Reflexivity and Critical Pedagogy [1 ed.] 9789004384507, 9789004384491

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Reflexivity and Critical Pedagogy

International Issues in Adult Education Series Editor Peter Mayo (University of Malta, Msida, Malta)

Editorial Advisory Board Stephen Brookfield (University of St Thomas, Minnesota, USA) Waguida El Bakary (American University in Cairo, Egypt) Budd L. Hall (University of Victoria, BC, Canada) Astrid von Kotze (University of Western Cape, South Africa) Alberto Melo (University of the Algarve, Portugal ) Lidia Puigvert-Mallart (CREA-University of Barcelona, Spain) Daniel Schugurensky (Arizona State University, USA) Joyce Stalker (University of Waikato, Hamilton, New Zealand/Aotearoa) Juha Suoranta (University of Tampere, Finland )

Volume 27

The titles published in this series are listed at brill.com/adul

Reflexivity and Critical Pedagogy Edited by

Anne Ryan Tony Walsh

Foreword by

Peter Mayo

leiden | boston

Cover illustration: Artwork by Anne Ryan. All chapters in this book have undergone peer review. The Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is available online at http://catalog.loc.gov

Typeface for the Latin, Greek, and Cyrillic scripts: “Brill”. See and download: brill.com/brill-typeface. issn 2352-2372 isbn 978-90-04-38448-4 (paperback) isbn 978-90-04-38449-1 (hardback) isbn 978-90-04-38450-7 (e-book) Copyright 2018 by Koninklijke Brill NV, Leiden, The Netherlands. Koninklijke Brill NV incorporates the imprints Brill, Brill Hes & De Graaf, Brill Nijhoff, Brill Rodopi, Brill Sense, Hotei Publishing, mentis Verlag, Verlag Ferdinand Schöningh and Wilhelm Fink Verlag. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, translated, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without prior written permission from the publisher. Authorization to photocopy items for internal or personal use is granted by Koninklijke Brill NV provided that the appropriate fees are paid directly to The Copyright Clearance Center, 222 Rosewood Drive, Suite 910, Danvers, MA 01923, USA. Fees are subject to change. This book is printed on acid-free paper and produced in a sustainable manner.

Contents Foreword vii Peter Mayo

List of Figures and Tables xii Notes on Contributors xiii 1 Reflexivity and Critical Pedagogy 1 Anne Ryan and Tony Walsh

2 Discourse Some Considerations for the Reflexive Practitioner 15 Anne B. Ryan

3 Reflexivity and the Emotional Dimension of Adult Learning 31 David McCormack

4 Seeing the Wood and the Trees Expanding the Reflexive Gaze 43 Tony Walsh

5 Reflexive Practice and Transformative Learning 67 Anne Ryan and Conor Murphy

6 Reflexivity and the Pedagogy of Surprise 88 Peter Hussey

7 Reflexive Learning for Active Citizenship 107 Michael Murray

8 Negative Capability and Epiphany Moments in Reflexive Practice 120 David McCormack

9 Stories, Reflexivity and the Search for Meaning 134 Mary B. Ryan

Foreword It was my great pleasure, as editor for this series, to have accepted the invitation to write this foreword to the volume on Reflexivity and Critical Pedagogy. The volume is carefully crafted and edited by my two friends and colleagues, Anne Ryan and Tony Walsh from the University of Maynooth in Ireland. I had the pleasure of visiting this university’s Department of Adult and Community Education several years ago when we discussed the relevance of critical pedagogy for Lifelong Learning (lll) in Palestine as part of an Erasmus project involving our respective universities, two UK universities and almost all the Palestinian ones. From meetings regarding the lll in Palestine project and that specific meeting in Maynooth, I immediately gathered that Anne and Tony are connected with a group of scholars and educational practitioners who see education primarily as a public good centring on the notion of Praxis. This entails reflection on action for transformative action. In short, they see education as not a technical-rational enterprise (noun intended) but a public good. Educating is regarded as a matter of striving for social justice and sustainable development. I would like to think that this has always been part and parcel of education – reflecting on experiences encountered in everyday life, either by those who form part of the learning group or by others whose reflections are codified in various ways in the form of different texts. After all, the term praxis is not of recent coinage. It can be traced as far back as Aristotle and very much resonates with the teaching of Socrates, his predecessor in ancient Greek philosophy. It is well known that Socrates is reported by Plato, in the Apologia, to have stated that an unexamined life is a life not worth living. The idea of reflexivity in education and life in general, therefore, has a very long history. It has been a key concept in formal education throughout the centuries, albeit for the few. It allowed these few privileged persons the cultural baggage and development of the critical acumen necessary to exercise power over others, governing social (the ruling class) and spiritual (the clergy) lives. Access to education and power, however, became a key issue in the struggle of several organisations for democratisation and universal suffrage from the time of industrialisation onward. This was true of England. These organisations sought to render formal and non-formal education available to large swathes of the population: working men and women, with the latter engaging in their own specific struggle in this regard. The struggle for democratisation of education was a struggle over access to education, over choice of knowledge and learning approaches and over the purposes of education. While access gradually became

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wider, the latent and manifest purposes of mass public education remained a bone of contention. The two ends of the continuum were social control and social emancipation, the latter predicated on valorisation of difference, from social class difference to gender, race/ethnicity and other differences, and the intersections between them. The struggle continues until this very day as education is said to serve as the means to either reproduce the social order of things – the staple of much Marxist and non Marxist (think Pierre Bourdieu or Lorenzo Milani and the School of Barbiana), feminist and anti-racist critiques in sociology of education and culture – or contribute to resistance and transformation. The latter derives from the recognition, by many, that hegemony is never complete and contains within its own interstices the spaces for its relations to be renegotiated and gradually transformed. Reflection is crucial for the latter to occur. As Antonio Gramsci said, all people are intellectuals even though they might not prima facie appear to perform the function generally attributed to this social category. There is an intellectual dimension to every human task. Unfortunately Capitalism, throughout the centuries of its existence as a global mode of production, sought ways and means of diminishing spaces for intellectual engagement at work, including spaces and opportunities for critical reflection. Fordism and the principles promoted by Fredrick Winslow Taylor’s brand of scientific management, satirised by Charles Chaplin in Modern Times, and, in theatre, by Berthold Brecht and Dario Fo, among others, contributed to this kind of ‘second nature’ and mechanistic labour output. It estranged people further from the very product they helped produce, having rendered them a partial operation in the system. Alternative radical socialist attempts at production sought to restore the expansive and reflective elements among workers in the system – bridging the conception and execution divide. Capitalism also sought to condition any form of reflection or reflexivity available to the subaltern through the power of ideology, mystifying social contradictions by the way ‘reality’ is constructed. Through processes of management-driven forms of workers’ participation, workers were given the illusion of having part ownership of the place of work even though this participation was often limited to ‘tea, toilet and towel’ issues, with no employee involvement whatsoever in strategy deliberation and formulation. In this Neoliberal age, we are encouraged to attune ourselves to what the late Mark Fisher calls ‘Capitalist Realism’ based on the mantra that there is no alternative (tina). One is therefore encouraged to conform to the logic of the system and make the best for oneself out of it. Thinking of alternatives is presented as being futile. There is little encouragement for questioning the current mantras and modus operandi through critical reflection, which entails thinking about things, connecting thought with emotions and imagination (things can be done

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differently for different purposes and better livelihoods – Raymond Williams’ preferred term). We are, to the contrary, told to learn about ‘what works’. We can read this as meaning: learn to see and emulate what works in the present market system for greater material gain and growth. There need be no reflection on what is being produced, how the process is being carried out, and the consequences of all this for Planet Earth, including the livelihoods of its different components, human and other. This situation applies to most spheres of life: health, consumption, housing, farming methods, taxation, migration, to mention but a few. This volume is concerned with education. This area was, in my view, shaken in the 60s and 70s, and even the early 80s, by new strands in sociology and philosophy, together with curriculum studies, unveiling the cultural and political economic bases of schooling and other forms of education. These strands encouraged and helped shape critical reflection. Adult Education had been very much engaged in this regard as it provided the flexibility for alternative educational provision, and had been doing so for a long time, not least with ‘independent working class education’ throughout Europe and elsewhere. Conservative forces, for their part, recognised the power of these alternative approaches to education that potentially provided frameworks for critical analyses of education in general, drawing from Critical Theory, Marxism, Feminism and anti-Racist education. The knowledge involved was considered ‘dangerous’ and the attitude promoted ‘subversive’. The alternative reaction to all this led to the mantra that teachers need less theory and more practice –practice rather than praxis was meant to make perfect. There was the infamous drive by Margaret Thatcher’s government to move ‘teacher education’ as far away as possible from education faculties in universities. Despite their underfunding, these faculties or schools of education constituted spaces for reflection on and in action through teacher education and in-service programmes. Prospective teachers were, as a result of these Thatcherite policies, meant to spend more time in schools. Needless to say, this was no politically innocent move. The reasoning was something to this effect: What have Paulo Freire, Stuart Hall and Mary Belenky and her associates got to tell us about how to control a classroom or other learning settings? What has education got to do with politics? Why allow students to be brainwashed by Marxist (read: commies), feminist and anti-racist academics in these institutions? Asking few questions and being efficient in delivery (i.e. conforming to the prescribed curriculum, preferably a ‘teacher-proof’ curriculum, and meeting set ‘standards’ that are measurable) became the order of the day. This mantra became hegemonic in the sense that it became ‘common sense’. It spread over to successive governments, in the UK and elsewhere, that embraced neoliberalism – market ideology tout court. Ironically Felipe Gonzales in Spain and Tony Blair in the UK were among prominent

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leaders of one time socialist parties who embraced Neoliberalism. The former leftist guru among Brazilians in exile, Fernando Henrique Cardoso did likewise in Brazil after becoming President; he must have spared little thought for the kind of reforms Paulo Freire, as Education Secretary in São Paulo in the late 80s, had sought to introduce. Anyone who would argue outside the context of the market would be derided as living in cloud cuckoo land and clinging to a body of thought which is said to have been ‘discredited’. Greater premium is placed on new managerial approaches to education than on teaching for greater social justice. It is all about management and leadership these days, and a specific form of management and leadership at that. To quote Mark Fisher again, we live at a time when ‘all that is solid melts into PR’ – a PR exercise, I would imagine, where success is defined in market terms and in a manner that can be quantified, in keeping with what Lyotard presciently called, in 1989, ‘performativity’. Happily, however, people, though conditioned by the structuring forces of the capitalist system which affect many aspects of our lives, are not devoid of agency. I would include here educators, students, community organisers and cultural workers in general. This book provides testimony to the fact that many have shown and continue to show the ability to resist, creating their own spaces for reflective thinking. Social movements play an important role in this regard. We have seen how students at different levels and their formal educators have resisted the neoliberalisation of their institutions. They took to the streets in Chile (the site for Neoliberalism’s ‘trial run’, staged in an orgy of bloodshed in 1973) – students have been protesting, in alliance with the major trade union, cut, the fact that education at all levels is a matter of consumption and not a matter of citizen entitlement; this includes state primary schools which charge fees. Similar protests occurred in Vienna (students together with kindergarten educators and with support from other students in Central Europe), Istanbul (Gezi Park – challenging the neoliberal privatisation of a public space), Greece (successfully repealed a law privatising education) and Quebec, to name but a few examples. In some of these manifestations, alternative educational settings and libraries were set up to prefigure what education as a public and not a consumer good can look like. Rather than the dystopias of the Neoliberal world, we encounter, in these struggles for public space and education, heterotopias the coming together of different alternatives in the liminal spaces shaped by these protests. We are encouraged to reflect on ‘what works’ to dream up alternatives, posing the key question: works for whom and for what? Thankfully there is a groundswell of action and reflection occurring in various parts of the world. To the examples provided above, I would add those connected with the Occupy Movement, the ‘Black Lives Matter’ movement and experiences in the Arab world – one can gain lessons from these

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experiences – for example, why was the uprising in Tahrir and other parts of Egypt hijacked? Reflecting on and learning from these experiences can help render future action more effective. These experiences can be scattered in different pockets throughout the world. They have been and will continue to be documented. The experiments involved might be derided, as was the case with many initiatives throughout history which anticipated a way of doing things in later periods. They, together with other initiatives, including the educational initiatives documented and discussed in this compendium, will provide the staple for further sharp reflection among educators and social activists. They derive from and strengthen further the conviction that any activity is not worth engaging in unless one finds the space to reflect upon it. Reflection would here be intended to either enhance any possibilities it provides or else subvert it or reject it altogether. Any progressive social movements involved would provide the larger spaces for reflection to occur. This is not to play down the space afforded by the learning setting itself, despite the ‘limit situations’ (Freire) encountered. Depending on the level of repression and surveillance characterising the context, there can be sufficient space where educators and learners can act as mediators in the process of cultural transmission. They can engage with texts and policies in a critically reflective manner, often at odds with the original intention of those who chose the texts or formulated the policy document in the first place. What and who is left out can feature in the reflections taking place, thus providing space for confronting dominant narratives and cultures, confronting ‘official knowledge’ (Michael W. Apple) with popular and subaltern ones. This can also include discussing the elephant in the room, the sort of issue that official policy renders taboo. For example, I have had colleagues in Paris tell me that colonialism is considered taboo at universities and other settings in France, despite this country, currently basking in the World Cup success of its multi-ethnic national football team, historically having been at the centre of imperial politics. Reflection, resistance and subversion, involving reason, emotion and imagination, are part and parcel of the work of the critical and social justiceoriented radical educator. I think this book, put together by Ryan and Walsh, containing a wealth of insights and narratives, provides much grist for the mill of a critically and radically reflexive education among men and women, adults and youth. The experiences are, for the most part, Irish but they can hopefully resonate with those of other contexts. Peter Mayo Series Editor, University of Malta

Figures and Tables Figures 1.1 4.1 5.1

Key elements of pedagogical development. 7 Universum of reality (adapted from Maturana, 1988, p. 32). 50 Transformative learning outcomes as reported by students completing the masters in transformative community development. 75

Tables 1.1 1.2 5.1 5.2

Sites of our reflexive engagement. 3 Learning accrued from our reflexive engagement in different types of educational interventions. 4 Theoretical perspectives on transformative learning and associated learning processes assessed in our analysis. 75 Pearson’s correlation between transformative learning outcomes and processes. Significant correlations (0.05 level) are highlighted in bold. Grey shaded cells highlight the top three most important processes (strongest correlation) for each learning outcome. 76

Notes on Contributors Peter Hussey is a theatre-maker, working primarily with young people through Crooked House Theatre Company in Newbridge. He is also a lecturer in education, creative pedagogy, and adult education in Maynooth University, where he is currently Artist in Residence in Initial Teacher Education. His research work and publications focus on the overlap between theatre-making and education, specifically on exploring theatre as a significant way of learning. He has over 24 years’ experience in theatre in Ireland and Europe, and has worked with the department of Adult and Community Education since 1989 developing courses and programmes for students at all levels in Higher Education. David McCormack is a lecturer in the Department of Adult and Community Education, Maynooth University. He is a Psychotherapist and Supervisor and is Course Leader for the Postgraduate Diploma in Arts (Adult Guidance and Counselling). He has a long-standing Mindfulness Meditation practice and is interested in the relationship between Contemplative practice and pedagogy, especially in the context of Transformative Adult Learning. His doctoral studies at the University of Bristol concerned a Narrative Inquiry into Autoethnographic writing as Reflective Practice. He has trained and studied with UMASS and with the Centre for Mindfulness Research and Practice at Bangor University. Conor Murphy is Senior Lecturer in Geography at Maynooth University and PI with the Irish Climate Analysis and Research UnitS (ICARUS). His research interests span the physical and human dimensions of climate change, from the detection and attribution of climate change from observations to understanding the social dynamics of adaptation to extreme events. At Maynooth University Conor also directs the MSc in Climate Change. He has worked with communities in Ireland, Europe and Africa on climate change adaptation. In 2015 he was one of a team of five who were recipients of a National Teaching Expert Award celebrating outstanding teaching in the Higher Education Sector. Michael Murray is a sociology lecturer in the Department of Adult and Community Education, Maynooth University. He is Co-Director of the MA in Adult and Community Education and his research interests include education for political

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citizenship, power and governance, political fear, Northern Ireland and Environmental Justice. Anne Ryan is Professor of Adult and Community Education at the National University of Ireland Maynooth since 2005. In 2011 she co-founded and continues to act as academic co-director of the Edward M Kennedy Institute for Conflict Intervention. She is particularly interested in utilising radical adult education pedagogies to empower the many communities worldwide who face critical challenges such as the devastating effects of climate change, violent conflict and severe economic and political disadvantage. In 2015 she was one of a team of five who were recipients of a National Teaching Expert Award celebrating outstanding teaching in the Higher Education Sector. Anne B. Ryan is a writer and activist currently focusing on universal basic income and really useful work, along with reviving the commons and developing community economies. She is a coordinator of Basic Income Ireland and a trustee of Feasta: The Foundation For The Economics of Sustainability. Her books include Enough is Plenty (O-Books, 2009) and Feminist Ways of Knowing (NIACE, 2001). Anne worked as a lecturer at the Department of Adult and Community Education at Maynooth University from 1995 to 2015. Mary B. Ryan is Head of the Department of Adult and Community Education, Maynooth University and a Group Analytic Psychotherapist. She is Co-director of the Counselling and Adult Guidance suite of programmes including the NUI Certificate in Counselling Skills and Crisis Pregnancy Counselling Skills and the professional training course for Adult Guidance Counsellors. Her main area of interest is applied group analysis drawing on experiential learning from a psychodynamic perspective. She conducts experiential learning groups, process groups and supervision groups within Maynooth University and within external organisations. Tony Walsh was, until his recent retirement, a member of the academic staff and past Head of Department at the Department of Adult and Community Education, Maynooth University. He continues as Director of the Centre for the Study of Irish Protestantism and as Co-director of the Centre for Transformative Narrative Research at the University. In recent years he has edited and contributed to a number of books on radical adult education, the nature of

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knowledge, post-positivist research, suicide and international peacekeeping. A systemic constructivist psychotherapist he is particularly interested in the role of reflexivity in education and in how minorities identify themselves, resist or adapt to change and negotiate their identity with the majorities among whom they live. He continues to be involved in narrative and oral history research projects in Ireland, the USA, the UK and Palestine and is visiting Fellow at the Young Centre for Anabaptist and Pietist Studies at Elizabethtown College, PA, for 2018.

Chapte r 1

Reflexivity and Critical Pedagogy Anne Ryan and Tony Walsh

1

Introduction

A central theme of this book is a recognition that inequalities of access to education and the dominance of particular forms of knowledge are enabled and sustained through a continued lack of critique. It appears to us that conventional education discourages radical critique of accepted practices and thinking, and lulls educators’ critical awareness. In this book the editors and contributors argue that a reflexive disposition on the part of the educator is essential to disrupting the status quo and creating new ways of both seeing and being within education. The book explores the characteristics of such a reflexive disposition on the part of educators. We define reflexivity as encompassing a critical assessment of the significance of environment, power, and context as well as subjectivity in the delineation and construction of knowledge. Without reflexivity education becomes a process of transferring the values and practices which are embedded in a specific culture and are particularly associated with the assumptions, values and maintenance of the power elites of that society. In the project of reflexivity it is helpful to be aware of Foucault’s conceptualisation of discourse: this is a useful tool in enabling us to unveil the occluded operations of power within society as well as in social relationships – not least in the relationships which are core to educational endeavours. Reflexivity implies a responsibility to critically examine our world, and how we position ourselves, and are positioned within that world. Analysing and critiquing dominant discourses reveals the power or positioning and of words: to free, or to constrain. There is an imperative for us, as educators, to read the world and its power plays and to scrutinise our practice in the context of teaching, learning and in the creation of knowledge in order to ‘examine our own complicity in the maintenance of social injustice’ (St Pierre, 2000, p. 484). The main argument of this book is that there is no possibility of global equality without a reflexive critique of society’s educational provision and of the assumptions which define knowledge. Reflexivity is essential for all educators who aspire to social justice.

© koninklijke brill nv, leideN, 2018 | DOI:10.1163/9789004384507_001

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Sites of the Editors’ Reflexive Engagement in Education

Both editors have worked in a number of different national and international educational contexts. For the purposes of illustrating the nature of reflexivity in practice we have reviewed, critiqued and analysed these particular experiences with a view to distilling the ‘what’ and the ‘how’ of our learning. For convenience, we have summarised our educational experiences in two tables. In Table 1.1, we list the types of organisations we have worked with, their geographical location and the types of educational intervention which we have undertaken. In Table 1.2, we rate the different types of learning that accrued from divergent educational interventions. In compiling these tables, we were conscious of the need to become observers of ourselves as educators. Part of the practice of reflexivity is to know what you know as an educator and to understand how you have come to this knowledge (Tennant, 2012). In Table 1.1, the juxtaposition of geographical location and organisational type highlights for us the importance of context in appreciating marginalisation and/or agency. For example, a government organisation in Afghanistan that does not have the backing or investment of western nations can be marginal in ways government organisations in other parts of the world are not. We have found that most universities in Africa occupy marginal positions within global academia although they are extremely important local players. We have worked with community groups in Northern Ireland that are key players in creating change and we have worked with community groups elsewhere who have little influence. As educators when we undertake any educational engagement we have discovered that we must devise pedagogical strategies which reveal to both ourselves and all of the participants the nature and effect of their marginality or agency. This is key to understanding the specific operations of power and to designing a relevant educational intervention. We have included in Table 1.1 a description of the educational interventions undertaken in each of the geographical and organisational contexts and have categorised these interventions under three headings. The first of these is Workshop Delivery. This heading includes courses and training programmes that are limited to five-day interventions. It also includes short-term one off research enquiries where the findings are the subject of, or inform the workshop/training programmes. The second heading is the Design and Delivery of Higher Education Courses. Included here are courses that span timeframes ranging from one to six years. This is our main area of work in Maynooth University and it has, over time, encompassed the implementation of two professional doctorates, six masters programmes, and numerous certificates

Afghanistan Bangladesh Ireland Malawi Northern Ireland Palestine Tanzania Uganda UK USA Zambia

Geographical location

NGO

Government organisation

Organisational type

table 1.1  Sites of our reflexive engagement

University

Community

Workshop delivery

Design and delivery of higher education courses

Educational intervention Partnership building/ engagement with education providers

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and diplomas at undergraduate and postgraduate levels. The third heading is Partnership Building/Engagement with Educational Providers. Included under this heading are formal and informal engagements with partner organisations. These can span many years and generally relate to the development, implementation and assessment of programmes. The heading also includes short term, one off engagements with education providers. All the activities included under the third heading (Partnership Building/Engagement with Educational Providers) require similar investments in terms of the intensity of the engagement needed to build positive working relationships. These three categories are also used in Table 1.2 to rate learning within each of these types of educational intervention. table 1.2  Learning accrued from our reflexive engagement in diffferent types of educational interventions. The learning is rated on a scale of 1 to 4 where 1 is minor and 4 is highly signifijicant

Type of educational intervention

Increasing systemic awareness

Enabling insight

Pedagogical development

Workshops Design and delivery of courses Partnership building

2 3

1 3

2 4

4

4

4

In Table 1.2, we have rated the learning that took place under three headings. ‘Increasing systemic awareness’ refers to building an understanding of how systems function and the specifics of how power operates. ‘Enabling Insight’ refers to building an awareness of the influences that impinge upon the self and the educational task in order to nurture and promote insight. It also refers to the possibilities of seeing the world differently and as a result engaging differently with that world. ‘Pedagogical development’ refers to the key factors that facilitate creative responses to learning needs and contexts. In the text that follows, we explore each of these three areas. 2.1 Increasing Systemic Awareness We have come to realise that building a capacity to read the world with a view to understanding and resisting dominant social norms and forces is key to the effectiveness of every educational intervention. It is essential for empowerment and agency. Educational endeavours take place within particular

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cultural and organisational contexts. Influences from these are potent forces in shaping, constraining or facilitating learning. An awareness of these influences is vital to successfully read one’s world and to fulfil the potential of any educational engagement. At a personal level, it is also vital to surface the discourses of one’s own assumptive world and how these are linked to, and often unwittingly replicate, the agendas of the wider society as well as mainstream organisational systems. A key learning which emerged from our reflections is the necessity to consciously and critically surface these for observation and interrogation. A vital ingredient in this process is learning to observe the dynamics of the wider environment and their potential to impact on assumptions, definitions and relationships. Central to this endeavour is an understanding of the hierarchical nature of communication and decision-making within any context and our own tendencies to collude with dominant or accepted voices both in theoretical understandings and practice-based endeavours. As we reflected on our systemic awareness we realised that we learned more from partnerships with socially dominant groupings than from partnerships with marginalised groupings. Socially dominant partners questioned everything we did that deviated from their accepted way of doing things. Hence we had to continuously interrogate our own assumptions and often adjust and modify our plans and procedures. We also became aware that increasing systemic awareness needs time and often relatively short engagements do not create optimal conditions for the depth and continuity of reflexive engagement that are necessary. We reflect this in Table 1.2, where the lowest score is allocated to workshops and the highest to on-going engagements involved in partnership building. 2.2 Enabling Insight Enabling insight implies a capacity to challenge the ‘accepted truths’ in the traditional canon of knowledge. From our experience in a variety of cultures, different political realities, and varying assumptive worlds, we recognise that enabling insight necessitates a capacity to consider and make a creative response to a number of questions. These include: How and by whom is knowledge defined? What are the functions of such knowledge? How can knowledge be most effectively communicated? What forms of knowledge are hidden or disenfranchised? How do I collude in maintaining the status quo? What avenues are open to me for creating change? Because enabling insight describes a form of continuous engagement that is foundational to reflexive practice it implies an eagerness to continuously ask questions in each new or emerging context. It also necessitates an educational

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environment that nurtures a curiosity which constantly interrogates the status quo and implies a scepticism towards superficial or pat responses. A number of contributors to this book underline the significance of personal inquiry to the generation of fresh perspectives and new knowledge. The key to useful social inquiry and enlightening exploration of a social phenomenon is often located in a subjective experience. Personally or socially problematic experiences can prompt particularly rich explorations (Olesen, 2005). Foucault describes the transformative potential of exploring such sites as an opportunity to construct the self differently and ‘to invite others to share an experience of what we are, not only our past but also our present … in such a way that we might come out of it transformed’ (1994, p. 241). Narrative is also useful in exploring the potential for insight (Walsh, 2015). It is effective in revealing the normally occluded dynamics of dominant discourse which operate in the majority world to silence minorities or those who are socially marginalised. It also brings to light dynamics of power which privilege conformity. These are present in relationships, conversations, social interaction and chance remarks – all are sites through which dominant social discourses are enacted (Davis, 2008). The everyday is a potent site for the exercise of power but due to its familiarity, these exercises often pass beneath the scrutiny of the critical or reflexive gaze. In focusing on these areas, narrative inquiry reveals the ‘conditions of inarticulation’ (Barton, 2011, p. 440) which characterise both everyday or marginal experience. Contributors to this book illustrate that a unique function of narrative inquiry is to reveal and hence disrupt ‘the ongoing repetitive citations of the known order, citations that offer some a viable life and at the same time deny it to others’ (Davis, 2008, p. 128). Experiences of disconnection and or oppression among learners has honed our awareness of the multi-textured life of minorities and of the plays of power which are core to their experience (Browne, 2008). Working with marginal learners has increased our awareness of the need to critique dominant western interpretations of knowledge acquisition which privilege technical mastery, scientific logic and the particular forms of fundamentalism that operate in the service of economic mastery. These automatically disenfranchise other forms of knowledge especially those emanating from life experiences. They also disregard ‘indigenous knowledges and systems of life management’ (Abdi, 2012, p. 140). Both have particular relevance to people and places beyond the epistemological, anthological and by extension, educational boundaries of western, neo liberal democracies. We see knowledge as representing a range of views rather than a unitary truth. Whether as educators or learners we simultaneously occupy many different positions; our histories are complex, non-continuous and often

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contradictory; for many they include experiences of dominant and marginal realities and the knowledges associated with these. Hybrid spaces, where one draws on the often competing knowledges and experiences of more than one culture, or more than one position creates an awareness not just of difference, but of different forms and experiences of knowledge. We recognise that those who were traditionally positioned ‘outside’ the academy are necessary players in creating knowledge. Their inclusion is vital to developing more effective interventions in the complex political, cultural and psycho-social dynamics that constitute the contexts for current global challenges. Educational engagements, which surface diversity in perspectives and assumptions, are particularly rich. We have found that the intensity of the engagement required to build effective learning partnerships offers the most challenging and simultaneously productive opportunities for insight among participants. 2.3 Pedagogical Development In our experience, pedagogical development is based in a reflexive understanding of the self, the system and the learners each of which informs the other.

figure 1.1 Key elements of pedagogical development

2.4 Understanding the Self Self-knowledge is a basic requirement in being a reflexive educational practitioner. It involves: (i) how my life histories, experiences, emotions, culture and family background are influential in forming my values, assumptions and preferences; (ii) an awareness of how the dominant discourses of society are operative in the creation of acceptable personhood; and (iii) how I

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become a conduit for the operation of dominant assumptions of a society or organisational structure. Adopting a reflexive stance in relation to the self turns the critical gaze inward. The aim of this process is to: – Identify and understand how our values and assumptions operate to define our way of being in a learning context. This awareness creates possibilities for positioning ourselves differently as educators. It also reveals the potential for resistance to dominant understandings of the educational task (Foucault, 1988, p. 123). – Recognise that understanding the self is a significant site of learning. Pedagogies must be designed to create the conditions whereby learners are invited and enabled to engage in this type of learning even where this is personally uncomfortable and perturbing. In our experience we have found that an exploration of these sites often yields valuable learning about self and other as well as contributing to the generation of fresh knowledge. Unless we as educators attain and sustain a continued aliveness we are less effective in creating possibilities for the learners with whom we engage to effectively read their world with a view to becoming agentic in the process of knowledge creation. 2.5 Understanding the System Recognising that systems oppress and obfuscate is central to reflexivity. We are concerned that the modes by which some forms of knowledge are privileged and others relegated tend to be hazy, occluded or denied (Giroux, 2011; Ryan & Walsh, 2004) hence discouraging critical scrutiny. In the formal educational system there is a disregard for the forces which privilege some forms of knowledge over others. There is also a disregard for the consequences of this privileging whereby the holders of some forms of knowledge are positioned as both significant and influential. The holders of other forms are accordingly positioned as insignificant or are actively marginalised. A key challenge for us in developing pedagogy has been: – To highlight the dynamics of oppression that exist within a society and which render specific groups marginal or voiceless; ‘… the opening up of the foreclosed and the saying of the unspeakable’ (Butler, 1997, p. 41) becomes a core of the educational task. – To understand that educational endeavours need to both expand and challenge our understandings of the nuanced processes of social exclusion. Classrooms and learning contexts can easily and unwittingly become sites of social control that reproduce the hierarchical constraints of society,

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limiting pedagogy to practices which reinforce the status quo without question. – To make occluded knowledge explicit including that which exists among the participants is a key aspect of understanding the system. The lived experience of learners constitute important sites from which different, oppositional or novel knowledge can emerge. Expert knowledge has a role but not at the top of a hierarchy of understandings. It is instead one of a number of ways of knowing all of which are vital to the creation of knowledge. 2.6 Understanding the Learner In our educational endeavours we have generated a number of interventions to enhance our understanding of the learners and of the learners’ awareness of their existing knowledge. We have found that effective educational interventions require us to do the following: – To contest the traditional role as ‘teachers of’ and to position ourselves instead as ‘learners with’ those with whom we are engaged – To recognise that everyone participating in the educational endeavour brings distinct knowledge whether they are aware of it or not – To anticipate what may pose difficulties for participants and to devise useful interventions to address these potential problems – To create a learning environment which facilitates a surfacing of learners’ experience and enables them to apply theoretical frameworks to their professional or personal experiences – To see the ultimate purpose of an educational endeavour as the joint creation of new knowledge. The transmission of what is already known can be part of the process but is not an end in itself. We have found that the impetus for pedagogical development is most keenly nurtured in learning situations that are difficult and contentions and that span sufficient time to allow for in-depth acknowledgement and exploration of the issues that need attention. In summary, we have found that a reflexive educator comes to know and critique: (a) the values and assumptions which are core to particular social, economic and cultural norms and (b) the constellation of deep and often unrecognized meanings and beliefs within ourselves that influence our thoughts and behaviours. This opens opportunities for contesting inequality of access as well as for combating influences which constrain processes of knowledge definition and acquisition in particular learning environments. It enables educators to achieve more effective agency within the wider socioeducational context.

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Book Structure

The context from which all the contributors to this book, including the editors, distil their thinking is the Department of Adult and Community Education, Maynooth University. This Department was founded in the 1970s to construct learning environments where diverse personal and professional experiences can be brought together to create new knowledge pertinent to emerging global challenges and the twenty-first century needs of communities and individuals (de Sousa Santos, 2007). Since its inception, the Department has sought to develop practices of pedagogy, curriculum, assessment and administration to resist those systemic and procedural obstacles that inhibit access to education and that fragment and compartmentalise knowledge. In these respects, the Department is committed to disturbing rather than confirming the status quo. Challenging traditional educational thinking and practice has been a significant motivation in the Department’s long history of working with educationally marginalized communities and with its ongoing development of innovative pedagogical partnerships. Staff and students are invited to query accepted versions of educational theory and pedagogical practice and to consider fundamental questions, which relate to the definition and purpose of knowledge, to its creation, communication and acquisition. Reflexivity has been at the core of these processes of appraisal and critique and of the consequent understandings of knowledge, which have emerged. Contributors to this book were invited to challenge traditional thinking in education and in doing so to draw upon their own experiences in teaching and learning. Each of the contributors to this book is concerned with understanding the complex political, cultural and psychosocial dynamics that define knowledge and that constitute the contexts in which learning takes place (Giroux, 2011). Authors approach the task from four different perspectives; the theoretical, global, political and the personal. Each of these perspectives is recognised as a site for either the creation or the occlusion of new knowledge. Most significantly, they are also sites for either oppression or agentic action for freedom. In each chapter contributors disinter otherwise barely visible influences and in their recognition invite the possibility for creative resistance. They also acknowledge the homeostatic effect of superordinate global and more localised systems which exert a continuous force to maintain the status quo. This force has the effect of domesticating educators who are not wary of the need for vital and continuous counteracting action. Chapters emphasise that educators operate within a context where it is easy to become an unwitting party to

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the dynamics of oppression. Reflexivity is an on-going process, a way of being and not an end state. In Chapter 2 which is entitled ‘Discourse: Some considerations for the reflexive practitioner’ Anne B. Ryan explores the Foucaldian concept of discourse and reflexivity. She argues that an awareness of discourses and how they work is an essential tool for the reflexive practitioner. Becoming consciously aware of the hierarchy of assumptions which structure societal norms and expectations and their effect upon lived experience at both individual and group levels is key to this endeavour. An awareness of the potency of discourses, which are present in all areas of human life, enable us to combine a deep analysis of the complex realities of our time with a moral/ political commitment to resisting injustice and ecological degradation. This enables the promotion of justice and of ecological security both of which are core agendas of transformative education. In Chapter 3 McCormack draws on the potential of autoethnography in exploring the emotional dimensions of teaching and learning. The author does this by presenting a personal story. He foregrounds how the genre of autoethnography draws on the internal world as a legitimate site for research into self and culture. He contends that evocative autoethnography opens up a space between writer and reader for meaning making and engagement. He proposes ethnographic story writing as an invitation for the reader to enter into a reflexive space that holds out possibilities for consciousness raising and the creation of fresh meaning. In Chapter 4 Tony Walsh notes that we live our lives within a complex world – a dance of social, psychological, cultural and ideological influences create a network of forces which influence our assumptions, meanings and behaviours. He highlights the importance of systemic theory in critiquing the environmental contexts whose influences bear significantly on any educational project. In this chapter he considers a number of concepts such as boundary, observer status and homeostasis which are central to understanding any system. The title of the chapter – ‘Seeing the wood and the trees’ – emphasises the desirability of simultaneously reviewing the local and the wider systemic issues that are operative in every enterprise. He contends that this dual perspective is at the core of any reflexive endeavour particularly in the context of education. In Chapter 5 Anne Ryan and Conor Murphy draw on their experience of working with local rural communities in Zambia and Malawi in the context of climate change and sustainable food production. They highlight the essential nature of reflexive practice in creating sites for transformative learning. In the

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chapter, they describe how the application of the principles of transformative learning draws on a variety of local, often disenfranchised forms of knowledge. They explore the ethical implications of transformative learning including its resistance to the colonising tendencies of a unitary and scientific western approach to knowledge. In the process they described how they recorded and measured the kinds of transformation that took place and the empowering and agentic effects on learners. In Chapter 6 Peter Hussey draws on his experience of theatre-making with young people and teaching undergraduate and postgraduate students. He considers the role of reflexivity as a key element in what he refers to as the ‘pedagogy of surprise’ where the curriculum emerges during the process and the learning is unexpected. He describes how this happens in his work with young people and why young people are attracted to this approach. Based on his experience of working with Higher Education students he describes how using objects, images and creating metaphors that symbolise learners’ experiences allows them to make new meanings from these experiences. He concludes that reflexivity enables the educator to create learning opportunities such as these that ultimately aim to affect social change. Chapter 7 argues that adult and community education is uniquely positioned to offer insight into the dynamic relationship between reflexivity and citizenship. The author Michael Murray contrasts traditional individualised notions of reflexivity which are devoid of any real analysis of power relations with a radical approach to the concept. He argues that the former leads to a depoliticised, compliant citizenship and tends to prioritise consensus and volunteerism over oppositional politics. This indicates the need to widen and broaden our imaginations in terms of both education and political citizenship. The author proposes that socially critical reflexivity offers an analysis of power as a first step towards imagining and exploring political citizenship at local, national and transnational levels. In the concluding chapters, David McCormack and Mary Ryan use a variety of narrative strategies as tools for exploration, critique and the practice of reflexivity. In Chapter 8 McCormack presents a perspective on reflexive practice that draws on Mindfulness as a method of paying attention to one’s own experience in a particular kind of way. He defines Mindfulness as offering a series of methods and perspectives by which we can learn to strengthen our capacities to live in the present, and to respond creatively to the stresses and strains of our work lives while also learning to act effectively on what needs to be done. From this perspective, reflexive practice is a life-enhancing process of exploration, inquiry and dialogue that illuminates everyday experiences and refreshes our perspectives. The chapter includes a narrative that evokes the experience of

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reflecting on practice in a supported group session, and identifies from this the implications of this approach for reflexive practice. In Chapter 9, Mary Ryan presents a narrative account of an experience which touches on identity, loss and relationship. In her commentary, the author explores how narrative is concerned with reflection on lived experience, reflexive dialogue, meaning making and the collaborative development of new insights and knowledge. She foregrounds the connection between recounting personal stories and creating changed perspectives. The concept of reflexivity invites a teller to put themselves firmly at the centre of their narrative and to take risks in the exploration of story. She also notes the power of personal story telling in enabling the stories of others to emerge. Meaning making is at the core of stories and storytelling. In the telling and hearing the possibility of creating new transformative narratives that focus on equality, social justice and inclusiveness can emerge.

Acknowledgement We would like to express our heartfelt gratitude to the professionalism and editorial guidance of Angela McGinn without whose efforts this book would not have come to fruition.

References Abdi, A. A. (Ed.). (2012). Decolonizing philosophies of education: An introduction. Rotterdam, The Netherlands: Sense Publishers. Barton, B. (2011). My auto/ethnographic dilemma: Who owns the story? Qualitative Sociology, 34, 431–445. Browne, I. (2008). Music and madness. Cork: Atrium. Butler, J. (1997). Excitable speech: A politics of the performative. New York, NY: Routledge. Davies, B. (2008). The ethics of responsibility. In A. Phelan & J. Sumsion (Eds.), Voice in qualitative inquiry. London: Routledge. de Sousa Santos, B. (2008). Another knowledge is possible: Beyond northern epistomologies. London: Verso Books. Foucault, M. (1988). Technologies of the self. Amherst, MA: University of Massachusetts Press. Foucault, M. (1994). An interview with Michel Foucault. In J. D. Faubion (Ed.), Power (Vol. 3, pp. 239–229). New York, NY: The New Press.

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Giroux, H. (2011). On critical pedagogy. London: Bloomsbury. Olesen, T. (2005). The uses and misuses of globilization in the study of social movements. Social Movement Studies, 4(1), 49–63. Ryan, A., & Walsh, T. (2004). Creating new knowledge. In A. Ryan & T. Walsh (Eds.), Unsettling the horses: Interrogating adult education perspectives. Maynooth: MACE. St Pierre, E. (1997). Circling the text: Nomadic writing practices. Qualitative Inquiry, 3(4), 403–417. Tennant, M. (2012). The learning self. San Francisco, CA: Jossey-Bass. Walsh, T. (2015). Using narrative research. In T. Walsh & A. Ryan (Eds.), Writing your thesis: A guide for postgraduate students (pp. 151–165). Maynooth: MACE.

Chapter 2

Discourse Some Considerations for the Reflexive Practitioner Anne B. Ryan

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Introduction

In this chapter, I use the term discourse in a very specific way. My usage concerns meaning repertoires, through which we filter our experiences and the events of the external world. When people talk about something or when we act, we always draw on or activate certain meaning – resources or discourses.1 We often do so within dominant discourses, which characterise ways of talking, writing, thinking, behaving and theorising that prevail at certain times in certain arenas of life. How do these taken-for-granted ways of being define or position people in particular ways? How do they act to legitimise particular kinds of behaviour? What assumptions does a particular discourse contain about what is normal or desirable? Whose position is strengthened or weakened by what is focused upon or what is ignored within a particular discourse? What discourses are muted or unacknowledged? What discourses might one expect to find concerning a theme, but which are noticeable by their absence? I first encountered discourse in the sense considered in this chapter, in 1990, in a book called Losing Out, by Sue Lees (1987). I was bowled over by how strongly the concept resonated with my experience, and by Lees’ analysis of how discourses both reflect and create social reality. At that time, I was a teacher in a co-educational second-level school. I was concerned that, although the school had all kinds of equal-opportunities policies in place, girls often were disadvantaged because they spent a lot of time coping with comments about their sexuality or sexual ‘reputation.’ And there was a widespread assumption among staff and students that it was natural or normal for girls to have to do this. People assumed that, although it was unfortunate, the task for girls was to learn to deal with it. Among those who didn’t like it or who felt it was unfair, there was a feeling of powerlessness, and no books or manuals on equality had anything useful to offer. The only real option open to a girl accused of being a slut was to deny it. The truth or otherwise of the accusation had nothing to do with it; to call a girl a slut was to put her down, disempower her or ‘keep her in her place’ and to negate any other power or authority she might have. The same discourse could

© koninklijke brill nv, leideN, 2018 | DOI:10.1163/9789004384507_002

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be employed to disempower a woman teacher. Boys and men teachers could be subject to discourses surrounding homosexuality (see Ryan, 1992, 1997). It was extremely difficult to contest the notion that sexuality was at the heart of a girl’s identity. Within the discourses circulating in the school at that time, there was no discourse that made active female sexuality okay. Nor was there a discourse that had as its central premise that it was unacceptable to reduce everything to sexuality, where girls and women were concerned. Not a great deal has changed in the years since Lees published her study. In modern societies, it is now widely acceptable to talk about sex, but the discourses that shape how we talk about it remain largely similar to the discourses identified by Lees. Discourses still circulate, which have a central premise that sex and sexuality are at the heart of how a girl or woman can be judged. I have used the concept of discourse in research on schooling, personal development education, feminist identity, marriage, economic growth, sustainability and balanced living and transformative learning (see Ryan, 1997, 2001a, 2001b, 2003; Ryan & Walsh, 2004). I have also drawn on discourse analysis in my teaching, and in my professional and personal lives I have tried to be an activist for discursive change. In this chapter, I want to set out some of the general principles of a discourse approach, and am guided by questions that students, colleagues, people commissioning and funding research and friends have brought up in discussions over several years.

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Specific Usage of the Term Discourse

In this chapter, then, I use the term ‘discourse’ as developed by Foucault (1979, 1980, 1991), and further developed by poststructuralist theorists, many of whom are cited throughout the text. This usage is distinct from how, in journalism and some other parts of everyday life, the term ‘discourse’ is often now used as a synonym for conversation, debate, talk or dialogue. Another usage of the term discourse – probably somewhere between the usage in this chapter and the more general usage – is that of Mezirow (2003), who draws on the work of Habermas (1984). For Mezirow, discourse is a ‘critical-dialectical’ dialogue that involves assessing the beliefs, feelings and values of others, ‘to arrive at a tentative best judgement’ (Mezirow, 2003, p. 59). Discourses, as treated in this chapter, are ‘socially organised frameworks of meaning that define categories and specify domains of what can be said and done’ (Burnam, 1994, p. 2). They form regimes of truth, which ‘present a distinct object of study, rather like Durkheimian social facts, except that they exist in a state of fluidity and are coextensive, as knowledge, with movements of power’

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(Ransom, 1993, p. 131). This approach to discourse is useful for systematic and disciplined enquiry into how we know the world, and how ways of knowing can serve to regulate us or to liberate us. Discourse is implicated in how we understand ourselves as persons, in how we interpret what we see around us and what we experience, and in how we construct meaning about ourselves, our groups and the world at large. We are all inserted into a myriad of different discourses, some competing with and some complementing each other. Discourses provide positions within which we can locate ourselves. They also allow us to position other people and allow other people to position us. A discourse approach facilitates exploration in a systematic and scholarly way of ‘how’ and ‘why’ questions about human and social relations, from the intimate to the international. If we talk about sex, human rights, work, childcare, economics, or global warming, to name just a few themes, we activate and draw on discourses, in order to make sense of what is going on and to guide our actions. The meaning – resources and sense – making repertoires constitute the discourses. Identifying discourses is a way of describing and analysing what happens in social and human relations. But discourses also shape social relations and have actual effects on practice and identity. Discourses are real, with real effects. They are not just a reflection of reality; they have an objective reality (Ransom, 1993, p. 131); they are concepts, but they are also more than concepts. The point of analysis is not simply to expose a heretofore hidden meaning, but to question and disrupt ways of understanding that are taken as unchanging and unquestionable truth (Davies, 2004, p. 7). Discourse analysis can support discourse activism and can give a rigorous theoretical underpinning to our projects for a better world. The rigour of discourse analysis and activism is not intended to replace our desire to contribute to human and planetary flourishing, but to enhance the passion that underpins that desire. In this way, we can strengthen our contribution.

3

Some Practical Distinctions: Sites, Themes and Discourses

It can be tempting to characterise everything as a discourse. This may arise from the popularisation of the term in recent years. However, if we allow the term discourse to include everything in the social world, it lessens the usefulness of the concept as a tool for reflexive practice. For rigour and systematic analysis, and to allow us to examine many different features of a phenomenon – all of which lend credibility and reliability to a study or a plan

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for creating change – it is worth distinguishing between a number of terms such as sites, themes and discourses. I am not trying to make rigid rules here about what terms are used (for instance, a site could be termed a field or an arena, even a problem or an issue; a theme might be thought of as a category; a discourse, as already outlined, could be called a meaning repertoire, an interpretive resource, a lens, a way of understanding or a filter for experience). The important thing is to be consistent in how one uses the terms in one’s work. My purpose is to show the value of clarifying among different kinds of terms and of using them consistently in one’s approach, analysis or writing. For example, a work organisation or group could be thought of as a site, and within that site, one theme is usually the purpose of the organisation or group (other themes might be pay, working conditions, staff development). Another theme could be some kind of problem or issue confronting the organisation or the group. Surrounding any theme, one will find a number of discourses. In other words, when people talk, write or think about the theme, we activate different meaning frameworks. The discourses we activate depend on our differential experience, discursive exposure and political alignments (Alloway & Gilbert, 2004, p. 100). If we take the theme of purpose of a work organisation, we may see in action discourses such as value for money, public service, social transformation, human development, shareholder profit, cost-effectiveness, competitiveness and so on (see for example Lange, 2004). Sometimes these discourses stand in opposition to each other, so that participation in one makes participation in another untenable. And sometimes discourses nest together comfortably. Within the site or arena of marriage, one finds many themes, such as love, children, childcare, housework, money, sex and so on. The discourses that arise concerning those themes include discourses of blame, responsibility, correct order, equity versus equality, less is more, lack of choice and normality (see Ryan, 2001b). Several different discourses can be in play concerning any one theme, such as housework or childcare (ibid.). And of course, the site of marriage is nested within other sites, such as contemporary heterosexual relations, homosexual relations, and contemporary society. One could also treat as a site a political or social action or movement, struggle, resistance, or attempt to create new social forms. For example, a make-poverty-history march is an event (technically, a site) within the bigger site that is the global justice movement. And some sites are more abstract than others. We don’t actually ‘see’ them even though we are aware of them, as with education, employment or the media. Sometimes we miss certain sites completely because our eyes are not attuned to them. If we take sites such as heterosexuality, whiteness or ability as

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the norm, they do not stand out in the landscape for us. We can be positioned in such a way in the discursive field that they do not show up for us. And the voices of those who do see the site may be muted within the overall discursive climate. The same discourse – or variations on it – can often be found in operation across different sites/arenas and themes. For instance, discourses concerning essential gender differences can occur across arenas as diverse as defence, peace-keeping, heterosexual relations, education, sexual activity, childcare, housework, and so on.

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Describing a Discourse

Discourses are fluid and they shift and shape – change with the times and their geographical location. Nevertheless, it is necessary in any discourse analysis to try to pin down what their premises are and how they take effect. One cannot decide if a discourse is enabling, or if it needs to be challenged or changed, if one cannot describe it adequately. Drawing loosely on the work of Foucault and taking into account the work of other commentators and my own research, I offer three groups of guiding questions for practitioners engaging in discourse analysis or discourse activism: – Ask what the central premise of the discourse is. The premise of a discourse can frame or underpin what is actually said or done, even though the premise is not named or talked about. Ways of making sense are not always obvious or transparent. The task of the discourse analyst is to expose the premises that go unstated, so that we can judge for ourselves whether they are good enough or acceptable for the kind of society we want to create and live in. – Examine how a discourse is deployed. Also examine the present-moment relations that affect how a discourse plays out in any particular situation, site, arena, or in relation to a particular theme. Discourse is not fixed, but constantly shifting – What conditions facilitate or militate against a discourse being widely circulated? How powerful, acknowledged or muted each one is will depend on the general discursive climate.

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Discourse and Power

Power is mobilised, when speakers or actors activate consensus about what is the case (Cherryholmes, 1988, p. 180). A discourse or its premises may not be

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openly stated, but they can come to hold the status of truth nevertheless. The ways that we form meaning are central to any consideration of power, because meaning is implicated in shaping and regulating the conduct of human beings (Reynolds & Wetherell, 2003, p. 493). For instance, calling someone a slut is appealing to a ‘truth’ about women and girls: that it is okay to judge them by their sexual activity. But this premise may never actually be articulated in the daily usage. Nevertheless, it can come to be regarded as truth or reality. People recognise the discourse, although they may not name it, and they will either comply with, resist or seek to transform certain discourses. Discourses are never innocent (Davies, 2004, p. 5) or neutral; they are saturated with meaning from the social world. Discourse analysis is a tool for seeing how power operates beyond its material and juridical aspects. Discursive power is often (although not always) subtle, because it is passed off as ‘natural’ or ‘normal.’ Discourses of naturalness or normality have the capacity to mask the power of what appears to be benign. An unacknowledged discourse can give authority to the statements of a person or to the policy documents of an institution; it can make acceptable a joke at someone’s expense, or give one person the power to demonstrate superiority over someone else. For the reflexive practitioner, working with discursive power is just as important as working with economic, legal and material power. The strategies, tactics and techniques of power must be examined from the point of view of discourse also. The more subtle or less overt forms of violence and discrimination against subaltern groups are often discursive, and are evident in jokes, conversation, or subtle practices, for example. Discursive power differs from material and juridical power, but it is just as real as they are. Of course, when a woman or an immigrant or a gay person are on the receiving end of physical violence, they won’t call for a discourse analyst before phoning the police, the doctor or the refuge. If they experience discrimination, they may take a legal challenge. Nevertheless, to recognise the injustice of the central premises of racist or homophobic discourses is to open one’s eyes to how other kinds of power may be legitimised.

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Discourse and Ideology

An ideology is the elevation of a particular set of perceptions, assumptions, and analyses to a normative belief system. It provides a framework by which adherents respond to events and developments. An ideology also makes

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it difficult to see beyond the framework, however, so events reflecting other perspectives may seem nonsensical. Modern life is structured by numerous ideologies that interlock and support each other. (Spretnak, 1999, p. 12) Foucault (1980, cited in Reynolds & Wetherell) does not accept the term ideology. Nevertheless, many commentators believe that discourse is able to account especially well for the notion of ideology as common sense – the takenfor-granted – as developed in the work of Althuser (1971) and Gramsci (1971). It also has similarities with Gramsci’s notion of hegemony, understood as sublety and nuance. And it resonates with Garfinkel’s (1967) conceptualisation of ‘natural attitude.’ Discursive power is like ideology as common sense: unacknowledged and accepted assumptions may be present, which affect, frame or underpin what is actually said or done. The concept of discourse is, however, different from the Marxist notion of base and superstructure, where there exists an ideological superstructure, or a ‘veil of ignorance’ that has to be ‘seen through’ or displaced, in order to find the reality (the base) underneath.

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Discourse and Poststructuralism

The names we give to the concept of discourse do not really matter (I have already mentioned some other options for names, such as filters for experience, meaning-repertoires, etc.). The concept is a heuristic device. What does matter is the approach that informs the whole body of discourse theory within the critical poststructuralist tradition (see Davies, 2004). The body of thought that makes up critical poststructuralist theory is itself a discourse that coexists with other bodies of theory, which are also discourses. This critical poststructuralist tradition is interested in how we make history and how it unfolds. It is concerned with ‘the movement from one configuration to another … the lines of flight that make new realities’ (Davies, 2004, p. 7, original emphasis). The tradition strives to contribute to change and evolution; it is not satisfied with remaining simply an observer of the lines of flight of others (ibid.).

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A Hybrid Approach to Discourse Analysis

There are two main strands in the way researchers and commentators approach discourse: the top-down Foucauldian strand, and the ‘bottom-up’ strand, which

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has much in common with conversational analysis and grounded theory (see for example Henwood & Pigeon, cited in Day, Gough, & McFadden, 2003). The Foucauldian top-down approach emphasises the way that language plays a part in constituting identity and meaning, by the discourses (interpretive repertoires) that are available in a culture. Some commentators note that with this approach a researcher or commentator may from the outset of any analytic process impose theoretical, political or other judgements on data, and fail to take into account locally created meanings. This can have the effect of elevating the researcher/commentator to a position of all – knowing arbiter, which can have anti-democratic effects (Peace, 2003, pp. 165–166). The bottomup approach is limited by ‘its strict adherence to participants’ orientations and to the unattainable ideal that a researcher can conduct an objective analysis free from any ideological baggage’ (ibid., p. 164). In practice, few contemporary researchers, commentators or practitioners confine themselves strictly to one strand or the other. Some may concentrate on how meaning is accomplished and others may concentrate on the effects of the dominance of certain meanings and the absence of other possible meanings. But it is impossible to say that these two strands have nothing to do with each other or to say to each other. They have overlapping interests. The critical poststructuralist theoretical tradition advocates holding multiple positions at once, and simultaneously keeping an awareness of the potential imbalances of power. 8.1 Reading the Discursive Climate, as Well as Individual Discourses As well as examining individual discourses, we also need to step back and look at the broader conditions that allow one discourse to succeed another (or not). Certain conditions allow certain ways of understanding to be created and to come to the fore, and they keep other ways of understanding in the background. Reynolds and Wetherell (2003) refer to the sum of these conditions as the discursive climate. The see the discursive climate as having similarities to the term ‘ideological field,’ as proposed by Billig (1991, cited in Reynolds & Wetherell, 2003, p. 493). The discursive climate, as well as individual discourses, is important in considerations of power, resistance and change. It affects the legitimacy of, or lends authority to certain types of discourses. Feminism provides an example of this. An historical moment came in which the discursive climate was such that it was possible to think of women as a group, whose position in the social network lacked power. Earlier, that simply was not a recognized lens through which to view women. A major theme in feminism is equality among women and men, in every area of life, including care.

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However, the overall discursive climate of modernity equates progress with economic growth and makes paid work a central feature of modern life (see Ryan, 2009). This climate made some feminist discourses more likely to ‘catch on’ or resonate positively than others. The discourse that has come to dominate understandings of equality is that equality involves women being equal to the traditional male model in the workforce, where paid work takes precedence over other aspects of life, including care (for self, others and the earth). In the modern workplace, many women take on traditional male work patterns, or prioritise their jobs over other aspects of their lives, just like men were usually expected to do. The discursive climate of prioritising economic growth (where increase in GDP is a measure of well being) has made it more likely that when people think of equality, this work-oriented discourse of ‘women being like men’ would come to dominate. It has achieved the status of a ‘totalising discourse’ (De Cock, 1998) and has muted other discourses of equality, which promote the idea that men should spend less time in paid work, and participate more in unpaid and often economically invisible care work. More challenging and complex poststructuralist, postmodern and ecological discourses of equality (see Ryan, 2001; Spretnak, 1999), which do not ‘fit’ with the prioritisation of unregulated economic growth, have resonated with much fewer people, because the discursive climate does not nurture them in the way that it nurtures the dominant discourse of equality. Their central premises constitute fundamental challenges to modernity, or genuine paradigm shifts, and the discursive climate can be such that challenges to such discourses position the challenger as incomprehensible or crazy.

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Discourse Activism

One can name a discourse, identify its central premise, show how it is deployed, and what effects it has. Having identified discourses and related practices, one could stop there, theorising in a detached and relatively neutral way. (It is only relatively neutral, because what we choose to study or to make the focus of our activities is never entirely neutral.) Dominant discourses are not easily critiqued, transformed, challenged or negotiated. They tend to be taken as natural, normal or ‘common sense.’ Ultimately, though, the point is to disrupt oppressive discourses. The discursive arena is itself a site of politics, where action can take place for value-informed change. Discourse activism is aimed at transforming cultural paradigms (Young, 1997, p. 99) and bringing about value-led change.

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The concept of change is a very abstract one, which we use to make sense of how one way of knowing the world succeeds another. Because certain ideas are made, then they can be unmade, according to Foucault, and although he did not always show how people create new discourses, we can see from feminist, race and disability movements, among others, how this has been at least partly achieved. Examining discourses and understanding the discursive climate is an essential part of challenging oppressive ways of making sense of people or of the world. The reflexive practitioner can investigate how certain discourses can be challenged or ousted by discourses more adequate for the project of human and planetary well being. In any given situation, multiple discourses are likely to be activated, some of which are irreconcilable with each other, and this leads people to experience contradictions. Contradictory understandings and emotional responses can be an impetus for change. Contradiction, sympathetically treated, can also be the crack in the façade of dominant discourses. Contradictions are fertile ground for emerging new discourses of liberation. They are also a stimulus of creativity. In accepting and working with the experience of contradiction, we can learn to question and disrupt and create new discourses. Contradictions are a doorway to such change (Ryan, 2001a). Counterhegemonic discourses offer possibilities for new ways of knowing, and new ways for humans to be (subject positions) They provide resources for identity, as well as resources for solidarity with others. Discursive activism is usually collective. Individuals can take significant actions, but the creation of new discourses and getting them into circulation so that they can have an effect arises from work with other people.

10

Discourse and History

The dominant modern discourse about history is that it consists of inevitable ‘change’ or progress, where one element monotonously follows another, descending from the heavens as if pre-ordained (Bordo, 1993, p. 179), without any possibility that things might be different. Discourse analysis is one of the tools that help us to see the past as something much more complex than just a series of inevitable events in which humans played little or no part. Discourse plays a part in the evolution of social institutions and the emergence of regimes of truth (Foucault, 1979). Discourse analysis shows us that influential concepts and ideas – for example, the idea of learning outcomes, the at-risk child, the war on terror – were

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not just lying around waiting to be discovered; they are ideas that human beings constructed and made real, in particular historical circumstances and conditions. Ideas develop from the imaginations and intellects of human beings, living at different historical periods. In engaging in discursive-historical work, we can see that in the past there was usually more than one possible outcome, and that what has come to the fore has not necessarily been natural, or inevitable. We examine how one idea, and not another, comes to succeed (Ransom, 1993, p. 133). We ask what the circumstances are that allow a particular statements or belief ‘to acquire the quality of self-evidence or coherence’ (ibid., p. 132). What was the discursive climate that facilitated the emergence of certain ways of knowing, and made it more likely that other ways of knowing were muted or lost? As Foucault puts it: My problem is to substitute the analysis of different types of transformation for the abstract, general and monotonous form of ‘change’ which so easily serves as our means of conceptualising succession. (Foucault, 1991, pp. 55–56, cited in Ransom, 1993, pp. 132–133, original emphasis) History seen in terms of discourse also gives us the important idea that the way events happen is not inevitable – but that the way things turn out is always contested and full of other possibilities. At a very broad level, for example, the kind of discourses of reason and what is entailed in being a rational human being, which have emerged as dominant in modern times, have always been contested. Modern-day rationality is usually confined to a particular kind of thinking, detached from feeling and imagination. And this kind of rationality has become somewhat of a hallmark of modern humanity. But in the past, fundamental challenges to modernist forms of rationality came from the Romantic movement, the Arts and Crafts movement, the cosmological and spiritual quests in schools of painting, the counter-modern Modernists, Gandhi’s constructive Program (sic)and the counterculture of the 1960s and early 1970s (Spretnak, 1999, p. 135). The Romantics believed that only someone with acutely attentive and receptive sensibilities was capable of deep thought, in contrast to the sort of reasoning performed by a book-keeper (Spretnak, 1999, p. 136). Many of these movements did not have great lasting influence. But they do live on in small pockets and traces and may come to the fore again. Some countercultural efforts did succeed, such as the landmark work of Erasmus, Copernicus, and Galileo (Hogan, 2003, p. 218). Ideas for social justice or for other ways of knowing, which people struggled to have accepted, have also

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often failed to win the day, and have been lost in the official histories, although they often survive in songs and stories. But if we are engaged in a struggle to challenge injustice and create a better world, which is part of the job of the reflexive practitioner, it is useful to know that we are part of a significant and substantial lineage (Spretnak, 1999, p. 136). Discourse analysis is one way to achieve a more complex sense of the past, that is, a sense that the past is something that contained different possibilities. And when we see the past in this way, we can see the future as one that contains different possibilities also. This is in contrast to the dominant modernist discourse of the future, whose central premise is that change consists of more of what we have now, only speeded up or in more concentrated form.

11

What a Discourse Approach Cannot Do

If we look at all the discourses present in a situation, we can get a threedimensional view (Middleton, 1998, p. 24) of how people make sense of a site, whether concrete or abstract. We can see a great deal of what is going on there; it is like doing theory in action (ibid.). And what is going on is not just related to what people say, but to what they do and how they behave (actual practices) and sites of practice. But discursive relations do not constitute the entirety of all possible social and political relations (see Cain, 1992, p. 79). The person – as speaker, actor, thinker, feeling being, theorist or change agent – is largely absent from discourse analysis. This has benefits and disadvantages. The chief benefit is that, in analysing a discourse, one need not refer to the psychology of the individuals who draw on it or activate it. So one can discuss the premises of a discourse, how it operates, the effects it has, and how it can be challenged if it is oppressive. At the same time, one can avoid blaming those who use the discourse. But the downside is that discourse theory does not address all the complexities of how an individual experiences reality, what one might call the emotional realities of human life (Ransom, 1993, p. 133). We cannot see what is happening in terms of peoples’ internal responses to the content of a discourse, or to their positioning in a nexus of contradictory discourses. Everyone has a unique relationship to discourse, because each person has a unique history: emotional, physical, psychological, spiritual, cultural and so on. These histories create desire and anxiety, which are also filters for our experiences, as discourse is. Our unique histories help us to ‘act creatively on experience and transform it’ (Hollway, 2006, p. 16).

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Pure discourse analysis can also lead us to ignore our psychological or emotional investments in certain discourses; we may make these investments and form attachments to certain discourses because there is some kind of payoff for us. They may, for example, position us powerfully or promise us liberation (Alloway & Gilbert, 2004). Equally, discourse analysis alone cannot explain how and why people ‘let go’ of old discourses in order to move into uncertain futures (Henriques, Hollway, Urwin, Venn, & Walkerdine, 1998, p. xvii). We make decisions in terms of what we find persuasive – if we are exposed to other discourses that we find persuasive, we may change our behaviour. But of course we also have to take into account emotional responses. Behaviour is not just a matter of rational persuasion. It is also about the fulfilment of desire. The drive to create change is inextricable from human desire. Discourse theory alone does not explain why a person chooses to resist an oppressive discourse. Hollway (2006) posits that one can have an emotional response to an oppressive discourse and a desire for a more humane discourse. The case of the Robertsons illustrates this thesis (ibid., p. 115). They were a couple who, in the 1950s in Britain, campaigned for more humane treatment of children in hospital. The human person (the subject, or the self) is psychosocial and the entirety of human subjectivity must be taken into account in any analyses or moves for change. Subjectivity is the subjective sense of oneself, including ideas, beliefs and emotions. The self is far more than positions in discourse; it also has important emotional, imaginative, creative, unconscious and other internal dimensions. It can be construed as a dynamic three-way process among discourse, emotional responses and relations in the present moment (Ryan, 2001). ‘Discursive changes that accompany adult politicisation or actions for change are at the same time psychodynamic shifts or movements’ (Ryan, 2001, p. 57). Discourses play an important role here, in that they provide resources and content for identity, but discourse theory does not give an adequate account of emotions, imagination, desire or anxiety. Discourses pre-exist individuals and enable the symbolisation of what is introjected, influencing the meaning that is achieved. But that meaning is also achieved through the creative imagination that characterises the internal world. (Hollway, 2006, p. 129, emphasis added) The reflexive practitioner has to be able to go further than discourse explanations or activism, which concentrate largely on the social or external aspects of human life. We need to examine life history, and issues such as the experience of embodiment. These stress the importance for the person

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of specific experiences and relationships, such as those involved in being a child, or being parented, or parenting (Fleming, 2008; Henriques et al., 1998, p. xv). Experiences of place and nature also need to be taken into account (Spretnak, 1999). Imagination, empathy and identification with others are epistemological resources that drive change (Ransom, 1993, p. 134ff) and they also have ontological roots: the body and mind are related in important ways. Emotions, imagination, desire and anxiety have an undoubted discursive element to them. Imagination, for example, is constrained by the discursive resources available. And the ways that we understand personal feelings are also conditioned by discourse. But there is much more to these processes than discourse. If we were to make only a discourse-oriented reading of them, that would be tantamount to understanding the person as determined by discourse. The internal world of the individual is not confined to discursive content, although it consists partly of discursive content. We cannot ignore human creativity.

12

Conclusion

Once one has learned how discourses work – and they are present in all arenas of human life – it is impossible not to be aware of them, and equally impossible to ignore their importance. There are limits to what discourse analysis can offer, but discourse remains a crucial element of power relations, and discourse analysis and activism remain very useful tools for the reflexive practitioner. They help us to combine a deep analysis of the realities of our time with a moral/political commitment to resisting injustice and ecological degradation, while at the same time promoting justice and ecological security. Discourse can be used in research, teaching, learning and activism. The job of the reflexive practitioner is to look at the everyday, the things that are familiar in our worlds, and to ask if they are adequate for the projects of equality, enablement and justice that are dear to our hearts. Discourse analysis is a tool for this kind of work. It helps us to build our capacities for reflexivity, as well as for participation in progressive social change, in collective efforts with others.

Note 1 Discourses are not the only resources we activate to create meaning, as I outline towards the end of this chapter. But they are the chief focus of this chapter.

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References Alloway, N., & Gilbert, P. (2004). Shifting discourses about gender in higher educaiton enrolmenst: Retrieving marginalised voices. International Journal of Qualitative Studies in Education, 17(1), 99–112. Althuser, L. (1971). Lenin and philosophy and other essays. London: New Left Books. Bordo, S. (1993). Feminism, Foucault and the politics of the body. In C. Ramazanoglu (Ed.), Up against Foucault: Explorations of some tensions between Foucault and feminism. London: Routledge. Burnam, E. (1994). Deconstructing developmental psychology. London: Routledge. Cain, M. (1992). Foucault, feminism and feeling: What Foucault can and cannot contribute to feminist epistemology. In C. Ramazanoglu (Ed.), Foucault: Explorations of some tensions between Foucault and feminism. London: Routledge. Cherryholmes, C. H. (1988). Power and criticism: Poststructural investigations in education. New York, NY: Teachers College Press. Davies, B. (2004). Introduction: Poststructuralist lines of flight in Australia. International Journal of Qualitative Studies in Education, 17(1), 3–9. Day, K., Gough, B., & McFadden, M. (2003). Women who drink and fight: A discourse analysis of working-class women’s talk. Feminism and Psychology, 13(2), 141–158. De Cock, C. (1998). Organisational change and discourse: Hegemony, resistane and reconsitution. Managment, 1(1), 1–22. Ewert, G. (1991). Habermas and education: A comprehensive overview of the influence of Habermas in educational literature. Review of Educational Research, 61(3), 345–378. Fleming, T. (2008). A secure base for adult learning: Attachment theory and adult education. The Adult Learner, 35, 33–53. Foucault, M. (1979). The history of sexuality (Vol. 1). London: Allen Lane. Foucault, M. (1980). Power/knowlege: Selected interviews and other writings, 1972–1977 (C. Gordon, Trans.). Brighton: Harvester. Foucault, M. (1991). Politics and the study of discourse. In G. Burchall, C. Gordon, & P. Miller (Eds.), The Foucault effect: Studies in governmentality. Hemel Hempstead: Harvester Wheatsheaf. Garfinkel, H. (1967). Studies in ethnomethodology. Englewood Cliffs, NJ: Prentice-Hall. Gramsci, A. (1971). Prison notebooks. London: Lawrence & Whishart. Habermas, J. (1984). The theory of communicative action: Volume 1, reason and rationalisation in society (T. McCarthy, Trans.). Boston, MA: Beacon Press. Henriques, J., Hollway, W., Urwin, C., Venn, C., & Walkerdine, V. (1998). Changing the subject, psychology, subjectivity and regulation. London: Routledge. Hogan, P. (2003). Teaching and learning as a way of life. Philosophy of Education, 37(2), 207–226.

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Hollway, W. (2006). The capacity to care: Gender and ethical subjectivity. London: Routledge. Lange, E. (2004). Transformative and restorative learning: A vital dialectic for sustainable societies. Adult Education Quarterly, 54(2), 121–139. Lees, S. (1987). Losing out: Sexuality and adolescent girls. London: Hutchinson. Mezirow, J. (2003). Transformative learning as discourse. Journal of Transformative Education, 1(1), 58–63. Middleton, S. (1998). Disciplining sexuality: Foucault, life histories and education. New York, NY: Teachers College Press. Peace, P. (2003). Balancing power: The discursive maintenance of gender inequality by wo/men at univeristy. Feminism and Psychology, 13(2), 159–180. Ransom, J. (1993). Feminism, discourse and difference: The limits of discursive analysis for feminism. In C. Ramazanoglu (Ed.), Up against Foucault: Explorations of some tensions between Foucault and feminism. London: Routledge. Reynolds, J., & Wetherell, M. (2003). The discursive climate of singleness: The consequences for women’s negotiation of a single identity. Feminism and Psychology, 13(4), 489–510. Ryan, A. B. (1992). Gender difference and discourse in social school relations (Unpublished MA thesis). St Patrick’s College, Maynooth. Ryan, A. B. (1997). Gender discourses in social school relations. In A. Byrne & M. Leonard (Eds.), Women and Irish society: A sociological reader. Belfast: Beyond the Pale Publications. Ryan, A. B. (2001a). Feminist ways of knowing: Towards theorising the person for radical adult education. Leicester: NIACE. Ryan, A. B. (2001b). How was it for you? Learning from couples’ experiences of the first years of marriage. Dublin: ACCORD, Department of Social and Family Affairs. Ryan, A. B. (2003). Contemporary discourses of working, earning and spending: Acceptance, critique and the bigger picture. In C. Coulter & S. Coleman (Eds.), The end of Irish history? Critical approaches to the celtic tiger. Manchester: Manchester University Press. Ryan, A., & Walsh, T. (2004). Creating new knowledge. In A. Ryan & T. Walsh (Eds.), Unsettling the horses: Interrogating adult education perspectives. Maynooth: MACE. Spretnak, C. (1999). The resurgence of the real. New York, NY: Routledge. Young, S. (1997). Changing the world: Discource, politics and the feminist movement. London: Routledge.

Chapter 3

Reflexivity and the Emotional Dimension of Adult Learning David McCormack

1

Introduction1

I am sitting at the top table at a conference, a gathering of adult learners on a particular course. It is coming towards the end of the day and, relieved as I am that we have coped well and that we have nearly made it to the end of the day, I am less than fully alive to the proceedings, though I doubt if anyone would know. We ask for contributions from the floor and one man asks for the roving microphone. He named himself and said where he was from and said that he wanted to say that six weeks ago, before coming on to the course he wouldn’t have been able to ask for the microphone and talk in public. That’s all he wanted to say, to demonstrate for himself that his confidence had grown, that at least in part he had found a voice. A colleague is more alive to things than I, and she talks to him afterwards. She learns that because of a speech difficulty he has stammered his way through life but that the course has allowed him to face his fears, to push beyond the limits he had felt constrained by and he has begun to find his voice. I think that, as adult educators, we are familiar in our work life with stories of learners growing in confidence though participation in adult education. But I’m not sure that we make enough of these stories, or that we know a lot about them, or that the discipline itself knows an awful lot about the complex process of transformation through learning. It seems to me that emotional growth and development is far more complex a process than we generally give it credit for, and therefore facilitating such a process is also more complex. Gaining in confidence might be a by product of what we do in our groups, but it seems to me that we ought to know a whole lot more about the process of the development of confidence in adult life in view of that fact that it is such an important part of the experience for people. So I decided to present an autobiographical story to raise some of these issues, since, in my view, the only legitimate way that I can find to talk about this complex process is in the first person: there is little point in me telling a story about someone else’s transformation and even less point in trying to theorise about it without reference to lived experience. © koninklijke brill nv, leideN, 2018 | DOI:10.1163/9789004384507_003

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The story, then, is an autobiographical story that embodies the experience of working as a facilitator of adult learning, and being in turn changed by the experience. At this level it might achieve what Ellis and Bochner suggest that personal narratives can do: [they] create the effect of reality, showing characters embedded in the complexities of lived moments of struggle, resisting the intrusions of chaos, disconnection, fragmentation, marginalization, and incoherence, trying to preserve or restore the continuity and coherence of life’s unity in the face of unexpected blows of fate that call one’s meanings and values into question. (Ellis & Bochner, 2000, p. 744) It is an auto-ethnographical story; that is, a story that says something of significance and relevance to a wider culture. Auto-ethnography is ‘a method and a text’ (Etherington, 2004, p. 140), an autobiographical genre of writing and research that incorporates aspects of one’s own life experience when writing about others (2004, p. 139). It is ‘a form of self-narrative that places the self within a social context’ (2004, pp. 139–140). Richardson refers to such texts as ‘critical ethnographies of the self’ (1997, p. 2): The sociological rests in the intersection between the biographical and the historical. Sociologists routinely turn their gaze to the lives of others, they are less prone to see themselves as social and cultural products, producing social and cultural products. (1997, p. 1) Writing is a way to ‘document becoming’ (Richardson & St Pierre, 2005, p. 966), and is then a method of inquiry into the self and its formation in culture. Such writing can: evoke new questions about the self and the subject; remind us that our work is grounded, contextual and rhizomatic; and demystify the research/writing process and help others to do the same. They can evoke deeper parts of the self and heal wounds, enhance the sense of self – or even alter one’s sense of identity. (Richardson & St Pierre, 2005, p. 963) The story may also be thought of as what Dirkx (2006a) calls an ‘insider story,’ written as a process of reflexive practice (Bolton, 2005, 2006). Gillie Bolton, who developed an approach to reflexive practice based on writing processes such as is used here, talks of reflexive practice as a way of engaging

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in professional practice with a willingness to take ‘authority and responsibility [for] personal and professional identity, values, action and feelings,’ to contest habitual practices and to maintain a ‘willingness to stay with uncertainty, unpredictability, questioning’ (Bolton, 2005, p. 2). This approach to reflexive practice involves ‘spirited enquiry leading to constructive developmental change and personal and professional integrity based on deep understandings. It is creative, illuminative, dynamic, self-affirming’ (2005, p. 2). Reflexive practice needs ‘to be a deeply questioning enquiry into professionals’ actions, thoughts, feelings, beliefs, values and identity’ (Bolton, 2006, pp. 203–204). Writing as an approach to reflexive practice allows us to make our taken-forgranted world strange (2006, p. 204) transmuting it into a created object available to dialogue. Such an approach offers ‘the illuminative power of explorative and expressive writing to develop understanding’ (2006, p. 216). As an example of writing as reflexive practice it is an attempt to story an experience of the vulnerability that can happen when you are working at your growing edge. At this level it might be seen as narrative evidence of an aspect of adult education practice. Whichever of these levels you read this story on, and indeed I am not sure that there is much difference between them, it is best to receive it as what Speedy calls a local story, a ‘parcel of knowledge-in-context’ (2005, p. 63). Speedy talks about the writing process as a process of inquiry: Writing as inquiry is an attempt to capture the reader’s attention and engage them in a conversation. It assumes and articulates a reflexive, situated researcher stance, but does not necessarily dwell there. It assumes and expresses a curiosity or even a thirst for knowledge about the contents of a study, but has no illusions that this might speak for itself. It leaves much unsaid, uncertain, and incomplete. It is, at best, a balancing act between form and content. It is often playful, often poetic, often experimental and often fictionalised. It tends towards distillation and description rather than explanation or analysis. Above all it attempts to provide sufficient substance to contribute towards scholarship in the field as well as sufficient space to engage the reader’s imagination. (Speedy, 2005, p. 63)

2

I’m an Adult Educator: Get Me Out of Here

I couldn’t justly call it badgering, but Paul asked me over and over again until eventually I gave in. It was Christmas Eve when I succumbed to flattery. ‘I know

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you’ve said no before and I know you’ve offered the services of all of your colleagues, but I’m asking you. I want you to do it,’ he said. ‘I want you to come and talk to us about adult education. We are all trained teachers but now we are working with adults and we need some input from somewhere.’ We were supping pints of Guinness in what passed for both of us as a local in the town we had both married into. Work and stress just seemed so far away, so, despite my long-standing aversion to talking as ‘expert’ to any group, and despite all the fears and dreads that it brought up in me, I said I would. Convivially we started planning together and the day took shape; I would welcome the group, one colleague would run a group facilitation workshop, another colleague would talk to them about theoretical developments in the field of adult learning and I would finish the day talking about what I fancifully thought of as ‘the emotional dimension of adult learning.’ My practice is to prepare my presentation, somewhat meticulously, well in advance of the nerves starting. This I did and I can see my paper now in my mind’s eye, all headings and spidery writing. A manuscript of good practice in supporting adult learners. Well written and well referenced and, I now realise, fundamentally safe and boring. The day approached and with it the nerves grew, but the security blanket of my precious paper helped hugely. That morning I met Paul and feigned relaxation and confidence. But as the group arrived the pretence strained me more and more. They arrived one by one, all big cars and briefcases, ties and power dressing. My jumper felt more drab than usual and my paper lay uselessly crumpled in my backpack. My imagination ran riot and I pictured them all confidence and bluster working with their groups, power point presentations running smooth as their dress. Experienced facilitators of growth, change and development in schools, FE colleges, working daily in the real world of hugely challenging issues. I welcomed them and introduced the outline of the day and left them in the intimidatingly capable hands of my two colleagues. I wandered back to the office, the cold of the day seeping perniciously into my bones. I felt about 7 years old. Young enough to feel terror, old enough to feel shame. My old pattern, well known to me but as powerful as ever took over and I dreamed of running away. Back in the relative safety of the office I began to think about it. A question suggested itself to me: if I could run, cry off ill, or otherwise avoid the feelings, would I? Immediately the answer came, no, I would be depriving myself of an important opportunity for an adventure, for growing up just a little more. I thought of my children and how I might help them to face their fears by me facing mine. So with no way out, a second question, and it seemed to me to be a much more important one, surfaced in the panic: now I know what I would be missing if I backed out, but if I did back out, what would the group be missing?

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Shockingly fast the answer came from I know not where: vulnerability, the voice of vulnerability. Something quickened inside me as the fear gave way to excitement. I knew immediately that I was on to something really important. There and then I found myself, and again I can see it now, me ceremoniously dumping my precious paper. All the words I had laboured over went head first into the grey institutional bin. I knew what I needed and headed in hope and haste to the library. The previous week I had been to a poetry reading by Paula Meehan and one poem she read that evening had stayed with me. I am lucky, the book is there and I re-read the poem to see if it is as powerful as I remember: Literacy Class, South Inner City One remembers welts festering on her palm She’d spelt ‘sacrament’ wrong. Seven years of age, preparing for Holy Communion. Another is calm describing the exact humiliation, forty years on, the rage at wearing her knickers on her head one interminable day for the crime of wetting herself. Another swears she was punch drunk most her schooldays – clattered about the ears, made to say I am stupid; my head’s a sieve. I don’t know how to think I don’t deserve to live. Late November, the dark chill of the room, Christmas looming and none of us well fixed. We bend each evening in scarves and coats to the work of mending what is broken in us. Without tricks, without wiles, with no time to waste now, we plant words on these blank fields. It is an unmapped world and we are pioneering agronomists launched onto this strange planet, the sad flag of the home place newly furled. (Meehan, 2000, p. 51) I know what to do now. I have an objective correlative, something external to me to hold and contain my conviction, that vulnerability is an inevitable part of the learning process in adult life; that it is a vital, in every sense of the word, part of change; that when it is your job to facilitate change there will inevitably be all sorts of emotions stirred up (Claxton, 1999), not least in yourself; and that supporting yourself to face this distress is an essential resource in a facilitator’s work (Dirkx, 2006).

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The time comes to meet the group and the storm of anxiety is working its way through my system. I meet the group and I tell them the story of the morning, of my projections about them, of my search for the poem and the significance it holds for me. I read the poem and look at the feelings it evokes. It is reasonable to assume, I tell them, that all these feelings and more will be alive, implicitly or explicitly, in the learning process. I talk about adult education as a transitional space (Hunt & West, 2006) on the road to the creation of new identity and the way that this brings up the anxiety of and resistance to change. I ask them questions about the ethics of ignoring on the one hand, or provoking on the other, these life experiences in the learning space. I talk about what it demands of us as adult educators in knowing the geography of the emotional territory we invite people into when they work towards change and growth. I have talked for 45 minutes and I feel anxious now to focus on them and their own experiences now that they have a grasp of the basic ideas. I am aware of myself as having enjoyed the time, feeling it went well. But the tension of handing it over to the silent group is never easy: will they engage or will they stay silent? Or worse still will they talk out of a polite deference to myself, a close friend of one of their number. There is a silence after my question: ‘what does any of this bring up in you?’ I am aware of Peter. A large jolly man, who I know to be the elder of the group, the one who they each look to for a steer on how to be. I could see him deep in thought. In one defining moment, he undid his tie, slumped in the chair but paradoxically took up more space in the room: ‘sometimes,’ he said, and I make no apology for the language, for this is what he said, ‘sometimes I fucking hate this job.’ There was something of a collective sigh of relief, and they were off, talking about the difficulty of the work, the performance they have to engage in daily, the support they offer to people, the resistance that they encounter almost daily. We took these stories and drew them on the flipchart and questioned them, interrogated them from the point of view of relationship, transformation, participation and resistance. Later that day I meet them all. This time in a different local, mine as it happens. They are at pains to buy me drinks and we talk about where they come from and how they spend their time when they are not working. Peter talks about his passion for diving and I imagine him, divested of suit and tie, submerged in a different element. I weakly remember the morning encounter and how I had felt about him, and I marvelled, as I so often do, at how comforting

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it is, how very inspiring it is, that we manage, despite the interferences of fate and ego, to keep surprising ourselves.

3

The Emotional Dimension of Adult Learning

Following Neilsen (2008) I am offering theoretical notes on the story, less from the viewpoint of explaining, but more for the purpose of situating myself and my position as it relates to the emotional dimension of adult learning. It seems to me that processes of growth, change and development in adult education are more complex than I understood when I first began reading Freire, Mezirow, and Brookfield as key authors in the field. My conviction grew over time that the emotional complexity of the process was not well theorized there and this sent me on a search for writers who offered such an understanding. As far back as 1977, Jennifer Rogers wrote that counselling is ‘now being seen more and more as an important aspect of teaching adults’ for the simple reason that ‘so frequently the academic anxieties and problems of students are inseparable from more personal ones.’ Rogers warns against educators setting themselves up as ‘amateur psychotherapists’ but sees the need for adult educators to be able to manage this dimension of learning (1977, p. 40). Robertson (1996) argues that adult educators are encouraged to promote transformative learning through facilitative relationships, but are not adequately prepared or supported to manage the dynamics of such relationships. He writes: The dynamics of the helping relationship are complex and often involve professional challenges such as transference, countertransference, confidentiality, sexual attraction, supervision and burnout, each with attendant ethical, legal and efficacy considerations. By and large the field of adult education has not embraced the challenge of preparing and supporting adult educators to deal with these issues. (Robertson, 1996, p. 44) He calls for a ‘curriculum for adult educators to include managing the dynamics of educational helping relationships’ (Robertson, 1996, p. 48) and suggests that some form of supervision of adult education practice is an important part of the solution.

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As a matter of good practice, helping professions – such as ministry, counselling, and psychotherapy – often encourage, and sometimes require, the helper to establish a relationship with another qualified professional in which she or he is the helpee and in which the object of the helping relationship is improvement as a helping professional. This context encourages the helper to explore candidly her or his own experience, as pertinent to specific helping encounters, not just the experience of the helpee. (Robertson, 1996, p. 49) Claxton (1999) offers an analysis of the confusion, doubt and perplexity that can be engendered by participating in an adult education process. He says that learning is ‘an intrinsically emotional business’ (1999, p. 15) and that ‘engaging with something unknown always involves a risk – sometimes slight, sometimes grave’ (1999, p. 14). He views learning from an evolutionary standpoint and therefore fundamental to our survival and adaptation in the world. For Claxton ‘to be alive is to be learning’ (1999, p. 6), learning is ‘what you do when you don’t know what to do’ and ‘learning to learn … is getting better at knowing when, how and what to do when you don’t know what to do’ (1999, p. 11). So learning, then, involves an experience of not knowing and thus he underlines the need for ‘resilience’ in the face of doubt and confusion. That is why resilience, the ability to tolerate these emotions, is so important. Even when learning is going smoothly, there is always the possibility of surprise, confusion, frustration, disappointment or apprehension – as well, of course, as fascination, absorption, exhilaration, awe or relief. (Claxton, 1999, p. 15) A fundamental aspect of this resilience is self-knowledge and self-awareness in that lifelong learning demands ‘the ability to think strategically about your own learning path, and this requires the self-awareness to know one’s own goals, the resources that are needed to pursue them, and your current strengths and weaknesses in that regard’ (Claxton, 1999, p. 14). The corollary of this, of course, is that the educator must be capable of tolerating these emotions in students as well as in themselves and have the capacity for and a commitment to the same level of self-awareness. Dirkx (2006, pp. 15–16) recognises the ‘powerful emotional context in which much of adult learning occurs’: Affective issues influence why adults show up for educational programs, their interest in subject matter, and the processes by which they engage

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the material, their experiences, the teacher, and one another. While these emotional issues are usually manifest in an explicit manner, they often reflect dynamics that are more subtle, implicit and even beyond conscious awareness. In this context adult educators need to be in a position to ‘consider the symbolic meaning of emotion and affect’ (2006, p. 18), ‘by attuning ourselves more carefully to our own processes of individuation’ (2006, pp. 20–21), and thereby heightening our awareness of that process in learners’ lives. ‘The expression and experience of emotion within the learning experience provides an opportunity for establishing dialogue with the unconscious aspects of ourselves seeking expression through various images, feelings, and behaviours within the learning setting’ (Dirkx, 2006, p. 22). West (2006) offers us a psychosocial view of lifelong learning in the context of unprecedented levels of change and transition that accompany the postmodern condition. He proposes that a psychosocial view of lifelong learning can go some way to enable people ‘to remain creative, rather than paranoid, in the face of constant change and uncertainty, and compose meaningful biographies in the process’ (West, 2006, p. 39). He plots for us many of the ways in which the postmodern world is fraught with ‘deep uncertainties around notions of identity, place in community and in relation to work’ (West, 2006, p. 41). West views lifelong learning as key to well-being in such a fractured world, a world in which ‘we often need to learn our way – at a personal as well as more collective level – through a range of difficulties, dislocations and conflicting claims and prescriptions, without confident reference to familial templates or uncontested knowledge’ (West, 2006, p. 41). Anxiety, especially around threats to the self, can generate a whole range of defensive manoeuvres, often unconscious, included in adult learning. These manoeuvres focus themselves around, for instance, our capacities to cope, or whether we are good enough, or are acceptable to, or even deserve to be accepted by, others. (West, 2006, p. 42) Coping with such anxiety for educators requires the appreciation of the educative arena as a ‘transitional space,’ which is an ‘in-between space … where identity may be negotiated and risks taken in relation to potentially new identities’ (West, 2006, p. 42). In such a space: learning can be interpreted in terms of desire and resistance to relationships and objects. … learning – emotional, intimate, relational,

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biographical, imaginative as well as symbolic – involved at times, deep resistance and ambivalence. For a person, any person, to progress requires sufficient feelings of security and encouragement to enter a transitional space, a community of practice – such as in higher education or an arts group – and to engage with others in symbolic activity. We need to be able to perceive self, however fleetingly – in the eyes of others as well as ourselves – in new ways, in processes of becoming, and to manage the anxieties generated: … We have to tolerate the ambivalence of moving from the safety of the periphery towards a more central space in which we are able to let go, sufficiently, of self-preoccupation and absorb ourselves in the creative moment. (West, 2006, p. 46) In summary, Adult Education in this view is an intrinsically emotional activity that is inherently complex in its emotional resonance. Therefore, adult educators need to be able to manage the emotional dynamics of teaching and learning and can do this most effectively by becoming attuned to their own emotional lives as educators, particularly concerning the impact of the educative relationship on them. The form of reflexive practice offered here is one where the language and processes of the imagination are used both to describe a transitional space, but also to constitute a transitional space in which my own processes as educator can be symbolised and processed.

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Writing Inquiry as Transitional Space

The story presented, then, is what Ochs and Capps (1996, p. 19) call a ‘personal narrative, an embodied framing of a sequence of actual life events.’ It is both ‘born out of experience and gives shape to experience’ (1996, p. 20). Defined in this way a personal narrative of professional life offers ‘reflexive awareness of being-in-the-world’ and is ‘an essential resource in the struggle to bring experiences to conscious awareness, a way for us to ‘come to know ourselves. … To apprehend experience and navigate relationships with others’ (Ochs & Capps, p. 21). But narratives of this kind are not ‘omniscient accounts’ and therefore need listeners and readers to fill them out. Narratives are ‘tales that tellers and listeners map onto tellings of personal experience. In this sense, even the most silent of listeners is an author of an emergent narrative’ (Ochs & Capps, p. 21). So the stories we tell are not fixed. ‘A writer may perceive certain meanings

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clearly, and formulate specific questions. Different readers perceive other meanings and pose different questions’ (Bolton, 2006, p. 209). A story is an attempt to create order and security out of a chaotic world. But for our experiences to develop us – socially, psychologically, spiritually – our worlds must be made to appear strange. We … must be encouraged to examine our story making processes critically: to create and recreate fresh accounts of our lives from different perspectives, different points of view, and to elicit and listen to responses from peers. (Bolton, 2005, p. 3) Pelias says that ‘whenever we engage in research, we are offering a first-person narrative. Even our most traditional work is someone’s story’ and he makes a passionate plea for a methodology of the heart (Pelias, 2004, p. 7). When engaging with such research Sparkes (2007, p. 540) asks readers to think ‘with the story and see where it takes them’ when it resonates with them ‘allowing one’s own thoughts to adapt the story’s immanent logic, its temporality, and its tensions and contradictions.’ Speedy (2008, p. 33) refers to the spaces between writer and reader as spaces, which are ‘imaginative sites in which to extend, provoke and create knowledge in new ways.’ These sites seem to come especially alive when there is dialogue between writer and reader which creates what De Freitas calls a ‘moment of response, when the unanticipated appears, when the Other enters the work and leaves the traces of their … experiences’ (De Freitas, 2008, p. 474). So, having read the story and some of the methodological and theoretical considerations that surround it, what are you left with? Did the story invite you into a space of reflection yourself? Did it help you to think about your own experience of working with adult learners, particularly the emotional dimension of facilitating and participating in adult learning? If so, then you have allowed yourself to enter the transitional space between writer and reader that holds out possibilities for meaning making and consciousness raising. Voices from this space are the voices of reflexive practice and, I believe, ensure our continued reflexive responsiveness to adult learners.

Note 1 This chapter is based on the following article: McCormack, D. (2009). ‘A parcel of knowledge’: An autoethnographic exploration of the emotional dimension of teaching and learning in adult education. Adult Learner, xx, 13–28.

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References Bolton, G. (2005). Reflective practice: Writing and professional development. London: Chapman. Bolton, G. (2006). Narrative writing: Reflective enquiry into professional practice. Educational Action Research, 14(2), 203–218. Claxton, G. (1999). Wise up: The challenge of lifelong learning. London: Bloomsbury. DeFreitas, E. (2008). Interrogating reflexivity: Art, research and the desire for presence. In J. G. Kowles & A. L. Cole (Eds.), Handbook of the arts in qualitative research. London: Sage Publications. Dirkx, J. (2006). Engaging emotions in adult learning: Jungian perspectives on emotion and transformational learning. New Directions for Adult and Continuing Education, 109, 15–26. Ellis, C., & Bochner, A. (2000). Autoethongraphy, personal narrative, reflexivity: Researcher as subject. In N. Denzin & Y. Lincoln (Eds.), The Sage handbook of qualitative research. London: Sage Publications. Etherington, K. (2004). Becoming a reflexive researcher. London: Jessica Kingsley. Hunt, C., & West, L. (2006). Learning in a border country: Using psychodynamic ideas in teaching and research. Studies in the Education of Adults, 38, 160–177. Meehan, P. (2000). Dharmakaya. Manchester: Carcanet Press. Neilsen, L. (2008). Lyric inquiry. In J. G. Knowles & A. L. Cole (Eds.), Handbook of the arts in qualitative research (pp. 93–102). Thousand Oaks, CA: Sage Publications. Ochs, E., & Capps, L. (1996). Narrating the self. Annual Review of Anthropology, 25, 19–43. Pelias, R. J. (2004). A methodology of the heart: Evoking academic & daily life. Walnut Creek, CA: AltaMira Press. Richardson, L. (1997). Fields of play: Constructing an academic life. New Brunswick, NJ: Rutgers University Press. Richardson, L., & St Pierre, E. (2005). Writing: A method of inquiry. In N. Denzin & Y. Lincoln (Eds.), The Sage handbook of qualitative research. London: Sage Publications. Robertson, D. (1996). Facilitating transformative learning: Attending to the dynamics of the helping relationship. Adult Education Quarterly, 47(1), 41–53. Rogers, J. (1977). Adults learning. Milton Keynes: Open University Press. Sparkes, A. (2007). Embodiment, academics and the audit culture: A story seeking consideration. Qualitative Research, 7(4), 521–550. Speedy, J. (2005). Writing as inquiry: Some ideas, practices, opportunities and constraints. Counselling and Psychotherapy Research, 5(1), 63–64. Speedy, J. (2008). Narrative inquiry and psychotherapy. Houndmills: Palgrave Macmillan. West, L. (2006). Managing change and transition: A psychosocial perspective on lifelong learning. In P. Sutherland & J. Crowther (Eds.), Lifelong learning: Concepts and contexts. London: Routledge.

Chapter 4

Seeing the Wood and the Trees Expanding the Reflexive Gaze Tony Walsh

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Introduction

We live our lives within a complex world. A dance of social, psychological, cultural and ideological influences create a network of forces, which influence our assumptions, meanings systems, behaviours. They even affect our very notions and experiences of selfhood (Davies & Gannon, 2006). Reflexivity in an educational context emphasises the importance of noticing and understanding the effect of these influences on learning and learning activities. Traditionally reflexivity has been viewed as an exercise in which the individual or group seeks to stand outside their own processes with a view to obtaining a wider critical understanding of events and their own implicatedness in these events. Such an observer perspective enables educators to examine their own experiences, senses and feelings and to consciously and strategically use these in creating more useful learning spaces. Traditionally critical reflection in educational contexts has tended to explore individual reactions – the notion of ‘the tree’ in the title of this section. The chapter however argues that we need to expand our gaze and look too at context, at the wider setting – ‘the wood’ – in which any tree or any individual exists. A critical awareness of the wider environments in which any educational activity is situated is vital as influences sourced in such contexts can have potent effects on learners, facilitators and the whole learning context. As these often operate outside consciousness their influences go unacknowledged. ‘Seeing the Wood and the Trees’ presents a number of conceptual filters drawn from systems theory as useful aids to identifying these influences and their effects on sites of learning. The central notions which form the core of the chapter are drawn from a school of systemic thinking which developed in Ireland in the 1990s1; these will be expanded upon later in the chapter. In a general sense however, systemic thinking examines ‘how organisms (including people) as living systems interact with their environment … how they are impacted by forces within and outside themselves’ (Tyler & Schwartz, 2012, p. 363). Systems theory argues for the recognition of intricacy as a core ingredient of human life. This counters © koninklijke brill nv, leideN, 2018 | DOI:10.1163/9789004384507_004

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an emerging tendency towards over-simplification and the accompanying popularity of easy, un-nuanced analyses. Within the context of education Alhadeff-Jones contends that ‘As a learner, practitioner, or researcher … one must systematically challenge the way everyday situations and scientific problems are reduced’ (2012, p. 178). Complexity, interconnectedness and nuance are part and parcel of living; they are also core to any educational endeavour. A systemic perspective constitutes a useful aid to countering reductionism and it represents a challenge to expand the scope and usefulness of reflexivity.

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The Emergence of Systems Theory

A central tenet of systems theory involves a shift in focus from particular discrete events, entities or individuals to their setting – that particular network of dynamic and changing relationships of which they are a part. It therefore represents a fresh epistemological positioning and a change (and challenge) to how we view and understand reality. In considering any entity (physical, psychological or cognitive), systems thinking emphasises ‘the intricate intertwining and interconnectivity of elements within a system and between a system and its environment’ (Mitleton-Kelly, 2000, p. 32). To look systemically is to take the notions of context and complexity seriously; and it redirects the gaze to view any action, entity or person as part of a wider dynamic. Any ‘part’ is not discrete but exists in relation to other parts – and all such parts are related to each other and to much more multifaceted wholes. Systems theory, in one form or another has been around for well over seventy years. It first emerged as a coherent theoretical framework in the decades preceding the Second World War, in the field of what could be loosely described as computer science. Owing, however, to the limitations of computer technology at the time, it was allowed to go into abeyance for some years. From these tentative origins, systems thinking received a much needed boost in the 1960s and 1970s. This was due to three discrete developments. There was a huge leap forward in computer technology which made previously unheard of levels of sophisticated analyses possible. This was accompanied by the birth of complexity science and the emergence of new groups of theorists, mainly in the fields of biology, physics and anthropology. Capra, Maturana, Varella and Gregory Bateson were seminal influences in creating fresh theoretical and analytical frameworks. These four individuals, in particular, began to recognise the significance of developmental thinking in the area of ‘new’ physics for the world of human relations. Simultaneously a number of psychotherapists,

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unhappy with the focus of orthodox therapies, actively contested the notion of the individual as the sole focus for the treatment of ‘dis-ease.’ The sick or disturbed individual was seen as being part of, embedded in and resonating to, or expressing imbalances in the wider social system rather than being personally ‘mad,’ ‘bad’ or ‘ill.’ The emphasis for diagnosis, and intervention shifted from the individual to the contexts of which they were a part. Family, organisation, community or society suddenly became profoundly relevant to the diagnosis and treatment of physical, psychological or emotional unwellness. Dis-ease was redefined as a complex manifestation, implying imbalances and pathologies in the wider social systems often expressed through individual perturbations. As well as implying a different range of explanations these emerging ideas invited a cross-fertilisation of thinking between disciplines. And more complex frames of analysis for exploring the interconnection of social, psychological and physical phenomena.

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Systemic Emphases

The new paradigm which came to be recognised as systemic thinking defines a system as any entity that ‘maintains its existence and functions as a whole through the interaction of its parts’ (O’Connor & McDermott, 1997, p. 2). It emphasises five foundational principles. Firstly in considering any particular element we must broaden our vision; ‘Wherever we look in the universe at an element, we find, on closer examination, that we are examining a system composed of sub-elements or sub-systems’ (Browne, unpublished paper). This applies whether we look at an atom (composed of electrons, protons and neutrons); an organ in the body (composed of clusters of specialised cells), a collection of humans forming a group, or a range of sub-groups composing an organisation. Secondly existence is characterised by both interdependency and by constant interaction. Constellations of physical, organisational, psychological and ideological networks continuously affect each other, across definitional boundaries, in an ongoing dance of energy. Thirdly apparently unitary elements are always embedded in a complex and dynamic relationship with other entities in a network of mutually modifying influences. Every element which we have been used to seeing as a seemingly independent unit is affected by others in its environment. ‘Systemic thinking explores things as wholes … Events appear to be distinct in space and time, but they are all interconnected. Events, then, can be understood only by contemplating the whole’ (Flood, 1999, p. 14).

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Fourthly systemic thinking emphasises that mutually modifying influences exist across traditional definitional boundaries. Love, hate, credulity, suspicion are equally potent forces in creating and defining relationships. Vickers argues that: The world … is a complex of interrelated systems. Some are related laterally and functionally like the organs of the body or the departments of a business. Some are related by that strange mixture of competition and co-operation which an ecologist sees when he looks under a paving stone or into the Amazon jungle. (Vickers, 1981, p. 50) Consequently in order to understand a particular entity we need to shift the focus and direction of our gaze to acknowledge and examine the nature as well as the immediacy of the wider contextual networks of which any entity is part. Such contexts are powerful influencers in giving shape, motivation and meaning; and they affect both processes and outcomes. Lastly systemic thinking also foregrounds the notion of pattern contending that there is always a need to explore the patterns of connection – including power dynamics, exchange of energy (be that economic, emotional, or physical), communication and inter-relationship – in which an entity exists, in order to understand it. ‘The patterns of relationship within the physical structures of living systems are what makes them whole’ (Tyler & Schwartz, 2012, p. 464). Ivor Browne (2008) contends that any entity is part of a variety of wider patterns. Recognising the variety of such patterns and subjecting them to critical exploration is vital to understanding and entity or phenomenon. Systems thinking also highlights the issue of reciprocality in any dance of interaction or relationship. Not only is there a pattern in relationships and in patterns of thought associated with these, there is also a configuration of action and reaction. In a particular family or organisational interaction, there is a dynamic where one action begets a response, which in turn begets another response and so on. To understand the patterns of relationship it is necessary to observe the steps of the dance, as well as noticing the dancers themselves. A number of implications arise from recognising these foundational systemic principles. The intricacy, circularity and interconnection in causality which systemic thinking emphasises invites a degree of tentativity, rather than certainty, in analysis. This is more particularly so as in systems thinking any observer or analytic process is seen as an integral and important part of a system – one which includes both observed and observer in a mutually modifying relationship. As a result, it is hard to distinguish between the observer and the observed or to isolate the affect, amount or direction of

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influence of one upon the other. A recognition of this dynamic is particularly important in any research inquiry. Noticing the Wider Context: An Illustration Some years ago a series of uncharacteristically strong and quite disruptive reactions emerged within a learning group. Despite staff’s best efforts to listen empathically and to respond appropriately, the situation escalated. It was only in retrospect that sense was made of the difficulties. The group were part of an organisation espousing a very traditional view of education. With the wisdom of hindsight, it appeared that the course had probably been contracted as a tokenistic way of providing ‘brownie points’ for, and perhaps of domesticating and controlling a very marginalised staff group. The Department’s emphasis on learning through the exploration of personal experience and the interrogation of power and its effects was quite alien to the group’s understanding of education. Perhaps more significantly these efforts constantly connected group members with their marginal position they occupied in their organisation and with the almost total lack of agency. It was little wonder that they reacted with anger and frustration to these reminders and to the unexpected turn which an educational experience had taken. When ultimately – and well after the end of the course – staff broadened their explanatory framework to include the complexity of organisational dynamics and assumptive worlds, as well as the issue of power and disempowerment, that richer understandings of the reasons for the conflict emerged. Of course this did not resolve the original situation, now long past. It did however lead to a variety of fresh understandings which were applied to working in other partnerships. Paramount among these was an awareness of the need to design and deliver programmes taking into account not only the positioning of participants but of the commissioning organisation – and its motivations – and the assumptive worlds of both regarding the definition of learning.

Of course systems thinking’s emphasis on interconnection and complexity means that any definition of a particular entity, or indeed the notion or experience of individuality, becomes blurred. For instance an individual human being can be seen simultaneously (depending on the context) as a system of dynamically interacting elements, an element in a system of other humans as well as being a discrete entity. The drawing of definitional boundaries, and the

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motivation for doing this becomes particularly important; it is largely linked to the purpose of the viewer and is hence somewhat arbitrary in nature. The use of a systemic lens invites us to ‘look beyond’ and to notice a wider and more complex picture that lies behind any unitary manifestation. In the process this invites fresh explanations and different – and sometimes more useful – ways of seeing or acting. O’Connor and McDermott contend that: Systems thinking is seeing beyond what appear to be isolated and independent incidents to deeper patterns. So you recognize connections between events and are therefore better able to understand … them. (1997, p. xiiv) System thinking ‘looks at the whole, and the parts, and the connections between the parts, studying the whole in order to understand the parts’ (O’Connor & McDermott, 1997, p. 3). It is paradigm which challenges us to accept certain basic premises: everything is inter-related and everything, to some degree, affects and is affected by everything else, in a reciprocal cycle of cause and effect Everything is contextually situated, everything is interconnected and everything changes everything else. So instead of trying to understand linear relationships we need to understand the complex dynamics of social systems. (Burns, 2007, p. 2) Systems theory is particularly relevant for reflexive practice because it provides explanatory lenses as well as proposing a set of conceptual filters which can explore such complexity. These offer the possibility of re-view, the making of new sense of any entity, action, setting or experience. It also proposes a number of specific concepts including objectivity, boundary, homeostasis, morphogenesis, hierarchy and cybernetics which we will explore in more detail. The Human Body: An Example Blevins (1993) argues that the human body offers a useful illustration of thinking systemically. The body is a recognisable and independent unit; it also forms an integral part of other units (families, organisations, communities) and is itself made up of individual parts (limbs, organs, muscles). It is also easily recognisable as more than the sum of its parts and

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highlights the significance of interconnection. Our bodies (particularly when in good health) are perfect examples of systems; there are a multitude of separate organs, each with their discrete and independent functions. When healthy, all act together in a self-modulating balance as well as simultaneously exerting reciprocally significant influences on each other. The eye perceiving a specific situation sends a message to the brain. If the brain construes the situation as dangerous, it in turn sends messages to the heart, increasing its rate of action, heightening the blood pressure and preparing the muscles for action. This readying of the muscles sends a message back to the brain underlining the sense of tension and so the cycle continues ‘… the body is more than a collection of random parts. The functioning of each separate part affects the body as a whole, and the body as a whole has an impact on the way the separate parts function. This is how a system works’ (Blevins, 1993, p. 13). The health of the whole system affects the parts and vice-versa.

3.1 Observation and Objectivity Versus “Objectivity” In acknowledging the web of influences which are part of any entity (and of any process of observing or analysis) a systemic approach questions traditional notions of truth and objectivity. In this regard, it echoes the underlying convictions of post-positivism (Walsh & Ryan, 2015). Based in the philosophical context of social constructionism and radical constructivism, post-positivism privileges the notion that ‘the world can be understood in a variety of ways: an absolute reality does not exist. Instead, reality may vary from individual to individual, from culture to culture’ (Worden, 1999). A systems approach contends that what we experience as ‘truth’ is formed by many contextually related influences. We construct our world, our explanations of that world and our reactions to it in particular ways, influenced by a range of both conscious and unconscious influences. As a result, systems thinking resists the notion of a knowable external reality that can be objectively and accurately described or proved. What we actually know is our own experience of the external world. That is the only ultimate claim which we can authoritatively make. This view, of course, runs counter to traditional modernist views which propose a clear external reality, which can be known, accurately defined and clearly described. This traditional way of seeing the world has been termed by the systemic thinker Humberto Maturana as the ‘Universum’ of Reality (or Objectivity) – the world of a sole, true and knowable reality. Such a view has had a long history, which has been particularly significant in the Western world. It has been popular among political, religious or ideological groupings and

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finds its most obvious expression in various forms of political or religious fundamentalism. This way of being is certainly not unknown in academia! The positionality enables the identification of a knowable range of ultimate truths, which can be clearly and accurately subsumed, objectively known and accurately described by human subjects. These contrasting positions are outlined in Figure 4.1. Here Maturana juxtaposes the contrasting notions, or positions of the Universum of one Reality or Objectivity with the ‘Multiversa’ of many ‘Realities’ – which he also describes as ‘(Objectivity).’ This proposes the notion of a world of many truths where there are a multitude of valid ways of seeing, interpreting and believing; many keys that can fit the same lock. It contends for the impossibility of authoritatively subsuming objective, external truth, but claims instead that all we can know, or comment on with any authority, as individuals or groups, is our own perception and experience. We construct our own reality in a particular way, rather than having the facility to unerringly subsume external reality. We can never prove without question the ultimate accuracy of our view of reality, we can however comment on the usefulness of our own or others’ positionings depending upon the context. Maturana’s illustration outlines a particular view of the observer position and its constituents:

figure 4.1 Universum of reality (adapted from Maturana, 1988, p. 32)

Adopting the viewing position described by Maturana as that of the ‘Multiversa’ contests the position of ultimate authority which flows from subsuming and knowing ultimate ‘truth.’ It implies a very different reality of knowing only one’s own position. O’Connor and McDermott argue Mental models form a system and all systems have a purpose. The purpose of your belief system is to explain and give meaning to your

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experience … It is possible to have many beliefs about yourself and others that are limiting and unrealistic. But it is in your power to examine and recreate your belief system. (O’Connor & McDermott, 1997, p. 71) This central tenet of systems thinking has a number of practical results. Firstly, it creates an equality between different views, beliefs or experiences of reality. In this paradigm, no one can claim the privilege of knowing ‘better’ only the privilege of knowing ‘differently.’ This disrupts the human preoccupation from a bi-polar construction of right or wrong to one of many possibilities. Secondly, it invites a respect for – and particularly – an interest in difference. Within family therapy practice, this has led to an emphasis on curiosity. Curiosity manifests as an inquisitiveness about the ‘whats’ and ‘whys’ of difference, seeking to explore in what ways, for what reasons and with what results people or groups may differ in their views or explanations. Thirdly, it shifts the emphasis from entrenchment or a ‘battle-for-rightness’ to an interest in finding common understanding. Lastly, there is a shift in emphasis from unitary truthseeking to the unearthing of rich, multi-layered and evolving meanings which implies an openness to discovering alternative constructions of reality. These may fit or describe a situation more appropriately, or open up possibilities of more creative response. Re-viewing Boundaries and Truths – An Example When we first began to use a systemic perspective we caught ourselves looking for ‘right’ answers or unitary explanations when exploring specific situations. It took some practice, and an enhanced reflexive awareness to change this habit and to broaden our thinking to seek wider ranges of explanatory possibilities. We were also getting used to recognising how we – and others – used boundaries as definitional concepts and how to review these definitions. While working as consultants to an external University department, which was trying to maintain and develop its services in a post war context, we (Anne and Tony) were invited as part of our role to intervene in what appeared to be a simple enough conflict between a number of staff and a student cohort. The situation was characterised by quite extraordinarily strong feelings on both sides of the impasse. The initial explanation proposed to us by the Head of Department suggested that the cause of the difficulties lay in staff members’ inadequate understanding of student expectations. This we recognised

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as a boundary definition; the clash was being firmly placed within a certain definitional border. After a short time an awareness of the very limited nature of this diagnosis struck us and our curiosity was piqued. We began to extend our thinking, thus creating a wider site in which to think and act. We were of course simultaneously contesting a unitary designation of ‘truth,’ and our own initial complicity in this, to create wider definitional possibilities. The shift involved allowed us to think differently and to ask a much wider range of questions of both staff and students. This approach elicited a lot of fresh information which transformed and broadened our understanding. The lecturers involved were part of a locally recruited staff group who had no hope of advancement beyond casual teaching status; the management and senior academic staff on the other hand were all European expatriates. There was understandably huge frustration among the casual lecturers accompanied by a staggering lack of awareness of this and indeed of local cultural norms among senior staff. While this new information certainly did not simplify matters or create a solution it did allow us to contextualise a very localised clash as part of, and perhaps symptomatic of, a much wider conflict. It alerted us to the power of the wider system as an oppressive force in personal and professional lives. There were undoubtedly other influences at work in this situation. We decided however, quite arbitrarily, that given our brief – and the time constraints involved – to ignore other possibilities. Re-framing the staff-student clash as sited within this wider context seemed to offer the most useful way of (a) a reflexive discussion among staff to emerge as well as (b) enabling us to surface the wider issues in the staff group discussion. The use of systems thinking had alerted us to the folly of accepting the ‘obvious’ and to explore deeper dynamics.

In systems thinking the notion of achieving an ‘observer status’ implies standing outside a situation, freeing ourselves from normative ways of seeing or reacting and allowing different views, or ways of making meaning to emerge. In achieving an observer status we are no longer simply seeing what we (or others) expect – other realities or possibilities are allowed to emerge. When a group or organisation starts to free itself from habitual ways of seeing and sense-making the possibility of a critical re-view can emerge. This in itself enables the assessment of the relevance and functionality of traditional, inherited or ‘usual’ aims and activities. It facilitates the emergence of new possibilities for seeing and doing to emerge.

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Boundaries

The notion of boundaries are important in systemic thought. Systems theory proposes that every entity exists within its own physical, emotional, perceptual or cognitive envelope or boundary. The anthropologist Gregory Bateson, an early systemic thinker, used the term news of a difference to define an important function of boundary (Keeney, 1983). Later thinkers elaborated this idea. They defined boundaries as important for defining and establishing discrete identity. And for maintaining that distinction in particular ways. In this context a boundary serves to define a particular entity and make it recognisable as a discrete reality, separate to and different from other entities. Boundaries also ‘hold’ a particular entity in existence. Boundaries in systemic thought distinguish what is ‘inside’ from what is ‘outside’. At one level the concept of boundary is quite simple. It is easy, for instance, to recognise and define a physical boundary (e.g. the brick walls that define my house, or the presence and colour of my skin which renders me recognisable as a particular person). However things become more complex when we begin to take into account the actual or symbolic meanings and functions which we attribute to the notion of boundaries. The walls of a house may have a very different makeup and very different functions if built in the Sahara, in damp Ireland or in a Brazilian flavella. Meanings attributed to skin colour may vary dramatically in different cultural or national settings or in different contexts – in particular cultures, organisations or families. A skin of colour will typically evoke very different meanings – and consequent reactions – among a group of white supremacists in the Southern States of the USA than among a group of socially liberal Canadians. This illustration emphasises how boundaries can be social, emotional, psychological or cultural envelopes as much as physical borders and that they can be as much perceptual as physical. We use the process of boundary assignment continuously in navigating the world; attributions of ‘dangerous,’ ‘friendly’ or ‘threatening’ for instance (often used quite unconsciously) guide or dictate our behaviours and sanction acceptance or rejection. We decide how to interpret a partner’s behaviour, colleagues’ or bosses’ demands, in the process placing their behaviours in an analytical boundary, defining their reactions as reasonable, appropriate, timely or perhaps urgent and respond in accordance with these definitions. A central role of reflexivity is to promote the recognition and interrogation of the boundaries we use. When the attitudinal or behavioural boundaries emerge into view (the attitudes and behaviours we employ towards some people but not towards others, in some contexts but not in others and why) possibilities for change emerge in our thinking and behaviours.

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Boundaries – Societal Straitjackets? Groupings, existing at the edge of society often exist within boundaries ascribed by the majorities among whom they live. They may be defined by accent, history, education, work – or by address. These definitions may have very significant connotations for employment possibilities, access to education and social acceptability. Until very recently minorities who did not conform to the normative, ascribed identity of white, Catholic, heterosexual, nationalist and GAA supporting, were defined as being of dubious Irish identity. They were positioned outside a particular conceptual boundary of ‘true Irishness.’ This positioning often had significant implications for their lives. A feature of the country’s life in the last two decades has been the increased permeability of this boundary. The construct of Irishness has become much broader, embracing those of diverse cultures and varied political views. The boundary of Irishness has become more inclusive and elastic.

4.1 Internal and External Dynamics Systems theory contends that boundary maintenance is crucial to an entity’s existence. Kenny argues that an entity or group’s coherence exists due to the establishment of a boundary and lasts as long as the boundary is intact (Kenny, 1986). He indicates that boundaries are created both internally and externally; both dynamics tend to reinforce each other although in different ways. Internally generated boundaries are created by the internal elements and by the dynamic network of connection and interaction which exists between these elements. For instance, a particular organisation will derive its identity and recognisability from the interaction between its values, personnel, hierarchy, communication networks, explicit (and implicit) purposes and assumptions, history and so on. ‘The inner relations hold a system together and enable it to act as a whole …’ (Vickers, 1981, p. 29). A particular system’s boundary is also defined externally by behaviours, actions, attitudes or perceptions towards it in the wider environment. Minority groups tend to be defined by a set of assumptions and behaviours which differ from the majorities among whom they live. They are also defined as different and experience themselves as distinctive in a particular range of ways because of the attitudes of the majority towards them, and due to the reactions they experience. In the process of boundary creation, both internal and external factors combine, often in a complex network of reciprocally interconnected ways, to create a system’s boundary.

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Boundary definition and the reactions that flow from the ascription of particular boundaries are very significant in society and in behaviours. Recognising and questioning the function and operation of the boundaries which we use, often unconsciously in daily life is an important purpose of reflexivity. 4.2 Boundary Maintenance The issue of boundary maintenance and quality is also important in a systemic analysis. It is considered crucial that a boundary as a physical, psychological or emotional entity is strong enough to define what is within, distinguish that entity from its environment and at the same time allow for the exchange of energy (in the form of information, people, ideas) across its surface. Ivor Browne argues that a boundary ‘… has to be actively and dynamically maintained; if the boundary is weakened and invaded, the system will not endure’ (Browne, unpublished paper). Boundaries that are either too loose or too tight can lead to ill-health or in extreme circumstances to the demise of a system. A healthy human (and indeed any healthy system) needs to be able to maintain its sense of individual coherence, and simultaneously to give and receive relevant cognitive, emotional and physical energy (ideas, information, love, friendship, food, oxygen) from its environment. Too tight or impermeable boundaries limit the exchange of energy with the wider environment. A human individual developing anorexia nervosa may become more and more limited in the amount of food which they absorb. Simultaneously their intake of feedback and information from the wider environment (doctor, therapists and friends) tends to become more and more constrained. While the aetiology of anorexia is complex and poorly understood, there is an issue of extreme boundary maintenance, which if it persists can ultimately lead to death. Equally a commercial enterprise that does not allow information about a changing economic climate across its boundary will tend to court its own demise. On the other hand a physical body with a compromised immune system where the boundary is too loose and allows for the importation of all sorts of infections from its environment, also courts danger. In an organisational context if the boundary is not strong or defined enough this leads to the diminution of distinctive identity and the possibility of invasion by other systems. An organisation that is not clear on its role and functions will be vulnerable to takeover. Likewise human groups, whose boundaries are so tight that they do not share information (ideas, people) with the wider environment become restrictive in their vision and interaction; in extreme circumstances (as in the case of religious cults) this can lead to death. A healthy boundary allows simultaneously for both conservation, protection and exchange.

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Maintaining Boundaries: A Challenging Balance Staff of the Department of Adult and Community Education at Maynooth University are conscious of a number of boundaries which need constant attention to ensure health and survival. Firstly, the Department is defined and constituted by a number of distinctive conceptual and practice based boundaries which define its identity. These mark its distinctiveness from other University departments – including others having to do with education. These distinctives, which in systems thinking constitute a specific boundary could be defined in at least four particular ways. The Department – Espouses a very particular understanding of education as an inclusive, liberatory and at times transgressive engagement. – Sees its role as creating pathways for non-traditional, and frequently educationally marginalised groups of learners to gain entrée to, and obtain accreditation from the University. – Understands that its pedagogical practices and course provisions were developed and are constantly evolving in response to the needs of these groups and to the evolving needs of the wider Adult Education sector. – Ensures that its staff come largely from a range of different disciplines diverging from the ‘silo’ models more common in the wider University. All the above distinguishing features are illustrative of philosophical, practical and practice based boundaries, which go to define a very specific entity. In maintaining this specific philosophical and practice-based identity, staff need to be vigilant to a number of other boundaries and the issues they imply. The Department is part of the wider Maynooth University system. The traditional values which are core to the latter’s identity often run counter to the Department’s particular position. However it receives funding and academic validation across this particular boundary, from the University and hence needs to attend to the wider system’s agenda. If it does not attend to this set of boundary issues it would be in danger of enforced closure or amalgamation. There is a need to maintain a boundary which is sufficiently tight so as to conserve the nature of the Department’s philosophy and practice and simultaneously loose enough to allow for the importation of ‘energy’ – e.g. money and information – from the wider system.

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4.3 Boundary Framing The concept of boundary is useful in exploring how we frame or define areas for attention. ‘We often limit the possibilities for transformative action because of the way in which we frame the issues and problems with which we are concerned’ (Burns, 2007, p. 23). How we construct or choose to define or name the definitional boundary around an issue or set of issues can have far reaching effects in regard to outcome. Lastly, how we name the boundary of a particular issue or behaviour is significant. It is important to recognise that we frequently use arbitrary and often unconscious criteria in this process. Flood argues that this has profound consequences for our thinking and for our behaviours; ‘Boundary setting is an issue of great importance … [w]ho is embraced by the action area and thus benefits? Who is out and does not benefit? And how might we feel about that? … Boundaries are the result of choice. For each choice there are always other possible options’ (1999, p. 64). This highlights the reality that there are choices in how we define boundaries. How we name or bound a range of issues or behaviours is open to review and to change. The concept of boundary is particularly useful tool in reflexive practice for a number of reasons. These include: – The challenge to recognise that boundary setting is often both arbitrary and sourced in habit or barely conscious assumptions. Disinterring and reflecting upon these often allows for alternative and more useful constructions of reality to emerge. – Noticing the quality and nature of boundaries around an entity or a piece of work can alert actors to influences, dangers and the effect of the influence (either positive or negative) of other systems in the environment. – A critical awareness of the permeability or otherwise of boundaries can alert to the health and sustainability of a system. The notion of boundary as essential to preserve what is within as well as to allow for exchange with the wider environment’s health becomes particularly significant in considering the health and survival of an individual, a sub-group or a particular enterprise. – It is important to consider both the presence of other systems within the environment and how and where these may exert their influence. – Unexpected or unforeseen reactions may have their genesis in power dynamics, or differing assumptive worlds across the boundaries of the systems involved.

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Homeostasis and Morphogenesis

Systems theory introduces a number of significant insights relating to change which have very practical applications relating to education as an agent of change. A core notion is that of homeostasis. Blevins introduces a useful definition of this process in the context of the human body. Here he points to homeostasis as a self-regulating and naturally occurring process ‘that maintains a steady state in the presence of changes in the environment … (it is the) tendency of the body to maintain balance, or equilibrium’ (1993, p. 26). Blevins further suggests, homeostasis refers ‘to the internal interactional processes that help maintain … balance’ (1993, p. 26) whenever a habitual state is disrupted or even threatened. From a systems perspective this self balancing tendency is part of every system. Homeostasis consists of the activation of a particular range of actions and reactions which tend towards combating change and maintaining the status quo – whether or not that status quo is useful or appropriate in the wider scheme of things. Ivor Browne sees homeostasis as a group or systemic response, where the system itself exercises a primitive form of group consciousness, which is largely outside the awareness of the individual involved. A primitive urge is triggered in response to threat – and that threat is often activated by the perceived peril of change. A system’s reactions will vary depending on the nature, size, culture and history of a particular system – and the nature of the potential change. A sense of threat to established norms automatically triggers a range of protective or restorative functions aimed at neutralising the threat and protecting or restoring the usual and familiar, whether or not this usual and familiar is functional in the overall scheme of things. For instance in the context of an organisation, Campbell et al. argue that a system (or the people within it) ‘observe that relationships and roles are changing too much, (hence) employees retreat into behaviour which aims at bolstering … security, and the organisation reacts to reassert its normative balance’ (Campbell, Draper, & Huffington, 1991, pp. 10–11). This re-creates a sense of safety and predictability for both the individuals and the organisation. Homeostasis: A Real Life Educational Example Dr Luke Murtagh gives a classic example of homeostasis. The Education Green and White Papers were published in 2000 outlining a range of visionary and creative initiatives. These included an innovative structure for Community Education, a National Education Forum and

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the appointment of Community Education facilitators. Welcomed at the time by the Government Departments involved, the process of implementation became a battleground. When it came to setting up these new structures, there was an immediate pull-back by the relevant agencies involved, seeking to maintain and conserve the original status quo. Luke points out that this was despite the developments very obviously serving the explicit aims of the Departments involved – and of education as a whole in Ireland. He emphasises that this reaction was a systemic one; while it involved individual actors it was non-conscious in nature – and seemed beyond the individuals involved, many who were deeply committed to education. Instead it appeared to be an illustration of a system’s homeostatic reaction in the face of change.

Examples of homeostatic reactions are legion; some can be judged as helpful and appropriate, others less so. In the human body’s protective reaction, its preparation for fight or flight in the face of threat (real or perceived) there is a triggering of the autonomic nervous system resulting in faster heart beat, increased blood pressure, tensing of the muscles to prepare for running away or staying to engage in combat. An organisation, finding ways to exclude – or extrude – a subgroup bent on creating significant changes to the system is a similar reaction. The silencing or oppression – or in extreme situations the extrusion – of marginal groupings, whose way of being is a threat to the status quo in a larger societal or organisational context is a common reaction. In highlighting what is defined as a naturally occurring property of all systems, systemic theory invites attention to a triggering device which sets in train a set of protective reactions which seek to subvert the affects of change or threat. Such reactions can be both conscious and non-conscious and there is rarely an ethical element involved. 5.1 Morphogenesis The pull for stability, towards a reinforcement of the known, expressed through the idea of homeostasis is balanced by the notion of morphogenesis. This refers to a transformative reaction which results on occasion when the internal or external demands for change are such that a system is forced to create radical alterations in its structure in order to survive. Organisations are constantly evolving in a variety of ways and there is an inevitable tension between the pull for security and the push for change; this dynamic is managed by a delicate, highly complex and poorly understood process. Sometimes perturbation, either internal or external, will result in one, sometimes in the other. In strategising

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for change it is useful to be aware of these twin reactions; certain strategies will create resistance to change; others will nurture or provoke the morphogenic reaction of transformation. An intimate knowledge of a system (organisational, physical or ideational) is required in order to chart the possible pathways that unfold and to create realistic and workable interventions aimed at achieving a desired outcome. The challenges for reflexive practice consist of achieving an understanding through analysis, exploration and sometimes experimentation, of exactly what a particular system will experience as threat and to have a clear sense of how it will react when experiencing perturbation. Some systems are more elastic than others in coping with threat, and some are more rigorous than others in neutralising it. On occasion the latter will often finds ways not only of neutralising the threat and restoring equilibrium, but will unceremoniously render the threat impotent by silencing or extrusion. The challenge is to find ways of managing systems advisedly and strategically to achieve a morphogenesis rather than homeostatic reaction. Permeable Boundary Maintenance: An Illustration In a recent Quality Review process, the Department became aware of an issue related to both homeostasis and morphogenesis. As already described DACE has always espoused a radical educational philosophy and an accompanying range of practices. These constitute a boundary between itself and the wider University system. In the past it had often seemed essential to guard this boundary from dilution or from any attempts at a colonisation which would dilute or change it. There had however been a parallel awareness that boundary maintenance needed to include connections with the wider power structures of the University who fund the Department’s existence. Aware that its philosophy and practices did not accord with those of the wider system, staff had been at pains to cultivate a relational connection with the wider system. The University’s small size, its roots in rural Ireland and perhaps its origins as a Roman Catholic seminary meant that interpersonal relationships were valued. As a result a range of quality personal connections had been developed, over years, with significant figures in the University ‘hierarchy.’ These tended to be senior staff who were sympathetic to at least some elements of the Department’s practices and ideology, or who had had a positive personal or professional relationship with staff members. These connections constituted links, or permeable places

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in the boundary, which enabled the continuity of the Department’s funding, while simultaneously allowing differences of view and practice to remain intact. During the Quality Review it became apparent that resulting from changes in the University structures, many of these relationships had been lost or diluted, often through retirements. This constituted a risky situation where, while the ideological and practical frontiers remained intact, the important links essential to the financial survival of the Department and its work had been lost. There was an urgent need to forge new quality relationships, which would co-opt significant and sympathetic members of the establishment enabling the continued financing of links which facilitate the Department’s work while not endangering the coherence of its ideological boundary.

The twin concepts of homeostasis and morphogenesis suggest that change requires very careful management. They encourage practice of a radical reflexivity which privileges a careful strategisation and an acute understanding of the systems involved. In seeking to create change it is often useful to look for existing ‘cracks’ in a structure or to concentrate on pushing on doors that are metaphorically already slightly ajar. Systems theory highlights the importance of identifying such opportunities and working with them.

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Hierarchy

Systemic thinking argues that systems constantly interact and are arranged in hierarchical relationships to each other. This way of viewing the world runs counter to a traditional Western mind-set, which assumes that a large degree of independence and autonomy is a basic reality for any human individual; traditionally individual groupings were also viewed as largely autonomous entities. Systems thought argues that individual are constantly affected by the other systems of which they are a part and that some of these superordinate systems have very significant power over the individual or the sub-system. This emphasis on hierarchy invites attention to the power of the group, or the collective, and its specific influences over individuals or less complex components. It illustrates this idea with many examples from the natural world and from human history. The beehive, one of the oldest and most complex organisms occurring in the natural world, is a particularly good example. Bees

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have a clearly perceived individual existence and identity yet the collectivity of the hive, has a powerful influence over their every movement, their life and their death. More significantly it would appear that the hive has a powerful collective sensing ability and an awareness which regulates both the collective and the individual components. This raises the question as to where both awareness and identity are primarily located in the individual or in the collective. The family, another highly evolved and very complex system is a particularly good human example. Family therapy, and indeed human life, is replete with examples of how the roles, actions, life choices and assumptive worlds of individual members are directly related to the power of the family of origin – although usually operating largely at a subconscious level. Therapeutic groupwork which nurtures a particularly intense collective experience also offers multiple examples of how the collective has power to influence and at times determine the behaviour, thoughts and feelings of group members. Systems theory draws attention to how the agendas, assumptions and purposes of superordinate systems unconsciously influence the behaviour, thought processes and assumptions of individuals or subgroups. There is also a recognition that any totality is greater than the sum of its parts. ‘Existence of an organism cannot be understood solely in terms of behaviour of some fundamental parts. A whole organism demonstrably behaves in a way that is more than the sum of its parts’ (Flood, 1999, p. 35). The notion of hierarchy is very important for reflexive practice. It certainly invites attention not just to the behaviours, thinking and assumptions of the individual or sub-group but contends that such reactions may have their genesis in the larger or more complex superordinate groupings to which these belong. There is a significant overlap here between systems thinking and the notion of discourse which Anne B. Ryan has explored in a previous chapter. Both conceptual frameworks underline the importance of mapping the purposes and motivations of the dominant grouping which are being expressed through the individual or sub-group. Such explorations are at the core of reflexive practice.

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Cybernetics

Traditional notions of causality assume a linear process of cause and effect. In systemic thought however cause and effect are seen as a much more complex network of overlapping circular loops. Every cause is a response to particular range of stimuli which have their source in a complex range of factors. A boss accuses a new employee of lack of confidence. The accusation may well

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be situated in the former’s formative relationships and in anger at his own lack of confidence in certain situations. The employee not unexpectedly hears only the criticism and responds with hesitation. The boss observing this reaction sees this as a confirmation of his original view. He begins to be vigilant for further faults, which the employee quickly picks up … and so the cycle continues. This is the basic idea of cybernetics. Individual, family, group and organisational behaviours follow this pattern, sometimes beneficially, but often in an unhelpful way. Many such cycles are linked in simple feedback loops. An example of a simple feedback loop is that of the domestic central heating system. The temperature drops, which is recorded by the thermostat, this in turn conveys a message to the boiler which switches the heating on until the temperature rises; this rise is recorded by the thermostat which feeds this latter piece of information back to the boiler which then cuts out. ‘We experience feedback as the consequences of our actions coming back to us and so influencing what we do next. Feedback is any response … a loop, so thinking in terms of feedback is thinking in circles’ (O’Connor & McDermott, 1997, p. 27). Systemic theory argues that behaviour, thought processes and the perceptions and assumptions of individuals, groups and organisations echo this pattern, arguing that relationships are built through a series of such loops. How we and others perceive and behave are directly linked in a series of feedback cycles. Gaining an understanding of these cause-effect-cause loops is key to understanding human behaviour and perception. Cybernetics captures how every action is part of and at the same time contributes to a chain reaction. One behaviour, intervention or message begets others in series of loops which often impinge on other loops. Our earlier example of the feedback loop involving the tentative employee and the critical boss, is linked to and has an effect on other loops in that system; other employees, their perceptions and behaviours for instance are effected by the first interaction. Standing outside these loops and understanding how this process of cause and effect creates useful or unhelpful consequences is crucial. Change occurring in one area of a system, in one feedback loop will send out ripples that will create change in other areas; feedback loops can expand in unexpected ways or have unanticipated consequences. The ban on drink driving in Ireland achieved its ultimate aim of reducing road traffic accidents. It had however a number of unwonted but highly significant additional effects. Firstly, it created a major change in social habits; many people began to drink at home instead of driving to a pub. This in due course led to a dramatic decrease in pub business and the consequent closure of many pubs particularly in rural areas, with a consequent loss of employment. Many rural public houses

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traditionally provided an important informal social support structure for the lone elderly, consequently with the closure of ‘locals’ this group have become more isolated, lonely and at risk. This has created fresh challenges for social service providers and ultimately for European policy makers who initiated the original drink driving legislation. Charting the possibility, or the actuality of unenvisaged side effects of an action or policy is an important part of any planning process.

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Conclusion

Human relationships, contexts, assumptions and power dynamics continuously impact on our ability to know, on the definition of knowledge and on the development and adoption of particular assumptive worlds and on the dissemination of knowledge. The discipline of Adult Education foregrounds the importance of reflexivity in any learning enterprise. ‘Reflexivity is an act of self-conscious consideration that can lead people to a deepened understanding of themselves and others and foster a more profound awareness of how social contexts influence who people are and how they behave’ (Danielewicz, 2001, pp. 155–156). The purpose of reflexivity, of attaining an observer positionality is not only to gain a richer, more nuanced understanding of a particular context; it is also to become more effective actors in particular contexts and achieve more effective agency: … in the way a gardener might move shrubs and plant trees to change a landscape. It is more akin to moving the observer to a different position, so that the landscape is seen from a different perspective. … This leads to seeing problems and obstacles in a different light which leads to new strategies for solving problems. (Campbell, Draper, & Huffington, 1991, p. 14) This chapter firmly locates reflexive practice against the background of the wider context in which any activity takes place. The notion that all sorts of external environments (as well as internal contexts) both wittingly and unwittingly, impinge on our ways of being, behaving and seeing is an important realisation. The explanations for behaviours, thoughts, feelings and reactions is less a matter of individual choice than has been traditionally hypothesised within a western framework of analysis. Instead it argues that every context or activity is profoundly effected by its environment – the web of relationships and

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connections of which it is wittingly or unwittingly part. The chapter argues the need to attend to these wider influences and how they impinge on any educational context. It proposes a number of theoretical perspectives taken from the field of systems theory as lenses through which to deepen our understandings of the influence of context. Concepts such as observer status, boundary, hierarchy, homeostasis can become important lenses through which a richer understanding of the complex effects of environment can emerge. Examining these wider influences is core to reflexivity. The chapter proposes that in order to make a difference and to be truly effective, reflexive practice needs to attend not just to individually focused reflection, but to site an individual or an activity within the wider context of the systems of which they are a part. Charting, and analysing the influences of these systems is a significant aid to critical reflection. Understanding both the systems, the individual components and the relationship between the parts is not a theoretical luxury; it is a necessity in order to gain that clear understanding which is the core purpose of reflexive practice.

Note 1 Professor Ivor Browne and Dr. Vincent Kenny, drawing on the work of the Brazilian physicist, Humberto Maturana were among leading exponents of these views and the chapter draws heavily on the latters’ thinking which emerged in 1990s’ Ireland. In its interpretation of systemic concepts the chapter is heavily influenced by a number of unpublished papers and on the content of presentations by Professor Browne to the MA programme in Sustainable Community Development at Maynooth University delivered in early 2000.

References Alhadeff-Jones, M. (2012). Transformative learning and the challenges of complexity. In E. Taylor & P. Cranton (Eds.), The handbook of transformative learning. San Francisco, CA: Jossey-Bass. Blevins, W. (1993). Your family yourself. Oakland, CA: New Harbinger. Browne, I. (2008). Music and madness. Cork: Atrium. Burns, H. L. (2015). Transformative sustainability pedagogy: Learning from ecological systems and indigenous wisdom. Journal of Transformative Education, 13(3), 259–276. Campbell, D., Draper, R., & Huffington, C. (1991). A systemic approach to consultation. London: Karnac Books.

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Danielewicz, J. (2001). Teaching selves: Identity, pedagogy, and teacher education. Albany, NY: SUNY Press. Davies, B., & Gannon, S. (2006). Doing collective biography. Maidenhead: Open University Press. Flood, R. (1999). Rethinking the fifth discipline. London: Routledge. Keeney, B. (1983). The asethetics of change. New York, NY: Guilford Press. Maturana, H. R. (1988). Reality: The search for objectivity. Irish Journal of Psychology, 9, 25–82. Mitleton-Kelly, E. (2000). Complexity: Partial support for BPR. In P. Henderson (Ed.), Systems engineering for business process change (pp. 24–37). London: Springer. O’Connor, J., & McDermott, I. (1997). The art of systems thinking. London: Thorsons. Tyler, J., & Schwartz, A. (2012). Storytelling and transformative learning: Theory, research and practice. In E. Taylor & P. Cranton (Eds.), The handbook of transformative learning: Theory, research, and practice. San Francisco, CA: Jossey-Bass. Vickers, G. (1981). Some implications of systems thinking. In O. U. Group (Ed.), Systems behaviour. London: Paul Chapman Publishing. Walsh, T., & Ryan, A. (2015). Writing your thesis: A guide for postgraduate students. Maynooth: MACE Press. Worden, M. (1999). Family therapy benefits. Pacific Grove, CA: Brooks Cole.

CHAPTER 5

Reflexive Practice and Transformative Learning Anne Ryan and Conor Murphy

1

Introduction

There is a growing concern that current mainstream education leaves us illequipped to address complex global challenges. These challenges, including climate change and global poverty, which are difficult not only to resolve but even to define require new ways of perceiving the challenges. In order to effect substantive transformations in our perceptions, we need to rethink how the object of study itself is constituted, what tools are used to study it and what concepts are used to frame it (Garuba, 2015). The learning that is sought in this new approach is referred to as ‘transformative learning.’ This chapter explores the individual and societal features of this type of learning and looks at how it differs from current mainstream provision. The chapter then explores the role of reflexive practice in sustaining educators who are committed to enabling transformative learning. It describes how reflexive educators are well positioned to identify and challenge the dynamic forces that support the hegemonic and largely unquestioned correctness of current mainstream education. To the fore among these forces are dominant cultural norms and values. The process of reflexive engagement enables educators to appreciate how these norms operate, how they permeate behaviour, influence our thinking and uphold the status quo. In this chapter we draw on the learning gained from involvement in an inter-disciplinary and inter-institutional1 project entitled the Transformative Engagement Network (TEN).2 The project focused on development initiatives in communities struggling to cope with the vagaries of poverty, climate change, hunger and food security. A key component of the project was a Masters in Transformative Community Development which was designed and delivered to create transformative learning opportunities. In assessing the success of the Masters programme we undertook to quantify the levels of transformation experienced by the students. The findings highlight the transformation that learners experienced and the pedagogical features that enabled transformation in different domains. The chapter opens with the

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story of one of the many learning encounters that happened in the course of the TEN project.

2

A Learning Encounter

We were visiting a rural community in Central Province, Zambia as part of the TEN project. The project goal was to find ways to enable smallholder farmers to get their concerns and experiences onto the international climate change agenda. As we got out of the vehicle we were enveloped in the loud melodic greeting of the women – young and old. They sang us to chairs well positioned under a shady tree and took their seats on the ground. When the formal meeting ended a small group of women and the local agricultural advisor took us on a walk around the village to show us their recently expanded bee keeping initiative. Beehives carved from tree trunks were fixed high up on the trees. Isobel, the oldest of the women lived 10 kilometres away. She was a stalwart who inspired, cajoled and gave confidence to not only her immediate neighbours but also her more distant ones. She and the advisor compared for us the virtues of the traditional bee hives and more modern versions. Isobel had cycled to the meeting so we offered her a lift home. This gave us a chance to talk and catch glimpses of the role she played in shaping the present and future farming practices in rural Zambia. It also gave us a chance to talk about everyday things. She was entertained by our amazement at the distance she had cycled. Her only concession to age was a remark that there was a time when walking to that village was easy whereas now she needed the bicycle – ‘A bicycle makes the distance very short’ – she said. She approved of the thinking behind our project. Being in her mid-seventies she’d experienced a lot of climate change and made many adaptations to her farming practices as a result but she said she had few if any opportunities to share these experiences with government or NGO decision-makers. As we waved ‘good bye’ we were very aware of how important it is for all our futures to engage with Isobel and smallholder farmers like her with a view to finding ways to work together to create sustainable communities globally. What she and smallholder farmers like her have to share with us includes, but is not limited to, farming techniques and the necessity of communal rather than individual responses to climate change. As she talked one the most important lesson she taught us was to recognise the learning cycle that enables a community to respond to the on-going challenging demands of climate change. This learning cycle involves discussion with those immediately impacted by the changes, sharing information with each

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other and with advisors, trying different farming practices, reflecting on the outcomes and making changes accordingly.

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Education and Complex Global Challenges

Educational commentators many of whom are far removed from the everyday life of Isobel have nevertheless increasingly turned their attention to the need for learning which is characterised by many of the features evidenced in the above encounter. Among these characteristics are: 1. a recognition of the importance of combining practical experiential learning and classroom or lab based learning; 2. the need to attend to the priorities of the most vulnerable when engaging in local, national and international policy-making; 3. a realisation that global problems such as poverty, migration and climate change transcend boundaries and require joint responses from a range of stakeholders, many of whom know little of the others’ world or knowledge; 4. and a realisation that inter-disciplinary research and study is required to respond to these global problems. Learning that exhibits these features is emerging as essential to address pressing global challenges. The accompanying need for social cohesion and inclusiveness are also increasingly recognised as necessary prerequisites to successfully address global challenges (Burns, 2015). The first official recognition of the interconnectedness of social, environmental and economic sustainability was the ‘Brundtland Report’ (1987). This is well captured in the following quote which comes from one of the consultative forums from which the Report emerged: The problems of today do not come with a tag marked energy or economy or CO2 or demography, nor with a label indicating a country or a region. The problems are multi-disciplinary and transnational or global. The problems are not primarily scientific and technological. In science we have the knowledge and in technology the tools. The problems are basically political, economic, and cultural. (Brundtland, 1987, p. 342) Since the Brundtland Report all the literature that explores issues of sustainability has not only highlighted the inter-connections between social, economic and environmental features but has also identified equity and justice as essential prerequisites for social sustainability (Vallance, Perkins,

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& Dixon, 2011). Despite this widespread awareness of their importance, moving towards greater equality and justice remains a major challenge. Much has been written about the potential for education to play a positive role in this regard. However, many of those with a particular interest in promoting equality have concluded that the current mainstream education system is part of the problem rather than part of the solution (Brookfield, 2005; Freire, 1970; Habermas, 1984; Lynch, 1999; Mezirow, 2000; Tillich, 2000). Gilsczinski (2007, p. 319) also claimed that mainstream education serves to inhibit our capacity to understand our world. Without this understanding he claimed that we cannot address the pressing cultural and ecological challenges we face. He noted that ‘… the opportunity to consume, compartmentalize, and regurgitate information is, in many cases, all that learners have been taught to expect from school …’ leading to society suffering from ‘… a poverty of understanding …’ (p. 318). To counter this, Gilsczinski, like Freire, and other commentators, called for education that enables learners and educators to think and act dynamically while continuously questioning taken-for-granted cultural norms, values and socio-economic structures.

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Education and the Challenge of Global Social Cohesion

The importance of questioning cultural norms was also highlighted by de Sousa Santos (2008, p. ix). He blamed neoliberal globalisation (where market forces are assumed to be the best way to organise all social activity) for what he termed ‘… the exponential increase of the social inequalities between rich and poor countries, as well as between the rich and poor inside the same country.’ He cited as an example the confrontation between indigenous, popular knowledge and western scientific knowledge. This, he claimed, is evidenced in the ‘… voracity with which scientific, technological, and industrial knowledge …’ tries to transform the ‘… most precious and sought after …’ resource of biodiversity into patentable objects. He noted that initiatives that seek to counter the hegemonic and unquestioned ‘correctness’ of neoliberal globalisation are currently largely limited to the global South. Engagements between the global North and South that ignore underlying cultural norms, socio-economic structures and dominant discourses that underpin the way these engagements are conducted, serve to: 1. foster a kind of cultural conformity; 2. endorse epistemological colonisation; and 3. promote knowledge uniformity at a time when we need diversity most.

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Furthermore, educational endeavours that ignore or are unaware of these norms, structures and discourses create the ideal social and political conditions where western scientific knowledge and market values are put forward not only as the best way to do things but as unassailable truths. These concerns are also evident beyond the education sphere where the term transformation is increasingly used to depict the change needed in the discourses that support current dominant western world views. This is particularly so in climate change literature where definitions of transformation point to the need to recognise the values and beliefs that shape and inform how systems function and how systems that favour one world view over others are part of the problem. There have been calls for: … ‘fundamental change to the functioning of systems (examples include new social contracts and new relationships of power e.g. by gender, class, or ethnicity that surface alternative development priorities, preferences and pathways)’ (Pelling, O’Brien, & Matyas, 2015, p. 117). The search for fundamental change in approaches to climate change is largely driven by a realisation that this is a challenge that is resistant to being defined and resolved within conventional scientific approaches, including compartmentalised disciplines. Under the transformation banner the changes that are sought include multi-disciplinary approaches and a better understanding of how particular sectors of the global population are excluded from benefits that accrue to others, leaving those who are excluded more vulnerable to climate change related risks. Within this context radical changes are called for in how social, political and economic systems function with a view to achieving sustainable societies; a hallmark of which are social justice and inclusion. ‘Moving towards ecologically sustainable and socially just development in a time of great environmental and social change challenges dominant values and goals, as well as current practices in development’ (Pelling, O’ Brien, & Matyas, 2015, p. 126). In addition to describing ‘what’ needs to change, commentators are also paying attention to ‘how’ people learn. ‘Importantly, across the literature on transformative learning and political and spiritual consciousness, an emphasis is placed on the added value of individuals learning communally and through practice, rather than alone and abstractly’ (Pelling, O’ Brien, & Matyas, 2015, p. 122). The goals of social justice and inclusive/ sustainable development and the recognition of the potential for change inherent in group and experiential learning sit well within a radical adult education agenda. In fact it could be argued that they are essential to its core agenda where learning that is collaborative rather than competitive is the norm.

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What Is Meant By Transformative Learning?

Transformative learning approaches have been described as fostering … ‘deep engagement with and reflection on our taken-for-granted ways of viewing the world, resulting in fundamental shifts in how we see and understand ourselves and our relationship with the world’ (Journal of Transformative Education, 2015, p. 1). What is included and what is omitted in this description captures the essence of transformative learning. For example, there is no mention of acquiring technical or academic knowledge; it is not about learning ‘how’ to do things or how others have done things in the past; and it is not about replicating what is already known. Learning that embraces all or some of these outcomes is clearly important. Building on what is already known is very much part of the transformation agenda. However, the primary emphasis in is on coming to know the constellation of deep and often unrecognized values and beliefs within ourselves that influence our thoughts and behaviours. In coming to know the tacit knowledge underlying our life worlds, learners and educators are positioned not as mere ‘consumers’ or transmitters of existing knowledge but as protagonists involved in critiquing existing knowledge and adopting a proactive stance in creating the future. Furthermore, transformative approaches position those who are ‘outside’ the academy as vital players to be engaged in creating knowledge that seeks to better understand and intervene in the complex political, cultural and psychosocial dynamics that constitute the contexts for current global challenges. Expert knowledge has a role. But it is not at the top of a hierarchy of knowledge; rather it is one of a number of ways of knowing, all of which are vital to the knowledge creation process.

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Designing a Course to Facilitate Transformative Learning

Between 2012 and 2015, a team of educators, climate change specialists, and agricultural scientists designed a Masters in Transformative Community Development. The Masters programme was the anchor activity of the TEN Project mentioned at the start of this chapter. This project was designed, developed and implemented by interdisciplinary teams in each of the four partner universities – Mzuzu University (Malawi), Maynooth University (Ireland), Mulungushi University (Zambia) and the Zambian Open University (Zambia). The aim of TEN was to position smallholder farmers as the key active players in defining their own needs with respect to managing their food security in

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the context of climate change. Self-identified smallholder farming concerns and capacities might then find a clearer voice and exert greater influence on the agendas of the institutions and decision-makers with which the farmers deal. To create conditions under which transformation of these relationships might emerge each African University identified a Community of Practice (CoP) which was the smallholder farmers of a large geographic area and the agencies engaging with them in that area. All of the learning, engagement and research within the Masters were grounded in the lived experiences of those CoP members. A Local Consultative Forum (LCF) was established at each CoP to provide guidance and advice to TEN, to influence the direction of TEN and to assist in communication between the University and the community. Additionally, National Consultative Forums (NCFs) were established in both Malawi and Zambia. The members were national policy and decision makers who provided advice and were, in turn, informed by the TEN project. An International Consultative Forum (ICF) was established to provide wider linkage to the international community. All of the students enrolled in the Masters were already employed in a range of government and non-government agencies and were working directly with smallholder farmers. They were selected with attention to their potential to act as ‘connectors’ and ‘agents of change,’ through which we could engage with the cultural, economic and governance institutions that have the potential to hinder or enable transformation. Thirty-five students successfully completed this Masters in 2015. The Masters featured pedagogies designed to promote transformation and to value the lived experiences of both the students and the local communities with which they were engaged. The course included blended, work-based and reflexive learning, group work, peer-learning, community informed research and fieldwork. Our approaches to teaching recognised the centrality of critical reflection, developing cognition rather than the transfer of information, problem posing and problem based learning and most importantly horizontal relationships between students, teachers and smallholder farmers, so that each recognised the other as both a learner and an educator. We were keen to explore ways of measuring transformative learning outcomes that would establish transformation not only as a vitally important learning experience but also as one that results in tangible learning outcomes that can be quantified. We believed that this was of particular importance in fostering support for transformative learning among disciplines and funding bodies that favour quantitative evaluation methods.

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6.1 The Challenge of Measuring Transformative Learning Outcomes Teaching for transformation poses particular challenges, especially so when it comes to evaluating learning outcomes. These challenges are clearly evident when we consider that measuring such learning has to involve each individual learner in determining: 1. the depth of engagement and reflection which they experienced; 2. whether a fundamental shift happened in how they see and relate to the world, and 3. in determining the implications of such shifts for how they will live life into the future. In an educational environment where tangible, measurable learning outcomes are prized, transformative learning outcomes such as these are often occluded and/or dismissed. The problem is compounded by the fact that proponents of transformative learning have side-stepped the challenge. Cranton and Hoggan (2012, p. 531) noted that ‘… in the literature we have paid virtually no explicit and direct attention to the process of evaluating transformative learning.’ This results in informal, ad hoc approaches to measuring transformative outcomes, which in turn makes it difficult to legitimise their inclusion in programmes. This is particularly so in relation to programmes involving providers who are unfamiliar with such approaches. Therefore, the vast majority of approaches to measuring learning impact tend to follow a traditional outcomes based, instructional design model, which while valuable for evaluation of instrumental and perhaps communicative knowledge, remains largely irrelevant for measuring transformative learning. Despite these challenges, or perhaps because of them, we decided that we needed to quantify the transformative learning that took place for students on the Masters. In measuring learning outcomes we employed a mixed methods approach comprising; 1. a quantitative questionnaire designed to measure not just transformative outcomes but the processes through which our students arrived at these outcomes and 2. the collection of qualitative data from open ended questions. We adapted and employed a self-report questionnaire originally developed by Stuckey, Taylor and Cranton (2013).3 The questionnaire reflected the assumptions underlying the theoretical perspectives in Table 5.1.4 Transformative outcomes were identified as those found in more than one theoretical perspective and included: – Acting Differently – Having a Deeper Self-Awareness – Having more Open Perspectives – Experiencing a Deep Shift in Worldview

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6.2 Students Responses to Closed Questions (Quantitative) Our findings indicated that all students experienced transformative learning outcomes across all theoretical perspectives. The quantitative results shown in Figure 5.1 were also supported by qualitative student responses.

figure 5.1 Transformative learning outcomes as reported by students completing the masters in transformative community development

The highest results from the quantitative data indicated a deep shift in worldview, acting differently and displaying more open perspectives. For each of these outcomes there was a consistency of findings across respondents. In terms of the learning processes though which transformation was realised, the highest results were for cognitive rational and social critique perspectives as indicated in Table 5.2. It is, however, noteworthy that all perspectives were shown to be important, indicating the diversity of routes through which students experienced transformative outcomes. Lowest scores are evident for the beyond rational perspective with arts based processes and emotional learning scoring lowest. table 5.1  Theoretical perspectives on transformative learning and associated learning processes assessed in our analysis

Theoretical perspective

Learning processes

Cognitive rational (Mezirow, 1991)

Critical reflection, discourse, action, experience, disorientating dilemma Arts based, dialogue, emotional, imaginal, spiritual, soul work Ideological critique, unveiling oppression, social action, empowerment

Extra-rational (Dirkx, 1998) Social critique (Freire, 1970)

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Nonetheless, the findings, including the qualitative data, also showed that these perspectives provided an important path to transformation for some students and further highlight the varied personal journeys which different students undertook in moving towards transformative outcomes. For the cognitive rational perspective, the highest scores were for action based learning and discourse, while for the social critique perspective, both learning through social action and unveiling oppression emerge as the most important transformative processes.

Deep shift in Acting More open Deeper self world view diffferently perspective awareness 0.448

0.224

0.393

0.026

Beyond rational

Disorienting Dilemma Action Critical reflection Discourse Experience Arts based Dialogue Emotional Imaginal/soul work Spiritual

0.388 0.392 0.500 0.410 0.492 0.317 -0.075 0.312 0.062

0.366 0.296 0.446 0.330 0.396 0.273 0.239 0.317 0.219

0.304 0.322 0.219 0.388 0.485 0.269 0.320 0.262 0.443

0.334 0.204 0.241 0.141 0.274 0.089 0.373 0.298 0.514

Empowerment Social action Unveiling oppression Ideology critique

0.349 0.486 0.682 0.361

0.239 0.560 0.611 0.493

0.227 0.324 0.449 0.427

0.203 0.278 0.374 0.601

Cognitive rational

Transformative processes

Social critique

table 5.2  Pearson’s correlation between transformative learning outcomes and processes. Signifijicant correlations (0.05 level) are highlighted in bold. Grey shaded cells highlight the top three most important processes (strongest correlation) for each learning outcome

When learning processes were correlated with each category of transformative outcome, the critical rational perspective shows the highest number of significant correlations with a deep shift in worldview. Learning processes based on social critique are strongly correlated with both shifting worldviews and acting differently. Interestingly, extra-rational learning processes have .

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strongest correlations with outcomes related to a more open perspective and deeper self-awareness. These results have important implication for all learning that seeks to be transformative. The findings highlight the importance of blending perspectives and pedagogical tools in creating a learning environment conducive to transformative learning. For instance, creating space for discourse (cognitive rational), pedagogical approaches that unveil oppression and facilitate social action (social critique) are most strongly correlated with the outcome of shifting worldviews. The transformative learning processes most strongly correlated with acting differently are found within the social critique perspective. The outcomes related to a more open perspective and deeper self-awareness are strongly correlated with extra-rational approaches and social critique. Interestingly, learning processes that unveil oppression (social critique perspective) are significantly correlated with all transformative learning outcomes. 6.3 Students Responses to Open Questions (Qualitative) In completing the questionnaire students were asked two open ended questions requiring them to: (i) describe a moment/experience during their studies that altered their outlook on community development in a deep and fundamental way and (ii) describe the ways in which that moment/experience changed their outlook on community development/working with communities. These questions aimed to link transformative experiences with specific aspects of the course. All of the responses identified three main moments/experiences on the course. These were, in order of frequency: 1. Field experience of working with community: Students indicated that interaction with community, which was integrated across all taught and research components of the course, was the most transformative experience. A representative quote from students is as follows: The transformative moment I remember was the moment when we went to survey our community of practice and I compared the concepts we learned on climate change and its negative effects on the rural communities, especially the small holder farmer, I immediately had an idea of the real challenges that the small holder farmer were going to experience or were experiencing.

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In-class discussion sessions and workshops: The program was delivered through blended learning with online classes and forums supplemented with on-site discussion groups and workshops integrating key lessons from across disciplines. Students identified these discussion groups/ workshops as being transformative. Before I used to think that community development means thinking for communities, their problems/needs and finding solutions for these. My approach to working with them was more of pressing on them what I had read and believed. The opportunity to reflect critically on my approach through discussion groups with other staff and students on this masters has given me new thinking to community development, new approaches and new processes of engaging communities meaningfully for more sustainable change.

3.

End of Year 1 Staff/Student Gathering (‘Khumano’5): The program was delivered across three African institutions. At the end of year one (taught component) all staff and students from Malawi, Zambia and Ireland came together in a gathering in one location. This learning experience facilitated students in developing and communicating their proposed research topic for year 2, to network with and share experiences with other students and to meet and get feedback from staff. A number of students identified the insights and experiences gained at the Khumano as being transformative. One of the experiences of the course that has really made a deep mark in my outlook is when we covered ‘Transformation-agency’ at the Gathering. The whole model of social-ecological systems has really changed my perception of the role of the community and how to make use of the community capital for sustainable intervention. The opportunity to meet with other students who were having similar experiences also helped keep me motivated for my research work.

It is noteworthy that all of the students chose key ‘moments’ when they were engaged with others. This is very much in keeping with Pelling, O’Brien, and Matyas (2015) who note the value of learning together and the value of having opportunities to practice or implement what might otherwise remain abstract learning.

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To the best of our knowledge this is the first comprehensive quantitative assessment of transformative learning outcomes and processes for a higher education programme. We now have data to support what transformative educators have always known – that routes to transformation are complex and require the integration of multiple theoretical perspectives in facilitating transitions for individual students.

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Transformative Educators as Reflexive Practitioners

Reflexive practice which describes an on-going process rather than a discrete event, provides a way of observing, interpreting and making meaning from reality. It is essentially the process through which the encounter between practical experience and theoretical knowledge is mediated. The process is not primarily concerned with identifying technical efficiencies or deficiencies within our practice; instead the focus is on identifying or revealing the underlying values, and the cultural and historic contexts embedded in the ‘practice.’ Josefsson (2005, cited in Orwehag, 2008, p. 38) defines the concept of ‘… reflective practice as experience subjected to critical scrutiny by means of theoretical reflection.’ Through this process educators can critique the extent to which they are enabling transformative learning for their students and as they do so they are enabling themselves to experience transformative learning. This is in keeping with the idea that educational encounters are very much an exchange where those involved are both learner and teacher. The challenge for transformative educators is not only to create conducive learning environments for students but also to do so in systems that may not value this kind of learning. In delivering the Masters programme described above accommodations were made in each of the four universities to enable inter-disciplinary, inter-institutional and inter-sectoral learning. However, in all institutions these accommodations were made as exceptions. We are very aware that these accommodations may not survive or be replicated elsewhere unless there is an imperative for universities to engage meaningfully with external stakeholders in order to deepen their capacity to equip graduates with the skills necessary to manage change and uncertainty in a complex world. Furthermore, epistemologies of the global north dominate education, research and development worldwide. Addressing these challenges is not straightforward, requiring the transition of students to new forms of learning and the transition of academics and institutions in how courses are

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developed and delivered (Altbach, Reisberg, & Rumbley, 2010). Adding to the complexity of the challenges is the close connection between the current dominant approach to knowledge and what Standing (2009, p. 130) called the commodification of education and the drive towards performance measured productivity. Undertaking transformative learning without the capacity to continuously interrogate whether one’s practice challenges or supports the status quo would be extremely difficult given the barriers posed by well-established and widely accepted educational structures and systems. Freire (1972) and later commentators (Dressman, 2008; Ryan, 2011) characterised the challenge to dominant values and goals as ‘critiquing common sense logic in order to see through it and to interrupt it’ (Ryan, 2011, p. 93). This type of critique is a vital aspect of reflexive practice. Reflexive practice also highlights the impact of ‘common sense logic’ on determining the social purpose of education. Kreber (2012, p. 335) claims that: ‘Nurturing critical reflection through our professional practice as adult educators is linked to the understanding that education ultimately is aimed at making a difference to the problems faced by societies.’ One of these problems is the exclusivity of the knowledge creation process as it exists. Hall and Sanders (2015, p. 454) note that even when knowledge creation is inter-disciplinary, focused on ‘real world problems’ and stakeholders are involved, there will be no change in how the academy does its business if ‘power relations and structures’ within the academy remain untouched. Therefore, understanding these power relations and the structures that support or enable them is important. It is also necessary to appreciate the extent to which we can impact on them. Reflexive practice that has no concern with these will remain at the level of individual ‘professional’ capacity development but distant from Freire’s plea to educators to ‘interrupt’ the logic of the educational system.

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Interrupting the Logic of the Educational System

Reflecting on one’s practice with a view to interrupting the logic of the education system necessitates attending to the following key considerations, each of which is considered below: 1. ‘Positioning’ oneself; 2. Being ‘agentic’; 3. Analysing systems.

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8.1 Positioning Oneself The word ‘positioning’ relates to having an awareness of the significance of perspective. Just as the view of a building or a natural feature differs depending on where the viewer stands, so our perception of the world differs depending on how we position ourselves. Being conscious of our perspective allows us to explore the different ways we acquired our knowledge and to recognise the often reverential position afforded to intellectual knowing at the expense of other ways of knowing (Ryan, 2011), so that knowledge gained through personal and professional experiences and cultural practices is often less highly regarded than that acquired through formal education. An awareness of perspective reminds us that these ‘other’ ways of knowing are important especially in evoking emotional responses to the world Being aware of our position means that when we reflect on our practice we can locate it on a number of continuums such as these that follow: Shoring up deficient systems

Critiquing systems and seeking change

‘Shoring up deficient systems’ refers to learned-centred activities that strive to support and enable individual learners to adapt to and comply with the requirements of the educational system. These activities pay little or no attention to the forces that exclude non-traditional students in the first place, resulting in them not being able to participate without the need for ‘special’ supports. At the other end of the continuum ‘critiquing systems and seeking change’ focuses on how the system functions. The aim is to identify the structures and processes that make it difficult for non-traditional students to participate. The big difference in the two positionings is that if we focus solely on supporting individual students so that they can access education we are in effect locating the ‘deficiency’ in the individual student/learner. When we critique the system we are locating the ‘deficiency’ in that system. We are saying that a system of education that cannot cater for all students/learners is unfit for purpose. Seeing power as suspect decision-making apparatus

Seeking opportunities to be part of the

‘Seeing power as suspect’ refers to a positioning that privileges resistance and perhaps takes comfort in not being ‘one of the responsible ones.’ It can stem from a sense of hopelessness or a sense of being powerless to create change.

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Freire (1997) noted that ‘… hopelessness paralyses us, immobilises us.’ By contrast, the positioning on the far right seeks out opportunities to actively contribute to the actual decisions that are made, to how these decisions are made and to their implementation. Adopting an adversarial stance produce change

Adopting a stance most likely to

‘Adopting an adversarial or combative stance’ refers to a positioning in which confrontation is the sought after outcome. Resistance is seen as an end in itself. This positioning can lead to being isolated and unable to influence the future. At the other end of the continuum change is the sought after outcome and all energy is utilised towards this end. In this instance resistance is not an end in itself but a resource to be harnessed. Adopting this positioning requires the ability to imagine and the ability to hope. The capacity to imagine a socially just and sustainable future based on worldviews that value ethical, sustainable and resilient ways to live, can engender a sense of hope. Belief in the possibility for change can be difficult to generate, especially in those who have succumbed to cynicism. Looking beyond the boundaries of what exists, towards new and more resilient approaches to economics, society, education, health, agriculture and work is very much dependent on a capacity to imagine and to hope. Being marginalised

Working at the margins

‘Being marginalised’ describes a positioning where linkages and connections with decision-makers and influencers have been severed or have withered. This can happen when the total focus is on the issues with no attention being paid to the change that is needed to address the issue. By contrast, the ‘working at the margins’ positioning is one where the focus of attention is on issues of marginalisation while engagement with the mainstream policy or decision makers remains strong. Staying connected and engaged calls for a level of awareness of the need for purposeful action. It is unlikely that any educators work at the extreme ends of all or any of these continuums. As tools to aid reflexive practice, the main use of these continuums is to illuminate the social, cultural, political, ideological forces that form the contexts in which we undertake our educational activity.

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8.2 Being ‘Agentic’ Being agentic implies a capacity to conceive of a line of action to bring about sought after change. This necessitates knowing what outcome is required and being able to identify and access the power, authority and right necessary to execute the planned line of action. It also requires us to be able to tap into our imaginative capacity. To do so we need to stoke our imagination. One important way to do this is through ‘imagining.’ Regarding the importance of imagining, Hussey (2004, p. 25) quotes Edward Bond the playwright and theatre director: ‘Bond claims that we cannot ‘think’ our way into being … nor can we simply ‘feel’ our way – we must imagine it.’ In a similar vein Boal calls imaginative meaning-making a ‘rehearsal for reality’ where various new ways of being … are tried out or tested …’ (Hussey, 2004, p. 25). Elsewhere Hussey (2015, p. 38) notes that: ‘Both Edward Bond (2000) and Augusto Boal (2002) speak of the imagination as the faculty which can critique oppression, and produce new metaphors that actively challenge it.’ The main characteristics of an ‘agentic’ practitioner are: – Being purposeful in effecting desired and measurable change or engaging in resistance that aims to achieve practical effects. When reflecting on practice two key questions are: What actual changes do I want to achieve? What do I need to do to achieve these changes? – Recognising power dynamics, including being aware of how one is embedded in a system or systems. When reflecting on power dynamics a key question is: Who may help or hinder my efforts. – Valuing collective as well as individual effort in having maximum impact. When reflecting on practice two key questions are: Who are my allies in achieving these changes? How can I connect with them? 8.3 Analysing Systems A capacity to analyse systems enables us to better appreciate the factors and forces that impact on our workplace. The following questions are useful in exploring contextual influences: – What other systems exist within the immediate environment of your organisation/entity? – What influence do each have on your system? Rate their influence from 1 to 10 (where 10 is profound and 1 is minimal). What means/channels are used to mediate this influence? – Where is explicit power held within your organisation? Where is implicit power located? – What is your system’s explicit mission statement or raison d’être? What is its implicit mission? Is there a disjuncture?

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– What are your organisation’s most significant stories, rituals and metaphors? What do these say about its priorities? – What is perceived as threat by your organisation? – How does your organisation maintain and police its boundaries? – What kind of change would be most beneficial in your organisation? – Who in your organisation would be most threatened by such change? – What needs to change in order for change to be possible?

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Conclusion

Routes to transformative learning are complex and require the integration of multiple theoretical perspectives from multiple sources. A ‘mono’ discourse in addressing complex challenges such as climate change and poverty is inappropriate. For example, our research on the TEN project with colleagues in Malawi and Zambia has indicated that the most catastrophic impacts of climate change are intrinsically enmeshed with other factors relating to poverty and global marginalisation. Interventions which do not take this reality into account are mainly ineffective and leave no sustainable footprint beyond the duration of the intervention. Effective interventions, including educational interventions, need to create learning opportunities whereby the problems and issues that need to be address can be reframed and re-approached in ways that transcend current discipline bound educational approaches. A major obstacle to transformative learning is the pervasive power and structures associated with western knowledge and epistemologies. Adult and community education must play a role in revealing how epistemological colonisation operates and contributes to global inequality, in disrupting it, in demonstrating how epistemological diversity can contribute to global cohesion and in working alongside those who have the capacity to engage with communities whose knowledge has been ignored in academic circles. To create learning environments that can play such a role calls for reflexive educators who recognise the role education plays in shaping the world in which we live. To undertake the kind of reflexivity proposed here requires us to revisit and revise what we know. It does not, however, require us to renounce what we already know in favour of a new type of dogmatic knowledge. Instead, it requires us to question the hegemonic positioning of western knowledge and to search for processes in teaching, research and engagements that actively include the knowledge and perspectives of those who are currently excluded. Moving from

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dogmatic to inclusive knowledge requires an openness to interrogate the values that underpin our world view – especially embedded values. de Sousa Santos (2014, p. 17) claims that to do this effectively ‘calls for repeated exercises of selfreflexivity’ so that we can ‘untrain’ and ‘reinvent’ ourselves.

Notes 1 The four partners were: Maynooth University, Ireland, Mzuzu University, Malawi, Mulungushi University and the Zambian Open University, Zambia. 2 We are indebted to our colleagues in the TEN project who taught us so much. These colleagues were: Maynooth University, Ireland – Dr Bernie Grummell, Emeritus Professor Martin Downes; Mzuzu University, Malawi – Dr Mavuto Tembo, Dr Victor Kasulo, Mr Bennet F.A Mataya; Mulungushi University, Zambia – Professor Olusegun Yerokun, Dr Moses Daura, Mr Joseph T Mwale; Zambian Open University – Dr David Sibalwa, Mr Gabriel Chipeta, Lecturer, Dr Daniel Lupiya Mpolomoka 3 We are grateful to Heather Stuckey of Penn State University and Patricia Cranton of the University of New Brunswick for their generosity in sharing their questionnaire and for their interest in our project and the evaluation challenge we faced. 4 Survey development included a comprehensive review of the literature, external review of survey items by experts in the field, focus groups for clarification of wording and the quantification of reliability statistics for each survey item. In total, 19 scales (each of which comprised 5 individual statements) that represent transformative outcomes and processes were tested. 5 Khumano is the Tumbuka word for coming together.

References Altbach, P. G., Reisberg, L., & Rumbley, L. E. (2010). Trends in global higher education: Tracking and academic revolution. Rotterdam, The Netherlands: Sense Publishers. Boal, A. (2002). Games for actors and non-actors (2nd ed.). London: Routledge. Brookfield, S. (2005). Learning democratic reason: The adult education project of Jurgen Habermas. Teachers College Record, 107(6), 1127–1168. Brundtland, G. H. (1987). Report of the world commission on environment and development: Our common future. Oslo: United Nations. Burns, H. L. (2015). Transformative sustainability pedagogy: Learning from ecological systems and indigenous wisdom. Journal of Transformative Education, 13(3), 259–276.

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Cranton, P., & Hoggan, C. (2012). Evaluating transformative learning. In E. W. Taylor & P. Cranton (Eds.), The handbook of transformative learning: Theory, research and practice. San Francisco, CA: Wiley & Sons. de Sousa Santos, B. (2008). Another knowledge is possible: Beyond northern epistomologies. London: Verso Books. Dirkx, J. (1998). Transformative learning theory in the practice of adult education: An overview. PAACE Journal of Lifelong Learning, 7, 1–14. Dressman, M. (2008). Using social theory in educational research. New York, NY: Routledge. Freire, P. (1970). Pedagogy of the oppressed. New York, NY: Continuum. Freire, P. (1972). Cultural action for freedom. London: Penguin. Garuba, H. (2015, May). Knowledge of the marginalised essential to curriculum development. Monday Monthly: The University of Cape Town Newspaper, pp. 3–4. Gilsczinski, D. J. (2007). Transformative higher education: A meaningful degree of understanding. Journal of Transformative Education, 5(4), 317–328. Habermas, J. (1984). The theory of communicative action: Volume 1, reason and rationalisation in society (T. McCarthy, Trans.). Boston, MA: Beacon Press. Hall, E. F., & Sanders, T. (2015). Accountability and the academy: Producing knowledge about the human dimensions of climate change. Journal of the Royal Anthropological Institute, 21, 438–461. Hussey, P. (2004). Notes for imaginers. In A. Ryan & T. Walsh (Eds.), Unsettling the horses: Interrogating adult education perspectives. Maynooth: MACE Press. Hussey, P. (2015). Learning through theatre (Unpublished doctoral thesis). Maynooth University, Maynooth. Kreber, C. (2012). Critical reflection and transformative learning. In E. W. Taylor & P. Cranton (Eds.), The handbook of transformative learning: Theory, research and practice. San Francisco, CA: Wiley & Sons. Lynch, K. (1999). Equality in education. Dublin: Gill & Macmillan. Mezirow, J. (1991). Transformative dimensions of adult learning. San Francisco, CA: Jossey-Bass. Mezirow, J. (2000). Learning to think like an adult: Core concepts of transformation theory. In J. Mezirow (Ed.), Learning as transformation. San Francisco, CA: Jossey-Bass. Orwehag, M. H. (2008). But I’m going to be a teacher, not a researcher! In M. Mattsson, I. Johansson, & B. Sandstrom (Eds.), Construction in teacher education. Rotterdam, The Netherlands: Sense Publishers. Pelling, M., O’Brien, K., & Matyas, D. (2015). Adaptation and transformation. Climatic Change, 133(1), 113–127. Ryan, A. (2011). Conscientization: The art of learning. In A. O’Shea & M. O’Brien (Eds.), Pedagogy, oppression and transformation in a ‘post-critical’ climate. London: Continuum.

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Standing, G. (2009). Work after globalization: Building occupational citizenship. Cheltenham: Edward Elgar. Stuckey, H. L., Taylor, E. W., & Cranton, P. (2013). Developing a survey of transformative learning outcomes and processes based on theoretical principles. Journal of Transformative Education, 11(4), 211–228. Tillich, P. (2000). The courage to be. New Haven, CT: Yale University Press. Vallance, S., Perkins, H. C., & Dixon, J. C. (2011). What is social sustainability? A clarification of concepts. Geoforum, 42, 342–348.

Chapter 6

Reflexivity and the Pedagogy of Surprise Peter Hussey

This chapter emerges from my twenty-two years of practice with young people in Kildare Youth Theatre. In it I attempt to explore how reflexivity works in the process of collaborative theatre-making. It is a venture based on engaging with the unexpected in order to arrive at deep and lasting learning. I hope to show that the methods theatre-makers use to create a learning space where people have an aesthetic engagement with material can be the same ones that educators use to foster transformative learning. Theatre lends itself easily as a flexible conduit to explore any social, personal and political issue. It’s not surprising therefore that theatre-makers engage in reflexivity as a matter of course – it is a central process in making performances. Theatre-making is a site where by necessity learning takes place, attitudes are questioned and values are critiqued. Like all curiosity-led disciplines, from quantum mechanics to astrophysics, great theatre enjoys questioning. And great theatre-makers know that the question is as important as the answer. They also know that the process is often an end in itself, where the most exciting – and perhaps therefore the most dramatic – questions begin with “What would happen if …?” Artists in general understand the value of the unknown and the undiscovered. The US poet Theodore Roethke’s mantra “I learn by going where I have to go”1 is one all theatre-makers know. Among the world’s most respected theatre-makers, Cheek By Jowl founders Declan Donnellan and Nick Omerod recognise that what they do to create performances of international acclaim is based on engaging with the unknown. We do genuinely go in with a blank canvas. And that is quite frightening. But after 30 years, somewhere you know that you will come to the end with something effective and concrete that the actors can deal with. (Omerod, 2013) For British playwright Edward Bond the unknown is the site of the possible where we can ask questions about justice and imagine how we might organise ourselves in a way that reduces oppression (Bond, 2001). © koninklijke brill nv, leiden, 2018 | doi:10.1163/9789004384507_006

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I have always seen theatre as a space where questions take precedence over answers and where not knowing what is going to happen is more exciting than anticipating the expected. For me, creativity itself is the process, driven by curiosity, of imagining the potential for something to change its current state (be it an artefact, a situation, an absence, a problem, an idea, a person, a group, etc.) into something that does not yet exist. As a process it is not value-laden (it is not very useful, for example, to speak of ‘good’ creativity or ‘bad’ creativity). However, the results of the process are value-laden (a good idea, a bad play, a useful solution, a weird vase, a beautiful song, etc.). The value is added after the creation of it by reflection. Each of these attributes – curiosity, imagination, action, and reflection – needs to be nurtured in order for creativity to happen. In our current educational climate great weight is being placed on schools and colleges to nurture the entrepreneurial spirit, to make space for creative thinking, and to teach problem solving as a matter of course at all levels of the educational system. Much of this pressure can be seen to emanate from the apparent needs of the Western economy to supply a workforce that is flexible, reflexive and critical, able to solve and to invent, and capable not only of analysing the sores of a generation but of inventing an app that soothes them. There is an opportunity here for educators to harness this particular wave, and to develop what Ken Robinson (2015) calls creative schools, not so much for the purposes of employment but for the necessity of living. The attributes that inspire creative people to make dynamic enterprises are the same ones that help us make sense of the world and that drive our potential to name it and change it. And of these, reflexivity is the most crucial.

1

‘Well Govern’d Youth’2

Perhaps the most interesting difference between working with teenagers and working with adults has been that teenagers are usually more surprised by what I take for granted than adults are. The ways people behave, the things people say and do, and all the interactions that compose the long sequences of human actionand-response that an adult has seen played out in cycles and in generations are difficult to appraise or predict when you are 16 and have not been through enough of them to discern a pattern. The state of adolescence is one of routine surprise where engaging with the unexpected is a way of being. Theatre-making matches this state perfectly, supplying the young person with a set of tools that thrives on curiosity and that can build meaning from the surprising. Education (with the possible exception of the sciences) generally does the opposite, calming young

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people down and quenching curiosity with liberal dousings of routine, predicable and confining orthodoxy that replaces defiance with compliance. For many of our young people being in a youth theatre is the only space they have left at 16 where every question is not answered before you ask it. Young people’s surprise generally invigorates my own tired perspectives and I find myself relishing the freshness with which we, together, explore the world. Our journeys into the unknown have always begun not with a first step but with the idea of a destination. Not with a movement but with a thought. All processes of inquiry should begin like this. It is what most people call curiosity – what Emily Dickinson describes as the engine that drives imagination:3 THE GLEAM of an heroic act, Such strange illumination – The Possible’s slow fuse is lit By the Imagination! Without the gleam of an impossible idea – Shakespeare’s ‘native hue of resolution’4 – or the thought to get to a place not yet here or now, the impulse to move cannot exist. Voluntary movement must be motivated by the idea of getting somewhere, even if the somewhere is only three steps forward to pick up a pebble, to lift a cloth, to head for home. The ‘gleam of an heroic act’ is the glimmer of an idea. Without this vital impulse human movement becomes zombie movement. In the context of this chapter, Dickinson’s ‘gleam’ is brought about by reflexivity. Without reflexivity we have purposeless movement and routine unmotivated actions, a going-through-the-motions whose purpose has been forgotten or has never actually been explored. In educational settings we are always in danger of facilitating this involuntary, uncritical process of presenting the curriculum as information only rather than using it to learn about ourselves and the world. The pressure to prepare students for exams can often outweigh the desire to explore and generate meaning. At third level, students themselves often expect teachers and lecturers to present information in advance of employment in the form of instructions about a range of practical matters that were once learned on the job, and that is usually already readily available online. Space for reflection, for developing independent research skills, for critically evaluating the purposes of methods, for evaluating and using information, and for the collective creation of value is being squeezed out of timetables in favour of training that, if adopted by the student, will guard them in the future against their having to develop responses of their own to problems that may confront them. It seems to me that we have learned very little from the great educators of the past century – from Dewey, Freire, Rogers, Illich, hooks, Robinson – who

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each say in despair the same thing: that education needs to facilitate learning and that learning needs to be engaged, aesthetic, experiential, joyful. Decade after decade educationalists and theorists passionately exhort us to create the conditions where people can be free to learn, but decade after decade we become more efficient at implementing the conditions where they need to be medicated or counselled to survive.5

2

‘The Mould of Form’6

In the first years of our work in youth theatre we attempted to reproduce the pedagogy of second level education for our young participants. We devised programmes we thought they would be interested in, created short courses on selected topics (like An Introduction to the Stanislavski Method of Acting) and timetabled them for set hours in the week over a period of months divided into terms. We were very clear about the expected learning outcomes of each module, and described what means of teaching would be used to achieve these outcomes. Having hired tutors specialised in each module we promoted it to schools and colleges where young people would likely read about it. However, to our great surprise, no one registered for any of the modules. Instead they flocked to our traditional weekly workshop where there was no set programme. I was curious to know why: was it the timing, the tutor’s reputation, the level or standard of the module? I surveyed all 25 of our participants, each of whom recorded their responses in writing. All of the young people said, in various ways, that they believed they wouldn’t enjoy the module, even though it was about a subject matter relevant to them. If I know what we are going to be doing I think I will be bored. What I look forward to is not knowing what will happen. (Male, 16)

I didn’t sign up for any of them because it felt too much like school. It wasn’t the fact that the courses were about things I should learn if I wanted to be an actor. Because that could have been fun, you know? If it had said ‘this course will look at Stanislavski’ and it was left at that I might have signed up. But I read the whole course outline and saw what each session would be about and what we should have learned by the end, and all that. It put me off. I felt almost like I had a duty to go to it. And that it would have spoiled my experience in drama. (Female, 16)7

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Further feedback revealed that the group were attracted to the open workshop because it was the only place in their weekly schedule where they learned unexpectedly: they learned surprising things about themselves – about their abilities and attitudes; and they learned ways of performing, and about the nature of performance. They said they did not learn this way in school or college. Interestingly, they also felt that sometimes the open workshop does not produce moments of insight or revelation. Sometimes it lacks energy and it is not exciting. So one never really knows if there will be a transformative moment. This is part of the unpredictable nature of the learning. However, more often than not the experience will be transformative, even in minor ways, and this happens often enough to guarantee their attendance. We can put up with some workshops not going well or being a bit boring because you know that next week there will surely be something magical. And if not next week, then the week after. (Female, 17)8

3

‘Weary with Disasters, Tugg’d with Fortune’9

In schools and colleges the curriculum is set and there is little that a teacher can do about changing that. In this learning system both teachers and learners can know, or quite easily find out about, the curriculum before the programme starts. Each has set their expectations for positive learning based on how much of the curriculum has been ‘covered’ by the teacher. In this limited sense, ‘covered’ can sometimes mean simply being mentioned. Phrases like ‘we covered this last year’ or we ‘did this already’ come to mean that the items have been ticked off the list of things about which information has been given by the teacher and understood by the learner. ‘Understood’ equates to ‘memorised with a minimum of comprehension.’ Part of the problem I believe lies in the fact that a curriculum is decided in detail before the learning begins (whether it is relevant or not to the learner is a matter of luck in most cases). Both learners and teachers know what to expect in this system. The unexpected, the spontaneous, and the unpredictable usually has no place in today’s classroom. Little seems to have changed since Carl Rogers wrote in 1974 that: In the vast majority of our schools, at all educational levels, we are locked into a traditional and conventional approach that makes significant

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learning improbable if not impossible. When we combine certain elements into one scheme – a prescribed curriculum, similar assignments for all students, lecturing as almost the only mode of instruction, standard tests that externally evaluate all students, instructor-chosen grades as the measure of learning – then we can almost guarantee that meaningful learning will be an absolute minimum. (Rogers, 1974, p. 37) In fact, the unpredictable is actively prevented from emerging. In written feedback from 600 pupils of second-level education who took part in a dramabased programme run by Crooked House in County Kildare in 2015–2017, over 70% of them said they were regularly ‘bored in class’ and found learning ‘predictable’ and ‘depressing’ (Crooked House, 2017). On the one hand we want, as learners and teachers alike, to have a fair idea of the curriculum so that we know in advance if the learning will be useful to us, if we have made the right choice in selecting one particular course over another one, and if the material will be relevant to our situation and experience. There is an onus on managers of education that courses must be clearly described and they should adhere to relevant advertising legislation, while teachers and their methods must be transparent and accountable. Educationalists need to publish clear and unambiguous criteria by which their curricula will be assessed, they must predict the level of learning that will be reached, and they should identify the indicators by which this learning will be measured. Teaching has become as involved in the business of management as it is in learning. Nick Frost writes about the impact of new managerialism on teachers today, concluding that most feel stressed and feel ‘that their major task in life has become handling information, rather than working with people’ (Frost, 2010, p. 17). In this environment it is difficult for teachers to take risks and to provide learning experiences for their students other than the ones the student/ consumer has been sold and expects to encounter. The changes linked to globalisation demand flexible ways of producing and relating to the consumer, but simultaneously demand standardisation and measurability. This places particular pressures on the professional to supply the ‘personalised’ service, whilst they are subject to audit, inspection and measurement. (Frost, 2010, p. 19) On the other hand we are regularly bored as learners when the class does exactly what it says on the tin, when the teacher diligently goes through the lesson plan enumerating the points presented and achieving the outcomes that are expected to be achieved. Of course there are some exceptions, some

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gifted teachers who create engaged learning environments, and even some whole schools who provide an exciting place in which to encounter ideas and process experiences. These though are rare. Based on what young people have told me over many years about their experience in schools I began to construct a process of learning that attempted to provide the opposite experience to them than the one most of them encounter at second level.

4

‘The Undiscovered Country’10

Devising is the business of creating performance material from anything except a play-text. Material most usually comes from the feelings, opinions and experiences of the participants who devise the work collaboratively. Devising offers participants a huge amount of control and ownership over the shape, content and structure of the performance. It also allows them to choose the extent to which they wish be to be involved in the finished product. Many people find devising difficult at first because there is no script with which to begin, there are usually no characters or situations, and sometimes there is no theme. Often it is a completely bank slate – rather like a white page facing a writer – simultaneously attractive in that it offers endless possibilities for creation, and repulsive in that it challenges the group to begin with nothing but themselves. Working in the unknown and relishing the unexpected requires both learner and teacher to have developed a capacity to imagine. When working only with each other and starting there to create something that does not yet exist, participants must be able to see beyond the material into the possible. To call for imaginative capacity is to work for the ability to look at things as if they could be otherwise. To ask for intensified realisation is to see that each person’s reality must be understood to be interpreted experience – and that the mode of interpretation depends on his or her situation and location in the world. It depends as well on the number of vantage points a person is able or enabled to take – the number of perspectives that will disclose multiple aspects of a contingent (not a self-existent) world. To tap into imagination is to become able to break with what is supposedly fixed and finished, objectively and independently real. It is to see beyond what the imaginer has called normal or “common-sensible” and to carve

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out new orders in experience. Doing so, a person may become freed to glimpse what might be, to form notions of what should be and what is not yet. And the same person may, at the same time, remain in touch with what presumably is. (Greene, 1995, p. 19) If this capacity is to be developed then certain conditions need to be in place. First among these is the establishment of a learning group who are comfortable enough with each other to share what they consider to be, as Greene puts it, ‘what is supposedly fixed and finished, objectively and independently real’ (1995, p. 19). In theatre-making this learning group is called an ensemble. The ensemble’s first task is to spend some time learning about itself. This takes the form of developing an ethos, and a set of norms that are unique to this particular group of learners. There may be two ensembles working in the same youth theatre, for example, but each has a different way of working. One might like to discuss, reflect and process a lot; and the other might like to act, move and test a lot. The teacher here has the role of proposing ways of working that are tested by the group and accepted or rejected. The teacher also makes space for the group members to propose their own ways of working. Time is given in an ensemble to build relationships between the members and between the group and the teacher that will result in effective communication, open more possibilities for experimentation, and create conditions for trust, sharing and collaboration. Finally, the teacher develops the groups’ skills to research, using whatever means they find most useful. This process might take only two or three sessions, or it could take months.

5

‘Ripeness is All’11

Once the ensemble is established the group focuses on what it wants to learn about. The teacher here proposes structures (or forms) and strategies that he or she has used in the past, and which the ensemble tests and rejects, applies or adapts to its own needs. For example, a teacher might show a method of creating a scene that uses rotating characters and asks the group to make a short piece using this method. The theme they choose to explore, the dialogue, the characters and the situation are all left up the group to devise. In addition to being experienced in using many different structures, and being clear and supportive in explaining these structures to the group, the teacher or facilitator needs to be open to the possibility that these structures will change due to the way the ensemble uses them. In fact, this for me is one

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of the most enjoyable aspects of teaching. I am regularly surprised by what a group does to a tired old structure: this inspires me to re-create it for another group, which they in turn may adapt, and so the process continues. In this pedagogical process the participants do not know what or how they will learn until they have embarked upon the activity and reflected on it. The curriculum emerges from the learning the ensemble does about itself. In the context of devising a new performance the curriculum is the material the ensemble generates that will be shaped into the performance. A performance might be likened to an exam or assessment or end-of-programme display of what has been learned. All the participants and the facilitator must actively embrace this concept of learning unexpectedly otherwise there will be no performance. Not only should they discover the theme of the work as they develop, but also the tools of teaching, or the methods of facilitation, should be based on this principle. In collaborative learning environments of this kind games, tasks and exercises are used to stimulate imagination, and reflection about the activity is used to stimulate critical thinking. The reflection follows the action immediately and it is the place where the surprise is processed and the learning generated. It is central to this method of teaching because without it a teacher is simply pandering to the desire for novelty and distraction by providing fun game after fun game until the fun runs empty. Moreover, the reflection about the activity must connect the unplanned, subjective experience of the student to the world outside of the activity. This is where the unexpected learning for both teacher and student really occurs.

6

‘For There Is Nothing Either Good or Bad, But Thinking Makes It So’12

Most great theatre exercises have unexpected learning at their heart. There is one, for example, called The Glass Cobra, that was created by the late, great Augusto Boal as part of his collection of exercises designed to stimulate critical reflection (Boal, 1992). It involves the participants forming a circle, with their hands on the shoulders of the person to their right, their eyes closed, and an agreement to perform the exercise in complete vocal silence. The facilitator guides the group through a series of actions – ranging from using your fingers to explore the shoulders of the person you are connected to, right through to letting go and walking around the room in random directions. With your eyes closed you have to find the pair of shoulders you were initially connected to, and form the circle again, without speaking.

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It is a simple exercise. At the beginning the participants do not know what they will be asked to do. The facilitator of course will explain in general that there will be silent and blind movement around the room so that anyone who is fearful of this may step out and observe the exercise. Beyond this the group simply participates. However, at the end the facilitator spends a considerable length of time asking them how they felt at various stages of the exercise. At each point, she asks the group to consider if this feeling could be a smaller, more localised or personal version of the same feeling a displaced person has. She asks if the loss of place and attempt to regain security is similar to what families who lose everything go through. She asks if there are any other connections the group can make between what they felt and experienced and what they imagine entire communities might feel or experience in migratory situations. This discussion and reflection is the main point of the exercise. The group are reviewing their experience (which lasted perhaps 4 minutes) through a new lens of social or political shading, which usually produces learning of a deep and lasting kind. It is deep and lasting because it is connected to an emotional and personal experience. In this exercise the learning emerged by surprise. If the group had known the questions beforehand, or had anticipated that they should connect what was happening to them to a wider social reality, then they would have perhaps shaped the exercise to produce those results, or begun to ‘enact’ characters and situations from their understanding of the reality of migration. They will not experience the complete immersion in the game, the frustrations, problems and trauma of not knowing, which are central to understanding the social reality. So the game must be played with no prior knowledge of what is going to happen and no knowledge of what is to be learned. In the pedagogy of surprise we learn to embrace not knowing, and use the unexpected as a source of learning. It involves procedural learning (the how to kind) and is in the long tradition of learning by inquiry. The teacher’s job is to facilitate situations that will stimulate the imagination of the learners. In this process we are aiming for a revelation about the self and/or about the world. We are usually looking for a discovery about ourselves in the world. The revelation then needs to be processed in a period of critical reflection in order for the learner to understand it for him or herself. It inevitably leads to a change in perception and a re-naming of the world. To exist, humanly, is to name the world, to change it. Once named, the world in its turn reappears to the namers as a problem and requires of

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them a new naming. Human beings are not built in silence, but in word, in work, in action-reflection. (Freire, 1970, p. 69) It is a form of praxis in which the learner takes a risk that what they knew before – and crucially what was named for them – may be revealed to be partial, biased, subjective, or false.

7

‘Imagination Bodies Forth the Forms of Things Unknown’13

Boal (2002) invented another exercise called The Great Game of Power that is designed to encourage reflection about how power is used, abused and retained in human relationships. It involves individuals in a group arranging seven objects (a table, five chairs, and a bottle of water) in a formation that expresses concepts like ‘oppressive power,’ or ‘one dominates all’ or ‘abuse of power’ and so on. Each person, without speaking, arranges the objects in a formation that they think represents the concept, and then they step back into the group. After some discussion about the nature of power being expressed in the image, the facilitator asks the group to view the formation through a particular lens – for example, to see this image as an expression of work-place bullying, or pupil-teacher dynamics, or as a comment on social class. The lens will usually be the one that the group has come together to explore during the course of the session. In this type of exercise, participants are projecting meaning onto the objects. The meaning originates in their own experience, and the objects serve as a form or frame within which the experience can be (a) made visible, (b) shared and (c) critiqued. The form in this instance is fixed (i.e. the furniture has been arranged into a formation by another participant) so that the group member is forced to make their experience fit the arrangement of the objects. A small number of people are unable to do this as they cannot find any correlation between the symbolic expression of power and their lived experience of it. But for others this process is a revelation. The image ‘speaks’ to them. It provokes them to view their experience in a way that they had not previously done. It does so because they have to work within the confines of the fixed image and must work hard to make ‘sense’ of the formation in relation to their experience. For example, one participant might say ‘This image represents how my boss always bullied me in front of others. That’s me there, and this is my boss.’ The facilitator may ask ‘Ok. So who or what is the table?’ The participant has to reflect for a moment, and may say something like ‘Maybe the table is the

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system we work in. It supports this kind of bullying.’ Or they may be asked to find meaning for the other chairs – which could represent their co-workers, in various positions of compliance or conflict with the bullying boss. This method of projecting meaning onto objects is not a new one in education, as it derives from the psychological drive to find order in randomness, and to make the unusual fit into our own cultural habitus (Bourdieu, 1979). The consumption of art is predicated upon the viewer finding meaning and relevance in fixed expressions of objects. ‘The prereflective, that is, what we perceive before we reflect on it, becomes the launching place of rationality’ (Greene, p. 53). From here we can expand the horizons of what we knew, or thought we knew. Greene argues that as teachers if we ‘are to develop a humane and liberating pedagogy, we must feel ourselves to be engaged in a dialectical relation.’ We should, in other words, strive to be spontaneous, to be aware of all the stimuli around us, and to be really present in the relationship with our learners. Greene offers art as one of the means by which we can ‘uncover or be able to interpret what we are experiencing’ (Greene, p. 52). And of course, the art of theatre depends upon audience members relating their experiences to the stories, characters and situations staged before them. So it is not surprising that learners will respond positively to the use of objects as a way to excavate experience and reflect on the meaning this experience can have for those involved. Curiosity aims to go beyond the familiar, to explore a space that opens up to the realm of possibilities. It actively strives to hone itself on reality and to gain experience that gives reality a clearly perceptible form that can be interacted with. (Nowotny, 2010, p. xviii) Similarly, the use of objects can be helpful to focus expression into a confined depth of field. Such work is particularly useful when reflecting about past experiences, and perhaps evaluating processes. An exercise such as the treasure chest is one I developed for evaluation purposes. It requires that participants on a learning process spend some time choosing an object that is already formed (i.e. they may not create something new) and bring it into the group feedback session during the evaluation stage of a project. The object should be chosen due to its appeal to the participant as a symbol for something they’ve learned. One by one, they talk about the reason they chose the object, and begin to express their understanding of the learning process through the characteristics of the object. For example, one might choose a coin, another a leaf. The person who brings the coin may talk about the visible value of the learning, the possibilities for trading knowledge, the many

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hands it passed through, how it was hammered into shape, etc. While the one with the leaf may speak about the way their learning was absorbed, how it fed a larger system, perhaps how it branched into a number of directions, the organic process she went through, and how she changed and grew. It has been my experience that people, when choosing objects for reflection – if left unaided – will always choose the right one for them. Partly this is because, as cognitive neuroscience is beginning to show, our brains make images first, and language second (Lakoff & Johnson, 1999). We have an inbuilt facility to relate to images, and to interpret them metaphorically. Our understanding of the world is based on metaphors that are created early in our lives which in turn are based on our physical movement though the space we inhabit. Regarding spatial-relations concepts, for instance, the “source-path-goal” schema, which humans learn at an early age by crawling from a starting point to an end point, undergirds numerous metaphors that organize certain events in our lives as narratives with a beginning, a middle, and an end. (McConachie & Hart, 2006, p. 2) Being able to marry images to experiences we are trying to process activates a cognitive function called conceptual blending. Actors use this repeatedly when they have to blend their concepts of themselves with the characters they are performing. Bruce McConachie maintains that ‘blending allows people to borrow parts of concepts and put them together in new combinations (McConachie, 2013, p. 28). In the same way, I have discovered that participants often find it easier to choose objects that symbolise their experience than they do to speak about that experience. Blending both processes together, whereby the participant describes the experience in terms of the chosen object, develops the symbol into a metaphor, and as such, creates something new. The word normally associated with this act is imagination. We are using our imagination to make meaning which in turn results in agency. ‘Cognitivists define agency as an image schema in the mind that allows a subject to intend and cause a material change in the world’ (McConachie & Hart, 2006, p. 6). Both Edward Bond and Augusto Boal speak of the imagination as the faculty which can critique oppression, and produce new metaphors that actively challenge it. Boal calls imaginative meaning-making a ‘rehearsal for reality’ where various new ways of being and acting are tried out or tested in the rehearsal room (Boal, 1992). For Edward Bond ‘In drama, imagination seeks the extreme situations which will take us to the limits of meaning which is

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where humanness is defined. It takes us into the extremity of the self’ (Bond, 2000, pp. 190–191). For me, the imagination is that cognitive process whereby we create relevant meaning by blending together the disparate material of the world we inhabit. The material may be tangible (as in actors, tables, people, objects, forces of nature), ephemeral (emotional reactions, behaviour, conversations, words, sounds) or subconscious (dreams, needs, reactions). The purpose of most education today, according to Ken Robinson, is ‘to prepare young people for life after school’ (Aronica & Robinson, 2015, p. 52) and adults for the world of work. Because this is so, Robinson maintains that the curriculum is designed to relay information almost exclusively about the external world, even though we all experience both subjectively sensed (inner) and objectively informed (external) conceptions of reality. The conventional academic curriculum is focused almost entirely on the world around us and pays little attention to the inner world. We see the results of that every day in boredom, disengagement, stress, bullying, anxiety, depression, and dropping out. (Aronica & Robinson, 2015, p. 52) Imagination allows us to conceptually blend the inner and outer worlds so that one informs the other. It allows for an acceptance of complexity and discourages the Cartesian tendency to separate. Participants using a tangible object to express an experience are essentially using imagination to generate something new. In the case of an evaluation, it may be a new value assigned to a previous experience. In the case where participants are using objects to describe a structure or system, imagination is the means whereby they generate new metaphors that challenge the dominance of the old ones. For example, an old metaphor of top to bottom implies that the natural and therefore correct direction of movement is from above to below. This is based on the effects of gravity on our bodies. It may be challenged by the use of smoke, or music from a music box, suggesting that what comes from below to above is also natural or has value. Because the metaphor is shared with others in the group, and because sharing is an action, it has consequences (McConachie, 2013, p. 28). It is like an act of performance, a piece of theatre that affects both the performer and the audience. Together they are considering different sets of possibilities informed by the new knowledge, or the new reflection. They – in turn – are generating new images that replace old images, contributing to a shift in the paradigm that underpinned what was there before.

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‘Strange Intelligence’14

The process of projecting meaning onto objects, or experiences, is revelatory. It reveals to the participant previously unconsidered or dormant suggestions about the self, and the world in which that self finds its context. The suggestions are unexpected, often surprising, and sometimes result in transformation. Using material in this way to stimulate the imagination depends upon the learner not knowing quite what to expect in the process. Drama pedagogy is built upon this principle of engaging with the unexpected. It emerges from the tradition of actor training which, in the UK and Ireland, aims among other things, to develop the actor’s openness and sensitivity to the stimuli around her. As the stimuli are often unpredictable the actor should be open to using whatever emerges in a situation in order to create a so-called truthful reaction to that stimulus. Therefore, they will practice being responsive to the unknown. The training also encourages the actor to recognise and reduce the impact of the ego which often gets in the way of being open to the unknown (for example, a person’s ego may help them avoid being in a situation where there is a possibility that they will look foolish to others). Both the censuring ego and the desire to know or control in advance what will happen, are detrimental to the act of conceptual blending and therefore to the use of imagination. In other words, they help the actor or learner stay within the limits of the known – within the comfort zone. The comfort zone is where habit and routine rule, and as Samuel Beckett declared in Waiting for Godot ‘Habit is a great deadener.’ In order to move beyond the comfort zone, and become open to the unexpected, we must be reassured that there will not be a threat to our egos. When [the learner] is in an environment in which he is assured of personal security and when he becomes convinced that there is no threat to his ego, he is once more free to … move forward in the process of learning. (Rogers, 1994, p. 161) As hooks says ‘As it is difficult for individuals to shift paradigms there must be a setting for folks to voice fears, to talk about what they are doing, how they are doing it, and why’ (hooks, 1994, p. 38). However, even when the threat to the ego is removed, or significantly reduced, we must then take a risk and enter the unknown. The risks are many in this context, such as feeling that we will have no control over achieving an outcome; or that we won’t have enough time to get something right; or that we will be struggling to keep many impressions and feelings at bay while

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completing a task; or that we will encounter material that might challenge our attitudes and belief systems. Part of our work as facilitators, I believe, is to focus the fearful learner’s attention onto the positive aspects of risk-taking. Risk taking can indeed be positive, generating a feeling of excitement, and an attitude of anticipation, given that we will be outside our usual routines and comfort zones for the duration of the process. The excitement often associated with risk can in part be accounted for by the fact that we all desire to learn (Rogers, 1994, p. 157), and we know that meaningful learning occurs when we engage with the unknown and unexpected. An exciting space is one rich in the potential for learning. ‘Some version of engaged pedagogy is really the only type of teaching that truly generates excitement in the classroom, that enables students and professors to feel the joy of learning’ (hooks, 1994, p. 104). When we make theatre we rely on the participants moving outside their comfort zones, taking a risk, relinquishing the need to predict the process and know in advance the outcomes.

9

‘A Mingled Yarn’15

If, as Edward Bond says, that ‘theatre has only one subject – justice’16 then our efforts to nurture great theatre-makers are also our efforts to promote equality. Boal (2002, p. 45) sees theatre as ‘a rehearsal for reality’ by which he means that we name and shape the reality in we wish to become human. In the theatremaking process we rehearse new possibilities and practice being in a more just world. Freire’s urge for educators to help learners name and own the world on their own terms comes from the same desire, that is, to use education as the practice of freedom. However, as Ken Robinson points out, most great learning happens in groups.17 Freedom is by definition collaborative. We do not meaningfully become free in-and-of ourselves, but free in the context of others. Freedom is defined in terms of relationship with others. We need, therefore, to see learning as a social intelligence: we need to cultivate groups who depend upon each other for success and achievement, and to shift the locus of transformation from the individual to the collective. We have, however, moved so far from the practice of real collaborative learning that now our young people only know how to have individual relationships with learning material. It does not matter how others in your company fare, the only work that counts is the work you do yourself, alone. Your results are predicated solely upon your ability to concentrate, to memorise, and

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to understand what everything means to you personally. Success is determined by a standardised test of your ability to privately articulate your thoughts to an unseen and anonymous reader who will never meet you. The focus is firmly on the monologue. Most young people have forgotten how, or are too fearful to be social, and the result is that any attempt at dialogue, let alone public, critical questioning, is fraught with anxiety and thought best left alone. This is ultimately why theatre-making is so important. It cannot be done alone. At the very least, as Peter Brook pointed out in his influential The Empty Space, it requires an audience. It is fundamentally public and elementally social. Many of our young people have great difficulty learning how to be in theatre-making ensembles because learning to be in groups is learning how to take risks in the company of others. For them, it is forgotten, but the process of remembering how to do it is invigorating. It is a small step to shift the focus from self to other. But once we do, we begin to see the condition of others everywhere: we begin to empathise. Both education and theatre can help us position ourselves in the collective and teach us how to engage with the community. And in engaging with it we can transform it. … learning is a place where paradise can be created. The classroom with all its limitations remains a location of possibility. In that field of possibility we have the opportunity to labour for freedom, to demand of ourselves and our comrades, an openness of mind and heart that allows us to face reality even as we collectively imagine ways to move beyond boundaries, to transgress. This is education as the practice of freedom. (hooks, 1994, p. 207)

Notes 1 2 3 4 5

Theodore Roethke, The Waking. William Shakespeare, Romeo and Juliet (1.5.67). Emily Dickinson, The Single Hound. William Shakespeare, Hamlet (3.1.64). Ken Robinson, Changing Education’s Paradigms, YouTube https://www.ted.com/ talks/ken_robinson_changing_education_paradigms (5.05) (accessed 3rd March 2015). 6 William Shakespeare, Hamlet (3.1.153). 7 Unpublished collected written feedback from 25 young people, held in Crooked House’s archives, Newbridge, County Kildare.

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Ibid. William Shakespeare, Macbeth (3.1.1128). William Shakespeare, Hamlet (3.1.80). William Shakespeare, King Lear (5.2.15). William Shakespeare, Hamlet (2.2.239). William Shakespeare, A Midsummer Night’s Dream (5.1.15). William Shakespeare, Macbeth (1.3.77). William Shakespeare, All’s Well That Ends Well (4.3.73). Edward Bond, Letters (p. 16). Ken Robinson, Changing Education’s Paradigms, YouTube https://www.ted.com/ talks/ken_robinson_changing_education_paradigms

References Aronica, L., & Robinson, K. (2015). Creative schools. London: Penguin. Boal, A. (2002). Games for actors and non-actors (2nd ed.). London: Routledge. Bond, E. (2000). The hidden plot: Notes on theatre and the state. London: Methuen. Bourdieu, P. (1979). Distinction: A social critique of the judgement of taste. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Freire, P. (1970). Pedagogy of the oppressed. New York, NY: Continuum. Frost, N. (2010). Professionalism and social change: The implications of social change for the ‘reflective practitioner.’ In H. Bradbury, N. Frost, S. Kilminster, & M. Zukas (Eds.), Beyond reflective practice: New approaches to professional lifelong learning. London: Routledge. Greene, M. (2000). Releasing the imagination: Essays on education, the arts and social change. San Francisco, CA: Jossey-Bass. hooks, b. (1994). Teaching to transgress: Education and the practice of freedom. New York, NY: Routledge. Lakoff, G., & Johnson, M. (1999). Philosophy in the flesh: The embodied mind and its challenge to western thought. New York, NY: Basic Books. McConachie, B. (2013). Theatre and mind. Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan. McConachie, B., & Hart, E. F. (2006). Performance and cognition: Theatre studies and the cognitive turn. New York, NY: Routledge. Nowotny, H. (2010). Forward. In M. Biggs & H. Karlsson (Eds.), The Routledge companion to research in the arts. London: Routledge. Omerod, N. (n.d.). Cheek by jowl. Retrieved January 22, 2018, from https://www.youtube.com/watch?v = yhPJhQ09yTI&t = 38 s Robinson, K. (2015). Changing education’s paradigms. Retrieved March 3, 2015, from https://www.ted.com/talks/ken_robinson_changing_education_paradigms

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Rogers, A. (2006). Escaping the slums or changing the slums? Lifelong learning and social transformation. International Journal of Lifelong Education, 25(2), 135–137. Rogers, C. R. (1974). In retrospect: Forty-six years. American Psychologist, 29(2), 115–123. Rogers, C. R., & Freiberg, J. R. (1994). Freedom to learn. Columbus, OH: Merrill.

Chapter 7

Reflexive Learning for Active Citizenship Michael Murray

1

Introduction

This chapter attempts to tentatively examine where reflexivity fits in with the education for (active) citizenship debate. A key argument here is that while the current, official discourse of education for active citizenship might appear easy fodder for criticism in that it lacks any credible political component, a similar criticism can also be made of certain, dominant discourses of reflexivity within transformative learning. This is not to suggest that official channels of power do not appropriate language or terminology from potential opposition and distort meanings, indeed, there is a strong argument to be made that they do. Instead, building on an earlier critique of Mezirow’s work by Inglis (1997) in relation to education and training, it is argued here that Mezirow’s conceptualisation of critical reflection for citizenship lends itself to official discourses of political citizenship principally because it fails to position itself within networks of power and promotes the primacy of individual transformation over structural change. This discourse has many similarities with the politico-economic ideology of the individualised society. In other words, the argument offered here is that ‘context’ is not incidental; instead, it is everything when considering education for political rather than active citizenship. The notion of political citizenship, so closely aligned to our ideals of democracy, has, today, become a source of much contestation. The rise in populism, along with mass-based social movements has had a significant impact, for instance, on the 2016 USA Presidential election and the ‘Brexit’ referendum, as well as the 2017 UK, French and Dutch General Elections respectively. One feature that is common in each instance is a fundamental questioning as to the role of both elites and citizens in political decisionmaking. At its heart are competing discourses on the idea of a critical political citizenry in defining what is an appropriate expression of the rather ill-defined ‘will of the people.’ While some will point out that populism is a strong and justifiable reaction to a political project, which has consistently marginalised vast swathes of national populations, others would argue that ‘legitimate’ political participation is far removed from street protests and mass movements. © koninklijke brill nv, leideN, 2018 | DOI:10.1163/9789004384507_007

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This framing of political citizenship is given full expression in institutional discourses that surround the term ‘active citizenship’ which has been defined as ‘… the voluntary capacity of citizens and communities working directly together, or through elected representatives, to exercise economic, social and political power in pursuit of shared goals’ (Taskforce on Active Citizenship, 2007a, p. 5). Adult education is closely identified as a key player in providing education spaces for the development of active citizens and it is a notion of citizenship that would, on the surface, appear to sit well with a core idea of contemporary adult and community education. This is especially notable in one primary objective, which is to provide the environment for individuals to engage in transformative or self-directed learning through refexivity and dialogical processes. Through such a process, the hope is that social change can occur, based upon an ethical and undistorted democracy. It is a notion that is coupled with another crucial component of the active citizen discourse whereby citizens learn about the workings of political institutions and how to engage in political processes. According to the European Economic and Social Committee, active citizenship is fundamental to democratic societies – ‘Active citizenship is the glue that keeps society together. Democracy doesn’t function properly without it, because effective democracy is more than just placing a mark on a voting slip’ (EESC, 2012, p. 4). This centrality is also evident in the European Commission’s ‘Europe for Citizens’ initiative, launched in 2014 which specifically sought to ‘to encourage democratic participation of citizens at EU level, by developing citizens’ understanding of the EU policy making-process and, by promoting opportunities for societal and intercultural engagement and volunteering at EU level.’1 In contrast to this reasoned and rational model of political citizenship, are the populists who are conceptualised in some quarters as invariably extremist, intolerant and irrational, driven and manipulated, xenophobic, racist and misogynist in character. The term ‘populism’ itself, in elite political discourse, seeks to conflate right and left, each to the point of extremism. It is, according to Morris, by definition, ‘dangerous.’ He argues: It would be a mistake to think that just because populism is not a component of the far right it is not dangerous. Populism in all its guises is anti-liberal, uninterested in nuanced solutions to complex problems, and always has the potential to be xenophobic. (Morris, 2012, para. 8) These are the very essence of the dangerous classes that threaten peace, order and stability for all and by definition, the antithesis of the active citizen. While it might be over-dramatising things somewhat to suggest that we are

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currently facing a situation where the battle lines are drawn in relation to what constitutes an active and critical citizen, it is instructive to examine the roots of the institutional construct of political citizenship and particularly its relationship to critical reflexivity and adult/community education. In doing so, it quickly becomes apparent from an adult education perspective that a sometimes-uncomfortable relationship exists within the sector between reflexive learning, the nature of political citizenship and the prospect of social change. The chapter begins with an examination of the current, official discourse of active citizenship, where individualism, responsibilities and participation signal a fundamental change in what it means to be a citizen. Next, there is a brief, critical examination of the relationship between active citizenship and education, where it is argued that concept of responsible citizenship and adult education is certainly not new. but a recent development attempts to effectively depoliticise citizenship by introducing a strong emphasis on voluntarism over oppositional politics, where the normative stock of deliberative participation has taken on an almost hegemonic status. This leads to a discussion of the role of reflexivity in transformative learning in this context, where it will be argued that concentration on individual empowerment lends itself to official discourses and is aimed towards a model of democratic participation that takes little account of power, instead, resting on universal assumptions of mutual respect and empathy. Lastly, it is argued that this construction of citizenship is more likely to result in co-option and obedience rather than political resistance and opposition. To conclude, this chapter argues for a reflexive approach that acknowledges contexts through an analysis in which macro/micro power (structure/agency) operates. Such an analysis is only the first step – it does not constitute empowerment and invariably can lead to feelings of hopelessness and apathy. Therefore, it is suggested that a critical education for citizenship should actively facilitate the exploration of alternative discourses for political citizenship by providing a space or voice for hidden histories of local, national and transnational struggles.

2

The Changing Nature of Citizenship

Over the course of decades, the focus of citizenship in many western industrial societies has undergone something of a transformation. Where once the term was almost exclusively associated with allegiance to the state (Audigier, 2000, p. 7), now it refers to a myriad of diverse attachments, including those of a

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personal, cultural, spatial or ideological relationships. One key reason why a such shift has occurred is that identification with the nation state as the sole legitimate political authority has been eroded in an increasingly transnational, networked environment of political and economic power. As these structures take more and more decision-making capacity from nation states and political parties become increasingly homogeneous in policy as well as appearance, politics is becoming removed from the general public. For their part, citizens have become increasingly cynical and apathetic, signalling a growing rift or democratic deficit ‘… especially but not exclusively at the local level where some communities and citizens feel powerless to influence decisions about planning, public services and other areas’ (Taskforce on Active Citizenship, 2007a, p. 14). Mindful of this, in 2006, the then Taoiseach, Bertie Ahern, announced the setting up of a Taskforce on ‘active citizenship’ in order ‘… to ensure that the wealth of civic spirit and active participation already present in Ireland continues to grow and develop ….’2 The work of this Taskforce is instructive in the way in which a new conceptualisation of citizenship had been introduced. According to the Taskforce, active citizenship ‘refers … to the voluntary capacity of citizens and communities working directly together, or through elected representatives, to exercise economic, social and political power in pursuit of shared goals’ (Taskforce on Active Citizenship, 2007a, p. 10). What is vital here is citizen participation, where active citizenship ‘is as much about decision-making, politics, democracy and participation in the governance of communities as it is about ‘helping out’’ (Task Force on Active Citizenship, 2007a, p. 6). This capacity to participate rests largely on the accumulation of social capital where ‘[b]y making connections with one another, and keeping them going over time, people are able to work together to achieve things that they either could not achieve by themselves, or could only achieve with great difficulty’ (Field, 2003, p. 1). Equally, the rules of participation involve being able to engage in reasoned and rational discourse or deliberation, where ‘collective choices’ are arrived at that distinguish ‘universal interests’ from ‘particular interests’ (Rui, 2004, p. 137). Most importantly, active citizenship signifies that citizenship is no longer based on rights – instead the citizen is obliged to engage in predetermined responsibilities. This itself is a core idea of the so-called ‘Third Way’ and its chief intellectual standard-bearer, Anthony Giddens who states ‘One might suggest as a prime motto for the new politics, no rights without responsibilities … Old-style social democracy … was inclined to treat rights as unconditional claims. With expanding individualism should come an extension of individual obligations’ (Giddens, 1998, p. 65). This idea has increasingly filtered into public policy spheres, where, for instance, the Council of Europe’s Council for

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Cultural Co-operation claims that – ‘the citizen is a person who has rights and duties in a democratic society’ (Audigier, 2000, p. 17). The emphasis placed on the individualised society here is crucial too. One particularly dominant discourse that has emerged in recent times, aims to promote the notion that the structures and channels of power in contemporary society are synonymous with the concept of individual choice and individual freedoms. Again, this represents a re-evaluation of citizenship, it is ‘… a citizenship that gives pride of place to the individual and his rights, and relegates to the background the affirmation of collective and partial, in the geographic and cultural sense, identities embodied by States’ (Audigier, 2000, pp. 9–10).

3

Adult Education for Democratic Citizenship – Taking the Big ‘P’ out of Politics?

These new possibilities for participation opened up by active citizenship presupposes that members of the general public will have the knowledge and the skills to engage in a useful and meaningful way, underlining Ellis and Scott’s ‘presumption’ that ‘… an informed, involved demos (people) is the indispensable foundation without which no truly democratic social system is possible’ (2003, p. 253). The authors go on to argue that ‘adult education at the local community level is crucial to enhance levels of meaningful participation in an economically globalising and interconnected world …’ (2003, p. 254). This relationship between adult and community education and citizenship has many historical precedents. For instance, writing in 1943, Gross stated that: Educators of the twentieth century recognise that democracy is threatened, not by illiteracy, but by disuse of the free mind, and by the unwillingness of citizens to accept the serious responsibilities of making decisions for themselves … The least part now of adult education work is its moonlight schools for illiterates; its task is to get literates to use their literacy. (Gross, 1943, p. 351) The Active Citizenship Taskforce specifically identified the key role that education plays at different levels, from primary, secondary, further, adult and community education and higher education (Taskforce on Active Citizenship, 2007b, p. 11). Here, adult education was viewed as an example of ‘how people can draw on their own experience of life to enrich learning and make new discoveries’ (Taskforce on Active Citizenship, 2007b, p. 21). Likewise, the nexus of adult education, citizenship and democracy appeared as a core theme in the

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Government’s White Paper on Adult and Community Education (2000), where adult education is viewed as ‘enabling individual members of the society to grow in self-confidence, social awareness and social responsibility and to take an active role in shaping the overall direction of the society …’ (Department of Education, 2000, p. 20). However, this construction of education for citizenship has been treated with grave suspicion by many social theorists, both within and outside the field of adult and community education, and for good reason. Firstly, the notion of active citizenship with its emphasis on responsibilities rather than rights signifies a fundamental shift in political power, in essence a renegotiated social contract – without the negotiation, where ‘responsibility’ is linked to the ‘deconstuction of welfare,’ which itself is predicated ‘upon the reconstruction of citizenship’ (Martin, 2003, p. 566). The core issue here, is according to Giroux, further colonisation of neo-liberalism into both education and democracy. Here, neo-liberalism has already managed to inflict the populous with ‘… a culture of cynicism, boredom, and despair’ based upon the societal expansion of ‘corporate culture’ (Giroux, 2003, pp. 180–181), where the economic sector is assigned an important role in the construction of active citizens. Commenting on the Active Citizenship Taskforce’s report, Bertie Ahern stated: The Taskforce has … highlighted the unique contribution which the corporate sector can make to a sustained national effort to promote active citizenship. While many companies already contribute to the wider community in different ways, the Report suggests how we can develop stronger, and more strategic, connections between communities and businesses.3 Secondly, the active citizenship discourse effectively depoliticises citizenship. This is achieved by equating citizenship with voluntary work, emphasising the importance of civic responsibility to the point where Connolly argues that ‘… active citizenship in Ireland is now reduced to Tidy Towns committees and participation in Neighbourhood Watch’ (2007, pp. 111–112). Depoliticisation is also achieved by pushing the notion of the centrality of reasoned, rational deliberation over protest, opposition and resistance. It is a model of political discourse that simply fails to account for contested local, national and transnational issues, nor does it address in any way asymmetric power relationships in society. As Fischer argues – ‘… given the pluralistic nature of modern societies, deliberation is just as likely to produce conflict and disagreement as it is to generate consensus’ (2004, p. 23).

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Reflexivity for Critical Citizens?

These important debates on the nature of citizenship are reflected in perceptible tensions in adult and community education literature on the nature of the relationship between adult education, citizenship and social change. One key debate centres on whether certain, dominant discourses of reflexive learning are less likely to encourage thinking towards political change than they are about promoting personal empowerment and self development. Certainly at a conceptual level, there is an argument to be made that such discourses lend themselves to the official version of active citizenship. There are three components to this; that the discourse of education for citizenship espoused by Mezirow and influenced greatly by Habermas – prioritises the individual; that the deliberative/dialogical approach fails to account for power; and lastly, it results in the construction of co-opted citizens rather than critical ones. Within the broad context of reflexivity, there is an acknowledgement that as a preliminary, the individual must become aware that she/he is exposed to knowledge distortion, principally through processes of self-reflection. This, it is hoped, produces a state of ‘enlightenment,’ which is ‘a necessary precondition for individual freedom and self-determination’ and eventually, social transformation (Ewert, 1991, p. 346). For Mezirow, it is the individual that takes precedence, where ‘subjective reframing,’ is ‘involved in the most significant transformative learning experiences’ (Mezirow, 1996, p. 9). Elsewhere, Mezirow is quite categorical when he states that ‘… a sense of self-empowerment is the cardinal goal of adult education’ (2000, p. 26). This faith in individual agency evokes the promise of the individualised society mentioned earlier. However, it can be argued that this faith may be misplaced, where notions of selfdetermination and individual freedom are reduced to individual consumption patterns, where choice itself is illusionary – ‘… individualisation is a fate, not a choice. In the land of the individual freedom of choice the option to escape individualisation and to refuse participation in the individualising game is emphatically not on the agenda’ (Bauman, 2000, p. 34). Moreover, this focus on the individual is to the determent of organised, collective political action, the perquisite, according to Inglis of social change, where Mezirow’s approach ‘leads to an over-reliance on the individual … and, consequently, to an inadequate and false sense of emancipation’ (Inglis, 1997, p. 6). For Mezirow, critical reflection and transformative learning is integrally involved in developing the skills and capacities necessary for democratic citizenship (Mezirow, 2003, p. 62) where adult education encourages this development through processes of ‘dialogic learning’ (Ewert, 1991, p. 366). Borrowing heavily from Habermas, Mezirow claims that this process is based

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on the key objective of establishing ‘mutual agreement’ between individuals who enter into free, deliberative processes (Mezirow, 2003, p. 61), where participation signifies that actors are prepared to exhibit ‘… internal attitudes of mutual respect and impartiality that allow the development of imagination and empathy’ (Smith, 2003, p. 60). It is a process that is premised on the idea that participation requires education for meaningful engagement: ‘Deliberatively filtered political communications are especially dependent on the resources of the lifeworld – on a free and open political culture and an enlightened political socialisation …’ (Habermas, 2002, p. 252). There are a number of issues arising from both Habermas and Mezirow’s theories of deliberative participation that need to be considered. Firstly, both theorists make claims to an essentialist, universal construct of human nature, which, to say the least, are claims that would be difficult to substantiate. For example, Habermas’ notion of communicative action based partially on an Enlightenment hope of ‘using human reason to create a more humane world’ (Brookfield, 2005, p. 1154) coupled with an adamant belief that communicative rationality is universal (Ewert, 1991, p. 359). Similarly, Inglis points out that the basic premise of transformative learning presupposes the existence of ‘some pre-social, authentic, essential self’ that must be ‘discovered and revealed’ (Inglis, 1997, p. 6). Secondly, both Habermas and Mezirow have little to say on the power relational context in which deliberative political processes are meant to occur. Certainly this is Inglis’ (1997) main criticism of Mezirow and finds resonance with Giroux’s observation that ‘[t]eaching students how to argue, draw on their own experience or engage in rigorous dialogue says nothing about why they should engage in these actions in the first place’ (Giroux, 2004, p. 85). Given that the current, dominant discourse on active citizenship invests so heavily in political participation and deliberation, it is vital that these processes are contextualised not as ideals, but within broad, historical, political, economic and cultural power relations. In this respect, there exists much evidence that suggests participatory and deliberative processes such as public consultations or partnership arrangements are exercises in the asymmetries of power, rather than demonstrations of mutual respect and shared values (Murray, 2006; Rui, 2004) and this salient point is, at best, underplayed in Mezirow and Habermas’ conceptual frameworks. The issue of power is central to the final point here, that a construction of citizenship based on Mezirow’s framework is more likely to lead to co-opted citizens rather than critical and resistant ones. Again, this is an accusation levelled at Mezirow by Inglis (1997) where he argues that without an adequate understanding and analysis of power ‘… there is a danger that transformative

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learning, instead of being emancipatory, could operate as a subtle form of selfcontrol’ (1997, p. 5). Transformative learning imparts knowledge and skills to enable adults to engage as a specific type of citizen and given the convergence of official discourses around these ideas, it is hard to escape the notion of a definition of what it is to be a ‘good’ or ‘useful’ citizen in this context, which may well then be internalised by individuals. There is the temptation to view this discourse in the light of Foucault’s conceptualisation of ‘governmentalisation of citizenship,’ where: … there has been a certain discursive coding of citizenship as a cognitive competence. In this discourse, citizenship is constructed by codes, categories and modes of classification that reflect a governmental strategy into which the individual as citizen is inserted. (Delanty, 2003, p. 599) The result is a self-disciplinary reading of what constitutes an active and therefore, worthy citizen. This, in turn, carries a striking similarity to Gross’s idea of education for citizenship written in 1943, where: … the success of adult education, depends upon the incentives that will awaken the desire for improvement on the part of individuals, and quicken social responsibilities. The net result of the efforts will be responsible citizenship. (Gross, 1943, p. 356)

5

Conclusion: Imagine the Alternative(s)

For Inglis (1997), the shortcomings of Mezirow’s approach to power and power relations is captured in his preference for individual agency over any consideration of the role of structure in social interactions (1997, p. 6). In other words, Mezirow’s approach lacks an appropriate consideration of context in which individuals learn about and engage in political citizenship, based on both Mezirow’s and Habermas’ unshakable faith in deliberative democracy. It is an argument that is made by Welton (2003) in his examination of events leading up to war in Iraq in 2003. In attempting to outline a response from critical adult educators to the imperialist expansionism of neoconservatives, Welton asserts that we must acknowledge that ‘we do not live in the best of all Habermasian worlds,’ and that communicative action ‘so valued by deliberative democrats – is far removed from the centres of decision-making powers’ (Welton, 2003, pp. 648–649). He concludes rather soberly that:

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… critical adult educators committed to the norms of the ‘active citizen,’ ‘communicative power’ and a ‘mobilized civil society’ confronts a world that has moved, and continues to move, far away from these ideals. It is no longer of much help at all for adult education in its present confused and fragmented state to propagate the myth of deliberative democracy without ever engaging the actually existing world of power and ruthlessness. (Welton, 2003, p. 649) Acknowledgement or recognition of the vast and sometimes impenetrable networks of power, both macro and micro, should not be equated with grounds for pessimism however. Rather, it suggests a preliminary step, where reflexive practice must be positioned in context and based on an understanding of the workings of structure and agency, under what Inglis refers to as the development of a ‘pedagogy of power’ (Inglis, 1997, p. 8). One possibility here might be to differentiate between reflection as an individual endeavour and ‘social reflexivity,’ a process that encourages groups to ‘explore together reflectively and to use such explorations to build new social identities …’ (Rogers, 2006, p. 135). While differentiation is the primary step, the analytical focus should concentrate on the integration of structure and agency. As Dyke points out: There is, perhaps, scope for a more openly, sociological conception of learning, one that could be termed ‘reflexive learning,’ where learning is recognised as existing in both micro and macro social context, influenced by social structures as well as the day to day interaction with others. (Dyke, 2006, p. 122) Regardless of the form that this analytical process takes however, the insights gained do not and should not be construed as ‘individual empowerment.’ ‘Knowledge is the power to know, to understand – but not necessarily the power to do or to change’ (Shor, 1992, p. 6). If, however, all adult education has to offer is awareness or analysis of power inequalities, then defeatism and cynicism can surely follow. There are other, real possibilities that adult and community education can provide, one of which is that reflexive practice can assist in providing spaces where alternative political discourses might be uncovered and explored. Borrowing from Foucault’s notion of genealogy, it is suggested here that one key task reflexive practitioners might set themselves with regard to education for political citizenship is to facilitate giving voice to the vast and complex history of struggle, whether this is located through gender, race, ethnicity, community or locality. Building on the vast

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richness of experiential knowledge of participants, as well as the core tenet of a partnership approach to groups and organisations that exist both in formal and informal spheres; there are valuable lessons and stories to be tapped into that can, at the very least, be instructive of a hidden history of local and community political successes, as well as its failures. Adult and community education could also provide a forum where individuals and groups who strive towards alternative modes of citizenship are given an opportunity to share their views and experiences to interested participants. What is crucial here is a recognition that reflexive practice must move from analysis to imagining alternative discourses of political citizenship and exploring these possibilities: Politics often begins when it becomes possible to make power visible, to challenge the ideological circuitry of hegemonic knowledge, and to recognise that ‘political subversion presupposes cognitive subversion, a conversion of the vision of the world.’ But another element of politics focuses on where politics happens, how proliferating sites of pedagogy bring into being new forms of resistance, raise new questions, and necessitate alternative visions regarding autonomy and the possibility of democracy itself. (Giroux, 2004, p. 74) What this indicates more than anything is the need for a widening and broadening of our imaginations in terms of political citizenship and crucially in terms of an emerging critical citizenry that is evident, for instance in movements such as Momentum in the UK, Podemos in Spain or within grassroots networks associated with Senator Bernie Sanders in the USA. This sits in stark contrast to a narrowing of views, debates or possibilities offered either through the elite-driven framing of populism as one dimensional, reactionary and regressive – effectively ‘… a lazy shorthand for any politics we do not like’ (Dempsey, 2015) – or through an institutional construct of active citizenship where legitimate engagement with politics is reducible to volunteering. To be sure the impact of these discourses is to close down avenues of critical thinking, and in this context, adult and community education is uniquely positioned to offer an alternative – a reflexive space for consideration of what constitutes a critical, political citizen.

Notes 1 http://eacea.ec.europa.eu/europe-for-citizens_en, accessed 19th April 2017. 2 www.activecitizenship.ie, accessed 21st October, 2008.

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3 ‘Speech by An Taoiseach at the launch of the Report of the Taskforce on active Citizenship, Wednesday, 28 March, 2007. www. Activecitizenship.ie, accessed 21st October, 2008.

References Audigier, F. (2000). Council for Cultural Co-operation (CDCC) project: Education for democratic citizenship – Basic concepts and core competancies for education for democratic citizenship. Strasbourg: Council of Europe. Bauman, Z. (2000). Liquid modernity. Cambridge: Polity Press. Brookfield, S. (2005). Learning democratic reason: The adult education project of Jurgen Habermas. Teachers College Record, 107(6), 1127–1168. Connolly, B. (2007). Beyond the third way: New challenges for critical adult and community education. In B. Connolly (Ed.), Radical learning for liberation. Maynooth: MACE. Delanty, G. (2003). Citizenship as a learning process: Disciplinary citizenship versus cultural citizenship. International Journal of Lifelong Learning, 22(6), 597–605. Dempsey, J. (2015). Judy asks: Is populism destroying Europe from within? Retrieved May 5, 2016, from http://carnegieeurope.eu/strategiceurope/60482?lang=en Department of Education. (2000). Learning for life: White paper on adult education. Dublin: Stationery Office. Dyke, M. (2006). The role of the ‘other’ in reflection, knowledge formation and action in late modernity. International Journal of Lifelong Education, 25(2), 105–123. EESC. (2012). Active citizenship for a better European society. Brussels: European Economic and Social Committee. Ellis, L., & Scott, S. (2003). Community education as citizen organising for democratic accountability. Studies in Continuing Education, 25(2), 253–268. Ewert, G. (1991). Habermas and education: A comprehensive overview of the influence of Habermas in educational literature. Review of Educational Research, 61(3), 345–378. Field, J. (2003). Social capital. London: Routledge. Giddens, A. (1998). Sociology (3rd ed.). Cambridge: Polity Press. Giroux, H. (2003). Selling out in higher education. Policy Futures in Education, 1(1), 179–184. Giroux, H. (2004). Culture studies and the politics of public pedagogy: Making the political more pedagogical. Parallax, 20(6), 73–89. Gross, J. O. (1943). Adult education in a democracy. Peabody Journal of Education, 20(6), 351–358. Habermas, J. (2002). The inclusion of the other: Studies in political theory. Cambridge: Polity Press.

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Inglis, T. (1997). Empowerment and emancipation. Adult Education Quarterly, 48(1), 1–15. Martin, I. (2003). Adult education, lifelong learning and citizenship: Some ‘ifs and buts.’ International Journal of Lifelong Education, 22(6), 566–579. Mezirow, J. (1996). Adult education and empowerment for individual and community development. In B. Connolly (Ed.), Radical learning for liberation. Maynooth: MACE. Morris, M. (2012). European leaders must be wary of rising Eurosceptic populism from both the right and the left. Retrieved April 17, 2017, from http://eprints.lse.ac.uk/ 42988/1/blogs.lse.ac.uk-European_leaders_must_be_wary_of_rising_Eurosceptic_ populism_from_both_the_right_and_the_left.pdf Murray, M. (2006). Transnational and local politics of waste management. Economic and Social Review, 37(3), 447–465. Rogers, A. (2006). Escaping the slums or changing the slums? Lifelong learning and social transformation. International Journal of Lifelong Education, 25(2), 135–137. Rui, S. (2004). Transport policy and public involvement: Concertation between mobilisation and frustration. Innovation, 17(2), 129–144. Shor, I. (1992). Empowering education. Chicago, IL: University of Chicago Press. Smith, G. (2003). Deliverative democracy and the environment. London: Routledge. Taskforce on Active Citizenship. (2007a). The concept of active citizenship. Dublin: Secreatariat of the Taskforce on Active Citizenship. Taskforce on Active Citizenship. (2007b). Taskforce report to government. Dublin: Secretariat of the Taskforce on Active Citizenship. Welton, M. (2003). No escape from the hard things in the world: Learning the lessons of empire. International Journal of Lifelong Education, 22(6), 635–651.

Chapter 8

Negative Capability and Epiphany Moments in Reflexive Practice David McCormack

1

Introduction

In this chapter I draw on my own experiences and practices of reflexive practice seen as a ‘process of learning through and from experience towards gaining new insights of self and for practice’ (Finlay, 2008, p. 1). The vision for reflexive practice that I present is underpinned by a philosophy of lifelong learning. Ward says that ‘to commit oneself to a process of lifelong learning is to be open to learning throughout life and from life, from its challenges, failures and possibilities which will be different at different stages of our lives. To live means to encounter new experience and other perspectives and this can change us’ (2005, pp. 3–4). But if we accept the constructivist view, articulated above by Nin – that we can only see the world through our own perspective, from our own viewpoints, then reflecting on our practice demands much more than thinking loosely about our professional lives. Rather, we need to inquire more creatively, holistically and reflexively into our own experiences – a viewpoint and practice I explore in this chapter. I begin by arguing for reflexivity as a support for practitioners in relational, facilitative work. I review some key theorists concerning reflexive practice, experiential learning and supervision. I then illustrate the theory by presenting an account of a supervision session, itself written out of my commitment to writing as a process of reflexive practice (Bolton, 1999, 2005, 2006, 2011), including the supervisee’s viewpoint. I end by presenting some key features of this perspective on reflexive practice as a process of adult learning.

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Reflexivity and Supervision

Humphreys and Ruddle (2010) talk of the centrality of relationship in everything we do and identify the notion of ‘holding worlds,’ the relational worlds we find ourselves in such as family, community, institutions etc. The quality of © koninklijke brill nv, leiden, 2018 | doi:10.1163/9789004384507_008

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these holding worlds depends on the extent to which we are recognised and safely held unconditionally. Humphreys and Ruddle see that each adult in a mature society has a responsibility to reflect on their own inner worlds, their own complex subjectivity. Furthermore, those of us who have a professional responsibility for creating and maintaining holding worlds for people have ‘a particular responsibility to continuously reflect’ (2010, p. 46). It is a truism, then, to say that self-awareness is a basic skill for anyone involved in relational and facilitative work (McLeod, 2007). It is fairly clear that we should be aware of what is happening for us as people when we relate to others and this is one key aspect of reflexivity. McLeod sees reflexivity as the ‘awareness of self in relationship’ which allows the practitioner ‘to monitor their own reactions to the person and to use this information to build a more effective helping relationship’ (2007, p. 132). Rennie adds that reflexivity is ‘self-awareness and agency within that self-awareness’ (2004, p. 183). From this viewpoint reflexivity requires us to be aware of our own experiencing in a helping relationship and that we also have the capacity to translate that self-knowledge into effective action on the clients’ behalf. ‘We have the ability to think about our thinking and our feeling, to have a feeling about a feeling, to have a desire about a desire, and that this self-awareness flows into action’ (Rennie, 2004, p. 183). But, since we operate in highly complex settings and we are ourselves complex beings who are socially constructed – how can we be sure that our reflections are not simply a confirmation of our own thoughts and opinions. How can we think through what we do in such a way as to evaluate what we do within a supportive yet challenging way? For Etherington reflexivity is a key skill of the counsellor that allows us to think through this complexity. Reflexivity involves: An ability to notice our responses to the world around us, other people and events, and to use that knowledge to inform our actions, communications and understandings. To be reflexive we need to be aware of our personal responses and to be able to make choices about how to use them. We also need to be aware of the personal, social and cultural contexts in which we live and work and to understand how these impact on the ways we interpret our world. (Etherington, 2004, p. 19) Reflexivity, then, is the capacity to be aware of oneself in the practice of listening to another person, the capacity to use this awareness in the service of the other, while at the same time being critically aware of one’s own frames of reference and the extent to which they are interfering with or facilitating

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the work. This requires the practitioner not only to listen to the other and to themselves as they listen, but also to the wider organisational, community and social contests in which they find themselves. Foucault talks of the various technologies human beings have developed for ‘taking care of the self’ (2000, pp. 223–251). Writing as reflexive practice, mindfulness meditation, peer support and supervision, are all mechanisms that helping professions have developed to support the practitioner to take care of themselves. But Foucault also insists that we need to be in a constant process of transformation ourselves in order to be free to practice (2000, p. 284). By this he means that we are in a constant process of taking care of the self in ways that pays attention both to our own well being, but more especially to the power relations in which we are inevitably involved (2000, p. 291). For Foucault, attending to the self in such a manner is a continual form of striving to see the truth of any situation, wherein we work at freeing ourselves by means of constant awareness of the forces that are at work in ourselves and in our world. This change, he says, takes the form of ‘an elaboration of the self by the self, a studious transformation, a slow and arduous transformation through a constant care for the truth’ (Foucault, 2000, p. xxxix). From this perspective, then, reflexivity is the practitioners’ attempt to turn their awareness to whatever is happening in any given moment at a personal, interpersonal, organisational and societal perspective and to use that to illuminate the interpersonal dimension of their work.

3

Reflexive Practice, Experiential Learning and Supervision

Here I review some key ideas regarding reflexive practice and experiential learning as exemplified by a supervisory approach. Kolb (1984) and Schön (1987) are key theorists who have built on Dewey’s notion of learning as ‘the reconstruction of experience through critical reflection’ (Kreber, 2001, p. 218). Johnson and Golombek identify the key assumptions underpinning the epistemology of reflexive practice as viewing human beings as ‘knowers who reflect on experience, confront the unknown, make sense of it, and take action’ (2002, p. 4). Schön accordingly developed the view that reflexive practice involves three distinct levels of reflection: knowing-in-action, reflection-in-action and reflection-on-action (Schön, 1987). Knowing-in-action is tacit knowledge that underpins habitual ‘judgements of quality for which we cannot state the rules and procedures’ (1987, p. 50). Reflection-in-action raises this knowledge to a conscious level, often as a result of some unexpected aspect of on-going

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experience. Reflection-on-action involves thinking about the experience of event afterwards. Moon (1999) explores the process of experiential learning and the role of reflection in promoting and consolidating such learning. She writes that ‘in general terms, the distinguishing features of experiential learning are that it refers to the organizing and construction of learning from observations that have been made in some practical situation, with the implication that the learning can then lead to action (or improved action)’ (1999, p. 20). Moon reviews a number of theorists in the field of experiential learning and concludes that there is general agreement among them that there are a number of phases in the experiential learning cycle. They are: – Development of a need to resolve something – Clarification of the issues – Review and recollection – Review of the emotional state – Processing of knowledge and ideas – Eventual resolution and possible action and transformation (Moon, 1999, p. 31). So, the idea of reflexive practice depends on the belief that we are capable of learning from experience and this is increasingly viewed as of particular relevance to professions that demand a high degree of ‘self-understanding and knowledge’ where ‘the issue of personal and professional development and … the personal qualities, values and beliefs of … professionals are of central importance’ (Scaife & Walsh, 2001, p. 30). Therefore, reflexive practice has become the dominant mode of learning for professions that demand a high level of personal development, intuition, relationship building and so on, such as we are concerned with here. Supervision is seen in many such professions as a key vehicle of such learning. A common feature of views and definitions of supervision is that it provides a ‘learning process in which a [practitioner] engages with a more experienced practitioner in order to enhance his [sic] skills in the process of his ongoing professional development. This, in turn, promotes and safeguards the well-being of his clients’ (Gilbert & Evans, 2000, p. 1). Supervision is a professional relationship that exists to support caring professionals in their difficult roles providing a place where pain and disturbance can be processed. It also provides a place to ensure that the wellbeing of the client is taken care of by practitioners being alerted to blind spots in their relationships with clients. Finally, supervision looks after the welfare of both client and practitioner by ensuring continuous professional development (Carroll, 1996, pp. 46–47).

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Zorga offers a view of supervision couched in terms of learning theory: In this context, supervision is understood as a specific learning, developmental and supportive method of professional reflection and counselling, enabling professional workers (school counsellors, teachers, child care workers, psychologists, social workers etc.) to acquire new professional and personal insights through their own experiences. It helps them to integrate practical experiences with theoretical knowledge and to reach their own solutions to the problems they meet at work, to face stress efficiently and to build up their professional identity. By this, supervision supports professional as well as personal learning and development of professional workers. (Zorga, 2002, p. 265) Zorga goes on to outline possible models of working for the supervision but emphasises that supervision is most effective when it is based on reflection on something in our work life that ‘we cannot explain to ourselves, which we are constantly emotionally and mentally involved with, or we simply wish to learn from’ (2002, p. 267). The role of the supervisor in this model is to facilitate the practitioner to reflect on experience in such a way ‘as to enable us to learn about ourselves and our professional functioning from it’ (2002, p. 267).

4

Narrative Inquiry and Reflexive Practice

The narrative presented below is a short account of a supervision session based on juxtaposition of multiple perspectives (Christians, 2005). This supervision session is one of a monthly series of sessions in which participants present to the group an incident which is provoking some disorientation (Mezirow, 2006) for them. The participant who is presenting, in this case Joanna, tells the story of her interaction with the client, the other participants are asked to listen to the narrative as a story and to respond as such. The perspectives represented here include my own as supervisor (Dave), and Joanna as supervisee. My account as supervisor constitutes ‘reflection-in-action’ and therefore uses a first person narrative account and a stream of consciousness narrative method to reflect my subjective processes as I listen to Joanna and facilitate the group. The reflections were written as part of my practice to use writing as a method of professional reflection as developed by Bolton (2005). The account seeks to stay close to ‘lived experience’ (Etherington, 2004, p. 80; Speedy, 2008) and is accordingly impressionistic in expressing thoughts and feelings.

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Joanna’s account is more akin to ‘reflection-on-action’ and is therefore more considered and rational in its narrative approach. Her account is written in the style of a practitioner reflecting on a critical incident and outlining key learning and insight including reference to the way in which this has led to change in her work practices. It is therefore an account of praxis (Brookfield, 2005; Miller & Boud, 1996). 4.1

The Narrative1 Interesting time this morning in class. We were meeting for a reflexive practice module and Joanna was presenting a case study of John, a 17 year old client who has dropped out of school. Trying now to make sense of how it all went wrong for her. For him. She had done such an amount of work with him as an advocate in a project for early school leavers. She had worked with him to the point where he had eventually agreed to go on work experience and, after a slow start, had gotten on well and then was offered a job. Her joy and sense of achievement didn’t last beyond the first day, though. He did his medical and had been taking drugs and that was the end of that. Poor Joanna. Her peers in the class worked well with her, helping her to make sense of her feelings of devastation. Hopelessness. They talked to her about the amount of work she had put in, especially around her feelings of self-blame and her tendency to mother her clients to the detriment, certainly of herself, if not of them both. Trying to remember the flux of the day. I remember being aware of Christmas. There is a tired sense of despondency in the room. I feel a bit burnt out, I know I need a break from all of this. My practice is to hold back in these sessions, allow the story to unfold but to stay vigilant within myself for both my own reactions and intuitions but also for the group’s and for the group’s own process. Joanna has looked so small and frightened sometimes. I wonder if she is in over her head. She tells John’s story, tells her own story about John. On the face of it the plot is simple enough. Difficult family issues associated with intergenerational drug use. We begin to hear about John, about the interventions Joanna makes, the success of work experience and then a drug test. The disappointment. The feeling for her that this is hopeless. The feeling I have yet again that this space is hopeless, not capable of overcoming the depth of these intractable personal and social issues. I feel I am in danger of trotting out platitudes. I feel agitated. Want to leave.

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The group are asking heady questions now that Joanna is finished. I interrupt. ‘Joanna doesn’t need advice. Can we just listen to the drama that is unfolding in her practice and in this young man’s life? Listen to the drama.’ I am aware of the inner drama in myself but I don’t know enough about it yet. I am feeling like this is an empty ritual we are playing out, but I know enough to stay vigilant. It’s just a space I’m in. Very like the space that Joanna is in. Everyone in the group knows that space too, where your work seems hopeless and empty. A story of hopelessness. So I say this. ‘What did the hopelessness have you do?’ ‘Too much’ is her immediate answer. ‘Too much. I didn’t feel I could let go.’ ‘So where is the pressure coming from?’ Suddenly there is a moment of insight, ‘I am afraid of my boss. I don’t want to seem incompetent around him.’ In an instant we are in a clearer space. We aren’t talking about John’s story now, but we are talking about Joanna’s story, her own fears and lack of confidence. My experience of her is true. And not true. We talk about the boss, about his pressure. About what she needs to hand back to him. About the learning that is happening on the course, where she is learning that there isn’t some magic professional way to behave that she somehow lacks; that he somehow requires. Two pieces end the day. The need to tell John’s story, to record it, and its like, so that people will begin to understand what is happening, what the difficulties are. What practitioners face and what agencies face. So that the clients are not faceless. And then the last bit. The energy feels a bit different. I feel that it has changed a little in that there is some insight into the pressures that Joanna was under. But the hopelessness hangs about like a bad taste. I have no distance from it; don’t even know it is there. I call time. Anne says she has something she wants to say. She tells Joanna how the way she has held John will come back to him. It’s not lost. ‘What does that mean?’ we ask. He has internalised her in some way, Anne says, as someone who was on his side. Who held hope. Who could cope with the disappointment without disapproval. I feel different now. I check this out with the group. The feeling is different, lighter and brighter as if mid-winter hasn’t swallowed us up completely. As if there is some hope and meaning to what we all do, that we are not just earning money on the back of suffering. Of such moments are transformations made.

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Joanna’s Reflections2

In the feedback that I received from David and the group it made me look at all the work I had put into John. The group felt that I had made all the interventions and that John was not committing to me. I had looked at the case as a failure for me, something to be ashamed of and I wanted to cover it up. I realised that the Manager of the Centre has a big influence on me and I was worried that it would not look good for me if the outcome was not positive. I felt that the Manager would think I am not up to the job. I realised there were three people in my guidance sessions, me, John and the Centre Manager. I have to learn to have belief in myself and my ability as a guidance counsellor. The group felt that I should send in this case study so that management could see the work I am doing. I said that I only sent in the successes in the past as I felt this would undermine me. I learnt from the case study that I was not to blame or a failure, because John did not progress on. I also learnt that this is not all about me but about John. I was thinking about myself and how his lack of progression would affect me and my image. I wanted him to get a job and have a good life. When I saw the rest of his family and the life they lead I felt he deserved so much better than that. I now realise that I can try every intervention possible, but that without his commitment it won’t be successful. I was trying so hard to do all the work but without commitment from John it would not happen. The group felt that maybe he was not ready at this time and the interventions I gave him may benefit him at a later stage. Since this case study I have been trying to change my approach. I look on the relationship between me and my client as an equal one where both parties contribute to the process. It is difficult at times when working with young people that come from disadvantaged backgrounds and have many issues that are unresolved. They do not have the skills to express themselves or approach services themselves. I have to stop myself doing everything for them because I know that I am not helping them by doing this. I have to put the onus on them and allow them take responsibility for their decisions and future. I am learning to sit back and try not to solve all the issues at once and come up with a solution; that guidance is a process and needs to be taken in stages and it is not measured by success or failure. Since doing this case study I have set up supervision for myself and I am

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entitled to six sessions a year which I am very happy with. This was a result of this case study and the issues that arose from it. I have learnt from this experience both personally and professionally and it has made a difference to my work. I found the case study and the feedback from the group was a real learning experience for me, something I could not have learnt from a book. I found it invaluable to get other people’s perspectives on the case study which enabled me to reflect on my own thinking and that of the groups. The main change I find in my work since presenting this case study is that when I am working with the client it’s now an equal partnership. I feel I am now aware of my tendency to take on the whole guidance process myself and singlehandedly find the solutions and answers.

5

Discussion

The narrative presented here shows that the insight experienced by Joanna in the narrative is one concerning power, that her relationship with her client John is contaminated by the effects of managerial power. Her work with this client is best regarded as a prime example of the clash of discourses mentioned by Higgins (2005) whereby the managerial need for results and measurement, together with the ‘disciplinary architecture’ (Meadows, 2017) of current welfare systems, constitutes a stranglehold on the Joanna’s work with her client. However, Joanna’s experience of insight into this in the narrative allows her to position herself differently within the contested space. She now uses the professional discourse (of support, supervision, best practice and so on) to argue for supports that will enable her to be supported psychologically as she provides a holding for her client. In terms used by Hunt and West (2006, 2012), Joanna is providing a transitional space for her client and therefore she needs a similar transitional space to support her in the ‘emotional labour’ (Isenbarger & Zembylas, 2006) of the work. Reflexive practice has its origins in a critique of Technical Rationality, but has now become an aspect of mainstream discourses in such a way that has robbed it of its transformative power. Professionals are now, it seems, required to be reflexive practitioners while still participating in the world of measurement and predictability (Etherington, 2004, p. 26). The inquiry presented here explores both the feeling and the power dimensions of professional life by means of an account of a professional experience. Reflexive practice, then, whereby people can look at themselves as actively involved in the construction of discourses, can allow us to position ourselves differently.

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Principles and Practice

But what might the narrative tell us about the process of reflexivity in professional practice? Firstly, the narrative performs the slow process of attending to the self while attending to the other in the context of wider social and cultural forces. Such attending requires an ongoing commitment to mindful awareness of the experiencing self. In order to engage in this kind of reflexivity we need to be able to take ‘ownership of and responsibility for everything that arises within you’ (Humphreys & Ruddle, 2010, p. 5). Below I identify some of the principles of such an approach to the reflexive process. Firstly, a process of being mindfully aware of everything that arises in you without judgement, preference or interference is central to this process (see Milner, 2011). Bolton sees writing as a practice of being present to the self in this way. Indeed the narrative above was written from exactly that commitment to writing as a practice of mindful reflection. For Cixous writing is a process of being aware as fully as we are able of whatever is happening in the moment, advising us to ‘sink to the bottom of the now’ (1997, p. 41). It is a method of allowing ‘the unknown in ourselves [to] manifest itself’ (1997, p. 39). Secondly, this approach to reflexivity demands that we understand the key role of vulnerability in adult learning. As Jarvis (2006) puts it we encounter situations in which the limits of our existing repertoire of skills and capacities become evident to us and this sense of disjuncture and disharmony prompts us to explore our world and our perspectives, to challenge ourselves into new thinking. Milner suggests to us, counter to what dominant culture dictates, that we should ‘In the destructive element immerse’ (Milner, 2011, p. 1) and that writing is one powerful way in which to do this. From this viewpoint we are able to learn from our experiences of challenge and disorientation in professional life. We are encouraged to embrace these challenges and allow them to offer us a gateway to new perspectives and new stories. Thirdly, this demands of us a capacity to embrace vulnerability in the hope and trust that insight will emerge from difficult experience. Keats talked of the facility for ‘being in uncertainties, Mysteries, doubts, without any irritable reaching after fact and reason’ (Keats, quoted in Romanyshyn, 2007, p. 149) and refers to this as negative capability. Simpson sees that a ‘patient waiting and … containing the pressures evoked by uncertainty can help to create a mental and emotional space in which a new thought may emerge that can itself become the basis for decisive action’ (Simpson et al., 2002, p. 1211). From this viewpoint we are encouraged not to reach for an answer when we encounter difficulties in our work; rather we are encouraged to sift through our thoughts and feelings, allowing new possibilities and perspectives to emerge.

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Fourthly, creativity is a key aspect of allowing new learning to merge. Creative artists are well practiced at this patient waiting for emergent knowledge. Bleakeley (1999) says that reflexive practice needs a creative impetus; reflexive practice ‘is not a learned technique but a surfacing artistry’ (p. 319) that ‘needs body, passion, sensitivity to context.’ Reflexive practice is a ‘hands-on business, rooted in the immediacy and heat of practice, the sticky moment of indecision, feeding on sudden shifts in circumstances – the unique and irregular – and forcing on improvisation and risk.’ Creativity can free us from the constraints of everyday thinking, from what Romanyshyn calls ‘addiction to fixed, linear and literal ways of thinking.’ It ‘fosters a disposition that is hospitable to paradox and ambiguity’ and ‘situates the mind in the space where meaning is unhinged from its usual moorings’ (2012, p. 104). Finally, the moments of insight represented in the narrative constitute what Denzin (2001, 2014) calls epiphany moments. Denzin sees epiphany moments as illuminative times where ‘underlying tensions or problems in a situation or relationship are revealed’ (2001, p. 37). They are revelatory for the person in terms of their own meaning making in the world, ‘something new is always coming into sight, displacing what was previously certain and seen’ (2014, p. 1). Epiphany moments are moments of revelation that emerge often from challenging or troubling experience, they are ‘small transformative moments’ that can ‘shift the borders of our self understanding’ (Todd, 2014, p. 232). They are ‘small moments of grace, those instants of living transformation’ which can offer ‘texture and depth to our everyday engagement’ (2014, p. 243).

7

Conclusion

The reflexive practice session recounted here took place some time ago and, so in preparation for this chapter I sent a copy to Joanna. Her reply included the following: I am delighted to give my permission as previously discussed and require no changes. As I read the extract it transported me back to that day and that young man. I have met so many more young people who struggle with addiction since, so many young vulnerable people who need support and a listening ear. So much of my time is spent trying to assist them face the challenges and seek help. I have not changed hugely from the person in the extract but mindfulness works well for me in my job and I have learnt to own the vulnerable person I can be too, so great learning.

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An approach to reflexive practice that takes these principles on board offers an opportunity for transformative adult learning. The commitment to ongoing mindful awareness of one’s own complex subjectivity (Romanyshyn, 2012) is not in and of itself natural and inevitable. Rather it needs both constant practice and a facilitative environment. That is, we need both to engage in reflection ourselves, for example by means of journaling or creative writing (Bolton, 1999, 2005, 2006, 2011), and we need to support this with dialogue with peers and colleagues (Hawkins & Shohet, 1989). Reflexivity is an opportunity to maintain our freshness and vitality in a challenging role. A disciplined commitment to regular and skilled scrutiny of one’s practice is such an opportunity. But, without the eyes of others who are practiced at seeing the layers of both personal and institutional power, we are likely to continue to tell ourselves whatever story we want to hear. Holton says that supervision can be: Politically, socially and psychologically challenging; it is a transformational rather than quietist navel-gazing experience. The heart of the supervisory process is about challenging core beliefs which, if left unexamined, can keep one locked in society’s paradigms. The role of the supervisor is to be a facilitator of change. (2010, p. 10) This kind of reflexive supervision will offer as much challenge as support, and it is this challenge that keeps us alive to our own growth and development, a prerequisite to our capacity to facilitate the same growth for and with others.

Notes 1 The following account was written by myself and was cross checked for accuracy with a number of group members on that day. I am grateful to the group members who offered feedback but they are remaining anonymous to ensure confidentiality. 2 Joanna is a pseudonym in order to maintain confidentiality. I am grateful to Joanna for the time and attention given to this account and for permission to use it in this context.

References Bleakley, A. (1999). From reflective practice to holistic reflexivity. Studies in Higher Education, 24, 315–330.

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Bolton, G. (1999). The therapeutic potential of creative writing: Writing myself. London: Jessica Kingsley. Bolton, G. (2003). Around the slices of herself. In K. Etherington (Ed.), Trauma, the body and transformation. London: Jessica Kingsley. Bolton, G. (2004). Writing cures: An introductory handbook of writing in counselling and psychotherapy. Hove: Brunner-Routledge. Bolton, G. (2005). Reflective practice: Writing and professional development (2nd ed.). London: Chapman. Bolton, G. (2006). Narrative writing: Reflective enquiry into professional practice. Educational Action Research, 14(2), 203–218. Bolton, G. (2011). Write yourself: Creative writing and personal development. London: Jessica Kingsley. Brookfield, S. (2005). Learning democratic reason: The adult education project of Jurgen Habermas. Teachers College Record, 107(6), 1127–1168. Carroll, M. (1996). Counselling supervision: Theory, skills and practice. London: Cassell. Christians, C. G. (2005). Ethics and politics in qualitatve research. In N. Denzin & Y. Lincoln (Eds.), The Sage handbook of qualitative research (3rd ed.). London: Sage Publications. Cixous, H. (1993). Three steps on the ladder of writing. New York, NY: Columbia Press. Cixous, H. (1997). Rootprints: Memory and life writing. Abingdon: Routledge. Denzin, N. K. (2001). Interpretive interactionism. Thousand Oaks, CA: Sage Publications. Denzin, N. K. (2014). Interpretive autoethnography. London: Sage Publications. Etherington, K. (2004). Becoming a reflexive researcher. London: Jessica Kingsley. Finlay, L. (2008). Reflecting on reflective practice (PBPL paper 52). Maidenhead: Open University. Foucault, M. (2000). Ethics: Subjectivity and truth. London: Penguin. Gilbert, M. E., & Evans, K. (2000). Psychotherapy supervision: An integrative relational approach to psychotherapy supervision. Buckingham: Open University Press. Hawkins, P., & Shohet, R. (2000). Supervision in the helping profession. Maidenhead: Open University Press. Higgins, P. (2005). ‘Thinking on your feet’: An exploration of the ‘tacit knowledge’ used by mediators of the local employment service in their one to one working relationships with clients (Unpublished MA thesis). Maynooth University, Maynooth. Humphreys, T., & Ruddle, H. (2010). Relationship, relationship, relationship: The heart of a mature society. Cork: Atrium. Hunt, C., & West, L. (2006). Learning in a border country: Using psychodynamic ideas in teaching and research. Studies in the Education of Adults, 38, 160–177. Hunt, C., & West, L. (2012). Border country: Using psychodynamic ideas in teaching and research. In A. Bainbridge & L. West (Eds.), Minding a gap: Psychoanalysis and education. London: Karnac Books. Isenbarger, L., & Zembylas, M. (2006). The emotional labour of caring in teaching. Teaching and Teacher Education, 22, 120–134.

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Jarvis, P. (2006). Towards a comprehensive theory of human learning. London: Routledge. Johnson, K. E., & Golombek, P. R. (2002). Teachers’ narrative inquiry as professional development. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Kolb, D. (1984). Experiential learning: Experience as a source of learning and development. Englewood Cliffs, NJ: Prentice-Hall. Kreber, C. (2001). Learning experientially through case studies? A conceptual analysis. Teaching in Higher Education, 6, 217–225. McLeod, J. (2007). Counselling skill. Maidenhead: Open University Press. Meadows, B. G. (2017). Virtual truths: A citizen’s voice view on Ireland’s public employment service. Journal of the National Institute for Career Education and Counselling, 38(1), 3–14. Mezirow, J. (2006). An overview on transformative learning. In P. A. Sutherland (Ed.), Lifelong learning: Concepts and contexts. London: Routledge. Miller, N., & Boud, D. (1996). Animating learning from experience. In N. Miller & D. Boud (Eds.), Working with experience: Animating learning. London: Routledge. Milner, M. (2011). A life of one’s own. London: Routledge. Moon, J. A. (1999). Reflection in learning and professional development: Theory and practice. London: Kogan Page. Moon, J. A. (2006). Learning journals: A handbook for reflective practice and professional development (2nd ed.). London: Routledge. Rennie, D. L. (2004). Reflexivity and person centred counselling. Journal of Humanistic Psychology, 44(2), 182–203. Romanyshyn, R. D. (2007). The wounded researcher: Research with soul in mind. New Orleans, LA: Spring Books. Romanyshyn, R. D. (2012). Complex education: Depth psychology as a mode of ethical pedagogy. Educational Philosophy and Theory, 94, 96–116. Scaife, J., & Walsh, S. (2001). Supervision in the mental health professions: A practitioners guide. London: Routledge. Schon, D. A. (1987). Educating the reflective practitioner: Toward a new design for teaching and learning in the professions. San Francisco, CA: Jossey-Bass. Schon, D. A. (1991). The reflective practitioner: How professionals think in action. London: Arena. Simpson, P., French, R., & Harvey, C. E. (2002). Leadership and negative capability. Human Relations, 55, 1290–1226. Speedy, J. (2008). Narrative inquiry and psychotherapy. Houndmills: Palgrave Macmillan. Todd, S. (2014). Between body and spirit: The liminality of pedagogical relationships. Journal of Philosophy of Education, 48(2), 231–245. Ward, F. (2005). Lifelong learning: Theological education and supervision. London: SCM Press. Zorga, S. (2002). Supervision: The process of life-long learning in social and educational professions. Journal of Interprofessional Care, 16(3), 265–276.

Chapter 9

Stories, Reflexivity and the Search for Meaning Mary B. Ryan

1

Introduction

In the first part of this chapter, I recount a particular experience of a train journey. In the second part, I explore how stories such as mine can be fertile sites for reflexivity revealing both deep personal meanings and theoretically significant insights and knowledge. The process of telling and exploring a personal story reveals the possibility of creating new and transformative narratives that focus on equality, social justice and inclusiveness.

2

The Train Journey

A beautiful June morning, bright blue sky, crisp air with the promise of warmth and I am stuck in traffic. PHING! – incoming text, ‘running late, traffic terrible, see you at the ticket booth, Paul.’1 Relief! He is late as well; we had arranged to meet forty minutes before departure for coffee and to get a good seat. I gallop into the train station, arms loaded with scripts and bags, red faced and sweaty, I see Paul. Tall, tanned, curly black hair, he looks cool and contained in his linen suit and open necked shirt. This is not how I have envisaged our first professional encounter as external examiners for a degree course in a college a few hours’ journey away. We have arranged to travel from Dublin by train to work on the exam scripts and discuss the course. We have not worked together before but have mutual colleagues. I am familiar with his work, especially in the areas of mindfulness and spirituality and welcome the invitation to work together. I dressed with care for the meeting: cream linen trousers, lilac silk shirt, now I feel flustered and creased. Buying our tickets and coffee (five minutes to go) we run for the train, hoping it will not be too packed. It is! By the second last carriage, it is clear that we are going to have to share seats with others. So much for a long intimate conversation on the meaning of life. I quickly scan the occupants of the carriage. A woman catches my eye, big hair, loud shirt, expectant smile – I ignore her. I notice a small older woman, head in a paper, sitting tight against the window. She looks harmless. I enquire if she © koninklijke brill nv, leiden, 2018 | doi:10.1163/9789004384507_009

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minds us sitting down. She briefly nods her head, makes no eye contact and returns to her paper. The train pulls out as we sit down – piling our scripts and bags on the table between us. I sit beside the woman who seems to shrink even more into her paper, ignoring us. ‘What a rush, I was afraid I would not make it and wreck the examination process.’ Paul smiles. ‘That would have been a pity. I was looking forward to us doing the work together. We can talk about the scripts later, why don’t we drink our coffee and chill? I have been running all morning.’ ‘Fine by me.’ I feel as if I am yelling to be heard over the noise of the engine. Anxiously I wonder if our voices carry throughout the carriage. I cannot see all the other occupants. Who is there? Anyone from work? My courses? My personal life? I work hard at keeping my personal and professional life separate and am very aware of private and public spaces and what I say in the different places. The boundaries enable me to contain the different parts of my life and maintain some semblance of control. Sadly, I realise that it is not possible to have any kind of intimate conversation with Paul, the space is too public and unsafe. A pity! A lost opportunity. ‘Well, how is life treating you?’ Paul smiles kindly at me. In that moment, hearing his invitation, my decision to stay safe evaporates. Deeply conscious of my silent companion on my right and the invisible audience around us, I feel as if I am roaring. ‘The last two years have been hell, my husband and I have separated – I don’t know if I am coming or going.’ ‘I am really sorry to hear that: does it bother you to talk about it?’ ‘Well it is deeply painful but at least I am able to talk about it now. Up to six months ago, I could not bear to put words on it – that would have made it too real. Life feels so strange and unfamiliar: living in a new house, being on my own, dealing with the loss of my husband, loss of children, our dogs. I thought my life was going to be so different. I never envisaged this happening to me. I have a huge sense of failure and shame about my marriage breaking up. I of all people with all my training and therapy should have been able to save my marriage.’ ‘I can identify with that; the last two years have been very difficult for me. About two years ago, I went for tests. I had collapsed a number of times and decided to get it checked out. I meditate and do yoga, I am careful of what I eat so I was fairly hopeful that nothing would be found. After a series of tests, I was diagnosed with Parkinson’s. I feel as if my old life has been taken away from me and I am struggling to live with this new reality.’ Astonished I look at him; he is the picture of health.

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‘Well it looks as if we are both struggling to come to terms with traumas in our lives,’ I say. ‘I find it difficult to cope with the strangeness of it all, not knowing what lies ahead: mourning the loss of my old life, wondering if I will be able to cope with this new life. For a long time I did not know if I would survive the heartbreak. I couldn’t read or concentrate for the first year. I got through each day by telling myself; ‘Mary, all you have to do is get yourself safely back home from work tonight. That’s your only responsibility.’ Life got reduced to the here and now.’ Sympathetically Paul responds, ‘I can connect with that, other people get sick, not me. I was so angry and disbelieving when I got the diagnosis – angry with my body, the whole shagging alternative world, with healthy people. I had done all the right things, lived a contemplative life and this is my reward!’ I laugh; his response is refreshingly familiar and echoes my own sense that these things happened to other people but not to me. The conversation deepens; we talk about the loss of an old way of viewing the world and our place in it. We discuss our shared sense of the future – the fear of how to live in this new unfamiliar territory. ‘I did not know how much I identified myself as a married woman until it was taken from me. I had no idea that I viewed the world as part of a couple. We were both independent people with busy professional lives. We gave loads of space to each other to do our own thing; I had no sense of how much my life pivoted around ‘us.’ I had no idea the depth to which our relationship contributed to my identity. I flirted comfortably – safe in the shared knowledge that I was married and ultimately not available. My social life was centred on family and friends, as easy and comfortable as old walking boots. As a single woman, I feel I am in a new world. At the beginning, everything felt strange and threatening. I could not manage public spaces like the supermarket; all I could see were happy and contented couples with their gorgeous children.’ ‘Well, I hate being identified as a sick person – a patient. I want to resist any attempt to reduce me to someone with Parkinson’s. I look in the mirror and see the same face, most of the time I feel exactly the same as ever. I have to struggle very hard with the medical system to be seen as an able intelligent man who wants to participate fully in my treatment. I go to all my consultations with my notepad and detailed questions – it helps to give me some control (even if it is an illusion) in a very frightening place.’ Gradually the similarity in our feelings and responses to the different experiences of loss and the challenges in living with new and emerging identities emerges. I no longer feel so alone. ‘How have your family responded?’ Paul asks.

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‘Well, they have been incredibly supportive. My parents are traditional Catholics – very anti-divorce. I was concerned about their reactions. My Dad’s immediate response was that I would have to get a divorce. ‘I can’t, I have to wait four years before I can get one!’ ‘Who the hell came up with that daft rule?’ I remember glaring at him; we had nearly come to blows over the divorce referendum when I had canvassed in favour of it. ‘The four year rule was a concession to Church demands.’ ‘Well the rule is daft and was not meant for the likes of you,’ he snorted. I remember being struck by how our positions change when the issues come close to home.’ ‘My original family don’t want to talk about it,’ he says. ‘You’ll be fine, sure they are coming up with cures everyday,’ is their response. My wife and kids are great, but they are worried – sometimes I catch them looking at me. It feels sometimes like I have gone from being the strong father and husband to someone who needs minding and attention.’ The train speeds on through towns, villages, and time flies. The exam scripts lie abandoned on the table as we become more and more absorbed in our conversation. All the while, my companion never stirs, two hours into the journey, the train pulls into a station. My companion stirs and softly mummers, ‘I get off here – sorry to disturb you.’ I stand up to let her out and sit down. Turning, she looks straight at us. ‘Thank you! That has been the most amazing and fulfilling journey of my life. You will never know how important your conversation was for me.’ She leaves the train. In the startled silence we look at each other, I am shocked, talk about still waters running deep! A loud Australian voice booms out, ‘I have been dying to join in but I was afraid of interrupting you. I have been in Ireland a week and thought I would choke from the lack of honest conversation.’ Mother of God! It is the woman with the big hair and loud shirt. The whole bloody carriage has heard everything – my absolute worst nightmare! I struggle to respond, playing for time I ask: ‘Where are you from?’ ‘Australia, but originally from the town at the next station. My eight siblings are meeting me there. I have been dreading seeing them – what to say and how to say it. Now after listening to your conversation I feel more tuned into myself and able to meet them. Tell me are you psychotherapists?’ ‘Yes.’ (Is it so obvious?) ‘I thought so! I am a psychotherapist myself. This is an important journey for me. I have not been home for thirty years and this time my son has come with me.’

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‘That is a long time.’ I respond. ‘Well, there is a reason for it. I am one of twelve children, fourth from the bottom. My parents died within six months of each other when we were very small. The four youngest were sent away to relatives – two to America and two to Australia. The oldest girl took care of the rest of them. We were unusual in that we had no close relations; my parents were only children. It was thought that it would give us a better chance in life but it was a disaster. We always felt, my sister and I, unwanted – charity cases. We used to wonder as children what we had done wrong to be sent so far away. My sister never coped; she was younger, she became an alcoholic and died a few years ago. You know what is strange? The first time we came back, my sister and I, we wanted once and for all to find out why it was us that got sent away. Well you wouldn’t believe it! The eight of them were raging with us for the great chance we got – they got left behind. The only ones who had any time for us were the American pair; they fared no better than us. The hardest thing is not being able to talk about it still. I get told, ‘let bygones be bygones, people did what they thought best, no point in raking up the past!’ We are riveted by the story; the station is five minutes away. ‘Will your son be joining you?’ I ask. ‘Oh he is here with me.’ She pats a package wrapped in brown paper by her side. ‘I am bringing him home to be buried; his birthday is next week – 23 years old. He always considered Ireland to be his home. We talked about taking this trip together so I am doing it now for both of us. He died of a drug overdose.’ The train slows into the station. ‘I think it will be OK now, I feel able to meet the others. I needed to talk and be listened to. Your conversation gives me hope to keep talking and that there will be people who will listen. The silence was choking me.’ She gathers up her bags and holding the package in front, leaves the carriage. Stunned, we look at each other. ‘What an incredible story, I was worried that people might be listening but I never expected this response.’ ‘I was conscious of it as well but I decided that life is short. Looks like it was worth the risk.’ Paul responded. ‘I am full of her story and all the loss in it. I do not know what to say, I was gob smacked when the quiet woman spoke but the two together! You know, throughout our conversations all I could envisage was a negative and critical response. Never for a moment did I dream about this kind of reaction.’

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‘Wonder how she will get on?’ Paul muses. In thoughtful silence, the train pulls into the final station.

3

Narrative Inquiry and Reflexivity

So why am I telling you this story and what relevance has it for reflexivity and narrative inquiry? I began with a story because stories are core to narrative inquiry. Narrative inquiry is concerned with reflection on lived experience, reflexive dialogue, meaning making and the development of new insights and knowledge in collaboration with others. Connelly and Clandinin suggest that: people shape their daily lives by stories of who they and others are as they interpret their past in terms of their stories. Story, in the current idiom, is a portal through which a person enters the world and by which their experience of the world is interpreted and made personally meaningful. (2006, p. 375) Speedy (2008) writes about the ‘small stories’ that people tell to make sense of their lives. In the telling and retelling of stories, there is a possibility for different meanings to emerge and different positions to transpire for the storytellers and the listeners. Meaning making is relational and identity a social achievement, not a personal attribute. Speedy believes that narrative inquiry attempts to ‘describe the stories of people’s lives and how they change over time, according to the spaces and contexts they inhabit’ (Speedy, 2008, p. 22). Stories are not told into a vacuum, the listeners are essential to the process; their response conveys to the storyteller whether she/he has been heard and, more importantly, understood. In the encounter with the other, the storyteller is constantly redefining him/herself within the relationship and the group. Storytelling from this perspective is not a monologue; it is therefore a search for connection. The sharing and reflection on stories can transform experiences: as stories are retold and processed, different layers and complexities emerge over time. When an experience is put into words, ‘it is shaped by language and cultural understandings as well as orientation to an ‘other’’ (Ellis, 1995, p. 317). Intimate and personal knowledge underpins the narrative approach; personal knowing must include subjective and objective knowing: to seek to know objectively is itself a personal act (Mair, 2013, p. 21). However, if you are to come to know personally it means starting from and returning to your own ways of experiencing the world – it demands time, it is consuming, messy and

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potentially unsettling and anxiety provoking. The narrative inquirer takes the ‘sphere of immediate human experience as the first and fundamental reality we have’ (Clandinin & Rosiek, 2007, p. 44). How stories are told and crafted is influenced by the storyteller’s community and sociocultural world. Stories are a way of making sense of experience and life events, Stories are constantly being restructured in the light of new experiences, new events and the impact of personal, community and cultural networks. Narrative inquiry is set in human stories and allows for the possibility of understanding the complexity of how human beings experience the world, how they learn, develop and create knowledge. Reflecting critically on the stories we tell, read, hear and live may help us to understand how they influence and shape us and enable us to create counter stories that are more sustainable, creative and socially inclusive. Gough (1997) argues that we can view discourse – all the ways in which people actively produce social and psychological realities – as a structured set of stories that can be challenged, contested and transformed. Experiences are reclaimed through a reflective practice that encourages rich descriptions and attention to the cultural and social context. This is important when we reflect on experiences and events, which disrupt and interrupt the continuum of our lives and shape our decision-making capacities and choices. Riessman (2015) differentiates between the ‘public issues’ that impact at a community and societal level such as the recent Irish austerity economic policies and ‘private troubles’ that shape and influence people lives such as divorce, bereavement and unemployment. In reality there is often an overlap between public and private stories, what is personal is political. Speedy (2008) stresses the importance of telling stories and making the social and historical connections and connotations. There is a danger of human accounts and stories staying as personal issues and not as community or social concerns, e.g. sexual abuse. Therefore, it is important to be able to look at ‘my story in relation to a cultural context and to consider anew what is my individual ‘business,’ as you may call it, and what might lie beyond the realms of individual agency’ (Speedy, 2008, p. 8). What is deeply personal is also universal, in reflecting on our experiences through stories we need to be inside and outside of the experience. In addition to the meaning that stories can generate about human experience, they need to ‘offer meaning to and evoke meaning for others’ (Ellis, 2016, p. 30). The reflexive process also requires that we are aware of the ‘personal, social and cultural contexts in which we live and work and understand how these impact on the ways we interpret the world’ (Etherington, 2004, p. 19).

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Revelation and Search for Meaning

Ellis suggests storytelling and writing has ‘enriched her life, gotten her through hard times, and provides insights about her own motivations, actions, and relationships with others’ (Ellis & Bochner, 2016, p. 24). When I was on the train what resonated most with me was my acute discomfort at speaking in a public setting on private matters. Why did I presume with such certainty that I would be criticised? This belief underpinned my engagement with the story and my response to the listeners. When you experience such moments, you face what Bochner terms a ‘narrative challenge, in which you contemplate the possible meaning of a past relationship or a traumatic period of your life’ (Ellis & Bochner, 2016, p. 245). In search of a new narrative, new possibilities may emerge and the familiar becomes unfamiliar. I thought about how stories were told in my family. I grew up in a rural community, in the east of Ireland, the oldest of six children, my mother the local schoolteacher, my father a progressive farmer. My paternal grandfather, from the west of Ireland, had bought the farm, much to the annoyance of the local community. They believed that the farm should have been available to the local farmers and resented the outsider. His neighbours boycotted my grandfather. The family relied on each other and the extended family to survive. Growing up we were told, ‘blood is thicker than water,’ don’t wash your dirty linen in public,’ ‘talk is cheap,’ ‘least said, soonest mended,’ and ‘you make your bed, you lie on it.’ The clear message from both parents was that what was said in the family, stayed in the family. We travelled to school with Mum. At break we had lunch with her before joining the other children to play. The sense of being different was everpresent; other children withheld stories and secrets because they were afraid that we would tell the Teacher/Mum. As a small child, I found it difficult to make any distinction between public and private spaces, my personal Mum/ Teacher belonged to all the children in the school. When we got home from school, Teacher/Mum went to bed for half an hour to recover and Mum got up. I had no experience of a transition space between school and home where the stories of the day were told and explored. We learned that stories about our lives were for family, not for public spaces. The best stories were about achievements: ones about vulnerabilities, anxiety, neediness and uncertainty were definitely not encouraged. As a trainee group analyst, I discovered the wonder/full and deeply terrifying experience of speaking with others about my experience, and how I made meaning in my life. In this process, I began to appreciate deeply the power of

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stories to entrap and to liberate. I was always surprised at the position or view that listeners would take in response to my stories and the layers and complexity that were revealed. The responses enabled me to stand back and see different positions in the story and the potential for a different interpretation. In the dialogue with others I developed an appreciation that it is possible to occupy multiple identities depending on the context and audience. The therapeutic setting offered a liminal space which are ‘betwixt and between’ (Leitch, 2006, p. 358) unfamiliar spaces that can offer a different viewing and positioning – to explore the complexity of my thoughts and practices I did not then risk these conversations in public and teaching spaces. Reflexivity encourages me to put myself firmly at the centre of the narrative and to take risks in the exploration of the story. This idea of risk-taking is crucial because it is part of the creative process. Holman Jones refers to this as a crisis, ‘a turning point, a moment when conflict must be dealt with even if we cannot resolve it’ (2005, p. 766). Ellis and Bochner write that the goal in narrative is: to encourage compassion and promote dialogue. Actually I would be pleased if we understand our whole endeavour as a search for better conversations in the face of all the barriers and boundaries that make conversations difficult. (2000, p. 748) The stories which emerged throughout the train journey are not only our story, Paul and mine, but enable other stories to emerge. In the sharing of our experiences, meaning emerges in: the spaces-in-between-the contemplative moments where something else, something surprising, can come to the surface and disrupt our thinking-as-usual, calling into question that which we had thought, until then, was self evident and not open to question. (Somerville cited in Davies & Gannon, 2006, p. 2) The quiet woman had a powerful impact despite being silent for most of the journey. The reactions from the listeners on the train jolted me out of my thinking that I was being self-indulgent and it forced me to consider the benefits of sharing emotional experiences and learning from them. Hunt maintains: that self-indulgence is legitimate if the aim is to clarify personal identity or to alleviate personal distress or, as in the case of much autobiographical

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writing to document a life or an aspect of a life that is of interest to others. (2001, p. 93) It also provided an opportunity to reflect on the assumption that this genre of storytelling is more suited to therapy. Bochner suggests that most people who position themselves in the narrative inquiry paradigm come to it through personal experience or connections in their lives or their families. It is not he argues a search for truth but a search for ‘an enlarged capacity to deal with the life challenges and contingencies you are facing (Ellis & Bochner, 2016, p. 246). Our conversations can be viewed as a search for narratives that are more sustainable, creative and just. There is a crack, a crack in everything. Ring the bells that still can ring Forget your perfect offering There’s a crack, a crack in everything. That’s how the light gets in. (Cohen, 1997) On the train it felt like I hung my dirty linen out in public. The sky did not fall down and Paul and the listeners did not reject me. In fact, the opposite happened; I had a transformative conversation with three people and more importantly with myself. As a child I developed creative ways of responding to a complex home and school life. My ever watchful self monitored where and what could be said and to whom. At times this left me feeling quite split and having to present different aspects of my identity in different settings. But it is often in the split or crack that the light gets through. The story gave me an opportunity to examine those thoughts and practices that are typically taken for granted, and usually assumed not to be in need of inspection. Symington reminds us that ‘new environments stimulates into life a new mental state within us’ (2013, p. xiii). However, he suggests that we often do not give enough attention to our new environments and the internal transitions they demand, such as my divorce. Hence, we can fail to adapt our minds to the new circumstances and to see that in different environments, a quite different identity emerges. We are multiple personalities. However if we can pay attention to these changed environments (especially when they are enforced and not chosen) and become more aware of the impact on us, there is a possibility of establishing a ‘deeper continuity within ourselves. Awareness always implies that an aspect of the mind is embracing the flow of

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changes that are occurring’ (2013, p. xiv). From this perspective it is possible to generate hope and meaning in changed circumstances that are often outside our control and imposed on us. The reflexive engagement with stories such as the train story can enable this potential transformation. Change becomes a possibility and new ways of seeing and engaging with the world emerge. St. Pierre writes that ‘once a shift in perspective occurs, the rest of the world shifts as well, and it is impossible to go back’ (1997, p. 410). There are many themes to the train story, the most obvious one being loss. What emerged in the writing is the birth of a new position, the importance of using stories to ‘make visible the discursive processes in which we have been collectively caught up’ (Davies & Gannon, 2006, p. 11). These processes are at the core of reflexivity.

5

And Now?

As I finish writing I wonder about the reaction of the audience, the effect on my students, clients and colleagues. Have I said too much, revealed more then I care about my personal life? What will be the consequence of sharing my experience? As an educator and therapist I encourage adult learners to tell their stories, to reflect on their experiences, to risk participating in new learning, to let go of the familiar and to begin again. Stories do not exist in a vacuum, they need a response and in your response – the reader – there lies the possibility for new meaning, insight and knowledge to emerge.

Note 1 Names and locations have been changed.

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