What they don’t teach you at RI universities

How does Satria know all of those things?” my friend Geniki Natih whispered almost soundlessly to a friend who sat next to her.

“Perhaps he tried to memorize all [economics books] that he read, so he could pamer [show off] to all his friends and lecturers when questions were asked,” Geniki said.

Sadly, the person whom she was referring to was me. At that time, my macroeconomics lecturer asked his students who was the chairman of the Federal Reserve (US central bank) prior to the legendary Alan Greenspan, and as nobody seemed to be interested in answering his question, I eventually raised my hand and answered the question correctly.

Geniki’s sarcastic response is the sort of reaction that you can expect from other students at Indonesian universities who want to be proactive in the classroom. It is no secret that at most Indonesian universities, a learning environment where students are freely exchanging ideas and defending their own opinions is, unfortunately, not present.

In my early years in college, a lecturer once told me that my university was paving its way toward becoming a world-class university in its teaching system; where learning in a classroom soon would become a two-way discussion between both students and lecturers instead of a one-sided talk. Lecturers, he predicted, could become no more than facilitators in the future.

In an Internet era where students have boundless access to knowledge and are not only limited to their textbooks for education material, I heard with awe that this promising idea could possibly enhance my learning experience in university, as well as improve the quality of our education system in the future.

Fast-forward four years to now, my last year in college, the reality in the Indonesian classroom still goes far beyond what I envisaged in my early years at university.

Student feedback, lively debates and heated discussions rarely occur inside the classroom. In most cases, Indonesian lecturers were asking questions yet the students remained quiet. Even if there was a student who tried to answer questions, other students were most likely to label him a show off.

Once my assistant lecturer in an Indonesian economics class was disappointed that no single student in the classroom responded to her query. At that time she referred to us as “typical Asian students” who were highly passive compared to Western students who always raised hands to give answers or ask questions.

“Look, if you’re a professor in the US,” said Alvin, my high school senior who is currently pursuing his master’s degree at Princeton University, “If you are not clear in front of the classroom, students will question you to death.”

“[The students] will hound you to make your points clear,” he added.

The stark difference in the learning environment inside American and Indonesian universities can happen possibly because there are less, or even any, incentives for Indonesian students to be active inside the classroom.

A best-selling book titled What they teach you at Harvard Business School reveals that 50 percent of Harvard students’ grades would be determined on class participation — in terms of quality and frequency. Then the remaining 50 percent would be determined by how students performed in their mid-term and end-of-term written exams.

In staggering contrast, in most of the subjects at my university, the combination of mid-term and end-of-term written exams’ scores account for 80 percent for our final grade. Participation in classroom, on the other hand, only accounts for 20 percent — sometimes 10 percent, or is not even reviewed at all.

If Indonesian universities want to encourage their students to become researchers or academics, perhaps this could be the right approach. But for students who major in economics and business like me, whose knowledge and understanding would be mostly applied in practical terms; this really is an irony.

Because the greatest percentage of our grades is measured by our performance during written exams, students (including myself) come to the classroom every week empty-headed. For us, what matters the most is how we can perform well during the exam, which can be achieved by studying insanely hard just one or two days prior to exam day.

Truthfully speaking: Indonesian students don’t really care about the learning process — things like classroom discussions or case studies of how the theory works in real life — since they pay enormous heed only to written exams, which can contribute more to their grade point average (GPA).

Indonesian university students are excessively judged by their GPA. While this could be used as an indicator on measuring students’ comprehension on the subject they learn, it should not be deemed the perfect measurement.

Indeed, with Indonesia’s current education system, students who graduate with a cum laude GPA emblazoning their graduation certificates are more likely to become academics rather than policymakers, entrepreneurs or innovators who are equipped with problem-solving skills.

I feel bad for my parents because I neither have a cum laude GPA on my academic record nor extraordinary problem-solving skills; but am I doing the wrong thing here if I just raise my hand in the classroom because I want to ask questions or respond to my lectures’ queries?

In an education culture like Indonesia where students remain acquiescent and quiet almost all the time, your child would be identified as a pamer if they do that — thus the answer to my previous question is, unfortunately, most likely a yes.

The writer is a student at the University of Indonesia’s School of Economics.