Chapter 9

Submitted by Alias Recluse on June 2, 2012

9

Public Education

In our narrative or exposition about what we saw in Russia, not everything we have to relate is harsh, acerbic and distressing. There is one aspect of our journey that can be compared to the oasis that the traveler finds in the desert.

Are we implying that everything related to public education in Russia must be unconditionally accepted? Not at all. The organizational mistakes made by the Bolsheviks with regard to the arrangement of social and economic life in Russia cannot but be manifested in the educational domain as well; but thanks to the intentions of those who have administered it and the results it has been able to obtain, these mistakes acquire an abstract character and it must be concluded that, all things considered, the educational system that has been established has redounded to the benefit of the culture of the people.

We need not repeat here what we said earlier about the prevalence of illiteracy in Russia before the war and immediately after the revolution. We shall nonetheless provide some statistics that are by themselves more eloquent than any commentary.

Petrograd, the capital of the empire, with more than one and a half million inhabitants, registered a 60% illiteracy rate in 1914, according to the official records of the Czarist regime.

In 1920, of the population of Petrograd, which had been reduced to 800,000 inhabitants—due to both the transfer of all government services to Moscow and the flight of the bourgeoisie—according to statistics provided by the Bolsheviks during our stay, only thirty thousand people could not read or write.

We are inclined to admit, in the form of a disclaimer with regard to official exaggerations, that the figures we were given were somewhat exaggerated; and we are willing to assume that, bringing the figures up to where our suspicions would put them, that they should be increased by about 25%. Even in this case, the number of illiterates was considerably reduced.

What methods did the Bolsheviks use to achieve this rapid decline in illiteracy? Masters of the State, systematic in all their undertakings, they were systematic in their approach to education as well. From making attendance at school compulsory for a certain number of hours per day, to denying anyone who refused to try to learn how to read and write the right to work in a factory, they tried everything. It can be said that they used every form of coercion, both moral and material, to achieve their goal.

Those who say that the people feel no need for knowledge are fundamentally mistaken. The people possess and feel the eagerness for knowledge. In the Russian schools we have seen typical cases.

It was very common to see a middle-aged or even a grey-haired man, exhausted by his day’s labor, making an extraordinary effort to decipher the hieroglyphics which his eyes beheld in the written word, and striving to penetrate the mystery of these signs.

He understood that the broad horizons that were opened up to his mind after the revolution, could only become really accessible if he knew how to read and write, and this is why he was so eager to learn.

Once schooling was made available to him, he attended with the reverence of one who expects the miracle of his happiness.

But it was not just the adults whom the Bolsheviks compelled to go to school; the same orders applied to the children. And if not everything they did was done wisely, one cannot blame them for not trying to rectify their errors.

The organization of Bolshevik public education, as is true of all Bolshevik organizations, is absolutely centralist.

The teacher, especially the elementary school teacher, is the last cog in the gears that drive education. He cannot originate any initiatives, much less implement them. If a teacher has any such ideas, he can present them to his superiors for their deliberation, and apply them if authorized to do so by the annual curriculum the higher authorities establish; but that is the limit of his prerogatives. The teacher must always adapt to the norms established by the curriculum approved by the Commissariat of Public Education.

This curriculum is the synthesis of a general conference attended annually by all the teachers of Soviet Russia, but, for this very reason, it is a synthesis rather than the diversity of features that education needs, and therefore has harmful effects.

Its application would be salutary if the curriculum were taken as a point of departure, as a schematic, as a generalization to unify the results of education, allowing each teacher to build on it, to interpret it according to his best understanding, to distill its best essence from it, the guiding elements of the labor with which he has been entrusted. But that is not how it is enforced, and this explains those aspects of education that have not proven fruitful.

With regard to the forms of organization, we shall say that the Commissariat of Public Education is composed of a “college”, a kind of Committee, subdivided into various sections. These sections, of which there are six, each with its president, are as follows: Arts, Organization, Social Education, The Scientific Sector, Extra-curricular Labor, and the Committee for Public Education.

The presidents of each section, who are answerable in turn to the Commissariat of Public Education, form the “college”.

Everything pertaining to education, from the acquisition of teaching materials for the smallest school serving a collection of “isbahs”, to the granting of a doctoral diploma in a scientific field, must pass through its hands. Nothing escapes its scrutiny.

Is it necessary to build a school in one of the most remote villages of Russia? Without the approval of the “college”, it cannot be built.

Does a school need to acquire new teaching materials or replace the old ones? It cannot be done without the consent of the “college”.

One teacher, whose daily experience as a teacher led him to seek to introduce a certain modification in the annual curriculum that was currently in force, took notes, wrote a Report, submitted it to the nearest Committee for Public Education, the latter forwarded it to the higher body to which it is subject, and in this way it finally reached the “college”. If the “college” authorizes the modification in the curriculum, he may implement his innovation; otherwise, he may not.

The sections whose presidents compose the “college” are themselves subdivided into five subsections, which are economics, finance, assemblies, the central coordinating office, and materiel. We must point out that some of these sections, such as Art and Extra-curricular Labor, are subdivided into seven subsections and eleven subsections, respectively.

But this series of subdivisions and the sections of which they are components does not stop here, whether with regard to any of the higher sections—that is what we shall call those sections whose presidents compose the “college”—or with regard to any of the subdivisions of the latter, which together form the extremely complicated Bolshevik organization.

There are sections like that of State Publications, Education for Minority Nationalities and the General Office of Archives, which occupy a place apart, that is, they do not belong to any of the sections that are directly subordinate to the “college”, not forming an autonomous section within the latter; but they are directly linked to the “college”, not being connected to it via one of the previously-mentioned sections.

The school curriculum is mixed, composed of both the American system and the Montessori system.

The shortage of textbooks was not the result of any pedagogical method, but due to the lack of materials for their manufacture.

School attendance was compulsory (we must point out that this was dependent on such factors as the scarcity of school buildings and teachers, and the general poverty, and was not immediately implemented) beginning when the child could walk. At this age the children are admitted to the Nursery Schools, and after three years they are transferred to the Day Care School, where they remain until they are seven.

This latter type of school, or Day Care School, was not uniform, since a project was underway to create two kinds of schools. One where the child would remain all day, sleeping at home, and the other in which the child would remain in the school day and night. In both types the State paid for the child’s tuition and room and board.

The age limit at the Day Care Schools was seven. After they reach this age, the children had to attend what we would call elementary school. They were to attend this school until the age of sixteen.

When they turned seven the children leave the Day Care School to attend the practical school (this is what we were told it is called here), and this is when their education really begins.

After admission, the sick and the abnormal children are selected and sent to special schools established for them.

Now in the practical school, the life of learning really begins for the child. In addition to learning his ABCs, he gets as much of a practical education as possible. Thus, to impress upon the child the usefulness of geometry, he is introduced to the discipline by being taught how to measure the bench where he sits, the dimensions of the school’s garden, or the size of the classroom. The same methods are followed to initiate him into the discipline of the technical knowledge of agriculture, or drafting. In this respect, the initiatives of the Bolsheviks are quite noteworthy and we should take advantage of the results of their educational experiments, disregarding all partisan feeling.

We must acknowledge the good work of the Bolsheviks in public education. Their procedures, although not perfect, are vastly superior to those of the bourgeoisie.

There are also opposing tendencies among the teachers and principals with regard to reforms that they think should be introduced in order to obtain improved results from the child’s passage through school. Uniformity, in this case as in all others, does not exist. And although centralization drowns out the voices of those who do not abide by the criteria of the “college”, it is true that non-conformity is manifested.

While one side defends the convenience afforded by the age limits for children to remain in the various kinds of schools, another faction wants the child’s attendance at these schools to be measured by the child’s ability.

They claim, and not without reason, that a seven year old may have acquired more knowledge than most ten year olds. And while one is younger, even though more educated, once he graduates from the Day Care School to the practical school, he has to be registered in the first grade, while the other, older and less educated, is already in the third or fourth grade of the practical school.

This argument is rendered all the more convincing by the fact that the schools are divided into various grades.

The selection, they say, must be made on the basis of abilities, not by age. And this criterion seems to us to be the most just, although it is not the official criterion in Russia.

The practical schools of which we have been speaking are divided into two levels: the first includes those from seven to twelve years old; and the second, those from twelve to sixteen.

This division is purely technical, that is, it has no other purpose than to facilitate the work of the teachers.

This same division, by levels or by course materials, is the basis of all the Bolshevik public teaching institutions, from elementary school to the High School or the University.

The statistics we were provided, showing the number of existing schools, were quite incomplete but did not fail to display a constant increase and an overwhelming improvement over the Czarist regime. Just to give the reader an approximate idea of the deficiency of education in the Czarist regime, out of a school-age population of eight million children, one third of them were unable to attend school because there were no schools where they lived.

For those who were too old to attend these schools, there were clubs and school libraries that served the purpose of adult education resources; those admitted to these institutions paid according to their means.

At the age of sixteen, when the child graduates from practical school, he may pursue the studies of his choice.

The choice to pursue a higher education does not exempt the student, after a certain age, from manual labor, except for the twenty-five thousand students who receive full scholarships from the State. The latter students previously numbered only fifteen thousand; only a few days before their number was increased to twenty-five thousand and the State provided for all their needs. The remainder, numbering 116,947 students at the time, had to work at least four hours a day in manual labor.

At first, examinations had been abolished; but they were considering reinstituting them. For some courses they had already been reintroduced.

There was a considerable number of clubs, libraries and lecture halls for students, although study materials were scarce. The only thing that there was plenty of was Bolshevik literature. There was a veritable superabundance of it.

We were told that more than one hundred thousand libraries had been established, and twelve thousand lecture halls.

There were more than one hundred popular universities.

The last decree of the Commissariat of Public Education during our stay in Russia concerned private libraries. It was decreed that every library of more than five thousand books must be confiscated so that their books could be distributed to the public libraries. The libraries of scientists were exempt from the decree; or at least those whom the Government recognized as scientists, who needed them for their research or scientific studies.

We made two visits to teaching institutions during our stay in Moscow. One was a Popular University and the other a Day Care School in an impoverished neighborhood.

In the Popular University we were greeted by all the professors with the dean and a commission of communist students at the head of the procession.

We toured all the departments. We visited the classrooms, the library, the dining hall, the playing fields and the dormitories; since almost all the students were communists sent to Moscow by the provincial Soviets at the behest of the Party in order to provide them with an education in Marxist theory, they had no family nearby and hence our impression that the majority of them were imprisoned there.

We inquired concerning admissions criteria, and we were told that the criteria were established by the Party, and that preference was always given to communists.

Almost all the current students, we were told by the dean, were communists from the provinces, who came to broaden their knowledge of Marxism in order to return home to become propagandists and exponents of communism.

Here they were being prepared, by means of oral and written exercises, for the knowledge of philosophy, although preferentially Marxist philosophy.

The courses deal with various subjects and are of various durations.

There are courses that last only six months. These are taken by comrades who came to receive instruction for the labor of organization for the Party and the masses.

Those who take the one-year courses are also organizers and exponents of Marxism: writers, orators, etc. And those who take the higher-level courses study all the aspects of philosophy in general.

“And what kind of relations prevail between the professors and the students?”, we asked.

“They are characterized by open camaraderie,” we were told. “When the student first arrives, he is already committed to take a particular course. In the admissions questionnaire that is periodically sent to the provincial Soviets, it is indicated that each student must choose the course of study that he prefers, a decision he makes at the moment that his request for enrollment is submitted.”

“And who selects the professors?”

“The professors are named by the College of the Commissariat of Public Education.”

“So the students at the Popular University cannot select their professors or depose a professor whom they do not like or whom they believe to be incompetent?”

“They cannot. The brief duration of the courses does not provide enough time for the students to select professors.”

“And what procedure is followed in order to determine, once the student has completed his course work, whether he has successfully fulfilled the course requirements?” In other countries this is ascertained, or is supposed to be ascertained, by means of examinations. Since examinations have been abolished in Russia, this method cannot be followed.

“The professor keeps a notebook with comments on each student, and he submits a report to the Commissariat of Public Education for each one, with a favorable or unfavorable assessment.”

“And you do not believe,” we asked, directing our question to all the professors present, “that this promiscuous lifestyle, crowding the students together in the classrooms, the dining halls, the recreation facilities and the dormitories will not be harmful to individual morality? This communism that affects everything, including the most intimate individual sentiments, appears to us to degrade the personality of each individual by mixing it up in a hybrid and confused whole.”

“We have not perceived this to be the case. And even if it were, there is nothing we can do to prevent it. These Universities are created in accordance with the rules established by the Party, and it is not in our power to revise or modify them in any way.”

“How many students are presently attending this University?”

“Over two hundred. The lack of provisions forces us to restrict admissions.”

“What ration is assigned to the student?”

“Ration B, which is the ration for the liberal professions.”

Once our interview was over and we had completed our tour of the University departments, we went to a classroom, where the students were gathered to receive us.

One of the students then addressed his colleagues, and as a good Marxist and disciplined Bolshevik, he spoke to them of Sovietism, the dictatorship of the proletariat, the victory of red communism and the mission that the Communist Party must play in the world revolution.

A professor welcomed us and thanked us for coming to see them.

Then a student, the tried and true communist who represented the Communist Party at the University, spoke of the achievements of the Communist Party, the unmatched valor of its men, of the great revolution that they had carried out to emancipate the people; he also spoke to us of the glorious and unforgettable Red Army, the most solid support of the Socialist Republic and the strong right arm, in days to come, of the world revolution. We were in the midst of a full messianic apotheosis.

Once the speeches were finished we departed, accompanied to the door by the students and the professors.

The visit to the Day Care School was scheduled for a Sunday afternoon.

A party was being held for the students, and our presence was solicited. They also proposed to treat us to a picnic.

This Day Care School was attended only by children under twelve years of age, which is why there were no male teachers, except for physical education teachers.

The number of female teachers was rapidly increasing. Many of them had not obtained degrees. They were the daughters of nobles or bourgeois who had died or been ruined by the revolution, and who, upon finding themselves living in poverty, chose to become teachers in order to provide for their basic needs.

Because our visit was announced in advance, the whole school was lined up to receive us.

We arrived a little late due to heavy traffic.

From the school entrance to the classrooms and dining hall where the party was being held, the boys and girls were lined up on both sides of the road. The teachers, with the schoolmaster at their head, waited for us at the door.

After having exchanged hearty greetings, the teachers led us to the special seats reserved for us.

The party began with the reading of allegorical poetry and the singing of children’s songs.

The happiness on those children’s faces was immense. They clapped, they laughed, they shouted; they got up from their seats and went from one bench to another; they also sang along with the singers on the stage, filling the large hall with the echo of their voices.

Once the first part of the festivities was complete, and an intermission of ten minutes was announced in order to prepare the stage for part two, a chorus of squeals and laughter broke out, an infernal cacophony that reflected the innocence and simplicity of the crowd.

In the second part of the party, a theatrical piece was presented that depicted a children’s symposium.

The diminutive actors, boys and girls from the school, played their parts to perfection, and the audience, impressed by the spectacle, maintained the most reverent silence.

The screeches, shouts and whispers of the first part of the party gave way to gravity and seriousness in the second.

Only when the play was over did the applause and the commotion resume.

During the intermission after part two, lunch was distributed to the children and the guests.

It was an intermission that was suffused with a sense of moral outrage.

The teachers, obliged to play hostess to the visitors, gave the impression that they were under great duress in playing their roles.

The conversations, especially those that took place at the tables occupied by the delegates, were composed of monosyllabic utterances. In response to the questions they were asked, the teachers answered “yes” and “no”. They employed few words. Only the headmistress and two or three other teachers who were communists, who belonged to the Party, were more outspoken.

The third part of the party was devoted to gymnastic and rhythmic exercises.

We found it strange that the gymnastic exercises, even those performed by the girls, were of a military character. We did not see what purpose they could serve, and perceived their unsuitability. Rather than developing the physical abilities of the children or establishing harmony between all the parts of the body, they appeared to deform the body by an excess of rigidity and violence in the exercises.

During an intermission, a few of us spoke to the children.

The first spoke in Russian. Then Rosmer’s companion spoke to them in French. We noticed how shocked the children were to hear a language they could not understand.

Once the words of Rosmer’s companion were translated into Russian, the children applauded and laughed and blew kisses to her.

The third delegate to address the children was the delegate of the Austrian communists.

As stiff as a statue, barking out the guttural sounds of German even more loudly than usual, and with a pomposity that was completely inappropriate considering the circumstances, he delivered a speech to the children about Lenin, Communism, Sovietism, the dictatorship of the proletariat, and a series of other matters of that kind that seemed to make the children nervous or ready to break down and cry.

The children remained serious and quiet, waiting for the translation. When his speech was translated into Russian, they appeared to be even more serious than when they first heard it in German.

Which is natural, since they did not understand a single word; they did not know what he was talking about.

This pleasant party was concluded with some popular folk songs, in which the children all joined, making for a touching scene of solemnity and harmony.

We made our departure. The cars that were waiting for us brought us back to the hotel. We spent the rest of the afternoon and evening discussing our busy day.

The innocence and the candor of those faces we had seen helped somewhat to strengthen our resolve to bear the monotony of the sessions of the Congress.

The strident shout of “all power to the dictatorship of the proletariat” was replaced by the sweet sounds of the children’s songs.

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