Graduating joy

University students invest several years of their lives and thousands of pounds of their money in their education. When their course of study is complete, they feel a great sense of achievement accompanied by a desire to celebrate. How well do universities help them in this task. From my experience in England and Scotland, hardly at all. I have attended three graduations as a student, half a dozen as a member of academic staff, and three as a proud parent. I found that these graduations fell into three types:

1.    Stuffy and self-congratulatory. This was my dominant experience of graduation ceremonies, from when I graduated with my masters degree from the University of Strathclyde, my social work qualification from the University of Stirling, and my PhD from the University of London (I didn’t attend the ceremony for my first degree). Also stuffy and self-congratulatory were the degree award ceremonies I attended as a member of staff at the University of Birmingham. All of these events shared a familiar British obsession with meaningless procedures (usually ‘traditions’ of recent invention), wearing funny hats, and a complete lack of fun. In each case, large numbers of students were processed at high speed, with no recognition of their individual talents, the promise they held for the future, or the fact that all the professors, vice-chancellors, administrators and so on depended for their income on the money these students brought into the university. The most memorable of these events was at the University of London. This took place in the splendid setting of the Albert Hall, and was chaired by Princess Anne, as Chancellor of the University. Graduands were supposed to bow to her when they paraded on the stage to receive their degree. Some churlishly refused, and in each case an amused smile appeared on her face. The dullest graduation ceremonies of all were at the University of Birmingham, but the Medical School did make up for this afterwards by holding a slightly more informal reception for graduands and their parents. One irritating feature of Birmingham’s ceremonies was the refusal to honour students who graduated with diplomas and certificates rather than degrees. The University of Stirling could do this, but Birmingham preferred to exclude this group of students (but take their money of course). 

2.    Utterly commercial. All of these graduations, however, were infinitely preferable to Nottingham Trent University (NTU), where my daughter graduated with a BA in Textile Design. The University imposed charges above her fees for all the materials she used in her degree, and then charged parents for attending the graduation ceremony. In other respects, the ceremony was exactly like the others, with a large hall, boring speeches, and an endless parade of graduands. There was a meagre reception afterwards. I suggest NTU’s administration have a chat with its academic staff teaching the degree in management and marketing to learn the concept of customer care.

3.    Small and respectful. The best ceremony I attended was at Leeds University, where my son graduated with a BA in Politics. This was a small affair, limited to students in the same subject, and followed by a very friendly reception afterwards where staff, graduands and parents could meet over a buffet meal. I was pleased to find that the academic staff in the Department of Politics knew their undergraduate students well. The academic speeches were witty, and the several of the students cheered each other when they received their degree. My son went on later to the University of Leiden in the Netherlands, from where he graduated with an MSc in International Public Administration in 2011. I did not attend this ceremony, but I did see a video. This took place in the oldest building in the University, and, after the ceremony, graduands signed their name on its walls, next to centuries of previous graduates and honorary graduates. It must be nice to write your signature next to that of Albert Einstein. But what was particularly good about this ceremony was that each student’s academic supervisor made a speech outlining the subject of their dissertation and its contribution to knowledge.

I have seen pictures of graduations in other countries, which include parades of students through the local town, concerts, gigs, dances and general fun. This could happen here too, but it would need universities to recognise that their primary purpose is the dissemination of knowledge, and that they collaborate with students to achieve this, and that success in this task is grounds for real celebration. Of course, it also requires that the British middle class lose some of its dreary stuffiness and learn how to have fun.

A few words about snow

The Eskimoes, it is reported in urban myth, have lots of words for snow. But English is sparse indeed when it comes to describing the white stuff. The media usually only distinguishes between a ‘blanket’ of snow and a ‘light dusting’. Both of these terms are ‘dead metaphors’, which must at one time have required some imagination to devise. A similar dead metaphor is used to describe ice, which is always referred to as ‘treacherous’. To the literally-minded, this would suggests that journalists believe that ice is sentient, that it aims to falsely reassure us of its safety, and then without warning and with devious malevolence becomes cold and slippy just as we choose to walk or drive on it.

The main consequence of snow, according to the media is ‘chaos’. This term, originally meaning a chasm in Greek, was later adapted by philosophers to designate the formless void that they believe preceded the act of creation (now renamed the ‘big bang’ by scientists). However, when used in the media, ‘chaos’ simply means any disruption, large or small, to transport timetables. Cars and trains are then said the ‘grind to a halt’. Of course, lines of cars lined up motionless on motorways are the very opposite of a formless void, but they still represent ‘chaos’ to journalists and the general public.

In Britain, transport disruption at the first heavy snowfall of the winter is regarded as a uniquely British phenomenon, not found in more organised countries. It thus becomes an opportunity for an intensive episode of national self-denigration. Yet, at the time of writing, cold weather and snow in much of Europe has disrupted transport and caused many deaths from accidents and exposure. This is true even in Germany (the most efficient country in the World as far as the British media are concerned). Still, it would be a pity to inject some evidence and fresh thinking into the accustomed narratives and dead metaphors. Otherwise, the pages of our newspapers would be empty and newsreaders on television would stand mute before us.

Driving and the English brain

Rudyard Kipling did not quite say “Who knows England who only England knows?”, but the meaning is clear: no-one can hope to understand their own country until they have become familiar with other places. Only then, can they understand what makes their own land different and special. However, there is an alternative to prolonged travel abroad, and that is to learn from foreigners who have become familiar with our own land. There are of course reports and books by foreign journalists based in London, but the most interesting source of information comes from the blogs written mainly by expats about their daily lives in many different parts of England. These are conveniently gathered in the website Blog England, Expat England. Most are written by women, and include family photographs, recipes, and reports on family holidays and outings. But they also compare England with their country of origin and reflect on the differences.

The bloggers have chosen to live in this country, and are passionate about the beauty of its countryside, and the way in which ancient sites and history are packed into a small area. Those in London are fascinated by the mix of nationalities in the city, and the experience of living in what is probably the biggest collection of theatres in the world. American bloggers are puzzled by the different names for food in England, the small size of domestic appliances, and the problems navigating in a land where street names change at each junction and where city grids are almost entirely absent. But the particular, and almost insoluble, problem for many Americans is having to drive in a car with a steering wheel on the right and with manual gears.

Why should this prove so difficult? After all, a third of the world’s population live in countries which drive on the left, and most us in England adapt easily to driving in the other two-thirds. I think the reason for the particular problems experienced by Americans  lies in how our brains adapts to daily mental exercises. There has been little research on how driving affects the brain, but a study over ten years ago found that London taxi drivers have a larger hippocampus (the part  of the brain associated with navigation) than other people. Indeed, part of the hippocampus grew larger as the taxi drivers spent more time in the job. It is also possible that the layout of the car we drive may also affects how our brain operates.

Driving in the USA and Canada is a right-handed affair. The gear lever is hardly used in the automatic cars that are almost universal in these countries, and it is, in any case, to the right of the driver. There is no clutch for the left foot to use. North America is overwhelmingly right-handed when it comes to eating as well. Diners hold the food to the plate with the fork, and then cut a single bite-sized piece with the knife. The knife is then placed on the plate, the fork transferred from the left hand to the right hand, and used to bring the food to the mouth. The fork is then transferred back to the left hand and the knife is picked up with the right. This elaborate procedure seems to exist to ensure the main tasks in eating are performed only with the right hand, and to avoid the co-ordinated movement of knife and fork required by the usual European style of eating.

Even more left-right co-ordination is required in driving in Britain, Ireland and other places which drive on the left and use cars with manual gears. The left hand is frequently used to change gear and the left foot to press down on the clutch, while at the same time the right hand is used for steering and the right foot for the accelerator and brake. How does this affect our brains? Our brains are divided into two distinct hemispheres by a longitudinal fissure. The limbs on each side of our body are controlled by the opposite hemisphere. Driving (and eating) in left-hand drive countries requires a constant exchange of information and adjustment between both hemispheres. It has been found that the part of the brain connecting the two hemispheres (the corpus callosum) differs in shape between men and women, and is larger among occupational groups such as musicians. My hypothesis is that it will also differ between typical drivers in England and those in the USA. If so, it would explain why people from North America find it so hard to adjust to driving in England.

This could of course all be tested by neuroscience researchers, aided by large sums of research council funding. At least it would get them out of their labs and on to the road.

Expat blog England