Mayhaps it should be a blog...
Although I use this more like a journal than a blog, (believe it or not) I actually have wonderful conversations on a daily basis that are just too good for me to be able to capture them here. Honestly, I hate writing. The problem is, I have a multitude of (I believe) useful observations about living here. One lengthy conversation (which is an ongoing discussion between all the ETAs) of this week has been the education system. On this topic, there are so many things to say, I don't know where to start....
So I just shamelessly stole from Biff's blog (but I helped her clarify phrases and add more thoughts!!)
I’ve noticed that on this blog I never take the time to discuss what I actually do all day: teach English and study Arabic. I suppose that’s because it’s always a little more intimidating to write about the trials of daily life than an impromptu [party at our house]. With that said, the most rewarding and educational aspect of being here is surely my time in my classroom. I could write many posts about it, but I’ll spare you.
Every day, I’m struck by the differences between the Jordanian and American education systems. In the U.S., I was lucky enough to attend a fantastic high school (which I reflect upon constantly); here, I teach 11th grade English, at a very good private school with a great teacher from whom I learn a lot. However, the two schools really could not be more different in their daily rhythms and in their classroom practices, and those differences, I believe, are mostly attributable to the schools’ respective education systems.
In 12th grade, students here take a national exam, the tawjihi, over the course of two weeks in the winter and the spring. In that exam, they’re tested on everything they’ve learned in high school: math, physics, biology, chemistry, English, Arabic, religion, etc. From there, their scores on that exam are averaged, and then they are placed in universities according to that score. The top students in the country become doctors, then engineers and accountants, and so on, though I’ve heard you can pay extra to study a subject you were not assigned to.
Like somewhat similar education systems around the world, in France, for example, the theory behind all-important national exams is that they can help level the playing field. The system has the supposed benefits of funneling the most talented students into critical professions, with mixed results: Jordan has a fantastic health care system, but also, I’ve read, the highest number of engineers per capita in the world, many of whom are underemployed.
From what I’ve seen in my school, the tawjihi has a huge impact on the classroom and is detrimental to the time allotted to teaching critical thinking. The English portion of the exam, for my students, is relatively easy, whereas they dread physics and math. But that’s not to say that my students are necessarily fantastic at English, just that they are well prepared to answer questions in rote formulas on a two-hour long exam with no speaking component. For some of them, there is admittedly little motivation to improve their English, nor to improve their speaking or their reading comprehension. My best students, one could argue, would be well-suited sitting in the back of the class studying for their physics exam.
At the same time, it’s easy to imagine a situation where a student is fantastically gifted at math and physics and chemistry - the subjects one would think would make a great engineer - but terrible at languages, and thus his or her average on the tawjihi would be too low to allow him or her study the appropriate discipline. Or, being terrible at the sciences could hurt your score so badly you would be unable to study English. Every day here, it seems, I’m regaled with a story about a tawjihi tragedy: “I loved medicine but only got into a school an hour’s commute away, now I study Arabic at a university closer to home.”
It’s easy to glorify the American education system, which undoubtedly disadvantages some students. The American system can create an endless race of achievement that places inordinate pressure on high schoolers to excel in every aspect of their lives. Increasingly, our system relies on standardized testing, the SAT and the ACT, a reliance which can replicate some of the aforementioned shortcomings in Jordan. However, it also grants opportunities to students who are not gifted test-takers, recognizes leadership and creativity inside and outside of the classroom and allows students to choose a path that inspires them. For all of our debates about affirmative action, the American system does at least partially recognize some of the inequalities in our high school education system and attempts to remedy them. It is exhausting to hear admissions officers in the U.S. harp about “building a class,” but there is some value in that: there is far less incentive in Jordan to be a great squash player or fantastic leader or incredible violinist than there is in the U.S.
I don’t mean to say that Jordan’s education system doesn’t have it’s own merits, it certainly does. Notably, like in the U.S., girls are hugely successful in the classroom, and are receiving the vast majority of college degrees (though they make up a vast minority of the workforce). The system is one of the best in the region, efficiently sorts high achieving people into demanding careers, successfully measures the factual knowledge of every Jordanian student at age 17 and probably makes it easy for the government evaluate its schools.
I’m lucky enough to teach students who are skilled enough at English and focused enough that we often stray from the national curriculum. This Sunday we’ll be straying from the workbook to debate the two most important questions on this side of the Atlantic: love or money? Barcelona or Madrid?
Anyway, I obviously think a lot about this topic, and teaching in a radically different system often forces me to think critically about the one I came through. It’s rewarding and illuminating and valuable, skype me if you want to nerd out about it.
So I just shamelessly stole from Biff's blog (but I helped her clarify phrases and add more thoughts!!)
I’ve noticed that on this blog I never take the time to discuss what I actually do all day: teach English and study Arabic. I suppose that’s because it’s always a little more intimidating to write about the trials of daily life than an impromptu [party at our house]. With that said, the most rewarding and educational aspect of being here is surely my time in my classroom. I could write many posts about it, but I’ll spare you.
Every day, I’m struck by the differences between the Jordanian and American education systems. In the U.S., I was lucky enough to attend a fantastic high school (which I reflect upon constantly); here, I teach 11th grade English, at a very good private school with a great teacher from whom I learn a lot. However, the two schools really could not be more different in their daily rhythms and in their classroom practices, and those differences, I believe, are mostly attributable to the schools’ respective education systems.
In 12th grade, students here take a national exam, the tawjihi, over the course of two weeks in the winter and the spring. In that exam, they’re tested on everything they’ve learned in high school: math, physics, biology, chemistry, English, Arabic, religion, etc. From there, their scores on that exam are averaged, and then they are placed in universities according to that score. The top students in the country become doctors, then engineers and accountants, and so on, though I’ve heard you can pay extra to study a subject you were not assigned to.
Like somewhat similar education systems around the world, in France, for example, the theory behind all-important national exams is that they can help level the playing field. The system has the supposed benefits of funneling the most talented students into critical professions, with mixed results: Jordan has a fantastic health care system, but also, I’ve read, the highest number of engineers per capita in the world, many of whom are underemployed.
From what I’ve seen in my school, the tawjihi has a huge impact on the classroom and is detrimental to the time allotted to teaching critical thinking. The English portion of the exam, for my students, is relatively easy, whereas they dread physics and math. But that’s not to say that my students are necessarily fantastic at English, just that they are well prepared to answer questions in rote formulas on a two-hour long exam with no speaking component. For some of them, there is admittedly little motivation to improve their English, nor to improve their speaking or their reading comprehension. My best students, one could argue, would be well-suited sitting in the back of the class studying for their physics exam.
At the same time, it’s easy to imagine a situation where a student is fantastically gifted at math and physics and chemistry - the subjects one would think would make a great engineer - but terrible at languages, and thus his or her average on the tawjihi would be too low to allow him or her study the appropriate discipline. Or, being terrible at the sciences could hurt your score so badly you would be unable to study English. Every day here, it seems, I’m regaled with a story about a tawjihi tragedy: “I loved medicine but only got into a school an hour’s commute away, now I study Arabic at a university closer to home.”
It’s easy to glorify the American education system, which undoubtedly disadvantages some students. The American system can create an endless race of achievement that places inordinate pressure on high schoolers to excel in every aspect of their lives. Increasingly, our system relies on standardized testing, the SAT and the ACT, a reliance which can replicate some of the aforementioned shortcomings in Jordan. However, it also grants opportunities to students who are not gifted test-takers, recognizes leadership and creativity inside and outside of the classroom and allows students to choose a path that inspires them. For all of our debates about affirmative action, the American system does at least partially recognize some of the inequalities in our high school education system and attempts to remedy them. It is exhausting to hear admissions officers in the U.S. harp about “building a class,” but there is some value in that: there is far less incentive in Jordan to be a great squash player or fantastic leader or incredible violinist than there is in the U.S.
I don’t mean to say that Jordan’s education system doesn’t have it’s own merits, it certainly does. Notably, like in the U.S., girls are hugely successful in the classroom, and are receiving the vast majority of college degrees (though they make up a vast minority of the workforce). The system is one of the best in the region, efficiently sorts high achieving people into demanding careers, successfully measures the factual knowledge of every Jordanian student at age 17 and probably makes it easy for the government evaluate its schools.
I’m lucky enough to teach students who are skilled enough at English and focused enough that we often stray from the national curriculum. This Sunday we’ll be straying from the workbook to debate the two most important questions on this side of the Atlantic: love or money? Barcelona or Madrid?
Anyway, I obviously think a lot about this topic, and teaching in a radically different system often forces me to think critically about the one I came through. It’s rewarding and illuminating and valuable, skype me if you want to nerd out about it.