Musings on the International School Experience

       Experienced Genevans kept warning us about April. Lulled into complacency by the sweet balm of March, however, we gazed at the greening Salève and took our rental skis back to Migros LocaSki. I virtuously washed all the ski gear, packed it away, and (with Luc’s help), cleaned the basement. Then, of course, the temperatures turned cold, the Salève turned white, and friends invited us to ski in Chamonix. To all of which, what can I say but here is yet another proof of the wisdom of experience. We do seem to have brought some of the London rain and wind back to Geneva with us, and April is shaping up to feel rather like November, with the welcome addition of still-blooming trees and flowers.

The flower beds in front of the Lancy Mairie. Tulip time in Geneva.

After a wonderful break, the kids are all back in school. Lucas came home Monday to announce that his English teacher, whom we’ll call Mrs. J, was absent. This news made me rather nervous, because Mrs. J is year 7 English teacher number 3. She was preceded by Mr. W, who mysteriously disappeared one day, with no explanation given to students or teachers other than that he wouldn’t be returning. Mrs. A followed, taking the reins just before parent-teacher conferences and performing admirably, considering how little she could have known about the students. She really seemed to know what she was doing, so I was disappointed when Luc informed us, not long afterwards, that she would be returning to England. So then came Mrs. J, and while she did not immediately endear herself to the students (apparently she’s a little grouchy), she did seem to be teaching English, which has to count for something. Perhaps she’s just taking an extended Easter break. Luc said that, in her absence, the class was supposed to work on reading comprehension or something, intermittently supervised by a surveillant, who, like all but a few surveillants at IIL, spoke only French. The report was that most students did none of the 12 assigned questions, while our son -- the author of the report -- virtuously reached Question 8. 

That whole situation neatly illustrates some of the differences we’ve found with the school here. While the English teacher situation is extreme, turnover does seem to be high. Drew lost his form teacher at the beginning of the year to another job, and Johanna is losing her math teacher in a few weeks to maternity leave. Not only do teachers seem to leave in the middle of the year quite frequently, but they also miss days without warning (at least any warning given to the students or parents). When it snowed in January, school wasn’t cancelled, but only a few teachers showed up. When a teacher is absent, a surveillant may or may not be sent to cover all or part of the class, and work may or may not be left for the students to do. One of Drew’s teachers was absent for an entire week on a class trip with another year, leaving absolutely nothing for the class to do. I’d like to think that the administration is aware when a teacher is missing, but I am by no means convinced. The students handle these absences variously. Luc’s class (which is, after all, made up of 11- and 12-year-olds) rarely seems to accomplish much beyond chaos. Drew’s class, perhaps more mature, or perhaps just differently constituted, will usually pull out homework, or, failing that, play at who can name the most world capitols (an interesting game in an international school -- you think you’ve come up with a completely obscure country, and then someone has lived there). At any rate, the idea of supervision seems a bit on the relaxed side.

Then there is the issue of grades, which I think I’ve mentioned before. At IIL, grades are given not as a percentage, but as a number out of 20. Furthermore, a 15 out of 20 is considered a solid score, 12 or 13 is very acceptable, and a 17 or 18 quite remarkable (an 18 is what is called an “A-star,” which sounds good to me). Accustomed to percentages and the American system of inflation in which anything below an 80 is dangerously close to failing, the first few papers and tests that came home left me with palpitations. Now I’m just happy if everyone is passing (which is, as one might predict, a score of 10). The assumptions behind this system, which I think is British in origin, seem to be the following: 1. No one is going to master all the material; 2. A mastery of 50 - 75 percent of the material is adequate for most people because, 3. Not everyone is good at everything. This last assumption, in particular, I appreciate for its honesty. It goes along with the European idea that not everyone is even very good at academics, and that’s okay. Some kids are great writers and bad at math. While they should have a basic competency with math, they don’t need to understand trigonometry in order to succeed in their chosen profession. Some students are great at sciences, so who cares if they struggle with French. And some are just going to survive school, and then go on to be chefs or construction workers or TPG bus drivers (who are all quite sharp-looking in Geneva, incidentally, and I am guessing quite well paid). Though this attitude took some getting used to and does have its drawbacks (sometimes its hard to tell what a 12-year-old is going to be good at in 8 years), I still find it refreshing. In the British system of A-levels, a student doesn’t even have to take math or history or a language after year 11 (10th grade). I’m trying to keep this fact from my children, who are going to need to pursue an educational path that includes the wider variety of classes acceptable to the American university.

But back to IIL, where one’s grades may be 10’s, 12’s, or 18’s, where academic progress is reported to parents a scant one time a year (so far -- I am holding out hope for final grades), and where teachers seem to come and go at random. The school has a reputation in Geneva as being the most academic and most strict of the International Academies. Our children find it extreme in neither instance. Perhaps the reputation for strictness comes from the fact that children below year 9 wear uniforms (of a very loosely defined sort consisting of dark bottoms and a white top). Perhaps, hearing horror stories from other international schools, it comes from the fact that most teachers (when they are present) seem to have enough control over their classrooms to keep paper-airplane throwing, chit-chatting, and rioting to a minimum at most times. Our kids do say that while some of the teachers are excellent, overall the staff is grumpier than they are accustomed to. Students, however, are friendly, and though the classes are challenging, pressure is fairly low (probably due to the assumption that not everyone will excel). More important that academic pressure, though, is peer pressure, which also seems surprisingly low for my kids. One of the best things about an international school is that everyone is different to begin with: Kids look different, talk differently, come from different academic, cultural, and family backgrounds. That means that there is less emphasis on trying to be like everyone else. You can’t. The differences are, for the most part, accepted with good humor. That’s a relaxing place for a teenager to be and something for which I'm thankful right now.

This building is where the little Aliens -- and all the English-speaking students -- have classes.

This is the oldest part of the school (which used to be a Catholic girl's boarding school). It houses the administration and maybe some French classes. It's the building I'd use in promotional materials if I were the PR person for IIL.