Anne Sullivan, Helen’s “Teacher,” describes her initial encounters with Helen thus:
As I began to teach her, I was beset by many difficulties. She wouldn’t yield a point without contesting it to the bitter end. I couldn’t coax her or compromise with her. To get her to do the simplest thing, such as combing her hair or washing her hands or buttoning her boots, it was necessary to use force, and, of course, a distressing scene followed. The family naturally felt inclined to interfere, especially her father, who cannot bear to see her cry. So they were all willing to give in for the sake peace.
Keller, Helen. The Story of My Life. Norton, 2003. page 142
This presents a not uncommon scenario in the lives of educators, especially the lives of special educators. On the one hand, the desire to teach with love, to affirm the student’s needs and wants and avoid force. On the other, a certain need for authority and compliance.
Anne Sullivan solved this problem in a way that would be totally unacceptable now.
I told her [Helen’s mom] that in my opinion the child ought to be separated from the family for a few weeks at least—that she must learn to depend on and obey me before I could make any head-way.
143
Anne and Helen went to live together in a “little garden-house about a quarter a mile from her home.” The end result of which was that after a series of “terrific tussle[s],” the “wild little creature of two weeks ago has been transformed into a gentle child…The little savage has learned her first lesson in obedience, and finds the yoke easy.”
But after Helen is “broken in” so to speak, her education is the exact opposite: the modern liberal pedagogist’s dream. No rote lesson’s at the blackboard, but spontaneous lessons largely outdoors, active, and full of play. To quote Anne again:
No, I don’t want any more kindergarten materials…I am beginning to suspect all elaborate and special systems of education. They seem to be to be built up on the supposition that every child is a kind of idiot who must be taught to think. Whereas, if the child is left to himself, he will think more and better, if less showily. Let him go and come freely, let him touch real things and combine his impressions for himself, instead of sitting indoors at a little round table..
153
This emphasis on play, independence, and freedom for the child contrasts sharply with her own early behavior towards Helen. How are we to relate Anne Sullivan’s incredibly progressive and successful later methodology with the authoritarian and force-based compliance on which it was initially based? Was she right to use force initially, in order to, again in Anne’s words, teach the child that “everything cannot be as he wills it”?
Anne justifies herself by pointing out the “terrible injustice to Helen of allowing her to have her way in everything,” and Roger Shattuck, who provides the introduction, agrees, saying
the violent battles did not break Helen’s spirit…the battle between a twenty-one-year-old and a seven-year-old obliged Helen to take account of the existence of other people and of the possibility of sharing her world with them…without that shift toward attentiveness to others, she would not have learned finger spelling and would have remained buried alive inside herself
xii-xiii
Is it really true though, that force was the only way of “[obliging] Helen to take account of the existence of other people”? Would her life have been so meaningless without Anne’s intervention as to be equivalent to being “buried alive”?
Now, it should be noted that Anne did not beat Helen or use violence to inflict pain. They wrestled, essentially, in a way that would be considered harmless between siblings or kids. More troubling is perhaps the psychological imbalance of power. Anne writes much later, after Helen is already somewhat famous, that “it is a great thing to feel that you are of some use in the world, that you are necessary to somebody. Helen’s dependence on me for almost everything makes me strong and glad.” This is the great contradiction of disability services, and perhaps the most troubling sentence in the whole book.
Helen’s account contains no traces of this early struggle between her and her “Teacher,” or of any later resentment on her part of her dependence. This could be because, being seven at the time, she doesn’t have a clear memory of those fights, or they weren’t that traumatic, or she may have even felt genuine gratitude for Anne’s use of force, in the same way we might feel gratitude to the surgeon who inflicts pain in order to make it go away. Or possibly she did feel resentment for the unequal balance of power between her and Teacher, but was unable to express it, whether for fear of being guilty of ingratitude or because depending on Teacher for access to the outside world as much as she did left her no means of criticizing the source of that access.
I don’t know quite what to make of Helen Keller’s story… so I’ll stop here for now.