Zuckerman - Sorbonne confidential

Sorbonne Confidential

Laurel Zuckerman has split the academic world with a book that relates her experiences at the heart of the archaic French teacher-training system. - Adam Sage in The Times

Dramatically funny...The reader laughs a lot and concludes that reform is urgent. - Laurence Debril in L'Express

A hilarious, hair-raising insider's look at the esoteric world of French education. - Harriet Welty Rochefort, author of French Toast Savory and highly instructive. - Vronique Radier in Le Nouvel Observateur

Wildly funny, a devastating expos in lively and entertaining prose.- Pascale Arguedas in Calou

By taking on an institution that began before the American Revolution, Sorbonne Confidential demonstrates how systems can develop around programs, allowing them to self-perpetuate without regard for their impact on schools and society. - Terence A. Beck in Education Review

An extremely funny and well-documented book. - Lise Marie Jaillant in Wrath

Her tragi-comic story explains how France produces the worst English teachers in the world. - Marie-Sandrine Sgherri in Le Point

Laurel Zuckerman

Sorbonne Confidential

Summertime Publications Inc. First published in French by Fayard (Paris) in 2007
English edition published by Summertime Publications (France) in 2009

Copyright Laurel Zuckerman 2007

7502 E. Berridge Lane, Scottsdale, AZ 85250

Isbn: 978-0-615-25289-6

All Rights Reserved

For Kostya, Eve and Linda

...there is always,

in the drunkenness of understanding,

the joy of feeling ourselves responsible

for the truths we discover.

Jean-Paul Sartre,

introduction to Ren Descartes Discourse on Method

Part I

Chapter One

Unemployed Anonymous

78 percent of French people aged 15 to 30 said the idea of becoming a civil servant was attractive... They will not have to work very long hours. They will always have decent pay. And more important they will have a job for life.

Thomas Fuller, The Workplace: Nice Wages, Short Hours, and for Life. International Herald Tribune, November 1, 2005

___

W hen, two days before Christmas in 2002, I received a registered letter from my employer, I actually believed it contained my holiday bonus. That very morning my boss, the DIT (Director of Information Technologies) had waved cheerfully and said Joyeux Nol ! with no visible irony as he left on vacation. Of course, he was to receive his own pink slip only four months later. I just stood there, blocking the line at the post office, blinking at the blurs on the page which refused to form themselves into acceptable words. How could I be so blind? I made two resolutions: the first, to leave the information technology sector for good and the second, to keep my eyes open.

Having decided to change professions, I sought confirmation from Bernard. A tall, thin guy about my age with hair tied back in a ponytail and a desk with a nameplate, Bernard was our coach at the ANPE- sponsored Club des Cadres , a kind of support group for unemployed white collar workers. Bernards mission was to detach us from the unemployment rolls and launch us back into the workforce.

Maybe I could go back to school, I said to Bernard, become a lawyer or a journalist. I went on to explain that many women of my mothers generation returned to graduate school, obtained MBAs, law and accounting degrees, and worked happily and lucratively for another twenty-five years in their new professions.

Bernard ran his fingers through his hair. Where are you from?Arizona.How long have you been in France?Twenty years.

He eyed me suspiciously. You cant change professions in France, he said. If youve really been here twenty years, you'd know that.
I grimaced.

Why not? I asked, If I do whats necessary to retrain and obtain the credentials?Because, he said, leaning back in his office chair, hands clasped behind his neck, no one will hire you.It was obvious he was telling the truth. Had I, once blind, not wanted the truth?Is it because Im too old? I said.

Yes, of course. Bernard dropped a long finger on my resume and tapped it. And also because, in France, people do not believe that it is possible to change professions. A project manager cannot become a lawyer any more than a caterpillar can become an eagle. One excludes the other.

I will think about this and find a solution, I said, getting up. Thank you for your advice.

I was eager to get on with my life and to resign my membership in the Club des Cadres . As part of the deal with the unemployment benefits people at the organization called the ASSEDIC, I was, however, obliged to attend meetings at least once a week. Imagine this as a French Unemployed Anonymous. At the start of each session, the members, who ranged in age from thirty-five to sixty, summarized the previous weeks job hunting experiences. I took the train to Rouen for the job interview, Claire explained, twisting her handkerchief, but when I arrived at the station and called, no one answered. Marie, a round woman with brilliant black hair and heavy mascara, announced: In telephone interviews they ask my age. When I say fifty they hang up. Should we lie about our age? That launched a memorable debate on the pros and cons of lying about ones age. (Biggest pro: then at least theyll talk to you; biggest con: when they find out your real agewhich they willyoure fried.) A smart, sympathetic bunch, but no one ever came in shouting I got a job! I got a job!

Of course, benefits are so generous in France that many people, especially those old enough to slip into pre-retirement after their chmage payments run out, werent actually looking for a job. But according to the rules of the game, everyone had to pretend they were desperate for work, which must have annoyed the truly distressed. I think Bernard could tell. One day, we had a training session on selling ourselves. Think of yourself as a product, Bernard, at the whiteboard, said. Now, what are your selling points?
Franoise, an outgoing fifty-year-old fired from sales, burst into tears.

I couldnt do this much longer. In a fixed number of months my benefits would run out, and these morale-boosting meetings were depressing me. I needed a plan. Something solid, that capitalized on my existing skills, in an area with strong demand. Not IT. An international investor friend urged me to look into Indian technology companies. Outsourcings the future! she predicted. Call centers, technical support, and now consulting and project management! IT is going global, and Indians cost one fifth as much!

But Im looking for a job, I said, not an investment.

Oh, she said, sorry.

I did some research, talked to some people, surfed the net. Then, one Saturday at our towns library, I ran into Isabella.

A dark-eyed beauty, Isabella teaches her native Italian in a French lyce not far from our little town on the outskirts of Paris. Her kids speak Italian and mine English. Over the years, weve compared notes on how to deal with our bilingual children. When I asked her what she was doing, she grew animated.

Im preparing the agrgation ! she said. Lagrgation ditalien . As she described it, my heart beat faster. Such interesting texts she was reading in Italian! So challenging but rewarding! Such attractive career prospects if she succeeded! And as an experienced teacher and a native speaker, how could she go wrong? The agrgation , I murmured to myself.
The next week I knocked on Bernards office.

Oh, uh, entrez , he said, caf ? He handed me a steaming plastic cup with a beatific smile.

I sat down opposite him. What about teaching English? I said.

That might work, he said, leaning forward. But you could be doing that dj maintenant , nest-ce pas ?

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