While meandering toward writing group today, I heard this story from NPR about refugees in Germany who were being sought after because of their training in the sciences. It talks about a German professor, Carmen Bachmann, who realized there was wasted intellectual and human potential by letting the refugees languish in camps. Yes, she agreed, their basic needs of shelter and food were met, but many of them were the tops of their fields before the civil war in Syria (and other humanitarian crises) sent them to Europe.
As she got to know the people, she realized that many of them had, in the chaos of fleeing war, found their diplomas, their degrees, and brought them with them. The quote that really got to me was this one: "Bachmann realized that these people had fled with only their most precious possessions — and, for many, the diploma was one of them."
I've been thinking a lot about education lately. Supposedly, Mark Twain said something along the lines of "Don't let your education get in the way of your learning." This can be savagely true far too often. I don't think it's necessarily the intention of the teachers at any given school to be impediments to their students' learning, but instead an aggregate effect due to our structure. We all know how schools are set up, even if the fine details of which classes and schedules used apply to our situation or not. No matter how you cut it, however, kids are running an on-average schedule of eight classes per semester. These are almost never cohesive: Science, followed by art, followed by history, followed by math, followed by physical education, followed by English, followed by foreign language, followed by...followed by... To quote Shakespeare (who lifted from Spenser), there is "neither rhyme nor reason" to how a student's education is organized.
While there are some logical chunks in place--a grade 9 student in my school, for example, will learn about ancient world history before taking my 10th grade class about more modern world history--there is very little connective tissue between topics.
More than that, however, is the idea that each teacher operates under: "Mine is the only class." Now, a good teacher recognizes that, in reality, this isn't true, and will adjust her schedule and assignments to prevent overloading students with too much work at any given time. But even in the small scale situations of the workload (regardless of if it's homework or in-class work), the aggregate problem is still there. Because the chemistry doesn't directly apply to the gym or the theater, it creates a type of intellectual schism. We adapt to it, but because of this set up, we short circuit how the world interconnects as we learn about it in compartmentalized situations.
The end result in this is, well, the current educational system. We're all trying to figure out the best way to teach the youth, to maintain jobs that we have and love, and to satisfy those who fund these efforts that our work is worthwhile. If that's not a herculean task, I worry what would be. In the hustle of this type of education, the value of learning is fleeting.
This pulls me back to the diplomas. If you had to flee your home because your hometown was becoming a war zone, would you snag your diploma? I mean, I'd grab my Shakespeare--and assume my wife would grab a scrapbook or two and maybe some scriptures--but my diploma? Man, I don't even know where that thing is! Packed away in a plastic bin, a slip of paper among so many--hardly worth anything to me, even as a symbol.
Yet these refugees recognize that the effort of learning--even through imperfect educational systems--is something to treasure, something to preserve, something to be proud of. They flee their homes but retain their knowledge, and to help others recognize their worth, they bring that token of their educational accomplishments. That is impressive.
That leads to my final question: How can we help students understand that learning is a treasure?
As she got to know the people, she realized that many of them had, in the chaos of fleeing war, found their diplomas, their degrees, and brought them with them. The quote that really got to me was this one: "Bachmann realized that these people had fled with only their most precious possessions — and, for many, the diploma was one of them."
I've been thinking a lot about education lately. Supposedly, Mark Twain said something along the lines of "Don't let your education get in the way of your learning." This can be savagely true far too often. I don't think it's necessarily the intention of the teachers at any given school to be impediments to their students' learning, but instead an aggregate effect due to our structure. We all know how schools are set up, even if the fine details of which classes and schedules used apply to our situation or not. No matter how you cut it, however, kids are running an on-average schedule of eight classes per semester. These are almost never cohesive: Science, followed by art, followed by history, followed by math, followed by physical education, followed by English, followed by foreign language, followed by...followed by... To quote Shakespeare (who lifted from Spenser), there is "neither rhyme nor reason" to how a student's education is organized.
While there are some logical chunks in place--a grade 9 student in my school, for example, will learn about ancient world history before taking my 10th grade class about more modern world history--there is very little connective tissue between topics.
More than that, however, is the idea that each teacher operates under: "Mine is the only class." Now, a good teacher recognizes that, in reality, this isn't true, and will adjust her schedule and assignments to prevent overloading students with too much work at any given time. But even in the small scale situations of the workload (regardless of if it's homework or in-class work), the aggregate problem is still there. Because the chemistry doesn't directly apply to the gym or the theater, it creates a type of intellectual schism. We adapt to it, but because of this set up, we short circuit how the world interconnects as we learn about it in compartmentalized situations.
The end result in this is, well, the current educational system. We're all trying to figure out the best way to teach the youth, to maintain jobs that we have and love, and to satisfy those who fund these efforts that our work is worthwhile. If that's not a herculean task, I worry what would be. In the hustle of this type of education, the value of learning is fleeting.
This pulls me back to the diplomas. If you had to flee your home because your hometown was becoming a war zone, would you snag your diploma? I mean, I'd grab my Shakespeare--and assume my wife would grab a scrapbook or two and maybe some scriptures--but my diploma? Man, I don't even know where that thing is! Packed away in a plastic bin, a slip of paper among so many--hardly worth anything to me, even as a symbol.
Yet these refugees recognize that the effort of learning--even through imperfect educational systems--is something to treasure, something to preserve, something to be proud of. They flee their homes but retain their knowledge, and to help others recognize their worth, they bring that token of their educational accomplishments. That is impressive.
That leads to my final question: How can we help students understand that learning is a treasure?