In America, the journey is more important than the destination. “Don’t work too hard,” we say. In China, the mantra is quite the opposite. “Work hard, make good grades.” There is no stopping to smell any roses. Students are taught to invest themselves fully in their schoolwork. The quantity of their work is unquestionably high. The quality of their work is, however, decidedly poor. Yesterday I waved a fist full of plagiarized essays in my hand, condemning what, to them, was a job well done. I attempted to explain why I had failed them for turning in a paragraph of perfect English.
“This is somebody else’s work.” I tried to explain that the objective was not the content of the assignment, but the thought and effort used to articulate their ideas in another language.
The typical Chinese citizen has a work ethic like you wouldn’t believe. They will work day and night, rain or shine, but it is the diligence and effort that goes into the work that is praised, not the product — and I see this reflected in my students’ performance. Try as I might, my cynical mind can’t help but conclude that a communist society requires that people think inside the box. The ongoing transition away from “old China,” however, requires a new way of thinking, and this is the dilemma with which my students are currently grappling. While their parents drone on and on about their generation’s formulas for success, these students are attempting to form new habits in education, work, and extracurricular activities in order to make it in the 21st century.
It must be painful for them to think in ways that are contrary to the norms championed by society and government. In the grand scheme of things, I imagine my English classes to be a factor, however small, in the new generation’s ability to confront their increasingly wider, and capitalist, world. By attempting to destroy the traditional boundary between rote memorization and expressive imagination for my students, I’m stimulating new mental territory.
Lessons for the teacher
As for me, teaching overseas has wedged a foreign perspective into my stubborn American ideals. I went to the meat market recently. Having already overcome several of my personal fears, I intended to confront what I thought was one of the most ridiculous products of American upbringing: squeamishness. I made a beeline for the butcher table, where all kinds of raw meats lay out for display. Behind the stand was a man in an apron and wrist-length gloves going to work on what looked like a German Shepherd. My stomach turned, and I left as quickly as I’d come.
How is it that I can watch all manner of blood and gore on the movie screen, but can’t stomach the sight of something so natural and common as animal slaughter? This is the product of protection. I came to see just how differently Chinese culture reacts to butchery on- and off-screen when I arranged for my students to watch Sleepy Hollow, featuring Johnny Depp, one of their favorite actors (the majority of my students are female with the maturity level of pre-teens). The film, like the narrative, features a large amount of decapitation, and it was noticeable, as my students began to shift in their seats, that they found this not a little discomforting. By the end of the film, some were cowering in their friends’ armpits, while others had positioned their handbags to cover their individual video screens. I looked to the back of the classroom where, predictably, the four boys were bouncing in fits of laughter at the final scene, featuring the Headless Horseman’s return to hell with his bloody mistress.
