随着上海在PISA考试中两次拔得头筹，以及中国学生在国际其他赛事中的优异表现，西方媒体及教育系统开始越来越关注中国的公立教育，思考其“做对了的事情”。
通过外国媒体的眼光看中国教育的得与失，是个有意思的参照。5月9日，距离中考前一个月，美国《新闻周刊》做了一个报道，不仅将上海的公立学校称为“世界上最好的公立教育”，还点出了纽约、洛杉矶等美国极重教育的大型城市，应该向上海学习的地方：中学生学习时间的管理；父母的积极参与；以及在学生中间推行对的价值观：用功的学生是值得尊敬的，而不是嘲笑他们。
刘金晶，是一位15岁的初三学生，就读于上海某中学初中部。这所中学是这个人口众多的国家里最好的教育体系之一，此刻她正在从上课日程表里一项项地勾掉上过的课：“物理，化学，数学，语文，英语，地理…平常的东西”，用着无可挑剔的英语说出这些课的名字。
这不是金晶在校学习的时间表，而是她每个星期天她的工作量，从上午8点至下午5点。
她在一个星期六的午餐说起这点，“唯一的一天，”她承认，她有“任何自由时间放松。”如果你觉得她是急于奔向清华——中国的麻省理工学院的一些学术怪胎，那你就错了。在中国学校里执行这样时间表的，“几乎每一个人。”她说。
从中考开始的“优选”教育
在过去的几年中，上海的公立学校已经吸引了全球目光，并挑起了全球的争议。总部设在巴黎的“经济合作与发展组织（OECD）”每隔几年举办的旨在衡量教育质量的国际测试中，上海的学校名列前茅。
在2009年（第一次全市参加测试）和2012年，上海均在66个参赛国参加的所谓PISA考试（课程的国际学生评估）中名列第一。该测试包括三个重点学科：阅读，科学和数学。
与此同时，测试显示，美国代表学校的水平下滑，其中最明显的数学方面水平能力的下滑。
这个结果，在越来越关注公共教育的美国大众中，引起了广泛的讨论。根据比尔和梅琳达·盖茨基金会研究表明，在美国，只有25％的高中毕业生在学习上做好了上大学的准备。
在许多人的心目中，中国的经济崛起显然与它的教育上的成功有关，所以这也许并不奇怪，经合组织的这项排名在美国引发了另一种反应：辩解和否认。
这些围绕着上海公立学校，以及它们在考试上的成功所产生的争议，可以在中国教育的数百年历史传统中找到根源。
教师是学生除了父母之外，最受尊重的人物。老师讲什么学生就听什么，他们甚至能够记住几乎所有被灌输的东西。
讨论和辩论很罕见，学生们从不挑战老师。独立解决问题作为高中教育的目标，现在已经开始成为上海的教育工作者们的首要任务。批评家早就说过单纯强调速度和对晦涩知识的记忆，并不一定能够让学生们适应瞬息万变的现代经济。
在美国最好的公立高中通常有各种各样的课外活动，体育活动，乐队或国际象棋俱乐部等等。大学的招生人员给那些在教室外表现出色的孩子加分。在上海，卓越的学习成绩以外的东西，在大学录取标准中只是刚刚开始被提及。
高中课程缺乏创新：数学，科学，语言，文学。曾经有一份中国教育深度报告称，亚洲社会容易造就的“考试漏斗”会将跟考试无关的科目忽视，剩下通常的四个科目：语文、数学外语和一门选修课。
但依据这些现象就将上海的学校视作怪兽的言论，简直太傻了。
上海5000名学生参加世界经合组织考试5000名上海学生从未接触过这个系统，更不要说弄虚作假。他们表现出色有很多原因，比如家长密切参与子女的教育，确保孩子们在学校里用功读书，在家的时间都用在了家庭作业上。很多像金晶一样的九年级学生，在星期天甚至会花上10个小时学习，而大部分在美国的同龄人，不仅睡得很晚，而且通常都在玩电脑游戏。
以学生的考试成绩的优良表现为参考，上海老师的工作被严格监测和排名。上海师范大学的校长，上海市教育局的关键决策者张民选说道，老师的培养是一个终身的努力，在学生成绩不佳的情况下，提高教师的教学水平是每一个学校管理机构的重要任务。
这并不意味辞退教学成绩较差的老师很关键，虽然某些美国教育改革家则持这一观点。事实上，相比于美国大部分地区的教育体制，在上海，辞退一个差劲老师的难度要远远大得多。一位上海校长说：“要被解雇，除非他们犯罪。”
上海并不能代表整个中国公立教育，这一点也很有必要提及。作为国家的商业和金融大都会，上海是中国最富有的城市之一，而中国大多数的孩子仍旧生活在相对落后的农村地区。
因此，上海在诸如PISA这样的国际考试项目上取得的成功并不意味着中国教育系统的整体质量优于美国，更合适的比较应该是介于大城市之间——上海相对于纽约或者洛杉矶。但这些结果也证明了上海在做某些正确的事情。
教育就是一切
金晶每天早上6点起床，7：30到校，学到晚上6点。金晶所在的学校有1200名学生，班级平均人数在40人左右。学校设施一流但不奢华：配备电脑教室、优良的运动器材、户外篮球场和跑道。
约6：30，金晶回到家，吃晚饭，然后开始做作业直到夜间11点。有时候甚至更晚。她说。她的父母都是政府检察员，全天工作，但父母二人至少一人，有时候两人陪在金晶一旁写作业，在可能的情况下，帮她检查作业、改作业以及回答问题。
当问到这些学习安排是否有些强迫性，金晶耸耸肩，回答说——这就是现实。
她的妈妈，小梅解释道，教育几乎就是一切，在中国，如果你小学成绩出众，你将会上一个好的高中，如果你高中表现优异，你将会升到一个名牌大学并会有一份好工作。学习好也决定了你以后将遇到和将要嫁给的配偶的情况——这个人也会很成功，有个好工作，能够为她女儿以后的家庭提供良好的生活。
小梅提到，中美的不同在于——在美国，一个卡车司机收入不错，生活得很好。但这在中国不常见。
她说，实际上，这一教育体制竞争很残酷，它旨在优选。
中国高中生需要参加的高考，众人皆知，而且压力极大。这场考试在他们高中时期的最后阶段举行，而且考试成绩非常重要，决定了一个学生所上大学的质量与水准。高考的存在，意味着学生上怎样的高中很重要，所以中考也是一场十分关键的考试。
中考一般在初三期末进行，这次考试决定着他们能否考上一个重点公立高中。上海的这些父母往往认为这次考试比高考还要重要。中考成绩优异的孩子，他/她将会升上一个更好的高中，更好的老师，与更聪明的孩子竞争，很可能考上一个好大学。选拔正是始于这个阶段。
金晶距离参加中考还有一个多月的时间，她以一种超越她年纪的坦然面对这日渐逼近的压力。她所在的学校里，老师们减少诸如体育课之类的课时，为准备中考腾出更多的时间。
这很大程度上源于，老师们的自身考评取决于他们学生的考试成绩。有时候老师们甚至在食堂催促学生，告诉他们尽快吃完午饭，以赶回教室学习。
中国的教育管理者开始承认这一考试体制给学生施加了过多的压力。上海师范大学张民选校长承认，对于孩子们而言，一考定终身有些过分。我们处在一个尝试减少考试重要性的阶段，他说道。学生的评价应该考虑其他方面。
但他提到这一考试制度不会废除。考试是几个世纪以来中国教育的一部分，而且是公平的。在中国历史上的某个时期，当父母们担心考试选拔中存在营私舞弊时，这种考试形式很重要。每个人参加同样的考试，不论来自哪里，是贫是富，只要你成绩好，你将会升上一个好大学。
金晶觉得家庭作业布置得太多，量太大，但是她一一完成。而且她把自己的升学目标定得很高。当被问到在复旦大学、斯坦福大学
、牛津大学进行选择时，她毫不犹豫地选择了牛津大学。问及原因，她笑着说，因为每周六—她相对空闲的一天（她往往只需要做一点作业）她会看《唐顿庄园》，“我很喜欢这部剧”。
金晶没有参加PISA考试，这一考试将在2015年面向九年级开放，但是她是上海最好高中的典型代表。她自制力好，决心坚定，而且她的父母也积极参与。（与之相比，25%的美国孩子生活在单亲家庭，在非裔美国孩子，这一比例升至67%。）上海，甚至更宽泛地说，中国的教育体制的问题，借由另一个九年级初中女孩和她的父母，得以说明。
当陈丽的父母看到孩子每晚写作业写到11点甚至午夜，他们感到很难过。当女儿告诉他们自己有些同学六点到家，吃过饭，小睡到午夜12点，然后起床，在后半夜学习，直到第二天早上上学，他们恼怒不已。
母亲和女儿对上海的教育体制进行批判进而扩展及中国的教育体制，批评重点围绕机械学习、死记硬背……
她不仅对必须背诵中国长诗感到恼火，而且还有她必须使用老师精准的原话来解释这些诗的意思。你不仅不得不记住这首诗，你还得记住它的意思。不是以自己的思考来记住和自己的语言来表述，而是靠记住标准答案。陈丽说：这样做意义何在呢？
陈丽是个好学生，但中考在即整天被强调，这让她很讨厌。
陈丽的母亲建立并经营了一个很成功的中型的广告代理机构。她的父亲则是一个重点大学的信息技术院系的教授。他们手里有一些房产，而且这些房产在近几十年间已经不断升值。而且，她有个姨妈在早些年已经移民到加拿大温哥华。
几个月前的新年期间，她的父母进行了长时间的谈话。他们决定卖掉一些房产，利用加拿大的投资移民拿绿卡的项目（该项目中，通过投资80000或者7250000加币，外国公民可以移居到当地或者在当地工作。）一个月前，他们购买了不列颠哥伦比亚省维多利亚市的一家咖啡店和一家服装店。陈丽的妈妈笑着说，那里的房价比这里便宜多了。他的女儿一个月前退学，现在在家全天学英语。孩子很高兴自己不用参加下个月的中考。
在上海，很少的父母能像陈丽的家庭这样，以这样的方式做出这种改变。但同时，也出现了其他的选择。它们以位于上海市郊区的西外外国语学校为典型代表。
西外创始于2005年，这所民办学校提供从学前阶段直至高中三年级的全部教育，主要针对中产阶级父母。不同于其他上海民办学校，该校所收学费比较合理。其校长林敏说，学校的课程设置融合了标准的中国公立教育和侧重问题思维、创造性思维的西式教育。
学校的招生率在过去的数年间有了大幅度的提高，证明了中国的家长们对不同于现行体制的、较为宽松的初级教育的渴求。而来自上海和北京的权威们，十分明白这一点。两年前，中国开始提“绿色”教育的概念，这种努力包含了许多特别的目标，比如减少学生的作业量，保证孩子们拥有一个完整的睡眠时间。
他们也开始尝试在招收大学生时，多考虑他们在诸如体育、戏剧、音乐等课外活动上的能力，就像美国一样。不过这需要一个过程。可能会花上一些时间。
但照搬西方的教育模式被认为行不通。跟美国的高中相比，上海的公立学校更像一块可供选择的领域。陈说她听说在美国和加拿大的某些地方，努力学习的孩子被大家叫做“反常人”或者“呆子”，这些称谓充满了嘲笑。
但在上海则完全相反，她接着说：“那些不用功的学生才会被拿来开玩笑。”如果你不好好学习，就不会受欢迎。这也许是世界上的其他国家能从上海学到的最有益的东西。
附《新闻周刊》英文报道：Lessons From the World's Best
Public School
Jinjing Liu, a 15-year-old ninth-grader at Meilong Intermediate
in central Shanghai—and part of the best education system in the
world's most populous country—is ticking off her normal class
schedule: "Physics, chemistry, math, Chinese, English, Chinese
literature, geography…the usual stuff," she says in impeccable
English.
That's not Jinjing's school day schedule; that's her workload
each and every Sunday. The Lord may have rested on the seventh day,
but Jinjing studies, from 8 a.m. until 5 p.m. She relates this over
lunch on a Saturday afternoon, "the only day," she acknowledges,
that she has "any free time to relax." And lest you think she is
some whiz-bang academic geek on the fast track to Tsinghua, China's
M.I.T., think again. Ask who else in her high school has that
Sunday routine and she says, "Pretty much everyone."
Over the past several years, the Shanghai public school system
has drawn global envy—and stirred controversy—by acing an
international test given every few years by the Paris-based
Organisation for Economic Cooperation and Development (OECD) that
seeks to measure the quality of school systems globally. In 2009
(the first time the city participated in the test) and again in
2012, Shanghai finished first out of 66 locations surveyed in the
so-called PISA exams (Program for International Student Assessment)
in the three key disciplines: reading, science and mathematics. At
the same time, the test showed the United States dropping lower in
the global standings in all three disciplines, most precipitously
in math.
Predictably, at a time of increasing public concern about public
education, the results prompted consternation in the U.S., where,
according to the Bill & Melinda Gates Foundation, only 25
percent of high school graduates are academically prepared to
succeed in college. In the minds of many, China's economic rise is
clearly linked to its academic success, so it is perhaps not
surprising that the OECD ranking elicited another reaction among
America's chattering class: defensiveness, and some denial. The
digital magazine Slate headlined an article "Why We Need to Stop
Letting China Cheat on International Education Rankings." (Now
that'll make your kids smarter!) And a columnist for London's
Guardian purported to reveal the deep, dark secret that somehow
eludes the OECD test-givers in a piece titled "Here's the Truth
About Shanghai Schools: They're Terrible."
The controversy surrounding Shanghai's schools—and their success
on the exam—has its roots in the centuries-old traditions of
education in China. A teacher is the most exalted figure of respect
outside of a student's parents. The teacher speaks, the student
listens. More than listen, the student memorizes and needs to be
able to spit back virtually everything he or she is taught.
Discussion and debate are rare—never challenge the teacher—and the
notion of independent problem solving as a goal of high school
education is only now starting to be a priority for Shanghai's
educators. The emphasis on speed and memorization of obscure facts,
critics have long said, does not necessarily produce the kind of
students who are able to flourish in a rapidly changing modern
economy.
In the best U.S. public high schools there is usually a wide
variety of extracurricular activities—sports, band or the chess
club—and university admission officers give kids credit for
excelling outside the classroom. In Shanghai, and in China more
broadly, the notion that anything other than academic excellence
should determine where a student goes to college has only recently
been given any credence. The high school curriculum isn't
innovative: math, sciences, language, literature. But what the Asia
Society, in a comprehensive report on Chinese education, called
"the examination funnel" diminishes the importance of subjects not
tested (typically, four are on the test: Chinese literature and
language, mathematics, a foreign language and one subject of a
student's choice, which is usually the presumed focus of his or her
major in college).
Preposterously Important Exam
The notion that Shanghai's schools are "terrible" is, to put it
mildly, silly. The 5,000 students who took the OECD exam don't game
the system, or cheat or possess some magical test-taking gene. They
did well for a handful of reasons. Parents are intimately involved
in their children's education; the vast majority make sure their
children do their work in school, and at home—hours and hours of
homework. And in the case of Jinjing and many of her ninth-grade
classmates, they even put in 10-hour days on Sunday, when, it's
safe to say, most of their peers in the United States are sleeping
late, playing computer games and uploading Vines.
Shanghai's teachers are monitored relentlessly—and ranked
ruthlessly by how well their students do on exams. "Teacher
training is a career-long endeavor," says Zhang Minxuan, president
of Shanghai Normal University, one of the city's elite colleges,
and until recently a key policymaker in the city's education
bureau. "Helping teachers improve if their students aren't doing
well is a vital part of any school administration's mission."
That does not mean getting rid of poor teachers—something some
education reformers in the U.S. argue is critical. In Shanghai, in
fact, it's even more difficult to get rid of a bad teacher than it
is in most urban systems in the U.S. "Basically," one Shanghai
principal says, "they have to commit some sort of crime" to be
dismissed.
It's also important to note that Shanghai is not representative
of all Chinese public education. The country's business and finance
capital is one of its richest cities, and the majority of China's
children still live in poor rural areas. There is a profound
difference between the best public high schools in Shanghai and the
education a peasant kid gets. It is also true that there are
millions of migrant workers in Shanghai who lack the required
residence permit and are thus excluded from the city's public
school system. Critics of the PISA exam say that's one reason the
test doesn't accurately reflect the overall quality of the city's
education system, since those kids aren't tested. (The government
has set up special schools for the children of migrants that are
nowhere near the quality of the regular public schools.)
So Shanghai's success on an international exam like the PISA does
not mean China's entire educational system is better than the
U.S.'s. The better comparison is big city to big city: Shanghai
versus New York or Los Angeles. But the results show that Shanghai
is doing something right—if not necessarily everything, or for
everyone.
Jinjing gets up at 6 every morning, is in school by 7:30 and
stays until 6 every evening. There are 1,200 students at her
school, and the average class size is about 40 students. The
school's facilities are first-rate but not lavish: There are
computer rooms and decent athletic facilities, outdoor basketball
courts and a running track. She gets home and eats dinner at around
6:30, then does homework every weeknight until 11 p.m.—"and
sometimes later," she says. Both her parents are government
attorneys and work full time, but at least one—and sometimes
both—is by her side as she does her homework. Checking it,
correcting it, answering questions when possible.
Ask Jinjing if this seems "obsessive" and she shrugs, replying
with the Chinese version of "it is what it is." Her mother,
Xiaomei, explains, "Education is pretty much everything. Here, if
you succeed in primary school, you will go to a good high school.
If you succeed in high school, you will go to a good college and
get a good job." Academic success will also, she notes, determine
who you will meet and eventually marry—a husband, in her daughter's
case, who will have also succeeded and thus has a good job and is
able to provide a good life for her daughter's future family. The
difference between China and the U.S., Xiaomei offers, "is that in
the U.S. a truck driver can make a decent living, have a good life.
That's not really so here."
She says this matter-of-factly, describing a system that is
relentlessly competitive, that aims to cull the best from the rest.
And on this journey, the ninth grade is vitally—or, say the
system's critics, preposterously—important. The most famous
high-pressure exam Chinese high school students take is called the
gaokao; it's taken at the end of their senior year and is
all-important in determining how good the university a student
attends is. Think of it as the SAT times about 100. (Other East
Asian countries—Japan, South Korea—have a similar test.)
At the end of ninth grade, students take a similarly
pressure-packed exam, known as the zhongkao, that determines
whether they get into an elite public high school. Parents in
Shanghai often treat this exam as more important than the
college-entry exam. Do well on the ninth-grade exam, the thinking
goes, and a child is likely to succeed on the college exam. He or
she will go to a better high school, with better teachers, and
compete with brighter kids. This is where the culling begins.
Jinjing is just over one month away from taking the zhongkao, and
she bears the looming pressure with an equanimity that seems beyond
her years. Teachers at her school limit things like physical
education classes to give students more time to prepare, in large
part because their own evaluations are so dependent on how well
their students do on this test. Occasionally they'll even hurry
students along at the cafeteria, telling them to eat their lunches
more quickly so they can get back to the classroom.
China's educational administrators have come to acknowledge that
the exam system puts too much stress on students. Zhang, the
Shanghai Normal University president, concedes that it's a bit much
to have a single test determine a child's path in life. "We're in
the process of trying to reduce somewhat the importance of the
exams," he says. "Other things should be considered in evaluating a
student."
Still, he notes that the exam system isn't going away:
"Examinations have been part of Chinese education for centuries,
and they are fair." At a time in China when parents worry about
corruption playing a role in which child gets into what school,
this matters. Everyone takes the same test, and no matter where
you're from, rich or poor, if you do well, you will be able to
attend a quality university.
Jinjing agrees that the homework assigned is "too much. It's
excessive." But she does it. And she has her academic sights set
high. Asked her choice if she could go to Fudan University
(Shanghai's best college), Stanford University or Oxford, she
doesn't hesitate: "Oxford."
Why? In part, she says with a smile, because on Saturdays—her one
day of relative rest (she always does at least a bit of
homework)—she's been watching the TV series Downton Abbey. "I
really like it."
Bailing Out
Jinjing has not taken the PISA exam—it will next be given to
ninth-graders in 2015—but she exemplifies the best of Shanghai's
schools. She is disciplined and determined, and her parents are
very involved. (By contrast, 25 percent of American children are
now raised in one-parent households, and that jumps to 67 percent
for African-American.)
The problem for Shanghai's educational establishment—and more
broadly, China's—is illustrated by another ninth-grade girl at a
nearby intermediate school, and her parents. All three have had
enough. They are bailing out.
As Chen Li's parents watched her labor over her homework until 11
or midnight every night, they grew frustrated. They were
exasperated when she told them of classmates who come home at 6,
eat dinner, take a nap until midnight and then wake up and study
for the rest of the night before going to school in the morning.
"Crazy," her mother, Yu Jaiyi, says.
Mother and daughter deliver the standard critique of Shanghai's
system—and by extension China's. The emphasis on rote learning, on
memorization, borders on the surreal, Chen says. She was
exasperated not just by the fact that she had to learn to recite
long Chinese poems but also because she had to explain the meaning
of the poem using the precise words the teacher had used. "You not
only had to memorize the poem, you then had to memorize what the
meaning of the poem is, not by thinking about it yourself, and
expressing it yourself, but by memorizing the answer," Chen says.
"What is the point of that?"
She is a good student, but she became bored by the emphasis on
the looming zhongkao exam. "Too much rests on that," her mother
says.
Chen's mother founded and runs a moderately successful
advertising agency; her father is a professor of information
technology at a good university. They own some real estate in
Shanghai that has gone up in value over the past decade, and she
has an aunt who moved to Vancouver, Canada, a few years ago. Just a
few months ago, over the Chinese New Year holiday, her parents had
a long talk. They decided to sell some of their real estate and
take advantage of the investment green card program in Canada, in
which an immigrant can move and work there by investing a minimum
of $800,000 Canadian, or about $725,000. A month ago, they bought a
coffee shop and a clothes store in Victoria, British Columbia. Soon
they will buy a house—"Real estate there is so much cheaper than
here," says Yu with a smile. Her daughter dropped out of school a
month ago and is now studying English full time. She is very happy
that she won't be taking the zhongkao next month.
Shanghai's schools drove them out, they say, although Chen adds
that the "air quality and [concerns] about food safety" also helped
her parents decide.
Not many parents in Shanghai have the means to make the kind of
move Chen's family did. But other options are emerging. They are
exemplified by a school like Xiwai International in suburban
Shanghai. Started in 2005, the private school offers a pre-K
through 12th-grade education and is squarely aimed at middle-class
parents. The tuition, unlike that at many private schools in
Shanghai, is reasonable. And the curriculum, says principal Lin
Min, is a blend of standard Chinese public school fare with, he
hopes, a slightly more Western emphasis on problem solving and
creative thinking.
The school also takes risks most public schools in this city will
not: Later this semester, for example, senior students will make a
trip to the Xinjiang region in western China, where they will learn
about the lifestyle and culture of the resident Uighurs, Muslims
who have tense relations with the local Han Chinese population and
with the government. The chance to see and interact with people
whose lifestyles are "vastly different from the average Shanghai
middle-class student—to live with them, eat with them, study with
them—is very important," says Lin, the principal. "We're trying to
add to traditional book learning and homework. This will be
real-world life experience. It will broaden [the students']
horizons."
The school's enrollment has jumped sharply over the past decade,
proving there is a thirst among a fair number of Chinese parents
for a different, slightly less intense style of primary education.
The Chinese authorities, in both Shanghai and Beijing, know this.
Two years ago, in one of his last acts in the education bureau,
Zhang helped put together what's called the "Green" education
initiative for the local school system. The effort includes
specific goals; among them, he says, is to get teachers to assign
less homework and to try to make sure kids get at least one more
hour of sleep each night.
They've also begun to try to work with universities to credit
students in the admissions process for excellence in
extracurricular activities—sports, drama, music—as is standard in
the U.S. "It's a process," Zhang says. "It'll take some time.
Believe me, we know we have issues to address."
But adopting the Western style wholesale isn't going to happen.
Shanghai's public schools can often seem like an alternative
universe compared with a lot of high schools in urban America. Chen
says she heard that in some places in the U.S. and Canada, kids who
study really hard are called geeks or nerds, and are mocked.
In Shanghai, she notes, "it's the opposite. If you're not
studious, if you're not a nerd, kids make fun of you."
If you don't study, you're not cool. That may be the most useful
lesson the rest of the world can glean from what Shanghai is doing
right. |
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外滩教育
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