Einblick in Russlands Berufsbildungssektor
Inside Russia's beleaguered vocational education sector
Changes in funding make vocational education Russia's Cinderella
sector.
Each year for the last four years, students at Russia's
technical and vocational colleges - builders, mill operators, carpenters,
cabinet makers, not to mention florists, beauticians, cooks and apprentices in
other trades and occupations – have gathered in various cities in Russia. They
are contestants in the WorldSkills Russia national competition, which was
established to raise the status of vocational secondary education. The winners
travel to the international WorldSkills final, where they will compete with
students from other countries.
"Promoting blue collar sector occupations
isn't a bad idea," says Sergey Yenikolopov, head of the Russian Academy of
Sciences' Sociology of Education laboratory. "But it's unlikely to revive their
reputation — the status of vocational education in Russia has fallen
irreversibly in the past 20 years. There's an enormous gap between status and
reality — status, after all, is about how highly this education is valued by
society. But if a system loses this status, even pouring cash into the sector
won't put things right. We need to look at it another way, and show that a given
trade or occupation is essential to our economy. Who's going to respond nowadays
to a call to become a mill operator, a machinist or a nurse? Nobody! Most of
these occupations are just not attractive to school leavers."
According
to a report by Russia's Higher School of Economics, young people's interest in
vocational education is dropping significantly. In the year 2000, 115 out of
every 10,000 students were studying for clerical qualifications, but by 2013
this figure had fallen to 50. The number of students studying for other
middle-level qualifications is also dropping, from 161 per 10,000 in 2000 to 144
in 2015. These students attend a variety of vocational and technical secondary
schools and colleges, and the system has undergone considerable change in the
last decade, but not always for the better.
The loss of prestige
Russia's vocational secondary education system has generally retained some
elements of its Soviet predecessor. It comprises two types of institutions: the
so called training programme for skilled workers and clerical staff (lasting two
and a half years), until 2013 known as the basic vocational skills course, and
the middle-level programme, or secondary skills course (lasting three years ten
months or more).
Three years ago, it was decided to merge these two
streams. The lower level course, traditionally taught at vocational-technical
schools, trained carpenters, cabinet makers, cooks and nurses, often in
institutions dating from pre-revolutionary times. The middle level course was
taught at technical colleges and trained future foremen and -women and skilled
workers who would go on to lead teams of workers. This part of the system also
included colleges for the creative arts, educating budding musicians, actors and
artists.
According to Sergei Yenikolopov, these colleges did not
generally enjoy very high status, but some of them were renowned and highly
attractive to potential students: "A cabinet maker who had graduated from one of
these knew his work would be distinctive and highly sought after. Many technical
colleges had such a high reputation that their graduates would be snapped up by
employers. But then there were all these mergers and changes in colleges' names
and missions. So it's difficult to talk about status now."
Vocational-technical schools and technical secondary schools began to lose
their reputations in the 1980s, as factories started to close and there was no
money to train a highly skilled workforce. The very names became a kind of
insult, so by 2000 they all adopted the English term "college". Then they were
merged with stronger institutions, as were schools and universities.
Olga Druzhninina, a teacher at Moscow's College of Architecture and Management
No. 17, says that the merger of colleges and
technical schools into one system has just added to the confusion. "I graduated
from the first technical school in the USSR to train architects," Olga tells me.
"And for a while it was the only one. It had its own areas of excellence, its
own history."
"But now it's just College No. 17. As soon as it changed name and was merged
with other, weaker establishments, it lost its reputation and had to earn it all
over again – to prove it was still as good. It spent some time doing this, and
if there are new mergers, it will have to go through the process again. And
merging a new college with an old one that had its own traditions and a strong
teaching team is not going to improve matters."
And is there work to go to afterwards?
After all the mergers, the range of courses offered by Russian colleges has
been stretched to the limit — you can find architects and car mechanics training
in the same institution.
On the one hand, in Russia's big cities this
situation has been dictated by the need to cover every specialist area, to avoid
students having to travel. On the other, this approach reflects the demands of
the market and funding issues — the need to teach everything together at the
same institution is designed to cut costs.
In addition, Moscow colleges
have stopped offering free places to students from outside the city (they have
to enrol in the fee-paying department), so many parents of potential students
from the wider Moscow region find themselves asking whether it's worth it. Fees
for a college can be higher than those for a university. At Moscow's
International College of Arts and Communications, for example, the annual
tuition fee is 140,000 roubles (£1730), and a year at
the Carl Fabergé College of Decorative and Applied Arts will set you back
126,000 roubles (£1560).
So the status of
today's technical schools and colleges is heavily dependent on how easily their
graduates will find jobs afterwards. But the problem here is that it is
practically impossible to monitor their career paths — young people are no
longer assigned jobs by their schools and colleges, as was the case in Soviet
times, and have to find them for themselves. Some colleges make an exception as
part of a town or city's social policy, when they have agreements with local
firms to help graduates into work.
For Yenikolopov, this policy has both
pros and cons: "In the Soviet era, almost 98 percent of technical school
graduates found work within their chosen field — there were as many jobs
available as people to fill them. And some would go on to study at university.
Of course there was another identified administrative issue at the time, the war
against "parasitism", so everyone had to work. But now everything is much freer,
so if I want to send my child to a college or technical school, I need to find
out whether its graduates find work easily in their chosen field. And you need
to put a lot of effort into explaining to people that these are important
occupations."
Druzhninina tells me that even if a college can't find
work for a successful student, it will try to send him or her on an internship
or work experience placement: "I don't even know where they find jobs. They used
to get work in design studios and colleges, or with property developers, but the
present crisis has made all this more difficult. The market has collapsed, and
everything connected to construction and project development along with it."
"So more and more students are going on to further study at university, or
they just find work in the retail sector. After all, it's not just young people
who have trouble finding work now. Middle-aged people are also in the job
market, and new graduates can't compete with experienced skilled workers. We
always aim to give them the best training we can - but we can’t tell what will
happen afterwards."
Teachers are also feeling the pinch
It's not just college students who are financially insecure, but their
teachers as well.
Teachers' salaries at secondary level vary according to
where in Russia they live, as they are dependent on municipal and regional
subsidy programmes. According to the Trud.com website, which monitors the labour
market in Russia, the average monthly salary across the regions in this sector
is a mere 12,500 roubles, only 40 percent of the national average.
Teachers who work in the far north, places like Magadan, Kamchatka or the
Nenets Autonomous Region, are entitled to a hardship supplement and earn about
30,000 roubles a month — the same as those in the Moscow region. But in the
capital itself, 45,000 to 50,000 roubles is considered a good salary, and only
experienced senior teaching staff earn any more than that, So if you don’t have
that track record, your salary can be miserly even in Moscow.
Konstantin
Kharitonov is a qualified history teacher who worked for two years in a Moscow
business college, where he earned 16,500 roubles a month — practically the
minimum wage.
"In my first year I got an incentive bonus, and there were
extra payments on national Teachers' Day and 23 February, Defender of the
Fatherland Day," he tells me. "But last year the college budget was cut, so
after tax my monthly income was just 16,500 roubles. The way the system works is
that you get points added for various things – professional development courses,
a Doctorate, publications.
"You can also earn more for entering your
students for competitions – maths, say, or chess, or organising events. If you
come straight from university, you get a 10,000 rouble increment, which isn't so
bad. But with my low salary I needed a second job, as I couldn't even afford the
rent for a room in a communal flat. And with two jobs, I had no time to organise
competitions or write any articles."
According to Kharitonov, however,
teachers have been understanding about salary cuts: "In September, when we were
paid less than usual, everyone was really cross. But since then we've just got
used to the idea: there's no money, and that's that. But the other problem is
that teachers don't understand why their salaries are being cut. When we
discussed the question of funding and the existence of free and fee-paying
student places at a departmental meeting, we were told that there might not be
any free education in the future, and, accordingly, no state funding for either
student group."
"We all welcomed this news – great, there'll be more
money because all the students will be paying fees! But that wasn't the idea at
all: the government is renouncing all further responsibility for the funding of
state education, and college heads have to attract students (and therefore
funding) for themselves."
The funding cuts are having a direct effect on
the work of schools and colleges and the quality of their teaching – teachers
just won’t work for a miserly salary. Kharitonov's bosses, for example,
regularly asked him to take classes in subjects outside his field. He had to
teach philosophy, Russian cultural history and the basics of teaching creative
subjects, although he admits to knowing nothing about this: "I'm trained as a
teacher. The creative arts are totally outside my area of knowledge. I was told
that we had to teach them, and there was no one else who could do it, although
they knew full well I hadn't a clue." In the end, Kharitonov was offered another
job and left the college.
"Vocational college staff have the same
problems as school teachers", says Olga Miryasova, the General Secretary of the
"Teacher" trade union. "These are all connected with the reform of our education
system and the introduction of per capita funding. Schools and colleges are now
funded on the basis of student numbers and can spend that funding as they wish.
But the problem is that in a given town or city there may be two colleges
standing side by side with completely different salary levels and staff terms
and conditions, as so much is now down to individual college
management."
Miryasova explains that teachers' salaries are now heavily
dependent on incentive bonus schemes, so that there can be a large differential
between earnings within a college, which naturally lead to a lot of resentment:
"In teaching there's always controversy over what to reward staff for, because
it's difficult to use formal criteria. If you have a classful of weak students,
there's no chance of them winning a competition in your first year. But if you
work with them for five years and raise their standards, the chances are they
might then be given a different teacher, who immediately starts getting
incentive bonuses, while you're back with a new group of poor students. And you
have no comeback whatsoever!"
All the surveys of expert opinion concur
that employment rights are now almost non-existent, and teachers have stopped
fighting for them – the only fight these days is a free-for-all for teaching
hours, with every person for themselves.
Kharitonov recalls how at his
college, his work was monitored by another teacher who was desperate to take
over some of his hours the next year: "She had the same level job as me, but she
was constantly buttonholing my students and asking what I'd been teaching them,
how well they had absorbed the material and how well I taught it. She was doing
this ridiculous monitoring exercise off her own bat, hoping she'd be given my
teaching hours: she even told the students that she would do all in her power to
prevent me teaching them the following year. And the staff were very unwelcoming
to new colleagues, including young ones, because there weren't many hours to go
around and everybody wanted more."
Some want to learn, some don't
Despite the shortcomings of Russia's vocational secondary education system,
it can accommodate students with both nine or 11 years of school behind them
(for example both 16 and 18 year olds). Some of those who leave after nine
years are just tired of sitting at school preparing for the National State
Examination — those last two years are torture for some teens.
According
to architecture teacher Olga Druzhinina, all the myths about school leavers' low
levels of education are untrue: "The young people who leave school at 16 aren't
necessarily weak students. There are many different reasons for it: some are
just fed up with school and want to begin their independent adult lives, and
these include quite good students who are bored by school."
"And
colleges also attract people who want to learn a practical skill and start
earning, taking part in the economic life of our country. Others might have been
excluded from school. And since entrance exams are now very rare, you also get
students with no particular qualifications or interests, who just want somewhere
to hang about for a while."
Kharitonov also believes that student
educational levels vary enormously: "In the audiovisual technology department,
where I worked, the students were mainly training as recording engineers,
screenwriters and designers, and most of them were bright kids, interested in
the course. In another department, catering for future bookkeepers, travel reps
and bank clerks, the students' achievement levels were totally inadequate. None
of them had the faintest idea of what happened in 1917, what the Warsaw Pact was
and the causes of the First World War. None of this meant anything to them, but
of course they were still given good grades."
A Russian language teacher
at a Moscow school told me anonymously that many young people going to colleges
also came from orphanages: "Very few of our students go on to vocational
colleges, and those that do are mainly from children's homes or fostered
children. Children's homes are keen to see their wards getting a occupational
qualification and starting work – you could say they force them to go to a
college. The rest of our students usually go on to better schools attached to
universities, to prepare to continue their education at a specific
University."
According to Druzhninina, colleges are also popular among
young people from poor families: "Students today get free lunches and grants.
For some less well off families these benefits, along with concessionary fares
on public transport, are one of the main attractions, and the free canteen lunch
is their only proper meal of the day. I've seen students coming to college just
for lunch."
Quelle: OpenDemocracy Russia – oDR Russia and beyond, opendemocracy.net, 16.11.2016