The Outside Perspective
Feb. 27th, 2006 04:17 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
naomikritzerOne challenge, as a beginning writer, is learning to crawl outside of your societal box. I have been thinking about this a bit recently, and ran across a remark from ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
papersky over at a Making Light discussion about the proposed law in Arizona that would allow students to opt out of any assignment that offended them. Jo's comment:
Jo grew up in Wales but now lives in Montreal. There is, I would say, absolutely nothing like moving (even temporarily) to another country to shake up your perspective.
When I was thirteen, my father went on sabbatical, and my family spent a year in England, living in London. My parents both did research (my father for a book, my mother for her dissertation) and my brother, sister and I went to school. I have since been told that 1986-87 was something of a nadir for state education (what Americans call public education -- "public schools" in England are private schools, I'm not sure why) in London. Things started improving not long after I left, but academically the school I attended was dismal, and my formal education that year was kind of a wash.
My informal education, on the other hand, was unparalleled.
For example, let's take lunchtime.
(Cut for length.)
First, we had a full hour for lunch. During that time, we were almost completely unsupervised. My parents gave me pocket money that included one pound per day for lunch money. If I ate at the school, I could get lunch for about 35p; that was the cheapest option. Lunch was served by seniority. At the beginning of the hour, the sixth years and the teachers went to the cafeteria, and bought their meals, while the fifth years waited in line in the cafeteria, the fourth years waited in line in the stairway (which was at least sheltered from the weather), and the third years (that would be me and my friends) waited outside in the elements. Once the fifth years had been served, the fourth years went into the cafeteria, and the third years moved into the stairway. (The first and second year students -- the 6th and 7th graders, in U.S. terms -- were on a completely separate campus, down a steep hill.) Only after the fourth year kids had gotten their lunches were we allowed to go get ours.
People would try to cut in line. Now, kids at my American high school would cut in line all the time, but most were sort of sneaky about it. They'd go stand and pretend to chat with their friend who was already in line, and then get in line behind their friend when it was time to order. At Highgate Wood, there were no pretenses: the law of the jungle prevailed. You'd pick someone who looked weaker than you, step in front of them, and grab the railing. They'd grab you by the shoulders and try to throw you out of line. If you were tenacious enough that they couldn't get rid of you, then congratulations, you had successfully cut in. If you were aggressive enough to defend your spot in line, you probably wouldn't get cut in on too often. Oh, and if you were genuinely scary (and a couple of kids at this school really were genuinely scary), you would saunter up to the front of the line and no one would complain.
No teachers intervened, because we weren't supervised. Until we were in line in the actual cafeteria (or at least in the stairway), we just weren't considered their problem.
By the time we got to the cafeteria, there usually was not a lot of food left. I remember stone cold fish sticks, and french fries. The spotted dick wasn't too bad. (Er, that's a dessert. It tasted sort of like a yellow cake with raisins in it and gloppy sweet custard dumped on top. It wasn't cake, it was a steamed pudding, but the texture was kind of cake-like.)
Fortunately, we did have other options. If we didn't want to deal with the line to get into the cafeteria, but didn't want to leave the school grounds, there was this little truck, the size and shape of an ice cream truck, that would park at the edge of the campus each day at lunchtime. It sold the most vile hamburgers and hot dogs you can possibly imagine. That wasn't quite as cheap as the cafeteria, but it was pretty cheap.
Or, we could walk down the hill to Crouch End Broadway, which was a bustling neighborhood business district with a large selection of restaurants. For a pound, I could get a doner kebab (usually called a gyro in the U.S.), or a large bag of chips (you know, British-style French fries), or a samosa, or a sausage roll. All of these options were fast, hot, and filling.
If we went to the broadway (which most days we did), on the way back, we'd often stop to buy sweets. At my American schools, kids never shared candy with each other -- maybe a tiny taste for your best friend, but for the most part, your dessert was yours, not something you shared around. At my British school, that would have been appallingly rude behavior. All candy was shared. Therefore, all candy was purchased in bulk. It was nearly all hard candy, and nearly always in a small white bag. I don't much care for most kinds of hard candy, but I bought and shared anyway because I was savvy enough to see that this was a way to fit in.
This was probably the cultural shift that sank in most deeply. When I got back to the U.S., it felt wrong not to offer to share candy with my friends. I had at least one friend who would always accept and never reciprocate. (Yes, he was a shameless freeloader.)
Anyway, I know of no American schools that have a hierarchical lunch line (unless you count teachers getting to cut in). I also know of no American schools that give students an hour for lunch. My British school also had two fifteen-minute breaks in the morning, and only four classes total each day, a little over an hour long. However, it was sometimes impossible to use the bathroom during these breaks; they would lock them in order to keep kids from going in there to smoke. Except, they wouldn't check the bathrooms before locking them, so if you were a smoker, you'd sprint for the bathroom and get locked in with your friends to smoke in peace for the duration of the 15 minute break.
England is one of the easier foreign countries to live in, as an American, because you speak the language (more or less). Yet there are a million ways in which it is foreign. Having this experience as a thirteen-year-old was both terrifying and exhilerating. The most fundamental thing I learned was that Other People Have a Different Normal -- this is a very basic lesson, but I learned it in a bone-deep way that year.
I love that when Jo first read about the American liberal arts education, she thought it was this wildly creative science fictional idea. That is such a good illustration of what I'm talking about. The idea of distribution requirements is almost inherent to the American concept of an undergraduate education; there are schools that have no such requirements, but they're the rare exception. Yet this was so foreign to Jo's experience that she considered it science fictional.
She notes later in the thread that her bitterness is because this would have been so perfect for her, and she didn't find out about it until it was too late to take advantage of it.
papersky over at a Making Light discussion about the proposed law in Arizona that would allow students to opt out of any assignment that offended them. Jo's comment:Jo Walton ::: (view all by) ::: February 26, 2006, 09:12 AM:
Oh, and anyone who wants to study one thing and one thing only with no breadth requirements should go to university in Britain. When I first read about the American Liberal Arts education, in Doorways in the Sand I thought "What an imagination Roger Zelazny has got! What an astonishing SFnal idea." When I discovered it again, in The Number of the Beast, I thought "Heinlein got this idea from Zelazny! And he didn't acknowlege it anywhere!" It took coming across it again in Pamela Dean's Tam Lin to make me actually believe it existed. I've been sulking ever since.
Jo grew up in Wales but now lives in Montreal. There is, I would say, absolutely nothing like moving (even temporarily) to another country to shake up your perspective.
When I was thirteen, my father went on sabbatical, and my family spent a year in England, living in London. My parents both did research (my father for a book, my mother for her dissertation) and my brother, sister and I went to school. I have since been told that 1986-87 was something of a nadir for state education (what Americans call public education -- "public schools" in England are private schools, I'm not sure why) in London. Things started improving not long after I left, but academically the school I attended was dismal, and my formal education that year was kind of a wash.
My informal education, on the other hand, was unparalleled.
For example, let's take lunchtime.
(Cut for length.)
First, we had a full hour for lunch. During that time, we were almost completely unsupervised. My parents gave me pocket money that included one pound per day for lunch money. If I ate at the school, I could get lunch for about 35p; that was the cheapest option. Lunch was served by seniority. At the beginning of the hour, the sixth years and the teachers went to the cafeteria, and bought their meals, while the fifth years waited in line in the cafeteria, the fourth years waited in line in the stairway (which was at least sheltered from the weather), and the third years (that would be me and my friends) waited outside in the elements. Once the fifth years had been served, the fourth years went into the cafeteria, and the third years moved into the stairway. (The first and second year students -- the 6th and 7th graders, in U.S. terms -- were on a completely separate campus, down a steep hill.) Only after the fourth year kids had gotten their lunches were we allowed to go get ours.
People would try to cut in line. Now, kids at my American high school would cut in line all the time, but most were sort of sneaky about it. They'd go stand and pretend to chat with their friend who was already in line, and then get in line behind their friend when it was time to order. At Highgate Wood, there were no pretenses: the law of the jungle prevailed. You'd pick someone who looked weaker than you, step in front of them, and grab the railing. They'd grab you by the shoulders and try to throw you out of line. If you were tenacious enough that they couldn't get rid of you, then congratulations, you had successfully cut in. If you were aggressive enough to defend your spot in line, you probably wouldn't get cut in on too often. Oh, and if you were genuinely scary (and a couple of kids at this school really were genuinely scary), you would saunter up to the front of the line and no one would complain.
No teachers intervened, because we weren't supervised. Until we were in line in the actual cafeteria (or at least in the stairway), we just weren't considered their problem.
By the time we got to the cafeteria, there usually was not a lot of food left. I remember stone cold fish sticks, and french fries. The spotted dick wasn't too bad. (Er, that's a dessert. It tasted sort of like a yellow cake with raisins in it and gloppy sweet custard dumped on top. It wasn't cake, it was a steamed pudding, but the texture was kind of cake-like.)
Fortunately, we did have other options. If we didn't want to deal with the line to get into the cafeteria, but didn't want to leave the school grounds, there was this little truck, the size and shape of an ice cream truck, that would park at the edge of the campus each day at lunchtime. It sold the most vile hamburgers and hot dogs you can possibly imagine. That wasn't quite as cheap as the cafeteria, but it was pretty cheap.
Or, we could walk down the hill to Crouch End Broadway, which was a bustling neighborhood business district with a large selection of restaurants. For a pound, I could get a doner kebab (usually called a gyro in the U.S.), or a large bag of chips (you know, British-style French fries), or a samosa, or a sausage roll. All of these options were fast, hot, and filling.
If we went to the broadway (which most days we did), on the way back, we'd often stop to buy sweets. At my American schools, kids never shared candy with each other -- maybe a tiny taste for your best friend, but for the most part, your dessert was yours, not something you shared around. At my British school, that would have been appallingly rude behavior. All candy was shared. Therefore, all candy was purchased in bulk. It was nearly all hard candy, and nearly always in a small white bag. I don't much care for most kinds of hard candy, but I bought and shared anyway because I was savvy enough to see that this was a way to fit in.
This was probably the cultural shift that sank in most deeply. When I got back to the U.S., it felt wrong not to offer to share candy with my friends. I had at least one friend who would always accept and never reciprocate. (Yes, he was a shameless freeloader.)
Anyway, I know of no American schools that have a hierarchical lunch line (unless you count teachers getting to cut in). I also know of no American schools that give students an hour for lunch. My British school also had two fifteen-minute breaks in the morning, and only four classes total each day, a little over an hour long. However, it was sometimes impossible to use the bathroom during these breaks; they would lock them in order to keep kids from going in there to smoke. Except, they wouldn't check the bathrooms before locking them, so if you were a smoker, you'd sprint for the bathroom and get locked in with your friends to smoke in peace for the duration of the 15 minute break.
England is one of the easier foreign countries to live in, as an American, because you speak the language (more or less). Yet there are a million ways in which it is foreign. Having this experience as a thirteen-year-old was both terrifying and exhilerating. The most fundamental thing I learned was that Other People Have a Different Normal -- this is a very basic lesson, but I learned it in a bone-deep way that year.
I love that when Jo first read about the American liberal arts education, she thought it was this wildly creative science fictional idea. That is such a good illustration of what I'm talking about. The idea of distribution requirements is almost inherent to the American concept of an undergraduate education; there are schools that have no such requirements, but they're the rare exception. Yet this was so foreign to Jo's experience that she considered it science fictional.
She notes later in the thread that her bitterness is because this would have been so perfect for her, and she didn't find out about it until it was too late to take advantage of it.
