Rant of the Week: Cheating

For the most part, I think I’ve dealt with differences between Cambodian and American culture pretty well. You know what they say though, “it’s hard to teach an old dog new tricks,” and I often need to remind myself of the maxim I give Cambodians when they find my own behavior confusing: it’s not wrong, just different. I’d like to say I’m a big enough person to look beyond all those differences, and despite the fact that I know the best policy is just to shrug, laugh and say, “only in the ‘bode!” , there are times when that’s much easier said than done. Who would have guessed the 12th Grade Exams might be my limit???

I could make a list of the countless things that seem rude, troublesome, or frustrating about Cambodia but, believe me, the other volunteers and I have vented enough to know that doesn’t really help. It doesn’t change those things, and it certainly doesn’t help me get over them beyond the momentary relief of knowing I’m not alone in these feelings. There is, however, one thing I just can’t deal with. Cheating.

It’s not rare to see teachers accepting bribes from their students, withholding information in class to ensure students attend their private (no need to add: lucrative) private sessions, or allowing students to copy from one another or their books. I’ve spent hours discussing this problem with my co-teachers, and countless additional hours trying to figure out how a culture that puts so much emphasis on not “loosing face” in front of one’s peers can allow such blatantly dishonorable behavior.

In my own classes, I’ve tried to enforce a strict “NO CHEATING” policy. My co-teachers humor me in this when I’m present, but do nothing of their own volition to support it. For example, during a test I caught two of my students copying from one another. I asked them to stop and when they refused, I walked up to their desks and tried to take their pens from them. They actually wouldn’t let go and attempted to wrestle the pens away from me. Yes, wrestle. Meanwhile, my co-teacher stood by watching this train wreck with no indication that he cared in the slightest. Dare I say he probably secretly thought it was funny? I know I would have, if it hadn't been me.

I’ve yelled, given zeros, appealed to reason, tried to rally the school director ... all to no avail. In fact, my co-teachers now discourage me from attending test days at all because this is clearly a lost cause in their minds and it only makes me upset. They tell me, “Cambodia is a developing country and no one cares,” or they laugh the way they always do when met with an uncomfortable confrontation.

This week was the 12th Grade Exams. That means no other classes were in session (ironically, to prevent cheating and outside disturbance). After 5 days of sitting around my house doing next to nothing, I jumped on the opportunity to help the English department grade the exams. Needless to say, I wasn’t asked to proctor any of these exams -- lest I should actually insist that the students do their own work.

This morning I arrived at the school promptly at 7:30 to begin grading. Bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. Happy and snappy. Ready to roll. I sat down, got out my little red pen, and graded the first exam. Now for the second. The test answers were identical. Including the essay. I asked the teachers what I should do since it was so clear the students had cheated. They said I could decide. When I reminded them that I would give both students zeros, they countered, saying it was only 100% clear that the students had cheated on the essay section – and even that was contestable because they could have been copying from a book, in which case, it wasn’t the students’ fault for cheating, but the proctor's fault for not catching them. They all happily agreed I could take off one point from the essay portion, and went on with their own work. Gee, glad we got that settled.

Deep breaths, Kimmel, deep breaths. I swallowed my anger and moved on to the next exam ... but as I began to see more and more answer patterns emerging and realized that not a SINGLE student had written an original essay, which asked students to describe a funeral they’d attended, I felt like I was enabling the system. I kid you not: 53 tests in, and I had only seen four variations to the essay answer. What? Did they all attend the same funeral? Puh-lease. Great men from Edward Burke to the Caped Crusader would agree with me on this -- by standing by and grading the work as if nothing were wrong, I was indirectly supporting the problem. But what could I do? I tried to bring up the issue a few more times during the morning, hoping to reach some consensus about how to deal with the cheating, but each time I was met with the same excuses.

... When they asked me if I’d come back after lunch to continue helping, I politely declined.

Ask any K1s or K2s, and they’ll probably tell you a similar story. Even the Ministry of Education has admitted that cheating is both pervasive and problematic in Cambodia, yet no one will stand firmly against it. It makes me ask the dangerous question: how can I help a country that won’t help itself? As many of you know, this is a question I often struggle with. Yes, I see progress in my students. Yes, I know change has to start somewhere. Yes, some things are just different here. And yes, I realize falling into some existentialist slump about the whole thing doesn’t help anyone ... but that doesn’t make moments like these any easier to swallow.

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HIV/AIDS Awareness Week

This past week I hosted an HIV/AIDS Awareness Week at my school. It didn’t turn out the way I expected, but it was a huge success all in all. It was especially meaningful for me because it’s the first major project I pulled off without any Peace Corps support. Originally, I planned to show the BBC mini-drama “Palace of Dreams” (a Cambodian film about a love-triangle and their experiences with AIDS) via big screen projector in the courtyard of our school, followed by a Q&A session and prizes. As it turns out, we couldn’t get a projector, so we had hosted three workshops where we showed the video on t.v.s in some empty classrooms instead.

Our target goal was to reach out to 200 students and we had 181 participants. Considering my classes of 50 regularly only have 20-25 students, getting this close to our target was a success in itself. We began each session by asking students to identify facts and myths about HIV/AIDS to assess what they already knew. Then, my co-teachers, Chyworn and Mao, and I presented basic facts about the disease. The students had a ton of questions and were really engaged in the discussions. Next, we played the video and followed up with a few questions and prizes.

Now, it wouldn’t be a “successful” project in Cambodia if you didn’t run into some major problems along the way. Like the power going out half way through the video in one session and the DVD breaking in another. Luckily, I was able to get another copy of the video from one of the other volunteers in my province and the power never stays out for TOO long.

My school director was very excited to host the program because the Ministry of Education asks that all state sponsored schools teach basic health information, particularly focusing on HIV/AIDS, but many schools don’t have the manpower to host these types of workshops. I’ll admit, my co-teachers were a little reluctant to commit to the extra work, but I think they were pleased with the enthusiasm of the students. It’s hard not to walk away from excited students and not feel good about what you just accomplished.

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The Name Game

A funny aspect about Khmai culture is that almost no one uses their names. Instead of calling people by their first name, they call each other by their title. There are no “Hey Paul’s” or “Hey Sue’s!” Its all “bong-sery” (big sister), and “loak-crew” (teacher - male). Usually I get “neak-crew” (teacher - female), “bong-Whitney” (Whitney-who-is-older-than-me), gohne-oi (child), or plain old “teacher.” This little quirk makes learning names next to impossible because you will hear them once on your first introduction … and probably never again.

Okay, I admit it – in some ways it simplifies things. Khmai names are difficult for me to pronounce and even more difficult for me to remember, so this system ensures I never offend anyone or make a blunder of their name. On the other hand, I’m still not entirely sure if my host father’s name is Lane or Leng. Seriously, how embarrassing is that? I love when friends come to my house or to my school in hopes of catching one of these introductions and FINALLY nailing down one of the many elusive names that escaped me during my first few weeks here.

The name game is especially fun in a classroom full of 50 + students. Most teachers don’t take the time to learn the names of their students because it simply isn’t the way things are done here. Attendance is taken by a “student deputy” who quietly checks off students’ names from the back of class. There are no verbal roll calls and the attendance list is written in Khmai, so even if I get my hands on it, it’ll be one heck of a translation project.

On the occasion (which I am proud to say is becoming more and more frequent) that many of my students are raising their hand to answer the same question, I am often faced with a slight problem. Is that Dara or Darraroth? Ratha or Rathanak? Or more likely … do I even have a clue? There’s always the old standby of calling out a common name that is sure to appear in every class. The eye-contact-and-nod-of-the-head method. The point. Or, my most recent addition and new favorite: toss-a-rubber-chicken-to-the-next-victim.

In the States, if someone close to me – like a teacher – didn’t know my name, I’d be hugely offended. But here, it isn’t the name that’s important … it’s your relationship. For example, I call the vendors on the street “mean,” or aunt. Even though these women aren’t related to my host family, by calling them their familial title, I am acknowledging their place in the community as a middle-aged, well-respected woman. They serve as an aunt to their family AND the community.

At first, I felt that not using peoples’ given names was impersonal and confusing, but the more time I spent here, the more I see that it unites people, brings them together as a community, and encourages a sense of commonality between strangers who only share a similar “place” in society. It also reflects one of the most fundamental characteristics about this culture.

Cambodians focus much less on the individual, and more on the whole (be that the family, the community, or their country). Instead of thinking about what’s best for their career or their dreams, Cambodians first think about how their decisions will affect the people connected to them … then themselves. As a whole, I think this tendency is what makes Cambodia such a warm, welcoming culture. When you’re here, you’re family. Literally. Of course, I’d also say it contributes to some of the violent outbursts that are so shocking in this otherwise gentle culture. Dreams can only be deferred so long before you begin to resent all the things keeping you from them.

But at the end of the day, I think Cambodians have it right. This constant emphasis on relationships makes you stop and think about the people you’re connected to. And it seems to me, all the accoutrements of your life – your stuff, your job – don’t amount to much if you don’t have people to share them with.

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