Son of Toffee

One of my lost assistant Jim's responsibilities has been to take care of the computer room, a room with about 30 PC's that are generally used by the students to view movies or play video games. The Internet is not available -- it's apparently not feasible to get enough phone lines installed promptly. Occasionally a student can be seen doing something related to school work.

An issue arose some time ago relating to the room's one laser printer: about 500 sheets of paper were disappearing daily, although far less printing than that was actually being done. Clearly, paper was being stolen. On discussing this after Jim raised the issue, he and I agreed that henceforth he would sell the paper to students (at cost) rather than making it available for free.

As generally happens here when a firm resolution is arrived at, this was never acted upon. But recently I noticed that some kind of new system appeared to be in place. Jim had placed a little cardboard box next to the printer. It had a see-through cellophane window showing money inside. There was also a sheet of paper, apparently a printing log, and a pen. Though the instructions were in Chinese, Jim had evidently set up an honor-based system of recording usage and collecting money for printing.

This was heart-warming. Had Jim perhaps gotten a hold of "The Sixth Diamond" from one of my students and been inspired?

Inevitably, the money flew away, and Jim abandoned his system. He described the cherry on top in lugubrious tones: "I even lost my pen."

But there was a much more substantial lapse of insight into Chinese students by Chinese administrators at ICB. It fell to me (a Westerner!) to discover something significantly impairing education at this campus. However, events have considerably overtaken my ability to document them, so I don't have time to tell you about it.

I did tell the administration about it, and they evinced great concern. We had a meeting at which an action plan was decided upon, and I posted "New Rules" on the walls. But these became a mockery as the admin screwed up the implementation exactly the way I foresaw they would, and the problem remains unsolved.

The students' attitude? A bemused "Hey Uriel, don't sweat it, this is China." (But only after I expend considerable effort to overcome their incomprehension that I would even waste my efforts inquiring into the issue.)

But onto other matters. For all you geniuses who predicted a relapse of the Toffee problem, this is your vindication.

The meeting this time began around 9:00 PM or 9:30, with Deans Meng & Yang, Mr. Li, and Jim.

Imagining a smaller gathering earlier in the day, I'd actually planned to inform them I was thinking of quitting -- leaving China before mid-January, when the semester ends. (Incidentally, Meng has advised he probably won't be able to extend my position beyond this semester, purportedly because he hasn't been able to recruit a new student group to replace the A's and B's in the second semester, when the A's and B's will be in England.)

Why not stick it out, when the semester's end is only six weeks away? I was seriously annoyed about having gotten sick a second time. Diarrhea. Copious, voluminous, oceanic diarrhea. Reminiscent of Niagara Falls. Which made me think of home. The idea recurred several times during the five days it took before I'd fully recovered.

What the hell did I need this place for, with people clipping their nails, horking and spitting and god knew what else in restaurants? (And I'm just talking about the staff.)

I had no contract and had made no commitment to remain to the end. There is obviously a kind of implicit commitment. But who would be harmed by my premature departure? The students, with scattered exceptions, had no desire to learn anything and were making virtually no effort. It was mainly the administration that would be inconvenienced. They'd have to come up with something to maintain the pretense that the students were getting a full-time education for their money. And the indifference, mismanagement and misguidedness of the admin people were the reasons for much of my dissatisfaction. They were to blame for the breakdown of discipline and motivation, and for an atmosphere students themselves generally recognized as being far from conducive to learning. I felt I was just a cog in the wheel of other people's scam.

But seeing all these people assembled, prepared to grapple with me in earnest to resolve this latest imbroglio, I lost heart. I could not even intimate -- after they'd all been working on the problem for five hours -- that I'd made a tentative flight reservation for a few days hence. It was 9:30 PM. The two deans had arrived at this campus at 3:45 PM and had been in a succession of meetings with students since then, except for a quick, 40-minute dinner at the restaurant across the street. Presumably the meetings were largely about the issue at hand -- moi.

On my arrival, I was invited to express my views on the new Toffee incident they were all focussed on. So I told them:

"This is of course an exact repetition of the incident a month ago. It is really quite remarkable. A student misbehaves; then defies an order to vacate the classroom, knowing that that will result in the cancellation of the class for all her classmates. Toffee did this twice in a row last month, resulting in a loss of three hours of class time for all her classmates. I should think this is quite a grievous breach.

"This issue was explored at considerable length at the time. The conclusion was that Toffee was wrong. Dean Yang informed me, in this room, with Toffee present, that she was wrong."

The calm atmosphere of the meeting was suddenly broken by a throaty shout: "NO!"

I paused, looking quizzically at Mr. Li. (Let's drop the reserve, for that is Z's name.) After a few moments of silence, I inquired: "No?"

A pause.

I address him: "I can assure you that that is what Dean Yang told me one month ago, with Toffee present."

Li is a stout, robust man of perhaps 50 to 60. He unburdened himself of a long speech, translated sentence by sentence by Jim: I've lost the students' respect, he says. He's in charge of this campus. The teacher cannot send students out of the class. You have to show them how they are doing something wrong, not just tell them they are wrong. He is a teacher of long experience. He understands the students. He knows how they think. They do not know anything about America. They do not know about the "Senate," about American politicians and American culture. You should give them readings from the "China Daily" newspaper ...

(At this I thought I heard a sotto voce interjection from Meng, but when I turned -- he was sitting on my other side -- he was silent.)

... or about China travel or culture. A good teacher has to show the students the way. Win them over. If you send the girl out, she is angry, then it is a contest, there has to be a winner and a loser. You have to show the students you are right by setting a good example.

I listen patiently and respectfully until it is finally my turn.

I know what they don't know, I tell them. (Jim again translates line by line, the opposite way this time, with occasional corrections by Meng.) I understand Mr. Li is in charge here, and I respect that. But I am the one who knows what is going on inside my classroom.

I've several times invited the students to suggest any other readings they might want to do. I am willing to do anything. One student took me up on this just recently, I tell them, and suggested a short story called "Sixth Diamond." I made and distributed copies to the students, we discussed it in class, and when we'd finished with it I asked them what they preferred. The class told me they wanted to go on in future with the Times pieces.

And why should we do China Daily? Why not take advantage of a "foreign expert" to gain not just language knowledge but also knowledge about Western culture and society? We did an article, an opinion piece, from one of the #1 newspapers in America, saying that the government is full of liars and cheats. Shouldn't that be more interesting for the students than for me to teach articles about China? We did another article about sexual harassment, welfare and homelessness -- two important issues in the West that our students know nothing about -- and how the issues come together in New York City because of a crazy mayor. Isn't that more interesting?

Li was looking a bit deflated. He flailed a bit, abruptly changing the subject to an error I once committed in using a washing machine later at night than permitted.

But the real problem here, I went on, is how the Toffee problem was resolved last time this occurred. Mr. Meng told me at the time that Toffee had been warned that she'd be expelled if something like this happened again. Dean Yang told her she'd been wrong. Yet here she is, repeating the identical offense, producing a cancellation of class for all her classmates. I find it very hard to believe, I told them, that these warnings to Toffee were genuine. That she got the same message that I got. It is hard to believe she would behave like this again after being rebuked the way you told me she was rebuked.

Then Dean Yang came to life. (Yes, the "Q" of yore.) She had indeed told Toffee she was wrong. But Toffee did not bear all the blame.

Who, I asked, told me that?

No response.

Here is the problem, I told them. It's what we call "sweeping the dirt under the rug." Everyone was told what they wanted to hear. I was told Toffee was wrong. And Toffee was told I was partly wrong. And that's why we have the same problem again today.

The point registered. (I know, because I checked with Meng the next day on the phone.)

I have students who don't want to learn, I told them. Students who do not do their homework, and who don't have the mental energy to listen to me when I speak to them in class. It's not that they don't know the answers. They can't even tell me the question I've just asked. And now with Toffee, as if this is not enough, I also have a hostile student picking fights with me, or causing distractions, talking to others, telling jokes in Chinese and making the class laugh, defying my instructions to stop talking.

Moreover, Mr. Meng tells me she told him I have been treating her unfavorably in class since the resolution of the last incident -- not permitting her to talk, and so on. If she is telling you this she is lying to you. This girl is invariably combative in class, yet I have been indulgent. She has been allowed to express herself freely. Only a couple days ago I let her comment on the exam. She spoke very critically of it, and said I'd made the listening comprehension component too difficult. And I granted her the point!

I'm compressing a meeting of 1.5 to 2 hours. It's nearly 11 PM, and it's not getting any clearer how the impasse -- the same one as last month, for I've told Meng we have to suspend her again -- will be resolved this time. The class is to meet again the next morning.

Then Li speaks up: if students cheat, if they talk to each other, if they tell jokes (numbering the offenses with his fingers), then the teacher can tell them to leave the room.

Later he adds: the teacher has to give students a warning before sending them out of the class.

Then he declares: I would like to attend your class!

Ever respectful, I tell him warmly that his presence would be very helpful. In fact, he'd make a great contribution to classroom discipline. I know the students are not going to tangle with this guy.

Mr. Li says he wants to attend the class from now on.

Jim asks: Monday, Wednesday and Friday classes? I confirm. (The other group, the B's, is no problem, he doesn't have to attend that one.)

"This is a heavy price for you to pay to solve this problem," I tell Li. I teach the A group six hours a week.

A bit later (or was it before? Sorry readers, my memory of the chronology is not perfect) Li declares he will do this for at least two weeks.

So ... Mr. Li will attend the class tomorrow morning? asks someone.

I reflect on this a moment. No question, it'd be great for me and for the teaching to have Li present. True, I'm not getting the girl's head on a platter. But at least I didn't promise the class, this time, that she'd miss the next class. So really, while I feel a pang of regret that no punishment is going to happen, at least it solves the problem. I am sensing that my alternative course -- being intractable, defying everyone here -- would get rather ugly in this situation, especially after Li's overture.

Well, I say, I'd be happy to have you in the classroom.

Tomorrow morning, someone adds clarifyingly. (The all-important qualification is implicit: with Toffee there.)

Yes.

Meng waits a bit, perhaps not wanting to appear to pounce on this, then steps in to try to wrap up: OK, it's getting late. We need to conclude.

"So," he drones as if rehashing for formality's sake something that's been beaten to death, "tomorrow morning you will teach the class, and Toffee will be there, and Mr. Li will be there."

A discreet glance at me. I nod.

"You're a very good teacher; the students know it. But you have to change your style just a little bit. The students are afraid of you. When you ask a student a question, you keep pressing the same student repeatedly with a series of questions. They cannot think."

I let it pass, grimacing only a bit.

"Next: you have to solve the punctuality problem...."

Huh?! Punctuality problem?

Well, Meng says, he understands that this morning .....

"This morning I made an honest mistake." (The schedule for that day had just changed the week before; I missed the first 20 minutes, til someone came and got me.) "It's the first time all semester I've been late for a class."

I don't await more of his wrap-up: "I think you've spent too much time talking to other people, not enough talking to me. We need to talk further before you can draw conclusions."

No, these are not conclusions, he protests ......

Well ....

Alright, he says, anyway, we have a resolution for now. We will talk again.

I agree. He urges me to feel free to contact him anytime -- I know his numbers.

I comment that I wonder what power this eighteen-year-old can have to cause five adults to agonize like this late into the night. This could be resolved in five minutes, I say with a smile. Just hang her by the neck until she says "Please".

(This is a bit gratuitous of me. It's not the girl that's taken our time, but the onerous style of decision-making by consensus.)

But that's not how you deal with students, says someone.

I hope my imagery is not a little too graphic for them. They certainly seem to handle students with kid gloves.

But this is a special student, I say.

I'm invited to say goodnight.

I remind them before taking my leave: "100% perfect punctuality record."

Meng amends: "Until this morning."

Jesus. Show some embarrassment, man. (Unspoken.)

A few seconds after I leave them, Jim runs out to catch up. He wants to tell me he understands the problem I have with the students -- he knows I'm doing a good job. These are not good students.

I make him tell me: "What's the reason they're here?"

He yields: "To go to England?"

Bingo. Not to learn anything here. England is all they want. Now they're just putting in time. But don't tell me -- make them understand that, I tell him, jerking my head towards the dean's office we've just left. Why is Meng giving me advice about being nicer to them, not making them afraid of me, helping them see the answer?

Jim agrees to tell Meng the next day. I checked that too in my call to Meng. He hadn't; not by then, anyway. Or there was another misunderstanding.