Around the world, since the 90s, things like this were allowed to be brought in for testing.

 

I transferred to a school in Canada, and a math test arrived. I was all fired up to start calculating when something utterly unexpected happened. Looking around, everyone pulled rectangular boxes resembling chocolate bars from their bags.

What was that? It was a shape I hadn't seen before. Everyone opened the lids, and lo and behold, they were calculators. Not just simple ones either—they could handle functions and even calculus. Wait, everyone, this is a test! Calculators aren't allowed, right? But no one seemed to care. They just clicked away on their calculators, writing answers on the answer sheet.

I even felt like I was the odd one out for not having one. I couldn't believe it. How could you even say you understood math like that? It stung a bit, especially since I was prone to calculation errors. I'd never even owned a calculator. I managed to get through the test by calculating everything myself, but I couldn't shake the feeling that everyone else was cheating.

As if sensing this, the teacher spoke to me. "I understand what you're thinking, but at this grade level, we're looking at whether you truly understand the mathematical structure behind this topic and know how to solve problems based on that understanding. It's not about whether you know the formulas. See, sometimes they're written at the top of the problem, right? What matters is understanding how to use them and what you can achieve by using them."

I see. That's true. So that's another way to look at it. It was so different from what I was used to that I was confused, but I got myself a calculator right away. Little did I know then that this would lead to tremendous trouble the next time I transferred to a Japanese school.

Looking back, different schools had all sorts of slightly unusual test rules.

For instance, another shock at Canadian schools was encountering exams consisting entirely of multiple-choice questions. At first, this also felt a bit like being taken for a fool. Things you know, you know without needing hints, and guessing answers felt somehow uncool. Multiple-choice in math! I'd never seen it before. What about showing work? Oh, everyone uses calculators here.

But come English or French class, I was actually quite happy about multiple choice. For subjects I struggled with, since I didn't understand anyway, multiple choice meant I might still luck out and pick the right answer. If I could just get the general direction, I felt like I could somehow arrive at a plausible-sounding answer.

Oh, so this system is meant to help those who struggle. I felt a tiny bit of kindness. But among the choices, there were options like "all are wrong" or "all are correct," which were tricky traps.

In Russian schools, the questions differed depending on which row you sat in. Why? I think it was to prevent cheating. Since you sit at one long desk, you could easily peek at your neighbor's answers. Especially if the top student was next to a troublemaker, the idea to cheat would come immediately. Dividing the questions by row solved this problem easily. Because even if you could see your neighbor's answers, it wouldn't matter. Everyone has to work hard on their own. They often split problems between odd-numbered and even-numbered rows.

For math, they'd give the same level of calculation problems using different numbers. You solve the problems for the row you're seated in. Wouldn't that make grading unfair? Well, in Japan, you might feel it makes sense to give everyone the same problems and then compare their abilities, but in Russia, that's not the case at all. If you truly understand the concept, changing the numbers shouldn't make you unable to solve the problem.

My parents told me that in college, they sometimes drew problems like a lottery, so everyone solved different ones. Sure, there might be some luck involved, but if you studied properly, "luck" didn't matter. The top students seemed to believe that.

I don't recall American elementary schools ever having everyone sit down together for a "Ready, set, go!" test. Sure, there were times when problems were presented for everyone to solve, but it felt more like a "pop quiz" or "practice problems" than what Japan calls a "test."

The way they were given was casual, and the paper didn't feel formal or like a test. You could redo them multiple times, and there wasn't much of a feeling of "can't do it" or "don't understand." Everyone could do it in the end, reach the correct answer. It felt strangely mysterious. I'd doubt every time, "This is a test, right?"

So how do they grade us? I wondered the same thing at first. But the teacher really does observe everyone. They know exactly what each student is capable of.

Come to think of it, it felt similar in British schools. Since one table was one team, everyone worked together to find one answer in the end (※For details, see #03 "Seating Systems in Elementary Schools Across 5 Countries. They Were Actually All Different." ). So, you didn't get that feeling of being called on, not knowing the answer, and panicking. You also didn't risk embarrassing yourself in front of everyone. Even with subjects you're not good at, you can relax and give it your best shot. Before you know it, that sense of being bad at it fades a little. That might be part of the growth too. Here too, the teacher is carefully watching each student's abilities and their contributions within the team.

Tests had various formats and characteristics, but I recall the defining feature was that almost none required rote memorization. Calculators and dictionaries were often permitted, and some tests even allowed bringing textbooks. This is because the answers sought weren't found in textbooks or dictionaries, nor were they something a calculator could know.

Thinking about it this way, what is the purpose of tests? What are they meant to measure? How should children and students be evaluated? Pondering these questions is truly fascinating.