By Randal C. Archibold. The New York Times. June 14, 2000
CÁRDENAS, Cuba -- I come to the pink pastel school building on a bustling corner of this coastal town in search of a story. As I walk toward the iron gate, and the squeal of children trapped in classrooms builds, I can't help but think of the countless times I made similar treks in New
York City, reporting on education.
This, of course, is different. It is Cuba. And it is Elián González's school. But, over the course of a brief visit, I get a sense it is not much different from the scores of schools I have seen, particularly traditional, back-to-basics ones. It turns out his school embraces an
extended day but not small classes. It champions phonics and school uniforms but is squeamish about social promotion.
These tidbits come from the principal, who like so many of her counterparts in New York, is wary of reporters, who have made the school a regular stop in their Elián assignment. "It is disrupting the children's day and my time," the principal, Maribel Reyes, says firmly but not
impolitely. We are sitting in her modest office, where she offers a shot of Cuban coffee and some of her observations on Cuban education.
Ms. Reyes has been principal here for six years, overseeing 983 students from first to sixth grade and a staff of 29 teachers. Yes, she says, these are unusual times. A few children during her tenure have disappeared, like Elián, only to show up days later in Florida. But none have
received the attention of the most famous first grader in the world, the subject of an international custody battle. (A federal appeals court this month denied Elián an asylum hearing -- a victory for his Cuban father -- but ordered him to remain in the United States while his Miami relatives
decided whether to appeal.) When I tell Ms. Reyes of my experience writing about education, she lets me know she does not have much interest in the American education system. She strongly believes Cuba's is superior.
I hear this boast over and over, even from people critical of the political system. Cuba's literacy rate, 96 percent, is third in Latin America, behind Uruguay and Argentina, according to United Nations statistics. Though Cuba historically enjoyed high literacy rates, Castro's revolution is
credited even by the State Department for expanding its reach beyond urban areas.
Indeed, while in Havana, I run into a group of teachers from New England visiting elementary schools to study Cuban literacy techniques, which emphasize phonics, the sounding out of letters and words.
In a telephone interview, Ronald A. Lindahl, a professor of education at East Tennessee State University who has visited Cuban schools, says the country should be rightfully proud of its literacy, but he is less certain how students fare beyond primary school. The Cuban government does not
readily share information on things like high school graduation rates and college attendance, Professor Lindahl said. Some programs like medical education have sterling reputations, but Cuba screens college prospects not only on the basis of tough entrance examinations but also on patriotism (those
deemed subversive rarely advance). Those left out may attend technical schools or other vocational programs.
In the lower grades, at least, Cuba strives to give everyone a chance. Ms. Reyes said schools work from a national curriculum but give accelerated instruction to those doing well and tutor the ones falling behind.
The decision to promote a child is based partly on tests and on teacher assessments. Discipline and order are paramount. Most students wear crimson shorts or skirts and white shirts with a blue kerchief, the uniform of the Pioneros de José Martí, a youth group that many Miamians
have attacked as one of Castro's political arms.
A portrait of Che Guevara hanging in Elián's classroom and a bust of José Martí in the courtyard leads me to ask the extent to which the pupils are schooled in politics. The Miami relatives assert that indoctrination into Communism begins with pupils as young as Elián.
Ms. Reyes said that naturally they learn about the country's heroes and "the harm the United States has done" but intensive instruction does not begin until the middle grades.
"The little ones know the martyrs of the revolution," Ms. Reyes said. "Through games and songs and conversations with the teacher they learn about the independence and the fight for justice but not as a course. In the fourth, fifth, sixth grade, that is when they really learn
history."
As my visit concludes, Ms. Reyes motions me to read the inscription on the bust of Martí, a guiding principle that could be found in almost any school, anywhere. It says, "Children should cry when the day has passed without learning anything new, without serving in something."
Copyright 2000 The New York Times Company |