Ann Marie’s Istanbul

Let me tell you about something important to me. Yesterday was the last day of class for my IB certificate seniors, kids I’ve taught for two years. I love each and every one of them.

I decided to make flourless chocolate cake, (two cakes, actually) and invite them to my lojman (apartment) to celebrate a rewarding two years together. As I raced out of the building at 1:40, four of them met me outside and walked with me to my lojman. I recruited them to whip up topping (the directions are in THEIR language, after all), slice strawberries, and serve my very favorite, bitter-chocolate-rich cake. They dove right in. Libby was excited to see them, but got a bit shy once all 20 of them had arrived. She spent the rest of the party under the bed.

I’ve never had a relationship like this with an entire class–I LOVE these kids,! All 20 of them. Of course, it hasn’t been perfect all the time. I’ve been frustrated with them on occasion, as I’m sure they have been with me. IB was new to all of us, and we had to feel our way through it. They showed their mettle with insightful class disscusions, analytical writing, and incredibly creative class presentations. Part of our Wednesday gathering was remembering the hilarious things some of them did this year: Zeynep as Paris Hilton, Iraz wandering the classroom as a homeless person, and Selim Can (John) as a Macbeth Mafioso. None was more hilarious, though, than the interview of Haluk, a poor African person, giving straight-faced gibberish answers to his interpreter, who translated them into English for his interviewer and audience. I can’t belive we didn’t wet our pants , we laughed so hard.

Together we’ve weathered comparative commentaries, mock orals, and individual oral presentations, and somehow we’ve bonded through it all. As I said, I LOVE these kids!

It makes me sad to hear that some senior English teachers are relieved to see their students leave. O.K. I admit that even my 20 proteges have been a challenge lately. They always have OSS workbooks in their laps. It takes me five or ten minutes to settle them down at the start of class. Sometimes one or two of them even fall asleep in class. (NEVER have I allowed that in my 32 years of teaching–these kids are WIPED.) They study non-stop,seldom getting to bed before midnight. Their lives are ruled by dershane classes (cram school) and the OSS. English class is mere fluff at this point. I’m sorry they have to go through this, but in spite of it all, I’ve done my best to prepare them for the IB exams in May. I think they’ll do well if they try. I hope they do.

I’ll miss them all. I’ll miss them a lot.

Four of them are coming to the States next year–Zeynep to the University of Chicago, a mere 11 hours away. Denizhan will be at Middlebury, Iraz at Brandeis, and Haluk will be somewhere out East. I’m sure Selim Can will join them the following year, either at Harvard or Yale. I’m sure I’ll visit each of them.

Of course, I’ll return to visit the others in Turkey, maybe next winter. My ticket home this summer is a round-trip fare .

As I said, I LOVE these kids! How lucky can one get?

_{Producing a play in Turkey is quite a different thing—at least at the Koc School. Oh, there are scripts, actors, music, choreography, costumes, rehearsals and set, of course, but everything is done quite differently. It’s been a real eye-opener for me. Perhaps it’s because we work with a privileged clientele. Perhaps it’s because our students travel great distances to school. Perhaps it’s because our juniors and seniors are obsessed with preparing for the OSS exam. Whatever the reasons, the Koc (“coach”) production of Leader of the Pack has been quite different from anything I’ve ever experienced.}

_{Director Larry Bent, Musical Director Dan Kapp, Choreographer / Costume Designer Lisa Kapp, and producer Marnie Paulus began the process last spring, recruiting actors, teachers, and staff for the production. Auditions were held in May for the gala 50’s musical based on the life of Ellie Greenwich, who composed many popular rock songs including “Chapel of Love,” and “Leader of the Pack” with husband Jeff Barry.}

_{Typical of high school productions, the girls outnumbered the boys ten to one. After weeks of recruiting, they decided to pare the script down to accommodate the primarily female cast. Good call.}

_{Rehearsals began in September for the March production—a seven-month rehearsal schedule! WOW! (My longest rehearsal schedule for a musical was eight weeks.) In spite of the fact that rehearsals were only held twice a week, attendance was abysmal and some cast members dropped out.}

_{“Our overall attendance was about 75%,” said director Larry Bent. “A few weeks before opening we’d never had the full cast for the group dance numbers.” He’d about had it a few times, but somehow the directors all hung in there.}

_{“I wanted to drop out, but my mom wouldn’t let me, and I’m GLAD!” said Lara Ankan of her experience. Turkish kids don’t often have opportunities to make a commitment like this one; their schedules are too tough, and even extracurricular sports mean a few practices a week. The 25 cast members who stuck out the year were jazzed about the production once they got onstage. The directors started smiling, too, those last few weeks when the show looked like it might pull together. It did, and then some.}

_{Beyond the 7-month rehearsal schedule, though, what was so different? Well…}

_{First off, the custodial staff built the set, a very sturdy affair that looked professional–in fact, it was a set of three record-disc platforms with professionally-screened labels on the records. The art department painted the scrim (obviously purchased) and flats for the backdrop, and students were excused from classes to do the work. At home, set construction happens on evenings and weekends, and it’s volunteer labor all the way.}

_{Dancing shoes were custom-made for each member of the cast, at a whopping cost of $30 each. (I ought to) That really alleviates the last-minute scramble for footwear. Gold lame vests for the musicians were custom made as well, at a whopping $3 each (fabric scrounged from the school’s very minimal costume loft, which is mostly graduation robes).}

_{Long before the performance, Dan Kapp hired a professional piano player to round out his volunteer orchestra, and they sounded GREAT! (My 9th grade musical protégé Ugur Kupeli played the drums.)}

_{During the last month of rehearsals, treats and meals were supplied for cast members. During the performances, a meal was served before the production, then healthy snacks, water, and sandwiches were provided backstage for everyone. Go figure! The school not only provided service bus transportation for the cast, but also for teachers and families who chose to attend the production. Now THERE’S a budget item!}

_{Another phenomenal difference was the volunteer help. More than 100 people were involved in this production, from actors to stage crew to musicians, costumers, stage crew, and supervisors. It was an incredible cooperative effort by many dedicated people.}

_{The Leader of the Pack budget of just under 20,000 New Turkish Lira (about $15,000) paid for scripts, royalties, costumes, and who-knows-what else.}

_{As always in the theater world, the production finally pulled together. Everyone started attending rehearsals (at the same time!), the ever-charming male lead finally learned his lines, and last-minute costume alterations were made. When opening night arrived, excitement was high. Bouffant hairdos and light pink lipstick were added to the mix, and the cast stormed the stage. The show was a smash—the first musical in years to be produced by the Koc School.}

_{I just have one question. How come these kids speak with a Turkish accent, but it disappears when they sing? I just don’ t get it. Maybe that’s why they have English teachers…}

IT DEFIES LOGIC

I never understood why we couldn’t chew gum in school. I thought my parents were crazy for forbidding me to ride with a driver until he or she had been driving for a year. I’ve never thought it made sense for poor people to pay taxes that get refunded anyway. Life is full of those irritating mysteries, and we just learn to live with them.

Turkish Ministry of Education rules are like that. Ataturk, the Father of Modern Turkey, mandated education for all, and the Ministry of Education was established to make sure that happened in a thorough and egalitarian way. Good plan.

Of course, I’ve had to adjust from one educational system to another, and I admit that our Western methods often deserve the criticism that we aren’t exacting enough or that we put too much energy into making education fun. Point taken. Perhaps that’s why the U.S. is now putting so much energy into establishing graduation standards; we must assure that our graduates are both literate and knowledgeable.

In Turkish education, standardization is not only required, it dominates every facet of education. Students take a pre-determined set of subjects, with a heavy dose of science and math. Turkish students are eons ahead of their American peers in science and math, though much of their learning is rote rather than theoretical. In the Western system students work with the theories behind equations, while Turkish students tend to memorize the equations. These kids are masters of memorization. If I give my students a sample essay to review before an exam, many of them will memorize the entire essay and adapt it to the prompt on their exam. Only in Turkey!

I guess what I mostly want to say is that Turkish students work their tails off—at least many of them. (Of course, we have lazy kids here, too.) Education is highly valued, though it’s more about grades than learning.

And therein lies the conundrum. Grades.

In a country that demands excellence from its students, the grading system defies logic.

Let me explain. In the U.S., we grade on a percentage system, usually with 60 percent required to pass, and ten percent each for A through D. Turkey grades on a percentage system as well, but with a passing grade of 45%. (Eat your hearts out, American teens!)

Of course, teachers grade tougher in Turkey, so I think a 45% might be close to a U.S. 60%, though I can’t say that for certain. Instead of giving letter grades, the Turkish system is numeric:

85-100%=5
70-84%=4
55-69%=3
45-54%=2
25-44%=1 (failing)
0-24%=0 (failing)

Here’s the rub, though. A student’s final grade is not the average of the two semester percentages–it’s the average of the two numeric grades. For instance, if a student gets a 4 (as low as 70%) one term and a 5 (as low as 85%) the second term, the average is 4.5, which is rounded up to a 5, in spite of the fact that this student actually has a year average of 77.5, a mid-four.

In reviewing this system, I’ve computed that it’s possible to get a passing grade in Turkey with a course average of 27.5%. If a student did nothing one term (it happens) earning 0% (a 0 grade), then kicked in to earn a 55% the next term (a 3), the 0 and the 3 are averaged to make a 1.5, which is rounded up to a 2, a passing grade. This student has only earned 27.5% overall for the year (nearly 18% below a passing 45%), yet he/she passes. I stand amazed.

That’s not all.

If that student didn’t quite make a 55% grade the second semester, he could take an exam the following August, a “grade raising exam”, to pass the course. Any student can opt to take an exam to change their grade, and this 90-minute exam can override an entire year’s course grade. What that means is that you could fail a year with zero points, yet pass a course through the exam. There are students who bank on this. Some don’t pass the test, which puts them in deep doo-doo with baba and anne (dad and mom).

As you can see, this system defies logic. Grades are paramount in this country, and every step is taken to enable students to be successful. Cheating is rampant, and it’s the rare student who resists the temptation. I value honesty highly, so this has been a struggle for me. (I admit that I’ve lied in my life, but I can honestly say that I never cheated in school–my students don’t believe me.)

Law suits are common here, too, not over teacher behavior, but over what is seen as unfair grading practice. That’s why it’s so crucial for teachers to moderate exam grades so that grading is equalized across the entire grade.

Students here are constantly computing their averages, and at the end of the term, they will openly announce the exact grade they need on their exam or class grade to meet their goal. “I need a 73 on this exam, Ms. Mershon,” expecting me to take that into consideration as I grade it. One student asked me how much it would cost to “buy” a few percentage points. I grinned and said, “Oh, a million dollars or so.” I think he was serious. I wasn’t.

I love Turkey and I enjoy teaching here, but I can’t help feeling professionally compromised by their grading system. I imagine all the teachers do. We just hope our doctors didn’t squeak through on grade-raising exams.