Apartheid: Five Questions through the Postcolonial Lens

Throughout my analysis of Born a Crime by Trevor Noah, I realized that the true key to understanding one of the most racist political systems in existence would be through the lens of the colonizer, the colonized and the land itself. Here are 5 questions through the postcolonial lens exploring apartheid, the roles every race played and the land they occupy, along with photographs and videos to deepen your understanding.


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How did apartheid manifest, being as the whites are the clear minority in South African society?

It all started when the Netherlands invaded South Africa, bringing their military forces to shove the natives off of their land, killing and taking slaves from those who did not run. When Britain took over in the early 1800’s, they abolished slavery and instead used white labour, controlling the economy through fear and force. The greatest shift was during the Second World War when white South Africans were sent to fight in the war, forcing the government to employ black labour to make their military supplies. That was when the townships began, housing the rural workers outside the city and enforcing carding, where black people could only enter the city and work with the proper documentation. During this mass arrival, a drought struck the country and Africans gathered closer to the cities to be able to get to work faster. The government did not give them water nor sewage systems, reinforcing their control over the citizens they enlisted to work for them. Apartheid stemmed from the needs of both the colonizers and the colonized, natural disasters bringing the natives into the townships for some semblance of hope whereas the whites needed help to fight their war. Apartheid did not manifest from physical domination. Apartheid manifested from the mass financial control of the black natives.

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Photo credit: Johnny Miller

Did the townships change how apartheid shaped South African society?

The short answer: Absolutely. But not how you’d expect. The long answer: Townships are a complex living organism. They’re a hotbed for disease, where poverty is commonplace and food can be scarce. They’re crowded, forced into land that is barren. They’re constantly evolving, houses being built closer and closer together. Despite all this, the most important part of a township is not the crowding, the sickness or the fertility of the ground. Because it is an organism, because of the crowding, because of how the hand they’ve been dealt changes their economic prospects completely, townships have created a tight-knit community of friends, of family, of people looking out for people. Apartheid has inadvertently brought together a society that had been divided, separated from their land. Apartheid created townships, and those townships created a force for resistance, a force that would take what was given to them and multiply it tenfold. They’re essentially the opposite of cultural imperialism, forcing black culture into such a concentrated area rather than the white government promoting eurocentric culture and tearing apart black ethnicity. They rejected hybridity and instead allowed modern black culture to form around the ideals that apartheid is the enemy and that black solidarity is the most important concept. They’re a monument of adaptability, a testament to how dedicated the oppressed are when their rights are stripped from them, how dedicated the oppressed are when their oppressors refuse to give them any leeway. They were the taverns, the houses, the marketplaces where riots, protests, organizations were formed to fight apartheid on a greater scale. Yet they are separated from the towns, still viewed as the dirty slums, the inferior citizens of South Africa, and their existence a reminder of the segregation and racism that still exists today. So yes, the townships definitely changed how apartheid shaped South African society during apartheid. They were the reason apartheid was abolished, but they are also the reason why apartheid still exists today.

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Photo credit: Anne Rearick

How did the subaltern — in this case, black women — fight against apartheid?

When we think of the freedom fighters during apartheid, we think of Nelson Mandela, Walter Sisulu, Steven Bantu Biko, Oliver Tambo. We don’t think of the women who fought in the small ways, through small scale organizations allowing them to get involved with anti-apartheid politics, through the Defiance Campaign where they willingly broke the law along with hundreds of other black South Africans to block the criminal justice system and ended up in prison, through the 20 000 women who stood up in Pretoria and fought for their right to travel without passes, a form of carding women that was the only way to travel outside their designated townships without breaking the law. Women like Dorothy Adams, a young teacher who quickly realized how apartheid spread through the churches and schools and took up politics, becoming a household name for the resistance against apartheid. She was detained for sabotage and placed under house arrest, not allowing her to speak to more than one person at a time and travel outside the country without the government’s permission. She used her religious connections to gain a British citizenship and went into exile, but not without continuing her fight. She and fellow activist Albie Sachs created a new constitution, and when she returned to South Africa she continued her battle for a free South Africa for the Truth and Reconciliation Commission. Women like Victoria Mxenge, who, when her husband was killed, took up his place at his law firm and took on many cases of young black people mistreated by the justice system under apartheid. As well, she played a vital role in the defence against treason for the leaders of the UDF and Natal Indian Congress. She quickly took on an essential role in the National Organization of Women and as the treasurer of the UDF, never stopping the fight for justice. In a tragic twist, she was attacked and murdered in her own house at age 43. There are also the women who take up arms, like Nontsikelelo Nqikashe. She believed the only answer to apartheid was to fight, and now her regrets in how she fought lead to her becoming a military human resource officer. Just because we don’t hear about women doesn’t mean they didn’t fight. It means they won.

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Photo credit: Via Afrika

What was the role of white South Africans — the colonizers — during the fight against apartheid?

There were three very distinct groups during the process towards the abolishment of apartheid. Undoubtedly, the first group were those who were neutral. The middle class, well off white citizens who weren’t involved in politics, those who didn’t see the black neighbourhoods, those who didn’t have any firsthand effects after the abolishment. Most evidently, the second group were the white government employees, the major white politicians, the upper-class white minority who fought fervently to keep South Africa under the chains of apartheid for financial benefit and due to extreme racism. They are the villains in the resistance manifesto, the colonialists, the oppressors, those who forced the natives to change their entire lives because of their imperial interests. They are the iron fist. Finally, the last group were the fighters. The white citizens who desired an equal, fair South Africa, those who took a step and raised their signs on the picket line to raise their voices in a world where their voices were legally deemed the loudest. They understood their white privilege gifted to them during the colonization of South Africa, and they put it to work, somewhat gentrifying the fight for freedom yet contributing in a massive way. They used their extra leeway in the racist, white-ruled South Africa to pave a way for the black citizens to march, to allow those who were oppressed to reach out and seize what was theirs. But they are not the ones who are included in the story of abolishment, due to their race and due to that privilege that proved so useful. Race is not something that can be useful in one circumstance and then thrown away. Race is permanent, as shown by the long-lasting effects of apartheid, for both the white freedom fighters who threw away recognition for some semblance of equality and for the black freedom fighters who have their names engraved on a plaque for their sacrifice. Race determines your role in apartheid — the colonizer or the colonized, no matter what part in the play you acted.

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Photo credit: Ernest Cole

Were native South Africans better under colonial rule?

Colonialism is not a simple concept. Now that apartheid has been abolished and South Africa is free from the holds of their invaders, it is to be expected that their liberation would be a breath of fresh air. But for the majority of black and coloured South Africans, apartheid’s parting left more of a bitter taste in their mouths. It’s hard to establish yourself in a township after apartheid, thousands of hoops hung to jump through. It has given them financial difficulty despite apartheid’s fiscal control over black citizens, especially establishing a business in the cities when they had it so easy in the townships during apartheid. Unemployment is increasing and racism is inflamed, white citizens dismayed that black people are allowed to move into “their neighbourhoods”, “their cities”, take “their jobs”. However, during apartheid, the races were so separate that their interaction was so rare, white and black interaction belonged to one of two categories: either violence, the infamous riots where black citizens and children were slaughtered, or out of respect, white protestors hand in hand with black protestors, or white citizens living in the townships alongside the black citizens. Nothing has changed in this way. There are people who celebrate diversity. There are those who lend a helping hand. There is racism. There is eurocentricity. There are hate crimes, violence in the streets. This intense xenophobia, these effects on quality of life for black people, are they worth the abolishment of apartheid? Are they worth the price that black citizens paid in blood and sweat when nothing seems to have shifted?


Sources:

https://www.brandsouthafrica.com/people-culture/history-heritage/freedom-fighters-names-might-not-know

https://theculturetrip.com/africa/south-africa/articles/10-freedom-fighters-who-completely-altered-south-africas-fate/

https://narratively.com/nelson-mandelas-forgotten-freedom-fighters/

https://www.thoughtco.com/when-did-apartheid-start-south-africa-43460

Born a Crime, Lived a Crime

Despite all that we can learn from peering through the archetypal lens and the reader response lens when reading Born a Crime, the most enriching version of learning from Noah’s touching memoir is through the post-colonial lens. Born a Crime takes place in South Africa, during the ending times of apartheid, which is something unique and somewhat difficult to read, being an outsider and never having learned about it.

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An example of how Born a Crime represents a large aspect of the colonial oppression set upon South Africa by the Whites, the controlling of resources and the chokehold of money towards the black townships, is cheese. Cheese is not a common commodity in the townships, rather representing impossible riches and luxury. We take cheese for granted, a staple item in our fridge, but having cheese on anything in Alexandria was just a sign that you had it good. As Noah says, “You’re not really hood because your family has enough money to buy cheese” (207). Cheese represents only the surface level about how the colonizers throttled the financial resources and forced them into the least sanitary, most polluted region of their land, repressing their freedom and their choices on things as simple as what to eat. With all these limitations imposed upon them, crime is the only way they can support a family, but it has become so commonplace that it isn’t taboo. “The hood made me realize that crime succeeds because crime does the one thing the government doesn’t do: crime cares” (209). They’ve locked the native African population into a vicious cycle within their created society, of crime in order to survive and lying in order to thrive.

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Trevor Noah himself belongs to those the most impacted by the colonial oppression in South Africa; he is coloured, a biracial child who was born a crime and has now lived it. From his experiences in the playground at a young age, not knowing where to go or who he belongs to, to the same experience in a jail cell so many years later. “I looked around the holding cell. There were easily a hundred guys in there, all of them spread out and huddled into their clearly and unmistakably defined racial groups… I didn’t know where to go” (239). He cannot connect to either identity, white or black. “I looked like them, but I wasn’t them” (240). He finds himself suspended, not knowing who to become or who to truly identify with. Noah picks apart the differences between himself, the languages he knows and the experiences of his life in contrast to everyone else. “My whole life was flashing before me — the playground at school, the spas shops in Soweto, the streets of Eden Park — every time and every place I ever had to be a chameleon, navigate between groups, explain who I was” (240). He feels, as a mix of two very distinct races with their own distinct life experiences, that he cannot identify as either, and rather becomes a chameleon by disconnecting from himself and becoming what he believes everyone else wants of him.

In Trevor’s world, from the jail cell he sat in to the playground, everyone was other to him. As he jumped from neighbourhood to neighbourhood, what Trevor perceived as the “other” was always him. South Africa is a tapestry of different neighbourhoods, fragments of societies and mosaics of different races and cultures. But it is simply that — a mosaic, rather than a melting pot, and no shard truly touches one another. They are separate from each other, and the uniqueness of apartheid in South Africa means that every group sees the other as stranger. The black colonized, after forming their own society in the hood during the fall of apartheid, have created their view of the “other”, demeaning the whites and coloureds and using them as a term for mockery. The same happens in white neighbourhoods towards black and coloured people. The true “other”, for both societies, are the coloured peoples, both holding a trait that their stranger possesses — a lighter or darker skin tone. “I know that I’m black and I identify as black, but I’m not a black person on the face of it, so would the black guys understand why I was walking over?” (240) They can’t sit at the same tables, they don’t fit in, and this causes a rift in their self-identity as well as their social identity, Trevor such a good representation of this divide.

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In the third half of the book, the main focus of the political and psychological resistance in the colonized is the revolt against police as well as the hood. The hood is a completely unique political structure of a society, completely different from the way the other neighbourhoods Trevor had lived in. The township of Alexandria is not truly run by the police or by the government, but by street politics and a mutual understanding of the consequences white rule had upon blacks. “The hood was a complete sensory overload for me, but within the hood there was order, a system, a social hierarchy based on where you lived” (206), said Noah. They refuse to take on any of what they believed the constructs of white society were, frequently mocking it and preferring their way of life, even going as far to quit jobs that made them too akin to white people in order to fit in. The police are always present, but their wrath never truly poses a threat to any inhabitant of Alexandria. “It was so common that out on the corner we had a sign for it, a shorthand, clapping your wrists together like you were being put in handcuffs” (227). They create their own markets, their own living systems, and they refuse to do it with the help of the white government due to pride and to prove a point — that they are fully capable of running a society, and that the need of colonization was not necessary to ‘civilize’ them.

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Apartheid divided South Africa in more ways than one. First off, they rejected the concept of hybridity from the very beginning, even somewhat betraying Eurocentricism by separating the black peoples from the whites and not letting the societies mingle. This cultural oppression, understanding the rejection of hybridity in this environment, it allows me to see that they used the individual identity of all inhabitants to pit them against one another to take advantage of the resources South America possessed. The other division caused by apartheid, this cultural difference that the segregation of races has created and illuminated, it highlights the differences person to person, especially within their own races due to the lack of mixing. However, for someone like Trevor who sees both sides of the divide, the lines get blurred. He has no time to discover himself when he is trying to discover where he fits, whether he’s black or white, whether or not he actually belongs in this fragmented society colonialism has caused. He sees through others, Bongani and Tom and his brothers and Abel, all of them being black, yet he still struggles to place himself because he does not have a seat at any table. He is a mix of all, and that causes his perception of others to be higher and of himself lower — very objective.

Trevor is a unique case and is very alike to the readers with his own memories. As a reader looking in, we can somewhat see Trevor’s story as Trevor did, separate from the narrative and as an onlooker from the outside. As he was coloured, born a crime, and never truly fit one role or another, his role is our role. We form opinions of the world in which we live by looking on, being as we can’t live everything, and Trevor was a segregated, colonized version of that. The lessons he learned were like the lessons we learn from reading — deeper, analyzing, reflecting upon it after we take our eyes off the page, and Trevor has a similar opinion. He is able to recognize patterns in the racial divide, the way racism played a role in everything everyone did. “…racism exists, and you have to pick a side” (240) Noah said, standing alone in a jail cell confronting his race, his identity, who he decides to be in that moment.  Reading Born a Crime was unique in that way, especially from the post-colonial lens — having a narrator that related more to the reader than the people around him.

Although apartheid has been declared over, South Africa is still reeling from the effects of the systematic colonial oppression introduced for many, many years. Despite the progress attained, all those who fought for their freedom and created their own societies, South Africa will never truly forget or move past the racism and division. As we grow as a people, either in South Africa or overseas, we must take it upon ourselves to learn about the injustices so that no infraction of human rights or personal identity on the scale of apartheid can ever be conducted again. Learning about African tribal culture, appreciating the beauty in other practices of religion other than what we believe is correct, all these things help to abolish the taint of apartheid and regrow anew. We can change the image, and rather than using their culture to escape, they can use their culture as they did before — to connect. And now that apartheid is over, that Black Africans have the ability to practice their religion freely, South Africa can stand a positive example of hybridity, the walls of segregation crumbling. Born a Crime was a fantastic memoir, touching and unique in the ways Noah experienced apartheid firsthand in a way that readers could relate to themselves. It showed that humans are delicate and that racial segregation can lead to so much more than simply the division of peoples — it can lead to the division of a person with their identity, of a person with their culture, of a person with themselves.

Born a Crime, Becoming the Hero

Reading Born a Crime, every essay Trevor writes evaluates different people and different events in his life. The second segment of Born a Crime was mainly focused on his development as an individual rather than the history of apartheid and his mother, his grandmother, great-grandmother, et cetera. Through the beginning of his teenage years, we can see some characters in his life: his mother, his abusive step-father Abel, his first crush Maylene and his mischievous friend Tom take on major archetypal roles in his life, as well as Trevor taking on a few of his own along the way.

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Patricia Noah takes on what may be the most important role in Trevor’s life — the Continuing Mentor. As a single mother, she teaches him everything there is to know about living a life worth remembering, from reconnecting with his father after years of separation, to respecting women, to simply how to survive during apartheid. “She was always giving me lessons, little talks, pieces of advice” (Noah 127). She was who created him, who taught him the morals and the values he needed to survive in the world he grew up in and never left his side. She protected him as a Continuing Mentor. 

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On the other hand, Abel, his violent, impulsive step-father, represents the Shadow in Trevor’s life — his thinly veiled anger and wrathful tendencies are considered socially unacceptable, which allows Trevor to view them in himself and in others easier and to avoid bringing those traits to the surface. When he tells Abel about a minor bullying incident, he describes Abel’s actions as “a grown man venting his rage on a twelve year old boy”. The two countering sides of his teenage parenting, a wholesome mentor against a wrathful Shadow of a human, play into Trevor’s psyche and awareness of people around him, warping the fundamentality of how he will treat others and how he interacts, as well as recognizing those own dark behaviours Abel embodies in his own psyche and shutting it down before he becomes what he despised.

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On the non-parental side, the two largest archetypal influences on Trevor are Maylene and Tom. Maylene, Trevor’s first grade-school crush, represents the Shape-Shifter. Being as she switches sides very easily, from loving Trevor to loving the popular boy Lorenzo, she causes a rift in Trevor’s understanding of himself as well as his understanding of romance. Trevor highlights this as he laments, “As devastated as I was, I understood why Maylene made the choice that she did. I would have picked Lorenzo over me, too” (Noah 133). Her embodiment of the shape-shifter carries no malintent but she hides her intentions (being the Valentine of the best boy) and switches her allegiance incredibly fast.

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Tom, a companion of Trevor’s who is responsible for Trevor’s horrible prom night (giving him a date who didn’t speak more than three words of English), represents the Trickster. Tom is a neutral character, yet is always working an angle to benefit someone in one way or another. As Trevor so eloquently describes him: “A great guy, but f***ing crazy and a complete liar as well” (164). He disrupts Trevor’s intents very easily, causing bumps in the road such as Trevor’s botched night with his date Babiki, yet he truly has no intention to hurt Trevor in any way — only to work his angle. Another example is when Tom books Trevor as Spliff Star (Busta Rhymes’ hype man) despite him definitely not being Spliff Star, tricking people only for fun and the experience (and a bit of money).

Despite the two being very transient characters in his life, they form a large part of Trevor’s personality. Maylene, to him, represents the turbulence of relationships, that experience sticking with Trevor through his future adventures into love, causing his self-doubt and insecurity in social situations and letting his first love escape from his life. Tom allows him to unlock the part of him that refuses to acknowledge limitations in what he can do, that allows him to be whoever he wants to be despite what he believes and what others believe, and to realize that nothing is truly impossible without a little imagination — but he also teaches Trevor to never trust anything on sight, that there is always another side to the story, and that romance is harder than meets the eye.

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Trevor himself does not take on the traditional heroic role. He does not follow a stereotypical hero’s quest other than the quest of human self-discovery, and rather represents someone very normal, very relatable, nothing alike to an incredible hero who saves the world or a tragic hero who falls victim to his own flaw. The most prominent archetype in Trevor is the Persona. In his own words, “You don’t ask to be accepted for everything you are, just the one part of yourself you’re willing to share. For me it was humor” (141). The effects of other friends in his life, the effect of his insecurities in his appearance all lead to himself becoming the epitome of the Persona — the funnyman who lifts others up and represents liveliness and animosity. He hides the rest of himself behind that jovial mask, and this is very evident from the contrast between the stories of his childhood that gave him so much depth to his personality and what he decides to show to his peers. He may also take on the role of the Unwilling Hero later in the story, dependant on whether his story fits in the monomyth. Below is a video exploring Joseph Campbell’s theory of the hero’s journey to give you a bit of preface.

Despite Trevor not taking on the traditional heroic role early in his memoir, there are some elements of the archetypal hero’s journey included in his own journey that can contribute to him taking on the Unwilling Hero archetype. A catalyst in his personal development that might be considered his call to adventure, what takes him from being comfortable and settled in his youth, is when his father leaves at age thirteen. That leads to the introduction of Abel, “crossing the threshold”, and Abel’s presence in Trevor’s life, “the unknown world”, Abel being an intended replacement for Trevor’s father figure that quickly goes sour and becomes his “trials”. Among these trials, among his teenage years with Abel, he grows as a person, acknowledging that Abel represents the darker side of personality and human impulses with his violence and threats. Trevor develops, yet he is not free from the unknown world.

With Abel being the core of Trevor’s ‘heroic’ journey, the course is far from over. Abel has been just introduced into the story, in bits and pieces that acknowledge the beginning of Trevor’s path into the unknown. Based on the journey archetype, I expect Trevor to, in a way, defeat Abel after his own rebirth. It is known that Abel is abusive or at least on the verge of that, perhaps towards Trevor’s mother or Trevor himself. Domestic violence is not to be taken lightly, and I believe that Trevor’s first experience with that will lead to his metaphorical “death/rebirth”, and his atonement and changing of personality might be him taking the lead in his own life rather than his mother and getting rid of Abel, once and for all. When he returns to the regular world, a world without Abel, he will come out stronger, finally freeing himself from his Persona and embracing his heroic qualities that he had been hiding.

Although this is a work of non-fiction and Trevor’s story does not align perfectly with the traditional fiction concept of the monomyth, drawing parallels to other biographies is often easier than not. On first glance, with the memoir of an unremarkable story, something anecdotal, it isn’t easy to outline a hero’s journey. Rather, the monomyth is a cycle, and the average person goes through their own heroic journey many times over life. It is within the story they share with us, the anecdotes and memories they display where we can view and break down just one of their many hero’s journeys. It is those stories that form a person, and it is within those stories that we see the warping of the stereotypical archetypes. Born a Crime is one of the best examples of this, being as the essays progress farther along, Trevor deepens from a Persona, a shell of a person, to the strongest Unwilling Hero.

(If you or a loved one are a victim of domestic violence, don’t stay silent. The National Domestic Hotline is available online or on the phone in many languages 24/7.)

Archetypally, Born a Crime is enlightening. Analysing the memoir of a person, determining those real-life archetypes that often go unnoticed, it’s so easy to supplement our own lives being aware of the people around us and who they truly will be to us, how they will affect us and how long that will last. Trevor’s story, one of his many monomyths, is developing as I read into the third part, and the way it ends will dictate the verity of a monomyth in the average human experience. A memoir is merely experiences — it is those experiences that form what we believe to be the peak archetypal story. 

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Born a Crime, Created a Masterpiece

For my ISP book, I chose to read Born a Crime by Trevor Noah. I’m only a third done, but this book has changed my whole perspective of world history, especially colonization and apartheid, and how we interact with it. Through the reader response lens, this book has enriched my understanding of the word ‘apartheid’ in ways so profound and complex.

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Photo source: Vannie Bee Blog

Watch my vlog below:

Born a Crime, Created a Masterpiece

Here are some links to help further educate you on apartheid and its effects to this day, as well:

The History of Apartheid in South Africa

Apartheid in Africa

Soweto Uprising: How a Photo Ended Apartheid

Apartheid ended 20 years ago, so why is Cape Town still a ‘paradise for the few’?

Apartheid-era Cop to Finally Stand Trial for Murder

University Level English for University Level Students

When students read the admission requirements for any university program in Ontario, the first prerequisite is 4U English. From Computer Science to East Asian Studies, from Chemistry to Law, the base requirement are good marks in the most common course for Ontario students – ENG4U.

In my opinion, ENG4U is a great required course for university programs. From preparing students for the university experience to an insight into student drive, and finally to gauge a student’s overall competences in all areas of learning, 4U has a ton of benefits for admissions officers and the applicants.

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The jump from high school to university is massive leaps and bounds greater than the jump from grade to grade — students find themselves buried in a larger workload then they did during secondary. I believe the 4U English course, with a curriculum based on students developing critical thinking skills and learning how to create and elaborate on their own ideas, can help the adjustment for those entering post-secondary. Going to university takes education from basic class-learning to self-directed, and the responsibility of originality and well-thought out ideas is up to the student themselves. Grade 12 University English gives students an in-school way of doing so, especially with a good teacher directing skill development.

Every university-bound student has to take ENG4U. For some, they take it seriously with goals in mind, committing to every project and assignment to boost their own learning and to improve admissions chances. But for others (too many!) who don’t realize just how important the course actually is, it’s just another throw-away course where they give it half the energy they are capable of and end up with bottom-tier marks. The challenges and trials of the 4U class allow universities to truly see the demographics of students and separate the hard workers from those who ignore responsibility and shun their class load in favour of other activities.

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Students who apply to programs such as the sciences and maths probably don’t see the purpose of universities taking their 4U grade into effect — when in reality, it gives universities a new view of them as a student and their attitude towards education. Having the 4U course be a requirement in science, technology, engineering and math programs is a way for admissions officers to see the student’s strengths and whether they are one-sided towards STEM or overall academic excellence. Even in STEM programs, writing analytically, reading critically and speaking with purpose are 100% necessary for success in post-secondary school.

In the end, it really all comes down to how a university sees you on paper. From your grades to essays, it’s how the student is portrayed as a strong scholar and the desired member of the university’s community. With a course such as 4U that every university requires for all programs, a great performance shows them you’re a good candidate as well as responsible and capable of handling post-secondary. It’s up to the student to demonstrate those capabilities to them, and that’s why I believe 4U English is rightfully a required course for university programs.

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