Primary Sources—Introduction (e) Butterflies

One year ago on Round and Square (25 May 2011)—George Costanza Does the Opposite
Click here to access Round and Square's "Primary Sources" Resource Center 

Introduction (a)—Education and Enculturation          Introduction (b)—Traditional Education     

Introduction (c)—Contemporary Education               Introduction (d)—Hong Kong and Taiwan

Introduction (e)—Butterflies                                       Introduction (f)—K-12, c.1985
Introduction (g)—Impassioned Communities            Introduction (h)—History, Language, and Culture, c.1985

[12]

Now that we have considered a wide range of issues in Chinese education (information that that careful reader of this series will need as she proceeds with the relentless series of texts that will follow) it is time to narrow our focus. We head to the Republic of China on Taiwan—an isolated little rebel province that started to wonder what it might be like to go it alone. At least for a little while. That "little while" started in the late-1940s, and had already lasted in an official sense for thirty-seven years when my Korean Airlines flight landed in the middle of a sea of rice paddies...in the middle of the Reagan administration.

[a] Classical RF

So there I was, in the summer of 1985, peering over the odd syntax of classical Chinese in Confucius's Analects. I had a private tutor who was determined to teach me the classical language in the "right" way—with the Four Books (四書). This was the way education had been envisioned for the intermediate learner since the time of Zhu Xi (1130-1200). This had some significant advantages for a relatively ambitious, relatively young student who wanted "the real thing." I wanted to combine the difficult task of learning the classical language (as I spoke about it then) and gaining substantive knowledge of Chinese literature that would help shape my thinking for the future. I didn't want just language drills.

[13]

As I sat in my little study area in my Taipei apartment, I chanted the various lines from the storied texts. In the spirit of beginnings, I memorized the immortal lines from both Confucius and Mencius that everyone in China's history who has ever opened a book (or bamboo pouch).

       子曰學而詩習之不亦悅乎   有朋自遠方來不亦樂乎  人不知而不慍不亦君子乎
        The Master said, 'Is it not a pleasure, having learned something, to try it 
        out at due intervals? Is it not a joy to have friends come from afar? Is it 
        not gentlemanly not to take offence when others fail to appreciate your 
        abilities?'[1]

        孟子見梁惠王   王曰叟不遠千里而來亦將有以利吾國乎  孟子對曰王何必曰利
        亦有仁義而已矣
        Mencius went to see King Hui of Liang. 'Sir,' said the King. 'You have come
        all this distance, thinking nothing of a thousand li. You must surely have 
        some way of profiting my state?' 'Your Majesty,' answered Mencius. 'What
        is the point of mentioning the word "profit"? All that matters is that there 
        be benevolence and rightness.[2]

I was entranced. As I went deeper and deeper into the texts, I felt that I was becoming a part of an educational tradition that stretched back for a millennium...and two, and three. I could not help but dabble a bit in the Daoist arts—or at least the classical texts—and I was powerfully intrigued by Zhuangzi's little treatise (I use the word with irony that a Daoist might appreciate) on the butterfly dream.

        昔者莊周夢為蝴蝶   栩栩然蝴蝶也   自喻適志與   不知周也   俄然覺
        則蘧蘧然周也   不知周之夢為蝴蝶與   蝴蝶之夢為周與   周與蝴蝶則必
        有分矣   此之謂物化

        Once Zhuangzi dreamt he was a butterfly, a butterfly flitting and fluttering 

        around, happy with himself and doing as he pleased. He didn't know he was 

        Zhuangzi. Suddenly he woke up and there he was, solid and unmistakable 

        Zhuangzi. But he didn't know if he was Zhuangzi who had dreamt he was a 

        butterfly, or a butterfly dreaming he was Zhuangzi. Between Zhuangzi and a 

        butterfly there must be some distinction! This is called the Transformation of 

        Things.[3]

[b] 八八 RF

[14]

It all started with that butterfly revery. It occurred to me that—by chance as I thought then—I had never really encountered the word "butterfly" in several years of college language texts or several hundred pages of classical literature. That may have been coincidence, of course, but I thought not—decidedly not. An air of disgusted frustration overtook me as I started to ponder the problems associated with studying slices of social and cultural life. I had already had this on my mind for some time. 

It was hard not to miss the stacks of books in Taipei bookstores with "Business Chinese" in the titles. Just a quick perusal of their vocabulary lists told me that this approach was exactly what I wanted to avoid—a partial and ultimately flawed approach that privileged words like "equity" and "market," while ignoring "cognition," "comity," "enculturation"...and butterfly. I had even seen bits and pieces of this in the scholarly world. While overwhelmed with admiration for the depth of learning of some of the greats in Chinese studies (and I have used the translations of two of them here in homage to how much they shaped the field), I had already begun to suspect that some of that vast learning was shaped like a cheese wedge. It was thick and truly substantial regarding various historical, philosophical, or literary matters, but narrow and flecked in other areas—like lived experience and everyday life in the present. Sure, some of this is inevitable. I knew that even back then, when I hoped that I might be able to learn it all. Still, I wanted a more consistent hunk of the sinological world. 

I thought, walked, and brooded. Where had all the butterflies gone? 

[c] New light RF

[15]

All through my first months in Taipei, I walked some of the same streets covered in my initial fieldnotes. Down Kuan-chien Road I walked before dipping into alleys, byways, and avenues. All that while, I routinely passed a dusty little bookstore that barely caught my attention—until the day I read about Zhuangzi and the butterfly. It was the Ministry of Education publishing company, and it was fronted by a retail book operation with stacks of green volumes bearing pictures of studious little children being good Republic of China citizens. The little store that for months was beneath my consciousness—if not contempt; these were children's books, after all—suddenly showed itself in a new light. The store was the same as before, but I had changed.

"I'll bet they have butterflies," I mumbled to no one in particular.

The door creaked open, and I can still remember the thick, olfactory resonance of dust, humidity, and paper. I knew I had found a linguistic and cultural home, and that I would never look at elementary education the same way again. If anyone noticed the foreigner amidst the kids' books, I couldn't tell. Most of the work was taking place in the back rooms, where (I later learned) huge stacks of graded readers were being readied for shipment to schools all over the island. The next semester always beckoned, and staff members were far too busy to ask silly questions such as "may I help you?"

[d] Stack RF

I negotiated the narrow aisles, noticing the full range of K-12 books. There was composition, science, history, and classical Chinese. Many of these texts were used at the middle school and high school levels. I picked them up and put them on a table. The stack was growing. A staff member noticed, and came to help. She pointed me toward the elementary school readers, and said matter-of-factly: "That's where you need to start." Until that moment, I had assumed that I would start with seventh grade. Even then, I did not think that elementary school texts would be necessary. I was a big boy, after all.

"That's where you need to start," she repeated. Suddenly, it all started to make sense. My anthropological training, historical study, and language learning all converged. I knew that she was right. I gathered up all of the K-6 "language arts" books, added them to the 7-12 stack, and paid the bill—startled by how reasonable book prices could be when the future of the citizenry depended on it.

I hailed a cab, positioned three bags of books next to me, and thought about butterflies. 

Notes
[1] D.C. Lau, Confucius: The Analects (New York: Penguin Classics, 1979), 59.
[2] D.C. Lau, Mencius (New York: Penguin Classics, 1970), 49.
[3] Burton Watson, Chuang-tzu (New York: Columbia University Press, 1968), 68.

Biblilography
Lau, D.C. Confucius: The Analects. New York: Penguin Classics, 1979.
Lau, D.C. Mencius. New York: Penguin Classics, 1970.
Watson, Burton. Chuang-tzu. New York: Columbia University Press, 1968. 

[e] Acculturation RF

NEXT
Home from the Ministry Education bookstore, I opened the package. My life would never be the same. The acculturation process had begun.

Primary Sources—Introduction (d) Education in Hong Kong and Taiwan

One year ago on Round and Square (24 May 2011)—Remonstrance: East Asian Definitions
Click here to access Round and Square's "Primary Sources" Resource Center 

Introduction (a)—Education and Enculturation          Introduction (b)—Traditional Education     

Introduction (c)—Contemporary Education               Introduction (d)—Hong Kong and Taiwan

Introduction (e)—Butterflies                                       Introduction (f)—K-12, c.1985
Introduction (g)—Impassioned Communities            Introduction (h)—History, Language, and Culture, c.1985

[9]

Students in the Republic of China in Taiwan follow the same general pattern of education as students in the People's Republic of China. They attend six years of primary school, three years of middle school, and three years of high school. Over the course of the past sixty years, the most significant issues separating students in Taiwan from those in the People's Republic have been language and politics. As in the People's Republic, the language of education in Taiwan is Mandarin, but students all learn traditional characters. This means that even when they read the same story about a Chinese cultural figure, the language used is different enough that two primary school students from Beijing and Taipei might well be confused to read the other student's text.

[a] Shanghai today RF

Over time, students in the People's Republic become acquainted with many of the traditional characters. The situation in Taiwan is somewhat different. The only people who become thoroughly acquainted with simplified characters are those doing business in China or advanced students studying scholarship written by contemporary academics in the People's Republic. It is important not to overstate the issue, however. Language policies in the two systems have created a gulf, but it is far from insurmountable, as business people from Taiwan manage to work effectively in China, and classical scholars are able to read traditional texts in the People's Republic.

[10]

A larger issue in Chinese education lies in politics. The island's peculiar political situation has played an enormous role in the education of its students during the past sixty years. During the 1950s and 1960s, in particular, the Republic of China described itself as the legitimate source of political power in China, even though it happened to possess only the single province of Taiwan. In the world of diplomacy, such an assertion needed to be couched and modified. In the world of primary education, the message was anything but subtle. A perusal of textbooks used in Taiwan in the 1970s and 1980s reveals distinctly political themes—many of which we will see in this series. Inserted alongside the standard teachings on social cooperation, harmony, family life, and student diligence (many of which echo the themes of traditional education we saw in Section B) are a large number of readings showing a Chinese (not a Taiwan-based) identity. The 1985 second grade reader makes the identity issues clear, even before the reader looks at the illustration of two children and a large Republic of China flag beneath the text.

[b] Taipei today RF

     I am Chinese.
     My roots are in China.
     I love China
     With a love that runs deep.[1]

It is perhaps less surprising that we find many stories about he founding heroes of the Republic in these textbooks. There are stories about Sun Yat-sen in his youth, and several about Jiang Jieshi (Chiang Kai-shek), the president of the Republic until his death in 1975. One shows a young Jiang in army school standing up for his homeland when a Japanese teacher criticizes China.

The contents that outside observers might find most startling, however, are the directly political stories that are included in every grade level. For example, the 1985 third-grade reader shows an emaciated man surrounded by skulls and a sign that reads "People's Commune." The text is titled "The Place Where There is No Sun," and describes life for our "unfortunate brethren on the mainland." Another third-grade text shows a large drawing of two children giving away piggy banks. The text begins:

          In December 1978, American President Carter suddenly broke ties with
          our country; every freedom loving Chinese (citizen) was enraged.[2]

[c] Kaohsiung today RF

It goes on to tell the story of two primary-school children who, upon hearing the news, contributed their savings to a fund-drive at National Taiwan University in order to protect the country.

Despite the directly political educational messages during the first four decades of Republican rule in Taiwan, the texts were no less serious for that. Even today, after major curricular changes (none of the stories mentioned above survives in today's elementary school readers), adults who grew up with the older books often say that they were tougher and did a better job of teaching language, history, and culture. Be that as it may, the clear message is that education has a great deal to do with creating identity, and the Ministry of Education in the Republic of China took that work very seriously back in the day (c. 1985). Even though the message is much more nuanced today, the work of identity creation—now with a greater emphasis on Taiwanese history, language, and culture—continues.

[11]

The educational situation in Hong Kong is very different, and has been buffeted by forces that are both similar and dissimilar to Taiwan and the People's Republic. Language and politics also dominate the educational challenges in Hong Kong, but the situation is much more complex. In the People's Republic of China and Taiwan, Mandarin Chinese is the first language of education, and English holds an overwhelmingly important position as the foreign language. Other languages, from French and German to Japanese and Korean, are a distant third in priority, and students often do not begin to study them until they are in a university or work setting. 

[d] Hong Kong today RF

In Hong Kong, however, three languages dominate, creating a difficult logistical situation for textbook writers, teachers, administrators, and students. English was integral to the curriculum for as long as the British were in Hong Kong, and the situation remains similar today, fifteen years after Hong Kong was returned to Chinese control. Cantonese has always been the Chinese language of instruction in Hong Kong, and has dominated the curriculum—as well as business and social life—throughout Hong Kong's modern educational era. The new wild card is Mandarin, which has achieved a very high level of influence in the past few decades, with business interests in the People's Republic streaming into Hong Kong, and vice versa. Some parents, in particular, fear that students will be at a disadvantage at British, American, and Chinese universities if students are unable to concentrate on a truly primary language.

Politically, Hong Kong textbooks have changed somewhat over the last few decades, but not nearly as much as those in Taiwan. The British influence from a century and a half of colonial presence (which only ended in 1997) can still be felt, but there is a distinct quality of Chinese cultural appreciation in the texts that was more muted in the past. Indeed, it can be said that today's textbooks in Hong Kong reflect the generally—but let's not push this word too far—positive attitude that many Hong Kong residents have taken toward Chinese stewardship. The attitude is not unambiguous, however, and the challenges for educators lie in building a Hong Kong identity that is both global—reflecting, in particular, the British past—and Chinese. 

Notes
[1] Guomin xiaoxue guoyu keben [國民小學國語課本], 1985, 2a.27.
[2] Guomin xiaoxue guoyu keben [國民小學國語課本], 1985, 3a.25.

[e] Wither... RF

NEXT
Butterflies
Reading Zhuangzi one day, I dreamed of butterflies. Next thing I knew, I was buying textbooks. It's a long story.

Primary Sources—Introduction (c) Contemporary Chinese Education

One year ago on Round and Square (23 May 2011)—Remonstrance: English Definitions
Click here to access Round and Square's "Primary Sources" Resource Center 

Introduction (a)—Education and Enculturation          Introduction (b)—Traditional Education     

Introduction (c)—Contemporary Education               Introduction (d)—Hong Kong and Taiwan

Introduction (e)—Butterflies                                       Introduction (f)—K-12, c.1985
Introduction (g)—Impassioned Communities            Introduction (h)—History, Language, and Culture, c.1985

[6]

One might ask what possible connection there can be between a traditional education in China and today's educational system. To be sure, all areas of the Chinese speaking world have made enormous strides in education, and the literacy rate has grown tremendously in the twentieth, and into the twenty-first, century. Current systems provide six years of primary school and six years of secondary school, taking a student through the equivalent, in years, of an American junior high and high school education). There are also state-organized university systems as well as (particularly in Hong Kong and Taiwan) vibrant private institutions. Beyond that, there are also thousands of institutions, large and small, that specialize in technical training.

[a] Portal RF

The curriculum has changed a great deal from earlier times, although a Chinese student still receives thorough instruction in history, philosophy, and literature through the middle school years. Science and math are also a very important part of the curriculum, and the various Ministries of Education in the People's Republic, Hong Kong, and Taiwan put a great deal of emphasis on building technical expertise. One thing that has remained consistent, however, is competition, and jockeying for position among students is intense. The stress on family members—from grandparents and parents to the students themselves—is equally great. There is also a signficant urban-rural divide in educational access. This figures as a much larger problem over the vast territory of the People's Republic of China than in Hong Kong or Taiwan. In all cases, though, rural schools have less flexibility in terms of attracting quality teachers, and even educational funding remains somewhat uneven.

Education in the Chinese speaking world today continues to place a decided emphasis on language and mathematical literacy, and this can clearly be seen in textbooks used in elementary and middle school. After that point, the system continues to emphasize the core skills necessary for students fortunate enough to test well and enter good high schools and universities. For many other students, however, the educational path after middle school is a great deal more vocational. Training schools and job-specific education play a very large role in the education of significant portions of the population, and are an integral part of the various economies of the region. Those schools do continue to teach a core curriculum, bu the focus is much more directly on job training.

[b] Middle school RF

[7]

Two subjects—language/culture (語文) and mathematics (數學)—dominate the educational landscape from first grade through high school graduation. To be certain, other subjects are integrated into the curriculum and comprise the dominant strands of instruction. These include English, science, and social studies at the primary level, and philosophy, history, geography, chemistry, and physics at higher levels. There are only two subjects for which anxious parents can buy a complete review course of important primary school themes in preparation for middle school exams, though—language arts and mathematics. The first day of school can be said to begin with them, and the last day of school will end with them.

Even though it is not the focus of this series, it will be worthwhile to look briefly at mathematical education. It is focused and workmanlike, and there is a basic assumption that students can "do math"—indeed, that the skills can be developed by any educated person. It is often remarked that Chinese students advance far more quickly in mathematics than American students. It is a fact that is almost beyond dispute, and the reason lies in relentless focus and persistence.

[c] Nanjing RF

That same focus can be seen from the first day of first grade in the language readers. After learning and refining their Mandarin pronunciation, students begin by learning to recognize several hundred characters in first grade, and learning to write about half of them. This variable pace continues well into one's education, and it is only quite late in the process that people are able to write almost everything that they can read or say. This is such a far cry from education in Western languages that the point needs to be underlined. Knowing how to say something in (Mandarin) Chinese is only tenuously related to knowing how to write it. once cannot "sound out" a character, except in the roughest sort of outline.

[8]

The educational process from first grade forward is a delicate balancing act between reading and writing. It is also a balancing act between regional dialects and Mandarin. It is one thing to be able to speak Mandarin grammatically; it is another thing to iron out strong regional pronunciations that create confusion when people with other home languages (as is common in all areas of the Chinese speaking world) try to communicate in Mandarin.

[d] Taiwan RF

In particular, Chinese language textbooks focus on a key series of pronunciations that cause great difficulty for speakers from some dialect groups, such as Cantonese or Taiwanese. There is a popular phrase—none too polite—to this effect: "I fear not heaven or earth; I only fear Cantonese people speaking Mandarin" (天不怕地不怕  只怕廣東人說普通話). Among the persistent problems are the pronunciations of words that start in "sh" and those that start in "s." An example is the number forty-four, which, in Mandarin, is pronounced "si shi si" (suh sure suh). For speakers of southern dialects, it often comes out "si si si" (suh suh suh). Other tongue twisters are the analogous zh/z, ch/c, and n/l. This is not a particularly difficult problem for foreign learners, but textbooks in China, Hong Kong, and Taiwan focus relentlessly on the matter. The issue extends well beyond language and understanding. It is an issue of integration and identity, as well, and it is a point of pride for the educational system when a southern speaker, for example, perfectly pronounces Mandarin words and communicates in a wider social and cultural setting.

The emphasis on this point cannot be overestimated in elementary school texts in Taiwan, as we shall soon see. Hundreds of drills over all six grades aim to give native speakers of Taiwanese (learned at home over the course of the first six years) correct Mandarin pronunciation.

[e] Technology RF

NEXT
Education in Taiwan and Hong Kong
We'll take another introductory look at "southern" education in two areas that have had enormous autonomy in the ways they have shaped the curriculum over the past half-century.

Primary Sources—Introduction (b) Traditional Education

One year ago on Round and Square (22 May 2011)—Hurtin', Leavin,' Longin': Clueless Male 
Click here to access Round and Square's "Primary Sources" Resource Center 

Introduction (a)—Education and Enculturation          Introduction (b)—Traditional Education     

Introduction (c)—Contemporary Education               Introduction (d)—Hong Kong and Taiwan

Introduction (e)—Butterflies                                       Introduction (f)—K-12, c.1985
Introduction (g)—Impassioned Communities            Introduction (h)—History, Language, and Culture, c.1985

[4]

We continue the introduction to the Round and Square series "Primary Sources" with a look at traditional education in Chinese history. There are significant continuities and contrasts. To begin, the idea of a standard six-, nine-, or twelve-year educational program for all members of society was rather late in arriving. It was not quite as elitist, however, as general textbooks sometimes imply. As early as the Song dynasty (960-1279), private academies and clan-based charitable organizations were developed, and often held ideals of educating all young men in their family grouping. Still, even with these charitable institutions, there were significant gaps in access to education. Women, in particular, had far fewer opportunities than men, and it was not unusual for families to teach women the domestic arts, but not reading and writing. The ideal for many households of means was for women to spend their lives in the inner quarters, not venturing out into the broader world, except for very special events.

[a] Portals RF

There are significant exceptions, though. In the Han dynasty, Ban Zhao (CE 45-116) was one of the foremost minds of her time. Educated at home alongside her talented brothers, she wrote poetry, essays, and—with enormous skill—finished the monumental historical work begun by her father and continued by her brothers, the Hanshu (History of the Han). On the other hand, she is probably even better known for an influential treatise on a woman's life that stated her submission to three men—her father, her husband, and, ultimately, her son. Given her educational achievements, such a statement is surprising, but it remains the case that it was the rare woman in imperial China who exerted intellectual influence beyond her family unit.

Li Qingzhao (1084-c.1150), a Song dynasty poet, is another great example of exceptional talent in the literary arts. Her poetry has long been anthologized, and her pieces flow with grace and elegance. She was raised in a literary family and had an unusually close relationship with her husband, whose literary interests she shared until his death in 1129. Only about seventy of her poems survive, but they show a depth of learning and emotion that few poets ever attained. There are many more examples of such talent, but what unites them is the exceptional nature of their educations. They had access to the greatest works and the finest instruction because they had fathers who were willing to educate their daughters and were affluent enough to do so. By the Ming and Qing dynasties, highly educated women were not unusual. Still, it was not until the twentieth century that women attained equal legal access to education.

[b] Late-imperial RF

[5]

In a similar fashion, access to education was difficult in the past (and often is in the present) for working families. In fact, so rare was the ascent from working in the fields to the higher reaches of the examinations in imperial China that it  became something of a distant ideal, not unlike the "from a log cabin to the White House" ideal found in earlier American history. Yet, even though the reality was often quite different, examples of perseverance work their way through many of the books that Chinese children studied in their early years, and stories of diligence are gathered in textbooks in China, Taiwan, Singapore, and other locations where Chinese education flourishes.

In the later imperial era, the Three Character Classic (三字經) was one of the first books that a child would begin to memorize at the age of six or seven. Although arranged in a singsong fashion with an emphasis on brevity (each line is three characters long), this book is filled with the educational ideals espoused during the later imperial period, particularly diligence and commitment. The opening lines address the famous philosophical debate over whether people are born good or become good through learning. The text then goes on to address education, which starts in the home and continues with strict teaching and diligent study.

[c] Separation RF

          To raise children without instruction
          This is the father's error
          To teach children without strictness
          This is the teacher's indolence

          If children fail to study
          This is inappropriate
          If they don't learn in youth
          What will happen when they are old?

          If jade is not carved
          Its potential is incomplete
          If people do not study
          Righteousness cannot be known

The text goes on for hundreds of characters to describe key points in Chinese history and philosophy before closing with the lines below, again exhorting students to remain diligent and to study for the sake of their families and the good of society. It particularly addresses the concerns of those who do not have the means to obtain a good education. Whether they include people making their own books for composition practice, remaining awake after a hard day of work, or reading by natural light, the Three Character Classic offers examples of dedication. Learning, we are told, is what separates us from the rest of the natural world; it is what makes us human.

[d] Silken RF

          Silkworms emit silken thread
          Bees produce honey
          If people do not study
          They are not equal to the animals

          Learn in youth
          Put it into practice when grown
          Above, influence the ruler
          Below, aid the people

          Perseverance leads to success
          Idleness has no benefits
          Be ever vigilant
          And exert your strength

Until the last imperial examination was given in 1905, a traditional education consisted of memorizing basic beginner texts, such as the one above, and moving quickly to the Four Books (四書) of Confucian teaching. From there, students would read history, philosophy, poetry, and the like, with the goal of passing the many levels of examinations that began at the local level, continued through various county and provincial levels, and ended in the imperial examinations given once every three years in the capital. Those who passed were the superstars of Chinese society, and both they and their families spent years preparing for the day that they would begin their official careers.

[e] Era's end RF

NEXT
Contemporary Education in the Chinese Speaking World
We'll continue this introductory series to "Primary Sources" with a look at the way education is organized in the People's Republic of China, Hong Kong (which has a slightly different system), and Taiwan.

Primary Sources—Introduction (a) Education and Enculturation

One year ago on Round and Square (21 May 2011)—End of the World 
Click here to access Round and Square's "Primary Sources" Resource Center 

Introduction (a)—Education and Enculturation          Introduction (b)—Traditional Education     
Introduction (c)—Contemporary Education               Introduction (d)—Hong Kong and Taiwan

Introduction (e)—Butterflies                                       Introduction (f)—K-12, c.1985
Introduction (g)—Impassioned Communities            Introduction (h)—History, Language, and Culture, c.1985

Over the course of the next year or so, Round and Square will post the entire "language arts" curriculum from the Republic of China textbooks in the mid-1980s—both semesters of all six grades. It is an entire education in the primary sources of primary education. In all, there will be 276 texts that bring little students from understanding the spoken world all around them to being able to read it. It's back to (old) school (1985)...and back to the future on Round and Square.

Why would we do that?
Why would we go back to school—and elementary school, at that?

[1]

It's all about education and enculturation, you see. Take a good look at that last word. In this case, it conveys ideas about the manner in which a child "learns her culture." This happens in all sorts of ways throughout a person's life, and we never stop learning "our culture," since it is always changing. We can also probably all agree that the process is supercharged in the first dozen of the wonder years. And, although a lot of big stuff happens in primary school—from math and science to physical education—there is nothing like learning to read our mother tongue when it comes to intensity.

[a] Old school RF

This is not easy in any language.

I cannot overemphasize that little point. Language learning is difficult, and the educational powers of the socio-political world spend inordinate amounts of time trying to find ways to make the process work for the interests of children, as well as society and the state. This has been particularly successful on the island of Taiwan in the last sixty years or so, with the literacy rate hitting 98.04% in 2010. That ain't shabby, and very few educational systems in the world can even imagine achieving such a rate.

This series will take readers through all six years of primary education in the Republic of China on Taiwan—in 1985 (more on that later). Before we proceed, though, let me be absolutely clear on one point. Pause. Is everyone with political interests in East Asia listening? O.k.?

This series is NOT about politics. It is not about the "Taiwan question."

I happened to live in Taiwan from 1985-1987. I became fascinated by that little slip of island culture at a fascinating time in its history. I took notes. I visited schools. I paid attention. The most important thing that happened to me was that I decided to read all of the way through high school—starting with first grade. I got an entire education from the ground up, and this wasn't Dick and Jane.

This series of posts is about anthropology (history, language, and culture), and not partisan politics. I do not have an axe to grind, other than to take seriously the way people "learn their cultures." My grounded experience just happens to have been in Taiwan, and the texts I studied were printed in 1985. There is more than enough to consider right there.

[b] Text RF

Politics? Nope.

[2]

Now that we're clear on that, let's look at the materials. The language arts books, as we sometimes call them in the United States, bear the title characters: 國語, guoyu ; "national language." It is a phrase that is used in everyday speech in Taiwan, but it is much less common (and sounds exceedingly anachronistic, at best) in the People's Republic, where the term 普通话 putonghua; "everyday speech" is far more common, and the language arts books have the title 语言 yuyan.

I have embedded a little hint of difference in the last sentence. I have rendered the Taiwan title in traditional character forms (繁體字; fantizi) and the People's Republic terms in simplified forms (简体字; jiantizi). This is one of the biggest challenges facing the non-native speaker trying to learn Chinese in the rest of the world, not to mention the bane of existence for overseas Chinese families trying to keep a toehold in Chinese language and culture. In the Republic of China on Taiwan, the traditional forms are de rigueur. Period. There is a language point behind this, a further—and deeper—cultural and historical point, and (as if to mess up my plans from the start) a political one, as well. All three are wrapped together in a complex tangle of pedagogical stance and emotion, and it is often difficult to sort them out.

[c] Bookstore RF

The key point for the student of history and culture who wishes to understand these texts and their formative role in the enculturation (and acculturation) process is that s/he needs to read traditional characters. Period. If you don't, you are barred from the strange and fascinating literary world of these texts. Such a situation provides us with a useful opportunity, though. Let's just say that you are a student of Chinese (assume that you just finished a second- or third-year American college curriculum). Let's assume that you have spent most of your time learning simplified forms, so that you recognize only 国语 when everyone who lived before 1955 (and almost everyone living in Hong Kong and Taiwan today) writes 國語. Well, this is your chance not only to learn about the education and enculturation process in a fascinating time and place in Chinese history, but to master the traditional forms, as well.

What an opportunity awaits.

But what if you are a faithful reader of Round and Square...in English? What if you don't read Chinese and don't particularly want to learn?

Stick with it. Please. The purpose of this series of posts is to investigate, as deeply as possible, the relationship between history, language, and culture. In short, this is all about the anthropology (and history) of education. Although the Chinese text and phrases will likely intimidate a reader or two, this series of posts is designed for people interested in the way that primary education shapes our lives. I think that should be everyone, of course, but it is particularly aimed toward people with children, people who teach children, or people who ever have been children. Got it?

[d] Studious family RF

So why is it so messy?...I hear you cry. Why does there have to be so much Chinese? Well, if the purpose is to show how language, history, and culture really come together, the language is necessary. And rest assured—the reader of English who is unacquainted with Chinese can get a great deal out of these posts. My goal is to provide all of us with a series of tools that will lead to ever-more-skillful analysis of primary education everywhere.

[3]

It has long been understood that educational systems play a dual role in building upon family identity and helping to create a wider public identity that will serve the student, family, and society in the future. When a child begins first grade—in China and every other developed country in the world—she does so with a foundation of five or six years of spoken language, knowledge of etiquette and behavioral expectations, and a storehouse of general information about the world around her. In short, she does not begin learning in first grade (or kindergarten, or even preschool, for that matter). This is the point that makes it all make sense. It is also why reading the primary texts in this series is different from studying a college textbook offering instruction in Mandarin.

A child starting first grade is taught to integrate what she already knows with a system of knowledge created to extend far beyond her immediate needs. When studying the first lessons of these "language arts" readers, the young student learns a pronunciation system that forms the foundation for all further study. In Taiwan, it is called 注音符號; zhuyin fuhao, and is an elegant way of placing the pronunciation next to each Chinese character. In the People's Republic, 拼音; pinyin Romanization is used—the same system used to render 北京 as "Beijing." The phrases below each contain the Mandarin pronunciation for the characters.

  百川東到海  百  川  東  到  海

                                                                                                                              băi       chuān      dōng       dào        hăi
                                       Zhuyin fuhao—Taiwan                                                   Pinyin—People's Republic of China

[e] Vocab RF

This is precisely where the foreign student begins her study of Chinese—with the sounds and structures of the language. So far...so much the same, right? Wrong. The first grade textbooks you are about to read—unlike a college textbook used in Russia, Germany, France, or Canada (or the U.S.)—is filled with words that most college students or business speakers do not learn until much later in their educations. These words might sound familiar to anyone who has been to elementary school, anywhere—"butterfly," "planting," "ostrich," "riddle," "carp," "tunnel," "mosquito," and "leopard," not to mention several more prevalent in Chinese culture than in the West ("lotus," "chopstick," and "shrine").

And here is the key point—the elementary school textbooks take a half-decade of lived experience—usually in a family setting—and begin to teach the student to read it, write it, and think about it in new ways. Think about that. No, really think about it. If family life is the first step toward enculturation, beginning school is surely the next significant one. That is what we will be studying in the 276 texts that follow, and as we make our way from the first days of school all of the way to graduation from sixth grade.

A journey of three thousand characters (K-6) begins with a single text.

[g] Primary RF

NEXT
Education in Chinese History
We'll continue this introductory series with a look at some of the most important issues in traditional Chinese education, including access to the teachers, books, and examinations.

Primary Sources 1A.09—Little White Rabbit Races 小白兔賽跑

Click here for the introduction to the Round and Square series "Primary Sources."

One year ago on Round and Square (20 May 2011)—North Dakota in the Middle
Click here to access Round and Square's "Primary Sources" Resource Center  

[a] Race? RF

Over the course of the next year or so, Round and Square will take readers step-by-step through a very particular kind of primary source—the elementary school readers used in the mid-1980s in the Republic of China educational system. Every schoolchild on the island of Taiwan read these texts back then, and they are the foundation for understanding matters of education, acculturation, language acquisition, and translation. They were also the source of a very large chunk of my early anthropological and historical education. This is not a "language learning" series. It is meant to be an inquiry into the territory where studies of history, language, and culture meet.

I encourage readers of Round and Square to follow these posts whether or not they read Chinese. It is clear enough where I begin speaking to language learners (it starts in the "translation notes," but it is worth hanging on through there, even if you have never seen a Chinese character in your life). The section called "language notes" at the end is geared to people who have learned a little Chinese. Everything else, with the exception of the actual Chinese text, can be understood by anyone who takes the time to think about what an entire education from the ground up might be like. How many of us have thought about that element of culture since we were twelve years old? Only those terrific teachers who keep the society of learners moving along. The introduction to this series explains these matters thoroughly, and will be posted soon. In the meantime, take a look at how first-graders (for that is where we begin) started to read their world in Taiwan a generation ago. This is "textbooks from history," and there is much to learn. Let's get to work.

First we had a little girl beckon a songbird. Next a little boy urged his dog to play with him and chase the ball. Now an omniscient narrator tells of animal competition in the shadows of human life and conduct. The stakes have been raised.

You might recognize the story. It did not originate in China, of course, but it is not hard to see its relevance to every time and every place. In fact, it could be argued that every social group has some version of the tortoise and the hare story. The narrative arc might well have begun when Grog, the swiftest and strongest specimen in the Paleolithic ranks, took a nap in a nearby bog while his quasi-mutant kinsman—let's call him Klog—pursued the hairy mastodon to its end, leading throngs of cave dwellers to feast for weeks, and fire their imaginations for a kind of pachydermal flesh that might someday be warm and easy to chew.

That kind of story.

[b] Fast? RF

9—Little White Rabbit Races
Little rabbit, little rabbit

You say you run fastest of all

Racing against all-comers

You ran halfway and then stopped

Everyone has caught and passed you

Your heart is certainly heavy

Don't be sad, don't be sad

Next time you race, don't stop

You certainly still are the fastest of all

一   下   不   你   人   你   去   你   小   九
定   回   要   的   家   跑   跟   說   白
還   比   難   心   就   了   人   你   兔   小
是   賽   過   裡   趕   一   家   跑          白 
你                一   過   半   比   得   小   兔
最   不   不   定   了   停   賽   最   白   賽
快   要   要   很   你   下           快   兔   跑
      停    難   難          來
      下    過   過
      來

＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿

還    要    很    定    心    停    半    跑    賽    兔    白    九

                                               難     過     趕     就     最

Text in Simplified Chinese (简体字)*

九  小白兔比赛
小白兔   小白兔
你说你跑得最快
去跟人家比赛
你跑了一半停下来
人家就赶过了你
你的心里一定很难过
不要难过   不要难过
下回比赛   不要停下来
一定还是你最快

*A simplified text is unthinkable in an ROC worldview. I don't "work" for them, though, and am including it for two reasons. First, an almost disturbingly large number of my students these days can't read traditional characters. This is problematic, but I acknowledge (grudgingly) the reality. Second, it should be an eye-opener for students on either side of the "simplified/traditional" divide. Just look. Finally, if you want to read anything written before 1950, you need to learn traditional forms. Get over it. It's not political. It's literature...and politics and history. If you can only read simplified forms, you can read what (Mao) wrote, but not what he read (unless it has been edited and adapted). Think about it.

[c] Envisioning grandeur RF

History and Culture Notes

There's not much to see here in terms of history and culture, at least not in terms of originality. That fact is a little bit deceptive, though. The theme of this text, while hardly unknown to American elementary school textbooks, is one that weaves a powerful narrative thread in K-6 education in Taiwan (c. 1985). We have animals, we have a narrative voice from on high (or at least afar), and we have a message about the relationship between innate ability and perseverance.

Indeed, the American reader might be a little bit surprised by the text. I don't think that I am misinterpreting the matter when I say that most American schoolchildren are trained to see the tortoise victory as a kind of Protestant-ethic-meets-the-spirit-of-competition triumph. It's like North Carolina State in 1983 or Villanova in 1985...or the U.S. Olympic hockey team in 1980, right? The turtle wins and we all get goosebumps, right?

Right?

Um, not exactly. If that's what you saw, heavy cultural assumptions might be tipping the sofa of your imagination. Our little lagomorphic friend knows he is fast; he doesn't apply himself. He loses. He is sad. So far, so goal-oriented. I find the ending quite fascinating in terms of cultural teaching. "Next time you race, don't stop; you certainly still are the fastest." Hmmm. You're the best, but you need to work hard. Is that exactly how you remember it, Americans? How about readers in Round and Square's other ninety-eight countries? What do we make of the message?

[d] Quick RF

And what about our friendly little ectotherm who drags his sorry plastron (and carapace) along the path—weary, perhaps, but imbued with herpetological profluence? Is s/he just a little annoyance for the truly talented—a minor foil in the big plans of bunny-boy (-girl)? 

What about the turtle, for Testudines' sake? 

Think about that as we proceed. We have 267 texts to go before we graduate from sixth grade, and there are dozens of bunnies and turtles ahead of us. If you think this is kid's stuff (whatever that means), you are badly mistaken.

It's culture (and history, c. 1985). We ignore it at our peril.

Translation Notes

So why do I call the sleepy anti-hero of the story a "little white rabbit" in the title, but just "rabbit" from then on? If you read yesterday's post about little doggies, you will see a parallel. In this case, "small" and "white" are relatively weak adjectival modifiers. I chose to telegraph those ideas in the title, but anyone who has read even a little Chinese knows that 小白兔 pretty much conveys...rabbit. John Updike certainly would understand, and might have given this the title "Rabbit, Race." 

[e] Torrid RF

Think about 去跟人家比賽. We have the ubiquitous 去(來) at the beginning, but how should this be rendered in English? Just think about it. I have made a choice, but this is one of those little sentences that have a cluster of possibilities. 

We might also consider how best to translate the line 你的心裡一定很難過. As any student of Chinese philosophy knows, 心 can convey a complex combination of thought and emotion. It is sometimes translated as "heart-mind," and that concept was never articulated as powerfully as did Wang Yangming in the early sixteenth century. Our first graders don't know that yet (c. 1985), but I wanted to convey just a smidgen of the larger context for 心裡. Whether the English phrase "heavy heart" is the right choice is open to debate, but it beats (it seems to me) the more literal "in your heart you are certainly sad" by a long shot.

And, finally, we come to "sad." The Chinese characters 難過 are not dead-ringer synonyms for the English "sad" any more than the German Schadenfreude "means" simply "gloating." In fact, a literal translation of 難過 might be rendered "difficult to surpass" or, a little more colloquially, "hard to get over." There are (to my mind) echoes here of exilic response, and I think that this is a key to the entire text. Let's not forget, though, that sometimes (as can be seen later in the text) "sad" just works best.

[f] Profluent RF

Language Notes

The notes are pretty straightforward today. First, pay attention, as always, to the use of the adverbial 得. It is a basic construction in all Chinese writing, of course, but it is especially prevalent in the alliterative culture of children's literature. The reason I keep focusing on something you learned in first year Chinese is that, while basic, textbooks do not tend to show the wondered richness of its uses in quite the way we will see in books geared toward little learners rediscovering their own culture after five years in the trenches of the spoken word. Check out the introduction if that sentence seemed to come from out of left field.

Next, consider the sentence 你跑了一半停下來. When trying to say the same sentence, non-native speakers have a tendency to add something that conveys "and" after 一半. I remember puzzled looks on faces when I would throw in something like 和 in a desperate attempt to create the phrasal linkage demanded by my still English-dominated thinking (c. 1985). When it comes to translation, though, there are few ways in English to convey the meaning without some kind of linkage. I have chosen "and," although it would certainly be acceptable to put in a dash, a semi-colon, or another feature. This is not the least bit problematic in terms of understanding, but ask yourself (if you are in your first few years of Chinese study) how "natural" it is for you to say or write the phrase exactly as it appears above. I struggled with this for a while (c. 1985), but maybe it's just me.

Finally, we have the two-character combination 趕過. Is it a "word," such as "overtake" or a two-word combination that needs to be teased out in English? It depends, of course. Still, my classical Chinese instincts tell me that "catch and surpass" needs to be said here. The reason this discussion is in the "language notes" is because it is worth thinking about words that have 過 in them. How much do the ideas embedded in this character need to be teased out, like the proverbial snake in a basket? 

Think about it or I'll be pretty 難過.

[g] 跑了一半停下來 RF