Chinese kids Take the stairs

Greetings,

Yes, it's true, this passionate desire for pressure to pass exams in Chinese schools resulted in millions of children dying today in a stampede to escape their teachers after evening class. Stare at the stairs. 

-It was raining, said the authorities. Blame the rain.

-The rain had nothing to do with it, said a survivor, age 10. It was a death trap.

Chinese educational tools.

The provincial education party leader was fired. The principal of the school was fired. The parents of dead children can't do a thing because they are willing victims of the system. They have absolutely no power. How can the system fire parents? They have no idea how we run the institution. We brainwash the students and their parents.

-Mandatory study from 6:00 a.m. to 9:30 p.m. seven days a week, said the system.

-This is your DUTY as parents, said the system.

-As students, your DUTY is to pass the exams. 60 is heaven. 59 is hell. Learning is secondary. 

-We have developed safe and secure schools for your children, said the system. Look at our safety record. Look at the substandard construction materials and cost-cutting measures we have implemented to save money. Look at the bribery and corruption we've developed and nurtured to manipulate everyone from the bottom to to the top to create the finest, safest educational facilities in the entire world. We pay everyone off. 

-As you know from our long history the value of human life is worthless, said the system.

-Our rigid educational safety standards includes spotless bathrooms, expansive sports halls where students are required to sing silly patriotic songs about the motherland, dining halls where they eat the same mass produced rice and stringy green soggy vegetables day after day, dorm rooms where we pack 8-10 students into rat cages, an empty useless library and lots of slippery tiled stairs which, in the event of a fire, panic, epidemic, plague, tornado, hurricane, typhoon, and earthquakes - remember Sichuan and the shoddy buildings that killed 8,000 kids - become death traps. 

If you protest the death of your child because of our negligence we will:

1. evict you from your home
2. remove you from your plush paper pushing bureaucratic job
3. send you to a re-education labor camp on another planet
4. make you pay a fine
5. hunt you down

Your teacher loves you.

The school, to prevent disorder and broken social harmony by distraught parents grieving over the unfortunate and unforeseen death of their young children, will hold a one minute of silence memorial tomorrow at 10:00 a.m. in honor of our loyal and patriotic students who perished in the latest tragedy in their pursuit of good grades and academic excellence.

May their untimely death serve as a reminder to all of us to remain vigilant and steadfast in our common purpose of command and control procedures.

Thank you for your attention.

Metta.

Butterfly of Consequence

The bats are back. They are roosting in the shade and protection of wide green fronds. Shhh.

Thumbing through the Moleskine. Here's a spring flashback entry. On March 23rd I gave my 90-day notice at the introverted strange private Catholic school in Jakarta. I sculpted the clean, real, honest and clear missive focusing on a June departure. Thank you for the opportunity. Time to fly. Enough.

I'd been alerted on January 9th when the Director sent an SMS to Surely, my supervisor. Ironically the big D wasn't wearing her specs and also sent it to me. It was a Friday night, Surely and I with her two kids had visited a local bookstore and then sat down at an Indian restaurant for nan, curry and sustenance with flavor. We were outside. The SMS arrived in a brown paper bag. Innocuous.

Briefly, it said, "Grade 4 parents called Terrible, the principal, and they want Tim replaced. We have to talk."

This was a positive sign. It alerted me to the realties, the parental influence and how I needed to refocus and redefine for myself, kids and parents, the specific balance between academic responsibility and freedom. Simple.

I learned some were not happy with the academic progress and structure. Some, not all, the parents were unhappy with my methods, the material and the personal evaluations and feedback I was giving their child.

I took immediate steps in class to make sure the kids and their parents were:

1) writing/sharing this balanced approach to learning in their daily Agenda notebook. Some parents, especially those activily involved in their child's educational progress would read it. Accountability.

2) understanding the benchmarks and various assessment on process tools - speaking, reading comprehension, listening and writing classroom evaluations and academic expectations. Get it in writing.

I shared the responsibility with kids and parents to understand the what, why and how process in the classroom and beyond.

I considered my options. They wanted me to stay for another year but I'd learned what I needed to learn about their system, parental controls, influence, mediocrity, became a better teacher and knew it was time to complete the little chapter and turn the page.

After I submitted a copy to the Director of English who was shocked to realize I'd acted to regain my freedom from the tyranny with such a responsible dignified and professional personal action, I dropped one off at Human Resources.

On my way out of the administration zone the final door handle came off in my hand, cheap stuff - "Oh, NO! I'm trapped in the system!"

I laughed, seeing the cosmic significance, handed it to an office girl and pried open the door. Close call.

While traversing a green lawn back to class tombs breathing deep relief I found a brown butterfly with a damaged wing. I carried it on my folder to a safe place. Then I planted seeds with the kids and we cultivated a garden. Together.

Metta.

Sleepy Heads

It is a Monday at 6:45.

They call it Stormy Monday...and Tuesday is just as bad...

Someone wearing a shirt made from papyrus stands in front of an open rusty green iron gate to welcome green students.

Martial Catholic music blares from tinny loudspeakers. The church is under permanent construction. It is filled with towering grey artificial plastic golden arches made of compressed dust. Air conditioning ducts lie scattered in the vestibule, purple garments hanging by a broken thread in a chastity of lotus blossoms. A  sharp shaft of blessed light from heaven plays along a contorted floor wearing cracked bells tolling at a nearby school. The church has gone underground in deep dark shadows filled with sin, jealousy, regret, sloth, lies, and enough parking spaces for a choir of angelic forms in the rising middle class.

Miles of cars and black tinted SUVs pull up at the entrance. Sleepy-eyed kids extricate themselves from interior dull air conditioned nightmares. A green whistle blower directs traffic.

Blue clad office boys unload suitcases filled with text books, water bottles, lunch baskets, severed cultural connections and maps of the universe. Tired, sleep deprived children stand passive, waiting for someone - a maid, a driver, a mom, a dad, a perfect stranger to hand them a suitcase handle, a plastic grip on life.

They drag their cumbersome baggage along recently mopped tile floors, through a very narrow gate wearing a shiny silver lock, around corners and hoist it onto little shoulders, or drag it clattering up two flights of stairs.

Click-clack-click-clack, down long empty corridors filled with echoes of childhood.

An elementary girl waits in the sun. Her right hand is empty. Exhaust from idling cars and trucks fills the air. It is choking everyone.

She is exasperated. She looks angry, tired and completely bored. Suddenly she begins to rapidly open and close her empty right hand. It opens and closes with a desperate spasmodic fever. She stares straight ahead, her brown eyes locked on green gates. She sees a beautiful green tropical distinct distant rain forest. She smells wild purple orchids inside deep shade near a flowing river. It is cool and refreshing.

"Give it to me! Give it to me!" says her grasping hand. Someone hands her a plastic suitcase handle. She drags her baggage into a cave.

Metta.

Educational Fool Memo

Here's April Fool's early warning system alert:

Focus on structure, concrete, sequential. Clear simple instructions.

Develop and allow for critical thinking skills. Make intelligent choices.

Cross artistic approach - draw the sound.

Practice visualization skills and meditation techniques. Personalize it.

What speaks to you from your heart?

Metta.

We are all born free

We are all born free is a new children's picture book celebrating the Universal Declaration of Human Rights.

Synopsis:
We are all born free is an outstanding and beautiful picture book celebrating the Universal Declaration of Human Rights. Artists and illustrators from all over the world offer their personal interpretation of the Articles, making them easy to understand for young readers. Children aged 6 and over will take great pleasure in discovering an exceptional illustration as well as a fundamental right on every page they turn.

Published by Frances Lincoln in association with Amnesty International, with forewords by David Tennant, who describes this collection as a 'beautiful book' in which 'you’ll find thirty rules for the world to live by' and John Boyne, for whom this book 'might be the most important one that you ever own.' 

We Are All Born Free has already been translated into more than 30 languages and sold over 200,000 copies.  more>>

Metta.