The Last Dance

We said goodbye to the Czech Republic on July 3. After a month in Croatia and three days in Venice, we are back in the U.S. When we left the Czech Republic the good citizens of Brno were basking in the glory of summer. The walking streets were filled with pedestrians, the sidewalk cafes were singing with chatter and clinking beer glasses, and the outdoor public pool in our neighborhood was packed with families, teens, and scantily clad sunbathers. Good final memories…

One of our last memories of the Czech Republic will be one of our best: the International Folk Festival at Straznice held on the park-like grounds of a zamek in a village near the Austrian border. Oddly enough, we hadn't seen any publicity announcing this festival in Brno, even though it’s the closest city that can provide a steady supply of tourists. In other words, this was a festival for people-in-the-know. And that was maybe the best thing about it. We may not be the best judges of folk authenticity, but what we saw at Straznice seemed like the real deal.

Betsy’s Czech skills are now pretty darn good, but even she couldn’t decipher the specialized vocabulary on the festival program. We decided to go to something that promised “tančniky” (“dancers”) but only because (and this is the pathetic reason) it was the only word we thought we understood. We had a couple hours to kill before the tančniky so we cruised the beer and meat vendors and watched all the people gliding by in their beautiful village-specific kroj (check out some of the outfits at http://www.rotrekl.cz/kroje.htm). In addition to the main four stages, scattered here and there around the park were little platforms, some commandeered by impromptu gatherings of musicians sharing songs and drink, others occupied by professional “cymbal” bands. The most distinctive instrument in these bands is a special hammered dulcimer thing (cimbalom), but the leader is usually a violin player who knows ALL the songs. And he (yes, HE) is backed up by a standup bass player, a clarinetist, and a bunch of violinists. Everybody’s decked out in his or her kroj and everybody sings. . .

Authorship Disclosure: although there’s been plenty of eye candy for me in the Czech Republic, Betsy’s been pretty hard up; but when she saw these in guys in their tight slacks, cool boots, vests, ribbons, and feathered hats, it inspired a torrent of passionate writing that would have made most husbands jealous. But for me, jealous or not, it proved to be a good source of material to borrow from for this blog posting. Back to my tale..

The cymbal band sound is an orgy of non Western sound; klezmer-like clarinet lines, jazzy rhythm changes, and gipsy violin lines. But also think “beer garden” meets “family reunion” meets “dance party.” The audience, a complete mix of generations, sings along between bites of klobasa and quaffs of Moravian beer, brandy, and wine (the de rigeur accessory is a little shot glass basket you hang around your neck).


Our mysterious tančniky program turned out to be a competition of solo men performing a very stylized song and dance routine in full-on kroj. Each performance begins with the competitor coming out from the wings, kind of like a boxer before a fight, acknowledging the crowd with cowboy-like “yips,” and then walking across the stage to meet a ritual “host couple” (also in a kroj)--the woman pours wine for her “husband” and the performer, the two men drink, and then, as if fortified by the wine, the singer bursts into a short, operatic song, sung very loud, with minimal accompaniment from a cymbal band. As he sings, he holds one or two hands in the air in a “friends, countrymen, Romans” kind of way (think hip hop gesturing in lederhosen). After one verse he shouts "Musiko!" and does a slow dance consisting of a very prescribed combination of kicks, boot slaps, spins and jumps. Some people looked like robots, but the good ones were really expressive, especially with their hands. We learned that the dancers can only choose from a menu of traditional moves, but can put them in any order …like a compulsory skating routine…except with really cool hats…and those pants that made Betsy swoon. After another verse of the song, he once again proclaims "musiko!” but this time the band plays double time, and the performer spins together a new frenzied combination of moves, and then, bang,...it’s over, he thanks his “hosts,” and the next guy comes on stage for his turn with the wine and band.

As good as the performances were, I think we were even more impressed with the spectators’ reactions (and the degree of our absolute cluelessness…this is a new feeling for Betsy; I’m used to being amazed at my ignorance). Each performance only took maybe two minutes, and the crowd hung on every move that the good performers made, clapping on the first notes, full throttle cheering when the performer sang a particularly high note, singing along with the most popular songs, and commenting to each other about particularly good moves or mistakes. But we had no idea what to look for. Think watching the short program of figure skating program minus Dick Button. "Now, Joshka really showed outstanding ribbon control in the semis--but he's got a challenging combination planned for the final and he’s sporting even more ribbons on his kroj, that might be a mistake…but those pants do wonders for his…nevermind, look!…that was a nice opening, smooth turns--oh! beautiful! His knees were just glued together on the boot shuffle. The judges will like that…this kid has great fundamentals…just like his Dad’s 1984 debut performance! Okay, now into the final combination--the slow double spin right into the cossack hop, a good dancer makes that look easier, but nice control on the spin, beautiful arm position, now the hop--beautiful height, but oh! He's lost his hat! And his ribbons have flopped into his face. What a tragedy! Hat drops are a mandatory two-point deduction, and the judges hate watching these boys peeling ribbons off their faces. There go his medal chances!"

In between rounds, the judges would go off to confer and we were treated to performances by the winners from the kids’ divisions. The kids ranged from 7 to 16, and they were really, really good. And the crowd LOVED them, totally encouraged them…and who could blame them? It is great to know these traditions have a future.

Finally, the judges went off one last time, and the bands played to entertain us while we waited. We were getting hot and bored, we didn't really care who won, but just as we had decided to leave a few young guys started singing really loud along with the band, and then rushed the stage! Suddenly, men from all over—competitors, audience members--from ages 6 to 70 came flooded the stage, some in kroj and many, many more in their civilian clothes, to sing and dance together. These were the same guys we see on the tram, teenaged guys in cool sunglasses and big black adidas, bare-chested dads, sixty-something guys with grey hair and paunches, 9-year kids dancing next to their uncles. They knew ALL the steps. They knew ALL the songs. And they did it with wild abandon and great love—during the singing parts they would all put their arms around each other and sway as they sang—and then after a big chorus of “MUSIKO!” they would go completely nuts. High kicking, twirling, everything…a tradition-affirming bacchanalia!

And then, it was time to come home…to Brno and, after a month in Croatia, to the United States.

Some final thoughts about our last days in Brno: Between the time that Sophie’s school ended on June 29 and we left on July 3, every single one of Sophie’s friends, and even our pet rat, had left town for camp or vacation. Thus, although we had had a chance to say goodbye to our neighbors and friends in the preceding weeks, our departure was remarkably quiet, stress free, a little lonely, and…maybe anti-climatic? Ten months of living in someplace new and exciting reduced to cleaning out the frig, giving away your pet rat, finally getting up the guts to eat the jars of gifted pickled cabbage, and mailing packages.

Over my goodbye coffee with my American expat friend, we talked about my last blog posting (re: Czech education). She has a son in Czech schools, and although she’s not particularly happy with how things have gone for him, she also pointed out that there is more variety in Czech education than I had presented—and that my understanding of Czech education was just as limited as my ability to “get inside” Czech culture (in other words, she thought I was obnoxiously wrong!)

Of course she is right about that “getting inside” thing... I mean, it is THE challenge of being a long-term tourist and although we’ve been lucky to meet families and learn Czech, we haven’t been privy to the whole picture. It’s like…hmm…imagine walking down a corridor with curtained windows and doors on either side. You can hear that there is something going on in the rooms but you can’t see through the curtains and you don’t know how to unlock the doors. It’s exhausting (and stressful?) to ALWAYS be on the outside. So inevitably, of course, I’ve painted some inaccurate (and unkind ?) pictures of Czech culture. However, by the time we left, some of the curtains along the corridor were getting more transparent and we were feeling more competent with the locks. I hope the readers of this blog can appreciate much we have loved living there, how much it meant to us to be so welcomed by our Czech friends, how much we have enjoyed the beautiful countryside and castles, the mushroom-hunting with our friends, the challenge (and fun) of the language, watching Sophie succeed at school, etc.

So, in that light, we were so grateful for the folk festival…the opportunity to go to a big Moravian party where the curtains were more or less pulled back, where everyone was wearing their extrovert “inside faces” and even an outsider could understand their love for music, dance, and their culture...well, you know what I mean. It was like--aha! These guys were having fun and…so did we!
Thanks for reading.

KONEC!
(the end)

Education in the Czech Republic

For the last few weeks downtown Brno has been a carnival of costumed gymnazium seniors roaming the streets, blowing whistles, and raising money for their graduation parties. Yeah, it feels a little weird to have everyone chip in some dough to get the graduates drunk, but it’s a tradition that goes back to the middle ages, and, thus, I guess(?), it must be a good idea. Adding to the party atmosphere are “tableaux” in the shop windows—posters celebrating each cadre of students with pictures of each graduate. The best ones have themed texts and designs (e.g., pirates), some of our other favorites feature especially bad hair. We offer some highlights (ha ha) here.

Betsy and I have wrapped up our teaching, Sophie's only days away from the end of her school year, and we’ve all been reflecting on education here in the Czech Republic. Needless to say, it’s different than the US, mostly because they have different ideas about when and how to sort students into college and career tracks.

I’ve worked in education long enough to know that, despite their stated missions to the contrary, most school systems perpetuate existing socioeconomic structures by sorting students according to “ability” or “motivation.” In the US, we try to delay that sorting for as long as possible. Although it is sometimes a fantasy, we want each child to have the opportunity to graduate from high school, and, implicitly, to go on to college. That is not to say that we don’t sort students (you’d have to be completely race and class-blind to deny it), it’s just that sorting tends to be an accident of demographics, test design, institutional racism, or the economics of taxation (did you know that urban graduation rates in the US hover just around 50%?).

In the Czech Republic, on the other hand, student sorting is more overt, “rationalized,” and happens earlier, usually after the 1st, 4^th and 8^th grades. Those who make the first cut go to zakladni skola (elementary school), the next winners go onto a seven or four year Gymnazium (high-powered academic high school), an almost guaranteed pathway to college. Those who don’t make the cut go to a variety of vocation-specific schools where it is virtually impossible to go to college or correct earlier academic weaknesses. The less-fortunate (or more heavily screened) who go to "special schools" instead of elementary schools, are effectively condemned, at age 5, to careers in ditch-digging or street sweeping. In addition, unlike in the States, there is not a lot of hand holding or remediation, and there is certainly no “modifying” instruction for different cultures, intelligences or disabilities.

The gymnazium entrance exam is king—a king that values recalling (a lot of) information, but not synthesizing it. As a result, the college-tracked Czech students Betsy and I teach are extremely bright, have amazing mastery of tons of facts, are excellent test-takers, but are not necessarily great at writing anything opinionated. My students at the Brno English Center love to start their so-called "persuasive essays" with "it depends" and then slather the rest of their paper with facts, facts, facts. Oh, and here's another thing: they are unabashed cheaters! It’s a normal part of high school and college life that is, maybe a reaction to taking 10-12 courses at a time. They can't do the homework to practice what they are learning. So cheating is one of the only viable ways of passing the ONE exam on which their whole grade rests! (By the way, imagine Betsy trying to teach literature if students don’t read or write?!)

Although Betsy and I have learned a great deal about the Czech education system through our jobs, Sophie’s experience in elementary school has given us the most insight. So maybe I should fill you in on her experience:

Sophie likes school generally, but her 45-minute commute has dampened some of her enthusiasm (although she has LOVED the increased independence of riding the trams). The commute would have been easier to tolerate if her teacher during the first half of the year had been better. You know those inexperienced teachers who are unclear about the difference between "discipline" and "authoritarianism?" Unfortunately, her first teacher was also an uninspired text-book follower (because the exams are so important, teaching here tends to be very curriculum-focused rather than student-centered). Poor Sophie! As if being surrounded by kids all speaking Czech wasn’t hard enough. But fortunately for Sophie and those who worry about declining birthrates in Europe, her first teacher got pregnant and left in February!

That first teacher’s replacement has proven to be much kinder, probably not much more skilled, but at least a little more adventurous (e.g., she assigned the only two writing assignments Sophie had all year!). Sophie loves her, and therefore, so do we.

For Sophie, the lack of creative writing and investigative exercises in math or science has made school less interesting than it was in the US. But she has loved learning Czech poems and songs and her confidence in math has skyrocketed. Let's face it, there is a lot to be said for memorizing your math facts. In addition, the school's orientation towards discipline and order has enhanced Sophie organizational and time-management skills in a good “I-know-where-my-eraser-is” kind of way.

I think Czech school has also made Sophie more resilient…dare I say, tougher? They don’t have recess. They have to stand when the teacher enters the room. Her first teacher’s yelling helped Sophie see that, however unpleasant, an angry adult does not always mean that there’s something wrong with you. Another striking difference is how, even with her nice teacher, all Sophie's failures and successes were made very public...a strange mix of elementary school and poetry slam. For example, they play games like “Math King” and keep track of the winners and losers over the year on a special poster...I guess because kids aren't mean enough to each other? In that same spirit, grades are given orally, in front of the whole class, even at teacher-parent meetings where every other parents listen in as the teacher describes how your child is a persistent nose-picker, helplessly anti-social, or a brick with no hope of learning how to add.

The hardest adjustment for us coming from Sophie's groovy, lovey-dovey school back home has been the complete lack of partnership between parents and teachers. At Sophie's school here there are no volunteers, no “room parents,” no class newsletters. In fact, parents are barely welcome in the building; when we pick up Sophie we ring a special bell, speak through an intercom, and ward off the attacking ice weasels while we wait for Sophie to find her shoes, get distracted by her braids, go to the bathroom, etc. But on the other hand, Sophie has learned to keep track of her own shoes and homework—once she's in that building, she's on her own.

My friend from the former East Germany thinks this lack of parent partnership is a legacy from the socialist era when people were expected to entrust the state with their children, no questions asked (Say what you want about socialism...but frankly, I think it's a drastic step to take to help kids keep track of their shoes). That said, it's been really nice to have a vacation from fundraisers and some of the more tedious PTA-type meetings (OK, I'll also say this: my self-esteem has loved the vacation from American Super Moms and their #@@%$ plates of homemade "Hey Mr. Full-time-working-guy! Do-you-feel-inadequate-NOW?" cookies).

Oddly enough, all this get-tough, math-by-rote, where-is-your-pencil-box, wait-while-ice- weasels-nibble business hides an interesting irony: although school feels tougher here, the curriculum is pretty light. There is virtually no homework and they make much more time for non-academics (4 1/2 hour school day, skating, swimming lessons, field trips, trips to the theatre, etc). In short, there are minimum standards that one MUST meet, and kids are held more personally responsible, but kids have time to be kids.

Speaking of field trips, the highlight of the year was Sophie’s one-week field trip to “Škola v Přirodĕ” (Literally: "Nature School"-- kids here start going away to sleep-away camp when they are only six!). Despite a bit of rain, she had a great time: they hiked, rode horses, played in the woods, and bled…all the fun stuff. The food was predictably nasty. According to Sophie: Breakfast was bread, lard spread, and, if you were lucky, jam. Lunch was potatoes, soup, and "something else with sauce...maybe it was rice...even the Czech kids didn't eat it." Dinner was a little bit of soup, bread, potatoes, and "something else...I don't know." But it's hard to complain when we only paid $100 for a whole week of camp including all food, lodging, activities, and transport!

Like the rest of her schooling and commuting experiences, Sophie liked the increased agency, independence, and personal responsibility of Škola v Přirodĕ. American schools (and families) could learn a lot from their Czech counterparts about their children’s resilience, strength, and self-management potential (and just THINK of all those happy, temporarily-kid-free marriages!).

Though we missed the joys of the third-grade MCAS in Massachusetts this year, we can report that Sophie passed all of her third-grade tests with flying colors. She was very proud of herself. And she should be—here the tests matter in a way that they don't, necessarily, in the US. There seems to be virtually no American-style social promotion; kids stay back if they can’t master the minimum curriculum, which, as I said, ain’t all that rigorous anyway. It's refreshing—not as in “wow, look at those suffering kids! How refreshing!”—to see some transparency in the testing process. Although the No Child Left Behind's standardized testing is changing things in the US, our tests (like the MCAS) are meant to test the schools, not the students, per se, and our socially promoted students tend to pile up in the upper grades, where nobody, including the students, is really sure how they got there or what to do with them. When I taught 10th grade in the US, I routinely had students who didn't understand the concept of a number line or couldn't create paragraphs—6th grade stuff....it just doesn't happen here.

But before you jump on the “transparent testing bandwagon” you should remember that even a“rationalized” process is open to racism, classism, cubism, botulism, and so on. The Romani (aka Gypsies...which most Czechs still classify as foreigners) almost NEVER go to gymnazium, (let alone university) because that 1st-grade test almost always classifies Romani kids as mentally retarded. 90%. I'm not kidding.

Thus, virtually all Romani kids are sent to “special schools” where they learn absolutely nothing that would prepare them for the entrance exams to gymnazium. In fact, on the theory that these kids need to be separated from their cultural and family influences, some of these “special schools” are boarding schools.

So how does this segregation happen? Apparently the schooling competence exam is heavily cultural biased and requires children to have been brought up speaking “regular” Czech, knowing "regular" Czech folk tales, etc. For example, one of Betsy's colleagues said that the exam penalizes Roma kids for their culture’s very different conception of color. i.e, apparently “red” has a cultural meaning (beyond its reference to a particular part of the visual spectrum) that means some Romani children wouldn’t sort a brick into a pile of otherwise red objects. (Confused? So am I and, I guess, so are legions of Czech test designers!)

While Sophie is hardly in the same position as the Romani, we experienced a brand of this suspicion of otherness when we tried to pull her out of her "International School" and enroll her in an all-Czech school closer to our house. We were told time and again that it would be difficult to "integrate" her, that she would be teased, that they would be doing very special “Czech curriculum" (what? Like the difference between ale and pilsner?). In a post-Brown vs. Board of Education world these were messages that were hard for us to accept. Luckily, we're not stuck with it.

The upshot of the two systems is that although both systems sort students, more students go onto post-secondary education in the US (~50%) than in the Czech Republic (~25%). But in terms of efficiency, more of the students who go to gymnazium graduate (~90%) than their American counterparts (~74%), which is not surprising given how well students are screened for success. Regardless of the relative merits of each system, it will be nice to return to the US, even if it means selling that #%%# wrapping paper, kids never having their pencils, and facing those Super Moms.