When I persuaded Bob in February to interrupt his gaokao prep to talk with me, he was five months into what had become a daily routine. He rises before dawn to be at school by 7:30 a.m., six days a week. After school lets out at 5 p.m.--3:30 p.m. on Saturdays--he studies at least five hours more. "Last summer, we did karaoke. Last November, we went to seeHarry Potter 7," he tells me. "The next time we really hang out will be after the exam. The pressure has gotten higher and higher."
Later, perhaps sensing that this is not typical teenage life elsewhere--even for nerds--he turns defensive. "Grades are really important, but they don't mean everything," he says. "We develop our own interests and enjoy ourselves in our daily lives." He offers no details.Look, I understand the purpose of these tests. They are designed to fill the ranks of the bureaucracy. But they are horrible at finding the next generation of business and political leaders. This kind of rote uniformity is useful for a mid-level government official, but not for any other kind of leader. It is good for an economy that is expanding by producing things designed by others-but not for designing those goods.
It is also devoid of joy. Now, I would be the first to jump up and say that there is joy in learning. That joy, however, comes because of genuine interest in a subject, which leads to someone choosing to learn about it.
If China wants to become a global economic leader, they must generate new ideas and new products. And that inventive spirit does not come from a bureaucracy.
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