Turning to Li

Lesser rebels, inspired by Toffee's trailblazing exploits, had of late (shortly before my Letter to Students -- see my Dec. 19 missive) been making themselves troublesome. I won't bore us with the details, but frankly things were kinda getting out of hand.

The picture always painted for me was that untold suffering would befall students who cause trouble. Yet the students had become increasingly brazen.

I don't think I am the only Westerner to be visited by the notion that absolutely everything anyone ever tells him here is a lie. This is that familiar, deplorable feature of Chinese culture, the aversion to simple forthrightness or to anything smacking of confrontation. Is it enlightened to strive for harmony based on deceit? (Hardly to suggest this is unknown in the West.)

What's really getting my goat is that the admin people are making increasingly little effort to make their lies plausible. Maybe they are weary of my questions.

The great Mr. Meng was perhaps too remote, I felt after a recent incident. Why not confront Li, the man who so jealously guards the title of campus manager? It might be worthwhile making the point that being the boss also entails responsibility. I sent Jim Wu an email:

Dear Jim,

Please translate these questions for Mr. Li and tell him I would like a meeting later today to discuss:

- Are students ever punished here for disobeying rules?

- Why do you think the students feel they can disobey me and not you? Do you think it is because they respect you more? Or because you can make trouble for them, and they know I cannot?

- Why have you let the students know they can disobey me without getting into any trouble? How does this help me teach?

- Do you think students will respect me when you teach them that it is OK to disobey me?

- Why am I not informed about basic things about the program? Why did I find out just this morning, by accident, that the Guangdong students [a group of eleven students from Guangdong Province] will write a final exam [prepared by Jim] this afternoon and leave for home next week?

- Ms. Wang saw a student cheating during the exam. Why can't she remember who it was?

- Do you know that Mr. Meng told me before I left Canada that I would be teaching university students? Do you understand that, instead, I have been teaching students who are not good enough to be admitted to university (not even to ICB)? I have nevertheless been trying hard to be a good teacher. Don't you think ICB should support me?

Li told me at the outset of our meeting (with Jim translating) that he felt very bad for me, because he understood that these are really very bad students, low-level both academically and in terms of discipline.

He will make a note in the student dossiers of the troublesome students, says Li. Two pre-university students are to be barred from going to England at the end of the semester. He immediately corrects himself: last time Mr. Meng discussed it, he said five students. (This sounds authentic. The manic variations in plan are trademark Meng. But it makes little difference, since no variant of the plan ever pans out anyway.)

But the question of how many is besides the point.

I describe the strategic cold war error committed on the American side in the movie Dr. Strangelove. For nuclear deterrence, they'd constructed a doomsday machine that would automatically obliterate the entire world if the Soviets attacked. The critical blunder, however, pointed out with some exasperation during a Soviet attack by the ingenious though mad strategist Dr. Strangelove, was that they forgot to mention the existence of the device to the Soviets.

What good would punishment at the end of the semester do? We needed action now.

We go back and forth. Finally he declares that the school has no power whatever over the Guangdong students. Those students can go to the West as planned with or without the school's blessing. It is because those students are particularly badly behaved, says Li, that they're being sent back home December 20 instead of January 10.

So, like, that's a bad thing for those students? This smells like one of those lies that's intended to make me gloat over someone else's punishment. (In fact, I understand the Guangdong students are delighted to be going home unexpectedly early.)

Were they told they're being sent home early because of misbehavior, I ask.

No. Of course not.

In fact, this is one of those very strange things that everyone here takes as a matter of course. You have a group of 11 students from Guangdong Province. They arrived together, a couple of weeks after the others started classes. They initially produced some wonderment among the other students because the others can't understand a word of the Cantonese dialect the Guangdong students speak. (The Guangdong students also speak the standard Mandarin dialect.) Apparently all the Guangdong students expected to stay here as long as the other students, until the end of semester, January 10. But they are abruptly informed a couple of days before the fact that they write a final exam Friday Dec. 15 and travel home the following week.

Is there really no planning here? Even when 18-year-old students travel to a remote school, they do not know on what date they are to conclude their studies and return home?

I made one of my doomed efforts to understand this. It seems their families signed a contract for three months of school, which indeed implies termination on Dec. 20; but all of them erroneously assumed they'd be staying to the semester's end along with the other students.

The obvious question: why sign a 3-month contract when that only takes you to 3 weeks before the end of the semester? But I got too exhausted to pursue my inquiries as far as that. Anyway, it seems they're celebrating their early reprieve with nightly parties.

In any case, Li was insisting he cannot control them. Li said that when he'd slept here at the Shooting Hotel recently, he'd repeatedly gone upstairs to stop the noise, as late as 1:00 AM. Jim too (who's in a worse position than me as his room is on the same floor as the students) says he has often been disturbed by late-night noise.

Jim explains: apparently the school really has no power whatever over these students. They don't even get any kind of credential from the school. The final exam? Only for their parents' benefit. The grade goes nowhere else.

But still ... we really have no control over them? How do you function as a school? Who's the boss here?

Jim always gives me that pained smile that acknowledges he cannot deny the absurdity of what he is telling me: "It is very complicated." I hear this answer more and more frequently when I ask questions. I think it means I am getting better at getting to the point.

But appearances cannot be that deceiving. At least with the majority of students (those who are not from Guangdong), when Li barks, they jump.

Li's theory: that's because he knows them better; and there are no misunderstandings because of language.

But a student I consult offers the more plausible explanation: most students do not like Li, but fear he can decide who does not go to England.

Meng has been declaring forever, to the teachers and the students, that we will be holding some students back from going to England. That has come to look exceedingly questionable, to put it politely. Most of our children, you see, have families that are connected to the decision-makers at ICB. And one wouldn't want to bruise connections.

Meng never volunteered anything. I was left to peel the onion one layer at a time for myself: this is not a state university; it's not a university; and in fact, it's kind of a playground for the untouchable children of the wealthy or connected.

And I tried teaching Hamlet. At least for that you gotta love me a weensy bit.

All right, stop it for goodness sake, put away the kleenex. It hasn't been that bad. When I recall my comments soon after arrival about innocence, I still think that's largely true of most of these kids. But when you have over 60 restless children who understand more and more clearly that nothing they do ever leads to trouble, you're gonna develop problems here and there.

But back to the meeting with Li. He tries to strike a cheerful note. The school still owes me a free trip within Beijing. What would I like to see?

Shanghai, I answer promptly.

Li laughs. "Sorry ...."

"Why not? Jim, please tell him again: I was told, before I left Toronto, that I'd be teaching 'bright and motivated' students at a state university. Shanghai would be adequate compensation. All I need is airfare and accommodation -- nothing better than the Shooting Hotel -- for five days."

Li is actually not enjoying this meeting very much. We don't get through most of my questions. He says they will make sure there are no more discipline problems. He or Jim will sit in my class from now on, Li says, and they will ask Meng about Shanghai. And Li exits the meeting.

Meng's response has since been conveyed: no.