The End

Better to write about the last day of school a week later, here in Ushuaia, Argentina -- the end of the world. Better to let the experience digest with the grilled short ribs and marbled beef that I've been gorging on in Argentina and to wash it down with some Mendoza red.
I met with the rector of the university, some of her aides and my direct boss, the uniquely competent director of the faculty of communications there, in an awkwardly diplomatic debriefing session. A PR flack from the university shot photos as they handed me a plaque, some UPSA pens and a mug, and thanked me for my experience. I thanked them for the opportunity of shaping (corrupting) young minds.
The PR flack then followed me to what turned out to be my last class. It was the younger first-year students who had sportingly thrown me a party a few days earlier even though I had failed a good portion of them on their midterms for not handing in a single assignment.
To the flack's embarrassment, one student was waiting for me outside the classroom with teary eyes. I had emailed her the previous night to let her know that I realized that she had plagiarized her final assignment and would likely fail the course.
In the hallway outside she denied she had committed the academic crime even after I had shown her the identical copy of the article she handed in from a Web site.
"Did they plagiarize you?" I asked.
She then asked why I had failed her the prior marking period. I responded that she hadn´t handed in a single assignment.
"You didn´t tell us those counted for our grades," she cried. The entire class was silent inside, listening to the outbrust.
I told her that I had said so about a dozen times. I suggested that she should have come to class on time once in awhile.
She stormed off.
The remaining students handed me a signed Santa Cruz flag and hugged me goodbye.
I went to my office to say goodbye to my secretary, my boss and others who had helped through the semester.
Two of my students from my evening class were there. They asked if we had class that night. I said I had hoped to say goodbye. They said they were busy with finals. I had lost them a week before when I failed a popular student for plagiarizing two major assignments. They cancelled my goodbye party and stopped showing up to class. This was their way of getting me back. I cancelled the last class and wished them both well.
I will resist drawing sweeping conclusions about the state of Bolivian higher education, a culture of corruption and victimhood, and the engraned sense of entitlement of the white elite who made up my students at La UPSA.
Instead, I will say that it was indeed rewarding to push my students and have them push me back.

Not sure how to continue with this blog now that our time in Bolivia is over. Check back every once in awhile, if you want, and I will at least post a definitive last post.

Jewdar

A student at La UPSA (where I teach) a few months back was directing me to a bookstore downtown.
"It's called Levy Libros," he said (in Spanish). He then paused for a second and said, "The owner is a Jew."
I spent the last couple of months wondering about this Jew of Santa Cruz. What brought him there? Is he religious? Where does he come from? Is he the only one (other than me)? I figured so, since it is so well-known that he is a Jew. If there were lots of Jews in Santa Cruz, I imagine it wouldn't be news. (It's kind of like the gay couple who run a bar we go to frequently, Lorca Cafe. My students all wanted to do stories on the "tipos gay" --gay guys-- from Lorca as if they were some sort of rare discovery. They were incredulous when I told them that at least one of their classmates is gay, statistically speaking.)
With two days left before we leave Santa Cruz, I experienced a nice bookend moment. I was meeting with a student activities coordinator about starting a student magazine. A man knocked at the door who looked like people I know back home. Gray curly hair, a moustache, thin, glasses, light skin. I knew deep down that I had found the Jew of Santa Cruz.
But I didn't think it was appropriate to ask him if I was right. He talked to the professor about a book fair, left a business card and walked out. While the professor answered the phone, I picked up the card and confirmed my suspicions. That I had just been in the same room as Peter Levy, the Jew of Santa Cruz.