The Ides

3.2.2010
A couple weeks ago, I spent about 10 minutes explaining an activity to my 11Cs (lower-achieving juniors) and put the instructions on the board. When I asked if they understood what to do, I counted at least three affirmative replies, which is about three more than normal. Things were looking good. As soon as they started to move their desks to get into groups, I started circulating. As I passed one group in the front row one of the members, named Martinez, made a slight motion, the twitch of the hand that passes as a raised hand in this terribly embarrassed country. It’s more like the signal one might give to the dealer in a poker game.

In any case, I responded to the call, and Martinez shuffled his papers purposely, took a breath, looked up confidently at me and said, “Okay. So, what we do?” I looked at him askance, mirroring his own expression. Actually, I think my jaw was a little slack. We stared at each other for a few long moments, until I managed to say, “Well, uh…just do everything I explained in the last 10 minutes.” He looked down, looked back up, and said, “Oh. Okay,” then busily hunkered down to do the activity with his group. I breathed a sigh of relief that I didn’t have to relate the directions from the top and moved on.

3.3.2010
Peter and I were exploring a nearby construction site during a long weekend (March 1st was Nuclear Survivor’s Day) when we encountered a big Marshallese man name Rosen, dressed in the requisite construction worker’s uniform of jeans and a white t-shirt. We engaged in conversation, and in fearless and nearly flawless English he imparted more information about Jaluit High School than we had learned in the past seven months of working here. We found out who built the first buildings (Koreans), when they were built (1972), and that there is a complex centralized water system in place that has never been maintained enough to use. He seemed to know the whole place inside out, and told us things that no one else had known or bothered to mention.

It turned out that Rosen is qualified for all kinds of construction work, including plumbing, refrigeration systems, and a number of other skills he rattled off. He seemed busy, happy and well-fed. When I asked him where he went to high school, he replied, “Oh, sorry…I never went to high school.” No apologies necessary, Rosen. He is a good illustration of a point Peter and I have discussed in the past: unlike the United States, one doesn’t really need a high school education to live well in the Marshall Islands. Sure, it would be nice to provide college prep for everyone, but a number of the outer islanders seem to approach high school as summer camp, and they seem to be wasting their time and mine. A lot of students, even some of my best ones, say that they cannot wait to get out of “crowded” Jabor and back to their beloved home atoll, where they will probably find a partner, have kids, and harvest the bounty of the ocean, needing only enough money for rice and occasional repairs.

A few weeks ago, two very nice yachties from Seattle, WA named Don and Sharry came through Jaluit and docked at Jabor. They kindly invited us aboard their beautiful 75-foot powerboat cruiser for dinner, and we spent a few blissful hours enjoying a break in routine and food that had never seen the inside of a can. I spotted the same Kirkland extra virgin olive oil that my parents have at home, bringing on a discussion about our mutual love for Costco Wholesale. Where else could you get a whole 8-lb beef tenderloin, a plasma TV and a patio set all at the same place? Only in the West. Why buy 100 Q-tips when 2000 will do? Perhaps the East Coast will learn someday.

But I digress. I mention the yachties not only because they were great people, but they also asked an excellent question during dinner; what would we do to fix the education system here? I think it is safe to say that the problem is mostly in the elementary schools; they are too spread out and inaccessible to maintain any form of accountability on the teachers’ parts, so learning only happens when something else (ex: a funeral, church, rain, sleeping) doesn’t get in the way. As a result, many kids come into high school with the equivalent of a third-grade education. To their question, Peter and I essentially replied, “Um…it’s shot. We need a new one,” as if it was just a spark plug. I have been thinking about it, though, and I have a little more of an answer now:

It’s true that the public elementary schools are generally awful, so I change the focus to fundamentals—mostly English and math, and a little science, so they would gain the base they need for high school. I would spend less money on local teachers, and more on principals, and make sure they were easy to fire at the first hint of slacking. We’ve found that having an educated, hard-working principal makes a world of difference. Principals also need training on how to confront lazy teachers—we hear horror-stories of department heads who don’t teach a single class and get paid more than the ones who do, because of seniority and tenure.

As they finish eighth grade, elementary students take a test at their school to determine if they can go to high school. However, we have heard that they’re almost a joke, because the proctors allow or even encourage cheating to boost the school’s scores. I’m guessing part of it is an “everybody’s doing it” mentality. I would make the tests available only at one place in each atoll, and have a Ministry representative proctoring. If the kids don’t make it to the test, they obviously don’t want to go to high school very much.

Once past this hurdle, I would ensure that the best and brightest students were able to get the hell out of the RMI on scholarships and home-stays. Most families that can afford it already send their smartest to live with relatives in Hawaii for most of high school. Because of the family ties and high quality of life available to an educated person, many, if not most, come back to the RMI. I don’t think brain-drain would be a real problem.

For the students who stay, I would suggest a lot more vocational training, while reinforcing math and science. There are lots of arguments for studying a broad range of subjects in high school, and I’m not questioning their validity in a country where one can choose from innumerable paths, like the U.S. But in the Marshall Islands, it’s not a huge oversimplification to say that there are really only two paths available: one that takes you out of the RMI, and one that keeps you here. Most of our students seem very content to stick with the latter. Assuming that fact, then do they really need to learn how to organize a five-paragraph essay? I think they would be better off knowing how to grow a garden, fix an engine, repair clothing, or harvest pearls from clams. One of the vocational classes is building a motorboat for a local merchant. How cool is that??? Meanwhile, I’m teaching them about thesis sentences, and Peter’s teaching them about endothermic reactions. Yes, it’s valuable for those going to college, but in my proposed plan, those kids would probably be in Hawaii instead.

So, Don and Sharry, if you read this, that is what I would do.

3.11.2010
I was recently wrapping up a descriptive writing/collage project, and one of my students came up to me in class and showed me her work. It was an excellently constructed collage, but I recognized an illustration from one of the reading textbooks I used briefly, so I asked her incredulously, “Did you cut this out of a textbook??!!” She averted her eyes and walked away with a guilty smile. I know it wasn’t from one of the textbooks in my possession, because we haven’t used them in months, but I’m pretty sure it’s from some other class.

So what did I do? I took a few points off her final grade, and that was the end of it. Am I going to go find her reading teacher and tell him to check his books, and then suggest a punishment? In the middle of the utter chaos of a collage project in my own classroom? No, I think not.

Peter and I were fortunate to recently get the first season of “The Wire” on a flash drive, and we watched an episode that night. One line, spoken in remonstrance to the main protagonist by his detective partner, struck a chord: “Look at you, givin’ a f___ when it’s not your turn to give a f___.” Explaining the context would take too long, so suffice it to say that my experience thus far in the employ of the government is summed up well by that line. Granted, I’m not pursuing murderers in the dystopia of urban Baltimore. To me, though, it reminds me of my daily struggle to decide which students will benefit the most from my instructive energy, because there is simply not enough to go around. I realize this is not an unusual problem for educators, but I really liked the parallel between two government organizations.