četvrtak, 03.05.2007.

High-level pogled na Bolonjski proces iz današnjeg Economist-a

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EUROPE wants to be competitive, but it's not ready to accept competition, notes Esko Aho, a former Finnish prime minister and European Commission adviser on reform. And if you wanted to examine parts of European life that yearn to be world class, but are determined to hold out against market forces and the laws of competition, the continent's universities would be a good place to start. They are cherished national champions, often funded and usually controlled by the state, and sometimes crammed with political appointees. In much of “old Europe”, universities give a valuable product—degrees—away more or less for free. That is a pretty effective way of avoiding consumer pressure. They are further shielded from competition by such things as tradition, national pride and language.

In the realm of private business, the EU has fostered competition in markets for capital and goods. The European Commission works hard at busting cartels, and tries (sometimes successfully) to stop governments bailing out no-hopers with taxpayers' money. Yet the EU (quite properly) has no powers to regulate education policy. Alas, in much of Europe, that means subsidies, micro-management and legally backed monopolies that govern the way universities are run. Small wonder that many famous names are shadows of their former selves.

Unleashing universities' “full potential”, and “mobilising the brainpower of Europe” are at the heart of the commission's plans to create a knowledge-based European economy. And change is indeed coming—but by accident. The trigger is a modest but worthy scheme called the Bologna process, which is designed to make it easier to compare courses between countries, and to move between them. So a Belgian student who spends a year in, say, France, gets a credit that means something at his home university. A university selecting candidates for an over-subscribed course will know how to rank a French student brandishing an “Assez Bien”, an Englishman with a “2:2” degree and a Spaniard with a “Sobresaliente”.* That doesn't sound very ideological. But the debates it has sparked certainly are. Europeans do not think the same way about higher education. As soon as you make the differences more visible, the rowing starts.

In Sweden, for example, academics are squabbling over calls to match their marking schemes with standardised Euro-grades, from A (excellent) to F for Fail. Students risk psychological harm, they fret, if visibly labelled successes and failures. Much better to stick with a two-level system of pass and fail, or (if you will insist on such elitism) one extra level of “pass with distinction” for the top quartile. Jacob Christensen, a political scientist at a Swedish university, Umea, suggested recently that Swedes “are expected to descend into deep psychological disorder as soon as they encounter disappointments in everyday life”.

In England, ministers and university bosses complain that the Bologna rules draw too deeply on continental ideas of student achievement, measured in terms of hours spent in seminars and lecture theatres. Forget hours of work, English dons insist: the world holds both quick learners and plodders. What matters is what a student has learned. They would say that, other Europeans retort; they decry Britain's one-year taught masters' degrees as lightweight. The truth is that they are highly competitive (and attract lucrative students from overseas). Britain fears they may be threatened by the Bologna guidelines.

The Bologna process has no legal force behind it; but it is still forcing big changes. A voluntary agreement among governments, it extends far beyond the European Union with 45 signatory nations, from Norway to Azerbaijan. Self-interest explains much of its impact. Bologna has prompted a mass tidying-up of the tangle of different degrees awarded in different European countries. The main effect will be to ditch the continental style of first degree, which typically takes five or six years: expensive (for the taxpayer) and wastefully languid (for the student). Given that most governments in “old Europe” are terrified of introducing fees, shorter degrees offer the next best way of saving money.

Adopting the familiar international system of an education in three chunks—a standard three- or four-year bachelor's degree, a master's for the ambitious, and a PhD for real brainboxes—should also make Europe's universities less baffling (and more attractive) to foreigners.

Change is still hard. Greece's government recently abandoned plans to legalise private universities, after three months of protests. In France, selective entrance exams for public universities remain a taboo (unlike the fabulously exclusive grandes écoles). In Finland, Karl-Erik Michelsen of Lappeenranta University complains of a “big social-democratic project to create a massive number of people with master's degrees.” The result, he says, is that “quantity overrides quality.”
Blinking in a bright light

But do not underestimate the power of transparency. Once students can compare their courses more easily with those offered abroad, they may start to question their degree's value. Even if for many the formal price is zero, students are still paying with their own time, deferring earnings and incurring living costs.

The more hidebound European universities must be wondering what on earth they have started. Self-interest has prodded them to think about students as customers: both wealthy foreign ones, and bright locals tempted to finish their studies overseas. Governments have realised they could save money if their universities made students study a bit more briskly, gaining degrees and entering the workforce earlier. Universities are beginning to compete for the brightest and best European exchange students too. But that's the problem with trying to become competitive. Before you know it, you may find yourself having to compete

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