Berkley Center

Graffiti and hand-painted posters screaming out against governmental policies and announcing upcoming protests colored the walls and hung from the ceilings. I squeezed my way through the crowd down a packed hallway, dodging the many student groups assaulting me with flyers. After successfully finding my classroom, I plopped down in a seat, only to find a larger-than-life Che Guevara staring down at me from the wall. Fifteen minutes after class was supposed to begin I started to worry. Where was the professor? Was I in the right room? My several hundred Argentine classmates chatted animatedly amongst themselves, many still standing in the hallway, smoking a cigarette before class. A few minutes later, the professor strolled into the room, trailed by the students left in the hallway. He picked up the microphone at the front of the gymnasium-size room and promptly began his lecture on the history of political economy.

This, my first experience at the University of Buenos Aires (UBA) eight months ago, slightly intimidated me. Over the coming weeks, I discovered how drastically different UBA is from the educational system I am accustomed to in the United States. Even though I had been told that many times there are not enough chairs for students, I was still taken aback the first time I saw dozens of students sitting on the floor and even standing in the hallway to hear a lecture. Students often interrupted classes with announcements and passionately encouraged their classmates to join in an upcoming protest or sign a petition. While my professors normally waited respectfully on the side, I wiggled in my seat, a little perturbed these interruptions were cutting into my class time. I had also been told that it is not unusual for professors, who receive very small stipends and teach primarily for the prestige of the position, to not show up for class. Yet, the first time one of my professors did not come, I could not help but feel frustrated, upset I had made an hour-long commute in vain.

I did not know what to make of the quilombo, or mess, that was UBA, Argentina’s foremost university. I was baffled as to how someone could receive a good education when many classrooms do not have chalk for the chalkboard and when strikes leave classrooms locked for weeks at a time, forcing professors to hold class in the hallways or in the streets. As the months passed, my understanding of Argentine public post-secondary education grew. The largest university in Argentina and Latin America, UBA has an enrollment of over 300,000 students. There is no central campus and 13 schools spread across the city. Access to the university is free of charge for everyone, including foreigners. However, to enter any of the programs of study, students who have completed high school must pass a first year called the Common Basic Cycle. Once they have successfully finished the cycle, which consists prerequisite classes according to their program of study, students may enter their chosen school.

The differences between public post-secondary education in the United States and Argentina are notable. In the United S, public universities are generally less prestigious than private institutions and applications for entrance are judged by a rigid set of criteria. The cost of a college education is increasing at a rapid rate. According to the 2009 College Board annual report on the price of getting a college education, in-state students at public four-year colleges and universities pay on average $7,020 in tuition and fees ($8,193 including room and board) every year. In Argentina, by contrast, the best university is public, open to all, and free of charge. Because there is no tuition and entrance is open to all, UBA students vary in age, background, and every variable imaginable. The majority of students are in their twenties, but it is also not uncommon to see individuals in their thirties or forties—sometimes even fifties or sixties—in classes.

Argentine students normally work full-time in their field while they are enrolled at the university, which creates a very different culture than at American universities, where students study full-time. Also in contrast to my experience in the United States, there are no general studies requirements; students must take roughly 35 to 40 classes in their area of specialization to graduate. My classmates’ deeper understanding of their field leads to interesting discussions, as they relate their personal work experiences to the material we are covering in class. Overall, they have a thirst to learn more and are very invested in their studies. I find it very refreshing to study in an environment where class material and work experience are related in a more integrated manner.

As time passes, I also become more and more aware of my cultural assimilation. By the end of last semester, I was comfortable showing up after class was scheduled to start and was not bothered by student announcements interrupting class. In early December a strike closed down one of my school buildings for several weeks, and we held our last class and final exam in my professor’s office downtown. I was surprised to find this occurrence did not irritate me at all. Yes, it was a slight inconvenience, but we found a solution and went on with our business as usual.

Is UBA a big quilombo? Certainly. Yet, even if it does not provide its students with chairs or any semblance of organization, it does offer the best education in Argentina, free of charge, to all interested. The university has successfully produced four Nobel Prize winners, and Che Guevara, Julio Cortázar, and a long list of Argentine presidents rank among its notable alumni. So, perhaps in spite of the disorder, or perhaps because of it, UBA works in its own quirky way.