In the summer of 1986, Elsov and his students programmed together.
Elektronika B3-34 programmable calculator.
"Konchki: The Way to Earth" serial.
"The SOVIETS MISSED THE DIGITAL AGE" IS A STEREOTYPE FOR MANY PEOPLE. In the 1980s, when computers and communication networks made a leap forward in the West, turning from scientific tools into everyday objects and fueling the Third Industrial Revolution, the Soviet Union was gradually thrown away. Tetris became a best-selling game program, but the country that invented it lacked a presence in the computer field.
This is not the whole truth. Although the Soviet Union failed to build the Internet, provided people with cheap personal computers, and the country passed by the information revolution, it did try to bring teenagers into the digital age. Unlike the West, the Soviets did not have ibms, fairies, and Xerox, and replaced them with puzzle-riddle novels and programmable calculators.
A compulsory course sparked international controversy
In September 1985, ninth grade (junior high school) students in the SOVIET Union began to be exposed to a new compulsory subject: informatics and fundamentals of computer technology. The course aims to make programming, like arithmetic and Russian, an essential skill commonly mastered by adolescents throughout the Soviet Union. To achieve this goal, the Soviet government prepared textbooks distributed in 15 national languages, planned to train about 100,000 teachers, and provided 1 million computers to more than 60,000 secondary schools in the various republics.
Such a grand blueprint seems far from reality— factories can't produce as many computers at once, the pace of printing and distributing textbooks is uneven, and many teachers are never even fully trained.
Internationally, the Soviet Initiative sparked a debate among computer experts in various countries over the definition of "computer knowledge." Edward Fredkin, an American computer scientist and entrepreneur, a professor at the Massachusetts Institute of Technology, and one of the pioneers in the field of artificial intelligence, argues that computer knowledge means application, not code. He told his Soviet counterparts:
"Computer literacy doesn't mean how to program. It's not about telling you how computers work... True computer literacy means having the skills to use advanced applications, such as word processing and spreadsheet systems. ”
Soviet computer scientist Andrei Elsov responded humorously that Fredkin was denying the professional dignity of programmers. "Coding and typing are not mutually exclusive." Elsov said. As a promoter of computer education in the Soviet Union, Elsov regarded computer knowledge as a set of knowledge habits, calling it "algorithmic thinking".
Elsov studied under the mathematician Alexei Liapnov, a pioneer of Soviet computer science and one of the founders of cybernetics, a science that studied the general laws of control and communication in machines, life, and society. From his teachers, Elsov learned to think from a cybernetic point of view and tried to make connections between technology and society. He believes that algorithms are a form of communication between humans and machines.
Ersov did not refuse to absorb Western scientific research. As early as 1958, he interacted with other Soviet computer experts and American counterparts, and had in-depth communication with Alan Paley, a pioneer computer and the first Turing Award winner. In the early 1970s, Elsov visited the Massachusetts Institute of Technology to experience computer education practices in the United States.
Still, Mr. Ersov and others believed that the Soviet Union should follow its own path of informatization. At the heart of this view was that the Soviets should rely less on machines and develop more skills and habits of thinking among their citizens. By learning to program, students are better able to engage in abstract reasoning and develop a goal-oriented problem-solving mindset.
Of course, scientists are well aware that computer courses can only be rolled out nationwide if they win the broadest possible support. They tirelessly preach to government officials, educators, parents and children, and even the international community that computers should be treated like literacy and that programming should be a "second literacy." In the autumn of 1985, as part of a series of reforms introduced by Gorbachev after he came to power, the informatics curriculum was officially rolled out throughout the Soviet Union.
The Soviet Union at the time was plagued by a lack of supplies, which meant that most students had to take classes without computers and had no place to actually test the new skills they had acquired. Reformers don't think about it. Instead, the textbook encourages students to write the program on paper and engage in imaginative exercises. For example, students take turns playing a robot named dezhurik (the name comes from the Russian word dezhurnyi, "day student"), responsible for "executing" instructions such as "close the window" or "wipe the chalkboard." Students in Khabarovsk, in the Far East, complained about inadequate teaching equipment, and Elsov wrote back encouraging them to actively write code, stressing that young people still have the opportunity to "catch the train and go to the future.".
Elsov disagreed with relaxing the evaluation criteria because of the rudimentary conditions: "The teacher may give you a good grade because he sympathizes with you, but the computer will not forgive you for any mistakes." This oil-and-salt metal box will remain there until the end of the school year. Without algorithms, without programs, without plans, you don't have to sit in front of a computer. ”
Programmable calculator into teaching "artifact"
The Soviet Union could not produce enough personal computers, but there were more or less programmable calculators. Beginning in the 1970s, the Soviet Union produced millions of calculators to supply the world's largest group of engineers at the time. These devices can put instructions in memory for later running, and users can program them with a little learning. After Hewlett-Packard introduced the HP-65 calculator in 1974, the "artifact" nicknamed "Superstar" sold well in the Soviet Union.
The hp-65 is the first calculator that can be read and written by a magnetic card, and users can use it to write more than 100 lines of programs. According to the advertisement, the astronauts even used it as a backup for the Apollo lunar spacecraft's onboard computers. The Soviets introduced and copied the model, named it the elektronika b3-34, and squeezed its performance to the extreme.
The unexpected explosion of game culture has inspired young people to join the road. In August 1985, a month before computer classes began, the science magazine Young Technologies began serializing Konchki: The Way to Earth, a science fiction adventure novel about sending spacecraft back to Earth from the moon, with each story containing tasks that needed to be completed on a programmable calculator. Sponsored by the Communist Youth League of the USSR, Youth Technology is mainly aimed at teenagers and once received more than 1.5 million subscriptions. Beginning in January 1985, in conjunction with Elsov's computer education program, the magazine launched a series of programming columns, but received few responses.
In August of that year, the new serial was a hit. "Konchiki" is the name of the spacecraft on which the protagonists of the novel ride, derived from the raft of a Norwegian expedition in 1947. The work was inspired by an American computer game in which the player controlled the thrusters and calculated the trajectory to safely guide the lander to the lunar surface. In each episode, readers pick up their own calculators, become astronauts, and overcome unknown difficulties and technical limitations under dangerous conditions.
The plot of Konchki: The Road to Earth goes far beyond the goal of "returning to Earth", and the exciting, futuristic narrative of space travel has fascinated countless readers and their programming skills have continued to improve. This edutainment strategy is attributed to Mikhail Pukhov, editor of Youth Technology. A graduate of the Moscow Institute of Physical Sciences and Technology, one of the most prestigious engineering schools in the Soviet Union, Pukhov gave up a promising scientific career and chose the path of writing and popular science.
Pukhov studied the calculator thoroughly and used it to do things that many manufacturers could not have imagined. In fact, fans all over the world were exploring how to develop features that weren't written in the manual, and they were perhaps the first "overclocking" enthusiasts in history. This exploration, also known as "error science," comes from the word "error" displayed on the calculator screen.
Soviet readers raved about "missy" and wrote to Youth Technology about their wonderful discoveries. "I found a way to make the calculator's initial display not a 0, but arbitrary numbers and symbols." Someone flaunted it. Seeing their programs and names in magazines was a long-cherished wish of many, and in this way, the first generation of programmers and hackers in the Soviet Union was born.
The forerunners at least left memories
The readership and player base that formed around Konchiki: Path to Earth inadvertently achieved the teaching goals envisioned by Elsov. Many have asked magazines for more games and even flowcharts for rewriting other types of programs. One reader said he longed to "think of the program as a conscious mode of action, rather than a bunch of symbols of unclear meaning." With your help, we hope to not only execute the available programs, but also create [new programs] ourselves."
Even without the Geek culture of the West, the Soviets managed to show that computer culture could be fostered with calculators, pencils, and paper, relying on state-led and general education. "For half a year, I was like a vacuum cleaner, hungrily absorbing all the information about programming, especially about the calculator." A Russian netizen recalled in the forum.
Some people say that their fascination with fiction prompted them to do everything they could to get a calculator, but for others, the calculator was just a stepping stone, and they desperately saved money for spare parts and finally assembled the first personal computer. For the next 30 years, Youth Tech magazine has been circulating in the second-hand market, and many 21st-century-born readers still have access to Konchiki: The Road to Earth.
Does this mean that Elsov's course was a success? The answer is not clear. After all, the results of any universal education are difficult to measure precisely, even more so in the context of the political turmoil and economic collapse before and after the collapse of the Soviet Union. As adults, readers of Young Technologies find it sad to find that programming has become a luxury, a memory of their youth. In Russia, where everything is in ruins, programming technology has nothing to do with knowledge and habits, and has largely become a springboard for immigrants to developed countries in Europe and the United States.
Forerunners like Elsov and Pukhov were enthusiastic, but the Soviet Union's efforts to promote computer education were not fully rewarded. Those where reforms have been most successful and effective have been most pronounced have tended to be the elite schools in Moscow and some of the most powerful schools, such as the schools for children in the petrochemical sector. Youth Technology transcends geographical and economic barriers, providing an entry point and a platform for students who lack enlightenment teachers and teaching equipment, but it can't do much more.
In the end, neither Elsov, who died in 1988, nor the Soviet Union survived long enough to fulfill the ambitions they had pursued. Inspiring ideals and fascinating stories can only be gradually buried by the years. (Yuan Ye)