 American Behavioral Scientist
