Chinese uni-bound kids ace my mock interviews
July 23, 2012, Monday
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Print Edition
Print Edition
IT'S a hot weekend in July and I'm helping out at a summer camp for Chinese teenagers who want to go to British universities. Most of the students are so clever that I begin to wonder why they are even bothering to apply to university at all.
"The state Europe's in at the moment, you could be running the show by the time you're 18," I think.
"While everyone else is sitting around watching 'Neighbors' (soap opera) with a hangover, just go straight to Brussels and save yourself the tuition fees."
The day involves mock interviews so that the students feel ready when they face the real thing in the autumn.
Achilles heel
While their carefully prepared answers are hard to fault, I soon realize their Achilles heel: British geography.
They simply don't know where anything is, let alone the venerated institutions they are applying to. "I suppose it's not surprising," I think. "It's not as if your average 16-year-old Mancunian knows where Chongqing is, and it's three times the size of our capital."
One angelic-faced student named Puma tells me she is applying to "Drew."
"Hmm, I'm not familiar with that one," I say, puzzled. Most universities the students are applying to are quite famous. "Drew. Where's Drew?"
"Drew," She says. "You know, like Prince William."
"Oh, St Andrews?" I am struggling to keep a straight face. "Puma, do you know where St Andrews is?"
She shakes her head nonchalantly. "London?"
"No, I mean which country is it in?"
As the day progresses, I get bored repeating the same patter and start to think up increasingly mean questions. I fancy myself as a benevolently harsh interviewer, probing scythe-like through their thought processes to root out the gaps in knowledge before they have to do it for real.
One economics student named Vincent has such a devastatingly brilliant personal statement that I think he must have made it up. I decide to see how far I can push him.
"What do you think is the most important economic issue facing China today?" I ask. "Take that," I think. "Interviewer one, Vincent nil."
"Slowing GDP, falling investment, weak domestic consumption and poor exports."
"Huh," I say. "What is the current Chinese interest rate, inflation rate and growth target?" Inside my head I am smirking. "He'll never know all that," I think confidently, as Vincent reels off a perfect set of numbers.
"Do you advocate a Keynesian or an austerity-based solution to the European financial crisis?" I ask, exasperated. "And why. And how would you do it. And why."
"Well, actually I think that's more of a question for you, being British and everything," He smiles sweetly. "But really your premise is flawed, I mean, how can a Keynesian stimulus ever work across a 17-nation bloc?"
After the day's last interview, however, I worry I may have gone too far. A shy 16-year-old responds meekly to my questions. After she leaves without a word, I feel bad. I catch her and offer some sisterly reassurance.
"Really, you were great. You're going to be fine," I say.
"Is that what British university interviews are really like?" she asks me softly. I imagine she's on the verge of tears, reassessing her future. "You're a horrible person," I tell myself. "Destroying kids' confidence like that. Christ, it's not even their first language."
"Yes, that is what the interviews are like," I say, "but don't worry, you still have lots of time to prepare."
"Great!" she shouts, high-fiving her friend behind her. "I thought you were going to ask much harder questions than that," she explains, turning back to me. "This is going to be easy."
"The state Europe's in at the moment, you could be running the show by the time you're 18," I think.
"While everyone else is sitting around watching 'Neighbors' (soap opera) with a hangover, just go straight to Brussels and save yourself the tuition fees."
The day involves mock interviews so that the students feel ready when they face the real thing in the autumn.
Achilles heel
While their carefully prepared answers are hard to fault, I soon realize their Achilles heel: British geography.
They simply don't know where anything is, let alone the venerated institutions they are applying to. "I suppose it's not surprising," I think. "It's not as if your average 16-year-old Mancunian knows where Chongqing is, and it's three times the size of our capital."
One angelic-faced student named Puma tells me she is applying to "Drew."
"Hmm, I'm not familiar with that one," I say, puzzled. Most universities the students are applying to are quite famous. "Drew. Where's Drew?"
"Drew," She says. "You know, like Prince William."
"Oh, St Andrews?" I am struggling to keep a straight face. "Puma, do you know where St Andrews is?"
She shakes her head nonchalantly. "London?"
"No, I mean which country is it in?"
As the day progresses, I get bored repeating the same patter and start to think up increasingly mean questions. I fancy myself as a benevolently harsh interviewer, probing scythe-like through their thought processes to root out the gaps in knowledge before they have to do it for real.
One economics student named Vincent has such a devastatingly brilliant personal statement that I think he must have made it up. I decide to see how far I can push him.
"What do you think is the most important economic issue facing China today?" I ask. "Take that," I think. "Interviewer one, Vincent nil."
"Slowing GDP, falling investment, weak domestic consumption and poor exports."
"Huh," I say. "What is the current Chinese interest rate, inflation rate and growth target?" Inside my head I am smirking. "He'll never know all that," I think confidently, as Vincent reels off a perfect set of numbers.
"Do you advocate a Keynesian or an austerity-based solution to the European financial crisis?" I ask, exasperated. "And why. And how would you do it. And why."
"Well, actually I think that's more of a question for you, being British and everything," He smiles sweetly. "But really your premise is flawed, I mean, how can a Keynesian stimulus ever work across a 17-nation bloc?"
After the day's last interview, however, I worry I may have gone too far. A shy 16-year-old responds meekly to my questions. After she leaves without a word, I feel bad. I catch her and offer some sisterly reassurance.
"Really, you were great. You're going to be fine," I say.
"Is that what British university interviews are really like?" she asks me softly. I imagine she's on the verge of tears, reassessing her future. "You're a horrible person," I tell myself. "Destroying kids' confidence like that. Christ, it's not even their first language."
"Yes, that is what the interviews are like," I say, "but don't worry, you still have lots of time to prepare."
"Great!" she shouts, high-fiving her friend behind her. "I thought you were going to ask much harder questions than that," she explains, turning back to me. "This is going to be easy."
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