As today’s graduates face exams, the impulse toward uniformity runs deep in education. Some curse it, others praise the USE for its universality and consistency. The country moves toward not only a single state examination but also a single school program for all of Russia. It will be—this is stated as a certainty—implemented. Textbooks will be the same for everyone. Variation is kept to a minimum. This becomes possible only if a basic level is provided. And it all starts this September. As usual, the discussion unfolds.
There is nothing new in the discussion. Some fear change, others welcome it. Some worry that bringing everyone to a common denominator will dull education and shrink its richness, as if today’s landscape already lacks complexity. Others are tired of schools feeling like separate universes and want at least some form of stability. Both viewpoints make sense. The point is that both sides can be accommodated. A unified program offers a solid common ground, yet it does not prevent in-depth study in any subject. The real concern is whether its execution will disappoint, as it has in the past, with delayed adoption of the combined textbooks. That remains an open question.
Let’s start with the positive side. A unified program is a necessary anchor in a diverse, dynamic society. Russia spans vast distances with people from many nations, faiths, and life outlooks living side by side. No one remains isolated for long; communities interact, and people move—often across cities, regions, or even thousands of kilometers. Some move for personal reasons, others for career. Families relocate, bringing children along.
What does this look like for students who encounter liturgy and participles in the new school while those concepts were not part of the old one? What about studying biology and chemistry there, with math still prominent in the former setting? In such a transition, a child cannot master everything in 2–3 months. The gap grows as new material appears faster than it can be absorbed. Families with means may hire tutors, but that adds to the burden. The workload rises and health can suffer.
Today there are many such inconsistencies between programs across schools. Even among parallel classes within the same school, differences persist. These discrepancies often seem superficial rather than meaningful, not a matter of deep or shallow content, good or bad options. Everything appears simpler and, in many cases, absurdly so.
In one example, a school bought two fifth‑grade textbooks in a single year and then published three different fourth‑grade texts. They aimed to provide the same textbooks for the new team from the previous year, but those volumes were discontinued and replacements had to be found. Different textbooks mean different programs. It is hard to explain how a two‑year plan cannot accommodate a larger parallel quota. Yet it is a recurring reality.
Across the country, with a wide range of programs, academic tracks, and profiles, the level of core subjects remains roughly consistent everywhere, aside from private math or language academies. This begs a question: why fence the garden at all?
Regarding profiles, questions abound. Why do comprehensive schools need these distinctions in the fifth grade between humanities and mathematicians? At best it can feel anecdotal. If a student does not learn the multiplication table, they are labeled a humanist; if they struggle with reading in syllables, they may be deemed a technician. In truth, those who resist mathematics often lag in literature and science. Specialization too early can erode universal harmony rather than strengthen it.
Fortunately, the risk of deep learning gaps in regular district schools is not as severe as it might seem. Many gaps are perceived more in reports than in practice. It can appear beautiful on paper, yet real life remains more forgiving.
What if, in practice, variability breeds chaos rather than highlighting individual strengths, and differentiation in education stalls? In a structured framework, no one stops a student from pursuing personal development. School forms the foundation, and beyond that, possibilities abound. Anyone can read books outside the curriculum, try experiments at home with a budding scientist, or pass on needlework or crafts to the next generation. Grandparents can share their skills in woodcarving, and families can support varied ambitions without constraint.
Does this sound expensive or impractical? Many families work hard, and grandparents contribute too. Yet there is also abundant informal education: painting, music, sports, community centers, and youth programs. There are numerous clubs in ordinary schools—from art studios to dance and football—where children can explore interests and grow without sacrificing core studies. The choice is broad—opt in and improve what you want.
Why insist that every path must be two extra math classes or additional biology? Why imply that genuine development happens only when a student sits at a desk and works from a textbook? Engaging activities like sewing, drawing, or participating in an amateur theater can captivate a child just as deeply. When the learning is more engaging, new material is easier to grasp and remember.
The additional training system, which works well in Russia, proves useful for those who push back against merging and syncing. With options outside the traditional classroom, a balanced approach remains possible. Yet the core cannot be abandoned, and personal choice can be blended with standard requirements.
In the end, the author’s view reflects a personal stance that may not align with the editors’ position, and this is acknowledged as part of a broader dialogue.