I stopped in last week and noticed that he had added several new books to the English “corner”. Well, I say new books but this group were mostly 40 to 60 years old. Nice hard-cover copies in really good condition. He said they had come from the same collection, he had bought them all at the same time. I saw at least two that I wanted to buy, but I decided on just one: Timeless Mexico by Hudson Strode, published by Harcourt, Brace and Company in 1944. I’ve been reading it ever since and, in fact, have started rereading it already.

I suppose this blog should really go under the book nook heading, but Timeless Mexico is really a political history of Mexico up to the time of World War II, and it gives some very interesting insights into the ideals of nationalism and how they have been formed in Mexico through the last five hundred years. With the bi-centennial coming up in 2010, the material covering the last two hundred years is particularly interesting. I’m still reading it so I’m not going to bore you with a review, but suffice to say it is a very good book.

The name of Lazaro Cardenas, president of Mexico from 1934 to 1940 has been a popular search tag on WordPress. He is also one of the most popular presidents in Mexican history. He was a man for the people, but complex and he could be a skillful political strategist. I just have one story about Cardenas to tell from the book, but it’s a good one.

“Eight days after his inauguration he announced that the national telegraph company would transmit free of charge, every day between noon and one, messages from the public explaining to him their urgent needs.”

A wit conceived a joke, which circulated widely, revealing where Cardenas put the emphasis in  administration. The president was concentrating on work at his official desk one morning when his private secretary presented him with memoranda of urgent business. “Crisis with the railway workers.” “Pass it on to the minister of communications,” said the president. “Sisal production in Yucatan under par.” “Tell the minister of agriculture.” “Important message from the United States State Department.” “Tell the minister of foreign affairs.” “Big bank scandal imminent.” “Inform finance.” The procedure was interrupted by one of the free telegrams from a remote village, Santa Maria del Tule. It was signed by Juan Diego. “My corn perished with drought, my burro lay down and died, I have malaria, and my wife is having a baby.” Brushing documents aside, Cardenas rose with alacrity. “Order the presidential train. We go to Santa Maria!”

I just think that is a good joke but it also hints at the story behind the man. In the book it says that he never traveled with a revolver and refused to have a body guard. He would visit towns and villages unannounced, walk the streets and sit and talk with people on park benches. He had four main objectives: (1) To give land to all peasants who needed it; (2) to raise the living standards of workers; (3) to give everyone a chance at an education; (4) to improve the health of the country. Where Calles, the previous president had said, “The Revolution has gone far enough,” Cardenas said, “It has just got started.”

I, like, or perhaps I should write, as many other people, I’m certain, have made, at various, oh, shall we say, periods in their lives, more or less, valiant attempts at staying ahead of the debris that continually seems to surround us in life. “File don’t pile”; the words come back to me now as clearly as when she said them. All I can say is: Thanks Teach’. And please feel free to use the advice of my prophetic prof’ to enhance your own schema for living.

As for me, give me liberty or give me…no, wait a minute, that one has already been done, to death. But in a way I too am committed to liberty (possibly just not as much as Patrick Henry apparently was, or for a cause perhaps quite as noble as his). I am fighting for  freedom from the little stacks of paper that litter the edges of my desk, the notebooks and journals filled  with who-knows-what, but still neatly stacked in a cubbie hole, awaiting, ah, awaiting, well I’m not really sure what fate may be awaiting them. Oh wait, there’s a box of old newspaper clippings. What was I thinking?!? Well, you know, one day at a time, right, mate? So give me “files or give me piles”…that didn’t really come out right.  My point is I have chosen files. As an old friend once said: “I’ve found my chair and I’m sticking to it.” I realize that really doesn’t have much to do with the file thing but  I just think that was sort of funny. (As I recall, it almost bordered on hilarious when she said it.) Yes, it’s true, circumstances would seem to dictate that I must once again enter the fray, full-speed ahead, damn the torpedoes, “Remember the Alamo!” Okay I’ve gotten a little carried away again. (As an aside , I find it interesting to note that both sides still remember the Alamo, just somewhat differently.)

My new private war is in the battle to become organized. Oh sure, I used to say, “organized is a four letter word”,  and it may be in some foreign language, somewhere, I have to admit that I don’t really know about that part…. But you get the idea, right?

Now, I am a changed person, I control my own destiny as well as a small, but growing, part of my desktop. And just to prove it,  I am going to get rid of one more piece of paper. That’s right, correctomundo, as Fonzie might say, right here, right now there is an old xerox I made of an article from, I think it was a magazine called “Speak-Up in English”. I bought the mag at a news stand years ago in Augas Calientes, it was the first magazine in English that I had seen in awhile. It is published in Spain. Anyway it was interesting enough. It had articles on various topics, written at different reading levels and in English as it is used in various parts of the world. Portions of the magazine were devoted to language instruction, helpful hints, popular culture and even a series of self-tests. Much of the material was repeated on an interactive CD that was included with the magazine. At least I think the material was on the CD. Apparently the issue I bought was paired with a batch of defective CD’s. A notice was printed inside the back cover.  I didn’t bother writing to Madrid for a replacement copy.

So this article in particular attracted my attention. In fact, reading it spurred me to write about  a simplified Spanglish (please see post on Simplified Spanglish), that could become a lingua franca for the western hemisphere. Perhaps not surprisingly, no one really liked that idea. I guess there are just too many artificial languages already. And I have to say devotees of them all are nothing if not adamant. “God bless ‘em, every one”, to paraphrase Tiny Tim, I wish I could say that in Esperanto. (please see comments on the same post, touchy, touchy, touchy).

The article is entitled “One Language For All” and was written  by William Sutton. The language level is Intermediate. And the article includes a short glossary of some vocabulary and idiomatic expressions translated into Spanish. I think it is well-written for its purpose and contains some interesting information. The whole thing is about 300 words. I guess I should make a disclaimer–I don’t necessarily agree or disagree with the author, remember,  I’m only doing this so I can get rid of this damn piece of paper. Please read on.

The introduction is in Spanish:

Aquellos que estan desesperados porque creen que el ingles se les resiste, ya

pueden respirar tranquilos. Esta surgiendo un nuevo lenguaje, el globish o ingles simplificado.

Para hablarlo se precisan 1,500 palabras.

The need for a world language is urgent. the problem with Artificial Languages is that nobody ever learns them. We need a more practical solution. English is the most widespread language in the history of the planet. But its complex pronunciation, spelling and idiom make it hard to learn–and hard to use accurately. So why don’t we make English easier?

The Simple Approach

Since the advent of the European Union and the internet, this notion, first proposed before World War II–is coming back into fashion. Could simplified English succeed where Artificial Languages have failed?

In his 1930 book, Basic English, Charles Kay Ogden proposed a modified form of English as an easily acquired second language. He selected a vocabulary of 850 words. He made the grammar simple, but not too simple for complex thoughts: you can read translations of the Bible and Plato’s Republic. (Oh boy, I can’t wait to get my hands on that reading list!) Ogden claimed it takes seven years to learn proper English, seven months for Esperanto, and seven weeks for Basic English. (And, to think, Tarzan apparently did it in the space of one movie! Of course, he had Jane to help him.)

Another adapted form of  ‘English As A Lingua Franca for Europe” (ELFE) is intended to reduce EU translation and interpreting costs. To make ELFE acceptable, linguistic experts want to simplify vocabulary and grammar, and eliminate culturally sensitive idioms: for example, ‘Double Dutch’, meaning incomprehensible talk.  (I had never heard that one before; I might have guessed it meant, like, really, really chocolately, which I wouldn’t consider too insensitive to the Dutch cultural heritage, but the whole cultural heritage thing, from any culture, can be a big problem when it comes to world languages.)

From Able to Zero

‘Globish, on the other hand, describes the way non-native English speakers already communicate, using common phrases, diverse levels of grammar, and unpredictable spelling. (That actually makes a pretty good description of my Spanish skills.)

In his 2004 book, Parlez Globish, Frenchman Jean-Paul Nerriere proposes a 1500-word Globish vocabulary from ‘able’ to ‘zero’–though he also recommends learning Frank Sinatra songs (See, now here is a big difference between me and this guy right away; I mean Mr. S was great but personally I have to recommend singing along to Nat King Cole). Nerriere’s book has received coverage throughout Europe and is already being translated into other languages including English (So I am just going to go ahead and assume that the book is already available in Globish).

Could It Work?

Could simplified English become the global language? Or is it a crazy dream? (What would life be like without a ‘crazy’ dream or two?)

Winston Churchhill considered Basic English as a tool for peace following World War II. But without international recognition, its value for learners remains limited. Churchhill himself lost enthusiasm when his wartime speech about “blood, toil, tears and sweat” was translated into Basic English as “blood, hard work, eyewash and body water.” (I don’t know, I think Churchill could still have pulled it off using that phrase in his speech, but it makes me think about that band from the ’60′s:  Blood, Body Water and Eyewash, I don’t know if that would have gone over as well,  but who knows? Afterall, it was the ’60′s).

Globish does, however, have an advantage: it is occurring spontaneously.  (I’m using it already! And I haven’t even read the book!) Used by ever-increasing millions across the planet, it is far ahead of Esperanto. (As a disclaimer: I wouldn’t have said that if it weren’t in the original article.) Language change is no longer prescribed by academics in dusty offices: it happens in conference rooms, backpackers’ hostels and internet chat rooms. (And, apparently,  everywhere I go, too, even dusty offices.)

Whether we like it or not some form of simplified English is already with us. (And that has been my point all along, I think.)

How did Charles Kay Ogden reduce Basic English to 850 words?

1. Omit synonyms:  ‘earth’ not ‘world’.

2. Turn verbs into nouns with ‘-er’ or ‘-ing’.

3. Invert adjectives with ‘un-’. (George Orwell’s novel, 1984, mocked words like ‘ungood’ with Newspeak, created by the Thought Police to outlaw unauthorized thoughts.)

4. Combine words for complex concepts.

5. All questions begin with ‘Do’.

6. Forget annoying irregular past simple forms.

Well, as the Cisco Kid used to say as he and Pancho rode off triumphantly into the sunset, “Adios Amigos!”

I like to give Waldos Mart a hard time. But I shop there, and I know lots of people that do. Last time I was there they had a new shipment of religious candles on the shelves…and not a ‘Holy Death’ candle in the bunch! Bravo, bravo, Waldo. I don’t know if there is an actual Waldo, but the big news is that the discount chain, with outlets across Mexico, turned 10 years old this year. In fact they had a glossy flier printed to help celebrate. It was something like 10 weeks, 10 items, 10 pesos, to mark 10 years. I’m sure you get the theme. So all I can say is:

Happy Birthday! ya’ big lug….

Gentrified Waldos

Probably the really big news, (for Waldomaniacs), is that the chain has started to go up-scale. Well, okay, there has been an attempt to go a little more up-scale. Actually, the new stores I’ve seen are in ‘roomier’ buildings, better lighting, wider aisles, with what would appear to be, oh I don’t know, a more thoughtful layout of the myriad of products offered by the great Waldo. True, the shelves still contain some of the same kind of crazy stuff from the four-corners-of-the-world. Like, for example, strawberry jam from Egypt, enjoy it with “Obrian’s”  brand peanut butter from China; spread some on your favorite crackers from Spain, Vietnam or Indonesia. The ones from Vietnam are kind of a generic “Ritz”, produced under the “Kihn Do” label, clever, huh?

Exotic treasures for the sweet tooth brought to you by Waldo from the Far East

There’s a variety of hard candies from a variety of places stretching from the Argentine to the United Arab Emirates. Don’t forget to pick-up some snacks for the kids. I especially like the “Fear Factor” gummies, but a lot of tiny tykes go for the Gummy Dinosaurs; a selection of bubble gum pops, candy-filled straws, marshmallows and assorted gumballs, (all of the above imported from China), should be enough to give anyone a sugar-rush, not to mention trace amounts of a hand-full of other, as of yet, unidentified chemical compounds. I shouldn’t really pick on China, but what the hell? I’m sorry, but I just can’t bring myself to believe that it can be cost-effective to export and distribute Chinese marshmallows around the world. I mean, what is the pay scale for a Chinese marshmallow maker?

Okay, regardless, I’ll let them work that out with their labor union representative. And besides, you’d think they would be more like flattened out ‘mush’mallows by the time they get here.

My point is, if you haven’t visited a Waldo’s near you lately you may be surprised the next time you drop in. In fact, I’m surprised every time I go there. For example, a couple of months ago I walked in to find, of all things, boxes of good-ol’  Cap’n Crunch and jars of honest-to-goodness Skippy peanut butter. I thought I had died and gone to dollar-store heaven. Well actually, they were priced closer to around two and a half dollars.  Hey, this whole up-scale thing doesn’t come cheap. I told an American I know about the Captain Crunch cereal and he said, “Oh great, I love Captain Crunch, and I haven’t had the roof of my mouth torn to shreds for a long time”.  I don’t know how the old gezzer does it, but the Cap’n sure makes them durn things crunchy!!!

I hate to break the bad news but they are all sold out now. But the last time I checked they still had some chocolate covered Goobers (hecho en USA) in the movie theater box, so really, don’t hesitate, don’t cogitate. Hasten to Waldo’s and maybe I’ll see you in the cookie section trying to decide between brands from Turkey, Germany, China, Brazil, Columbia, Mexico or the US. Really it’s like a little trip around the world! Luego, amigos.

I admit I feel sorry for the people that got ripped off (both students and staff) but really from what I could tell they didn’t have very many actual live teachers there. Toward the end their big plan was to just have rows of computers in fancy little cubicles. Whenever an unfortunate victim, I mean student, would come in, someone at the front desk (probably being paid even less than a teacher, and as it turns out, probably not being paid at all) would just hand them a CD and direct them to a computer. In educational jargon it is referred to as the “Don’t bug us, just go over there and try to teach yourself English” method. Very classy and 99.9% guaranteed to be useless.

On the other hand I have no sympathy for the company or the franchise owners. In my opinion, it couldn’t of have happened to a more deserving bunch of jerks. Really it was that inevitable, perfect storm of stupidity and greed, or as we English majors like to say: ignorance and avarice. The place was all “show and no go”–I’m not sure that phrase fits here, it’s an old “hot-rodders” expression….Anyway, I’ll end with an expression that I believe comes from those wacky Brits; “Good riddance to bad rubbish.” This is one case where I hope “Wall Street” doesn’t make a recovery!

After securely saving this article for more than four years, I recently found it folded up and tucked into a pocket in an old notebook. I’d like to share it with you today for several reasons, not the least of which is that I assume the author has finished college by now and has a real job somewhere reading dictionaries. I should add the disclaimer that I don’t have anything against this guy because he is an American. Although technically, Canadians, Mexicans and even Hugo Chavez may be considered Americans, too, since they all live in the Western Hemisphere which is composed of the continents referred to as “the Americas”. But I don’t want to quibble (I have been waiting for the opportunity to use the word “quibble” ever since I started reading the dictionary!) The New York Times style book claims that the terms “American”, “America” and the “United States” refer, in general usage, to the “United States of America”. I know that some ultra-nationalist Mexicans don’t like to hear that because their country is officially called “The United States of Mexico” (but trust me, no one gets the two nations confused) and, surprisingly, at least to me, there was, at one time, an entity called the “United States of Central America”. (But I think that last one only existed for about 30 minutes, before there were several revolutions, probably precipitated by those damn Canadians.)

The author claims to be “a rather identifiable American” although in his picture he kind of looks like a French guy and he has a very French name, let’s just call him “J. P.”. He was attending classes at a University in western Canada, which may explain why Canucks “hated” him so much–the only people Canadians “hate” more than Americans are the French. It’s like a double whammy, a French guy from the U.S! But I digress….

So I am just going to present the original article in its entirety (really, I should say, as it was originally published in The News, as I have to presume it was edited somewhat, at least I hope it was. I doubt that   J. P.  will ever see this but if he does he is welcome to offer any additional material he may feel is pertinent). The text of the article will be in red, since, for all I know, the Canadians may be Communist sympathizers, too.  Of course I reserve the right to add any smart arse comments of my own, (in black), otherwise I wouldn’t be here.

One of my professors at the University, trying to  point out that many Canadians lack a feeling of identity, recently asked her Canadian literature students what made them feel Canadian.

Lacking a definitive answer, the consensus among the students was that they were simply “not American.”

I might have suggested back-bacon, ice-fishing and those big, thick, plaid, woolen coats. Oh and maybe those Elmer Fudd-style hunting caps with the ear flaps that fold down, ice-hockey, of course, and some sort of weird form of the English language . And, you know, really, based on those few criteria it may be difficult to distinguish Canadians from, for example, people from North Dakota.

As I am a rather identifiable American, this aversion is of particular interest to me. Having been subjected to a series of harsh, degrading and occasionally threatening obloquies has made me realize that Canada is no social paragon.

Okay, if you have your dictionary handy take some time to look up “obloquies”, or you can just figure out from the context that it means that although they have a world-wide reputation as “really nice” people, Canadians can be a real bunch of Canucknuckle-heads and are just as bigoted and prejudiced as everyone else on the planet. But on top of it all, the word entered the English language via French–I’m afraid J. P. is just asking for it. Oops, “paragon” comes from French, too, meaning a “model of excellence or perfection”. Maybe this guy is a “frog” that snuck into Canada just pretending to be an American–where in the hell is Homeland Security when you need them?–probably out buying doughnuts. J. P., if that is, in fact, his real name, continues:

Many Canadian texts–ranging from Fred Wah’s Diamond Grill to Lorena Gale’s Je Me Souviens to Thomas King’s Green Grass Running Water–attest to the constant abuses suffered by visible minorities in Canadian society.

Oh, now Canada has texts. Who knew? And he had to throw in a French title! I wonder if J.P. even got out of Canada alive?

Of course, I understand that both sides are flawed. While focusing primarily on their good attributes, many Americans fail to fairly criticize their bad. But in the same manner, many Canadians remain blinded by America’s recurring political blunders, subsequently refraining from giving any due praise.

Okay, people on  both “sides” can be described as being myopic. But J.P. is being, I believe, unnecessarily kind when he refers to Americas “political blunders”‘. It is more like political “plunder”. I guess  the author can be partially excused because the article was written back in 2005–known now as the “good old days”–before the true extent of the damage being done was understood. I’m not sure we will ever know how deeply the much-heralded “War on Terrorism” has cut into the hopes of humanity on our shared planet. I don’t even like to think about it. But I am not waiting around for our “due praise” to come rolling in from around the world. I still think it is unfair to “hate” poor old J.P. for being an American, but the longer I think about it, it honestly becomes more difficult to imagine why more people don’t “hate” America, or maybe, why people don’t “hate” America more. Well, I don’t know what else to add–as I said I don’t even want to think about it. My New Year’s resolution was to make 2009 “my year of positive thinking”.

I guess the point I am trying to make is that you Northerners really aren’t all that great yourselves. I loathe the Bush Administration and detest the occupation of Iraq. I support health care, human rights, free trade and the well-being of our environment.

It’s kind of funny when he calls Canadians “Northerners”, because if you ask a Mexican who he considers to be “North Americans” he will say “anyone that lives further north than I do”. In Mexico they call the U.S. “the Colossus to the North”; in Nicaragua they call Mexico “the Colossus to the North”. Really, most Canadians live in ‘Southern Canada”, along the U.S. border. I guess it is a question of perspective.

Again, from the historical perspective of just the past four years, to “loathe” and “detest” would seem to be a rather mild choice of words. It is pretty difficult to argue with the list of issues he supports–although it would be just as difficult to claim that the U.S. has made any positive contribution to any of them, certainly, during the last eight years.

Now we come back to one of my favorite sentences of all time. All I can say is well done, well done:

Yet I am constantly castigated by your presumptuous and quotidian fulmination.

As Miss Manners always says: I will leave it up to you, Dear Reader, to look up any words in the sentence that you aren’t sure of in your own dictionary. I will add the simple caveat that I would not recommend actually using any of them in another sentence–ever! ( I, for example,  may decide never to use the word caveat again in a sentence!)

J.P. goes on to claim:

Neither I, nor any American I know, would ever chide a Canadian for slaughtering seals. So please leave me alone about Iraq.

It is true that J. P. and I are not acquainted, but I for one, would be happy to “chide” Canadians for the “slaughtering” of seals. I’ll be honest, I didn’t know they still were. (Although I doubt that too many are slaughtered inside the city limits.) I mean, in the twenty-first century is there still a big demand for blubber burgers, and seal skin coats? I say let the Eskimos eat at McDonald’s and wear gortex like everyone else. Besides the seals are so cute when they balance beach balls on their noses. Seriously it is pretty gross when you see the seal hunters bashing them with clubs; and it seems even worse because of the blood spattered all over the pure white ice cover. But as I understand it, if I understand it, there is some sort of cultural history, (as well as survival, at one time), connected with the whole process, even if it does come down to the honor of chewing that first big chunk of raw blubber. What are those Canadians thinking? Have they heard about microwave ovens?

I suppose that seal-hunting could be compared, somehow, with slaughtering tens of thousands of people in the Middle East. After all an argument could be made that there is some sort of Western cultural tradition for invading the “Holy-land” reaching back at least as far as the crusades of the Middle-Ages, (actually I guess it goes back as far as the Roman conquests, before it was even considered the Holy-land) of course that was even before the oil reserves were discovered and the invention of the internal combustion engine.

I actually enjoy chiding people from other countries. I chide Mexicans all of the time and they chide me. Maybe, just maybe, “what the world needs now” is more chiding. Okay, I’m getting carried away here, it’s just that I never get the chance to use the word “chide” otherwise, so I am just getting it out of my system. Now I feel better. Please feel free to chide me if you want.

You can abhor U.S. foreign policy, but seriously, hating the American people is just plain foolish.

Now we are getting somewhere, J. P.–we can all agree to abhor U.S. foreign policy–one of the worst things is that it can be described as a “policy” in the first place. But basically hating anyone is foolish, really it is immoral, and it is just plain bad Karma on top of it. I’m not saying it is easy to avoid the feeling of “hate” or to resist it. The word itself is loaded with bad emotion–it is much too easy to say and very difficult to take back. All of us would be better off if we stopped using it. In fact I am going to cross it out of my dictionary right now. I’ve been giving J.P. a hard time here, but I hope he understands it is partly because over the years, living in a foreign country, I have occasionally felt as though I am “hated” for being an American too. But I have tried to avoid letting it define or influence me as an individual.

Let’s look at his conclusion for a clue to what we are really feeling:

And between you and me, this city  is much too beautiful to foster such nonsensical negativity and resentment.

So, it may not be the strongest conclusion–I have to believe the editors were just ready to wrap this whole thing up; I am too, but by looking at one of the words in the sentence–”resentment”. Lots of writers have said that many people in the world look at the U.S. with a feeling that is a combination of resentment and envy. The well-known quote is “Poor Mexico, so far from God, and so close to the United States.”

Obviously there are plenty of reasons for mixed emotions. For example, in Mexico there is lingering resentment over the Mexican-American War–I know it was more than 150 years ago–but take my word for it there is still plenty of resentment to go around. I always say, “Believe me, Mexico still “remembers the Alamo”. Recent polls show that nearly  two-thirds of Mexicans believe that the south-western U.S. still belongs to Mexico, or at least that it should still belong to Mexico (official geography textbooks have been updated). I don’t listen to it anymore and I think it is time to get over it. I mean my ancestors didn’t even cross the Atlantic until 100 years ago–I am just not going to take responsibility for it.

In my experience, the envy is clearly represented by the millions of people that want to go to the U.S. Visiting the U.S. has become a right-of-passage for young people here. Chicago, Dallas, Los Angeles, cities across the country, are like magnets for the search for the good life; to see if the streets really are “paved with gold” in the “land of milk and honey”. Polls also show nearly 70% of Mexicans surveyed, believe that they should be able to travel back and forth across the border without restriction. Estimates show that if the borders were opened as many as a quarter of all Mexicans might leave for the U.S. almost immediately. We all know where that issue stands, at least for now (or do we?). And still, if you ask them, a large number of Mexicans will say they “hate” the United States. Maybe that’s how we all have come to express our feelings of identity, in using a word that we really don’t even understand the impact of.

I am not really sure of where to go with any of this from here, but I’ve enjoyed reaching the point where I can finally get rid of this old article. (Getting rid of clutter was another of my resolutions for 2009. I mean, think of the space I’ll be saving!) And I am going to work on getting rid of the word “hate” from my vocabulary and from my life. Just think of the emotional clutter I will be clearing out.

Keep the faith. And J. P., thanks for being a good sport and call me with an update, Paisano.

I found the brochure (really it was like a twelve page magazine, I’ve seen thinner copies of Time Magazine, Latin American edition),  printed in full color on glossy paper, right where I should have expected–trampled underfoot by the edge of a vacant lot. Oh, I have a lot to say about this outfit, but I was ready to start taking it easy, ready to write about things that don’t get me angry. I was ready to give the patito business a pass until the country can get control of internal security. But there it was, half covered in dirt, a few holes poked in the cover by countless footsteps crushing it against the small rocks in the litter-filled lot. It’s like it was waiting for me to walk by, as if it was calling out to me: “Hey, there is a new school here with one of the dumbest concepts ever.”

Oh, this is tough on my goal of a new “positive outlook” philosophy. I mean really! I think this edu-business is so full of mierda del toro that I can’t even write this all at once. For now just let me say that they have what they refer to as “la tabla phonetica de colores”. It is some sort of lame, color coded phonetic chart, the use of which, according to the Einsteins that dreamed up this useless gimmick, will result in perfect English pronunciation. My opinion: learning to use the stupid chart would be as much work as learning a new language. And even then the actual utility of knowing the chart would be nil. More on that later, when my BP settles down.

They claim they only hire native speakers. Well, in the advertisement there is a group picture of what they say is their teaching staff (although I suspect they included anyone that works for them in any capacity; the only employee that didn’t get in the picture was the poor guy with the camera). There are more than 500 people in the picture, five rows of guys and four rows of women. The group is so big that the people look like ants–except without those little feelers on their heads–you really can’t tell who any of them are, even with a magnifying glass. Certainly throughout the photo you can spot a few big knuckleheads sticking up above the crowd that must be Americans, (or they might be Brits, who, I can say, generally qualify as big knuckleheads too). So I don’t believe them. Big surprise, huh. I’m skeptical, okay?

The teaching staff is subjected to a grueling 260 hours of training, apparently in color de-coding. And then, perhaps the most demanding requirement of all: they are forced to wear cheap, matching blazers and ill-fitting polyester slacks. Oh yeah, the women have to wear these huge, sort-of-bow-tie-looking scarfs. All I can figure is that some defunct airline somewhere had a big stash of  flight attendant uniforms left-over from the 1980′s. So far I realize it all sounds very official. But take the word of el Fomentador, a patito with some peacock feathers stuck on its arse is still a patito–is that from Shakespeare?

I’ll be back. As I was writing this I recalled that I still haven’t written anything about another pronunciation scheme, produced by our idiot friends at the world-famous patito that I call: “full-of-Bullshlitz”. You know, the same company that was cheating people out of money fifty years ago by selling those sets of 78 rpm records, with the box that declared  “Learn German the Bullshlitz way”. The cover would always show some yodeler wearing liederhosen and standing next to Heidi’s cabin in the Alps. I find it amazing that the company has managed to keep its standards so consistently low over all of these years (and still manages to make so much money doing it). Keep up the bad work, folks, you bunch of…!

If I can badly paraphase an old quote: “These are the ‘phony  schools’ that try the soul of el Fomentador”.

Luego, amigos.

Hola again,   How y’all doing? Can you believe I almost forgot about this rotten school? There were a few hits on this post recently so it reminded me that I have more to say about it. Now there’s a suprise for everyone, right?

They claim that in this  ‘school’ there are no classes in grammar (everyone hates grammar, so why waste time with that), there is no required writing, (forget about spelling and vocabulary, it’s boring), there’s really not much useful reading either. So what do the classes consist of, you may ask? Even if you weren’t going to ask, I decided that I would tell you. You know, just to keep things ‘flowing’. From what I’ve gathered the classes are all about speaking–and that’s good, except the speaking amounts to reciting dialogue from scripts of  soap- operas. Oh John! Oh Marsha! Apparently you get a double bargain–English and acting lessons at the same time. Amazing, well, the really amazing thing is that they get away with it.

Also, according to the sales literature, each class room is out-fitted with video cameras and microphones that feed back the info to a central ‘quality control’ center in Mexico City. Really? If anyone is watching or reviewing the tapes, I suspect it is only to make sure the teachers actually show up sober (and are dutifully wearing those crazy looking uniforms). And of course, as with all of these rip-offs, the home office wants to make certain that no one diverges from the script. They don’t trust the teachers to actually ad-lib anything that may be useful to the students.

Okay I am done ranting for today–it’s late and although my time is really not that valuable, there has to be something better I could be doing than writing about the venerable (or do I mean venereal) patito “Quit Learning and just repeat some stupid lines from a script”. I should add here that I believe there is some value to practicing reading aloud, it is often called, ‘guided reading’, or ‘radio-reading’. But it only really helps if you have someone there that knows what the heck they are doing. And I have my doubts about that happy, smiling crew at “Quit Learning”.  Adios!

Bacevich is an acclaimed historian and a former military officer, he issues “a call for a pragmatic confrontation with the nation’s problems”. The book was published in 2008.

“The Limits of Power identifies a profound triple crisis facing America today: the economy, in remarkable disarray, can no longer be fixed by relying on expansion abroad; the government, transformed by an imperial presidency, is a democracy in form only; the nation’s involvment in endless wars, driven by a deep infatuation with military power, has been a catastrophe for the body politic. These pressing problems threaten us all, Republicans and Democrats. If the nation is to solve its predicament, it will need the revival of a distinctly American approach: the neglected tradition of realism.

“Andrew J. Bacevich, uniquely respected across the political spectrum, offers a historical perspective on the multiple illusions that have governed American policy since 1945. The realism he proposes includes respect for power and its limits; sensitivity to unintended consequences; aversion of claims of American exceptionalism; skepticism of easy solutions, especially those involving the use of force; and a conviction that, at the end of the day, the books will  have to balance. Only a return to such principles, Bacevich argues, can provide a common ground for dealing with America’s urgent problems.”

Although the book was published this year it serves to remind us how rapidly things can change in our world today. The book is part of The American Empire Project, and the publishers suggest that, for more information and a list of forthcoming titles, you may visit: www.americanempireproject.com

I was part of a presentation there once with three other teachers. Fully three-quarters of the students there are studying psychology. I don’t have anything against psychology, it is an important science. But you really can’t learn a profession like that at what amounts to a glorified high school. Their biggest selling point is that they have a nice cafeteria, I’m not kidding, they list it first in their ads. An adequate snack bar is important no matter where you may go.

But I will say that the only thing Mexico needs less than a bunch of untrained, unemployed architects (and they have a lot of them) is a bunch of poorly-trained, poorly-equipped, unemployed psychologists.

Someone once said, we use our knowledge of psychology to drive ourselves crazy. If that is true there are a lot of crazy young students being turned out by this outfit in Mexico.

But back to “star trek”. As I walked by the “play-school” I noticed a huge new banner (since the development of a computerized screen printing process, everything in Mexico is printed on huge vinyl banners, and I mean everything) trumpeting the availability of the “startrek” languages system. The basic idea is, apparently, Bugtussle U cannot afford to pay actual qualified teachers to teach languages in the classroom so they have outsourced to some kind of virtual program that promises to cheat students out of even more of their money while providing virtually worthless instruction in, get this, more than 25 different languages. They couldn’t even fit all of the languages on the banner (they had to make room to keep mentioning the snack bar) and I have not had success getting on their web site, but I will make a list of the languages they offer (I assume the only language they don’t offer is “Klingon”, but I am sure if you are willing to pay for it they would be happy to put together a course. May I say that would appear to be illogical, Captain? )

You can call me a wise guy, (I’ve been called worse), but, for example, I just don’t think there is a big market for a course in Hebrew in central Mexico. Maybe I’m wrong. As I like to say, I’ve been wrong before–I thought I made a mistake once. (I’m kidding, I’m a kidder!)

But I am serious about this: DO NOT WASTE YOUR TIME OR MONEY ON THIS SCAM!!! And, as John McCain likes to say over and over and over again: “My friends” you can take that to the bank (although I guess, considering the current financial crisis, banks are one of the least safe places to take anything these days.)

Anyway my point is it is a case of a patito, that is unwilling to fulfill its stated mission, simply sub-contracting out to another patito that will, in turn, be unable to meet its responsibility. Oh, the irony, oh, the injustice, oh, the poor example that has been set. There is a private patito “university”, one of the big names here, with branches all over Mexico, owned by a private group from the US, that has done the same thing. Apparently, actually providing real language classes for students and paying qualified teachers a living wage, just cuts into the profit margin too much. You know, when it comes to things like quality and ethical behavior the thriving “edu-business” industry can’t be bothered.

I think El Fomentador may go to the University of  Bugtussle and sign up for a course in Hebrew–that would look good on a resume, right? Well, ok, I’m only going to do it because I like being a wise guy. Shalom, amigos. And may the force be with you…oh, wait a minute, that’s from Star Wars.

Of course, eventually, I had to graduate and begin the time honored process of clawing my way into the middle-class. A family, a job, a home, even a station-wagon seemed to salve my sense that something wasn’t right. A life in the ‘burbs, surrounded by other families that were all building toward the elusive and perhaps, indefinable, “American dream” was easy to fall into and, to be honest, had its own rewards, I could say that I was happy. A life of “quiet desperation” was preferable to one punctuated by dark despair and Weltschmerz; and besides, I just don’t look good in a beret!

Well, now that former life is gone. I live in a tiny apartment, tucked into a very Mexican neighborhood surrounded by a dirty, often noisy, ramshackle industrial city thousands of miles away from family and friends. Man, talk about the potential for despair! Usually I am more frustrated by the injustice that I witness around me than despairing over my own human condition. In a way I consider myself very fortunate–I had a life I loved and now have a chance at a second life, a life with a purposefulness that I can define, instead of having a life that defines me. I’ve been allowed to join the ranks of the “reconstructed existentialists” that recognize a life of moping despair serves no one. And to walk with the Sun on your back or the rain in your face should not be oppressive but inspiring; the tiny, ephemeral joys of this existence are what we get and in large part are what we make of them.

Don’t get me wrong, I haven’t morphed into a Pollyanna, or a Sarah Palin. Life is still a very confusing and challenging condition, and to paraphrase the old bumper sticker: Mean People Still Suck. But that is what makes the hundreds of thoughtful, caring, intelligent people I have been privileged to meet and know and work with over the years all the more important. Gee, that does sound kind of “Pollyanna-like”. Regardless, imagine, if you can, my response when I recently rediscovered Anton Chekhovs’ short story “Gooseberries” tucked into an old paper-back edition of “The Best Short Stories of the Modern Age”. Certainly “Gooseberries” meets the criteria for inclusion in the book.

Chekhov lived from 1860 to 1904 and was born in Russia. His contributions to the modern short story include sharing a deep sympathy for his characters and their situations. He writes with an, often, stark truthfulness more focused on the flow of ideas than on formal plot lines. Obviously, I am not classifying Chekhov as an existentialist but his work can often give that same sense of despair.

“Gooseberries” is really a story within a story. The main character, Ivan Ivanych, the story teller, relates a tale of a change that occurred in him while visiting his brother, Nikolay. Nikolay worked for more than 25 years as a minor government clerk. He spent his life constantly saving toward his dream of owning a small country estate someday. Ivan recognized the draw of the rural life but didn’t agree with his brother: “He was a kind and gentle soul and I loved him, but I never sympathized with his desire to shut himself up for the rest of his life on a little property of his own. It is a common saying that a man needs only six feet of earth. But six feet is what a corpse needs, not a man.” He continues, “To retire from the city, from the struggle, from the hubbub, to go off and hide on one’s own farm–that’s not life, it is selfishness, sloth, it is a kind of monasticism, but monasticism without works. Man needs not six feet of earth, not a farm, but the whole globe, all of Nature, where unhindered he can display all the capacities and peculiarities of his free spirit.”

Nikolay spent his spare time over the years planning and working out his dream. Ivan tells us that in “those imaginary pictures…somehow gooseberries figured in every one of them”. “He could not picture to himself a single country-house, a single rustic nook, without gooseberries”. “Country life has its advantages,” he used to say. “You sit on the veranda having tea, and your ducks swim in the pond, and everything smells delicious and–the gooseberries are ripening’”.

Finally, after many years, Nikolay bought an estate and “settled down to the life of a country gentleman”.  Ivan went to visit his brother to “see how things were with him.” A common theme among authors is lamenting the immutable process of growing old. Even if we recognize aging and death as a part of life it may be seen as resulting in a series of lost opportunities, things left undone, words left unsaid. The Mexican celebration of The Day of the Dead is based on an indigenous belief that death is simply a portal to another life, a doorway to another existence. Of course the Christian belief in an everlasting life in Heaven or Hell amounts to the same–but no one really knows for certain what happens. There is an old joke that says after Jean Paul Sartre died, he found himself standing at the gates of Heaven with Saint Peter. Sartre looked bewildered so Saint Peter asked what was wrong. Sartre said, “It isn’t what I expected.” When the Saint asked him what he expected, Sartre simply answered, “Nothing.” I guess it is about as close to an existentialist joke as you can get. I once read somewhere that we have no fear of the time before we were born so why should we be afraid of the time after we are gone. In the following passage Chekhov touches on the topic as the brothers meet after many years apart, then moves on: “We embraced and dropped tears of joy and also of sadness at the thought that the two of us had once been young, but were now gray and nearing death. He got dressed and took me out to show me his estate.”

The idea of change over time is reflected in the next passage: “He was no longer the poor, timid clerk he used to be but a real landowner, a gentleman. [He] was very much offended when the peasants failed to address him as ‘Your Honor’. And he concerned himself with his soul’s welfare too, in a substantial, upper-class manner, and performed good deeds not simply but pompously. …on his name day he had a thanksgiving service celebrated in the center of the village, and then treated the villagers to a gallon of vodka, which he thought was the thing to do. Oh, those horrible gallons of vodka! One day a fat landowner hauls the peasants up before the rural police officer for trespassing, and the next, to mark a feast day, treats them to a gallon of vodka, and they drink and shout ‘Hurrah’ and when they are drunk bow down at his feet.”

Chekhov continues with a comment in which he gives an attribute to his country men but it is probably a universal phenomenon: “A higher standard of living, overeating and idleness develop the most insolent self-conceit in a Russian. Nikolay Ivanych, who when he was a petty official was afraid to have opinions of his own even if he kept them to himself, now uttered nothing but incontrovertible truths and did so in the tone of a minister of state: ‘Education is necessary, but the masses are not ready for it; corporal punishment is generally harmful, but in some cases it is useful and nothing else will serve.”

The author goes on in his brother’s voice, marking it with the conceit referred to earlier: “‘I know the common people, and I know how to deal with them,’ he would say. ‘They love me. I only have to raise my little finger, and they will do anything I want.’” Ivan is quick to add that this was ‘said with a smile that bespoke kindness and intelligence.’ Nikolay now considered himself to be ‘a member of the gentry’ even though his family had come from peasant stock.

A shift in the story now has Ivan telling his listeners: “But I am concerned now not with him, but with me. I want to tell you about the change that took place in me during the few hours I spent on his estate.” As they were having tea that night his brother’s cook brought in a plate of fresh gooseberries, ‘the first ones picked since the berries were planted’. Ivan describes his brother’s response: ‘…he put one berry in his mouth, glanced at me with the triumph of a child who at last has been given a toy he was longing for and said: ‘How tasty!…Ah, how delicious! Do taste them!’ Ivan reveals to his listeners that the berries ‘were hard and sour’, he adds, ‘but as Pushkin has it,

“The falsehood that exalts we cherish more than meaner truths that are a thousand strong”.

Ivan continues: “I saw a happy man, one whose cherished dream had so obviously come true, who had attained his goal in life, who had got what he wanted, who was satisfied with his lot and with himself. For some reason an element of sadness had always mingled with my thoughts of human happiness, and now at the sight of a happy man I was assailed by an oppressive feeling bordering on despair.’”

The narrator talks later about how the scene had effected him and he said to himself: “how many contented, happy people there really are! What an overwhelming force they are! Look at life: the insolence and idleness of the strong, the ignorance and brutishness of the weak, horrible poverty everywhere, overcrowding, degeneration, drunkenness, hypocrisy, lying–Yet in all the houses and on all the streets there is peace and quiet; of the fifty thousand people who live in our town there is not one who would cry out, who would vent his indignation aloud. We see the people who go to the market, eat by day, sleep by night, who babble nonsense, marry, grow old, good-naturedly drag their dead to the cemetery, but we do not see or hear of those who suffer, and what is terrible in life goes on somewhere behind the scenes. Everything is so peaceful and quiet and only mute statistics protest: so many people gone out of their minds, so many gallons of vodka drunk, so many children dead from malnutrition– And such a state is evidently necessary; obviously the happy man is at ease only because the unhappy ones bear their burdens in silence, and if it were not for this silence, happiness would be impossible. It is a general hypnosis.’ He says that the “contented, happy man…[needs to be reminded] that there are unhappy people, that  however happy he may be, life will sooner or later show him its claws, and trouble will come to him–illness, poverty, losses and then no one will see  or hear him, just as now he neither sees or hears others.” Ivan sees that there is no reminder and says, “The happy man lives at his ease, faintly fluttered by small daily cares, like an aspen in the wind–and all is well.”

Wow, what a great, if troubling, summary of the dilemma that faces us all, no matter where we may fall on the “scale” of happiness as described by Chekhov. And when, and if, we think about it, it becomes too much, overwhelming–like, where do we start if we wanted to address the issues he presents? I can say it probably won’t do much good to run into the streets and shout for people’s attention, to grab people by the lapels and try to make them see and understand. It is much more likely that the understanding that is needed comes from inside each of us, from an interior dialogue that is hard and uncomfortable. That for many of us is simply too difficult and complex to face, and would throw ourselves into a despair that would continually shatter our sense of “happiness” because from that perspective the world is a never ending source of misery and strife–toil and trouble. We’ll see in a later passage that Chekhov has an idea to share with the reader–one that is not necessarily complete  or comforting, but that rewards the reader with a place to start that internal decision that may lead to useful and balanced action without being dragged into despair or left only with the option of burying our heads in the sand.

Ivan describes his own awakening: “That night I came to understand that I too had been contented and happy,” Ivan Ivanych continued, getting up. “I too over the dinner table or out hunting would hold forth on how to live, what to believe, the right way to govern the people. I too would say that learning was the enemy of darkness, that education was necessary but that for the common people the three R’s were sufficient for the time being. Freedom is a boon, I used to say, it is as essential as air, but we must wait awhile. Yes that’s what I used to say, and now I ask: Why must we wait?” said Ivan Ivanych…”Why must we wait, I ask you? For what reason? I am told that nothing can be done all at once, that every idea is realized gradually, in its own time. But who is it that says so? Where is the proof that it is just? You cite the natural order of things, the law governing all phenomena, but is there law, is there order in the fact that I, a living, thinking man, stand beside a ditch and wait for it to close up of itself or fill up with silt, when I could jump over it or throw a bridge across it? And again, why must we wait? Wait, until we have no strength to live, and yet we have to live and are eager to live!”

Ivan says that since that day he is “oppressed by the peace and quiet” in the town and there “is nothing that pains me more than to look at the spectacle of a happy family sitting at table having tea. I am an old man now and unfit for combat, I am not even capable of hating. I can only grieve inwardly, get irritated, worked up, and at night my head is ablaze with the rush of ideas and I cannot sleep. Oh, if I were young!” He paces the room and excitedly repeats, “If I were young!”

He walks up to one of his listeners and says, “‘don’t quiet down, don’t let yourself be lulled to sleep! As long as you are young, strong, alert, do not cease to do good! There is no happiness and there should be none, and if life has a meaning and a purpose, that meaning and purpose is not our happiness but something greater and more rational. Do good!’ All this Ivan Ivanych said with a pitiful, imploring smile, as though he were asking a personal favor.”

So Ivan tells us to “Do good!” Chekhov tells us that Ivan is excited, imploring, perhaps confused and afraid. He may be at that point where he is afraid his words can’t convey his meaning, that his “rush of ideas” is too overwhelming to himself and prevents him from making his listeners understand his sense of urgency. It is as if the power of his vision is larger than himself, larger than his listeners, larger than humanity. And at the same time it is a simple plea to all of us, “Do good!”

In the story it is late at night, the men are tired and not satisfied with the story. Chekhov tells us that one listener:” …did not trouble himself to ask if what Ivan Ivanych had just said was intelligent or right.” As Ivan got into bed that night Chekhov gives him his final words, “Lord forgive us sinners!” he murmured, and drew the bedclothes over his head.

I think what Chekhov asks us to do is to trouble ourselves to ask if what Ivan said was “intelligent or right”, asking each of us to determine where, or if, we fit into the scheme of the things Ivan was trying to explain. And it is a complex request and a simple plea at the same time but it gives us a direction, a starting point and the option of fulfilling our simple promise as humans to seek true freedom for all without having to exist in complete despair.

Of course the idea of “reform” usually rings hollow when it is tossed around by politicos anywhere in the world. Protectors of the status quo aren’t interested in change that threatens to rock the boat. (For an example, just compare John McCains campaign speeches with his voting record for the last thirty years).

As I have said before, I like teachers. They are good people usually working under poor conditions. Those working in the worst conditions, rural districts and poor, urban neighborhoods, are often the first to be forgotten by petty bureaucrats.

There are three main players in this mess. (There is a fourth element–students. They, unfortunately, have been completely forgotten in much the same way as the failure of the “No Child Left Behind” program in the U.S. is leaving children behind every day). Who’s to blame? This sounds familiar: an elitist, corrupt and indifferent political class; rigid, inefficient, self-serving administrators; and over-worked, under-appreciated, burned-out teachers laboring under the mis-guidance of their own professional unions.

I’m sure I’m paraphrasing someone much more clever than I when I say: “Seldom have so many been so wrong about so much”.

SEP

Let’s look first at the Secretary of Public Education (SEP). I’ve been to a number of SEP offices around the country and I can say that they look very much like school district offices everywhere, simply a bee-hive of cubicles where everyone spends the day shuffling papers to give the impression that they are busy. If you are lucky enough to be some kind of “sub-director-of-something-or-other” you may have a private office where no one can tell if you aren’t doing anything.

In my opinion, SEP was designed from the beginning to make certain that the education of the masses does not succeed. The bureaucracy has done a good job of, essentially, abandoning the teacher-training schools to politically appointed minions trying to hang on to their administrative posts long enough to retire. It’s ironic that all of these people are both the product and the victims of the rotten system that they wind-up perpetuating.

SNTE

The teachers union, under an iron-fisted and corrupt leadership, has consistently worked against its own membership in exchange for political favors. For example, the unions national president recently proposed that some 500 normal schools be closed or turned into technical schools. They’re bluffing. It’s nothing but a stupid power-play, a desperate attempt to frighten dissident teachers into submission. One problem with the idea, for example, is there are not enough qualified teachers now-where will new teachers come from if they close the schools that train them? In addition, Mexico already has a bloated system of technical schools that are failing miserably. My city has three “technical” schools. They range from one with a sparkingly new campus, (designed, by the way, in the style of all Mexican school buildings, cheap, ugly and poorly constructed, and they have already started to fall apart) to one with a junky looking campus surrounding dilapidated buildings filled with broken, cast-off furniture. The one thing they have in common–they are all run by a bunch of uninspired, worn-out political hacks that hate what they do and are only there because they can’t get real jobs.

Alliance for Quality Education

SEP and the teachers union “leadership” have worked together on the “Alliance for Quality Education” which they claim is a plan to improve public education by making teacher testing and evaluation tougher. Um, they give a national exam for people that want to work as teachers. This year two-thirds of the those that took the test failed. If they make it any tougher there won’t be any teachers left in Mexico. I’m sorry, but that idea is just asinine, and a glaring example of what is wrong with the system.

If you really want quality education for all, it begins with professional quality training for teachers. And that takes resources and a serious commitment from the government. (Remember, this is a system that was designed to guarantee it would fail). To establish long-term accountability and improved performance you start by giving people up-to-date skills, setting serious, definable goals and expectations, providing them with the tools they need to succeed in their jobs and showing them, by example, how to behave in a professional manner. In other words you have to train future teachers the skills of their profession as well as teaching them how to be  professionals.

That is the same for any job or course of study. And, to be honest, none of that is occurring at the Normal schools now.

Normalistas

Finally we come to the teachers and the student teachers. i can understand their frustration. They are desperately trying to hold on to jobs that they know they were not adequately prepared for. And they know, if they are honest with themselves, that they are not able to perform up to expected standards within a system that just doesn’t work.

So what’s the response of protesting teachers? They say the test results are not accurate, that large numbers of the test-takers are not Normalistas which tends to lower the scores (which may be true, but the numbers should be easy enough to shake out). Teachers have even gone so far as suggesting that they shouldn’t have to take an exam–that simply graduating from a teacher-training program proves that they are qualified. Nice try. The truth is that, within the system, pretty much everyone always passes. It amounts to grade-inflation that makes George Bushs’ college transcripts seem almost believable. Just as not everyone is cut out to be President–not everyone can be a teacher. Believe it or not there are teachers insisting on keeping a practice that allows retiring teachers to pass on their positions to their relatives. It is like something out of the middle ages! (And we’ve seen how badly it works when applied to the Presidency!).

Pensions

One last issue–retirement pensions. Like governments and private companies everywhere, the system decided to change the rules in the middle of the game. One change would allow younger employees to establish private savings accounts instead of using the pension system. maybe they can invest it in the stock market–that’s always safe, right?!?

State pension accounts are always under-funded. In my city, a few years ago, a public college celebrated it’s 30th anniversary. In Mexico most public employees can retire at age 55 or after 30 years of service (although that is changing too). The college had over 300 employees retiring in the same year and “suddenly discovered” they didn’t have enough money in the pension fund. Something like that should not come as a surprise. Was it simply poor planning and administration? Were actuaries counting on enough workers dying before they could collect benefits? Or was it, as many locals believe, because much of the money was skimmed off and stolen over the years?

What to do?

My suggestions? I have only three.

1. Start by clearing out the dead-wood in the SEP. The administration of education is top-heavy everywhere but in Mexico it is out of control. If necessary, get some of those unproductive desk-jockeys out into classrooms or out the door. Start funneling money into teaching resources instead of into the pockets of corrupt bureaucrats and, often, redundant support staff.

2. Restore open, honest leadership to the teachers union. Show members examples of professional behavior instead of political favoritism and personal skull-duggery. Build a union that will represent teachers in a respectful, supportive, yet realistic way. That means better training, better pay, and better, more stringent, but consistent, evaluations, honest communication and a serious focus on student success.

3. Teachers need to evaluate their own commitment to their profession. Are they continuing to make a positive contribution to the education of their students everyday or are they just coasting and simply “playing” school? Of course teachers have the right, the responsibility, really, to advocate for a better system for themselves, their students, their communities and the nation–but they also have the responsibility of being in the classroom teaching. Again, they need to set an example of professional behavior for their students and within their communities.

Conclusion

I’m no longer idealistic enough to believe that anything el Fomentador has to say will make a difference in Mexico. To be truthful most of what I’ve said can be applied to the educational system in the U.S. too. And I am no more hopeful for change there. But I still believe in the power and the promise of education. And I have seen the results of not producing educated citizens–again, I have to use the example of George Bush being elected to the Presidency, not just once, but twice! And in my opinion, that should be enough to propel anyone into some kind of action. Adios amigos.