la riforma

The teachers have been a little grumpier this year. Or, at least, the circles under their eyes have deepened. Perhaps the reason is la riforma Gelmini, the reform proposed by education minister Mariastella Gelmini and passed last year by Berlusconi's government. Gelmini began in 2008 to fire teachers, justifying her actions by saying that the school was for instructing, not for insuring jobs. This newest reform has further cut school budgets, reduced hours in certain subjects, cut hours from teacher's pay provided for substituting, and in some cases doubled the size of classes. One of my teachers has told me that this is all an effort to slowly transfer education responsibilities from the public sector to the private one.

For example, four of my third year classes at Cremona have been combined into two mega classes of thirty students. Thirty sixteen-year-olds, corralled together in one room! In my class with Prof. Scafi we divide into two groups as we've always done, but an intimate discussion is a bit daunting even with 15 students.

As a result, strikes have been occurring almost every week. But they're gentle (not in the style of the French, for sure), two times just for the first hour on Friday. Many teachers, confronted with this brevity, come to school anyway even if they agree with the idea of striking. My friend X, a middle school science teacher, told us over dinner that he thought the strikes weren't enough. Non crea abbastanza disagio, it's doesn't cause enough disruption to just skip the first hour. We need to block the schools for a week, keep the kids at home, before the power will feel anything.

Technically, the strikes are for the teachers, not the students, but of course when the kids listen to an announcement that their first hour of lessons can't be guaranteed, they hear, "NO SCHOOL ON FRIDAY!" and disappear for the whole day.

The concept of striking in general is new to me. That even the teenagers can skip school for ideological reasons seems a little tricky. It might be too easy to excuse shirking responsibilities with political motives. But still, people taking any action at all when they want to communicate their frustration with the government is già something I appreciate.

In my lesson about the Declaration of Independence in my other 30-student third year class, I began by asking the students if they had any complaints about how teenagers were treated at the school. They mumbled and a few said no. I asked them if that was the case, why did they go on strike on Friday? More mumbling, a few answered that they disagreed with the reforms. Don't forget to be informed, I told them, when you take action. Maybe they were, they just didn't want to risk explaining in English.

I'm the opposite. I think and inform myself and think and end up going about my day lo stesso. Though Fridays I don't have class, so maybe I was striking by default.

Bonus: This is the education minister on the cover of a right wing news magazine, Panaroma. Welcome to Berlusconi's administration.

snippets

Today was my last day with my lovely 5th year students (vomit aside), my last day tutoring, my last trip to Via Emilio de Marchi, the home of the family where I landed when I first arrived. But I'm not going to dwell on that, because I might be back next year...
So instead, I will record a few conversations I've had recently:

In both Cremona and Zappa you need a key to use the elevator. Zappa conveniently has two custodians who wait around with their keys to call the elevator for you. They both ignored me more or less for eight months, but after my relentless "ciaos" one has started to smile at me. Yesterday she called the elevator and asked:
C (gesturing to my dress): Aren't you cold?
Me: No, it's very hot up on the fourth floor.
C: But down here's it's cold.
Me (almost sweating already): Yes, well I'm warm-blooded.
C: Yes? Do you eat a lot?
Me (amused): Lots.

Today one of the secretaries I had never talked to before followed me to the drink machine to get her tea. She said:
S (smiling ear-to-ear): Oh hi, how are you?
Me: I'm well, and you?
S: Ah how sweet you are! How wonderful! Where are you from?
Me: I'm american.
S: Ah how sweet, how wonderful. (che dolce, che bello) But are you alone here?
Me (is this an existential question?): I have friends.
S: What about are you parents?
Me: They're in the U.S.
S: Ahh, how sweet and wonderful. Goodbye, then.
Me: Goodbye.
And back to the office...

Then a student (not one of mine, but one who always says hello to me) found me in the pizzeria beside the school.
Boy (in English): Are you occupated?
Me: Occupied? No, I'm just reading a Sherlock Holmes story for class.
Boy (laughing awkwardly): Oh, occupied, yes. Oh, that's boring. I thought it was a letter from your girlfriend or something.
Me (playing up the awesomeness of Everything That Is School, downplaying the strange flirting): No, but it's actually quite fun and interesting.
Boy: You don't have an English accent.
Me: That's because I'm from the United States.
Boy (gesturing towards my plate): And what about Italian food? Do you like it?
Me (following gesture to my empty plate): Um, yes. I love it.
Pizza man (with pizza): Eccola!
Friend (impatient): Andiamo, dai!
Boy: Okay, see you.
Me: Bye bye..

Maybe they're not much. They seemed sweet and wonderful at the time. And strange.

a word on grades

Back from a long hiatus of indifference to blog-writing. Turns out when the suns out it can be hard to stay inside. Also my parents were here, and I was busy running around with them and eating. Word to the wise: All the pain and suffering to make a reservation to see Da Vinci's Last Supper is worth it!

I've been thinking a lot about grades and motivation, especially after an incident a few weeks ago at Zappa. Zappa is the technical school I teach at, as opposed to the classics and scientific high school, and I have noticed that the average level of English is lower here. Some of the kids are still wonderfully positive and allegri, but they do struggle more than the kids at the other schools. (This goes in hand with the common belief that linguistic and classics high schools are the best schools with the highest-achieving students, followed by scientific high schools, and then by technical and vocational institutes. As with all common beliefs, it is not entirely true, but I have noticed general differences in the academic levels and economic status of the students at my schools.)

Anyways, in one of my 4th year classes at Zappa where we were learning business English, the students, in pairs, had a project of conducting a mock interview. One was the potential employer and one was the potential employee. One boy, M, missed the day we assigned this project and, because these kids rarely check up on the work they missed when they're absent, did not have a partner and was not prepared to act out the interview. We decided that I would be the employer, he would be the employee, and we would do the interview next week.

The next week, I sat down with him in front of the class and asked him questions, not all of them from the script in the book, and he responded decently. He stumbled over some phrases and didn't understand every question, but I could understand him. The teacher then asked me to give him a grade.

I knew about the Italian grading system already, even though I almost never give grades myself. It goes from 0 to 10, with 6 as passing, on the surface pretty similar to our 0 to 100 scale. However, I had been surprised in the past when I heard students rejoice over 7s and 8s. For me, those grades seemed low.

I thought of the boy's performance, and decided it deserved about a C. It was hardly spectacular, but he had reacted well to unexpected questions. So I whispered to the teacher, "Perhaps a 7?"

M overheard me and immediately began cajoling the prof in Italian to let me decide. I could tell from her face that she disagreed with my opinion, so I asked what she thought was best. "Listen," she told me, "you have to understand how its works. If you give these students a passing grade, they will not study anymore because they think they have done well. They stop working. If you want them to study more you have to give them a lower grade. M especially will not study."

She didn't think he had done a good enough job to pass. Also, his relentless attempts to convince the prof to give him a better grade began to change my mind about his effort. We compromised and gave him two options: accept a 6 or re-do the interview the next week with the teacher. He accepted the 6. When we continued with the other interviews, the highest grade was a 7.5, and the kids who received it were quite happy.

Both the students' contentment with lower grades and the teachers' philosophy for motivation surprised me. While a student at a good public high school, I was never obsessed with grades, I always worked hard and appreciated an A as a reward. Maybe I was a little nerdy, but even my less smartypants companions wanted good grades, at least in the B range. Rarely did people fail.

Here, students regularly worry if they will pass the year. And the teachers, convinced that the kids won't study if they aren't worried, seem to keep them in suspense. Small errors lose you entire points off your score. I've never witnessed anyone receive a 9, and I asked F if he knew of anyone who had received a 10 when he was in school. He said, "Mai, never." The system here embodies the idea that you cannot reach perfection, as a opposed to U.S. system where it is possible.

So, I wonder, which system is better? Perhaps a question that I will continue to chew on as the months wind down...

Autogestione (self-management)

No matter how many times the profs half-explain it to me, I still don't fully get it. This is the week of autogestione, which means the kids run their own lessons. Or study by themselves. Or don't run their own lessons and hang out in the hall, buying packaged snacks and shots of espresso from the vending machines and drawing hearts on each other's faces. Either way, if they want they can kick out the teacher and take over class themselves.

BUT don't think that you can hang out at home, or godforbid explore the city, do something adventurous. You must be at school. Maybe the kids will want you, maybe they will decide to have lessons. You never know. I waited a little bit with Ms. R because she wasn't sure whether the kids in her 2G class would decide to autogestire or not. Probably not, she said, because she had heard they wanted to paint their classroom instead. Still, we waited until a little before the class started when we could see the registro, which had the records of the previous lessons that day. Sure enough, autogestione. No class.

It was nice to have a bit of a break, however. I hung out in the teacher's lounge all morning, figuring out my schedule for the next few weeks, planning tutoring for this afternoon, reading Absalom, Absalom! (I gave it as a gift to Fabbro, then realized that I didn't remember it at all and better re-read it).

The profs were feeling gregarious. Ms. R came up to me to ask me what I was reading. Then later, while I was at the computer, she asked me to borrow it. Then she asked what I was doing on the internet (finding photos for story prompting). Then she came and sat by me while she read so she could ask me about words she didn't know.

Ms. S also came to talk to me while I was at the computer, which delighted me because even though she always has lovely ideas for our classes together, sometimes she is a little cold towards me. She told me about a K-12 creative writing organization called 826 Valencia in San Francisco, as well as other organizations whose newsletters she subscribes to. She talked about the city with such a longing, I hadn't known she had lived there. We agreed to do something with creative writing in our next classes together. She seemed very happy, excited.

Every conversation seems to start with an almost-accusatory "What are you doing?" What is that American up to now? They're just curious.

Ok, now I know: Autogestione = bonding with profs

The Characters

A compelling story without compelling characters is a rare thing. My story may not be compelling, it might be kinda normal, but I can at least include some kinda normal characters as well. (My roommates, I can say for certain, are less than normal).

RACHEL: 22 years old, native tongue assistant, teacher, tutor, English language gigolo (gigola?). Intrepid bike-rider, book-reader, and Italian-speaker. A little fuzzy about the next step, or The Future.

THE OTHER PROFESSORS:

GIOVANNA: Generous and sweet professor who guides Rachel through the delights of the Italian school system and its bureaucracy (speaking of which, when will Rachel ever get paid?). Before class, a little scattered and tends to drop things, but during class she's totally in gear. Frequently talks about her son, who apparently has little passion for English.

ANGELA: In gamba professor with a beautiful British accent. She doesn't yell or scold the students, and together they do their best to encourage and teach them. Gave Rachel bedsheets and one day even took her to the Virgin Fitness Center (fashamancy) to try out their vibrating pedestals and sauna. Oddly insists on translating simple Italian phrases into English for Rachel.

ELENA: The second of the two blonde, in gamba professors. Sweet and confiding, bonds with Rachel because they are both southerners (Elena from Ischia, near Napoli). Invited Rachel to lunch at her house, where she taught her a delicious fresh zucchini recipe, and frequently heaps advice upon her (which pesto to buy, which alleyway to take to school, where to get a mattress/umbrella/pastries/mozzarella di bufala). Has an adorable and embarrassed son in one of Rachel's former classes, plus two other boys. Is frequently exhausted.

LUCA: Passionate and intelligent literature teacher. Needs to discuss all lesson plans at length, but in the end they usually come up with nifty ideas together. For example: Everything Rachel --> the South --> Civil Rights and Obama's victory speech --> American ideals --> Romantic ideals --> Whitman --> Emerson --> Dead Poet's Society. Now that they are working together in the 4th year, he seems a little less enthusiastic.

MS. B (first name unknown): warm and competent professor, with the philosophy that a little bit of strictness at the beginning doesn't hurt. Laughs a lot. Rachel would be really happy to be in her classes more, if she ever let her, but there always seems to be an exam or grade to prepare for. Still, when they are together they make a cheerful team. Rachel misses her 3rd year class with Ms. B.

ROBERTA: Über competent teacher big on intimate discussion. Rachel is working on "the open road" as a concept in her class.

MS. R: Very strict but very curious about the United States. Gives Rachel a candy after every class because she has to "talk so much".

MS. G: Called her class "donkeys" on the Rachel's first day. This has colored their relationship ever since.

FABRIZIO: Former Alitalia employee now teaches. Suave and tall. Happy for Rachel to teach pretty much anything, and to teach that anything to both his second-year classes.

MARINA: Professor at the fancy classics high school who hired Rachel. Small and sweet, refers to herself as a nanna, gnome. Candid about her personal life. Thought Rachel was English, almost kissed her when she found out she was, in fact, American. She loves Americans.

Then there are the professors I am getting to know little by little, mostly by smiling and speaking Italian competently. There is the Siciliana that confided in me how incredibly difficult teaching can be, especially when a student tells you to your face she doesn't give a fuck. There is the gym teacher that starts awkward conversations while I am working. There are my wonderful "students" of my conversations class: the French teacher who considers herself timid but says her personality is red, the scientist who declared the life of the punctual man (his life) a lonely one, the hyperactive vice principal who invited me to her house for dinner and introduced me to her lovely daughter (female friend! working on it...), the professor who brought in Pink Floyd to learn from the lyrics...

Other characters to follow...