Sleep In

You could hear a pin-drop in the empty rooms of Liceo N7 de Nina Lousia Saavedra, a public high school for academically high-scoring girls. July marks the middle of the school year in Chile, but the sole occupied classroom, an auditorium with a mountain of teenagers wrapped in multi-colored sleeping bags threatening to topple off of a wooden platform, contains only the occasional rustle of polyester blankets. Contanza Lang, a 16-year-old 11^th grader here in the capital of Chile, spent her summer vacation in an unusual way: sleeping at school.

With “I ♥ Nerds” on her grey hoodie, Lang joined high school and university students across the country sleeping in schools to take a stand against Chile’s “unequal” education system as part of a movement that could be called a “sleep in” in the spirit of the “sit ins” that marked the U.S. civil rights movement. In protests at schools and boycotts at universities, students are calling for better access and greater government investment in a high-quality, affordable public education.

The education movement has intensified as protesting students’ frustration with Chile’s President Sebastián Piñera grows. On July 18, Piñera sacked his minister of education Joaquín Lavín replacing him with a relative political newcomer, former Minister of Justice Felipe Bulnes. Bulnes scheduled meetings with university students, but neglected to contact high school students, which caused a severe backlash. Over 20 teenagers around Santiago escalated their sleep in to a hunger strike.

Students are leading the movement unlike education reform efforts in the U.S., where parents often stand center stage. In the states, students can be stuck in a low-performing public school after being wait-listed at a charter school without the means to pay for private. In Chile, the educational access issues are more widespread. 

The Student Confederation of Chile (CONFECH) called students to protest in April, a month after school began. Students had enough of the growing privatization trend in Chile that began under Augusto Pinochet's dictatorship in the 1980s.  Under this system, government funds for education aren’t only set aside for public schools. The funds also support private schools because they are classified as “non-profit” institutions, even though these schools also cash in on tuition. Almost half the students in Chile pay for an education at a private school. Students from lower-income households, like Lang, cannot afford to go.

Whether or not the protesting teenagers will see a revolutionary change in their education is still up in the air, but they said they refuse to settle for less. Piñera offered $4 billion dollars of state funding to cut back interest rates on student loans and add scholarships to universities. The money failed to placate the protesters, who said his plan won’t correct the structural inequalities plaguing the current school system.

About 50,000 demonstrators responded to the offer on July 14 in an effort led by CONFECH. To the beat of pounding drums and roaring crowds, protesters forged through Santiago covered with banners and demanding an overhaul of the education system. It began peacefully. It ended with hospitalized police and marchers drenched by water cannons and teargas.

Just five days after the march fighting for education as a public good, the president came under fire - thanks to his controversial word choice - when he likened education to “a consumer good.” He said:

“It is a consumer good. Education means knowing more, understanding better, having more culture, being able to take better advantage of the tools and opportunities available to us in order to modernize and improve all our lives. But education also has an investment component to it.”

Lang said she's fed up with the current administration, which is why she has spent countless nights – including weekends - at her school, Liceo N7, a public high school for academically high-scoring girls in the well-off neighborhood of Providencia.

On a recent Saturday afternoon, Lang slid onto the bench of a dusty picnic table of girls in the courtyard. To her left, students hung their desks, chairs and tables along a wire fence. Their tangled, steel legs aim at well-trod sidewalk. Rust creeps onto their cold appendages after six weeks of exposure to the southern-hemisphere winter. Lang freed her hands from under her heavy wool pea coat and placed them on table to animate her post-graduation plans.  She dreams of one day getting her hands dirty as a biologist or environmentalist.

Lang speaks fluent Spanish and English, is a ringleader to her friends, but claims she’s terrible at math. She stresses about having a low grade-point average called a NEM. Her acceptance to a public university hinges on her earning a solid NEM and high test scores. Scholarships are scarce and saved for outstanding students. Private universities in Chile cost a bundle.

Unlike U.S. high school students, the option to enroll in a community college or a less-competitive public university isn’t on the table. Being a late bloomer or a subpar test taker is unacceptable for an aspiring biologist or environmentalist.

Lang worries she won’t have the chance to realize her dream.  She cites improving access to a first-class education as the primary reason she’s camping out at school.

Before the protest, she woke up at about 5:30 a.m. every Monday through Friday. She braved a two-hour bus ride each morning to get to Liceo N7 before the bell at 7:55. On occasion, she climbed onto the bus empty handed, but the bus rider would wave her into the bus free of charge. Between her school day, the bus trek, after-school activities, and the ride home, she said, “You pass all the day in school. It’s practically (like) you live here, but now it’s literally you live here.”

Lang’s classmate, 16-year-old Kattia Meneses, plans to teach language and communications. She could easily make a quick trip home to Santiago Centro to sleep a sound 8-hours on her mattress, but she recognizes the importance of solidarity, so she hits the sack at school.

She halts the conversation on occasion with a single-word quip causing the table of girls to giggle. “We’ve become like a family,” she said.

They sleep on a wooden stage and swallow spoonfuls of plain yogurt with grapes, but according to Meneses, they’re equipped with more than enough to sustain themselves. “We are fighting,” said Meneses. Lang left the picnic table and pushed open the door to reveal a silent sprawling gymnasium where the girls can play games and whack ping-pong balls. For food, a few parents stop by to set out snacks like toast and tea.

They’re also combating the stereotype that teenagers have short attention spans. Students have been on strike since April, and their effort seems to be growing. Meneses said, “It doesn’t matter how long it takes.”

Their boycott led Lavin, former minister of education now serving as the minister of planning, to declare an early winter break from June 29th until July 13th. Because of his decision, students lost vacation time instead of class days. The piles of girls on their sleeping shift inside Liceo N7 are evidence that Lavin’s plan didn’t work. Lavin can in large part thank the protests for his dismal 24% approval rating and subsequent employment relocation.

Lang gave up her time off willingly. “We don’t really care. We know its repression. We know we can go to the beach or parties or something like that, but we are not. We are here, working,” she said.

Liceo N7 student, Valeria Munoz, 16, said: “We absolutely don’t want to miss any class. We’re struggling to have a better education. We’re motivated. We want a better, less expensive education as they have in many other countries. I want to learn about the government, politics. I want to be a good citizen.” 

Munoz isn’t eyeing a career in politics. She set her sights on becoming a professional singer. “Not like Hannah Montana. The real thing,” she said.

Her parents support her being active in the process as long as she texts them frequently.

Home life isn’t smooth sailing for all the girls. Lang’s temporary move-out is causing friction with her parents, who would prefer she stay home. Despite this pressure, she won’t be deserting her comrades because, she said, “This is my future, not the future of my mother.”

Meneses struggles too, with her parents. She said, “They tell me that there are other people to go. I always end up fighting about it, but I know the more people the better.”

The arguments seem to stem from parental concern about their safety and missing school time, not from a lack of support for the movement. Last weeks protest wasn’t the only time Chilean police showered demonstrating students with tear gas and water cannons.

Oscar Velasco, president of the school’s parent volunteer organization, Centro de Padres for Liceo N7, said he admires their effort. “They are not partying. They are not playing hooky. They are doing something important and good for the country.  We as parents really support them 100 percent.”

Many adults in Chile are also unimpressed by Piñera. His approval rating dove to 35 percent according to a survey by the Centro de Estudios de la Realidad Contemporanea, a stark contrast to his popularity peak of 63 percent after the world watched the incredible rescue of the Chilean miners.

After the rescue, U.S. media attention largely moved away from Chile. Headlines often feature pro-democracy protests in the Middle East or internal education issues, but aside from a brief mentions in a few publications, the student protests sweeping through Chile have gone unnoticed in the mainstream media.

In the meantime, Lang and her friends often gather outside the sliding entrance gate to the school. They take turns zipping off from the pack to approach each passerby. Lang carries a plastic cup for donations in hand, an oversized notebook under her arm, and a hopeful expression on her face.  She tirelessly asks for money to buy food for the girls and scribbled sentences of encouragement to fill her notebook. One reads: “Be strong. We’ll win this."