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Fluctuat nec mergitur.
THOUGH the following personal remarks draw inspiration primarily from only one Paris-based program, I should like to believe that they have enough universality to warrant the interest of all junior-year administrators, seasoned and novice, and of advisers who must counsel students wanting to study abroad. I hope as well that such a firsthand analysis will stimulate further open exchange.
Supervision of the study-abroad program is an important, not to say an awesome responsibility, and it deserves constant, honest review to make sure that students have every opportunity to achieve the most from their experience in the foreign country. It is with this goal in mind that I try here to identify some recurring problems and, wherever possible, to suggest remedies.
The first question we ought to be asking is whether the whole enterprise is worth the effort. Social scientists continue to interpret data on the merits of leaving the home campus for a part of the normal four-year undergraduate course of studies. In general their research focuses on social rather than intellectual benefits, and “conclusions” vary widely. Some surveys identify positive changes in social behavior (McEvoy; Kauffmann). At least one argues that the most significant change occurs in the students' relationships with their parents (Martin). A few, however, question the measurable value of behavioral characteristics (Marion; Nash). One skeptic even wonders whether the control apparatus is scientific enough to prove anything at all (Sell). Only a few analysts have concentrated on the linguistic value of study abroad (Stauffer; Lambert). In a recent essay, one colleague speaks of the time abroad as a “motivation” to language learning and, more significantly, as a “natural communication drill” (DeKeyser 47).
We have all intuited the value of a student's time spent abroad, but I feel reasonably sure that careful studies, such as those mentioned above, will eventually provide the concrete data thus far lacking in the evaluating process. Investigators who, like DeKeyser, apply meticulous testing techniques to returning junior-year-abroad students, are performing an invaluable service for language pedagogues.
In any event, judging from the number of programs that have come into existence in the past twenty years, one must conclude that the junior-year enterprise is flourishing. Indeed, some faculty members have been so persuaded of the inherent benefit of this “experience” that they have made it a requirement for graduation. Kalamazoo has been a front-runner in this regard. Nearly ninety percent of each graduating class has been exposed to some foreign culture as part of the college's educational program (Fugate). Similarly, Lake Erie requires that every student spend at least one semester abroad (Pelowski). Another measure of the growing popularity of studying abroad is the appearance of extensive bibliographies and guides aimed at informing students about current programs (see, e.g., Cohen [biannual publication for the Council on International Education Exchange]; Howard). The same kind of information, incidentally, is available for foreigners who wish to study in the United States (see, e.g., Lulat; Spaulding and Flack).
The junior-year business grows regularly more conscious of the need to compete. In a recent book-length examination of study abroad, D.J. Hill devotes his entire third section to techniques of advertising and recruiting. It seems reasonable to assume, therefore, that the junior-year programs are here to stay for a while yet. If so, then the more imperative question becomes that of quality—the quality of the students, the quality of the administration and staffing, and thus the quality of the overall experience.
The crucial stumbling block in selecting students for study-abroad programs is language proficiency. But language teachers seldom agree about what constitutes proficiency, nor are criteria anything like uniform from institution to institution. Certainly one solution might be to use the ACTFL Oral Proficiency Interview. Hamilton has of late turned to this effective control mechanism. But whatever the role of qualifying exams or prerequisites, students' success abroad is inescapably linked to their language competence before their departure. Thus any orientation program that aims to make the year abroad successful academically must emphasize language acquisition.
The selection process must also take into account other criteria. But are institutions in agreement about what these should be? For example, can one (should one) establish a list of academic requirements? Is it fair to assume that a sophomore in a decent college or university will have fulfilled liberal arts goals, if not requirements? How stringent should the selection committee be about grades? Should language grades take precedence? If the program accepts students from beyond its own campus, to what extent is it bound by the selection processes of other institutions? Who makes the final decision, the dean's office or the director? Is it valuable to institute a general cultural exam as part of the evaluation of candidates? And what about the nonacademic requirements? What kinds of letters of recommendation and what kind of information about the student's character should one ask for? This barrage of questions points out that the issue of selection is fraught with difficulties. Future administrators would do well to ask a lot of questions of their own before setting up procedures for choosing students.
Although I can offer no overall selection policy, my experience suggests a strong correlation between success abroad and social adaptability. Alas, such social skills are more difficult to assess than intellectual ones.
Moreover, given the annoying interference of families at home, I have sometimes wondered whether we should be interviewing and selecting the parents. I say this not so much because I am opposed to their concern. They should be interested in the welfare of their children. They are, after all, paying the bills. (The European model of “free” public university education is not unrelated to this discussion.) But directors must assure anxious parents that their progeny are not being thrown to the wolves but are learning important self-governing skills.
In this regard, a word is in order about the male-female ratio. Why are there more women in the programs? Is it because administrators perceive women, unlike men, as not needing to worry about professionalism and careers? Are we locked into gender stereotyping? The junior-year selection process is clearly not the problem, only a reflection of it.
Let me add in passing that other forms of prejudice also crop up in the selection process. Do we seek out minority candidates, including the handicapped? The challenge is enormous, because it entails changing attitudes on both sides of the ocean. I have heard both American colleagues and French professors and families express unwillingness to accept the physically disadvantaged. Some years ago a colleague accepted a blind woman into the program. Admittedly the adjustment problems were compounded by additional risks. But that, in and of itself, is not an argument for eliminating a truly qualified student. After all, there are handicapped people performing more than adequately throughout society.
Another important prerequisite, though more difficult to measure, is well worth keeping in mind when one looks through application folders: the student's ability to work independently. In spite of the 1968 revolution, the typical European professor still places heavy emphasis on the end-of-course examination—often an oral one. Despite the attempt to introduce partiels and contrôle continu (mid-term exams) and travaux dirigés (section work), most French professors, particularly of older vintage, continue to see classroom performance as an optional activity on the way to passing the final. This sudden lack of direction is disconcerting to the American student accustomed to syllabi and guidelines. In any case, the director should point out to students the importance of self-discipline in the French university so that they can avoid mismanaging their time.
I have also found it useful to explain to students that the French often prefer the “vertical” to the “horizontal” concept of textual analysis. If the program includes three Moliére plays, the student ought to realize that the assignment means not only careful study of the texts but extensive supplementary reading. Nor will every professor be kind enough to supply the bibliography.
It is thus important to counsel students before they embark. By this I mean providing not only facts about travel, housing, banking, and the like but helpful, constructive advice on scholastic and social adaptation. If it is not feasible for a director to meet with the selected group before departure, lucid written communications are a must.
The program at Hamilton College prepares elaborate predeparture “bulletins” giving all the above information, but it also requires students to make out “tentative course schedules” based on their needs and drawn in part from suggestions in the program's annual brochure. This proves to be a valuable preliminary procedure. Even if most schedules do not get fixed much before the opening of the academic year in Paris, the concrete information they include is not only helpful for subsequent advisory discussions, once students are in the foreign country, but also useful at an earlier stage, since it makes clear to students that they should carefully discuss plans with home institutions before leaving the States. These precautions can eliminate potential credit problems later on.
If one of the raw materials of academic success in study-abroad programs is the preparation of the student, the other is the quality of the instruction and, by extension, that of the administrative staff.
Many serious difficulties haunt the Paris university. If students have taken to the streets of late, their cause for grievance is very real indeed. From the early seventies until now the number of students has increased at an alarming rate, with no comparable growth in space or staffing. As Inciyan writes, “Buildings constructed twenty years ago must now accommodate more than twice the anticipated number of students” (41; my trans.) He also states that in some branches of the university, classes are held in improvised “boxes” in parking areas or broadcast over loudspeakers (41). The library of Paris VII, he goes on to point out, provides forty-four seats for approximately twelve thousand students. To enable the university to absorb the constantly expanding student body, the Ministry of Education should have provided for new buildings and for increases in professional and administrative staffing some time ago. It did not do so. On the contrary, the gap between numbers of students and available space grows wider every term, and staffing has similarly failed to keep up with the demand. Inciyan points to one branch of the university where, over a period of ten years, seventy positions have actually been eliminated (42).
Obviously the question of instruction for American students is inextricably linked to what is happening in the Paris universities, and the problem quite bluntly in space. Is there room enough for the French students, let alone their foreign counterparts? Can one expect that students who are marginally assimilated will receive good instruction under these conditions? Is this an argument for sending students to provincial universities? Won't the problem eventually be the same there as well?
A corollary issue is the cost of education. Since higher education is “free” in Europe—that is, supported primarily by the taxpayer—the university has become a serious drain on the national budget. In a recent interview, René Reymond, distinguished president of the Fondation nationale des sciences politiques, was quoted as saying, “The state can no longer do the job alone. Municipalities must play a larger role” (Léotard and Agnus 166). If the French are feeling the financial pressures of nationalized education for their own young, where does that leave the American junior-year student?
For many years foreigners have benefited from tax-supported French education, as well as its countless fringe benefits, while paying virtually nothing or a nominal registration fee at best. Only recently have the French universities tried to correct this imbalance. Reciprocity, not to say parity, is a phrase much bandied about in university circles but difficult to make sense of for two reasons.
First, the unsubsidized American educational system makes it impossible to create a real exchange between the two countries. One can, however, point to some attempts to correct the financial inequity. A few universities in France have begun to charge American students special fees. While this may place a strain on the junior-year budget, it can only minimally alleviate the costs borne by the French. To equalize the situation, some American colleges and universities have offered scholarships to French students. Sometimes these have taken the form of one-to-one exchanges. In a few large American universities the French student is given the status of “assistant,” in other instances an out-and-out scholarship. The Hamilton College junior-year budget, for example, offers room, board, and tuition every year to one Paris III student. In the biggest universities these arrangements are negotiated between specific schools or departments—law, social science, humanities, and so on. Sometimes the reciprocal arrangement takes place in the summer. Sometimes it demands fixed hours of classroom or extracurricular work. But whatever the formula, it makes only a small dent in the continuing imbalance.
The second obstacle to total reciprocity lies in the differing pedagogical ideologies of the two countries and the proprietary attitudes both have toward diplomas. Professors ask, Is this course equivalent to that one, this diploma parallel to that? While national boundaries fall in Europe, educational ones often remain unbridged. Although curricular xenophobia has tended to be a European phenomenon, American colleges and universities are not innocent. Despite the number of Americans studying abroad, the credibility-creditability gap causes much frustration and anguish among study-abroad administrators. Both sides demand the right not only to judge but to disdain their foreign counterparts. Anecdotes are rampant among directors who have had to argue with those back home about the credit equivalency of a given course in the foreign country. Some directors, for example, are still convincing art historians at the American campus that there is merit in studying art in Paris. Some have encountered considerable skepticism about “foreign” courses on political science, history, and literature. Cultural xenophobia attacks young and old alike, and American-trained teachers often offer a sorry example of small-minded-intellectual territorialism. It is an embarrassing contradiction to preach broad-mindedness to young ambassadors abroad when professors themselves harbor cultural prejudices.
I have painted a grim picture, but I hasten to add that all is not despair and disorder. In the search for reciprocity, at least two French organizations (MICEFA and Erasmus) are coordinating exchanges between French and American institutions. A series of recent articles on “internationalizing” the American campus draws attention to the growing interest in exchange and offers good ideas for making reciprocal arrangements easier academically, administratively, and, to be sure, financially (Byrnes; Prokasy; Smith).
As for the student overflow, junior-year groups have helped to alleviate the strain where it is most likely to be felt, by creating their own backup courses ( cours de soutien ). The creation of these American tutorial sections in junior-year programs could open up virtually the entire university system to students. In my own junior-year utopia, a program director would hire French tutors who, at the opening of the new term, would select the most interesting and accessible university courses from several disciplines across the curriculum—from art, social sciences, language and literature, and eventually even from natural sciences and mathematics. For example, the student could attend lectures on anthropology given by Professor X of Paris Y. The student's work would then be supplemented by a special travaux dirigés section coordinated with the announced readings. Needless to say, transcripts would indicate both the name of the Paris branch and that of the organizing American institution: Paris III and Hamilton College.
Another kind of reciprocity could help to alleviate crowded conditions. Having several French teachers explain the same point to different junior-year student groups is a silly duplication of energy. Program directors have preferred to work in lonely (clandestine) autonomy and have been neither imaginative nor forthcoming about sharing intellectual efforts. It should not be complicated for separate programs to join forces in creating common tutorials. This seems particularly feasible in a place like Reid Hall (Paris), where no fewer than ten programs are housed under the same roof. At the start of the term, programs in Paris could easily make course lists available to one another, thus diminishing duplication and broadening curricular choices. Of course it would be better still for colleges and universities to combine administrative efforts in the States. Everyone would benefit from decreasing the proliferating number of separate junior-year administrators.
The problem of overcrowding in the university has been approached in another way. Some American institutions have chosen to remain entirely outside the French system by creating a “private” university of their own. This has generally taken two forms: (1) American professors transplanted to teach in English; (2) French professors hired to teach in French. One can easily explain the advantages of the second; the first seems less defensible as an actual foreign educational experience. One is tempted to ask, “Why bother?”
Over the years, fewer and fewer junior-year students are true language majors, and course programs reflect the change. On the other hand, whatever the students' areas of specialization, serious junior-year administrators ought to be cultural catalysts for their students in the foreign country. The trouble is, however, that many directors have become so burdened by office chores that they have forgotten their primary functions as teachers of the foreign culture. Insisting that every student study language and some course focused directly on the specific literature and civilization is the obvious way to begin. I myself feel strongly that, in France, every student should be required to take the premier degré , the basic language-civilization exam given twice a year by Paris IV. But there are other useful tactics.
For example, over the years I have inaugurated periodic concours (contests) on food, history, art, even the metro stops and their origins. I have given “tests” after group outings and prizes for the first perfect scores. The reward, of course, is no more important than the grade in a course. The objective, quite simply, is to point out that excursions are part of the educational experience abroad. The most attentive and assiduous quickly learn how to be intelligent tourists.
But grades in classes are nonetheless inevitable, and many questions arise in properly translating work done into a just quantitative entity. Once again directors are faced with not only two different grading scales but two widely divergent philosophies of evaluation. At the expense of oversimplifying, I think it is fair to say that European professors are far more inclined than their American counterparts to take a “sink-or-swim” attitude toward students, regarding exams as eliminatory and a certain percentage of failures as preordained. I see no easy solutions as along as program administrators want students to be integrated into the university. Establishing parallel tutorials can help to the extent that the junior-year administrator has more direct influence on the hired foreign colleague. The administrator can, for example, insist on syllabi and more bibliographical help.
Finally, I want to address the popular but debatable “language rule.” Assuming that speaking the foreign language is what it is all about, should directors insist that students speak only French at every waking moment of every day with everyone within audible reach? It is well known that such a principle has for years characterized the Middlebury language schools. No doubt much is to be said in its favor; much, indeed, has been said in its favor. But at the expense of bringing down on my graying head the wrath of the language gurus, let me suggest that this principle is not unassailable. It can be argued that it is not sound pedagogy to reinforce mistakes. In practicing a foreign language, as in playing tennis, one may make better progress with a stronger adversary than with a peer. What is more, the situation at an American campus, where native speakers are scarce, and that in a foreign country, where they are plentiful, may call for different tactics. I think that in the foreign country one does far better to put the emphasis on keeping American students apart and encouraging contact with the French. My own experience has proved that the well-motivated and resourceful student soon understands the value of conversing with the natives and avoiding compatriots.
Before closing this section, I want to return to the problem of tourism. I for one am made anxious by the temptation to turn the junior year into “Europe on $50 a day,” a chance to see Hong Kong, Rome, and Helsinki with the junior year as a stopping-off place. How does one combat this attitude, which often results in exhausting and not very fruitful city and airport hopping?
Planning well-thought-out cultural outings is one solution. At some point, however, the administrator needs to say quite unequivocally that credit is granted for a junior year in France (or Germany, Spain, Italy) and not for a junior year in Europe (to say nothing of Asia and Africa).
Hardly are they on foreign soil when students ask, “How do we meet the natives?” After a few weeks in class, they continue to ask the same question. The problem stems once again from two different concepts of the university campus. American students bring with them certain presuppositions about what the university should be, and before long their acute sense of social deprivation surfaces. For Europeans, there is no extracurricular, there is only curricular.
Nonetheless, meeting with members of one's own age group ought to be a part of the junior-year experience. Once students have learned that social contact does not generally take place in the classroom, they must be encouraged to look elsewhere. The real question therefore becomes, “Is it incumbent on the junior-year administration to organize the social life of the student abroad? And if so, how?”
In some programs staff assistants gather documentation not only about the best bars, the cleverest movies, the cheapest shops, and the niftiest trips but also about museum opportunities, special lectures, concerts, and other cultural events in the city. It is also useful to post information about where one can go to engage in sports, make music, or share other such interests. But in the final analysis, the initiative for participation must come from the students. The program can only point them in the right direction. I am tempted here to tell the story of an energetic hockey player in my last group. He got in touch with a semiprofessional hockey team and arranged to try out. He was accepted into the club and later confessed that the experience was a vital part of his linguistic learning, to say nothing of his cultural growth, during the year abroad.
Adaptation, however, is not always so easy. Immersion in the foreign culture can bring on a more or less serious case of “culture shock” or, as one theorist puts it, “stranger anxiety” (deLey). As early as 1960 the problem intrigued social psychologists, some working in the business community (Knepler) and some with junior-year students (Oberg). Several experts even speak of a similar phenomenon for the homebound, “reverse culture shock” or “reentry adjustment” (Lank; Uehara). As Juffer and some others have pointed out, there is a psychological test, Shock Adaptation Inventory, that helps to identify the symptoms of the disorder.
But is there any way to detect potential dangers before the student actually needs professional help? Can we non-specialists identify “risky” cases at the selection stage? A medical history of psychological difficulties might help to screen out potential sufferers, but physicians tend to hide the facts, believing that the information is either private or irrelevant. Some physicians even argue that “a change of scene is good for the depressed adolescent.” Hamilton has tried to get around this difficulty in two ways. The medical form that doctors fill out for students invites “other comments,” a phrase vague enough to avoid bias, clear enough to inspire useful information. The brochure for students includes the following crucial statement: “Since the program is quite rigorous and makes great demands on its students, only persons in good physical and mental health should apply.” I do not believe that this warning gets anyone into trouble.
Nonetheless, once the group is formed, directors may still find themselves confronted by adaptation difficulties. At some point they must distinguish between real anguish and a tantrum. Experience does help to identify symptoms, and fortunately some literature by specialists is handy (e.g., the article by Golden). When in doubt, however, a director should always turn to a trained psychologist. Big cities like Paris have set up counseling services that deal almost exclusively with problems of students who cannot adjust (e.g., the American Student and Family Counseling Service). The alert administrator should have addresses and phone numbers close at hand and posted on the board for students to see. From the beginning, moreover, directors should create good social relations to encourage openness with students. The right atmosphere alone can sometimes help to fend off serious crises.
On a crasser note, there is the awkward question of whether to refund tuition to the student who does not finish out the year. Without an official psychological examination, how does one know that the circumstances justify reimbursement? Worse still, how does one collect money never paid? At the very least, junior-year directors and administrators at the home institution should be as explicit as possible about the rules and be prepared to seek legal counsel if needed. In recent years, the Hamilton program has placed this financial decision in the hands of college administrators experienced with students who for one reason or another do not complete their courses of study.
I leave for last what is perhaps the most agonizing problem of all: housing. In the neolithic age of junior-year-abroad programs, it was assumed that students should live with families. American campus mores, however, have altered so dramatically that students do not have the same housing expectations they once had. The result is often another kind of culture shock, this time for the unsuspecting Parisian bourgeois. What to do?
Some programs have disengaged themselves altogether from the business of housing students; they limit themselves to making available a list of possible addresses. Some, especially in the provincial universities, have opted for the student foyer. This can be a good experience if there is a genuine cultural mix, if the American students are not simply segregated in one place. Allowing students to rent apartments sounds like a wonderful way to escape from directional responsibilities, but it does not always prove to be so. One harried director reports having been interrupted in the middle of a dinner party by a phone call about a leaky toilet. The experience, predictably, dampened everyone's appetite.
Some groups, like Hamilton's, continue to place students with families. It cannot be denied, however, that the very concept of family has evolved in recent years, and the nuclear family, replete with growing children, dogs, and talking parakeets (French, to be sure), becomes harder and harder to discover. To put it plainly, as the competition for American dollars increases, some widows find it desirable to bring in a little extra cash with a minimum of effort. Those involved in the business of checking out future host families, therefore, must look closely at the potential housing arrangements to be certain that the program is getting what it is looking for, more than a place to sleep and eat. Nonetheless, in the end, a family still seems to me the best solution for living abroad. When such a setup works (and I do not have to be reminded that it can fail), it affords the student the opportunity to practice the language, meet French people, and adapt to different mores: perhaps fewer baths, different food, less wastefulness. The experience can prove to be a valuable part of education abroad.
Every critical statement is a beginning, not an end; this one is no exception. I do not pretend to have answered, or even to have asked, all the questions. Surely much more needs to be said about program evaluation, commercial versus nonprofit programs, Paris versus the provinces, and—the most recent and thorniest issue—legal liability in case of crime or accident.
But a few concluding remarks are in order. In the best of all programs, in the best of all possible worlds, the perfect student is linguistically ready, bright, energetic, adaptable, and eager to learn. The perfect curriculum is taught by real European professors in the real university with real natives as classmates. As for the ideal director, that unique animal should be a paragon of open-mindedness, a skilled politician, and a sensitive psychologist, not to say an adept accountant and social secretary.
Finally, let me emphasize that in the present age of internationalism, study abroad is more and more a necessity and less and less a luxury. Colleagues and administrators alike must do all that they can to foster the kind of global thinking that will turn our students into citizens of the world. The world's survival may just depend on it.
The author is Professor and Chair of the Department of Romance Languages and Literatures at Hamilton College. He has been Director of the Hamilton Program for seven years.
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© 1992 by the Association of Departments of Foreign Languages. All Rights Reserved.
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