September 28, 2005
Sesame Street for Rocket Scientists
Northwestern Polytechnical University, as its name suggests, is school known primarily for engineering and physical sciences. While it’s not necessarily the Harvard of China, my impression is that it is well respected in aerospace and related fields and enjoys close ties with the military.
I teach primarily post-graduate students with impressive-sounding but unfamiliar majors such as “Materials Science” and “Fiberoptic Communications.” Given NPU’s strong reputation in these sorts of areas, I find myself in the odd position of holding bi-weekly discussions about colors and shapes with some of China’s most brilliant young scientists. I can only imagine what they write in their assignment planners: “Homework 9/25 – Design missle propulsion system, Guess the barnyard animal.”
Still, the low level of English proficiency displayed in my classroom occasionally threatens to lure me into a false feeling of superiority. This is especially true when confronted with a student who has selected to call himself “Snow Wave” or “Small New.” For some reason, I have resisted thrusting English names onto my students. Whether their proper Chinese name or a foreign name of their own invention, it’s been deeply ingrained in me that everyone has a right to be called whatever they want to be called, though I worry sometimes that I might be doing them a disservice. As I heard one of my British colleagues put it to his student, “Sorry, mate, but your name sounds like a kitchen appliance. Why don’t I call you John?”
Somehow, Katie landed a better selection of amusing English names than I did. I pulled such incomprehensible choices as “Gaould” and “Linceo,” but Katie is lucky enough to teach students like “Power King” and “Aeolis God of the Wind.” When I finally give up on telling the difference between Zhu Pengfei and Zhi Feipeng, maybe I’ll insist on christening a few Johns and Davids. When that happens, I’ll be sure and name a few after my friends back home. Bidding will start at 5 yuan per student (2 yuan for an ugly one).