What Is Our Time Here For? Redux

Note: This article was originally published in The Octant, the Yale-NUS College student newspaper.

As part of the Yale-NUS inaugural classes’ orientation week in June 2013 we sat through a lecture by Professor of Humanities (Literature in English) Rajeev Patke titled “The Liberal Arts: Making the Most of Your Yale-NUS College Education.” I don’t remember much from the lecture in what was a week far-too-filled with them. But what strikes me now, at the beginning of my final year at college, is how there was probably no more a prescient lecture that could have been delivered to an incoming class of students. Education isn’t something that merely happens to us; we must reach out and grab it. Guidance on how to do so is what I for one most needed at the start of my time here.

At that point I felt I had a good grasp on what the liberal arts were. They were one half of my decision to come to Yale-NUS, the other being its location in Singapore. My desire to study the liberal arts had arisen from feeling restricted when I looked at university study in New Zealand or elsewhere in Asia—I didn’t want to specialize yet. I didn’t want to spend my four years studying solely law or International Relations, and coming out with very little idea of anything besides. I still wanted to take more literature classes, some history, philosophy and economics, and, who knows, maybe even some cosmology.

What I also knew was that companies want graduates who have studied the liberal arts. The admissions office here at Yale-NUS, and every other small liberal arts college I looked at, stressed that the liberal arts would give me skills and knowledge that were in short supply. Liberal arts graduates were perfectly suited to be leaders, because they would have—and these are Yale-NUS’s words—“the appreciation and understanding of breadth and complexity of issues, capacity for critical thinking and problem solving, and effective communication and leadership skills.” Yale-NUS called those three components the “critical outcomes of a traditional liberal arts education.” Surprise! They are precisely the three things we’re told companies today need in their leaders. All this gave me a strong (if vague) sense that as a liberal arts graduate I’d leap ahead of all those who had done specialist degrees.

Yale-NUS made an effort to describe the other ways that a liberal arts education would benefit us, capturing this idea in the phrase “Four years to transform your life”. But after my first week at the College, I quickly began to forget about this amidst classes, extracurriculars, and the pressure from CIPE to start planning out my next summer. I wanted my life transformed, but it became difficult to transform anything apart from my next essay as life became a string of deadlines and events.

What also began to happen was that the pinnacle of each academic year became a prestigious internship or an exciting international “opportunity”. Dining hall conversation began to turn to this topic from the end of first semester, and reached fever-pitch a few weeks into second semester. CIPE’s events talked about the importance of internships in setting us up for careers. Thanks to the subtle pressures within each semester at Yale-NUS, I started to think that the purpose of my education was to fast-track my career. I began to confuse “transforming my life” with getting a prestigious job. The lines began to blur, and I found myself taking classes I didn’t particularly care for but which would look good on my resume; I found myself choosing a major based on what was most relevant to the job I expected to get after graduating.

I now find myself with one year left to “transform my life”. In my junior year I realized that it is for a very good reason that the liberal arts and residential colleges go together. A college is a microcosm of life, where you are exposed to people and to life, where everything and everyone is closer. The beauty of a liberal arts college is that you are given an environment in which to make sense of all those conversations, emotions, and relationships, where books shed light on your life in dining halls, suites, and behind closed doors.  At what other point in our lives will we have the space, the time and resources to figure out what we like and dislike, what we want and do not want?

As I wrote in an article last semester, “The liberal arts and sciences are not a unique selling point for a resume, or a euphemism for an elite college. They are about having freedom—four years of freedom—to learn about ourselves and our own minds so that we can approach everything else we do in life with solid foundations.” And the thing I’d repeat to myself, if I was to do-over my first two years at Yale-NUS, is that nothing is more important than building those foundations. A career can rest on them, but the foundations of who you are as a person cannot rest on a career.

The essays and assignments, events and pressures won’t disappear during these four years. But what can change is our understanding of what all this time is for, and how we choose to respond to unavoidable pressures. That is something we all can grasp, and is the starting point for taking control of the books we read, the conversations we have, the time we spend, and, most importantly, the ways we learn to live our lives.

The Standard Answer

In most contexts there is an answer to every question that people take to be the standard or norm. From issues like the death penalty to democracy, or the interpretation of a painting or poem, our cultural contexts push us more readily to one perspective than another.

In most contexts there is, therefore, an answer to every question that people take to be “challenging” the standard answer. This is the answer that is quite simply less common. It is the answer that in an educational context is taken to be either a sign of dubious morals or intelligence, or a prime example of critical thinking, depending on the situation.

But what if there existed a context in which there was no standard? What if you were asked about your view on democracy or Confucian values, and felt neither pushed nor pulled toward one answer or another? What if, rather than feeling afraid of the consequences of presenting the “challenging” perspective, you saw equal consequences whichever answer you gave?

I’m talking about an environment in which cultural contexts meet, where no “standard” prevails. That’s the kind of environment that Yale-NUS College is. There is no majority. You never know where you will meet praise or resistance in views you present, but you are guaranteed that both praise and resistance exist.

And in that environment what you are left with are your own opinions, and the necessity of presenting them clearly and rigorously. You cannot hide behind the assumption that people will take you to hold the majority’s view, for there is, to repeat, no majority. The poles of opinion are spread far apart, and opinions exist at every point between; you must state where you lie, while knowing that some will agree and others will not.

The Man Who Made Yale-NUS Yale-NUS

 

It’s coming up on four years since I sat nervously at my family’s home in Wellington and waited to receive a Skype call that would determine the next four years of my life. I ran through the possible questions I might be asked by the Yale-NUS admissions officer, practising possible formulations of answers, reminding myself to remain calm yet formal.

My computer rang, I took a deep breath, then answered. In a rapid-fire voice at times very deep and, when excited, melodious, the admissions officer told me his name was Austin Shiner, he’d been with Yale-NUS for a year or so since himself graduating from Yale, and that he was excited beyond belief about what Yale-NUS might become. His smile was infectious and I was smiling too within a minute of talking, and his facial expressions seemed to mimic perfectly what he was saying: something serious was said with head tilted slightly downwards and a furrowed brow to give no doubt this was serious; something frivolous, with head tilted backwards and eyes smiling. His cheeks were red, as if to emphasise the extent to which he couldn’t contain his excitement when speaking of Yale-NUS.

“What books do you like to read?”, Austin asked me. I could talk about that no problem, even though it wasn’t a question I’d thought of beforehand. I talked for a bit about books, and then trailed off, expecting the next question. Austin instead started talking about his own favourite books, and offered me some recommendations. King Rat by James Clavell, he told me to read: historical fiction telling the story of prisoners of war (including some Americans and some New Zealanders) during World War 2, set at Changi Naval Base in Singapore. I ordered the book right after the call. A recommendation from Austin, especially when it comes to food or books, we’ve all come to realise, is not something to be ignored. (His YouTube channel sums up the man: “These videos deal with food. Hence, they deal with life.” Austin last night became the first person to eat at all 108 of Singapore’s hawker centres).

It is hard to think of that Skype call as an interview. It was merely a conversation between two people both excited about this thing called Yale-NUS, one of whom had just moved half way across the world to a new country called Singapore to work there, and the other who (I would find out in a few months’ time) was about to.

That “interview” was prescient, because in a matter of minutes Yale-NUS (which at this point, remember, had not a single student nor its own campus) was made tangible for me. And it was made tangible with a sense of infectious excitement, intellectual passion, and a desire to see and explore everything that Singapore and Southeast Asia has to offer. Those are three qualities that I think many would agree define the Yale-NUS experience today.

Some might put it as a chicken-and-egg problem: was Austin chosen to work here because he had the qualities they wanted this school to embody, or is Yale-NUS like that today because of Austin Shiner?

But for those of us here, and especially for those of us in the class of 2017 who have been here since the beginning, the chicken-and-egg riddle is easily solved. As he flew off last night to Taiwan for a new chapter of life, it can be said with seriousness and with immense gratitude that one person, perhaps above all others, has left an indelible mark of good at Yale-NUS College. Future classes of students who never met Austin will nonetheless know Austin precisely because they know Yale-NUS.

Thank you, Austin. Have a great year; keep the videos coming; and see you at graduation.

The Liberal Arts in Global Context

Liberal education today is in some quarters seen as being in decline; headlines almost daily question its value and predict its demise. It is increasingly passed over in favour of pre-professional or vocational degrees, and the rise of the glamorous Silicon Valley technology industry is encouraging undergraduates to specialise earlier. This, alongside the reality that the idea of the liberal arts college has hardly existed outside of the United States in the twentieth and twenty-first centuries, and one could be forgiven for assuming liberal education’s days are numbered.

And yet, simultaneously, liberal education is expanding globally. Yale-NUS College is perhaps the flagship of this expansion, but across Asia, Europe, the Middle East and Oceania, liberal arts programs and colleges are increasing in number. Liberal education is seen as an antidote to overly rigid career and workforce structures, and a way of claiming back personality and individual meaning in cultures that demand conformity. In these circles, liberal education is to experience not decline but a surge in both interest and enrolment.

These views cannot both be right. But how should we understand liberal education amidst the two narratives? What has liberal education been, what is it today, and what should we expect it to be in future? Can we expect it to expand globally, or will such an expansion be to lose the essence of the liberal arts? How should we think about Yale-NUS College in terms of these larger trends in liberal education, and what lessons can we draw for the further expansion of liberal education into other countries and contexts? And perhaps above all, how will these different facets of liberal education affect its original political purpose of educating informed, actively engaged and critical citizens?

I’m to attempt to answer some of these questions over the next year as part of my senior thesis project at Yale-NUS. For a while I deliberated over the topic that I should focus on for the next year; and thought there were many others, and one in particular which spoke to a question I had around how small states function in the world, these questions on the liberal arts spoke much more meaningfully to my education as a whole and an interest that I’ve never particularly done anything to cultivate.

My own experience with the liberal arts has been struggling to understand what the term even meant, coming from a country where there is no such educational tradition. But I now believe liberal education is a component of personal growth not to be passed up; I feel I understand the opportunity a liberal education offers on a deeper level, and yet do not know how to make sense of this in terms of the liberal arts tradition globally. And, especially pertinent to a New Zealander studying at a liberal arts college in Singapore, I wonder whether the liberal education I’ve received is a result of studying at an American-styled institution with predominantly American professors. Is the idea unique to America today? Can it ever truly be spread globally? Or can it only spread by maintaining the people and structures present at liberal arts colleges in the United States?

I anticipate writing with increasing frequency on the liberal arts here on this blog. My blog has always been a space to hone my own thinking on topics, and to hear from readers about what books I should be reading next or who I should be talking to. So please, if you do have thoughts, get in touch.

Between the Organization Kid and Hippiedom

“The Organization Kid” are the three words New York Times columnist David Brooks used to define a generation. Brooks travelled to Princeton and other elite institutions in the early 2000s and came away scared at how “The young men and women of America’s future elite work their laptops to the bone, rarely question authority, and happily accept their positions at the top of the heap as part of the natural order of life.”

I don’t think we’re Organisation Kids, but I think we have parts of that kid in us. We reject the conformity that leads to happily boring lives in a single job for life. But sometimes we find ourselves pushed towards that because it’s the “right” thing to do. We want college to force us to ask the important questions in life, to force us to confront our own character. Yet all too often we take classes that will look good on our resume. Some of us almost rejected the traditional path of a summer internship to instead spend the summer writing and travelling. But we didn’t, and worked 9-5.

Sometimes we find ourselves wanting a life without the internet. We want a private life where we can be ourselves and develop inner character without anyone watching. Other times we want followers and likes, the Instafame and instant gratification. Sometimes we want to ignore everyone in the world to be inwardly humble, to live as we believe we should live, and other times we throw ourselves at conformity to know that we are succeeding and will be remembered.

If the Organisation Kid “worked for Save the Children and Merrill Lynch and didn’t see a contradiction”, the “kid” today sees the contradiction and flips a coin to decide. We work at Goldman Sachs and do yoga and read Peter Singer, or we work at Save the Children and read The Economist. The contradiction is visible and we grasp for both worlds, too scared and too smart to leap at one and not the other.

Our dilemma is whether we become the mindless and busy conformists that Brooks was so scared of, or instead move forward into a hybrid of Organisation and Hippiedom.

Knowing more and wanting more, but seeing “easy” and wanting easy. That’s us.

“What University Should I Choose?”

The experience you have at university is far more important than the name that goes on your resume. A truism, perhaps, but seeing a new class decide what universities to attend (and being asked the question a number of times) made it seem worth saying.

Before one is actually at university, the things that loom large in the mind’s eye are the universities’ websites, their Wikipedia pages, their brand names and whether you know anyone there. These are the things that matter little once you’re there.

The things you will think about daily are what books you’re reading, who you’re spending time with, and what professors you’re talking to. All universities have those three things. There is less difference between them than you might think.

The differences that are worth considering are where the university is and what sense of community it has. The latter especially will define your experience.

University community should be judged not just on the superficial, but on the deeper sense of how open it is and whether or not it will let you change and grow, or if it will hold you in a straitjacket of who you once were and who others think you should be. This can be hard to discern, but visit the campus if at all possible and look for the small signs. The diversity and the differences between people can be the surest sign; homogenous campuses may not let you grow.

Most importantly, ask—and ask only of yourself—what you want to get out of university and how you want to spend four important years. Answering that question will define the experience, and even define your life, far more than whether the university starts with a Y or an H, an O or a C.

 

Studying Abroad in the Asia Pacific Century

If New Zealand is to gain from its proximity to new global economic power, we cannot simply expect the rewards to come to us.

New Zealand is fortunate both to be located in the Asia Pacific, and to have deep and long-standing ties with other countries in this region. As global economic power is increasingly focussed on our part of the world, our relative proximity to Asia rather than Europe has made it easier for more people to visit New Zealand, and has reduced costs for businesses exporting goods and services. Economically, we are reaping the rewards.

But one area in which we seem to neglect the importance of our location is in education. When government thinks about education in terms of the Asia Pacific century, it is thought about primarily as an “export”. In other words, education is a service that we can sell to other countries. Through thinking of education only in this way, we are missing out on the real educational opportunities that the Asia Pacific century presents us with.

The government has even established a new agency to develop our education exports to Asia. Education New Zealand (separate from the Ministry of Education) states explicitly that its two near-term outcomes are both to increase the economic value of international students studying in New Zealand, and to increase the economic value of education products and services delivered offshore. These are both worthy goals that will help to achieve the government’s goal of growing export markets, and to ensure that New Zealand has a competitive and productive economy.

However, in economic terms, we are neglecting the benefits to be had from the other side of the education equation. This side deals with sending young New Zealanders overseas to develop deep personal connections, to learn languages and skills, and to come to understand in a meaningful way the other countries in the Asia Pacific that will be so important to New Zealand’s future.

One reason we shy away from thinking about this side of the equation is that in the immediate term, it is thought about as an “import”. In other words, sending young New Zealanders overseas is an economic cost to New Zealand, because the money they spend on education is spent overseas and not domestically. The other reason we neglect this part of education in the Asia Pacific century is that we have a deep-rooted fear that sending young New Zealanders overseas will be to lose them forever to the brain drain.

But what I’ve learned from the past few years studying at a university in Singapore, in the heart of the Asia Pacific, is that two-way educational links are one of the most fundamental components necessary for New Zealand to take advantage of what this century will offer. And they must be two-way linkages. Just as we bring bright students from around the Asia Pacific to study at our schools and universities, so too must we send young Kiwis to spend extended periods of time at schools and universities throughout the region.

These young Kiwis will make deep friendships, will learn languages, and will move beyond the crass stereotypes we hold of other countries in the region. In the longer-term, these connections and understandings will come to bear on New Zealand’s economy in a meaningful way. They will ensure New Zealanders have the knowledge, skills and attitudes necessary to participate actively, even centrally, in the Asia Pacific. We would be, in this sense, “importing” critical connections in the region, and an accurate understanding of countries throughout it.

What I’ve also seen is that fears of a brain drain from New Zealanders studying overseas are overblown. In fact, they may be made up. What I’ve observed in myself and in the many other young Kiwis I know who study overseas is that time away from home in these formative years heightens our sense of our own national identities. At home, being a New Zealander is not something to be considered daily. Yet abroad, our national identity is always a sense of our own personal identity, and this can manifest as a strong desire to return home and to contribute to the life of this country.

One laudable government effort is the Prime Minister’s Scholarships for Asia, awarded twice annually to encourage young Kiwis to study in Asia. However, a sizeable portion of these scholarships is spent on brief study tours of just a few weeks, where there is little time for deep connections and understandings to be formed. The length and depth of the connections we form are vitally important.

If we are to gain from the Asia Pacific century we cannot simply expect the rewards to come to us. Just as international students from around Asia make long journeys to come here to understand us, we must think carefully about the decisions we can make, both personally and nationally, to participate actively in this region, to come to understand properly its diversity and its opportunities. We should think about the individual life experiences and opportunities that will come to young New Zealanders from choosing to study overseas, as well as the longer-term benefits to New Zealand from those individual decisions to do so. The higher cost of studying overseas is an important consideration, but it can be thought about as an investment—an intelligent one at that, with critical and long-standing value to New Zealand.