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February 24, 2009
Exclusive: Education as a Global Security Issue, Part One of Two
"I read the CIA world factbook, Christine. Britain’s entry. Written by you. “Slightly smaller than Oregon.” That’s what we are to you. Slightly smaller than Oregon."
- Tom Quinn, "Spooks" episode "Without Incident"
- Tom Quinn, "Spooks" episode "Without Incident"
Education is a tricky business. Most parents want it for their kids, politicians on both sides use it as a campaign issue, and no two philosophies are quite the same when it comes to the questions of what to teach or how it ought to be taught. Despite the need for a consistent standard by which to educate students, teachers in both the United States and abroad criticize standardized testing for forcing teachers to "teach the test," not the concepts and content that are meant to be tested in the first place.
Meanwhile, not only do Americans routinely fail tests aimed at gauging civic or historical literacy, but Americans are not alone: a recent poll determined that nearly a quarter of British citizens believe that Winston Churchill was a myth. You read that correctly: nearly one quarter of Britons think that Winston Churchill, perhaps the greatest leader in recent British history, of whom video and audio recordings and photographs are prolific, was a mythical figure. In a study released in 2006, two thirds of Americans aged 18 to 24 could find neither Iraq nor Louisiana on a map, while a study released in 2008 indicated that more than half of Britons could not even find Switzerland on a map, and one third of those polled were unaware that the UK was a member of the European Union.
While anecdotal evidence is seldom authoritative, it can be useful. For example, my own memories of high school are a half-and-half mix of exceptionally pertinent coursework mixed with completely irrelevant material that had little applicability in college, let alone in the so-called "real world." Two prominent examples come to mind: English, and mathematics. With respect to English, I distinctly remember spending a great deal of all four years of high school learning how to interpret literary classics, instead of spending any time studying grammar (which would have been far more beneficial once I reached college level foreign language courses). This is not to say that I learned nothing worthwhile in high school English; I can thank Mrs. Humphrey for teaching me how to write and research a college level paper, and Mr. Monson for teaching me how to write essays quickly. However, the ratio of worthwhile to futile study was inordinately skewed – most students do not need four years of instruction in order to understand that J.D. Salinger was foul-mouthed and Ernest Hemingway's generation drank profusely because World War I was so bloody awful. Part of me can't help but think that four solid years of reading dreadfully boring literature, the very titles of which I can scarcely remember, may have been little more than an elaborate hazing ritual that was required for no better reason than every preceding generation had been required to do it, too.
Mathematics was even worse, and my grade point averages in both high school and college were highly reflective of my personal difficulties at advanced math. My lackluster high school math scores have become increasingly frustrating as I have come to realize that the subjects I was compelled to study had little benefit in college, and would have only benefited me had I chosen from a narrow cross section of specialized professions. Don't get me wrong: I can appreciate the strategic need for American students to be competitive in mathematics and hard sciences in comparison to the global community. That having been said, recent events would seem to indicate that requiring American students to pass a couple of personal finance courses would probably have had had more strategic value in the long run than requiring everyone to take advanced algebra or calculus. Again, I don't blame my teachers, most of whom were outstanding; I blame the system that compelled them to teach largely irrelevant material.
The big exception to this trend was my American history coursework, which offered me more insight into a variety of subjects ranging from politics to economics to foreign policy than most of the individual courses I took on those specific subjects. This began with Mr. Hartman, whose American history courses I took for three years – sophomore history by requirement, AP U.S. History by choice, and a third year as his teacher's aide so that I could sit through his lectures once more. The study of history is unique because it ties in nearly every other topic imaginable, and each individual course of study has its own history: mathematics, literature, the hard sciences, political science, economics, all of them are tied into history, and all of them require a fundamental understanding of historical principles in order to be truly understood. It was Mr. Hartman's teaching that inspired me to declare a history major early in college, and by the end of my freshman year, it was Dr. Gary Ferngren's course on the history of Imperial Rome that kept me in – after that course, I never looked back. Even the history professors whose political views I disagreed with taught me critical thinking and research skills that I have found to be sorely lacking among many of my peers. Most of what I know about the world can be tied to history in one way or another, and to this day the most intellectually stimulating conversations I have, whatever the topic, are often with fellow history students.
Don't get me wrong: I am neither bragging myself up as some sort of genius (I'm far from it), nor am I suggesting that everyone ought to get a history degree. What I am suggesting is that, beyond giving students the ability to discern that Jonathan Swift wasn't actually suggesting the use of Irish babies as food in 1729, a bit more emphasis on history both in the United States and elsewhere might give students the kind of critical thinking and research skills necessary to make better decisions not only in their personal lives, but also as responsible citizens and voters. As the situation stands today, many of America's most vocal critics both within and without her borders base their anger on beliefs that would either be moderated or nullified entirely by a more comprehensive understanding of either history, geography, or a combination thereof.
One prime example of what a difference historical or geographic context would make comes from the British Broadcasting Corporation. Hardly a week goes by that the BBC, the world's most prolific broadcasting agency, does not feature several programs on either America's disproportionately negative environmental impact, or America's disproportionately negative role in global affairs. While the BBC tends to be the loudest among the collected voices, their perspective is often shared by both foreign and American press agencies. Unfortunately, those in Europe (and in the United States, for that matter) lack the historical and geographic perspective that most would hope from a high school graduate.
Take, for example, the issue of pollution. Leaving aside the growing controversy in the scientific community over the reliability of global warming and climate change claims (and the increasingly heated political debate over their use as a catalyst for radical, uncomfortable, and economically costly policy changes), America receives the majority of blame in the international community for its so-called "carbon footprint" and other environmental impacts. Voices both foreign and domestic continue their calls for America and other Western nations to make drastic changes to their economic and environmental policies. While some studies compare emissions by a per capita measurement, many make direct country-to-country comparisons. Comparisons such as these represent egregious ignorance of both history and geography.
When the United States won its independence from Great Britain in 1783, it was originally considered to be a confederacy of sovereign nations in the same way that the European Union exists today. In fact, despite being united under a federal system, it was not until after the American Civil War that one would hear the phrase "the United States is," denoting a single entity – prior to that conflict, a description would begin with the phrase "the United States are," denoting a confederation of independent states. This is because the United States began as a sort of alliance of nation-states – hence the name. By means of comparison, most who have traveled to the United Kingdom will remember traveling to specific counties, which mirror the county system in the United States. These are similar to departments in France, or regioni in Italy. The closest the United Kingdom comes to the structure of the United States is the distinct entities of England, Wales, Scotland, and the Ulster counties of Northern Ireland. If comparisons of the Scottish Parliament or the Northern Ireland Assembly to the Oregon Legislative Assembly or the Texas Legislature are any indication, comparing their level of autonomy to that of an American state is a bridge too far.
This is not to pass judgment on the internal affairs or administrative divisions of European nations. Indeed, the way that these nations have come into existence and operate today is generally reflective of a long and rich culture and history. Rather, the comparison of American administrative divisions and their function with the European administrative systems that served as their precursors help to give a historical context as to how the United States developed, what original constructs it developed from, and how it should be compared to Europe when such comparisons are appropriate. Europeans, Americans, and citizens of other nations and regions at large underestimate just how unique the United States is in both structure and history. Less educational emphasis on irrelevant topics and more emphasis on historical and geographic context might alleviate this underestimation.
A further illustration of just how ludicrous such comparisons can be comes from examining the population density of the United States when compared to Europe. Due to the context of the United States and the various European nations as independent states, America is generally compared to other independent nation-states like Germany, or Turkmenistan, or Uruguay. When one considers the previously discussed factors, it becomes clear that a more apt comparison on such matters would be a comparison with the United States with Europe as a whole. So, how do the two entities compare? With respect to geography itself, Europe comprises an area of around 3,930,000 square miles, as opposed to 3,794,066 square miles for the United States – rather comparable, really. When one factors in population, the difference is staggering: at approximately 731,000,000 and 281,421,906 people respectively, the population of the United States is less than a third that of Europe within an area of comparable size. Given this geographic context, is it really so surprising that Americans drive more and further on average than their European counterparts? And this neglects to even mention the simple matters of America's comparable economic dynamism, disproportionately large private and public humanitarian support to those in need around the world, and unrivalled contribution to global security.
Furthermore, the division of 50 individual states sounds like a lot. However, when one remembers that Europe consists of Albania, Austria, Belarus, Belgium, Bosnia and Herzegovina, Bulgaria, Croatia, the Czech Republic, Denmark, Estonia, Finland, France, Germany, Greece, the Holy See, Hungary, Iceland, Ireland, Italy, Latvia, Lithuania, Luxembourg, Kosovo, Macedonia, Malta, Moldova, Montenegro, the Netherlands, Norway, Poland, Portugal, Romania, Serbia, San Marino, Slovakia, Slovenia, Spain, Sweden, Switzerland, the United Kingdom, the Ukraine, and parts of Russia and Turkey, their 43 to America's 50 seems like a much closer match. Unfortunately, indications from both American and foreign media outlets would seem to indicate that little of this context is conveyed through world history or geography education. If it were, one can only assume that media outlets might moderate their coverage based on an assumption that the media consuming public would, for the most part, see through such slanted comparisons.
International and domestic media pressure tends to go a long way toward compelling developments in government policy. Whether the policy involves costly environmental management legislation, controversial economic initiatives, or delicate foreign policy adjustments, media outlets impact public opinion – which, in turn, impacts government and international policies on any number of different factors relating to international security. Should it not follow, then, that the average reporter ought to have a better understanding of such complex issues than they tend to demonstrate? Should we not also expect that the average citizen ought to be sufficiently educated in the information and concepts necessary to see through poorly researched or politically skewed media, to the degree that media outlets must strive for objectivity and fairness for fear of losing their market share in its entirety? Assuming that you answered "yes" to both of these questions, allow me to ask a follow-up question: is society in 2009 anywhere near such a state? I believe that most would agree that the answer is a resounding "no."
Educational expectations have a direct impact on issues that are tied to national and international security. Do they have a direct impact on that security itself? The answer is yes, and the follow-up to this article will address that connection.
Meanwhile, not only do Americans routinely fail tests aimed at gauging civic or historical literacy, but Americans are not alone: a recent poll determined that nearly a quarter of British citizens believe that Winston Churchill was a myth. You read that correctly: nearly one quarter of Britons think that Winston Churchill, perhaps the greatest leader in recent British history, of whom video and audio recordings and photographs are prolific, was a mythical figure. In a study released in 2006, two thirds of Americans aged 18 to 24 could find neither Iraq nor Louisiana on a map, while a study released in 2008 indicated that more than half of Britons could not even find Switzerland on a map, and one third of those polled were unaware that the UK was a member of the European Union.
While anecdotal evidence is seldom authoritative, it can be useful. For example, my own memories of high school are a half-and-half mix of exceptionally pertinent coursework mixed with completely irrelevant material that had little applicability in college, let alone in the so-called "real world." Two prominent examples come to mind: English, and mathematics. With respect to English, I distinctly remember spending a great deal of all four years of high school learning how to interpret literary classics, instead of spending any time studying grammar (which would have been far more beneficial once I reached college level foreign language courses). This is not to say that I learned nothing worthwhile in high school English; I can thank Mrs. Humphrey for teaching me how to write and research a college level paper, and Mr. Monson for teaching me how to write essays quickly. However, the ratio of worthwhile to futile study was inordinately skewed – most students do not need four years of instruction in order to understand that J.D. Salinger was foul-mouthed and Ernest Hemingway's generation drank profusely because World War I was so bloody awful. Part of me can't help but think that four solid years of reading dreadfully boring literature, the very titles of which I can scarcely remember, may have been little more than an elaborate hazing ritual that was required for no better reason than every preceding generation had been required to do it, too.
Mathematics was even worse, and my grade point averages in both high school and college were highly reflective of my personal difficulties at advanced math. My lackluster high school math scores have become increasingly frustrating as I have come to realize that the subjects I was compelled to study had little benefit in college, and would have only benefited me had I chosen from a narrow cross section of specialized professions. Don't get me wrong: I can appreciate the strategic need for American students to be competitive in mathematics and hard sciences in comparison to the global community. That having been said, recent events would seem to indicate that requiring American students to pass a couple of personal finance courses would probably have had had more strategic value in the long run than requiring everyone to take advanced algebra or calculus. Again, I don't blame my teachers, most of whom were outstanding; I blame the system that compelled them to teach largely irrelevant material.
The big exception to this trend was my American history coursework, which offered me more insight into a variety of subjects ranging from politics to economics to foreign policy than most of the individual courses I took on those specific subjects. This began with Mr. Hartman, whose American history courses I took for three years – sophomore history by requirement, AP U.S. History by choice, and a third year as his teacher's aide so that I could sit through his lectures once more. The study of history is unique because it ties in nearly every other topic imaginable, and each individual course of study has its own history: mathematics, literature, the hard sciences, political science, economics, all of them are tied into history, and all of them require a fundamental understanding of historical principles in order to be truly understood. It was Mr. Hartman's teaching that inspired me to declare a history major early in college, and by the end of my freshman year, it was Dr. Gary Ferngren's course on the history of Imperial Rome that kept me in – after that course, I never looked back. Even the history professors whose political views I disagreed with taught me critical thinking and research skills that I have found to be sorely lacking among many of my peers. Most of what I know about the world can be tied to history in one way or another, and to this day the most intellectually stimulating conversations I have, whatever the topic, are often with fellow history students.
Don't get me wrong: I am neither bragging myself up as some sort of genius (I'm far from it), nor am I suggesting that everyone ought to get a history degree. What I am suggesting is that, beyond giving students the ability to discern that Jonathan Swift wasn't actually suggesting the use of Irish babies as food in 1729, a bit more emphasis on history both in the United States and elsewhere might give students the kind of critical thinking and research skills necessary to make better decisions not only in their personal lives, but also as responsible citizens and voters. As the situation stands today, many of America's most vocal critics both within and without her borders base their anger on beliefs that would either be moderated or nullified entirely by a more comprehensive understanding of either history, geography, or a combination thereof.
One prime example of what a difference historical or geographic context would make comes from the British Broadcasting Corporation. Hardly a week goes by that the BBC, the world's most prolific broadcasting agency, does not feature several programs on either America's disproportionately negative environmental impact, or America's disproportionately negative role in global affairs. While the BBC tends to be the loudest among the collected voices, their perspective is often shared by both foreign and American press agencies. Unfortunately, those in Europe (and in the United States, for that matter) lack the historical and geographic perspective that most would hope from a high school graduate.
Take, for example, the issue of pollution. Leaving aside the growing controversy in the scientific community over the reliability of global warming and climate change claims (and the increasingly heated political debate over their use as a catalyst for radical, uncomfortable, and economically costly policy changes), America receives the majority of blame in the international community for its so-called "carbon footprint" and other environmental impacts. Voices both foreign and domestic continue their calls for America and other Western nations to make drastic changes to their economic and environmental policies. While some studies compare emissions by a per capita measurement, many make direct country-to-country comparisons. Comparisons such as these represent egregious ignorance of both history and geography.
When the United States won its independence from Great Britain in 1783, it was originally considered to be a confederacy of sovereign nations in the same way that the European Union exists today. In fact, despite being united under a federal system, it was not until after the American Civil War that one would hear the phrase "the United States is," denoting a single entity – prior to that conflict, a description would begin with the phrase "the United States are," denoting a confederation of independent states. This is because the United States began as a sort of alliance of nation-states – hence the name. By means of comparison, most who have traveled to the United Kingdom will remember traveling to specific counties, which mirror the county system in the United States. These are similar to departments in France, or regioni in Italy. The closest the United Kingdom comes to the structure of the United States is the distinct entities of England, Wales, Scotland, and the Ulster counties of Northern Ireland. If comparisons of the Scottish Parliament or the Northern Ireland Assembly to the Oregon Legislative Assembly or the Texas Legislature are any indication, comparing their level of autonomy to that of an American state is a bridge too far.
This is not to pass judgment on the internal affairs or administrative divisions of European nations. Indeed, the way that these nations have come into existence and operate today is generally reflective of a long and rich culture and history. Rather, the comparison of American administrative divisions and their function with the European administrative systems that served as their precursors help to give a historical context as to how the United States developed, what original constructs it developed from, and how it should be compared to Europe when such comparisons are appropriate. Europeans, Americans, and citizens of other nations and regions at large underestimate just how unique the United States is in both structure and history. Less educational emphasis on irrelevant topics and more emphasis on historical and geographic context might alleviate this underestimation.
A further illustration of just how ludicrous such comparisons can be comes from examining the population density of the United States when compared to Europe. Due to the context of the United States and the various European nations as independent states, America is generally compared to other independent nation-states like Germany, or Turkmenistan, or Uruguay. When one considers the previously discussed factors, it becomes clear that a more apt comparison on such matters would be a comparison with the United States with Europe as a whole. So, how do the two entities compare? With respect to geography itself, Europe comprises an area of around 3,930,000 square miles, as opposed to 3,794,066 square miles for the United States – rather comparable, really. When one factors in population, the difference is staggering: at approximately 731,000,000 and 281,421,906 people respectively, the population of the United States is less than a third that of Europe within an area of comparable size. Given this geographic context, is it really so surprising that Americans drive more and further on average than their European counterparts? And this neglects to even mention the simple matters of America's comparable economic dynamism, disproportionately large private and public humanitarian support to those in need around the world, and unrivalled contribution to global security.
Furthermore, the division of 50 individual states sounds like a lot. However, when one remembers that Europe consists of Albania, Austria, Belarus, Belgium, Bosnia and Herzegovina, Bulgaria, Croatia, the Czech Republic, Denmark, Estonia, Finland, France, Germany, Greece, the Holy See, Hungary, Iceland, Ireland, Italy, Latvia, Lithuania, Luxembourg, Kosovo, Macedonia, Malta, Moldova, Montenegro, the Netherlands, Norway, Poland, Portugal, Romania, Serbia, San Marino, Slovakia, Slovenia, Spain, Sweden, Switzerland, the United Kingdom, the Ukraine, and parts of Russia and Turkey, their 43 to America's 50 seems like a much closer match. Unfortunately, indications from both American and foreign media outlets would seem to indicate that little of this context is conveyed through world history or geography education. If it were, one can only assume that media outlets might moderate their coverage based on an assumption that the media consuming public would, for the most part, see through such slanted comparisons.
International and domestic media pressure tends to go a long way toward compelling developments in government policy. Whether the policy involves costly environmental management legislation, controversial economic initiatives, or delicate foreign policy adjustments, media outlets impact public opinion – which, in turn, impacts government and international policies on any number of different factors relating to international security. Should it not follow, then, that the average reporter ought to have a better understanding of such complex issues than they tend to demonstrate? Should we not also expect that the average citizen ought to be sufficiently educated in the information and concepts necessary to see through poorly researched or politically skewed media, to the degree that media outlets must strive for objectivity and fairness for fear of losing their market share in its entirety? Assuming that you answered "yes" to both of these questions, allow me to ask a follow-up question: is society in 2009 anywhere near such a state? I believe that most would agree that the answer is a resounding "no."
Educational expectations have a direct impact on issues that are tied to national and international security. Do they have a direct impact on that security itself? The answer is yes, and the follow-up to this article will address that connection.
FamilySecurityMatters.org Contributing Editor Tom Ordeman, Jr. is a technical writer for a major defense contractor in Hampton Roads, Virginia. Feedback: editorialdirector@familysecuritymatters.org.
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