The lastest sally in the English vs French education debate.
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There is nothing like seeing yourself through the eyes of a foreigner. Cross-cultural literature, at its best, offers a mirror to peer and gape at in awe or disbelief. It can also be an occasion for cheap point-scoring. It seems that Pamela Druckerman's latest book, French Children Don't Throw Food, has achieved both. In championing French parenting over the "anglophone" way, she has triggered a heavy artillery backlash. Coy French parents, embarrassed by such praise, and Anglo-Saxon expats in France have been quick to retaliate. If you think the French way is great, think again, they say: you haven't seen its dark side.
It won't surprise anyone to learn that the French approach to parenting is indeed unique. To start with, in France motherhood doesn't define women to the same extent. It is a function they perform, not a raison d'etre. British women therefore often assume that French mothers are aloof and detached from their children. They are not. They just refuse to be slaves to their offspring; they have, frankly, other important things to do in life. Breastfeeding is not necessarily one of them.
In France, children are expected to behave from a very early age: to say "bonjour, madame", "au revoir, monsieur", "s'il vous plait" and "merci"; to eat with cutlery and not their fingers; not to run wild in cafes; and not to interrupt adults when they are having a conversation. This shouldn't be admirable; it is called civilisation.
When hopping across the Channel, French mothers behold with bewilderment the spectacular patience and gentleness of British parents who beg rampaging toddlers to "Be considerate to others" and ask dribbling one-year-olds if they would rather have fish fingers or chicken nuggets. Asking toddlers their opinion? They don't have one.
However, if such strict and straightforward Gallic parenting sometimes inspires awe in some anglophone quarters, admiration usually turns to horror when we come to the subject of state education and schooling.
This is what I could tell you about France's state education with my British glasses on: French schools are medieval dungeons where children from the age of three are subjected to terribly long hours under the unforgiving gaze of instituteurs who make them learn the Marseillaise off by heart. If they fail, they'll be told so in the most undiplomatic terms. Grammar and algebra are all that matters. Creativity and playfulness? Children can learn that at their grandparents', if they are still alive.
Even with my French glasses on, I still see an education system that is unashamedly prescriptive and prizes knowledge over play. I see a system that unforgivably favours structure, rules and the intellect. But does it necessarily stifle artistic expression? I'd say that it gives children a clear sense of the boundaries they can later transcend. Art in the 20th century is awash with French artists who have broken the mould. Does the French state education format children into an army of conformists? If anything, the last 100 years have shown that the French republican model creates citizens that are unique in rebelling and questioning authority. Strict rules taught early in life breed transgressive minds, while laissez-faire education and "artistic chaos" breeds conformists.
When I look at the British education system with its emphasis on play, sport and social interaction, I certainly see the beneficial effects in adults. Right here is the source of the British taste for compromise and negotiation, their social skills and team spirit. However, I also see people squirming at the thought of being serious, afraid of abstract thinking, lazy with foreign languages, and bafflingly happy to live in a monarchy.
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French children: enfants, but not terrible | Agnès Poirier | Comment is free | The Guardian
Does the French state education format children into an army of conformists?
YES, OH MY SWEET JESUS, YES.
Don't get me wrong, if you want someone to tell you the difference between Plato and Nietzsche then ask a lycéen. It works terribly well, but the one thing it doesn't do (and Poirier must be utterly delusional if she thinks it does) is encourage creativity. Teachers actually mark you down (and usually insult you too) for straying from the approved answers, however correct you may be. Ever wondered why London has a thriving international arts scene and Paris hasn't? That's why.
Each approach has its benefits. If you've come from an Anglo-Saxon everything-has-something-good-to-be-said-of-it background, then a little intellectual rigour is like a long beer after a day on an Alabama chain gang. After ten years, or so, however, it begins to feel a lot like the intellectual equivalent of this:
French children: enfants, but not terrible
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