How the new education reform changed school – and my life

Ukrainian article of the week published in the 45th edition of the "What about Ukraine" newsletter on September 12th, 2024. The article was written by Lesya Padalka for LB.ua and was translated for n-ost by Tetiana Evloeva.

If I’m being honest, when my eldest son was starting school seven years ago, my biggest concern was whether they would have enough time to equip the classrooms with new desks, as required by the school reform, whether every classroom was equipped with Lego construction kits, whether there was enough space on playmats to accommodate every kid, and whether the new lounge zones would be fitted with beanbags… Looking back, I find these worries quite amusing.

Because we were about to find out that half the teachers would refuse to even acknowledge the new educational standards, openly stating to the parents: “Let the Ministry adopt policies all they want — I have my teaching methods, and I’m sticking to them.”

We were about to learn that parents would be missing the old-fashioned grade system, and be perplexed about their children getting emojis instead, or, as their kids learned how to read, they received motivational feedback like “Well done!”, “Good job!” and “You can do better next time!”

We would find out that some teachers had quite peculiar views on the teamwork and creative components of the process. Some would demand that every child should be given an identical sketchbook with ready templates for drawing and crafting, as in the past, or task everyone with an assignment to complete using a template in Technology and Design class, so they could enjoy some peace while their kids were busy.

One reform included taking kids outside more, to make them aware of their environment. Not every school and every teacher ended up learning through exposure to their wider surroundings. Some kids never got to find out that their triangular desks were meant to be put together like petals of a flower, to bring students together for group tasks and provide them an opportunity to maintain eye contact with all the members of their group. Some parents weren’t so keen to accept the inclusivity of schooling and sabotaged the acceptance of kids with special needs from their school. Some school administrations still encourage parents to petition the school to obstruct such initiatives, instead of doing their job and requesting tutors to guide special needs students.

The reform — as incomplete as it may be — breaks the mould. This is something I had the chance to learn firsthand when my youngest son went to school and I witnessed how the NUS became something fundamental, and then everyday. I mean, I’ve been all pro-reforms since I was young, and I was never uncertain about going to school. I always came prepared. Still, I had to face the dilemma of whether my son, who had just turned six, should start school that year — a dilemma that would not go away.

Why did I even face this quandary in the first place? I mean, it’s a rule that every six-year-old has to start school, and primary school is mandatory and generally accessible — which means that every child, regardless of their preschool knowledge and skills, has the right to freely join the first grade in their neighbourhood school without any obstacles, pre-selection or tests, and be educated by the state. As trivial as it may sound, that was one of the foundations of the school reform: that every child has an equal right to public education, and that regular schools have to teach children without setting forth any acceptance criteria.

Turns out I, with my background, had trouble accepting that simple thing. What do you mean? I can send my kid to school before I fix how they mispronounce some words? Does a child who can’t read even belong in a school? How is a six-year-old who spent half of his kindergarten years in a lockdown, and another half in a bomb shelter, supposed to adjust to the school life with its numerous rules? Who will save my kids when they are tasked with writing three-page essays and memorising some poems, when they have just mastered letters?

Turns out, starting school was only stressful for me as a mother. Before the school year began, I asked my acquaintances how they prepared their kids for school, and I was ready to withdraw my child’s school enrollment should I see any sign of him being ‘not ready enough’. I had to face the truth of me being that ‘high-achiever-schoolgirl’ who had to be perfect, because anything else meant shame and defeat. There was no in-between for me.

I have many teachers in my family, and while they are wonderful people and all, our standards are really high. I went to school well-prepared and… frankly, my first three grades were perpetually boring. I mean, when you know all the answers well in advance and the textbooks seem too simple, your only challenge is to behave and keep your handwriting neat and clean. In my time, school was a perfectly didactic place with no space for a conversation, an exploration, and with no margin for error. If you couldn’t keep up, you were the weak link in the chain. The teacher’s only interaction with you was giving you bad scores, critique, or ridicule. Meanwhile, the kids were young and willing to endure such attitudes.

I had to recall my own first year in school to understand why the very idea of sending my child to school made me so nervous. In my school, it was normal to openly laugh when someone didn’t have the answer in class, and that teachers (if such people can even be called teachers) only encouraged this scorn. Thinking back, I understood that some of those kids who were always laughed at by the entire class were actually kids with special educational needs, in the purest medical meaning of that term. However, these primary school teachers only thought of those kids as dim-witted obstacles to carefree teaching based on the format of kids just writing down everything the educator dictates.

Ideally, I had to sort out these issues in therapy, but that wasn’t on the cards. Anyway, it was the NUS that fixed my perspective. After interviewing everyone and their mother, I finally approached my son’s teacher-to-be, and she told me one simple thing: that learning was the whole purpose of going to school. While some may consider this phrase meaningless, it was laden with insight for me. What do you mean, the kids are supposed to be taught at school? Just like that? No conditions and requirements, no strings attached?

That’s what the teacher was doing. She explained that she had to deal with kids of different ages as they enrol in school for the first time, and that “almost six years old” and “already seven” was a huge difference, so she strived to take an individual approach to every student, with consideration for their pre-school knowledge and skills. That way, she explained, she could help the beginners, while keeping more advanced kids occupied and entertained. She promised that the kids would learn their ABCs thoroughly, instead of formally skipping through it in September; that there would be no sketchbooks with printed templates in her class, and that the classes that were supposed to train the child’s hand and artistic thinking would offer just that — training.

So I breathed easily, and banished my anxiety to a far corner, and sent my kid to school. However, I also enrolled him in a private tutoring class that was due to start in November (no spots were available earlier!), which he proved to never need. In November, my kid was fluent in reading, in December, he was good at writing in cursive — and all of those skills were mastered at school, without my slightest involvement.

We had no Spartan home assignments “so the kids can train their hands” after classes, for hours in a row. When a kid still has some tasks to complete, they can do that as their homework — and my kid knows well to do them without any nudging on my part. Yes, his scribbles aren’t perfect, but he’s doing his best.

Oftentimes, I see or hear parents talking about their first-graders — in parent chatrooms, on public transport, in queues at the shops — where (mostly) mothers have only one criterion for whether the school and their teacher is good: whether the teacher is demanding and whether they give their class lengthy homework. God forbid them to ‘transgress’ to ‘that NUS ideas where kids are just being mollycoddled’! I find that unsettling, to be honest: why do those people, who are younger than me and were spared the totalitarian “pleasure” of starting a Soviet school, treat their children like that? Why are they so scared of their kids receiving even a little freedom? Why are the parents the ones who insist that the teacher treats their kids in a strict and unforgiving manner? Why did we have that immense fear of school, and why are we so eager to instil that fear in our children?

While I don’t have the answers to those questions, I hope to find them someday. I also hope that the school reform in Ukraine keeps progressing from replacing desks and renovating spaces (the form) to improving communication, training methods, and the quality of the curriculum (the essence). Because as gradual as it is, progress is working.