The town of Neuchâtel, in the Trois Lacs region of Switzerland, is famous for its wines, its castle in yellow limestone, and its artisanal chocolatiers. The proverbial jewels, however, are safely locked away in the civic museum, and only come to life to the gapes of tourists once a month, or by special appointment. They are known as the Droz automata, and were bought by the town in 1906 for the eye-watering sum of 75,000 gold francs.
They are worth every ounce. Built by the Jaquet-Droz family during long and snowed-up winters in the Swiss Jura, they are a masterclass of 18th century invention. There are three puppets, each beautifully dressed in period clothes and made to look as lifelike as possible. Inside each is an intricate system of cams and gears which gives them the facility of complex movements and functions. 'The Drawer', for example, can produce a number of neat sketches. 'The Writer' is so complicated that 'he' shakes his wrist every time his feather dips into the inkwell, to prevent the ink from dripping, and 'The Musician' can play wonderful tunes on her organ. Because it's all mechanical, they can be set up to write, draw, or play a range of pieces, as their programmer wills.
The Jaquet-Droz model of education is alive and well. Only a few days ago, the Nationalist Party media told of how the Prime Minister was very spontaneously surrounded by children at the Trade Fair. Falling over each other, they spilled their thoughts on the environment, which, by some lucky coincidence, turned out to bear an uncanny likeness to his thoughts on the subject.
They seemed terribly concerned about the rising energy bill, and lobbied for the construction of wind farms. 'They might look bad,' one young girl (whose surname was not Gonzi) said, 'but they're absolutely essential'. The children were also described as having 'a clear idea about the environmental situation, in Malta and elsewhere'. That's one up on Al Gore then.
This wasn't a one-off. A couple of weeks ago, George Pullicino somehow kept a straight face as schoolchildren lined up to tell him how unhappy they were about the three Rs, alternative energy, sea pollution, and such pangs of childhood. 'Those who cause damage through quarries should be held responsible,' one child said. Her colleague nodded solemnly and added that 'people should really know how their misuse of energy is destroying the world'. The event was called 'Dear Minister', which reminded me of something I had come across in a biography of a man who was born Joseph Dzhughashvili in Georgia in 1879. It was a poster in which a crowd of smiling children addressed Dzhughashvili: 'Thank you, our dear Stalin, for our happy childhood'.
I am not suggesting the Prime Minister and Pullicino have much in common with the architect of the Great Terror. There are, however, three issues that need to be raised.
First, there is a fine line between education and indoctrination, and it has nothing to do with how 'true' the content is. The former is the imparting of knowledge, intellectual or moral, to people in a top-down way (whatever egalitarian fantasies the reformers might have); in their own time, people will then be free to evaluate and reject or accept that knowledge. Indoctrination, on the other hand, involves the pretence that knowledge is self-generated (implying that it is self-evident), and takes the form of ritual and repetitive declarations of that knowledge. I leave it to readers to decide where the crowds of children chanting to Ġuġinu l-Iljunċinu (the new children's rights mascot) that human rights are universal, stand.
Second, bombarding children with thoughts of carbon credits and passive smoking is robbing them of their childhood. There's enough time in life to worry about these matters, and children would be better occupied thinking about tree houses or the fox and the grapes. I mean, first, carefree fun, for which childhood is one's best bet, and, second, literature and fiction, which seem to have been replaced by practical knowledge. (Again, Stalin would be delighted). No wonder a new Harry Potter is such an event - as it happens (not because it need be so) it's the only time children get to drift off and not care a hippogriff's bottom about the emissions of the Hogwarts express.
Third, there is a major contradiction. On one hand, we think of children under the age of 16 as immature - even if at times highly intelligent - people who are not in a position to make informed decisions on a variety of topics. (I subscribe fully to this view.) On the other, when it suits us, we parade them as some sort of little sages, especially with respect to 'earthy' issues like health and the environment.
For example, they are officially in no position to tell the difference between Blata l-Bajda and Hamrun, and to express their views on ballot. When it comes to global warming technofixes, however, or gas hydrate release, they seem to know exactly what the planet requires, and we are prepared to listen. Bizarre, really.
The Drawer was programmed to sketch a profile of Louis XV, and The Writer has in his time written long sentences in praise of former French President François Mitterrand, among others. Jaquet-Droz himself, however, seems to have been privately rather tongue-in-cheek about his inventions. He is said to have had fun at Descartes' expense by having his creature write 'Cogito ergo sum'. There's hope yet.
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