BEIJING At Erligou Central Primary School, a big, multi-storey institution founded 40 years ago in the heady, early days of liberation, portraits of Marx, Lenin and Mao still have pride of place in the main entranceway.
The school's 1,200 students continue to wear the red revolutionary kerchiefs of the Young Pioneers, and down a dim hallway hangs a picture of Mao's favourite poster boy, Lei Feng, the Communist hero with the flap-eared hat who darned the socks of army colleagues and performed other selfless duties before, alas, being killed by a falling telephone pole.
But those are the only vestiges of the past that remain. In classrooms across the country, a new revolution is going on. The stultifying rote learning that has dominated Chinese education for decades is out. Student-centred learning is in. For the first time, students are being encouraged to think for themselves, to participate in class discussions, to embrace values and not just facts.
Memorizing and regurgitating information for pressure-laden exams is no longer producing the mix of skills China needs, people here have realized. There are too many technocrats, scientists and engineers. Where are the innovators, visionary entrepreneurs and socially aware planners many believe are key to continued economic progress?
"We win math Olympiads, but our students have no creative abilities," Zhao Xinlang, vice-chairman of the Chinese People's Political Consultative Conference, worried recently.
"They attend class, do their homework, but that's not a good way to educate kids for the future. We have no Nobel Prize winners." (Mr. Zhao didn't mention Gao Xingjian, winner of the 1996 Nobel Prize for literature, whose writings are banned in China.)
The change is in full swing at Erligou. A Grade 3 reading class is focusing on a chapter about China's five-starred national emblem -- the well-known gate of Tiananmen Square encircled by a sheaf of grain and a wheel of machinery. The lesson begins with old-style reading out loud in unison, and kids at the back slump in their seats, bored. Then discussion starts and the room comes alive.
The teacher, Zang Yangping, asks the students how they think that they can live up to the glory of the national logo. "I want to make the country green, with grass and trees," one eight-year-old says. "I want to run fast, to be an Olympic runner," offers another. Responds a third: "I want to put rubbish in the rubbish bins."
(However, teachers still like to have the last word. Just before class ends, Ms. Zang reminds her charges, "The national emblem stands for the national unity of farmers and workers and the revolutionary spirit of China.")
Principal Zhao Yuan, who began teaching in 1971 just as China emerged from the educational horror of the Cultural Revolution, says the school also now puts less emphasis on textbooks, homework and tests.
"Students need to open up," says Mr. Zhao, a relaxed, caring administrator. "Parents think students just need to read and study, but sometimes that is too much. . . . We want to put less emphasis on exams and more on individual evaluation."
What began as a series of pilot projects across the country has accelerated into a goal to have the new learning methods implemented nationwide well before the original target of 2010.
Yang Dongping, a savvy professor of education at the Beijing Institute of Technology, notes that Chinese universities have a higher ratio of science majors to the humanities than any other country. "Yet the humanities give us our value system. Too many engineers is not good for society."
Travel China and see the result. Towering buildings, enormous dams and modern highways have pushed through some of the most remote and scenic corners of the world. Little thought is given to social problems on the ground. It is surely no coincidence that all nine members of China's powerful standing committee of the Politburo are engineers.
"Sure, China can put a guy in space," Prof. Yang says. "That is comparatively easy. It's far more difficult to get people to brush their teeth every day and teach rural peasants to preserve water."
Veteran Beijing principal Shi Yanlun agrees. Quality, rather than churning out graduates, has become the goal at his high school. "It's nothing less than a course revolution. We are getting rid of the Soviet model in order to emphasize the all-round individual. Things like health, morals and art are just as important as results on an exam."
Grade 11 student Li Lingcong, smart as a whip with almost frightening self-assurance, couldn't be happier. "Before, we were like robots. Teachers just asked us to follow their words, read and memorize. The next day, we had to recite it back," she says. "Now, we talk about why someone wrote something. We experience the whole story. It gives everything a deeper meaning."