The Struggle for Education: A Teacher’s View of May ’75 and Its Legacy

Personal Recollections

Despite being in the Labour Party’s 1967 manifesto, free education was finally announced and implemented in 1976, marking a pivotal shift in a different political context. This enduring policy remains a cornerstone of our welfare state, directly stemming from the May 1975 student mobilization

By Sada Reddi

From 1968 to 1969, I taught at a secondary school in upper Plaines Wilhems, and it always pained me to interrupt class at the end of each month. The school clerk would enter, call out a few names, and these pupils would be asked to gather their belongings and go home. Their parents’ inability to pay school fees, or arrears of a month or two, led to a truly sad scene for everyone. Teachers and friends watched as these students departed stoically, their young hearts crushed by a sadness not of their own making. The empty spaces on classroom benches, or the “absent” marks in the register, served as stark reminders of pupils who never returned — perhaps never getting a second chance to acquire basic life skills.

This heartbreaking scenario was common across all colleges. Many students dropped out of school entirely, while countless parents endured immense hardship, struggling to save for their children’s education or sending them to do odd jobs — selling peanuts or lollipops — just to earn school fees. It’s well-known that some mothers even pawned their wedding chains to cover examination fees for their children. This deep-seated struggle was the primary catalyst for the May ’75 protest, which saw thousands of students participate, predominantly from private colleges. Regardless of whether their thoughts were fully articulated, they were profoundly aware of the inequity in the prevailing educational system, an issue vehemently condemned by private college managers.

The protest remains vivid in many memories. Over the last fifty years, numerous former students have shared their recollections of that historic moment when thousands marched toward Port Louis, only to be blocked by police at the Grande Rivière Nord Ouest Bridge. The protest lingered for one or two weeks across the country before eventually fading. The government learned its lesson: it passed the PSSA Act of September 1976, taking control of private secondary education. Then, in December 1976, on the eve of general elections, free education was announced — a landmark decision that shaped the development of modern Mauritius.

I was at John Kennedy College in 1975 when the May protest erupted. I’d joined in 1972 as an Education Officer, teaching history, and worked under Anand Mulloo, who was one of the most inspiring teachers I’ve ever met — comparable to another great history teacher, Mr Lamy, who later became the University of Mauritius registrar. Anand Mulloo was a truly enthusiastic and innovative educator, a real bundle of creative energy. He revolutionised our curriculum by replacing British and European history with World Affairs. He believed in learning beyond the classroom walls, taking students out to observe society firsthand.

I joined him and our students on a survey of poverty in lower Beau-Bassin, and we later ventured to Camp Carole in the south to study the lives of its inhabitants. For him, education was about understanding society to change it for the better. Under his guidance, our World Affairs students organized a major exhibition in the college hall that drew students from other institutions. He also fostered lively debates among students, leading some to establish a student club that regularly organised debates in colleges across Rose-Hill. This, in turn, significantly raised student awareness about the critical issues of the day.

The discriminatory state of education

At John Kennedy College in 1975, an initial protest was sparked when the Deputy Rector sent a letter in Chinese to some parents, aiming to improve communication. Upper VI students were outraged by this, denounced the Deputy Rector, and staged a protest. While matters eventually calmed down, the press regularly featured articles decrying the discriminatory state of education, with managers from private colleges leading these criticisms. Sometime in May, school managers from several secondary schools organised a protest march. This demonstration began in the streets of Rose Hill, with managers, including the manager of Eton College, leading the way, followed by their students. Earlier, the press had reported student strikes in one or two colleges in Port-Louis and other areas.

When students at John Kennedy College learnt about the protest march on May 20, 1975, in Rose Hill, the college buzzed with excitement. Many quickly decided to join and head for Port Louis. Around 10 o’clock, news or a rumour also reached students that D’Unienville, the rector of Royal College, Curepipe, had released his students to participate. By then, classes at John Kennedy were already deserted. I do remember the names of those enthusiastic about the protest: Rex Stephen, along with students known only by their surnames like Thancanamootoo, and possibly Jeewah, were among them. In Form IV, Jim Veerasamy and Sunil Dwarkasingh were notable, though I have no idea if Lesjongard or Cehl Meeah participated, as they always seemed quiet and self-effacing.

With classes empty, teachers gathered in the staff room, whiling away the time playing dominoes or personal work. I joined my friend Rajesh Bhowon, the Geography teacher, and we sneaked off to Port Louis in his Hillman. We couldn’t go beyond Grande Rivière, where police had blocked a crowd from crossing the bridge. Vinesh Hookoomsingh was there, and on a nearby building, someone, seemingly a foreigner, was waving the national flag.

At 2.30 pm, we headed back to college. On our way, we still saw students making their way to Port Louis. We also passed an overturned police motorcycle, which a traffic officer was trying to extinguish, and at Chebel, workers were demonstrating, pelting stones at unknown targets. To avoid getting caught up in the protesters’ excitement, we took a short-cut to reach college in time before the attendance register was locked away.

The following day, news spread of police incursions at a college, alongside a rumor that a student had sustained an eye injury from a baton charge. Rose-Hill’s town center was eerily deserted, as if under curfew. That same day, Osman Gendoo, Vinesh Hookoomsing, and I — all three staff members from John Kennedy College — visited the University of Mauritius. We urged the Student Union president to join the strike, as university students had not participated in the march to Port Louis. He refused, subsequently denouncing us in the Week-End newspaper, stating that “trois enseignants d’un collège d’Etat étaient venus nous voir” (three teachers from a state college had come to see us) to join the protest movement.

The MMM’s position on the student protest

That afternoon, I boycotted a history lesson scheduled for educational TV. On Saturday, students continued to gather in Port Louis. I was there with Gendoo and a few students, observing police use tear gas to disperse them, chasing them toward the citadel and the nearby mountain. Near the Company’s Garden, I encountered Jean Claude Augustave, a friend and former St. Andrews School classmate whom I recalled tying his exam scripts with a Mao pin. I asked him about the MMM’s stance on the student protest, but he remained lost in thought, offering no reply.

After May 20, 1975, the protests persisted across several colleges, with John Kennedy students still refusing to attend classes. The Chief Education Officer, Mr Joomye, and the Permanent Secretary, Mr Bell, subsequently visited the college, asking students to send a delegation for negotiations. We, however, advised students against sending a delegation, suggesting instead that they negotiate collectively.

Upon their arrival, the officers were met by an unruly crowd of students who clamoured for a collective negotiation. Overwhelmed, the officials had to rush back to their car and left. The following day, all students and staff were instructed to gather in the hall for an assembly. Again, we informed the students that while we, as teachers, would be present, they were not obligated to join us. At 10 o’clock, despite the rector and staff being in the hall, all students refused to enter, and the assembly was cancelled.

Sometime later, Mr Banchillon was appointed as the new rector. After a week or two, Osman Gendoo was called to his office and asked to go to Port Louis to meet Mr Joomye. He went, and then it was Vinesh Hookoomsingh’s turn. Hookoomsingh later told me he had faced a small committee of officers who questioned him about encouraging students to strike — a charge he naturally denied.

The next day, the Rector called me and asked me to meet Mr Joomye. I initially refused, explaining I couldn’t interrupt my lesson, but he insisted I had his permission to go to Port Louis. It then occurred to me that Mr Murday, the Permanent Secretary, had once verbally reprimanded Mr Mulloo in the streets of Port Louis for not being in class at that hour. So, I told the Rector I would only go if he provided written permission. He was shocked by my apparent disobedience to a higher officer and refused to give it. As I continued to refuse, I asked him to request that Mr Joomye send me a formal summons to headquarters, specifying the reasons. I never received such a letter, and that was the end of the matter.

In December 1976, the Prime Minister announced free education, a move widely perceived as an election strategy to win over students and their parents. However, during my own campaign in constituency number 13, this announcement appeared to have little significant impact on the electorate’s mindset. Young people and workers largely remained uninfluenced by the decision, choosing instead to vote for the MMM in the election.

Nevertheless, free education from primary to tertiary level proved to be a genuine game-changer. It transformed countless lives and contributed profoundly to the emancipation of women, particularly crucial in a patriarchal society where boys’ education was historically prioritized over girls’, especially in families unable to afford schooling for all their children. While the Labour Party had included free education in its 1967 general election manifesto, the measure was ultimately announced and implemented in a very different political climate. It has since remained a cornerstone of our welfare state — a direct legacy of the thousands of students who mobilized on that historic day in May 1975.

Mauritius Times ePaper Friday 23 May 2025