Emotion and School : Understanding How the Hidden Curriculum Influences Relationships, Leadership, Teaching, and Learning 9781781906521, 9781781906514

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EMOTION AND SCHOOL: UNDERSTANDING HOW THE HIDDEN CURRICULUM INFLUENCES RELATIONSHIPS, LEADERSHIP, TEACHING, AND LEARNING

ADVANCES IN RESEARCH ON TEACHING Series Editor: Volumes 1–11: Jere Brophy Volumes 12–17: Stefinee Pinnegar Recent Volumes: Volume 1:

Teachers for Understanding and Self Regulation

Volume 2:

Teacher Knowledge of Subject Matter

Volume 3:

Planning and Managing Learning Tasks

Volume 4:

Case Studies of Teaching and Learning

Volume 5:

Learning and Teaching Elementary Subjects

Volume 6:

Teaching and Learning History

Volume 7:

Expectations in the Classroom

Volume 8:

Subject-Specific Instructional Methods and Activities

Volume 9:

Social Constructivist Teaching: Affordances and Constraints

Volume 10:

Using Video in Teacher Education

Volume 11:

Learning from Research on Teaching: Perspective, Methodology and Representation

Volume 12:

Tensions in Teacher Preparation: Accountability, Assessment, and Accreditation

Volume 13:

Narrative Inquiries into Curriculum Making in Teacher Education

Volume 14:

Places of Curriculum Making: Narrative Inquiries into Children’s Lives in Motion

Volume 15:

Adolescent Boys’ Literate Identity

Volume 16:

Narrative Inquirers in the Midst of Meaning-Making: Interpretive Acts of Teacher Educators

Volume 17:

Warrior Women: Remaking Post-Secondary Places through Relational Narrative Inquiry

ADVANCES IN RESEARCH ON TEACHING VOLUME 18

EMOTION AND SCHOOL: UNDERSTANDING HOW THE HIDDEN CURRICULUM INFLUENCES RELATIONSHIPS, LEADERSHIP, TEACHING, AND LEARNING EDITED BY

MELISSA NEWBERRY Bringham Young University, Provo, UT, USA

ANDREA GALLANT Deakin University, Burwood, Australia

PHILIP RILEY Monash University, Melbourne, Australia

United Kingdom – North America – Japan India – Malaysia – China

Emerald Group Publishing Limited Howard House, Wagon Lane, Bingley BD16 1WA, UK First edition 2013 Copyright r 2013 Emerald Group Publishing Limited Reprints and permission service Contact: [email protected] No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, transmitted in any form or by any means electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise without either the prior written permission of the publisher or a licence permitting restricted copying issued in the UK by The Copyright Licensing Agency and in the USA by The Copyright Clearance Center. Any opinions expressed in the chapters are those of the authors. Whilst Emerald makes every effort to ensure the quality and accuracy of its content, Emerald makes no representation implied or otherwise, as to the chapters’ suitability and application and disclaims any warranties, express or implied, to their use. British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library ISBN: 978-1-78190-651-4 ISSN: 1479-3687 (Series)

ISOQAR certified Management System, awarded to Emerald for adherence to Environmental standard ISO 14001:2004. Certificate Number 1985 ISO 14001

CONTENTS LIST OF CONTRIBUTORS

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TESTIMONIALS

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PREFACE: THE DAY OF JUDGMENT Andy Hargreaves

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PART I: UNDERSTANDING THE HIDDEN CURRICULUM OF EMOTIONS THE ENCHANTED LOOM Bernie Neville

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THE DEMAND OF MULTIPLICITY IN THE CLASSROOM: EMOTION REGULATION AND COGNITIVE LOAD Melissa Newberry

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EMOTIONS IN EDUCATION POLICY: A SOCIAL CONTRACT ANALYSIS OF ASYMMETRICAL DYADS AND EMOTION Shaun Rawolle

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PART II: THE HIDDEN CURRICULUM ACROSS THE SCHOOL LANDSCAPE ORGANISATIONAL POSITION AND SOCIAL– PROFESSIONAL RELATIONSHIPS IN SCHOOLS: AN EXPLORATORY STUDY OF TEACHER LEADERS’ WORK LIFE IN FLANDERS Charlotte Struyve and Geert Kelchtermans v

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CONTENTS

THE EMOTIONAL LABOUR OF THE ASPIRANT LEADER: TRAVERSING SCHOOL POLITICS Andrea Gallant and Philip Riley

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LIFE ON SCHOOL LANDSCAPES: TEACHERS’ EXPERIENCES, RELATIONSHIPS AND EMOTIONS Cheryl J. Craig

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LEARNING TO TEACH AND THE FALSE APPRENTICESHIP: EMOTION AND IDENTITY DEVELOPMENT DURING THE FIELD EXPERIENCE PLACEMENT Shawn Michael Bullock THE INTERPERSONAL DIMENSION IN THE CLASSROOM: A MODEL OF TEACHERS’ INTERPERSONAL ROLE IDENTITY, APPRAISAL AND TEACHER–STUDENT RELATIONSHIPS Perry den Brok, Anna van der Want, Douwe Beijaard and Theo Wubbels

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PART III: NAVIGATING THE HIDDEN CURRICULUM SELF-CONSCIOUS EMOTION: HOW TWO TEACHERS EXPLORE THE EMOTIONAL WORK OF TEACHING Andrea Gallant TECHNOLOGY-MEDIATED CARING: BUILDING RELATIONSHIPS BETWEEN STUDENTS AND INSTRUCTORS IN ONLINE K-12 LEARNING ENVIRONMENTS Jered Borup, Charles R. Graham and Andrea Velasquez CLASSROOM MANAGEMENT: A PATHWAY TO IMPROVING SCHOOL CLIMATE IN TWO BRITISH SECONDARY SCHOOLS H. Jerome Freiberg, Stacey M. Templeton and Sabra Helton

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Contents

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PART IV: PAYING ATTENTION TO THE HIDDEN CURRICULUM TYPES OF PROFESSIONAL AND EMOTIONAL COPING AMONG BEGINNING TEACHERS Paul W. Richardson, Helen M. G. Watt and Christelle Devos

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A REFLECTION ON THE PLACE OF EMOTION IN TEACHING AND TEACHER EDUCATION Anita Woolfolk Hoy

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AFTERWORD: THE TEACHING FANTASIA

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ABOUT THE CONTRIBUTORS

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LIST OF CONTRIBUTORS Douwe Beijaard

Eindhoven School of Education (ESoE), Eindhoven University of Technology, Eindhoven, The Netherlands

Jered Borup

Department of Instructional Psychology and Technology, David O. McKay School of Education, Brigham Young University, Provo, UT, USA

Shawn Michael Bullock

Faculty of Education, Simon Fraser University, Burnaby, BC, Canada

Perry den Brok

Eindhoven School of Education (ESoE), Eindhoven University of Technology, Eindhoven, The Netherlands

Cheryl J. Craig

Department of Curriculum and Instruction, College of Education, University of Houston, Houston, TX, USA

Christelle Devos

Department of Psychology and Education, University of Louvain, Louvain-la-Neuve, Belgium

H. Jerome Freiberg

Department of Curriculum and Instruction, CMCD Project College of Education, University of Houston, Houston, TX, USA

Andrea Gallant

Department of Humanities, Societies and Environments Education, School of Education, Deakin University, Burwood, Victoria, Australia

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LIST OF CONTRIBUTORS

Charles R. Graham

Department of Instructional Psychology and Technology, David O. McKay School of Education, Brigham Young University, Provo, UT, USA

Andy Hargreaves

Department of Teacher Education/ Special Education, Curriculum & Instruction, Lynch School of Education, Boston College, Chestnut Hill, MA, USA

Sabra Helton

Consistency Management & Cooperative Discipline, CMCD Project College of Education, University of Houston, Houston, TX, USA

Anita Woolfolk Hoy

Department of Educational Psychology and Philosophy, College of Education and Human Ecology, The Ohio State University, Columbus, OH, USA

Geert Kelchtermans

Centre for Educational Policy, Innovation and Teacher Education, University of Leuven, Leuven, Belgium

Bernie Neville

Faculty of Higher Education, Swinburne University of Technology, Hawthorn, Victoria, Australia

Melissa Newberry

Department of Teacher Education, David O. McKay School of Education, Brigham Young University, Provo, UT, USA

Shaun Rawolle

School of Education, Faculty of Arts and Education, Deakin University, Geelong Waurn Ponds Campus, Victoria, Australia

Paul W. Richardson

Faculty of Education, Monash University, Clayton, Victoria, Australia

Philip Riley

Faculty of Education, Monash University, Clayton, Victoria, Australia

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List of Contributors

Charlotte Struyve

Centre for Educational Policy, Innovation and Teacher Education, University of Leuven, Leuven, Belgium

Stacey M. Templeton

Consistency Management & Cooperative Discipline, CMCD Project College of Education, University of Houston, Houston, TX, USA

Anna van der Want

Eindhoven School of Education (ESoE), Eindhoven University of Technology, Eindhoven, The Netherlands

Andrea Velasquez

Department of Instructional Psychology and Technology, David O. McKay School of Education, Provo, South Jordan, UT, USA

Helen M. G. Watt

Faculty of Education, Monash University, Clayton, Victoria, Australia

Theo Wubbels

Faculty of Social and Behavioural Sciences, Center for Teaching and Learning, Utrecht University, Utrecht, The Netherlands

TESTIMONIALS ‘‘The field of emotions has grown in the study of teaching and teachers’ judgments, and this much needed collection edited by Melissa Newberry, Andrea Gallant and Philip Riley is an important contribution to that body of work. It brings together significant new work on trust and social contracts in social policy; on the contributions of neurobiology to the interconnectedness of cognitive and affective domains in learning; on the challenges of emotional labor and self-regulation in teaching and of the wounds accompanying the emotional labor of leadership; on the importance of positive collegial relationships and of teacher preparation and development processes for teacher identity and effectiveness; and on the surprising contributions of new technology to positive emotional developments in teaching and learning.’’ — Andy Hargreaves, Boston College

‘‘This volume is a much-needed guide to the theory and research on emotions in schools. Reading the chapters provides a basis for both breadth and depth in understanding the role of emotions in teaching. Teachers are neither warned about nor prepared for the reality that their chosen profession will require emotional labor to enact a myriad of sometimes contradictory display rules; that they will live with a constantly changing landscape of criticism and reforms ‘‘inflicted’’ upon them by parents, administrators, and policy makers; that pressures of accountability will rob them of time for nurturing relationships with students and for teaching in ways that sustain them; and that caring for the students in their charge can be emotionally exhausting.’’ — Anita Woolfolk Hoy, The Ohio State University

PREFACE: THE DAY OF JUDGMENT Educational reform today is being ruled by hyper-rationality. Tyrannies of imposed reform, and technologies of individualized online learning, are separating learners and their teachers from their feelings, their fellow teachers and learners, and their future purposes and dreams. Curriculum standards, accountability, performance evaluations, targets and testing – all these assume a rational, linear system of delivery that can be broken down into the granular organization and administration of cognitively managed technical tasks. Nowhere is this more evident than in the domination of reform thinking and practice by data-driven improvement and accountability. One of the places in which the abiding issues and dilemmas of our times is often played out is science fiction – and there are few areas of science fiction that have become more a part of popular adult consciousness than the television series, Star Trek. In the original series of Star Trek, Spock was the supreme Vulcan rationalist who comically countered Captain Kirk’s more human and emotionally laden lead with the repeated refrain ‘Not logical, Captain’. In the Second Generation successor series, the ultimate rationalist was Lieutenant Commander Data – an assemblage of chips and algorithms, of relentless logic and calculation – who, by his (or its) own admission was ‘not capable of love’. After experiencing a kiss from a female colleague, when Data was asked what he felt, he replied that he ‘was reconfiguring the warp field parameters, analysing the collected works of Charles Dickens, (and) calculating the maximum pressure I could safely apply to (her) lips’. These science fiction scenarios indicate how data without emotion can always be a suitable subject for comedy and irony. When rational data prevail over moral judgment, the consequences can quickly turn from comedy into tragedy. Examples of this cognitive and calculative data-driven excess are evident not only in education, to which I shall turn shortly, but also in other fields, such as sports. The positive side of data-driven improvement in sports – using carefully collected statistics about player performance and potential to combat coaches’ incorrect intuition about players who look deceptively like good athletes on baseball’s home plate – has been popularized by Michael Lewis’s book and subsequent xv

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movie, Moneyball (Lewis, 2004). But there is a darker side to data in sports – and its origins are to be found in Soviet soccer. The first known exponent of systematic use of performance data in sports was Valeri Lobanovsky – manager of the Dynamo Kiev soccer team in the former Soviet Union from the mid-1970s to the early-1990s. Almost 40 years ago, Lobanovsky decided to apply the principles of scientific Marxism to soccer management. Standing by the pitch with a notebook and pencil, he made notations of and counted up different moves made by individual players, and connected these to team performance outcomes. Then Lobanovsky turned to technology. Arousing the suspicions of the KGB, he purchased a large computer. His goal was to combine science and technology to create the perfect soccer team: ‘a side in which no effort was wasted and every action of the players was monitored in order to ensure they would always perform to the peak of their potential’ (http:// stateofthegame.co.uk/2012/07/04/valeriy-lobanovskyi-one-of-footballs-firstscientists/). Lobanovsky applied numerical values to every successful and unsuccessful action in the game. The data were put through the computer to produce calculations of ‘intensivity, activity, error rate’ and so on (Foer, 2004). Lobanovsky’s method of data-driven improvement was innovative and, in some respects, effective but also flawed. Interpretation and application of data were applied with almost Stalinist uniformity and inflexibility (indeed Scientific Marxism in the Soviet Union had been heavily influenced by Lenin’s admiration for the time and motion studies of scientific management pioneered by Frederick W. Taylor in the United States in the 1920s). Lobanovsky was seeking a perfect system that his players could adopt almost automatically. He even organized five-a-side practice matches where players had to play blindfolded (Ronay, 2012). Lobanovsky’s system, which he also introduced into the Ukraine national team after the collapse of the Berlin Wall, rewards a very specific style of play: physical and frenetic. Players work tirelessly to compile points. They play defence more aggressively than offence, because that’s where points can be racked up. Lobanovsky’s system mimicked the Soviet regime under which it was conceived. Like the Soviets, it stifles individual initiative. Nothing in Lobanovsky’s point valuation measures creativity or daring. A vertical pass receives the same grade as a horizontal pass; a spectacular fake means nothing. (Foer, 2004)

The system produced consistently high performance within the Soviet league. But it also produced inflexibility and dependency among the players themselves. In later years, when overseas players from Africa and elsewhere

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came to play in the Ukraine, their artistic and creative style could not fit into the system. More worryingly, when Lobanovsky’s legendary players moved elsewhere, outside the ruthless mechanics of the data-driven system, they ‘struggled on and off the pitch’ with poor performance and mental health problems such as depression, alcoholism and shoplifting (http://www. redandwhitekop.com/forum/index.php?topic=273980.35;wap). In a recent study of performing beyond expectations in business, sports and education, I interviewed the resident performance analyst at an English Premier League soccer team (Hargreaves & Harris, 2011). He pointed out how simplistic and autocratic applications of data-driven decision-making in soccer today could easily return the method to the more rigid tendencies that characterized its origins in Soviet Kiev. The analyst described how in the World Cup of soccer in Australia, some managers even placed microchips in their players’ boots to gather additional data about the number of steps the players took during a game (Hargreaves & Shirley, 2009). In the World Cup, they tried out that technology and I believe there were some players who started doing extra steps when the ball went out of play (out of sight of the cameras) so they could up their stats – tell the manager – ‘Yes, I’ve done my job this week’. There’s always ways around it!

Contrary to its Soviet origins and this more bizarrely autocratic reinvention, this performance analyst and his club developed a more interactive and inclusive approach to evidence. This included sharing data with the coach; suggesting what it meant in terms of performance or energy levels; inviting players to look at their statistics and see how they compared to average performance levels in the league – and then discussing specific ways to improve together. ‘The data contribute rather than dictating what they should do’, the analyst commented. ‘Whether it is technical or tactical, you can have a different interpretation of it’. Responding to the data with commands would be sure to fail, because to ‘prescribe what to do’ would ‘take away the spontaneity and creativity’ that accords with the club’s philosophy of ‘freedom of expression’ (Hargreaves & Shirley, 2009). In the field of sports, data and rational calculation have a key role when they support a wider and deeper process of judgment that is also intuitive, moral, emotional, collaborative and collective in nature. When data and rational calculation are treated as separate and superior to other kinds of judgment, the preceding examples indicate that data-driven and hyperrational environments produce consequences of a highly adverse nature. These include destructions of innovation and creativity; distractions of

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participants’ energy towards producing the appearance of numerical results; and degradations of people’s essential humanity through machinelike environments that assault people’s emotional and moral integrity (Hargreaves, 2003). These patterns are not confined to sports. In business too, from Frederick W. Taylor onwards, critics of corporate practice have indicated how the excision of emotions from the formal organization of the work process is not only morally questionable, but also, eventually, leads to inferior results. The classic Hawthorne studies just outside Chicago in the late 1920s established the Human Relations school of management by revealing that emotional interest in the lives and activities of workers led to improved results, even when this interest led to deterioration of light or other conditions in the physical working environment (Roethlisberger & Dickson, 1939). The Enron crisis and the global banking crisis revealed the most egregious aspects of gaming the system and outright fraud that could occur in high stakes environment where constantly increasing numerical returns were treated as the only outputs that mattered (Brewster, 2003). But the excision of emotion from management practice is evident on an everyday basis elsewhere. In their analysis of judgments exercised by frontline workers, DeRose and Tichy describe one case of how scanning metrics were used to set targets for checkout staff on supermarket tills in order to increase the numbers of shoppers they processed in a given time period. The results, the company subsequently found, led staff to fail to help older customers or to make eye contact with any shoppers in case this instigated time-consuming personal interactions (De Rose & Tichy, 2012) – and this, in turn, affected the likelihood that these customers would bring back repeat business to the supermarket. Educational research has shown the very same patterns resulting from hyper-rational, data-driven environments of targets, testing and online tracking. The curriculum starts to crowd out innovation and creativity. Health, wellness and physical activity are pushed to the sidelines. Teachers start to game the system, teach to the test, concentrate disproportionate efforts on students just below the passing mark, become stressed, burn out or leave for careers where the wider aspects of their professional judgment are more valued (Hargreaves, 2003). Ever since the classic and widely read analysis by Anthony Damasio of emotion and judgment in Descartes error, we have understood, even from the basics of brain research, that people cannot judge if they cannot feel (Damasio, 2005). Emotion always enters into judgment by narrowing down the otherwise infinite range of variables that underpin the choices we make.

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Without this emotional bias, the moment of judgment becomes deferred to eternity by the possibility of more choices, options and possibilities. So emotion is integral to all judgment, and especially integral to the complex judgments that characterize professional practice. Emotion is present either by design and intent, or, in its manifestations through boredom with hyper-rational environments or through the threat of non-compliance with numerical targets, by default or neglect. My own research on the educational implications of the emotions for judgment and effectiveness in teaching has been taken up Norman Denzin’s key concept of emotional understanding as a core aspect of professional judgment in what might be termed the ‘people professions’ (Denzin, 1984). Emotional understanding is not linear and sequential like much cognitive understanding, but takes place instantaneously at a glance, as we reach into our past experiences and present relationships to read words, expressions and gestures as signs of interest, concentration, frustration, disappointment, anger, surprise, remorse and so on. When emotional understanding is accurate, it enhances professional judgment. When it is inaccurate, it undermines that judgment and all the consequences that flow from it. Emotional understanding flourishes in deep and sustained relationships where we learn to grasp, read and even anticipate one another’s expressions and reactions. It falters when it occurs within what I call emotional geographies of excessive distance that make these relationships hard to establish (Hargreaves, 2001) – geographies of cultural difference where emotions are expressed and interpreted differently; of moral differences of purpose and vision and no means to reconcile these; of power differences that inhibit or suppress honest and accurate emotional expression; of professional distance of the traditional kind that places professionals on inaccessible pedestals above their clients; and of physical distances of time and space in brief or infrequent interactions that make mutual understanding unlikely. Since I began my own work in this area, the field of emotions has grown in the study of teaching and teachers’ judgments, and this much needed collection co-edited by Melissa Newberry, Andrea Gallant and Phil Riley is an important contribution to that body of work. It brings together significant new work on trust and social contracts in social policy; on the contributions of neurobiology to the interconnectedness of cognitive and affective domains in learning; on the challenges of emotional labour and self-regulation in teaching and of the wounds accompanying the emotional labour of leadership; on the importance of positive collegial relationships and of teacher preparation and development processes for teacher identity

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and effectiveness; and on the surprising contributions of new technology to positive emotional developments in teaching and learning. Data-driven improvement, backed by massive corporate and foundation investment, is defining a new reality of teaching and leadership in schools. As we start to learn that data mean nothing without judgment and that judgment is impossible without emotion, future years will, I believe, see the resurrection of teachers’ judgment and reflection as an important field of study. With this, there will be a return to and a renewed interest in the role of emotion in educational change and research. This book makes a significant contribution to that renewed focus. Andy Hargreaves Thomas More Brennan Chair in Education, Boston College December 2012

REFERENCES Brewster, M. (2003). Unaccountable: How the accounting profession forfeited a public trust. Hoboken, NJ: Wiley. Damasio, A. (2005). Descartes’ error: Emotion, reason, and the human brain. New York, NY: Penguin. De Rose, C., & Tichy, N. M. (2012). Judgment on the front line: How smart companies win by trusting their people. New York, NY: Penguin. Denzin, N. (1984). On understanding emotion. San Francisco, CA: Jossey Bass. Foer, F. (2004). How soccer explains the world. New York, NY: Harper Collins. Hargreaves, A. (2001). The emotional geographies of teaching. Teachers’ College Record, 103(6), 1056–1080. Hargreaves, A (2003). Teaching in the knowledge society: Education in the age of insecurity. New York, NY: Teachers College Press. Hargreaves, A., & Harris, A (2011). Performance beyond expectations. Nottingham, UK: National College for School Leadership. Hargreaves, A., & Shirley, D. (2009). The fourth way: The inspiring future for educational change. Thousand Oaks, CA: Corwin Press. Lewis, M. (2004). Moneyball: The art of winning an unfair game. New York, NY: W. W. Norton & Company. Roethlisberger, F. J., & Dickson, W. J. (1939). Management and the worker. Cambridge, MA. Harvard University Press. Ronay, B. (2012). Euro 2012: Valeriy Lobanovsky, king of Kiev who was before his time. The Guardian, UK, Friday 15 June. Retrieved from http://www.guardian.co.uk/sport/2012/ jun/15/1

PART I UNDERSTANDING THE HIDDEN CURRICULUM OF EMOTIONS

THE ENCHANTED LOOM Bernie Neville ABSTRACT We know a good deal today about how our brains construct emotions. The new fields of interpersonal neurobiology and affective neuroscience are challenging many of our conventional understandings, particularly the notion that thinking and feeling are separate operations and that it is the teacher’s primary task to engage students in the former. This chapter addresses some of the findings of recent research on basic emotion command systems, emotional style, neural resonance and neuroplasticity, arguing that we can no longer ignore the evidence that our students’ cognition, emotion and bodily health are fundamentally connected. The arguments for a holistic approach to education are exceedingly robust and have neuropsychological research findings to support them. Keywords: Emotion; affective neuroscience; interpersonal neurobiology; emotional style; neural resonance; neuroplasticity Thanks to new technologies including electroencephalography (EEG), positron emission tomography (PET), computerized axial tomography (CAT) and functional magnetic resonance imaging (fMIR) we know a good deal today about how our brains construct emotions. Much of what we know now contradicts or calls into question what we knew a couple of decades ago, and we may assume that much of what we know now will itself Emotion and School: Understanding How the Hidden Curriculum Influences Relationships, Leadership, Teaching, and Learning Advances in Research on Teaching, Volume 18, 3–23 Copyright r 2013 by Emerald Group Publishing Limited All rights of reproduction in any form reserved ISSN: 1479-3687/doi:10.1108/S1479-3687(2013)0000018005

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be contradicted or called into question by further research. However, there is much that we can speak about with reasonable confidence. Our understanding of such phenomena as neural resonance, brain plasticity and emotional style is constantly increasing. Yet, while educators have been looking at the data for some time to determine the relevance of neurobiological findings for our understanding of learning, there has not until recently been much attention paid to the educational implications of research into the neurobiology of emotion. This needs to be addressed. The new fields of interpersonal neurobiology (Badenoch, 2008; Siegal, 2007) and affective neuroscience (Davidson, 2012; Panksepp, 2004) are challenging many of our conventional understandings, particularly the notion that thinking and feeling are separate operations and that it is the teacher’s primary task to engage students in the former. It was the philosopher and neuroscientist Charles Sherrington who introduced the metaphor of ‘the enchanted loom’ to scientific discussions of the brain, writing of the way the brain weaves a constantly dissolving pattern – ‘always a meaningful pattern, though never an abiding one: a shifting harmony of sub-patterns’ (Sherrington, 1951, p. 178). In the past two decades, neuroscientists have been able to use sophisticated technologies to detect and describe these sub-patterns. Some of them have been rewarded with Nobel Prizes for their efforts. Nevertheless, though our understanding in the workings of the brain and their connection with thought, feeling and behaviour has increased enormously we must acknowledge, as Jaak Panksepp (2004) observes, that in this field ‘ignorance is more abundant than knowledge’ (p. vii).

FEELING OUR EMOTIONS We are inclined to talk of feeling and emotion as though they are the same thing but it is important to make a distinction between emotion, which is objectively detectable and quantifiable in our bodies, and feeling, which is the subjective experience of this emotion. To quote Antonio Damasio (2003), ‘Emotions play out in the theatre of the body. Feelings play out in the theatre of the mind’ (p. 28). From Damasio’s perspective there is no question that emotion comes first. We do not have a feeling that produces a body-state. On the contrary our bodies react to something in our world and this registers in our brains and is subjectively experienced as a feeling. We can use our sophisticated technology to map and quantify the emotions. We can talk about our feelings.

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For Damasio (2003), an emotion, such as happiness, sadness or embarrassment is ‘a complex creation of chemical and neural responses forming a distinctive pattern’ (p. 51). It is triggered, perhaps unconsciously, by something in our brain’s environment. Some triggers are set by evolution; some are set by our individual experience over our lifetime. Everything in our worlds is capable of triggering an emotion of some kind – good or bad, strong or weak. Sometimes we experience emotions below the level of our awareness. Sometimes we are aware of an emotional response to something without having any idea what our bodies are reacting to. Primitive forms of life experience emotions, but they are unlikely to be aware of them. It is our capacity to be aware of our emotions that gives us feelings. We can think in terms of a body-mind distinction, as Damasio (2003) does when he defines a feeling as ‘the perception of a certain state of body along with the perception of a certain mode of thinking and of thoughts with certain themes’ (p. 86). Or we can get rid of dualistic notions and think of ourselves more organically as embodied minds or enminded bodies – as he does when he acknowledges Spinoza’s claim that body and mind are parallel attributes of the same substance. We might then define feelings as the interior, subjective aspect of our emotions and emotions as the exterior, objective aspect of our feelings. It seems that our commonsense notion that we have a thought and it makes us sad does not sum up the process very well at all. On the contrary, it appears that what Damasio calls an ‘emotionally competent stimulus’ (p. 55) in the brain’s environment automatically triggers activity in certain parts of the brain, most notably the amygdala, which is located deep in the temporal lobe. This happens before we have the thought. It may be something we see or hear, it may be a sensation in our gut, it may be an image remembered or imagined. We do not have to be aware of the stimulus; the triggering in our amygdala occurs before we can give our attention to what we are perceiving. Even when we do not notice the frightening or attractive object or animal, the amygdala is activated. Remarkably, it can be triggered even when we do not possess the particular sense (e.g. sight) conventionally thought necessary to detect the stimulus. Damasio (2003) notes that even in blind people ‘emotionally competent stimuli (e.g. angry or happy faces) nevertheless ‘‘break through’’ the barrier of blindness or neglect and are indeed detected’ (p. 61). The amygdala is not the only part of our brain activated by an ‘emotionally competent stimulus’. While the amygdala seems to be activated by threatening objects, there are other parts of the brain tuned to detect other kinds of situations. The frontal lobe detects situations that have

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significance for social emotions like empathy, compassion, attachment, jealousy and anxiety. It seems that the right frontal region is activated by unpleasant situations and the left frontal region is activated by pleasant situations. The triggering of a response in a particular region of the brain is not the end of the process. There is a chain of events which starts with the stimulus, activates a particular region of the brain, passes a message to other regions of the brain (notably the hypothalamus), which in turn activates our internal organs to experience an emotion. Other regions of our brain sense what is happening in our bodies and enable us to ‘feel’ the emotion. Of course, we cannot have a feeling without awareness of it. In other words, feelings have a thinking component. This is obvious enough. What is not so obvious is that thinking always has a feeling component. Even though our experience tells us otherwise, we are inclined to imagine that thinking and feeling are separate activities. Indeed, for a long time, conventional psychology accepted this as a truism, on the understanding that thinking takes place in our prefrontal cortex and emotions take place in the older, more primal regions of the brain. However, while it is true that the mid-brain is heavily involved in emotions, we know now that emotions also involve the activation of the prefrontal cortex. The body states that define an emotion do not generate a feeling unless they are accompanied by a kind of thinking that perceives and acknowledges that body state. To complicate it somewhat, these thoughts can interact with the body state so that as our thoughts change our feelings change. On the other hand, we imagine that our facial expressions are controlled by our feelings, yet the opposite is just as arguable. We cannot feel angry while our face is in a smile, and we cannot feel happy while frowning. This is different from actually being happy – for it is possible to experience the basic emotion without feeling it in the moment. (This is an aspect of ‘emotional labour’ that is covered in subsequent chapters.) This is just one of the many loops through which our thoughts, emotions and bodies mutually influence each other. This would be of minor interest to teachers were it not for the fact that a lot of learning theory assumes that learning is essentially an outcome of thinking, and ignores the role of emotion and feeling. However, what the research shows us is that our bodies register emotions before we are aware of the feelings that accompany them. Indeed, the body-states which we feel as sadness actually slow down our capacity to think. To quote Damasio (2003), ‘the fluency of ideation is reduced in sadness and increased in happiness’ (p. 101). Given (2002) points to the research evidence that learning can likewise be shut down by fear and anxiety, whether they are

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aroused by immediate events or have their source in childhood trauma, regardless of whether the fear or anxiety is present in awareness. She points out that, ‘chronic disruptive behaviour may be symptoms of chronic stress syndrome resulting from ongoing responses to subtle fears’ (p. 24). Perhaps we knew this all the time. This certainly has implications for the classroom. There is nothing particularly new in the observation that if the classroom environment is one of fear, the children’s brains will be occupied dealing with the threat, their bodies will be tense, they will feel scared and anxious. If they are doing any thinking they are doing it as a means of survival, and are unlikely to be doing it effectively. Unfortunately, this is not obvious to all teachers, and fear remains a preferred means of management for some. Likewise the notion that a happy classroom is a place where learning is facilitated is entirely consistent with the evidence from neuroscience. Another significant aspect of emotions is that they have a compulsive effect on us. As Solms and Turnbull (2002) put it: ‘We cannot simply lie back and feel our emotions. They make us want to do something’ (p. 111). Inwardly the emotion is accompanied by changes in breathing, heart rate and body temperature, the release of hormones, changes in blood supply and so on. Outwardly it is accompanied by gestures, changes in facial expression, and various behaviours such as running away, clenching fists, crying and laughing. Some of these emotions and reactions seem to be universal across cultures, which suggests that they are hard-wired through evolution. Damasio (2000) argues that: ‘Notwithstanding the reality that learning and culture alter the expression of emotions and give emotions new meanings, emotions are biologically determined processes, depending on innately set brain devices, laid down by a long evolutionary history’ (p. 51).

BASIC EMOTIONS Damasio (2003) distinguishes three kinds of emotions. Firstly, there are background emotions, changing from moment to moment as we move through our lives and expose ourselves to constantly changing stimuli. Our moment-to-moment state of being may be vaguely good or vaguely bad. It rests on the physical experience of pain or pleasure but it is generally too vague to be easily given a name, and we rarely pay attention to it. Secondly, we have basic emotions, which are readily identified and labelled and

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seem to be common across cultures, and even across non-human species. Solms and Turnbull (2002) refer to distinct ‘basic emotion command systems’ (p. 113f). Panksepp (2004) has identified seven such systems: Seeking, Rage, Fear, Panic/Loss, Play, Mating and Care, each of which operates through different neurocircuitry. Thirdly, there are social emotions like embarrassment, sympathy, resentment, admiration and envy, which define our connections with other people and seem to be made up of various combinations of the basic emotions. The basic emotion command systems exist in us because they have survival value. We could as well refer to drives or instincts, though that language is less fashionable nowadays. Whatever language we use, it seems that environmental stimuli activate areas in the lower, more primal, regions of the brain, arousing specific neurocircuits through the mid-brain leading to the brainstem and spinal cord and prompting automatic action; and also to the prefrontal cortex enabling awareness, feelings and the possibility of inhibiting the automatic action. We know well enough that our emotional state is not generally something we deliberately choose to experience. Our brains receive a stimulus from our environment. All the memories of past experiences stored in our amygdala kick in and determine whether what we are perceiving is threatening, exciting or attractive. The appropriate basic-emotion command system is activated and we have the physical experience. A microsecond later we have an emotion-infused thought which we call a feeling. It is only then that we have any choice. Our body is already preparing to fight, run away, freeze or embrace a friend and may, indeed, be already moving to do one or another. When we become aware of the feeling we can employ thoughts or imagination to reinforce or dispel it. The key point is that we generally do not get to choose our feelings, except by putting ourselves in situations where a particular feeling is likely to be stimulated. Most of the time these situations relate to place and people, but we know that the stimulus can also come from exercising our imagination or memory, ingesting chemicals, or having a neuroscientist touch our brain with an electric probe. Panksepp (2004) begins his discussion of the Seeking system with the following statement: It may be hard for us to accept that human strivings are ultimately driven by the welling up of ancient neurochemicals in primitive parts of the brain. This view does not easily fit our conception of ourselves as moral and spiritual beings. Although the details of human hopes are surely beyond the imagination of other creatures, the evidence now clearly indicates that certain intrinsic aspirations of all mammalian minds, those of mice as well as men, are driven by the same ancient neurochemistries. (p. 144)

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We can accept this admonition without abandoning the notion of ourselves as spiritual beings, but we need to acknowledge that our mental and spiritual processes are grounded in our physical being. The same neurochemicals are involved in our search for existential meaning as were energizing our remote ancestors as they foraged for food. The Seeking system is switched on most of the time. It is what keeps us going. Without it we would be content just to lie down and die. It generates our feelings of curiosity, interest, anticipation and desire. It leads us to explore our world and expect to find something good. It is the seeking system that drives us to learning, on one hand, and addiction on the other. The Rage system generates our feelings of frustration, irritation, anger and indignation. It is activated when we are in a situation that threatens to interfere with our well-being. It prepares us to fight. When adolescents resist or defy their teachers they are acting out of the same primitive survival instinct that drives one dog to assert itself against another. The Fear system enables us to recognize threats and escape from dangerous situations by either running away or freezing. Like the other systems, fear may be activated by a situation that appears to be perfectly neutral as far as emotional impact is concerned. Refugee children may be terrified by a loud noise or the sound of a strange voice, if the sound is associated in memory with a previous terror – even if they have forgotten or repressed the memory of the previous terror. It is the fear system that prompts children to seek a safe environment and interferes with their ability to learn when they sense the classroom is not safe for them. The fear system seems to be one of the factors contributing to autism spectrum disorder. Temple Grandin (2011), who is herself autistic, argues that autism is associated with hypersensitivity to threatening stimuli. We can make parallel statements about the other systems. The Panic/Loss system generates feelings of distress, loss, grief and loneliness. We have been designed by evolution to be dependent on others, and when we suffer separation from those we depend on, the panic/loss system is activated. Activation of panic/loss neurocircuitry is accompanied by feelings of weakness and depression and anxiety, not to mention the urge to cry and the feeling of having a lump in the throat. Teicher (2002) observes that any animal exposed to stress and neglect early in life develops a brain that is wired to experience fear, anxiety and stress, and suggests that the same is true of people. The Play system gives us feelings of joy, elation and playfulness. Like the other systems it is innate in humans and many other animals. It does not require much in the way of external stimulation, but it does require

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opportunity. Panksepp (2004) suggests that the play system is hyperactive (from the teacher’s point of view) in children diagnosed Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder (ADHD). He suggests that the epidemic of ADHD in American cities is a consequence of these children being deprived of sufficient opportunities for rough and tumble play. We know that in animals, rats for instance, the play system is intricately connected with the sense of touch. Certainly, it appears that the medications conventionally given to such children diminish their playfulness and that their restlessness seems to disappear when they are engaged in tactile activities. Current school practices, which limit the opportunities for both play and touch, fly in the face of strong research data. The sense of touch is likewise intimately connected with the Panic/Loss system and the two bonding systems labelled Caring and Mating. Panksepp (2004) describes how touch, hugs and stroking release neurochemicals that provide a sense of comfort and reinforce our connections to others. He suggests that in the course of evolution the pleasure of touch may have established a neural framework for the emergence of both play and social attachments; without it a child may suffer an extreme sense of isolation and be incapable of dealing with distress. (It is worth noting that such children may be particularly vulnerable to sexual predators.) The Mating system is activated by the perception of a desirable mate, and shapes a good deal of adolescent behaviour. The Care system prompts parents and parent-substitutes to protect and nurture the young. Our brains are hard-wired for attachment and interdependence. They need physical closeness and safe, nurturing relationships if they are to develop properly. Newborn babies resonate with their mother’s moods and share her bodystates. The child’s brain encodes the internal state of the mother and other primary caregivers. This is the beginning of the child’s emerging sense of self, in which the sense of being lovable, safe and calm is inherited from those around it. If the infant’s first experience is to resonate with the stressed and anxious inner worlds of her caregivers, or if she suffers neglect or abuse in her first months, the implicit memory of these experiences will be stored in her lower brain and constantly reactivated as she goes through life. She comes to school damaged, with a deep but dysfunctional knowledge of the world of relationships. Along with this is a yearning for attachment and a capacity to rewire her brain differently if the opportunity is provided. The challenge for teachers is firstly to notice, secondly to care and thirdly to respond with empathy and integrity. The care system, which evolved in us to enable the species to survive, is a command system that prompts us to particular behaviours to protect the young. The other side of this coin is the

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child’s need for a trustworthy and reliable adult with whom they will feel safe, and peers to whom they can become emotionally connected (Cortina & Liotti, 2010). Harris (1998) suggests that there are two distinct neural subsystems at work here, one of which deals with dyadic relationships while the other specializes in group relationships. The relationships of a child to teacher and peer group are shaped by motherchild and family relationships as they are first experienced. However, consciously or not, every teacher interacts with children and manages their social environment in ways which enhance, remediate or diminish their capacity for positive relationships. While we can argue that every experience in our lives is accompanied by some level of emotion, the evidence indicates that this generalization does not extend to people with damage to specific regions of the brain. In most of us emotion plays a role in guiding our decision-making. Even when we are not attending to any particular feeling, our emotions assist our reasoning and decision-making so that we can move towards a positive outcome. However, damage to the frontal lobes – the result of accident, disease, drugs or alcohol – interferes with this. Many people with frontal lobe damage – which is known to impair their social emotions – can explain clearly what constitutes appropriate behaviour but seem unable to carry out that behaviour in real life (see Damasio, 2003, chapter 4). It seems that while abstract thinking can proceed without the assistance of emotion, we need the assistance of emotion to live, learn and interact appropriately with other people. We find children who are academically capable but go completely wrong in their interactions with others. We find others who are impervious to reward and punishment. We find adolescents who appear to be incapable of compassion, guilt or remorse. This is not to say that every adolescent whose behaviour is anti-social and self-destructive has undiagnosed brain damage, but it may well be that there is a malfunction in the frontal lobes, whose cause may range from genetic inheritance to early learning, and whose consequence is that innate social emotions and feelings are not accessible. They react inappropriately in social situations, which lead others to react negatively to them. They get a distorted view of human relationships, which is constantly reinforced, unless they have parents, teachers and friends who can resolutely maintain a positive, nonjudgmental attitude in their interactions with them. Punishing them for inappropriate behaviour has no effect other than to reinforce their distorted perceptions, for they do not experience a connection between the unpleasantness of punishment and the actions that brought it on. They learn nothing from the experience and, in the absence of emotional support for their decision-making, cannot

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decide to behave better. However, recent research on neuroplasticity encourages us to believe that all is not lost.

NEUROPLASTICITY It used to be stated with complete assurance that our brain functions become ‘fixed’ by the time we reach adulthood. We have known for some time that the brains of infants have far more neurons than those of adults. As we grow, learn and accept the ways of our culture our brains become more efficient at doing what we need to do, and our potential to perceive things and deal with experiences in other ways drops away. A three –yearold’s brain has about 1,000 trillion synapses. By the time our brain is done with ‘pruning’ in our twenties, our brains contain at the very most 500 trillion synapses, having preserved and reinforced the neural pathways that are used most often (see Siegal, 2007, 2010). Doidge (2007) points to the evidence that ‘neurons that fire together, wire together’ a principle that was first enunciated by Donald Hebb in 1949. It is now clear that a child’s early experience largely defines its emotional response to experiences later in life. However, that is not the end of the story. As we go through life having new experiences, neurons are forming new connections with each other, forming neural nets in which particular patterns of neurons fire together. Particular perceptions become associated with particular body sensations, particular thoughts and particular feelings, so when we recall an event from the past, specific body sensations, thoughts and feelings come with it. We know now that none of this is fixed forever. Our brains are constantly changing and adapting to new experiences. We can manipulate our perceptions and emotions to change these patterns, so that it is possible to lose our irrational fear of spiders or addiction to chocolate. We know that when a particular part of our cortex ceases to function through stroke or accident, it is possible to train another part of our brain to take over the function. There is even evidence that new experiences stimulate the growth not merely of new connections but of new neurons (Badenoch, 2008). Panksepp (2004) points to the critical importance of sensory enrichment in promoting neuronal plasticity and growth. Referring specifically to the education of autistic children, he observes that: Although we do not yet know for a fact that neural growth and neural plasticity are promoted by rich sensory experiences in autistic children, the probability is so high that

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it is foolish for parents not to provide as much sensory-motor and related cognitiveaffective stimulation for their children as is possible. (p. 115)

All of this has important implications for teachers. For one thing, the evidence for brain plasticity may change our way of thinking about the practice that we generally denigrate as ‘rote learning’. It has become very clear that practice changes our brains. We know that the brains of skilled musicians differ from those of non-musicians. (Their auditory cortex is larger, as is their primary motor cortex and cerebellum. Their left hemisphere is more active when listening to music, in contrast to nonmusicians, whose right hemisphere is more active.) Restak (2002) points to the evidence that it is hours of practice, more than genetic inheritance, which is responsible for the structure of their brains. The same conclusion can be drawn from studies in other areas of expert performance. What makes the difference between elite performance and ordinary performance, whether in athletics or the arts, is the hours of practice elite performers engage in. So we might think that hours of rote learning and hours of homework will improve our students’ skills. It is not quite so simple. There is an emotional and motivational dimension to this. Simply repeating over and over something we already know does not improve our performance. Ericsson’s studies of expert performers (Ericsson, 2002; Ericsson, Boring, & Nandagopal, 2007) concluded that practice does not improve their performance unless it is associated with a mindset that is constantly seeking improvement. Deliberate practice does not involve a mere execution or repetition of already attained skills but repeated attempts to reach beyond one’s current level, which is associated with frequent failures. Aspiring performers therefore concentrate on improving specific aspects engaging in practice activities designed to change and refine particular mediating mechanisms, requiring problem-solving and successive refinement with feedback. (p. 10)

Mindless repetition simply reinforces neural pathways, which are already established. To get better at something we need to establish new neural pathways by focusing on the levels of performance that we have not yet reached. This does not apply only to the development of academic and performance skills. It is just as significant for the development of emotional skills. Though children learn these largely through interaction with each other, teachers have a significant role in this, in that they can provide the experiences which enable their students to develop sensitivity to their own emotions and those of their classmates. As far as classroom practice is concerned, the research confirms our common sense notion that the more often our students do something the more they will be able to do it again. However it contradicts the equally

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common assumption that the more often our students do something the better they become at doing it. Doing something already familiar reinforces the neural network involved, but does not enhance it. We can also suggest, contrary to conventional theory, that the experience of failure is an integral part of learning. We only enhance our learning by attempting things that at first are beyond us. This is not possible without activation of the seeking system and the emotions associated with it. Practice does not improve performance unless it is supported by emotion. That is to say, unless there is curiosity, interest and the expectation of satisfaction when the skill is mastered. Our brain is sculpted by our experience. It is good to know that every positive experience grows new neural pathways in our brains, whatever our age. On the other hand research is showing that negative experiences, especially in early life, damage our brains. Martin Teicher and colleagues (Teicher, 2002; Teicher et al., 2003; Teicher, Tomoda, & Andersen, 2006) found that verbally abusive parents can cause lasting damage to pathways that regulate emotions and process language in their children’s brains. We have known for a long time that exposure to physical abuse and neglect causes brain damage in children. In the past decade it has become clear that simply witnessing violence has these consequences, as do verbal, emotional and sexual abuse. Some children and adolescents come to our classes damaged in their capacity to learn. Bullying and punitive teachers reinforce the damage. On the other hand, new experiences and new feelings can change the structure of the brain for the better. Not only do external stimuli and repeated physical movements modify the brain, there is evidence also that the brain y can change in response to messages generated internally – in other words, to our thoughts and intentions. These changes include altering the function of brain regions, expanding or contracting the amount of neural territory devoted to particular tasks, strengthening or weakening connections between different brain regions, increasing or decreasing the level of activity in specific brain circuits, and modulating the neurochemical messenger service that continuously courses through the brain. (Davidson, 2012, p. 11)

The brain of a damaged child who is held safely in caring relationships will change over time, even against a child’s initial resistance. What is required in caregivers or teachers is tolerance to cope with the consequences of previous damage, non-judgmental empathy and the determination not to give up on the child. Not every teacher or caregiver has the emotional resources for this task, but even the brains of teachers and caregivers are plastic, and such

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resources can be acquired. Through mental activity alone—which is itself a creation of the brain–we can change our brain. Some of the most interesting findings about brain plasticity have come from the research of Jeffery Schwartz in the treatment of obsessivecompulsive disorder (OCD). People with OCD find themselves trapped in ritualized responses to particular stimuli. They worry obsessively that they have left the gas on, that their hands are not clean or that they will cause a catastrophe if they step on a crack in the pavement. Brain imaging shows that there is a ‘worry circuit’ in their brains, which is constantly agitated. What Schwartz and his colleagues found is that they could teach patients to observe their worry, tell themselves it is just a malfunction in their brains and do something different from their usual ritualized response (Schwartz & Begley, 2002). The same kind of approach is used in cognitive behavioural therapy to treat depression. The evidence strongly suggests that ‘new patterns of thinking y can alter brain activity in fundamental ways, enabling people to, leave behind unhealthy patterns and go forward with new, healthier patterns’ (Davidson, 2012, p. 174). The conclusion reached by Davidson (2012), Schwartz and Begley (2002), Siegal (2007, 2010) and Badenoch (2008) is that an effective and reliable method of facilitating change in brain structure is mindfulness meditation. There is now abundant research evidence that the practice of mindfulness meditation can alter the way we respond to emotional challenges. Genetics and experience give us habitual ways of thinking, feeling and behaving. Mindfulness training alters these habits, changing the neuronal pathways by which we respond to experiences. It can increase the synaptic connections between the different regions of the brain and enhance our capacity for positive emotions by raising the level of activity in the left prefrontal cortex.

RESONANCE In 1997, Italian researchers Rizzolatti, Fogassi and Gallese wired up neurons in a macaque monkey’s brain to observe neural activity when the monkey was eating raisins. As anticipated, when the monkey picked up a raisin and ate it, its premotor cortex lit up. That was interesting enough, but what was totally unexpected was that when Fogassi happened to walk in and pick up a raisin himself, the same area of the monkey’s brain lit up, even though the monkey had not moved. After testing this again and again the researchers realized that they had stumbled on something new – something they called mirror neurons – and opened up a new area of research and

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speculation on how human beings connect with each other (Rizzolatti, Fogassi, & Gallese, 2001). Mirror neurons in our brain can represent the movements that we perceive in another individual, and produce signals that activate our bodies to experience what the other person is experiencing. For better or worse, teachers have always been able to exploit the fact that punishing or castigating one child in the class is a way of controlling all the others. We know from recent research that when we watch someone experience distress or exhilaration or exhaustion our brains react as though the experience was our own. Of course, there is nothing new about acknowledging the possibility of empathizing with another person who is in distress. What neuroscience has brought to light is the evidence that this is going on all the time; that our bodies connect emotionally with those around us, particularly when we are paying attention to them. Moreover, the science confirms the conviction that many of us have that our companion animals have the same capacity to tune in to our emotions. This phenomenon has both positive and negative consequences. On the one hand it means we have a built-in predisposition to acknowledge and appreciate each other’s feelings. Our bodies tune in to each other even before our senses pick up clues about how the other is feeling. On the other hand, it’s the basis of what is often called ‘emotional contagion’. Our bodies tune in to other people’s anger or resentment even when this conflicts with our conscious intention. When we are confronted by an angry student, parent or colleague we are likely to become angry ourselves. Even if we are not aware of our anger, or denying it, our posture and facial expressions may express it and the anger may escalate. This sort of unconscious, reactive response may have had survival value at an earlier stage of evolution, but it can have unfortunate consequences now. Merlin Donald (2001), who traced the development of consciousness from the Stone Age to modern times, concluded that the consciousness of our Stone Age ancestors was essentially ‘mimetic’. Before consciousness evolved to the point where humans were able to make individual, independent decisions, collaborative culture and tribal identity was developed and confirmed by people unconsciously copying each other. They were not connected by shared ideas but by shared emotions. This capacity to be tuned in to the behaviour and emotions of those around us persists. Younger students are more likely to be dominated by a mimetic consciousness. Much of the learning that goes on in classrooms is learning through mimesis. Some of this copying is intentional on the part of the teacher, student or both, but much of the time we mimic others without being aware that we are doing it. Moreover, there is another aspect to

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mimesis that may be even more significant. The teacher may think that she is teaching the curriculum; actually she is teaching herself. Students, especially young students, learn their teacher. At one level children may be intentionally learning – or not learning – what she tells them and shows them. They look and listen, check whether it makes sense to them, and decide to take in the information. However, independently of this, they are unconsciously ‘learning their teacher’. They are tuning in to her, feeling the world the way she feels it. They enter her experience of this moment and accept it as their own. Mirror neurons enable us to imitate others’ behaviour and to resonate with their feelings. If the teacher has fixed ideas and prejudices her students may unconsciously adopt them as their own; if she is nervous and stressed out they are likely to share her stress. If she is alive in the moment they will share her aliveness. On the other hand, if she is simply repeating what she has heard or read without engaging in it in the present moment they will be tuning into her deadness rather than the content she thinks she is transmitting. Our brains are social. We are biologically designed to be in relationship. Our interactions with others change our brains and change the brains of the people we interact with. While children are spending time with someone who is an important person in their life, such as a teacher, they are unconsciously learning how to feel about things and how to relate to others. If children are unfortunate enough to have a toxic teacher, we can only hope that their relationships with significant adults outside the classroom are supportive and nurturing. In the past decade we have learned a good deal about the mechanisms responsible for this phenomenon. Daniel Siegal (2010) uses the expression resonance circuits to refer to the way we are hard-wired to connect with one another, ‘bringing the inside of the ‘‘outer’’ person, the other, into our own inner world’ (p. 58). It is these resonance circuits that turn two or more ‘I’s into a ‘we’. We tune into others and become part of an interactive whole. When a couple are dancing perfectly in tune with each other or when a jazz ensemble is improvising as though it has one soul, with each member anticipating the moves of all the others, it is apparent that the resonance circuits are fully functioning. It is a complex process that involves mirror neurons in several regions of the brain enabling our senses to pick up and transmit information about the feelings of the other person and their likely next move. This information passes from the sensorimotor cortex through the insula to the limbic region and body, triggering emotions and movement, then back through the insula to the prefrontal cortex, generating

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awareness of our feelings and actions. The process does not begin with awareness, and need not even involve it. It can happen entirely below the level of awareness, and it can be ignored (see Badenoch, 2008, pp. 39f, 61). Daniel Siegal (2010) points out that rather than remain open and simply ‘soak in the internal state of another’ we have a tendency to become reactive instead of receptive, so that ‘presence is shut down, attunement cannot happen, resonance cannot occur’ (p. 60). It may be difficult to consistently remain open and receptive to children or adolescents who go out of their way to make our lives difficult, but good teachers do the emotional work of tuning into the frustration, grief or resentment which is generating the ‘difficult’ behaviour, accept it non-judgmentally and respond to the child instead of the reacting to the behaviour. Jean Knox (2003) calls on attachment theory and developmental theory in her discussion of this ability to ‘tune in’ empathically to another. She prefers the term ‘reflective function’ to such terms as ‘metacognitive monitoring’ and ‘mentalization’, which have been used by other writers (e.g. Fonagy, Gergely, Jurist, & Target, 2005) to describe the awareness of oneself and others as independent psychological and emotional beings. She argues that not everybody manages to develop an adequate reflective function, and hence they ‘lack the capacity to empathize with other people or place their own emotions in a meaningful context, to reflect on them and so experience them in a safe way’ (p. 139). They habitually treat themselves and others as objects, and are unable to give a reflective and coherent account of their lives. She makes the case that this is a consequence of their failure to develop secure attachment as infants. Teachers may be as prone to this ‘disorder’ as their students. Further support for this argument comes from anthropologist Sarah Hrdy (2009) who argues that the ability to connect emotionally with others is an evolutionary adaptation. She suggests that child rearing practices among our remote ancestors ‘meant that youngsters grew up depending on a wider range of caretakers than just their mothers, and this dependence produced selection pressures that favoured individuals who were better able at decoding the mental states of others, and figuring out who would better help and who would hurt’ (p. 66).

EMOTIONAL STYLES Our brains are not identical. Richard Davidson (2012) points out that while on one hand we may have fleeting emotions triggered by an immediate

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experience, we can also have emotions that persist over days or weeks (we refer to them as moods) and emotions that persist over years (we tend to think of them as personality traits). He suggests that we also need to note the existence of emotional styles, which are ‘governed by specific, identifiable brain circuits and can be measured using objective laboratory methods’ (p. xi). Davidson (2012) outlines six dimensions of emotional style uncovered through research in affective neuroscience: resilience, outlook, social intuition, self-awareness, sensitivity to context and attention. He suggests that the emotional component of what we generally call ‘personality’comes down to combinations of these dimensions. Each of us has a unique emotional style grounded in a specific pattern of brain activity. However, emotional style is not fixed. The brain can change its structure in response to both external experiences and to the feelings generated in our thinking and imagining. A child in our class may be at either end of the resilience dimension. Imaging technology tells us that highly resilient people, those who always get up again when they are knocked down, exhibit greater left versus right activity in the prefrontal cortex (see Davidson, 2012). A lack of resilience is associated with greater activity in the right prefrontal cortex. Moreover, the more white matter we have connecting the prefrontal cortex with the amygdala, the more resilient we are. Means exist for increasing the white matter connections between the regions of the brain and for raising the level of activity in the left prefrontal cortex. Just as we teach children with much or little emotional resilience, we also teach children at either end of the socially intuitive dimension. At one extreme we have autism and at the other we have the ability to deal with relationships and social situations easily and appropriately. The difference seems to be associated with higher levels of activity in the amygdala in the autistic child and higher levels of activity in the fusiform gyrus in the socially intuitive child. While it seems to be established that a key factor in this is the presence or absence of the hormone oxytocin (which reduces activity in the amygdala and allows us to connect with others), Davidson (2012) warns us that, ‘human behaviour is too complicated to be boiled down to levels of a brain hormone’ (p. 74). Quieting down the amygdala does not require pharmacology. It can be accomplished by mindfulness, biofeedback and other means of formal or informal mental training. Davidson’s (2012) research on the neurobiology of the emotions persuaded him that there is a specific brain circuit involving the hippocampus which seems to have evolved to enable us to distinguish between threatening and non-threatening situations. He called the emotional dimension grounded in this circuit sensitivity to context. Without adequate sensitivity to context

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we can put ourselves in danger or, at least make embarrassing social faux pas. On the other hand, we can be too sensitive to context, so that we become stressed by the need to constantly adapt our behaviour to insignificant differences in social context. Some people are not aware of what is happening in their body. They may be showing every sign of stress, but they say they are not stressed – not because they are consciously denying it but because they are simply oblivious to it. It is obvious to everyone else that they are angry or anxious, but they do not recognize it themselves. They have trouble identifying what emotion they are experiencing. They have low levels of the self-awareness dimension. Of course, there are other people who are too self-aware. They are hypersensitive to their pulse rate and temperature and consequently are often in a panic about their health. Physiologically, this self-awareness dimension is linked to activity in the insula, which is the part of the brain that receives the signals from everything below our necks. Some of us have a tendency to see the positive side of things. Others tend to have a negative outlook. The outlook dimension shows up as greater activity in the left prefrontal cortex for positive emotions and greater activity in the right prefrontal cortex for negative emotions. The prefrontal cortex is a component of a ‘reward circuit’ (Davidson, 2012) involving a region of the brain called the nucleus accumbens, releasing the neurotransmitter dopamine to generate positive feelings. It seems that ‘the nucleus accumbens receives signals from the prefrontal cortex, the higher-order region that transmits the instruction to intensify and maintain the happy feeling. This suggests that it is possible to think yourself y ‘‘into feeling rewarded’’’ (Davidson, 2012, p. 84). However, some people are not able to maintain the thinking-feeling activity in their prefrontal cortex, which is necessary to experience positive emotions. When Davidson compared the brain activity of happy and depressed subjects after they looked at a ‘happy’ image (e.g. children playing) he found that while the ‘reward circuit’ was activated in both groups of subjects only the people who reported themselves to be generally happy were able to sustain it. ‘The better people were at sustaining the neural glow from seeing the picture of children playing, the happier they reported feeling’ (Davidson, 2012, p. 85). Cognitive behaviour therapy’s way of dealing with depression is to start with the way clients think, on the understanding that positive feeling will follow positive thoughts. This holds true for children as much as it does for adults. The final dimension of emotional style in Davidson’s (2012) categorization is the attention dimension. We vary in our ability to focus attention.

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Some of us get totally absorbed in what we are doing. Others are easily distracted by whatever is happening in our environment. This is not news for teachers. They conventionally regard the inability (or unwillingness) to focus as a problem, and distractibility has become one of the diagnostic criteria for ADHD. Nevertheless, neural architecture evolved in a world where open, unfocussed attention was essential for survival. It has been argued fairly persuasively (Hartmann, 2003) that children with the ADHD symptoms of distractibility and impulsiveness are simply manifesting the ‘huntsman’s brain’ (p. 6) – an evolutionary adaptation which is not functional in the kind of schools we place our children in. Mind–brain–body is a single system. Emotional style affects how we feel about ourselves and the world, how we behave, how we think and make decisions, how susceptible we are to stress. It also affects our physical health. We know, for instance, that positive emotions (being at the top end of the outlook scale and the resilience scale) boost the immune system. Davidson (2012) goes so far as to argue that emotional state itself predicts health problems, for ‘of all the forms of human behaviour and psychological states, the most powerful influence on our physical health is our emotional life’ (p. 114). This undoubtedly has implications for education, but they are yet to be adequately explored. However, a couple of things are clear. Firstly, the arguments for a holistic approach to education are exceedingly robust and have neuropsychological research findings to support them. We can no longer ignore the evidence that our students’ cognition, emotion and bodily health are fundamentally connected. Secondly, we must add another layer to the discussion of diversity in the classroom. Many classrooms are still constrained by the assumption that ‘one size fits all’, in spite of all the evidence that many children are disadvantaged by it. It seems likely enough that emotional style will eventually become part of the conversation about diversity in the classroom, alongside multiple intelligences and learning styles.

CONCLUSION Theories of teaching and learning used to ignore the role of emotions in the classroom, assuming that they were a sort of waste product which got in the way of the brain’s more important functions like cognition, memory, decision-making and planning. It is no longer possible to make this assumption. Researchers such as Damasio (2003), Panksepp (2004), Ledoux

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(2003) and Davidson (2012) have produced ample evidence that in normal human functioning cognition and emotion are fully integrated. Emotion and cognition work together enable us to deal with and explore our world. To cite Davidson (2012): A feeling permeates virtually everything we do. No wonder, then, that circuits in the brain that control and regulate emotions overlap with those involved in functions we think of as purely cognitive. There is no clear dividing line between emotion and other mental processes; they blur into each other. As a result, virtually all brain regions play a role in or are affected by emotion, even down to the visual and auditory cortices. (p. 89)

Emotions shape both what our students see and hear and the ways they process it. We need to pay attention.

REFERENCES Badenoch, B. (2008). Being a brain-wise therapist: A practical guide to interpersonal neurobiology. New York, NY: Norton. Cortina, M. M. D., & Liotti, G. M. D. (2010). Attachment is about safety and protection, intersubjectivity is about sharing and social understanding: The relationships between attachment and intersubjectivity. Psychoanalytic Psychology, 27(4), 410–441. Damasio, A. (2000). The feeling of what happens: Body and emotion in the making of consciousness. Boston, MA: Mariner Books. Damasio, A. (2003). Looking for Spinoza: Joy, sorrow and the feeling brain. New York, NY: Harvest. Davidson, R. (2012). The emotional life of your brain: How its unique patterns affect the way you think, feel, and live – and how you can change them. New York, NY: Hudson Street Press. Doidge, N. (2007). The brain that changes itself: Stories of personal triumph from the frontiers of brain science. New York, NY: Viking. Donald, M. (2001). A mind so rare: The evolution of human consciousness (1st ed.). New York, NY: Norton. Ericsson, K. A. (2002). Attaining excellence through deliberate proactice: Insights from the study of expert performance. In M. Ferrari (Ed.), The pursuit of excellence in education (pp. 21–55). Hillsdale, NJ: Erlbaum. Ericsson, K. A., Boring, R., & Nandagopal, K. (2007). Giftedness and evidence for reproducibly superior performance: An account based on the expert performance framework. High Ability Studies, 18(1), 3–56. Fonagy, P., Gergely, G., Jurist, E., & Target, M. (2005). Affect regulation, mentalization, and the development of the self. New York, NY: Other Press. Given, B. (2002). Teaching to the brain’s natural learning systems. Alexandria, VA: Association for Supervision and Curriculum Development. Grandin, T. (2011). The way I see it: A personal look at autism and Asperger’s (2nd ed.). Arlington, TX: Future Horizons. Harris, J. (1998). The nurture assumption: Why children turn out the way they do. New York, NY: Free Press.

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Hartmann, T. (2003). The Edison gene: ADHD and the gift of the hunter child. Rochester, VT: Park Street Press. Hebb, D. (1949). The organization of behaviour. New York, NY: Wiley. Hrdy, S. B. (2009). Mothers and others: The evolutionary origins of mutual understanding. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Knox, J. (2003). Archetype, attachment, analysis: Jungian psychology and the emergent mind. New York, NY: Brunner-Routledge. Ledoux, J. (2003). The synaptic self: How our brains become who we are. New York, NY: Penguin. Panksepp, J. (2004). Affective neuroscience: The foundations of human and animal emotions. New York, NY: Oxford University Press. Restak, R. (2002). The new brain: How the modern age is rewiring your mind. London: Rodale. Rizzolatti, G., Fogassi, L., & Gallese, V. (2001). Neurophysiological mechanisms underlying the understanding and imitation of action. Nature Review Neuroscience, 2, 660–670. Schwartz, J., & Begley, S. (2002). The mind and the brain: Neuroplasticity and the power of mental force. New York, NY: Harper Perennial. Sherrington, C. (1951). Man on his nature (Revised edn.). Cambridge University Press. Siegal, D. (2007). The mindful brain: Reflection and attunement in the cultivation of well-being. New York, NY: Norton. Siegal, D. (2010). The mindful therapist: A clinician’s guide to mindsight and neural integration. New York, NY: Norton. Solms, M., & Turnbull, O. (2002). The brain and the inner world. New York, NY: Other Press. Teicher, M. (2002). Scars that won’t heal: The neurobiology of child abuse. Scientific American, 286(3), 68–75. Teicher, M. H., Andersen, S. L., Polcari, A., Anderson, C. M., Navalta, C. P., & Kim, D. (2003). The neurobiological consequences of early stress and childhood maltreatment. Neuroscience and Biobehavioral Reviews, 27(1–2), 33–44. Teicher, M., Tomoda, A., & Andersen, S. (2006). Neurobiological consequences of early stress and childhood maltreatment: Are results from human and animal studies comparable? Annals of the New York Academy of Science, 1071, 313–323.

THE DEMAND OF MULTIPLICITY IN THE CLASSROOM: EMOTION REGULATION AND COGNITIVE LOAD Melissa Newberry ABSTRACT Emotions are complex concepts involving multiple systems within the body and mind. How, when and for what purpose emotions are expressed is based on context and relationships. In this chapter I take a relational view of emotion and emotion regulation as applied in classroom settings. I first discuss the concepts of emotion and emotion regulation before exploring the physical, social and psychological processes involved in both producing and regulating emotions. Although teachers use, respond to and regulate emotions as part of their everyday work, I suggest that teachers are underprepared for the extent of the emotion work they encounter, or the cost it may have on their emotional reserves. The requirements to successfully navigate emotions in today’s educational environment are underappreciated. Only when we acknowledge the relational and cognitive tasks required of teachers under the demand of multiple relationships and

Emotion and School: Understanding How the Hidden Curriculum Influences Relationships, Leadership, Teaching, and Learning Advances in Research on Teaching, Volume 18, 25–48 Copyright r 2013 by Emerald Group Publishing Limited All rights of reproduction in any form reserved ISSN: 1479-3687/doi:10.1108/S1479-3687(2013)0000018006

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the constraints of the responsibilities placed upon them can we fully appreciate the magnitude of the endeavour. Keywords: Teacher emotion; emotion regulation; emotion work; emotional labour

Teachers often make daily attempts to achieve emotional neutrality, allowing them to deal with frustrations, disappointments, and other emotions that accompany working with students and colleagues (Isenbarger & Zembylas, 2006). This is part of the emotional work of teaching. Although there is research that supports teaching as an emotionally taxing field, the majority of that research identifies qualities or situations rather than relationships as contributing to emotional exhaustion. In her review of the literature on teacher burnout, Chang (2009) beautifully delineates the individual factors (teacher background, personality, etc.), the organizational factors (work demands, teacher preparation programme, etc.) and the transitional factors (the teacher’s perceptions regarding the interaction of the first two categories) that research has explored as the basis of teacher burnout. Chang then took an appraisal view on burnout, focusing on the continuous negative emotions aroused through a teacher’s perceptions of student behaviour. She concluded that to better understand burnout in teachers, research should examine the processes involved in emotion regulation. In this chapter I attempt to explore those processes  processes that are required due to interaction with, or relating to, others. Teaching is fundamentally about relationships, thus I will examine the processes of emotion and emotion regulation from a relational view. I propose that the difficulty of emotion regulation for teachers stems from the multitude of relationships required to be simultaneously navigated on a daily basis. We tend to overlook the fact that relationships with students are not created in isolation. I suggest that we might benefit from a more holistic examination of teacherstudent relationships that not only includes the personal factors of the teacher, the factors of the organization or the interplay of them both, but the matter of multiplying those issues simultaneously in the context of the classroom. By reviewing the processes of emotional arousal, the effects of those emotions on the system, and the processes to regulate those emotions in the appropriate context of multiple relationships, we may begin to understand the magnitude of the emotional work of teaching.

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This chapter presents an overview of emotion and emotion regulation biologically, socially and psychologically before discussing the role of emotions in teaching. The last section outlines the compounding factors that complicate emotions and emotion regulation in teaching relationships and discusses the need for greater attention to the emotion work of teaching in teacher preparation.

EMOTION AND EMOTION REGULATION Emotions and emotion regulation are still somewhat elusive concepts. We talk about positive and negative emotions, of the power of our emotions and the need to control them. In reality, emotions are neutral and are almost constantly surveyed and controlled. Their value depends on the context in which they are experienced (Campos, Frankel, & Camras, 2004), and can be easily influenced by others and manipulated purposely by the self (Francis, 1997; Pugh, Groth, & Hennig-Thurau, 2010; Stegge & Meerum Terwogt, 2006). For example, anger is often deemed a negative emotion, yet Aristotle claimed that, ‘The person who is angry at the right things and toward the right people and also in the right way, at the right time, and for the right length of time, is praised’ (cited in Campos et al., 2004, p. 392). But how do we determine the right times, ways and people? Emotions are considered an interactional phenomenon (Francis, 1997) in that the relationship determines the meaning of the context, which then elicits an emotion defined by our goals (Gross & Thompson, 2007). Campos and colleagues (2004) claim that emotions are foundational in relationships because they are often the result of a person–event transaction in which the person links the event to a personal value or relevance or co-constructs it by sharing with others. They further suggest that an event is significant emotionally if: 1. it is aligned with the individual’s goals; 2. it will result in pleasure or pain (hedonics); 3. the reaction of others as expressed through emotional communication (facial expression, body language, reactions, language, etc.) informs the individual of cultural values and expectations; 4. it has relevance to past experiences, including parentchild interactions and socialization and assimilation experiences. (p. 381) However, defining emotions is a difficult task, partly because people describe the mood that accompanies an emotion in various ways, and

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similar physiological changes and behaviours can manifest in conjunction with a variety of emotions (Campos et al., 2004). Another difficulty associated with identifying emotion is that we often connect them to a specific situation, but the situation may not be the actual cause for the emotion (Koole & Kuhl, 2008). The same situation, guided by different goals, will not elicit the same emotion. Further complicating things, the emotions displayed may not be the actual emotions felt (Campos et al., 2004). More of the seemingly arbitrary nature of emotions will be discussed later on, however, it is important to note the influential role that emotions play in everyday life. Continual and strong emotion, especially distressing emotion, can interrupt brain function, most notably working memory (Day, 2004), and can derail thoughts and actions by diverting attention to the emotion felt (Gross & Thompson, 2007). Another interesting facet of emotions is that they have a ‘recursive aspect’ (Gross & Thompson. 2007, p. 6). Although the temptation to default to the same emotional response when found in similar circumstances is present, the very act of displaying the emotion changes the situational atmosphere and thus the likelihood of the same or other emotions happening again (Gross & Thompson, 2007). Thus, the very act of emoting can be considered a form of emotion regulation.

Emotion Regulation Campos and colleagues (2004) define emotion regulation as the ‘modification of any process in the system that generates emotion or its manifestation in behaviour’ (p. 380). Gross and Thompson (2007) outline five ways in which people regulate their emotions: 1. Situation Selection, motivated by desired future outcomes and possible responses of others; 2. Situation Modification, co-regulation through support of others; 3. Attention Deployment, directing the attention to or away from the situation; 4. Cognitive Change, appraisal and reappraisal; 5. Response Modulation, the use of interventions, that is drugs, meditation, use of behaviour strategies. Regulating one’s emotions is not always easy, nor beneficial. Depending on the context, the same act can ease one situation and aggravate another (Gross & Thompson, 2007). Any implicit need to regulate emotions is

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culturally transmitted throughout development by family and society (Stegge & Meerum Terwogt, 2006). The use of emotion regulation is thought of as a means to prevent situationally inappropriate emotion from being displayed. However, people regulate their emotions for a variety of reasons and situations, including conjuring up emotions that are not naturally elicited. For example, humans often regulate emotion for protective reasons: supressing emotions to protect oneself from vulnerability, or masking emotions so as not to hurt the feelings of others (Stegge & Meerum Terwogt, 2006). Stegge and Meerum Terwogt (2006) suggest that we determine the appropriate emotion necessary to match or manipulate the situation in order to achieve a desired goal. It has been suggested that we have both emotion goals and knowledge-/information-based goals. Knowledge-/informationbased goals are related to information gathering efforts that would help us in the future. Emotion-related goals are characterized by desires to find meaning in situations, enhance the feeling of the experience and rationalize the investment of time in activities that may prove emotionally significant (Charles & Cartensen, 2007). This theory suggests that knowledge goals take more time than emotion goals and when circumstances require quick decisions humans rely on their emotion goals; a tendency that increases as we gain perceived social skill through experience (Charles & Cartensen, 2007). However, the reason for regulating the emotion and the method used to do so are important. The strategy implemented to obtain a personal goal versus the perception of our actions by an observer may be viewed inconsistently. The behaviour enacted may be seen as maladaptive to others who are unaware of the goal (Gross & Thompson, 2007). Another perspective suggests that the purpose of the regulatory efforts are to free the mind to return to other cognitive demands. Rime´ (2007) suggests that it is the cognitive load of an emotional episode, either actual or remembered, that diverts cognitive abilities. And because emotional memory can last for some length of time beyond the actual episode, regulatory efforts after a negative experience are aimed to reduce the effects of the continued emotional memory until it is dormant. Such suppression allows cognitive capacities to be fully focused on the current task (Rime´, 2007). This suggests that  aside from any accompanying physical arousal that must first be dealt with  rationalization or suppression of emotion may follow until time is available to do the cognitive work to recover from a negative emotional episode. In other words, we ignore it until we have time (and desire) to work through the underlying issue that was the cause of the emotional memory until it no longer carries an emotional charge.

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Additionally, incongruence between the head and the heart requires emotion regulation to alleviate the discomfort of the dissonance felt. Koole and Kuhl (2008) claim that, ‘people engage in regulation not to feel good, but to feel right  that is, to bring affective states in line with the demands of the situation’ (p. 297). Emotion and emotion regulation is not an issue of heart versus head, as both are generated in the same areas of the brain (Gross & Thompson, 2007). However, there are different ways in which people regulate emotion and some are more adaptive than others (Fried, 2011). The most researched ways of regulating emotions are those of suppression, surface-acting and deep acting (Hochschild, 1983; Na¨ring, Briet, & Brouwers, 2006) and they each have noticeable effects on the individual and his/her relationships. Suppression implies downplaying, restraining, hiding or covering up felt emotion (Sutton, Mudrey-Camino, & Knight, 2009). The overuse of suppression can negatively affect working memory (Fried, 2011) and can lead to depersonalization, a sense of detachment or estrangement from self (Na¨ring et al., 2006). Both surface acting (a state of dissonance involving the display of unfelt emotion) and deep acting (a state of harmony achieved by aligning emotions with the demands of the situation) are considered psychologically taxing (Martinez-Inigo, Totterdell, Alcover, & Holman, 2007). Surface acting has been found to be detrimental to health (Pugh et al., 2010) connected to emotional exhaustion and depersonalization (Na¨ring et al., 2006); however, the effects of surface acting may depend on one’s beliefs. The dissonance created through surface acting is a stressor, but may be moderated by the understanding and acceptance of the need to display the unfelt emotion, as well as the sense of efficacy at portraying required emotion (Pugh et al., 2010; Winograd, 2003). However, long-standing relationships characterized by inauthentic emotional interaction can lead to the depletion of emotional resources leading to more stress (Martinez-Inigo et al., 2007). Prolonged stress further decreases the access to resources, which increases the feelings of demand, a state that is also stressful (Philipp & Schu¨pbach, 2010). Surface acting also requires that the individual continue to deal with on-going incongruent emotion, whereas with deep acting congruence is reached (Martinez-Inigo et al., 2007). Deep acting, although also psychologically taxing due to accessing resources to overcome dissonance, can also promote positive relationships, which adds to the gain of emotional resources (Martinez-Inigo et al., 2007). In fact, deep acting has been found to reduce emotional exhaustion (Philipp & Schu¨pbach, 2010). Done successfully, alignment between felt

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emotion and those called for by the situation is achieved and thus the emotions evoked are now genuinely felt (Na¨ring et al., 2006; Pugh et al., 2010). The process of appraisal and reappraisal helps the individual to reframe aspects of the situation, either with the help of another or by consciously reconsidering the importance of the incident or its relation to our goals (Chang, 2009; Gross & Thompson, 2007). However, not all emotion will be regulated; automatic emotional responses that match the situation do not cause any stress and therefore regulation is not required (Gross & Thompson, 2007; Martinez-Inigo et al., 2007). Also, dissonance is only negative when the self-concept is implicated (Pugh et al., 2010), which is why the portrayal of unfelt emotion in surface acting is more stressful than when emotion is regulated through deep acting. The relationships gained due to authentic emotional displays are the ‘tradeoff’ of the emotion work done (Martinez-Inigo et al., 2007). Although both kinds of ‘acting’ require emotional energy (O’Connor, 2008), KiffinPetersen, Jordan, and Soutar (2011) found that emotionally unstable people tend to engage in more surface acting while extroverts and more agreeable people find ways to deep act. This phenomenon of diverse selection in acting is perhaps better understood when we recognize the processes involved in emotion regulation.

PROCESSES OF EMOTION REGULATION In this section I will summarize the areas of biological, social, and psychological processes that are involved in emotion generation and emotion regulation. All three work in conjunction and are not always separately discernible. Biological Processes Emotions are often accompanied by physical displays, which are the result of chemical releases in the brain. Cortisol, commonly known as the stress hormone, is released into the blood system in times of anxiety. This chemical release of cortisol triggers what is commonly known as the ‘fight or flight’ response. The effects of high and chronic levels of cortisol in the body are well publicised and are beyond the scope of this book. However, that is not to discount the myriad serious health threats resulting from too much cortisol in the system.

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In addition to the release of cortisol, the hormone oxytocin has recently been explored as a factor in the physiological response to stress. Oxytocin is commonly thought of as the ‘feel good’ hormone and enhances relaxation and sedation and is also linked to attachment processes and social bonding (Hrdy, 2011; Taylor et al., 2000). It also has been shown to reduce anxiety and increase the motivation to affiliate with others (Barts, Zaki, Bolger, & Ochsner, 2011). Interestingly, the timing of its release in the system under stress conditions, and the effect on the brain, is different for men and women. Androgens, which are more present in the male brain, inhibit oxytocin release under stress conditions, while oestrogen, more prevalent in the female brain, regulates the effects of oxytocin (Taylor et al., 2000). Taylor et al. (2000, 2006) have hypothesized that in place of ‘fight or flight’ women experience a stress response of ‘tend and befriend’ and the presence of oxytocin in the system ‘attenuates psychological and biological stress responses, but in conjunction with hostile and unsupportive contacts, oxytocin may exacerbate those stress responses’ (p. 273). So when stressed, in the male brain, the cortisol level rises and fight or flight takes place, resulting in the need to combat or leave the situation. Then once the stressor is removed, oxytocin is no longer suppressed allowing a return to a nonagitated state, which can be aided by receiving social support (Heinrichs, Baumgartner, Kirschbaum, & Ehlert, 2003). However, simply having elevated levels of oxytocin does not guarantee protection against cortisol levels and other physiological responses to stress (Taylor et al., 2006). In women, the release of oxytocin is not suppressed in stress conditions but is perhaps even elevated, and the oxytocin drives affiliative efforts. Women not only seek association in times of stress, they also provide more support during crises as part of the ‘tend and befriend’ response (Taylor et al., 2000). Although social support alone does not reduce stress, social support and secure attachment interact to attenuate anxiety under stressful conditions (Ditzen et al., 2008; Hrdy, 2011). However, if affiliation needs are unfulfilled or unreciprocated, cortisol levels rise (Taylor, 2006). While context and characteristics may play a role in the production of oxytocin levels (Barts et al., 2011) women with high levels of oxytocin may be at greater risk for continued negative stress. It has been found that women with chronic relationship distress actually have elevated levels of oxytocin, ironically serving as an impetus to seek out social contact (Taylor et al., 2006), even though the social network in which the women are involved may be the very source of that stress (Taylor et al., 2000). So when stressed, both cortisol and oxytocin levels increase, resulting in a woman taking care of others in need or seeking association with others, which can either

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increase or decrease the effects of oxytocin, depending on the quality of the associations and response received.

Social Processes According to Campos and colleagues (2004) social interaction can affect emotion and emotion regulation in three ways: by generating emotion in one another; influencing the quality and intensity of the felt emotion; and, teaching each other social norms through language and social signals. In each of those ways, social appraisal mediates emotion (Kiffin-Petersen et al., 2011). First, the expression of an emotion can generate like emotions in those around us (Price, 2001) simply by observing the behaviour of others through emotion contagion (see discussion of mirror neurons in Neville, 2013). Some emotions are more infectious than others, and at times, sharing of emotion can increase the interpersonal effects of emotion through reciprocation (Parkinson & Simons, 2009). Affect transfer can also happen even without active recognition of the other’s emotional state (Neville, 2013; Parkinson & Simons, 2009; Price, 2001). Second, the presence of others can temper or intensify the emotions that we feel and display. Through arousal transfer, the intensity of one felt emotion can increase the intensity of other emotions (Campos et al., 2004). Selecting social partners who share our affective states, or who will support us in our emotional states, is an effective way of reaching emotion-related goals (Charles & Cartensen, 2007). Although social sharing does little to resolve the emotion felt or the situation that elicited the emotion, it does increase social bonds and helps in the achievement of comfort and empathy (Rime´, 2007). The shared affective state can influence our decision-making (Parkinson & Simons, 2009). Koole and Kuhl (2008) found that when positive affect is low, people are less likely to take action; however, when positive affect is high, people tend to act without thinking. Third, social information embedded in interaction between any two people promotes the production and regulation of emotion in that social context (Campos et al., 2004). Depending on whether a person is selffocused or world-focused, the consequences of acting on felt emotion can influence the choice to enact the emotion (Stegge & Meerum-Terwogt, 2006). The ability to read social cues is a precursor to, and a developed skill of, interpersonal intelligence. Interpersonal and intrapersonal intelligence determines emotional intelligence (Perry & Ball, 2007). The difficulty with the social aspect of emotion regulation is that an inability to identify

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the source of the emotion leads to the mishandling of emotion. A lack of awareness of emotions inhibits effective problem solving, which is frequently the reason that emotional goals are frustrated (Stegge & Meerum Terwogt, 2006).

Psychological Processes The issue of awareness is complicated because emotion and emotion regulation deal with remembered past, perceived present and the predicted future (Campos et al., 2004). An emotion can be triggered by memory of a prior situation, calling forth the original emotions again and again (Rime´, 2007). The process of registering the significance of an event, as the individual construes it, as well as the nature of the significance, determines the quality of the emotion; and the ‘degree of perceived significance determines the magnitude of the emotional response, as well as its urgency’ (Campos et al., 2004, p. 379). Stegge and Meerum Terwogt (2006) refer to ‘hot cognition’ or a secondary appraisal that allows the dominant emotion to regulate which thoughts are attended to and in what order. The remembered episode and the associated feelings that accompany it constitute emotional memories. Emotional memories are significant because they continue to have an influence beyond the original emotion-inducing episode, which in turn ‘motivate important regulation attempts, most of which involve communication and social interaction’ (Rime´, 2007, p. 467). In addition, the mind is able to access, through our extension memory, our motives and needs simultaneously as it deciphers the meaning of the situational context (Koole & Kuhl, 2008). Emotion transfer can occur because of prior experiences (Parkinson & Simons, 2009) leading to application of prior emotions to new situations (Gross & Thompson, 2007). Just as we can be primed for behaviour by our perception of others (Smeesters, Wheeler, & Kay, 2009), we can be primed for specific emotional responses by the repeated exposure to, or interactions with, certain people or circumstances. Context influences the response and we may be primed through a process of transference to react similarly when meeting people or being in situations like those that elicited the original emotion (Koole & Kuhl, 2008). Or we can be primed to contrasting emotions, depending on the relative circumstances in which the judgment is to be made (Scherer & Lambert, 2009). Koole and Kuhl (2008) warn of the difference between what they refer to as ‘intuitive affect regulation’ and a reactive emotional reflex. Intuitive affect

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regulation is a coordination of the extension memory and affective systems that allows us to appropriately respond to people and circumstances that physically or psychologically remind us of previous encounters. On the contrary, a reactive emotional reflex occurs without thought and is often not appropriate. They insist that what differentiates the former from the latter is the sophistication of the process. Where the latter is merely reacting to emotional cues, especially negative responses, the former refers to training the subconscious to respond appropriately and positively. Reflex responses to emotion are not a form of regulation as it is easier to react than to regulate. It is often assumed that the emotion is first felt and then behaviour is enacted, but emotion regulation can also happen prior to the elicitation of any emotion (Stegge & Meerum Terwogt, 2006). Campos and colleagues (2004) outline four ways that pre-emptive emotion regulation is possible. First, inhibition, a pre-event practice, is a regulatory process in which we suppress some emotions allowing others to be the automatic, default response. Second, our prior self-assessment determines, pre-event, how well equipped we feel to handle certain emotional situations. We have often prejudged our ability as part of our identity. Third, the ability to manage our expectations before we enter a situation can influence the emotion we will feel. Fourth, what they refer to as ‘nichepicking’ or selecting our experience by manipulating the environment so as to avoid the less favourable aspects of the situation while enhancing the pleasurable ones.

EMOTIONS AND TEACHING The causes of emotional exhaustion in teachers are listed as feelings such as anxiety, guilt and frustration (Chang, 2009) but research tends to detach those emotions from the relationships from which they sprang. As stated previously, emotion is an interactional phenomenon; it is often the relationship context of the event that elicits the emotions. Teachers are exposed to students’ emotions, as they are involved in helping students regulate their emotions (Rime´, 2007). Ironically, they are expected to teach students appropriate behaviour while often attempting to manage their own emotional response (Kitching, 2009). Day (2004) states that, ‘Understanding and managing (not suppressing) one’s own and others’ emotions is a central part to all teachers’ work’ (p. 98). The ability to regulate emotions in order to neutralize potentially negative or emotionally harmful situations is the hidden curriculum for teachers. In a very real way, the relationships that teachers engage in demand emotion regulation for a variety of reasons.

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In this section I will discuss three issues that evoke emotion and call for emotion regulation in teaching: teacherstudent relationships, teacher identity, and school climate.

Student–Teacher Relationships Although the relationship between the teacher and student in the classroom has been found to be quite important for the development of the child, academically, socially and in other domains (see Middleton & Midgley, 2002; Pianta, 1999; Pianta & Stuhlman, 2004), information on how those relationships affect the teacher is less well known. Teachers speak of loving their students and their relationships are foundational to their practice. Teachers believe that care must be based on genuine emotions, which is difficult to always achieve, so displayed feelings actually fall somewhere between genuine feeling and professional behaviour (O’Connor, 2008). In turn, students can detect personality flaws, such as insincerity, in adults (Main, 2012) so methods to cover or hide emotions can have a negative effect on the relationship. And sometimes teachers unconsciously bring their problems with them and transmit them to students (Main, 2012). Many teachers come to the profession expecting emotion, especially love, which is often a guiding metaphor for teachers (Taggart, 2011). However, the emotional needs of some students takes attention from pedagogical tasks, leading teachers into areas of care where they are not always willing to go (O’Connor, 2008). Teachers have intense daily involvement with the personal and social needs of students, which can reduce a teacher’s energetic resources (van Horn, Schaufeli, & Enzmann, 1999). Women, especially, suffer more from other people’s problems than from their own (Kawachi & Berkman, 2001) so in addition to a drain on emotional reserves, they may find that they are not prepared for the emotional depth required of them (O’Connor, 2008). As discussed earlier, emotions, especially distress, can impair working memory and other cognitive functioning, which will affect job performance and interactions with others. It can also lead to ‘emotional misunderstandings’ (Hargreaves, 2000) that may cause a misreading of student need. One of the unanticipated emotional circumstances that teachers face is in regards to management issues. Disciplining students is emotionally exhausting due to the mental effort that is required to deal with the emotional dissonance created (Tsouloupas, Carson, Matthews, Grawitch, & Barber, 2010). Tsouloupas and colleagues (2010) determined that teachers often lack coping skills and strategies to handle such emotionally stressful

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situations, and are also not personally prepared in the event that they may need to reprimand students. Another unanticipated circumstance of teaching is the lack of reciprocation. Teachers may come to the task of teaching with an unrecognized expectation of social exchange  anticipating a return from all they invest into their work  and the lower the perceived return on one’s investment of time and energy, the greater the risk of burnout for the individual (van Horn et al., 1999). Teaching is a profession where you can feel both great acceptance and love from students, but also intense dislike as well (Kelly, 2004). When students display behaviours that are difficult to deal with the emotional demands of the student personality affects the teacher (Day, 2004). Interestingly, stress level is predictive of the number of negative relationships with students (Yoon, 2002). To the extent a teacher experiences a strong emotional response to a student, a clearly formed attitude towards the student is formed, which affects the relationship either negatively or positively (Brophy, 1974; Newberry & Davis, 2008). Perhaps to combat some of those subconscious expectations, teachers often concentrate on ‘caring’ for students (Goldstein, 2004). According to O’Connor (2008) teachers use care in three ways: (1) Performative: behaviour geared towards motivating students in order to reach pedagogical goals. (2) Professional: the management and maintenance of appropriate relationships with students in order to maintain a professional role. (3) Philosophical/humanistic: making the personal decision to care in adherence with a personal and individual philosophy or code of ethics. (p. 121) In addition to the ways that teachers use care, teachers often subscribe to the idea of an ethic of care (Noddings, 1995) in which the adult caregiver attends to the needs of the child being cared for, not realizing that this ideal requires care from them even when the relationship is non-reciprocal. Perhaps because most relationships are considered to be bidirectional and teachers receive support through the validating actions of students (Winograd, 2003), some teachers may intentionally approach relationships with students to meet some of their own attachment needs (Riley, 2009).

Teacher Identity Often those who believe that they are caring are less likely to examine their ability to act consistently in caring ways (Taggart, 2011). In teaching this

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may be evident when situations arise that teachers did not anticipate prior to teaching  sometimes resulting in ‘regulatory and punitive discourses that they may not have subscribed to, or expected, before they began teaching’ (Kitching, 2009, p. 150). In describing how social workers support their clients, Francis (1997) claims that they negotiate with others to define the situation and thereby shape the emotion felt. However, the amount and kind of support depends on the supporter’s own set of values and ideological beliefs. Translated into the teaching context, teachers’ beliefs and values brought to the classroom influence the emotional climate and relationships with students (Bullough, Bullough, & Mayes, 2006; Gallant, 2013; RimmKauffman & Sawyer, 2004). In addition, the stress level experienced by the teacher affects the teacher’s attitude towards teaching and the amount of negative affect displayed in the classroom (Yoon, 2002). Students not only affect teachers through their actions and feelings displayed in the classroom, but the way that teachers perceive their students influences perception of the teaching self (Day, 2004; Palmer, 1998). Teachers’ beliefs of what a good teacher should be, and thus how they will be as a teacher, are formed in their own early school experience and reinforced through years of observation as students (Murphy, Delli, & Edwards, 2004). When students react in ways that a teacher does not anticipate, or which provokes an emotion that the teacher did not expect to ever feel, the teacher is required to re-evaluate the situation  her personality, needs and abilities, and those of the student. Often we have already assigned identities to others with whom we associate and those identities are either confirmed or disproved by our reading of their response to circumstances. If they are confirmed we are at ease with the situation; if they conflict then we must assign a new identity or examine more closely their actions (Francis, 1997), which as teachers may cause us to deeply reexamine who we are as teacher. Because students can detect inauthentic behaviours in teachers, and teachers do not like to act in inauthentic ways (Philipp & Schu¨pbach, 2010), teachers must either act out their negative behaviours or cease to feel them.

School Contexts Teachers also have other emotional job demands beyond dealing with student personality and rejection. Often teachers are required to interact with people who get angery easily and have unrealistic expectations (e.g. administration, parents, policymakers) as well as deal with students that

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have problems that impact the teacher, too (abuse, neglect, ADHD, etc.). These situations are also predictors of emotional exhaustion (Na¨ring, Vlerick, & van de Ven, 2012). Feeling unappreciated also leads to a sense of a more emotionally demanding work environment (van Horn, Schaufeli, & Enzmann, 1999). With the recent trend in teacher accountability, teachers are under greater scrutiny than ever before. Many times they are subject to observations by several people on district and state levels. Recently, research out of England has demonstrated that when teachers were monitored, they engaged in more surface-acting to conform to display rules rather than relying on their own judgement (Hebson, Earnshaw, & Marchington, 2007). In such working environments, teachers are forced to detach from the emotion work they typically employ to determine the needs of the child, in order to focus on an observable behaviour, thus undermining the skill the teacher has often honed to care for students from a holistic approach. Na¨ring and colleagues (2012) suggest that such scrutiny of teachers, which removes the emotion and care factors from their work and focuses more on technical skill, is more emotionally exhausting than the regulation of emotions typically required.

COMPOUNDING ISSUES Now understanding the processes involved in emotion and emotion regulation, as well as the relationship context for teachers, I will discuss some additional issues that continue to promote emotions and relationships as a hidden curriculum of teaching. There are assumptions made about emotions in the teaching profession, by those both in and out of the field, that influence who goes into teaching, how they are prepared and what teaching looks like. Below I discuss how these assumptions set limits on emotion and how teachers tend to use emotion, both consciously and unwittingly. I conclude by defining the issue of multiplicity, which greatly contributes to the difficulty of isolation and identification of emotions, as well as regulating them.

Limiting Assumptions Emotions are integral to decision-making (Day, 2004), therefore emotions and emotion regulation will be found in every field. The qualities that are considered part of emotion work and care-taking include nurturance,

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patience, unconditional love and the ability to display positive emotions. However, the ability to give quality care is subordinate to those qualities required for acceptance as a professional (Taggart, 2011). Emotion work is excluded as work when defined as ‘doing something’  physical acts overshadow the emotion work and is often ignored, and thus the time needed to recover from it pushed aside (James, 1989). An aptitude for emotion work and care-taking qualities are subsumed as natural characteristics of any individual who would enter what is generally considered a ‘caring’ field (Isenbarger & Zembylas, 2006; Taggart, 2011). Contrary to that belief, ‘emotional labour requires learned skills in the same way that physical labour does’ (James, 1989, p. 26). Along with the assumption that those who choose caring fields are naturally caring people, Day (2004) outlines four emotion-related assumptions of teaching, they are: 1. 2. 3. 4.

emotional intelligence is at the heart of good professional practice; emotions are indispensable to rational decision-making; emotional health is crucial to effective teaching over a career; emotional and cognitive health are affected by personal biography, career, social context (of work and home) and external (policy) factors. (p. 45)

Such assumptions about the profession would lead to the assumption that all those who are part of the profession have emotional intelligence, are good at balancing reason and emotion in decision-making, are emotionally healthy, and balance their professional and personal lives with the same emotional acumen. Although relationships are important to teachers (Taggart, 2011) one study found that among pre-service teachers, higher levels of extroversion were related to lower quality instructional interactions with students (Ripski, Locasae-Crouch, & Decker, 2011). The researchers offer a possible explanation, Individuals who initially saw themselves as highly sociable when they entered their training program believe that their personality would sustain them in the classroom and they exerted less effort in their training. Alternatively, these individuals may have been highly comfortable in social interactions with peers, but have less of an ability to pick up on the social needs of students and respond to them appropriately. (pp. 90–91)

Additionally, once new teachers get into the classroom, the qualities they believed to be important to teaching are often overshadowed by the need to perform technical duties as prescribed by the school administration. Policy and reform make caring more difficult (Hargreaves, 1998; O’Connor, 2008).

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Teachers that account for all of the technical aspects of teaching but do not engage in emotion work may be considered by their superiors as more competent than those who do perform the emotion work but do not complete all of the technical aspects, as the technical skills are the only ones that can be monitored and accounted for (Hebson et al., 2007). Furthermore, school administration often downplays the significance of emotions of teachers unless it is to pre-emptively decide how to deal with the negative responses they may receive regarding policy changes, etc. (Day, 2004). As a result, teachers may prioritize technical skill over emotion work in order to secure their jobs (Hebson et al., 2007). Although stress and emotional exhaustion are being acknowledged as threats to teachers, there is little being done to recognize the emotion work of teaching (Day, 2004). Emotional control is valued over emotion work (James, 1989) and educational policies fail to account for the importance of teachers’ emotions (O’Connor, 2008). Policy and teachers are at odds over emotion work; O’Connor (2008) claims, ‘teachers’ emotions and personal philosophies are viewed as the means by which they individually navigate, interpret and occasionally resist the official ethos of the schools in which they work’ (p. 118). This is an interesting view on teacher emotion when the revision of standards across the globe are now including teacher dispositions, while reform reduces the time teachers have to deal with emotional and relational issues (Hebson et al., 2007). Emotional labour increases as emotion work is prescribed in schools because teachers are not as free to react to the students holistically (Day, 2004; Hebson et al., 2007). It is also important to remember that care has self-imposed limits too (O’Connor, 2008) and teachers use care and emotions for many reasons.

Use of Emotions Teachers vary in amount and means of emotional expression depending on personal factors like professional identity, beliefs, morals, experiences, etc. (Yuu, 2010), and often teachers use emotions as tools. Aligned with the social process of emotions, teachers select which emotions to display depending on their goals, whether academic or personal (Kitching, 2009; Winograd, 2003). Some emotions are felt and not displayed while others are displayed and not actually felt. Academically, a teacher may fain excitement to induce equal feelings from students through emotion contagion (Price, 2001) in order to arouse attention to the lesson or activity. However,

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attempts to regulate emotion can also negatively affect lesson planning such as when teachers reduce the difficulty of an activity in an effort to manage the emotion of the room (Sutton et al., 2009). Most teachers use emotion regulation to avoid what they perceive as negative emotions or those not supportive of interpersonal relations, and to increase more positive ones, believing that positive display of emotions makes them more effective in the classroom (Sutton et al., 2009). Personal reasons for which teachers might regulate or use emotion are to validate their teacher identity. Kitching (2009) suggests that the emotion a teacher chooses to express is an effort to support one’s ‘teacherhood’. He suggests that there are three assumed teaching identities that influence the display of emotions: (1) teacher as moral educator, (2) teacher as expert and (3) teacher as example of social control. All three identities come with strict display rules, which would require psychological and emotional exertion to maintain. Another personal reason for use of emotions and emotion regulation is for getting one’s own emotional needs met. Rejection, as interpreted through disruptive behaviour, as well as the lack of reciprocity of caring efforts from students, can cause negative feelings in teachers (Chang, 2009; Kelly, 2004; Newberry & Davis, 2008) and teachers use several strategies (distraction, reappraisal and suppression) to deal with unwanted emotion (Sutton et al., 2009). Despite observed strategy use, teachers are somewhat uncertain that they can reduce their negative felt emotion (Sutton et al., 2009). Behaviours such as yelling, sarcasm or harsh punishment are just a few examples of aggressive behaviours displayed by teachers that are typical of protest behaviours, or behaviours enacted when one desires closer attachment and is not receiving it (Riley, 2009). Teachers with high emotional intelligence are more able to recognize their emotion, and use that emotion to turn negative situations into positive ones, whereas teachers with low emotional intelligence have less ability to identify and regulate emotion (Perry & Ball, 2007). We are all constantly ‘unwittingly engaged in some form of emotional exploitation or enrichment’ (Price, 2001, p. 168). Although being in relationship with more emotionally healthy others can improve the emotional health of an individual, Jung suspected that it might not always be the case in adult  child relationships that the adult is the healthier of the two (Main, 2012). Some teachers may be seeking, and may even be able to obtain, corrective emotional experiences through the relationships formed with students (Riley, 2009). Emotional intelligence, when it comes to teaching, ‘is not something teachers or students possess or do not possess, is

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not isolated from the social context y [and] may be affected by personal change contexts’ (Day, 2004, p. 98).

The Problem of Multiplicity Research tends to talk about studentteacher relationships on the dyadic level, but teachers do not have the luxury of focusing on single relationships. Classroom relationships are made in context of all of the other relationships that occur therein. Teachers also have the added burden of playing multiple roles. Dual or multiple relationships occur when the teacher interacts with students in more than one relationship (Reamer, 2003). In a small community the teacher may also be a neighbour, the softball coach or the Boy Scout troop leader, etc., playing various roles outside the classroom. While in the classroom, many teachers find that they play roles of instructor, counsellor and surrogate parent. Successful navigation of such relationships requires ‘a firm grasp on boundaries, responses to [one’s] own emotional and dependency needs, pursuits of personal benefits, altruistic gestures, and responses to unanticipated circumstances’ (Reamer, 2003, p. 131). Teachers have several boundaries that must be navigated on a daily, even hourly basis, and with multiple students simultaneously. Aultman and colleagues (2009) identified the following boundaries that teachers must negotiate: (1) curricular – dealing with topics of a sensitive nature in class; (2) financial – supporting classroom activities through personal funds; (3) relationships – determining the appropriateness of displays of affection; (4) power – the use of authority for personal benefit; (5) institutional – complying to class and school rules; (6) communication – how much to share about self and others; (7) temporal – balancing time among students; (8) cultural – navigating norms of a variety of family and social systems; (9) expertise – being in situations in which you haven’t been trained; (10) personal – sacrificing personal needs/ wants to help students. Part of the hidden curriculum for teachers is the emotion work that is implicitly required of them to navigate those boundaries. Not only are they expected to successfully deal with the emotions that come as part of negotiating student relationships, but also those that accompany the navigation of institutional demands as well as maintaining appropriate boundaries in every domain. This is quite a challenge given the variance in

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traits, motives, dispositions, preparation and emotional well-being of each individual that enters the classroom  administrator, student and teacher. Now multiply that by 30 and you have an idea of the emotional tasks that those in the teaching profession face. It’s not just that teachers are coming to the classroom with a lack of emotional intelligence, or that dealing with administrative rules is demanding, or that interacting with difficult students is emotionally taxing, or even that humans tend to operate automatically rather than respond purposefully (Feldon, 2007). The issue is that all of the factors that go into the difficulty of the profession are happening simultaneously in each relationship, and there are twenty plus relationships at a time to which a teacher must attend. Emotional episodes are virtually always followed by longer-term cognitive and social effects (Rime´, 2007) and this combination of factors and their effects, exacerbated by the number of relationships carried on at once, is what I refer to as the problem of multiplicity.

CONCLUSION In 2007 the teaching profession experienced one of greatest rates of turnover in the United States (Tsouloupas et al., 2010). Of all the reasons for teacher leaving, issues of burn out  being emotionally exhausted  remains at the top of the list. The difference between emotion work and emotional labour is the acknowledgement and acceptance of it as part of the job description (Kinman, Wray, & Strange, 2011; Winograd, 2003; Yuu, 2010). Therefore it would behove teacher educators to include concepts of emotion work and emotional labour as part of their teacher preparation programmes (Main, 2012). Teachers need to be emotionally intelligent to help students regulate their emotions as teachers also regulate their own (Day, 2004; Kitching, 2009). Support from parents, colleagues and administration can help to prevent the emotion work of teaching from leading to emotional exhaustion (Yuu, 2010). It is also possible to train individuals to deep-act, rather than surface-act, through use of reappraisal or situation transference (KiffinPetersen et al., 2011). Improving self-efficacy beliefs will help teachers deal with different students (Tsouloupas et al., 2010) as will learning a selfregulation style that allows for more awareness of implicit affective reactions (Koole & Kuhl, 2008). Also emotional intelligence can be learned through regular reflection and other similar methods (Day, 2004). Administrators, parents, politicians and teachers need to understand the complex nature of multiplicity in the classroom  that relationships do not

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happen in isolation, are affected by goals and past experiences, and are often the permutations of dual relationships depending on the need of the student, the ability of the teacher and the demands of the context  and they happen one on top of another. They also need to understand that although no one is immune from the effects of multiplicity, relationships can be successfully navigated. As Rime´ (2007) suggests, teachers need space to do the recovery work of emotional episodes; and I add they need to be prepared to deal with the issues of multiplicity, or the consequences will be continued numbers of burnt out teachers.

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EMOTIONS IN EDUCATION POLICY: A SOCIAL CONTRACT ANALYSIS OF ASYMMETRICAL DYADS AND EMOTION Shaun Rawolle ABSTRACT Like other academic fields, educational policy is being reviewed for the affective component. Analysis is occurring in two forms: (a) the affects of education policy on education, school leaders, teachers and student learning outcomes and (b) text analysis of specific education policies. This chapter explores the representation of emotions in education policy texts, drawing on a theory of social contracts (Rawolle & Vadeboncoeur, 2003; Yeatman, 1996) as a way to explore what is being conveyed to administrators and teachers. This chapter considers the way in which emotions are represented in education policy, through social contract analysis. Social contracts are underpinned by three underlying conditions: consent to be a part of a contract, points of renegotiation through the duration of the contract and mutual accountability to those involved. Keywords: Broad social contracts; social contracts for education; contract-like mechanisms; contractual relays Emotion and School: Understanding How the Hidden Curriculum Influences Relationships, Leadership, Teaching, and Learning Advances in Research on Teaching, Volume 18, 49–60 Copyright r 2013 by Emerald Group Publishing Limited All rights of reproduction in any form reserved ISSN: 1479-3687/doi:10.1108/S1479-3687(2013)0000018007

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The relay of contractual obligations in policy texts provides one way to consider the location of emotions within policy work. This account provides a framework for investigating the flow of emotional obligations in schools and education policy, and the ways that these obligations are met by teachers and young people positioned within a variety of contracts. In comparison to other areas covered by education policy, emotions are a relatively recent areaof concern to policy makers. There are some obvious reasons why this might be the case. Emotions and the concepts that are used to understand emotional states have typically been viewed as matters left untouched by governments, although of importance in understanding specific issues related to learning, assessment development, anti-social behaviour and a variety of risks attached to schooling, but hardly a topic suitable for direct public scrutiny and regulation. For policy makers, emotions were a private matter, unsuitable for policy development. But in recent years, this has changed, and the boundaries of topics suitable for intervention and public calculation have shifted. Recent shifts have highlighted therapeutic aspects of education, which have swiftly become a topic for a variety of education policy developments, expressed, for example as a concern for emotional intelligence, emotional development and emotional well-being (Australian Education Ministers, 2008). This chapter concerns the role of emotions in education policy, as viewed through the language and conceptualisation of social contract. Social contracts may be viewed as a specific approach to policy characterised by explicitly expressed sets of expectations about the provision of funding, which entail obligations or duties expected as a result of this funding. Not all policies are presented in the form of social contracts, though this appears to be increasingly drawn upon within education policy in the United States, the United Kingdom and Australia. Within policy studies, social contracts have been studied in a variety of ways. This chapter draws in particular from one branch of these studies referred to as new contractualism (Yeatman & Owler, 2001). In this broad account, for a policy text to present a social contract, three key characteristics are required (Yeatman, 1996). First, the policy text should present a bargain underpinned by informed consent; second, there should be points at which the terms may be renegotiated, and third, there should be mutual accountability for the enactment of the contract (Rawolle, 2013; Yeatman, 2000). When applied to emotions, this account deals with the importance that is given to emotions in the setting and enactment of social contracts in education. Three kinds of social contracts embedded in education policy will be considered. The first kind is broad social contracts, which provide the basis

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for connecting all people in a society together, such as Roosevelt’s New Deal in the United States and Keynesian settlements in other nations. Broad social contracts are broad obligations expected of all citizens in a reciprocal bargain for a range of services or safety provided by the government. In more specific terms, these are field-based contracts, tailored to the interaction between government and the corresponding field of interest. The second kind is social contracts for education, which provide a rationale for the contributions the field of education should make to other social fields. Social contracts for education are the sets of expectations that are made on behalf of education, as a trade-off between the broad contributions that education makes to other fields and financial or other supports from Government. In the United States, these are exemplified by the No Child Left Behind and Race to the Top policies; in the United Kingdom, by the policies connected under the slogan Education, Education, Education and in Australia, by the policies described as the Education Revolution. The third kind is contract-like mechanisms embedded in institutional texts, which make explicit the expectations of learners and teachers in the provision of education. Contract-like mechanisms are texts that embed and make accountable the expectations and relations between dyads of people in regulated service provision. These include individualised education plans, behaviour contracts and learning contracts. The assumption of this argument is that these three kinds of social contracts relay the obligations of other levels, forming a coherent suite of contractual relays. This chapter draws on these three kinds of concepts to consider the location of emotion within education policy. This chapter also presents a review of the links between emotion and education policy, and the increasing regulation and policy demands expected of students, teachers, leaders, policy makers and governments in terms of emotion. This considers the way emotions have become an object of education reform. The chapter presents an approach to the analysis of education policies based on a social contract, which connect asymmetrical dyads – such as teachers and students – through explicit expectations and commitments to practice. This approach draws on the three characteristics of social contracts outlined above: informed consent, points of renegotiation and mutual accountability. These conditions will be drawn on the basis of an analysis of representative policy texts that refers to emotions. This account will emphasise social contracts for education and contract-like mechanisms. The chapter concludes with discussion of the relation of emotional regulation in education policy, and the scope for further research on the relays of emotions in education nationally and globally.

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EMOTIONS IN EDUCATION POLICY Within research in education policy, emotions have been drawn on in a variety of ways. Though there are a wide variety of approaches taken, three broad sets of literature will be touched on here briefly to understand the argument that follows in relation to social contracts and education policy. These include policy research drawing on a range of concepts related to emotion as a way to understand the effect of education, research focussed on policies in which emotions have become a central object of reform and government strategy and finally the role of emotions as an object of specific kinds of education policies, such as within inclusive education. The links between emotions and education policy has become something of an emerging theme in education policy studies. One of the central themes of this strand of work has been an exploration of the kinds of emotional demands that are made of teachers in schools, with a particular emphasis on those demands that accompany reforms of different kinds (Kelchtermans, 2005; Lansky, 2005). In this literature emotions are used as a way of exploring aspects of the lived experiences of teachers and leaders in schools, and the unremarked costs of emotional labour that is expended during reform efforts (Gewirtz, 1997; Lingard, 2003). In contrast to this use of emotions as a means of explaining the effects of education policy and reform, a separate strand of literature relates to the taking up of emotions as an object of education policy, as a target for the application of government strategy and reform (Ecclestone, 2007). Extreme accounts of this literature discuss the therapeutic turn in education policy as an emerging incursion of therapeutic thinking and practice into the lives of all young people, an extension of the thinking and practice usually reserved for students with specific learning needs. This chapter provides a link to these sets of literature: it considers emotions as they are located within social contracts of different kinds, but it also considers the way that emotions are relayed to different levels, and emerge as one part of teachers’ work through sets of obligations. This requires some discussion about central themes in research involving education policy.

Understanding Social Contracts Involving Emotions in Education Policy There are at least two major concerns that underpin policy studies. One of the key concerns lies in developing accounts of the construction and

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operation of policy texts, their arrangement, functions and links to other policies. This is referred to in a variety of ways, each of which refers to the process by which policy texts are produced. The second concern lies in understanding and explaining the effects, intended or unintended, that can be attributed to the policy text. This leads to a variety of mechanisms for exploring these connections, and relevant literature used in support of different considerations, factors considered and the influence of broader political and social contexts. The argument about social contracts in policy developed above suggests that one of the key questions in understanding both policy texts and policy effects lies in understanding the relays of expectations between different levels of social contract. Students may not immediately see the relevance of their learning for the economic prosperity of a nation, or for ensuring social cohesion within local communities. Yet government funding for education in Australia and elsewhere is in part premised on these connections. Likewise, the imperative to improve school results in literacy and numeracy may not be something that has immediate relevance for teachers in other areas, yet is imperative to continued funding to schools and districts. It is in these relays of obligations that the location of emotional labour or emotion work in education policy may be reconstructed. In the sections that follow this account will be developed by looking at the way these emotions are represented within specific policy texts. The selection of policy texts for this discussion is based on the direct inclusion of emotions, represented in different ways. To illustrate this approach examples have been taken from Australia and will be drawn on in the discussion below.

FIELD-BASED SOCIAL CONTRACTS The core emphasis of field-based social contracts is to provide a broad rationale for government funding and public support of education, and to outline the specific obligations that the field is expected to perform in relation to other fields. In Australia, field-based social contracts for education are represented in a set of National Agreements on Schooling every 10 years, through the input and agreement of all State, Territory and Federal Ministers or their representatives. The most recent agreement is the Melbourne Declaration, which provides a broad rationale in the form of a preamble, a description of the two main goals – commitments to actions and a statement on accountability – and public discussion of these goals each

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two years. The two goals that the Declaration outlines are represented in the text in the following way: Goal 1: Australian schooling promotes equity and excellence. (MCEETYA, 2008, p. 7) Goal 2: All young Australians become successful learners, confident and creative individuals, and active and informed citizens. (MCEETYA, 2008, p. 8)

Within the body of the policy, emotions are referenced in four separate places within the text. In the preamble to the Declaration, which provides a rationale for government support, an emphasis is placed on the role schools play in promoting emotional development and well-being: Schools play a vital role in promoting the intellectual, physical, social, emotional, moral, spiritual and aesthetic development and wellbeing of young Australians, and in ensuring the nation’s ongoing economic prosperity and social cohesion. (MCEETYA, 2008, p. 4)

Emotions also appear in relation to Goal 2 of the declaration, under the expansion of ‘Confident and creative individuals’ who will ‘have a sense of self-worth, self-awareness and personal identity that enables them to manage their emotional, mental, spiritual and physical wellbeing’ (MCEETYA, 2008, p. 9). Emotions are referenced directly in relation to the commitments that the government makes to early childhood education, which is expressed as ‘Australian governments commit to supporting the development and strengthening of early childhood education, to provide every child with the opportunity for the best start in life’ (MCEETYA, 2008, p. 11). In an elaboration of this commitment, the policy text recognised that the period from ‘birth through to eight years, especially the first three years, sets the foundation for every child’s social, physical, emotional and cognitive development’ (MCEETYA, 2008, p. 11). Finally, the Declaration references emotions in relation to curriculum, in a section in which Australian Governments commit to ‘Promoting worldclass curriculum and assessment’ (MCEETYA, 2008, p. 13). Emotions are then referenced as the second major point in the foundation that this curriculum will provide: The curriculum will include a strong focus on literacy and numeracy skills. It will also enable students to build social and emotional intelligence, and nurture student well-being through health and physical education in particular. (MCEETYA, 2008, p. 13)

Through its location within the Declaration, emotions are included as a reference point for the support of the development of each young person, and their self-management of their own well-being. This provides a broad

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normative goal for the relationships between young people and teachers and others who work in Australian education systems. Beyond development, the last instance that mentions emotions also locates emotional intelligence as one of the key commitments of the area of health and physical education. This may appear as a limitation on the commitments, but could also be viewed as an explicit point of accountability. The location of emotion within this policy text highlights its importance to the national goals for young people. However, to return to an earlier point, the issue of consent appears vexed in relation to this agreement. The consent in the production of the Melbourne Declaration is attributed to the representative ministers of Australian States or Territories or their delegates, rather than the broader public, or the young people, teachers, parents, carers and leaders who will be impacted by the specific commitments made. In addition, the first drafts of the Melbourne Declaration (MCEETYA, 2008) were produced prior to public discussion. There was a period of time available for feedback on this draft, which contributed to the final version of the document. Like previous declarations, processes of negotiation and renegotiation between different levels of government underpin the development of the Melbourne Declaration. Negotiation and renegotiation can therefore be considered as specific commitments made by governments via core elements of the documents, though notably there is an asymmetry in relation to the input that some groups of people can have in the development of this and other policy texts. Throughout the process of each of the three declarations developed, changes in the wording and commitments have become apparent. Alongside the Melbourne Declaration (MCEETYA, 2008), a four-year plan was produced that outlined specific commitments and elaborations about how the states and federal government would take responsibility for these goals (MCEETYA, 2009). Commitments made by the Council of Australian Governments (COAG)1 to targets are also outlined in their policy plan. In the additional four-year plan, emotions are only directly referenced in relation to early childhood education, although the specific goals outlined in the original document are directly included in the recent text. The accountability of government to these commitments was originally to be reported as part of yearly National Report cards on education. However, in 2010 the reporting of outcomes based on this four-year plan appeared to be superseded by the announcement of the MySchool website, which provided a limited set of accountability measures initially on a detailed account of the performance of

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individual schools on literacy and numeracy tests. Emotional development or intelligence are not featured in the accounts offered either by the National Report cards on education or the MySchool website, though as more information is added to the MySchool website, there is the possibility of this being included at a later date. By including emotional development as an aspect of individual development, the accountability to these goals could therefore be relayed to contract like mechanisms. The establishment of informed consent, points of renegotiation and forms of accountability surrounding the National Goals highlights the way in which it acts as a social contract for education within Australia, though the degree of commitment to emotions in terms of accountability is somewhat limited. Through their position in support of government commitment to enabling the development of confident and creative individuals within Australian early childhood and schooling settings, emotions are important to governments’ outline of a social contract for education. While they may be implicated in specific goals and targets for improvement, there are no specific targets for emotional development or emotional intelligence. There is, however, in the commitment to each young person a point of relay of obligations to specific contract-like mechanisms.

CONTRACT-LIKE MECHANISMS Contract-like mechanisms provide a way of relaying the obligations and expectations expressed in social contracts for education by specifying specific kinds of engagements between people as requiring regulation and accountability. These may be found in a variety of forms in childcare centres, schools, universities and vocational and further education. These contract-like mechanisms often employ the language and form of legal contracts. In early childhood settings and schools, contract-like mechanisms may be found in individual education plans, learning contracts or behaviour contracts. These may also be identified in curriculum planning documents and individualised curriculum plans in schools and classrooms. In relation to emotions, the detail of specific contract-like mechanisms provides a potential relay of the commitments to emotional development and wellbeing or emotional intelligence which are made within the social contract of education. In Australia some of these contract-like mechanisms, such as the curriculum, are publicly available for scrutiny prior to teaching periods, and are available to parents, caretakers and others who make decisions on

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behalf of young people. These documents are also available to all young people, however the individualisation and tailoring of curriculum to specific student learning needs take the form of a negotiation with a larger range of people. In schools, for example, schools’ syllabus statements provide some guidance as to the required curriculum, and negotiated individual learning contracts provide places for students to negotiate their expected outcomes throughout their study, and to renegotiate these expectations at specific points in their study. Likewise, individual learning plans provide explicit forms for the negotiation of learning goals for students with specific learning needs, or for individualised learning. The underpinning assumption of these kinds of contracts is that students, when beginning on a phase of learning, are at a point of distinct disadvantage from teachers in terms of knowing what kinds of experiences, demands and expectations will be made throughout their study. These kinds of relationships between students and teachers can be thought of as asymmetrical dyads, where the asymmetries of knowledge and power are fundamental and productive aspects of these relationships. The consent for these contract-like mechanisms is generally attributed to the selection of involvement, which may be viewed as an expression of individual choice, or as the decision of someone taking responsibility for the wellbeing and interests of another (such as parents and caretakers of school students). Likewise, the potential challenges to selfbeliefs and self-knowledge that accompany learning throughout some subjects or units are not necessarily the expectations held by all students, yet may be demanded by their lecturers or teachers. The effect of these contract-like mechanisms is to relay the expectations of the social contract for education to specific asymmetrical relationships. The text that outlines the contract-like mechanisms provides a material location for the obligations and expectations of students, teachers and others involved in meeting the requirements of the contract. Contract-like mechanisms about emotions relay the expectations of broader social contracts that deal with emotions by making explicit the specific goals involving emotions – outlining the emotional capacities that a young person may already have to deal with specific situations. These may be featured as goals in relation to the regulation of emotions in classroom settings, or enacting specific strategies that aid in responding to specific emotional states. The contrast to these steps may include specific consequences or steps that are followed if the obligations regarding emotions are not met. In a similar logic to the form of social contracts for education, contract-like mechanisms provide a balance between emotion-based considerations and other expectations of students and teachers. These explicit expectations provide

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the basis for planning future goals and actions. Contract-like mechanisms may also individualise learning, so that the expectations about emotions are simultaneously concerned with self-regulation and meeting individual learning needs, goals and expectations related to emotions. As contractlike mechanisms follow a similar form to social contracts for education, there is some inherent conflict in negotiating the expectations around emotions. As one common example, broader social contracts that are measured by standardised tests such as the National Assessment Program – Literacy and Numeracy (NAPLAN) tests prepare students for a generic test type, which may conflict with other social contracts, such as being engaged with personalised curriculum that fits the emotional needs of a learner. In practice, contract-like mechanisms involving emotions by necessity link back to broader social contracts of education and the broader social contract.

THE RELAY OF EMOTIONAL REGULATION Given the account offered above of the role of emotions expressed in different social contracts, one key consequence of this account is that obligations about emotions are relayed between different levels of social contracts. Emotions figure in social contracts for education and in contractlike mechanisms in which they may be a targeted goal for different kinds of asymmetrical dyads. In so far as the social contract for education supports broad social contracts in society, emotions also figure as an implicit target for social contracts of different kinds. As outlined earlier, this implies that emotions figure as a target of policy work and as a place to develop clear expectations for specific people in schools. Contract-like mechanisms, in the form of individual education plans, provide a specific relay point for this obligation, insofar as they may be explicitly developed in relation to particular emotional supports and capabilities. Contract-like mechanisms like individual learning plans have points at which renegotiation of the plans may be evaluated and altered, and processes attached to plans provide explicit guides for accountability. It is notable that in the main the relay of these obligations is not necessarily upwards: there are no public accountability measures that are directly related to obligations about emotions, emotional development and wellbeing or emotional intelligence at the level of social contracts for education. Accountability measures to social contracts for education in Australia are relatively limited to reporting based on performance in literacy and numeracy, with the possibility of other

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curriculum areas being added in due course to the MySchool website, the public vehicle for reporting on schools in Australia. Scope then exists for a broader set of accountability measures for emotions in relation to the performance of schools and national schooling systems. The turn to social contracts as a specific form of policy development provides a broader interpretation of the concept of emotional regulation, in so far as the connections of social contracts provide a specific set of relays of contractual obligations related to emotions. These then provide relays of emotional obligations and emotional accountability to schools and asymmetrical dyads in which the work of developing emotional capacities is located: the emotional obligations attached to social contracts developed by governments are relayed to schools, teachers and other people involved in the provision of education. In this way emotions become annexed by government obligations and strategies, and the emotional development and wellbeing of young people become a potential target for reform. This turn to emotions in education policy raises a question about the reciprocity of emotional relays and connections. While the emotional capacities of students have become a target for the social contract of education and contract-like mechanisms, this in turn entails a supposed corresponding recognition of the emotional capacities of teachers and others who are then required to engage in a specific kind of emotional work in asymmetrical dyads. How do we now account for the obligations made on behalf of teachers, principals and schools? Policy makers are explicitly including work for emotional outcomes with students in social contracts while simultaneously neglecting that such work (a) has already been a part of the emotion work of teaching, which is increasingly more difficult to do when regulated and (b) requires preparation, time and space to actually perform properly. Although this chapter focussed on the policies of the Australian educational system, such issues abound in other areas, such as the United States and the United Kingdom. Further research on a global scale is needed to expose social policies created in schools that set up asymmetrical dyads and which ignore the terms of such contracts, such as consent to be a part of a contract, points of renegotiation through the duration of the contract, and mutual accountability to those involved.

NOTE 1. COAG is a high level council involving representatives from Federal, state (Queensland, New South Wales, Victoria, Tasmania, South Australian and Western

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Australia) and mainland territory (Northern Territory and Australian Capital Territory) levels of government. Discussions at this council relate to the balance and provision of funding between the Federal, State and Territory Governments.

REFERENCES Australian Education Ministers (2008). Melbourne Declaration on Educational Goals for Young Australians. Ministerial Council on Education, Employment, Training and Youth Affairs, Melbourne. Ecclestone, K. (2007). Resisting images of the ‘diminished self’: The implications of emotional well-being and emotional engagement in education policy. Journal of Education Policy, 22(4), 455–470. Gewirtz, S. (1997). Post-welfarism and the reconstruction of teachers’ work in the UK. Journal of Education Policy, 12, 217–232. Kelchtermans, G. (2005). Teachers’ emotions in educational reforms: Self understanding, vulnerable commitment, and micropolitical literacy. Teaching and Teacher Education, 21, 995–1006. Lansky, S. (2005). A sociocultural approach to understanding teacher identity, agency and professional vulnerability in a context of secondary school reform. Teaching and Teacher Education, 21, 899–916. Lingard, R. (2003). Where to in gender policy in education after recuperative masculinity politics? International Journal of Inclusive Education, 7(1), 33–56. MCEETYA. (2008). Melbourne declaration on educational goals for young Australians. Canberra: MCEETYA. MCEETYA. (2009). MCEETYA four-year plan 2009–2012: A companion document for the Melbourne Declaration on Educational Goals for Young Australians. Canberra: MCEETYA. Rawolle, S. (2013). Understanding equity as an asset to national interest: Developing a social contract analysis of policy. Discourse: Studies in the cultural politics of education, Published online 26 February 2013, doi: 10.1080/01596306.2013.770249. Rawolle, S., & Vadeboncoeur, J. A. (2003). Educational research in an age of scientific and economic rationalism: An argument for talking back. In J. A. Vadeboncoeur & S. Rawolle (Eds.), Educational imaginings: On the play of texts and contexts (pp. 1–34). Brisbane: Australian Academic Press. Yeatman, A. (1996). Interpreting contemporary contractualism. Australian Journal of Social Issues, 31(1), 39–54. Yeatman, A (2000). Mutual obligation: What kind of contract is this? In P. Saunders (Ed.), Reforming the Australian welfare state (pp. 156–176). Melbourne: Australian Institute of Family Studies. Yeatman, A., & Owler, K. (2001). The role of contract in the democratisation of service delivery. Law in Context, 18(2), 34–56.

PART II THE HIDDEN CURRICULUM ACROSS THE SCHOOL LANDSCAPE

ORGANISATIONAL POSITION AND SOCIAL–PROFESSIONAL RELATIONSHIPS IN SCHOOLS: AN EXPLORATORY STUDY OF TEACHER LEADERS’ WORK LIFE IN FLANDERS Charlotte Struyve and Geert Kelchtermans ABSTRACT The phenomenon of teachers taking on leadership tasks beyond their classroom duties has become widespread internationally. Although presented as a catalyst for school improvement and professional development, the practices and experiences of teacher leaders are more complex than that. The change in roles blurs the traditional division between teaching and leading and therefore challenges the conventional professional relationships in schools. We conducted semi-structured interviews of 28 ‘teacher leaders’ in Flemish primary and secondary schools. We explored their perceptions and evaluation of their position in schools as well as the way their position and role as teacher leaders affected their professional relations with teacher colleagues and school Emotion and School: Understanding How the Hidden Curriculum Influences Relationships, Leadership, Teaching, and Learning Advances in Research on Teaching, Volume 18, 63–80 Copyright r 2013 by Emerald Group Publishing Limited All rights of reproduction in any form reserved ISSN: 1479-3687/doi:10.1108/S1479-3687(2013)0000018008

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leaders. The results demonstrate how the introduction of new positions and roles in the school as an organisation affects the professional relationships and collegiality. From a micro-political perspective, we show that the new positions also create emotional labour for the teacher leaders, since they find themselves juggling two different agendas of professional interests: on the one hand, receiving recognition by others of their position as teacher leaders, while on the other hand maintaining their former social–professional relationships as teachers with their former colleagues. Keywords: Teacher leadership; social–professional relationships; personal interpretative framework; interacting spheres in schools; micro-political action; qualitative-interpretative methods

Teachers assuming more leadership tasks in schools, in combination with their work in the classroom, has become a widespread international trend over the past two decades (see Frost & Durrant, 2003; Harris, 2003; Hickey & Harris, 2005; Lieberman & Miller, 2005; Murphy, 2007; Smylie, 1992, 1995, 1997; Smylie & Mayrowetz, 2009; York-Barr & Duke, 2004). Although very promising for school improvement and professional development, the implementation of teacher leadership in schools brings not only new tasks and responsibilities, but also introduces new positions and roles that may affect professional and collegial relations in schools. Therefore, teacher leadership is an interesting phenomenon to study social–professional relations and collegiality in school teams. In an often cited literature review about teacher leadership, York-Barr and Duke (2004) define it as: ‘leading among colleagues with a focus on instructional practice, as well as working at the organisational level to align personnel, fiscal, and material resources to improve teaching and learning’ (p. 261). Although it is implicitly acknowledged in this definition, we believe that – in order to talk about teacher leaders – it is essential that they have been given a formal mandate by the authorities (i.e. school board or school leaders) and that they are relieved from a part of their teaching responsibilities. Therefore, we use as a working definition: teacher leaders are teachers who, next to their classroom duties also – sometimes only temporarily – receive a formal mandate to carry out leadership responsibilities in diverse domains (organisational, professional development, instructional) in order to contribute to the quality of education in a particular school. In doing so, they are partly relieved from their teaching responsibilities. Our definition

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further implies that we primarily look at teacher leadership as a formal position. ‘Despite increasing attention on informal ways of leading, dominant forms of teacher leadership reflect more traditional, formal, one-person leadership roles both in the literature and apparently in practice’ (York-Barr & Duke, 2004, p. 265). Teachers who occupy a teacher leader position are becoming a recognisable group in the school team and therefore are positioned between their teaching colleagues and the school leaders. This position forces them to symbolically commute between their own classroom and the broader school as an organisation; between teaching and leading, rather than being able to dwell in one or the other place. At the same time, because of the introduction of teacher leaders, both teaching colleagues and the school leaders cannot but (re)position themselves towards the teacher leaders (Smylie, 1992). The teacher leader creates a third position in the school staff, different from the position of the formal leader and that of the other teachers, which challenges the nature of the social–professional relations in schools. Both experience and research have amply shown that social–professional relations constitute one of the most important working conditions for teachers in schools (Kelchtermans, 2006, 2007; Kelchtermans & Ballet, 2002), and are thus highly emotionally relevant. In this chapter we use the experiences of teacher leaders as a lens to deepen our understanding of the dynamics of social–professional relationships in schools. More in particular we show that the (emotional) experience and significance of social–professional relations are to a large part caused by the structural position. In other words, we explore how structural changes in a school’s organisation have an important impact on the emotional experiences of school staff members. In doing so, we approach emotions not primarily as an individual intra-psychological phenomenon (Parkinson, 1995; Schutz & DeCuir, 2002) but as an experience that is to some extent regulated by social construction and structural working conditions in organisations.

UNRAVELING THE COMPLEXITY OF TEACHER LEADERSHIP Apart from the international literature on teacher leadership and teachers’ work lives, the conceptual framework of our study was informed by the Interacting Spheres Model of Hanson (1991), as well as the micro-political perspective (Ball, 1987, 1994; Blase, 1991, 1997; Kelchtermans & Ballet,

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2002) on schools. Teachers develop throughout their teaching career because they – more or less consciously and reflectively – make sense of the experiences and interactions in their daily teaching practice. We define this lifelong learning process as ‘professional development’. This development is reflected in changes in both teachers’ actions and thinking. In line with the ‘teacher thinking-movement’ (Clark & Peterson, 1986; Richardson, 2001), we assume that teachers’ knowledge and conceptions about themselves guide their actions. Throughout the endless stream of meaningful interactions with their professional context, teachers develop a ‘personal interpretative framework’, a personal system of knowledge and beliefs that acts as a cognitive and affective lens through which they look at their job, give meaning to it and act in it (Kelchtermans, 2009). Within this framework, Kelchtermans (2009) distinguished two interrelated domains: the professional self-understanding (conceptions by the teacher of him or herself as a professional) and subjective educational theory (personal answers on the questions ‘how should I do this?’ and ‘why should I do it this way?’ and thus teachers’ professional ‘know how’). Under professional selfunderstanding, he has identified five components which are all interconnected: the self-image (descriptive: how does an individual typify him/ herself as a teacher?), self-esteem (evaluative: how well is the teacher doing according to him/herself?), job motivation (conative: what factors influence teachers to start a teaching career, stay in it or leave it?), task perception (normative: what constitutes a good teacher’s tasks?) and finally a future perspective (how does the teacher anticipate his/her future?). It is clear that the social–professional relations with other staff members in schools are of major importance to the development of the professional self-understanding. Several studies on teachers’ work lives show how important and relevant social–professional relationships in the schools are for teachers’ job satisfaction, sense of professional identity and recognition (see e.g. , Jarzabkowski, 2002; Kelchtermans, 2006; Kelchtermans & Ballet, 2002; Nias, 2005; O’Connor, 2008). Yet, however supportive and positive the professional relationships, they also have another side in that these very same conditions are also a major source of work pressure and stress (Kelchtermans, 1999; see also Ballet & Kelchtermans, 2008). Nias (2005) emphasises that a school is not only a place where teachers interact on a daily basis with their students but also forms a working space where adults meet each other and where the goals of a school – teaching students – is automatically associated with the well-being of the teachers involved. Nias claims, ‘If teachers do not feel appreciated or accepted by other members of the teaching staff, they will not be at ease while teaching’ (2005, p. 223).

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This conceptualisation of (individual) teachers’ professional development was complemented in our theoretical framework by Hanson’s model of the Interacting Spheres in schools. His model adds an organisational perspective that allows for depicting and understanding the social dynamics in the school as an organisation. Hanson distinguishes two separated zones within the school: the teachers’ zone and the administrators’ zone. In the so-called teachers’ zone, teachers feel competent and want to be in charge of the decision-making. This zone encompasses issues concerning the key processes of teaching and learning. As the name already indicates, the administrators’ zone covers all issues where the formal school leaders feel they are the ones to make decisions. This zone includes issues of administration, finances, staff policy and contacts with external partners. Hanson (1991) sees each zone as ‘a sphere of influence or decisional zone’ (p. 98). Each sphere maintains relative degrees of autonomy, purpose, fulfilling specific aims and tasks and a ‘decision space’ to define and operationalise the objectives. But, in the day-to-day conduct of schools, those zones partly overlap, as many issues in schools involve both instructional and administrative aspects. Many issues in schools cannot be allocated unambiguously to one of the spheres of influence and therefore cannot be claimed clearly by the authority of teachers or formal school leaders. Consequently, those issues shape another zone, the so-called ‘contested sphere’ (Hanson, 1991, p. 105) and this is where teachers and formal school leaders compete about the decisions to be taken, or put positively, where both claim that they need to have a say and meet for explicit negotiation. By its very nature, the position of the teacher leaders implies that they need to act in both zones (teaching and leading) and because of that they are likely to find themselves more often in the contested zone. This implies that they – more often than other members of the organisation – have to deal with issues that raise conflict, differences of opinion or interests. The idea of a contested sphere in Hanson’s model can be further specified and refined with the help of the micro-political perspective on schools and on the development of teachers (Ball, 1987, 1994; Blase, 1991, 1997). A central idea in this perspective is that the behaviour of organisation members is to an important extent determined by interests. Kelchtermans (2007) links this with the concept of organisational working conditions: members of a school team have more or less clear ideas of the working conditions they see as important and even essential to do their job in a way that meets their personal standards and motivation and provides job satisfaction. Those desirable working conditions then operate as professional interests. When they are absent, threatened or dissolved, members of

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an organisation will engage in micro-political action to change that situation and establish, safeguard or restore those desirable working conditions. In former studies (Kelchtermans, 2007; Kelchtermans & Ballet, 2002) we identified five different categories of professional interests: material interests (financial and infrastructural facilities), organisational interests (procedures, roles, positions, formal responsibilities within a school as organisation), social–professional interests (the nature and quality of the relations among members of a school team), cultural–ideological interests (the more or less explicit norms, values and aims within the school) and the self-interests (the professional self-understanding, including the normative, emotional and evaluative components). Self-interests, and especially, the social–professional interests were found to be prominently present in the daily micropolitical interactions within schools. The implementation of teacher leadership positions is a structural change that affects the social–professional relations within a school and as such is very likely to become micro-politically relevant. All members of the school staff find themselves forced to take a stance and possibly reposition themselves towards each other because of the teacher leadership position and the new forms of interaction between school members implicated. Several authors (Hargreaves, 1992; Johnson, 2003; Little, 1990; Lortie, 1975; Nias, 2005; Rosenholtz, 1989; Wasley, 1991) see professional relationships – and more in particular collaboration and collegiality – as a vehicle for school development. Yet, other authors (Achinstein, 2002; Clement & Vandenberghe, 2000; Hargreaves, 1992; Kelchtermans, 2006; Murphy, 2007) have argued for a more balanced stance: enhanced collaboration does not automatically lead to job satisfaction or improved teaching, as individual or isolated work by teachers does not necessarily has a negative influence. By all means, the introduction of a new position in the team – as is the case with teacher leaders – ‘will change, problematise or simply question the social– professional relations within school teams’ (Smylie & Mayrowetz, 2009, p. 282). Schools are traditionally characterised by a clear recognition of the formal school leader as a hierarchically positioned school member, holding authority and status. Furthermore the organisational culture in schools often reflects a strong idea of teachers’ work as ‘private and characterised by norms of autonomy and egalitarianism’ (Murphy, 2007, p. 690; York-Barr & Duke, 2004, p. 272). Therefore, the implementation and enactment of shared leadership in the form of teacher leadership challenges the professional organisation culture – or the so-called ‘occupational structure of teaching work itself’ (Little, 1990, p. 511). This challenge therefore exerts a negative sway on the social–professional relations within a school (Katzenmeyer

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& Moller, 2001; Smylie, 1992; Smylie & Denny, 1990; Smylie & Mayrowetz, 2009; Wasley, 1991). Leadership responsibilities assigned to teachers can lead to conflict, loss of trust and the creation of rancour within a school. This can make teacher leaders question their own professional identity as well as their social relationship with other members of the school. Therefore, teacher leaders make a very interesting group to study the (emotional) meaning of professional relationships. So far, only a few international studies have reported on the experiences of teacher leaders, their role and responsibilities within the school as well as their views on the consequences for their professional self-understanding and the social relations with teaching colleagues and the formal school leaders (Smylie, 1992; Smylie & Brownlee-Conyers, 1992; Smylie & Denny, 1990; Smylie & Mayrowetz, 2009; Murphy, 2007). Taking up leadership duties for teachers not only implies the enactment of new and relatively unknown competences but also forces them to reposition themselves towards other school members, to revise and redefine their professional self-understanding and to navigate and (re)negotiate the web of social relations in the school (Kelchtermans, 2006, 2007). The study we report in this chapter explores the experiences of teacher leaders concerning their own position and responsibilities, and more in particular, the consequences it has on their professional self-understanding as well as professional relationships in the school as an organisation.

TEACHER LEADERS’ WORK LIFE IN FLANDERS Our study was exploratory in nature, designed to map and analyse the phenomenon of teacher leadership in Flemish (Belgian) schools. We used non-probability purposive sampling (Neuman, 2011), looking for people who enacted our definition of teacher leadership and tried to have as many different instances of the position (maximal heterogeneity) in both primary and secondary schools. In this way we collected data from 28 teacher leaders. Our study therefore does not claim classic representativeness of the sample, nor aims at making statements about the frequency or spreading of the phenomenon in Flanders. The goal of the exploratory study was to understand what it means to be a teacher leader in Flanders and more in particular, how the position affects teacher leaders’ self-understanding and professional relations. Given our interest in how teacher leaders make sense of their position, a choice for qualitative–interpretative method was obvious. Semi-structured

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interviews were conducted with all respondents, addressing (a) the specific tasks of the teacher leaders; (b) teacher leaders’ sense of professional selfunderstanding; (c) teacher leaders’ cost/benefit balance of their position for themselves, other members of the teaching staff, as well as the school in general; and (d) teacher leaders’ view on their professional relations with the principal and teaching colleagues (both now and in comparison with the time before they were teacher leaders). Prior to the interview, respondents were asked to provide an overview of their formal career and professional training as well as demographical data such as age and gender through a brief written questionnaire. All interviews were tape-recorded, transcribed verbatim and coded with descriptive and interpretative codes. After coding, the interviews were systematically analysed in two steps: a within-case and an across-case analysis (Miles & Huberman, 1994; Neuman, 2011; Yin, 1994). In the within-case analysis, an interpretative case report was composed for every individual teacher leader, containing the answers to the research questions for that particular respondent, including illustrative fragments from the transcripts. By using the same formal structure of rubrics in every report we developed a matrix where all interpretative findings on the research questions of all respondents were listed and collected in one frame. This matrix was then used for the cross-case analysis, in which – by means of the constant comparative method (Glaser, 1965; Strauss, 1987) – we compared the individual cases, searching for systematic similarities and differences to identify meaningful patterns across the different cases.

FINDINGS We confine ourselves in this chapter to the findings regarding the influence of the teacher leadership position on the social–professional relations in the school, since ‘building relationships with colleagues and principals emerges as a key factor in the effectiveness of teacher leaders’ (York-Barr & Duke, 2004, p. 283). Closely linked, however, with this issue is the question of teacher leaders’ sense of self. Below we will first argue (a) that teacher leaders are challenged to develop a professional self-understanding as a teacher leader in addition to their professional self-understanding as a teacher and (b) want to be recognised both by their teacher-colleagues as well as by their school leader(s). The latter already indicates that social– professional relationships are essential to teacher leadership, but that taking on the teacher leader role often creates changes and tensions in those relationships.

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First of all, however, we need to answer in more detail the question – who are the teacher leaders? Although our data set showed a considerable diversity in the content of the leadership responsibilities, the teacher leaders in our study could be divided into two categories. The first category contains teacher leaders who hold a clearly defined position in the school thanks to an explicit and transparent job description (mostly linked to a specific expertise), which is well communicated and known within the organisation. Examples are the special needs coordinators in primary schools, the mentors for beginning teachers or the student counsellor (providing support for students with learning difficulties in secondary schools). To the colleagues of those teacher leaders, it is clear what their job is, what kind of educational expertise the teacher leaders have to offer and what support teachers can expect from them in matters concerning their responsibilities in the classrooms. The issue of role clarity has been found to be central in teacher leadership (Murphy, 2007). The teacher leaders in the second category often have the term ‘coordinator’ added to their job description, but this acts as an ‘umbrella concept’ covering a diverse set of tasks and responsibilities. Those teacher leaders are mainly involved in organisational and administrative tasks, which were originally part of the formal school leaders’ duties. Their job is primarily to reduce the work load of the school leaders (mainly situated in the administrators’ zone). As a consequence, however, their actions and contributions to an improved functioning of the school are much less visible to their teacher colleagues. Below we will show how this difference in the actual roles linked to the teacher leader position strongly affects teacher leaders’ experience of their job, their self-understanding as well as their relationships with colleagues.

Double Identity-Agenda: Being Both a Teacher and Teacher Leader Teachers assuming leadership find themselves forced to double their sense of self, or more particularly, to develop a double professional self-understanding. On the one hand they remain classroom teachers and want to maintain their professional self-understanding as a teacher. Yet, on the other hand they also want to develop a sense of self in the teacher leader responsibilities they take on, including the expertise that is implied. As such they engage in partly redefining their self-understanding, while also seeking recognition from their colleagues. This social recognition is not only important for their self-esteem and job motivation, but also in order to

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achieve the legitimacy necessary to effectively accomplish their teacher leaders’ tasks, especially to the point where those tasks involve actually ‘leading’ their teaching colleagues. Taking on teacher leadership makes teachers’ social–professional relations with teaching colleagues or school leader(s) more complex and creates (emotionally sensitive) issues they need to deal with. Obtaining social recognition as teacher and teacher leaders, from both their teaching colleagues (teachers’ zone) and their formal school leaders (administrators’ zone), depends on these others and is as such beyond the teacher leaders’ control; it is a gift that can be withdrawn any time. Since the recognition by others is necessary for teacher leaders, both in terms of their work and their sense of efficacy, the issue does not leave them emotionally indifferent. Becoming a teacher leader does not only bring more autonomy, opportunities to broaden one’s professional activities, to participate in the school’s policy making and to develop and deepen one’s professional expertise, but it also increases the emotional work (Hochschild, 1983), as it inevitably brings different emotional challenges, frustrations and disappointments. First of all these emotionally laden experiences have to do with the increased workload the teacher leadership role implies. Teacher leaders often refer to themselves as ‘jack-of-all-trades’ with a broad and diverse range of leadership duties and therefore have to deal with the feeling of not having everything under control. This is compounded with the restriction of having only limited attention for multiple duties and only partially fulfilling their responsibilities. I really do feel like a ‘centipede’, it is just so much; I do so many different things. If I was just a full time teacher, then all I had to do was teaching, making sure my lessons are prepared and of course some other little things. But now, every day I have to manage lists with all little tasks such as making a phone call to someone, sending some emails to certain people. All those little tasks together, well, it really keeps me busy. (Thaline) It is not always that easy, no, you can’t be equally effective in all different tasks or put equal time in it. You just can’t. Because, I also have a family at home that needs to be taken care of. If I only had to teach, I could perfectly focus on that single task but now I have like three or four to focus on and that makes it a bit hard. I try to make the best of every single task but I just can’t. (Sanne)

Further, the combination with teaching seems to be tough as many respondents report having barely enough time to spend on classroom duties. This threatens their professional self-understanding as a teacher, because eventually the pupils are the victims.

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The combination of both turns out to be very tough. I will take on these leadership responsibilities for five years and will evaluate then. That’s what the former teacher leader has done too and then she said ‘I quit’ because it is really heavy, it is a really heavy combination y Because for example, we have new teacher manuals which means you always have to restart all over again and I just haven’t found the time to do so. It takes lots of energy to prepare lesson plans and that is time which I don’t have at all y Especially because I teach languages and I would like to do things like reading books with my students or watching French movies. But I can’t, I can only do what is strictly compulsory. I don’t have time for more. Also, my students have to be very patient for example to get their marks on assignments. I try to correct them as soon as possible, but it is so hard to do, I don’t have that much time. (An-Katrien)

Next to the work pressure and the emotional burden involved, teacher leaders also report that recognition of their leadership role from teachercolleagues is far from self-evident. This not only brings extra emotional pressure, but also makes it very difficult to effectively fulfil their leadership responsibilities. Teacher leaders mention different motives for teachers’ reluctance to comply with requests or calls from the teacher leaders. Most often these calls imply extra work for teachers. Teachers also often see the actions by the teacher leaders as a threat to their autonomy in the classroom or sometimes hold a different opinion about how certain issues in schools should be addressed. This seems to happen more often when teacher leaders fulfil mainly coordination tasks. Teachers can sometimes react in a way you feel they are not really happy because of an e-mail they have received where I’ve mentioned how they should take certain issues in account. They always ask me to communicate frequently if it comes to the pupils but if I do, that is what I experience, well they do not really appreciate. Especially for pupils with learning disabilities. They get like an action plan, and I know, it counts lots of pages, and I can imagine there are more pleasant things to do in life than following such a plan. And I assume it must be very aggravating for teachers teaching languages. I really understand how hard it must be when you have four of them in your class but it is just so necessary. (Jonas) Some of the teachers are quite suspicious towards me, especially new teachers, because I sometimes need to intervene and comment, like saying: ‘that didn’t really work out well, next time you may want to try this different approach’. They sometimes seem not to trust me, although I try to make them feel at ease but, well yeah, sometimes I just have to tell them that they’d better do things differently. (Daisy) And sometimes I feel that what we do as coordinators – this may sound exaggerated – well, that others do not appreciate what we are doing. Sometimes you get those comments, like: you are organizing way too many activities, or the school should focus on the classroom practice instead of all those classroom transcendent activities. So I guess I’m the ‘necessary evil’ person in the school. They may think it is a good thing, those activities, but they also think that I organize too many different activities and they do not always see it as useful. That is how I feel, actually. (Sarah)

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While teacher leaders struggle with obtaining recognition and collaboration of teacher-colleagues, they experience explicit legitimacy and appreciation from the school leader(s) such as numerous ‘pats on the shoulder’ and are entrusted with confidential information. Although our findings differ somewhat from the research literature, which shows that support from formal leaders is not self-evident (Murphy, 2007; Smylie & Mayrowetz, 2009; York-Barr & Duke, 2004), there is an obvious explanation for why teacher leaders in our study felt appreciated, mainly for the fact that the teacher leaders take over a significant number of leadership tasks and relieve school leaders from some responsibilities. Definitely when it comes to the school leader I get lots of emails saying ‘that was really good’ and ‘I really learn how to work more efficiently because of you’. She really takes time to do so, to express her gratitude and appreciation. (Elke) Yes, our relationship even got better. She really shares lots of confidential information, more than she used to do before. (Silvie)

These quotes show how teacher leaders’ receive affirmation from school leaders for the work they do, while also highlighting how the double ‘identity’-agenda creates ambiguities and even conflicts that can be very hard to reconcile. This double identity-agenda seems further related to the content of the teacher leadership position. Teacher leaders with coordination roles, and thus mainly reducing the workload of the formal school leader, experience more tenacious resistance from their teacher-colleagues. Hanson’s framework helps to explain this: much of the coordination work is done on issues that belong to the administrators’ zone, and thus are ‘out of sight’ for the teachers. Teachers can strengthen their resistance by wondering aloud what the teacher leader does all day or by insisting that s/he has an easy life, because they do not have full days with a classroom full of youngsters. For teacher leaders with clear and transparent responsibilities, such as mentors, special needs coordinators and student supervisors, this friction seems to be less manifest, partly because their positions have a clear job description and implies a certain expertise. This expertise functions as a source for social recognition and thus legitimatises the position of teacher leader. Apart from that, this expertise often contributes directly to the quality of classroom practice of teachers by providing help and support for actual problems. Teachers see them in action since these issues are situated within the teachers’ zone and experience the immediate benefit. Nevertheless, some teacher leaders with an ‘expert position’ also report a lack of recognition and compliance of their teacher-colleagues and assume this is because their

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acting interferes with the autonomy of teachers, for example when attending classes of beginning teachers or supporting students with special needs in the classroom. Therefore, autonomy within their own classroom practice still seems to be an important working condition for lots of teachers, which they will defend in an active and thus a micro-political way. This not only creates emotional labour, forcing teacher leaders in emotional work, but the lack of social legitimacy threatens their leadership legitimacy and as such may jeopardise the fulfilment of their responsibilities as teacher leaders.

Social–Professional Relations Challenged and Put at Risk Our analysis of the double identity-agenda has made clear that teacher leaders, due to their structural position in the school, can feel as if they stand between a rock and a hard place. It looks as if in their double role it is almost impossible to act in ways that please everyone in the school. This is further complicated by the fact that all respondents indicate that as teacher leaders they not only have much more social interactions with others, but also the diversity of the content as well as the number of people involved in the interactions is much higher than during their lives as classroom teachers. As teachers they only had professional interactions with their colleagues teaching the same grade level (in primary schools) or teaching the same subject (in secondary schools). In their daily practice teacher leaders interact with many different colleagues on much more diverse issues than before. The collaboration with the formal school leaders seems to especially present a very new experience. Earlier their responsibilities as teachers were limited to the teachers’ zone. Yet, teacher leaders’ tasks and responsibilities are spread over the teachers’ zone as well as the administrators’ zone and require them to commute in and between both zones and the people who populate them. More in particular, the position of the teacher leaders is often created to transfer school policy decisions from the realm of the leadership to the classrooms. But, vice versa, the existence of the teacher leader positions also constitutes a structure that allows communication on concerns, desires, ideas and difficulties, as experienced by the teachers, in the administrators’ zone. This not only puts teacher leaders in a structural ‘go between’ position, but at the same time contains the risk of their no longer belonging to one of the domains and of being ‘different’ from everyone. Or more precisely, because of the fact that teacher leaders are more often than any other member of the school staff involved in issues in which it is unclear to

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whose sphere of authority it belongs, they find themselves mostly in the contested zone. This implies that they – much more than any other colleague – are called on to deal with conflicts, tensions, and differences of opinion or disagreement on interests, all of which is emotionally demanding. In micro-political terms we can conclude that the teacher leaders’ position and responsibilities create a tension between self-interests (aiming for recognition as a teacher and teacher leader; efficacy and self-esteem as teacher leaders) and social–professional interests (sense of belonging). Teacher leaders feel that their teacher-colleagues do not see them as ‘teachers’ anymore. They position them hierarchically higher in the school, because of their access to more and more confidential information as well as their frequent interactions with the formal school leader(s). The latter makes the colleagues suspicious, wondering to what extent the teacher leader is still ‘one of them’. And this doubt or insularity can result in a more detached, restrained attitude towards the teacher leader. I think some of them, they see it like a ladder, a ladder where teachers are standing at the bottom and then one step higher is the position of teacher leader and then a little bit higher the formal school leader. It seems there is like a small step between the formal school leader and the teachers, the teacher leader is like standing in between. But I really don’t see it that way. (Dorien) From time to time, I can tell you, they are talking about a certain topic and then suddenly they stop their conversation. And afterwards, I heard they were criticizing new things we’ve just started and on which they didn’t agree. Then they were probably thinking ‘we have to be quiet otherwise she will pass it on to the school leader.’ (Monique) Although teachers do not always see it that way, but sometimes they see my task as to control. But that is not my responsibility y but sometimes I get like those questions by which they bestow me with authority. They sometimes answer like ‘you probably want us to do this?’ (Silvie)

Since they are concerned with remaining a teacher-among-the-teachers, the teacher leaders really want to continue their social–professional relationships with former colleagues from the teachers’ zone as equals. This issue is especially important in smaller schools as they mostly have only one teacher leader. I interact nowadays with more teachers than I used to as a full-time teacher myself y But no, I don’t feel like standing higher in the hierarchy. I don’t have any privileges, nor am I better paid. It’s just that only a part of my time goes to organizing things. (Valerie) In the end, I’m still one of their teacher-colleagues but who only spends some time participating in thinking about school level processes. (Liselotte)

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Although teacher leaders actively try to avoid being put higher up in the hierarchy, they also want to be acknowledged in their role by their teachercolleagues and school leaders. Our respondents emphasised the necessity and desirability of receiving recognition for their leadership responsibilities and thus for their expertise in a certain domain, because this recognition strongly determines their self-image, self-esteem, job motivation and task perception as well as their efficacy. Lack of legitimacy hinders the accomplishment of their leadership responsibilities, certainly when those responsibilities imply direct interventions in the classroom practice of teacher-colleagues. A lack of social recognition is mostly expressed by negative reactions from colleagues. This subsequently has a negative impact on the teacher leaders and brings intense feelings of vulnerability and powerlessness along. I was thinking: special needs care, support, I’m actually exerting leading responsibilities. I don’t mean to say that I see myself on the same level as the formal school leader, but I still think: there are issues that should be discussed with me, when it comes to special needs issues, before it is communicated to all teachers. (Jolien) Well they sometimes ask me questions like ‘who are you to ask this from me?’ y Yes, we sometimes clash when it comes to ideas because teachers sometimes hold other ideas regarding students’ special needs and how to care for them and so they often consider some of my interventions as unnecessary or far-fetched or exaggerated which makes it hard for me to do my job. (Anja)

CONCLUSIONS The analysis of teacher leaders’ experience of their job as well as their professional relationships exemplifies how a formal, structural arrangement in a school, which seems effective, efficient and rationally plausible, has a profound impact on the human relationships, the emotions and eventually the sense of professional self, job satisfaction and motivation for the people involved. Even this limited analysis of a small number of cases already indicates that the positive appreciation and expectations of teacher leadership in the research literature such as school innovation, professional development, alternative for the flat career pattern, is not evident. Or to be more precise, all the positive outcomes should not to be taken for granted, but need to be evaluated in the social professional interactions as they actually take place in schools. The proof of the pudding is in the eating: whether or not teacher leadership should be considered as something valuable can only become visible or can only be judged properly in the actual leadership practices.

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THE EMOTIONAL LABOUR OF THE ASPIRANT LEADER: TRAVERSING SCHOOL POLITICS Andrea Gallant and Philip Riley ABSTRACT The emotions of the aspirant leader are underexplored. In this chapter, we detail how aspirants experience the transition from teacher to leader and report on the kinds of emotional labour associated with the transition. This was examined during events of high emotional arousal for 130 school aspirants: when they felt professionally wounded, either by colleagues, leaders, parents or students. During a time of wounding, emotional work and emotional labour hinged on the dissonance between ‘display rules’ of the school and what aspirants’ actually felt. Exploring the wounding stories revealed common display rules, which were often broken. Breaking these rules always had consequences and emotional correlates. The most prevalent form of emotional labour was surface acting. The final discovery was the resilience of the aspirants as they recovered. Invariably, aspirants progressed through an emotion cycle of Regrouping, Recovery and Resolution. The quality of collegial relationships was the key to resolving the woundings. Keywords: School leadership; collegial relations; display rules; emotional labour Emotion and School: Understanding How the Hidden Curriculum Influences Relationships, Leadership, Teaching, and Learning Advances in Research on Teaching, Volume 18, 81–97 Copyright r 2013 by Emerald Group Publishing Limited All rights of reproduction in any form reserved ISSN: 1479-3687/doi:10.1108/S1479-3687(2013)0000018009

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This chapter looks at the emotional world of the mid career, aspirant1 leader, in schools by investigating the emotional labour required to traverse school politics on the upward journey to or in sub-principal leadership positions. The school politics described in the chapter is the micro political ‘assumptive world’ understood by some or all of the inhabitants within school. ‘Political actors exist, talk, get inspired to act, and constrain their actions and options according to unstated reciprocal understandings shared with people who occupy the same social world’ (Marshall & Mitchell, 1991, p. 397). As new leaders transition to leadership, these unstated reciprocal understandings often become more sharply focused, while remaining unstated. The particular interest for us in developing this chapter was the micro politics associated with change as the aspirants moved into their new roles, or by their association with a change in direction for the school that may have challenged other teachers’ deeply held beliefs (Kelchtermans, 2005). As the shared world of school leadership is different from the shared world of teachers, new aspirant leaders are vulnerable, as they are between both. They are learning to distinguish the points of overlap and separateness of the worlds, which they must negotiate. This change in the shared social world that accompanies the transition to leadership is one that is difficult to traverse for a number of reasons, as evident in the aspirants’ narratives. As aspirant leaders learn the new world of leadership, how they are perceived in their roles by principals and teachers is often associated with considerable pain (Gardner, Fischer, & Hunt, 2009; Gronn & Lacey, 2004; Searby & Williams, 2007). The hurtful experiences and the associated emotional costs to intending and incumbent leaders was a driving force behind the study. We wanted to know what the new leaders made of the transition, and whether this information could become useful to others about to embark on the journey. We report on the emotional labour associated with becoming and being a second tier leader in schools: Assistant Principals or Leading Teachers with added responsibilities.

EMOTIONAL LABOUR AND SCHOOL DISPLAY RULES One definition of emotional labour is the continual monitoring of emotional displays, informed by cultural knowledge of an organization’s display rules (Zapf, Vogt, Seifert, Mertini, & Isic, 1999). When there was a discrepancy between the emotion felt by an aspirant of the school and the display rules

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of the school, emotional labour was needed to produce the acceptable emotional display rather than show the ‘real’ emotion. This effortful behaviour might require surface or deep acting. An unfelt emotion is ‘displayed’ to other inhabitants of the school to maintain the reciprocal understandings involved in an emotional display event. Alternatively, the acting display might be needed to demonstrate the role and position. Such displays required the aspirants to suppress their emotions. Surface acting requires modifying the expression of emotions so that the behavioural reaction is visible to others but not actually felt by the actor (Na¨ring, Vlerick, & Van de Ven, 2011). This may involve faking in bad faith, such as when the aspirant did not agree with the display rule, or faking in good faith, where s/he did agree with the rule but does not actually feel the emotion at the time the display was called for (Rafaeli & Sutton, 1987). Deep acting however, involves manipulating ‘internal thoughts and feelings in order to actually feel a desired emotion’ (Na¨ring et al., 2011). Hochschild (2012[1983], p. 33) suggested that deep acting results in ‘deceiving oneself as much as deceiving others’.

Wounding Stories of Aspirant Leaders We adopted a phenomenological approach similar to Ackerman and Maslin-Ostrowski (2002) by investigating 130 aspirant leaders’ wounding narratives and 390 peer responses to the telling the narratives. These were gathered over a four-year period during the initial phase of a Masters in School Leadership course. Four cohorts’ narratives spanning 2009–2012 were examined. In each of the cases reported the aspirant recounts a specific negative event, as these are most likely to highlight emotional labour, which is often not visible. In some cases the negative event was precipitated by the principal, specifically charging the aspirant leader to disrupt the status quo. In other events reported, the trigger was by teachers or peers. These events highlight the partially overlapping, micro political shared social worlds of teachers, aspirants and leaders in schools. The participants were a diverse representation of aspirant leaders. They worked in either the government or independent school systems in Victoria, Australia. Each had at least five years’ experience in the classroom, usually in more than one school, and each had either been encouraged by a superior to apply for or had volunteered to undertake the Masters in School Leadership course. The range of schools they had worked in reflected the diversity of education in the state: from small primary schools with

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1–2 teachers, through to large multi-campus schools with 2,000+ students, hundreds of teachers and support staff. The participants were drawn from urban, suburban, regional cities, rural and remote locations. We used the narratives to examine the emotional labour associated with their leadership role. Each participant had been introduced to the work of Ackerman and Maslin-Ostrowski (2002) during day two of their induction into the course, by reading the book and listening to a lecture on the process from Pat Maslin-Ostrowski. They were then asked to write their own wounding story, recounting a significant ‘dilemma in their practice and what the experience means to them’ (Ackerman & Maslin-Ostrowski, 2002, p. xi). We were interested in the same questions that Ackerman and Maslin-Ostrowski outlined, but focused on only one for this chapter: ‘how does a reasonable, well-intentioned person, who happens to be a[n aspirant] school leader, preserve a healthy and real sense of self in the face of a host of factors challenging that self in the best scenario, and leading to a wounding crisis in the worst? (p. xi). Our analytic focus was to identify the emotional labour associated with mid-level leadership rather than the content of the wounding stories themselves. No information about emotional labour had been offered to the aspirants before the wounding stories were written, and it appears none had encountered the concept independently. Their focus was ‘the wounding’; ours was emotional labour. The narratives were read by each of us independently. Inter-rater reliability was determined by consensus before analysing affective content using constant comparative analysis (Glaser, 1965). We looked for evidence of the aspirants’ understanding of the school display rules associated with the event (Zapf et al., 1999). We then sought to discover if the display rules were contravened. We were interested to know if this occurred accidentally or otherwise, and the emotional consequences of that transgression. If aspirants were aware of display rules but chose not to break them, we looked for evidence of surface acting, faking in good and bad faith, and deep acting as they negotiated school micro politics by consciously engaging in emotional regulation.

Findings Through the examination of the wounding stories we found five common school display rules that were often at odds with aspirants’ work goals. The degree of emotional labour increased when aspirants’ work goals did not

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match the school’s display rules, or clashed with the aspirant’s personal goals and professional identity formation. This dissonance created had implications for the personal identity of the aspirant. We also uncovered the methods employed to deal with the dissonance. The quotes from the narratives presented here represent the collective perceptions of the aspirants in describing the display rules of their schools. What became apparent when conducting the analysis was the commonality of the display rules across many differing types of schools. While there was important intra and interschool variation, the basic rules were repeated in many school situations. This led us to categorize the rules so that prospective leaders might be better prepared to traverse the transition into leadership from the classroom. Each rule is grouped under categories represented by the subheadings below. The display rules for aspirant leaders manifest in the way each talked about their affective role as well as the principal’s and staff expectations. We found that ‘very specific display rules will have more negative effects on individuals than general display rules’ (Diefendorff & Gosserand, 2003, p. 951).

Display Rules We found that there were five display rules common to all aspirants. They are: Be selfless and helpful; Show active listening; Show solidarity with current leadership; Facilitate effective relationships; and, Show no weakness. Interestingly, we also noted that it was up to the aspirants to discover and understand these rules on their own. Next, we found that the display rules were often broken: sometimes by accident, but purposefully in most cases. And when the display rules were broken, there were consequences. Finally, we found that emotion regulation was necessary when the display rules were not broken, most often in the form of surface or deep acting. Be Selfless and Helpful This first display rule expressed by one aspirant as, ‘It looks like someone cares’ (1). Another described this display rule for aspirants as ‘y to be selfless and self-sufficient’ (2). The selflessness display rule for aspirants was outlined in their expected conduct when interacting in less than positive relationships with staff. No matter how difficult the staff member with whom the aspirant was dealing, the display rules called for endless patience, sometimes to the point of placating staff for whom they were accountable.

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This appeared to give some staff a great deal of negative power over the aspirant. I spent a lot of time trying to improve this relationship through conversations and relationship-building sessions. I met with this teacher prior to any team meetings if I was going to be leading any conversations and asked her for input. I made appointments with her to use as feedback sessions and tried to catch up with her informally as well. (3)

Show Active Listening In the pursuit of improved relationships aspirants also demonstrated the display rules associated with being a counsellor/mentor, by active listening skills. Truly listening – to my colleague about what I can do to help facilitate his healing from a significant wound early in his career. At best, I can get him back on track as a valuable team player. At worst, I fear we may lose him from our school. Or even worse, the profession may lose (yet another) valuable practitioner. (4)

As part of this display rule for aspirant leaders, they were to show ‘support, celebrate the efforts of colleagues’ (5). Show Solidarity with Current Leadership Other display rules revolved around how the aspirant was to interact with the principal or other senior leaders in the school. The concept of leadership solidarity, even when this meant extreme personal cost, appeared never to be openly stated but was always expected. When an aspirant did not conform to the display rules there could be severe consequences. One aspirant recalled the principal explaining that s/he would not become a continuing staff member because s/he ‘did not display the necessary team ethos to stay at the school’ (6). This aspirant had angrily responded to the possibility of not continuing in the role by openly criticizing the senior leadership to peers. The display rule transgression was an expectation that regardless of the circumstances emotional displays of anger towards the leadership needed to be suppressed. Overall the aspirants collectively recognized the display rule regarding the down regulation of anger towards superiors. Other aspirants recognized the expectation that they were expected to also manage the emotions of others towards leadership, evident in the comment shared by a participant, that ‘I also now realise for this to happen I need to repair and develop positive working relationship between us, the teachers and the principal’ (7).

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Facilitate Effective Relationships We found a clearly understood display rule associated with aspirants taking on the role of mediators of relationships ‘building and reforming professional relationships – a continual and evolving process’ (8). The specific display rules of a mediator involved being a staff negotiator who ‘cajoled and explained, I listened and encouraged, I laughed and nagged and organised and supported and put most of the rest of my life on hold’ (9). What is identified here is the ‘up-regulating’ of an emotion in good faith, which involved this aspirant’s ‘attempts to increase the intensity or duration of the experience y in order to communicate a positive tone’ (Sutton, Mudrey-Camino, & Knight, 2009, p. 139). Aspirant leaders display rules appeared to be associated with a strong emphasis on their role as a human resources manager. They were consistently working towards developing effective working relationships. The effectiveness was dependent on the display rules that conform to notions of the selfless, patient, listener, and good-humoured advocate. They were also managers of emotions – theirs and others – as they acted out the team ethos of mentoring, mediation and negotiation. From the narratives there appeared to be a distinction being made between the display rules of an aspirant and a principal. The aspirants’ expectation of the principal’s role was continually recognized as protector of the staff including them, as voiced by one participant who stated, ‘the role of principal is to protect teachers from vexatious complaints’ (9). Show No Weakness The other culturally constructed display rule aspirants’ recognized of principals was one of being immovable, which they equated with being solid and dependable: a secure base from which the school was fixed (Riley, 2011). ‘From leaders I had worked with in the past I developed the belief that leaders shouldn’t show emotion, weakness or admit they don’t know the answer’ (10). The aspirants recognized the display rule of being in control, competent and in command as they step closer to the principal role exemplified by the comment, ‘fear of showing signs of weakness which will be used against me later. This is similar to the idea of the mask ‘‘can’t be wrong’’, ‘‘Don’t look weak’’ and ‘‘Don’t look like you don’t have the answers’’’ (11). These display rules in themselves appear either admirable or innocuous, but the adherence to them often resulted in surface acting. This can be problematic for the well-being of aspirant leaders, having both short and long-term negative outcomes, even when the actor agrees with the rule (Hulsheger & Schewe, 2011).

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EMOTIONAL LABOUR Surface acting occurred when aspirants were cognitively aware of the dissonance between the display rules and their emotional responses. The display rules for those working very closely with staff as mid-level leaders required various forms of surface acting in order to conform. One element of surface acting in good faith is down-regulating negative emotions such as anger (Sutton et al., 2009, p. 132). This was a consistent practice in the narratives. One participant stated, ‘I kept the face of our friendship positive y My response was to put on an armour of resilience’ (12). Surface acting also involved employing symbolic preparations such as: ‘I went and had a manicure, which I have never had in my life! I felt I needed to prepare myself on the inside and I wanted my preparation to be reflected on my outside as well’ (13). This type of symbolic preparation occurred when aspirants described how they prepared themselves especially when facing challenges to their mid-level leadership, which was a repeated theme across four cohorts. I put on my lipstick that framed my forced smile and went to work to show them what I was made of. Resilience is a necessary core value if you are going to stay sane and it isn’t about other people stopping you from achieving something, it is about the things you choose to do and say. Self-responsibility and self-efficacy is a must have for all leaders. (14)

The surface acting was also apparent after aspirants had been wounded by a staff member. This type of surface acting involved them holding their heads up high while holding their heart together. One participant shared, ‘So I resolved to start the New Year in a positive manner, ensuring whoever did this to me wouldn’t see the effect their decision had on me. I maintained emotional silence by not discussing this with anyone’ (17). For others, surface acting involved wanting ‘to maintain the facade that everything was ok, I probably didn’t disclose my discomfort to my other team members’ (18). Young aspirant leaders appeared to face hostile staff responses in relation to age and experience. The ageist perception really challenged aspirants’ emotional responses, which were not aligned with the display rules and promoted surface acting sometimes in bad faith on their behalf as displayed in the following quotes from two participants. ‘So, you’re the year level coordinator’ she uttered, the cold tone was obvious in her voice, ‘I’m going to make your life sweet merry hell.’ I was always having to be on guard around her, having to ‘stroke’ and encourage her. (15)

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‘Some of us have taught Year 7 longer than you’ve been teaching.’ I was one of those leaders who ‘adopt survival strategies by inhabiting a role and playing a part that imprisons them, moving further away from what they are inwardly experiencing’ (Ackerman & Maslin-Ostrowski, 2002, p. 19). (16)

It was not only school politics that promoted surface acting among the aspirants. They were aware when their private lives and associated emotions challenged their role portrayal. In order to conform to the display rules they would supress their emotions and surface acting would commence once they stepped inside the school. A participant explained, ‘I have always tried to maintain a stoic persona, a Johari ‘‘hermit’’, because I believed that if people knew how unhappy my personal life was, they wouldn’t trust or have confidence in me as a leader in the work place’ (19). Surface acting was present in all 130 aspirant leaders’ narratives. The stoic aspirant went unchallenged as a practice with the emphasis on the pragmatics of traversing school politics. ‘They do not realize how tough I have already been to ‘‘control’’ my emotions. A skill I thought I needed, a skill many people state as being a necessary part of surviving leadership’ (20). From the vignettes it emerged that school micro politics is the stimulus for aspirants’ cognitive and emotional responses. This highlighted a discrepancy between their actions and the acceptable display rules. This led to faking in both good and bad faith. Surface acting in particular can lead to stress (Brotheridge & Lee, 2003; Jenkins & Conley, 2007). At the very least it drains mental resources. It is an effortful process, which impairs functioning on physical, complex decision-making and memory tasks (Hulsheger & Schewe, 2011). This became evident in the narratives when examining the type and levels of emotional labour they revealed. Emotional labour was part of the hidden curriculum for all of these aspirant leaders. They all recognized the enormity of stepping into senior leadership roles expressed best by participant’s explanation of the overwhelming sense that, ‘for the first time, I felt the absolute weight of responsibility y The joy and enthusiasm I had for my role was swept away as I understood for the first time, the enormity and responsibility of leadership’ (21). Examining the emotional labour expressed in the narratives highlights the personal and professional cost to these aspirants’ wellbeing, which surface acting hides from others. The better the acting the less likely they are to receive support. This is a dangerous Catch 22 situation for the aspirant. In many cases this can lead to emotional numbing as the aspirant builds an armour that cannot be penetrated, which helps keep their ‘fears at arms length’, but only adds to their isolation from support

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(Ackerman & Maslin-Ostrowski, 2002, p. 30). The isolation is exemplified in the following statements: I left the room sensing that I had kept my emotions in check y The opportunity to relax and be myself is more difficult because I am aware of the critical nature of some members of staff. (22) I closed down and kept my head to the ground, I worked with my team and built their capacity for success. (23) Now slightly more wary, held my head high and implemented the programs I thought best for the students and school. (24) But, because I wanted to maintain the facade that everything was ok, I probably didn’t disclose my discomfort to my other team members. What was endangered in admitting that I needed more help, was my identity as a capable professional and my integrity (Ackerman, Maslin-Ostrowski, 2002, p. 17). If I admitted I didn’t know, did that make me a fraud? (18)

What became evident is that all aspirants were cognizant of what was occurring for them as they managed the emotional labour demands. For some however, this intense level involved serious and long-term consequences. I had taken my confidence for granted so this experience was extremely foreign to me. To make matters worse I began suffering panic attacks. (25) I had developed nervous habits and there were many mornings where I would sit in the car park and contemplate driving straight back home. y I left this school – my new role as a leading teacher requires me to have some difficult conversations. If ever I feel that urge to hide, I only have to reflect on where that once took me. (26) I kept my own needs quiet and adopted a public isolation. I felt alone in not telling the story to many colleagues for a long time and fearful of being seen as incompetent. I have been in the position of trying to protect others then realise sometimes too late that I have ignored my own wellbeing. (25)

What all the narratives indicated was the recognition of the unbalancing of their equilibrium as they traversed school politics as aspirant leaders. Adopting a confident persona that ‘expresses [my] true individuality and uniqueness, not an imagined or concocted one’ whilst being careful to ‘adopt a moderate form of conscious conventionality’ (Pascal, 1992, p. 51) may assist me to find my true self in my new leadership role. In doing so, I will need to find a balance, which is central to all of Jung’s teachings. There is no point trying to be someone I am not. (27)

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CLASH OF WORK GOALS The aspirants striving to manage the emotional labour also revealed the presence of aspirants’ work goals clashing with school display rules. This provided further insight into the depth and breadth of the emotional labour occurring. Aspirants most often faced conflict with staff or principals as they attempted to bring about change. Some assumed that they were appointed to make changes to a school’s shared social world (Marshall & Mitchell, 1991). Many of the aspirants either saw change as a priority, or were tasked with bringing about change by the principal. It emerged across the stories that teachers’ reactions to change were quite varied across school settings. This finding emerged as conflicting with a common display rule in many schools, associated with team ethos. The change versus team display rule was a tricky navigation for many of the aspirants. The careful navigation of competing display rules (Show solidarity with current leadership, but facilitate effective relationships) was outlined by one participant as, ‘He told me that I wasn’t suited culturally to that school because ‘‘I always wanted to improve things and everyone there was happy with the way things were’’’ (28). Aspirants’ commitments to their own work goals and the discontinuity with schools display rules created events or interpretation of events where identity threat was acknowledged as voiced in the following quotes: I defined much of my self-worth on what I achieved at work. Being viewed as worthless at work, made me feel worthless as a person. (29) Every day is new and challenging. These challenges test my assumptions, my values, my teaching skills, my passions, my resilience and my commitment. (30)

Managing work goals adds another layer of complexity regarding navigating school politics and display rules, which increased the demands for emotional labour. What Nias’ (1996) has argued is that ‘practitioners’ affective reactions to both their work and the settings in which it takes place [be]lies their close personal identification with their profession’ (Nias, 1996, p. 293). What emerged was that their personal identity was being challenged. Consequently, this was an important factor in the depth of the emotional labour they were experiencing and how they were interpreting the events and the motivations of others involved in them.

IMPLICATION FOR IDENTITY The result of the emotional labour was profound for every aspirant. The events they shared with each other as ‘wounding stories’ (Ackerman &

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Maslin-Ostrowski, 2002) revealed great costs associated with the transition to leadership. Our interpretive analysis indicated that the personal cost is one of identity. What is not clear is whether this is a necessary condition of the transition phase to leadership. Each of the aspirants not only survived the incident, but also learnt valuable lessons from the experience. In turn, this altered the way they chose to lead and/or created a space for deep reflection on what it means to be a leader. This led to revelations about how one should conduct oneself in the role and gave them new ways to view the leaders around them as well as their colleagues. But in each case the precipitating event appeared to shake them to their core. My whole value system had been brought into question. Not only had I questioned my professional practise but was actually questioning whether I was a bad person. (31) My real challenge is to find a way to lead in a way that truly reflects the person I am. (27)

In extreme cases the cost was also one of isolation: through being ostracized I worked in a room alone, planned alone, wrote reports alone. I wondered if I was cut out for teaching. I was scared of my principal and confused by his manner. I would enter my sweltering hot classroom with the ugly faded tan carpet and feel my blood pressure rise. I would walk paces and up and down the passage to wind down when I arrived home. I put on a brave face. I did the best I could. (32) I felt intimidated and outraged with her proposal that I either re-work the figures or enter social and cultural exile. Weeks of caustic looks and being frozen out of conversations in the staffroom. (33)

The resulting emotions from events that challenged one’s sense of self and identify led to a heightened sense of anxiety, unease and a deep sense of the betrayal of trust. These reactions lasted for varying lengths of time. I began to feel anxious about staff meetings but carried on, thinking that I was being over-sensitive. (24) I felt ambushed, and humiliated for all the hard work that a lot of people at the school, as well as myself, had recently done. (1)

As Ackerman and Maslin-Ostrowski (2002) found, these wounds go straight to the heart. For some, the emotional labour was intense and the events were acute. I can remember feeling distraught at the ordeal, and had to pull over several times on the way home that night. Convinced I wasn’t fit for the job and that I was not being understood and that I had lost control of how others saw me (Ackerman &

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Maslin-Ostrowski, 2002, p. 9). I rang a close colleague and told him I couldn’t return to work. (34) I made the decision to walk away from leadership and to return to my roots as a teacher y I took up a position y as an instrumental music teacher. I relished the freedom of this role and rediscovered the joy of going to work (and being home in time to play with my kids!). I lost all confidence in my leadership capacity and began to question not only each action I took in leadership, but also my value as an educator as my focus on leadership duties compromised the time I spent in class preparation. I was confused about my worth, my identity and also by my emotional responses. I can concur with Ackerman and Maslin-Ostrowski (2002, p. 17) when she suggests that ‘it hurts tremendously to have a motive impugned, integrity questioned, and truth denied’. I had dared to question the dogma. (35)

There is no doubt that the emotional labour of being an aspirant leader is high and the transition can be a painful one. These vignettes illustrated the personal crisis of identity and the emotional labour involved when facing micro politics in schools. Can this kind of reflection be provoked in other, less challenging, ways?

REGROUPING, RECOVERY AND RESOLUTION Invariably, aspirants progressed through an emotional cycle of wounding, regrouping, recovery and resolution. Throughout the cycle, relationships with colleagues were the key to resolving the internal conflict. Across the narratives the word support (with and without suffixes) appeared 415 times. The woundings have been outlined above; the regrouping and recovery cycle is described in the following quotes.

Regrouping Aspirants often found it necessary to step back, reflect and reorganize their perspective of self and purpose after negative episodes in order to continue on the path they pursued. This was done with support from others. With his confidence in me, and the support of colleagues who were friends, I decided to swallow my injured pride and re-apply, putting some extra work into strengthening my vision of what I could achieve in the role. The short of it is that I won the job. (9) It was a slow and difficult road of picking up the pieces to reassemble myself, but I had a very loving and supporting group of friends and family who supported me through the process. (36)

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Recovery The analysis revealed the aspirants bounced back after a period of deep reflection about the events. They appeared to have emerged from the experience wiser, stronger and still motivated to be effective leaders. Fortunately, there were a few of us that had faith and we battled on, supported each other and challenged the ‘old ways’ of some others. We lost a few fights, but we won the battle! (37)

Resolution Aspirants gained insight from the experience, whether positive or negative, that helped determine future action, which served to dissipate the negativity of the wounding to some extent. This wounding highlighted the elements that have prepared me for my next position and have supported me to lead through the wounding that was to come:

 recognizing the things I have both professionally and personally;  making me understand how emotionally strong I need to be to do the job and what I need to do to maintain that;  the support and interest my mentors and colleagues have in my achievement and me as a person. (14) To give in would have been to leave people behind and lessen my chances of growing into the leader, that after much consideration and a lot of support, I thought I could be. (38)

The wounding stories show that the aspirant leaders all possessed support networks that allowed them to traverse school micro politics with their aspirations intact. Emotional labour will always be part of the aspirant leaders’ role, and will remain difficult to negotiate. It appears that most aspirants will encounter woundings and that support is needed to regroup, recover and resolve the issues. Woundings reveal the emotional work and emotional labour (the hidden curriculum) and outline the micro political pathway that aspirants traverse in their current and future roles as leaders.

DISCUSSION AND CONCLUSION Investigating emotional labour through the aspirant narratives has allowed us to focus not only on emotion but also on ‘the activity setting where the person–environment transactions occur’ (Schutz, Hong, Cross, & Osbon,

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2006, p. 345). It is this multi-focus that allows for meaningful awareness and knowledge creation regarding the emotional labour involved in being an aspirant leader. We have also been mindful when analysing narrative data and selecting vignettes to represent emotions, not as an isolated element, but as ‘holistic episodes that include physiological, psychological, and behavioral aspects’ and inclusive of, rather than separate to, cognition (Schutz, Hong, Cross, & Osbon, 2006, p. 345). Overall what we found is that the dissonances aspirant leaders faced appeared to arise out of a provocation (event) that saw them often having to surface act to remain compliant with the display rules. The up or down regulation illustrated how this conflicted on occasion with their sense of their role, their professional goals and personal identity. This was particularly salient when acting in bad faith as this requires greater emotion management in stressful and volatile situations. What was highlighted was the emotional labour associated with acting in good faith did not conflict with their sense of the role as human resources managers, or their goals. Acting in good faith (Rafaeli & Sutton, 1987) did not challenge their identity of being a good person. However, all forms of acting were taxing as they involved the management of one’s emotions in order to best manage the emotions of others. Provocations occurred regularly in the schools and how the resulting dissonance is managed seems to be a hallmark of survival in the system: to become recognizable leaders by virtue of adherence to the display rules expected of the system. The risks associated with this are high levels of burn out and distress, in part derived from managing the emotional dissonance (Federici & Skaalvik, 2012). If education systems are to continue to grow new leaders from within, the emotional labour of aspirants and sub-principal school leaders is an issue that needs further investigation. The support of colleagues is a key indicator of the aspirants’ ability to be resilient. Well-supported aspirants were able to learn about themselves in challenging environments and how to better ‘read’ their colleagues. The narratives revealed a range of situations that might be described as structural in which provocations are almost inevitable. Those who were best able to regroup were those who had good support networks around them either in the schools or from other established professional colleagues elsewhere.

LIMITATIONS An important aspect of emotional labour not evident in the narratives we analysed was deep acting (Hochschild, 1983/2012; Zapf et al., 1999). This

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may be due to the initial construction of the narratives as wounding stories. However, it may be that deep acting involves more positive interactions with colleagues, students and parents, not deemed necessary to convey in the narratives of wounding. As deep acting is potentially self-deception there may be no evidence of it because the aspirants remained unaware of their motives. Nonetheless, it is an important gap in this research that requires further investigation. As much of the literature on emotional labour involves short-term transactional relationships, these narratives, drawn from people who work closely with colleagues over long periods of time in periodically challenging situations, may contribute to the lack of deep acting during the analysis the presented narratives. There is more work to be done in this area and further research aimed at uncovering deep acting in aspirant leaders would be a very useful complement to this study.

NOTE 1. The term Aspirant has two meanings in the chapter. Firstly, it refers to teachers who also hold a designated leadership position such as Assistant Principal or Leading Teacher with designated responsibilities such as welfare or curriculum coordinator. Secondly, it recognizes an aspiration to become a principal, which is being actively pursued through academic study.

REFERENCES Ackerman, R. H., & Maslin-Ostrowski, P. (2002). The wounded leader: How real leadership emerges in times of crisis. San Francisco, CA: Jossey-Bass. Brotheridge, C. M., & Lee, R. T. (2003). Development and validation of the emotional labour scale. Journal of Occupational and Organizational Psychology, 76(3), 365–379. http:// dx.doi.org/10.1348/096317903769647229 Diefendorff, J. M., & Gosserand, R. H. (2003). Understanding the emotional labor process: A control theory perspective. Journal of Organizational Behavior, 24(8), 945–959. Federici, R., & Skaalvik, E. (2012). Principal self-efficacy: Relations with burnout, job satisfaction and motivation to quit. Social Psychology of Education, 15(3), 295–320. doi:10.1007/s11218-012-9183-5 Gardner, W. L., Fischer, D., & Hunt, J. G. (2009). Emotional labor and leadership: A threat to authenticity? The Leadership Quarterly, 20(3), 466–482. doi:http://dx.doi.org/10.1016/ j.leaqua.2009.03.011. Gronn, P., & Lacey, K. (2004). Positioning oneself for leadership: Feelings of vulnerability among aspirant school principals. School Leadership & Management, 24(4), 405–424. doi:10.1080/13632430410001316516

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Glaser, B. G. (1965). The constant comparative method of qualitative analysis. Social Problems, 12(4), 436–445. Hochschild, A. R. (2012[1983]). The managed heart: The commercialization of human feeling. Berkeley, CA: University of California Press. Hulsheger, U. R., & Schewe, A. F. (2011). On the costs and benefits of emotional labor: A metaanalysis of three decades of research. Journal of Occupational Health Psychology, 16(3), 361–389. Jenkins, S., & Conley, H. (2007). Living with the contradictions of modernization? Emotional management in the teaching profession. Public Administration, 85(4), 979–1001. Kelchtermans, G. (2005). Teachers’ emotions in educational reforms: Self-understanding, vulnerable commitment and micropolitical literacy. Teaching and Teacher Education, 21(8), 995–1006. Marshall, C., & Mitchell, B. A. (1991). The assumptive worlds of fledgling administrators. Education and Urban Society, 23(4), 396–415. Na¨ring, G., Vlerick, P., & Van de Ven, B. (2011). Emotion work and emotional exhaustion in teachers: The job and individual perspective. Educational Studies, 38(1), 63–72. doi:10.1080/03055698.2011.567026 Nias, J. (1996). Thinking about feeling: The emotions in teaching. Cambridge Journal of Education, 26(3), 293–306. doi:10.1080/0305764960260301 Rafaeli, A., & Sutton, R. I. (1987). Expression of emotion as part of the work role. Academy of Management Review, 12, 23–37. Riley, P. (2011). Attachment theory and the teacher–student relationship: A practical guide for teachers, teacher educators and school leaders. London: Routledge. Schutz, P. A., Hong, J., Cross, D. I., & Osbon, J. N. (2006). Reflections on investigating emotion in educational activity settings. Educational Psychology Review, 18(4), 343–360. doi:http://dx.doi.org/10.1007/s10648-006-9030-3 Searby, L., & Williams, C. (2007). How to survive the politics of school administration. AASA Journal of Scholarship & Practice, 4(3), 11–19. Sutton, R., Mudrey-Camino, R., & Knight, C. C. (2009). Teachers’ emotion regulation and classroom management. Theory Into Practice, 48(2), 130–137. Zapf, D., Vogt, C., Seifert, C., Mertini, H., & Isic, A. (1999). Emotion work as a source of stress: The concept and development of an instrument. European Journal of Work & Organizational Psychology, 8(3), 371–400.

LIFE ON SCHOOL LANDSCAPES: TEACHERS’ EXPERIENCES, RELATIONSHIPS AND EMOTIONS Cheryl J. Craig ABSTRACT In this chapter, the professional knowledge landscape of schools is explored for its shaping effect on the life satisfaction and morale of teachers. Knowledge communities, those associations and relationships that teachers experience as they navigate life in schools, is the conceptual lens that is used. Two teacher stories are explored. Both narratives reveal emotional and relationship influences on teachers as they find, build and work in knowledge communities. Knowledge community interactions, in turn, help them to understand the issues of their school community and support their survival on the larger professional landscape. This chapter uses narrative inquiry to analyse the stories that the teachers in the two exemplars (one Canadian; one American) lived and relived, told and re-told. Finally, serial interpretation allows for the unearthing of encompassing ideas which cut across both narratives and make visible common themes worthy of research attention. Keywords: Professional knowledge landscapes; knowledge communities; professional relationships; serial interpretation; narrative inquiry Emotion and School: Understanding How the Hidden Curriculum Influences Relationships, Leadership, Teaching, and Learning Advances in Research on Teaching, Volume 18, 99–117 Copyright r 2013 by Emerald Group Publishing Limited All rights of reproduction in any form reserved ISSN: 1479-3687/doi:10.1108/S1479-3687(2013)0000018010

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From the beginning, my research program has focused on how teachers develop their knowledge in knowledge communities (Craig, 1995a, 1995b). These communities of knowing (Craig, 2001, 2007a) are the people with whom teachers share their stories of experience (Connelly & Clandinin, 1990) and from whom they receive response. The individuals comprising teachers’ knowledge communities inform actions  and inactions  that subsequently take place. Through stories told and re-told, a teacher’s personal practical knowledge (Clandinin, 1986) is forged. Such knowledge has to do with ‘that body of convictions and meanings, conscious or unconscious, that have arisen from experience (intimate, social and tradition) and that are expressed in a person’s practice’ (Clandinin & Connelly, 1995, p. 7). What becomes revealed are matters that are ‘ephemeral, passionate, shadowy y [and] significant y ’ (Connelly & Clandinin, 2004, p. 42). The development of educators’ personal practical knowledge, however, does not take place in a vacuum. Rather, it occurs within a professional knowledge landscape ‘composed of relationships among people, places and things’, a landscape that is ‘both intellectual and moral’ (Clandinin & Connelly, 1995, p. 5). Professional knowledge landscapes are the places in which teachers work and live and where they ‘locat[e] themselves in different parts of [the] complex historical, personal, communal and professional [environment] in which moral and epistemological dilemmas abound’ (Soltis, 1995, p. vii). The landscape metaphor particularly is befitting of schools, given that teaching and learning are ‘personal and emotional’ as much as they are ‘cognitive and rational’ (Hollingsworth, Dybdahl, & Minarik, 1993, p. 6). Yet, the majority of what the educational conduit (Clandinin & Connelly, 1995; Craig, 2002) funnels as prescribed knowledge, skills and school policies into teaching-learning contexts fails to take into account the emotions of the people whose lives unfurl within them. This is because school decision-making historically has been more influenced by policy than by understandings of local conditions of the workplace or other shaping forces (Cremin, 1990). In this chapter, attention is focused on teachers’ school experiences viewed from the inside out. More specifically, relational and emotional qualities of the professional knowledge landscapes of schools are made public and accessible through examining some of my teacher participants’ in situ storied experiences.

EDUCATION, EXPERIENCE AND STORY Personal practical knowledge, knowledge communities and the professional knowledge landscapes of schools, the narrative terms introduced thus far, all

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rest on bedrock understandings of education, experience and story. John Dewey (1938) envisioned education as life, and life as a continuum of experience. For Dewey, interaction (the personal and the social), continuity (past, present and future) and situation (place) were integral to his concepts of education and experience, which in turn, were vital to understanding life as lived. Experience, for Dewey, could have educative (i.e. instructive) and non-educative (i.e. non-instructive) qualities, both of which have the power to shape people’s lives and learning. He explained, ‘What [a person] has learned in the way of knowledge and skill in one situation becomes an instrument of understanding and dealing effectively with the situations that follow. The process goes on as long as life and learning continue’ (Dewey, 1938, p. 44). Not only is experience pivotal to making sense of teachers’ knowledge developments in community and in context, so, too, is story. Paley (1986) emphasized ‘the imperative of story’; Coles (1989) championed ‘the call of story’; and Connelly and Clandinin (2006) likened story to a ‘portal through which a person enters the world and by which their experience of the world is interpreted and made personally meaningful’ (p. 375). Yet, there is not simply one kind of narrative that exists, but a whole constellation (Craig, 2007b) of them. Some are given to teachers and schools (i.e. stories of teachers, stories of schools, stories of reform) whereas others are stories that teachers live and tell, and re-live and re-tell, themselves (i.e., teacher stories, school stories, reform stories) (Clandinin & Connelly, 1996; Craig, 2001, 2007b). This work particularly revolves around non-canonical ‘small stories’ (Georgakopoulou, 2004) that educators live, ‘often parenthetically, in small moments unseen and unheard within mega narratives of educational policy’ (Olson & Craig, 2009a, p. 547). Mega narratives ‘consign [schools and the educators within them] to territory populated by many’ (Coles, 1989, p. 17), whereas small stories seek to understand individual educator’s situations in their own terms. Small stories attend to human emotions and particularity while remaining in ‘the realm of respectable research’ (Carger, 2005, p. 232).

NARRATIVE INQUIRY AND TEACHER STORIES An established qualitative research tradition, narrative inquiry uses story as ‘a way of thinking about experience’ (Clandinin & Connelly, 2000, p. 375). In my research program, narrative inquiry serves as both the method and form of my investigations (Connelly & Clandinin, 1990). Concerned with the meanings teachers construe of their lived experiences on their professional

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knowledge landscapes, narrative inquiry unfolds in a three-dimensional space (Clandinin & Connelly, 2000) consistent with Dewey’s qualities of experience earlier presented. Conducting research in a three-dimensional way allows me to ‘characterize school [contexts] without dismissing teachers’ and principals’ knowledge and the centrality of their relationships and interactions to the flow of events in the educational enterprise’ (Craig, 2003, p. 11). Such an approach forms a fluid (Connelly & Clandinin, 2005; Schwab, 1962) means of investigation, one that ‘rests on conceptual innovation, proceeds through uncertainty and failure, and eventuates in knowledge that is contingent, dubitable, and hard to come by’ (Schwab, 1962, p. 5). This makes narrative inquiry a complex research method to live and a difficult one to explain (Clandinin et al., 2006). Because ‘life is not made of separate pieces’ (Bateson, 1994, p. 108), neither are the stories collaboratively lived and told, and re-lived and re-told, by narrative inquirers and research participants. Rather, different nuanced experiences resonate with one another to create stories that are more like collages than buildings (Eisner, 1991). The approach I take follows work previously conducted by Czarniawka (1997), Connelly and Clandinin (1999), Craig (2002, 2009a, 2009b) and Olson and Craig (2005, 2009b). In her scholarship, Czarniawka combined a number of narratives to portray a meta-level view of institutional identity; whereas Connelly and Clandinin, in their research, connected different stories by different authors in order to capture the many ways teachers form their identities. Similarly, in a 2002 essay, I surveyed how various expressions of the conduit manifested themselves in my research studies and, in 2009a, how the contested classroom space was a common phenomenon running through my field-based inquiries in 10 Texas schools. Also, in our 2005 and 2009a articles, Margaret Olson and I examined how the cover story and travelling story conceptualization emerged in our combined research programs. As can be seen, different narrative researchers and research teams have used meta-level narrative analysis for different purposes in their respective studies. This chapter, though, mostly resembles the Craig and Olson (2005, 2009b) and Craig (2002, 2009a, 2009b) publications because the focus is placed on narrative threads that traverse my personal research program to date. The research I share here has an added element of complexity to it because I employ what Schwab (1969) called ‘serial interpretation’. Serial interpretation allows for the unearthing of ‘encompassing ideas’ present in existing inquiries and creates a space for new insights to be drawn from them. It involves a meta-level layer of analysis that cuts across two narrative accounts constructed at two different points in time in my research career.

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In my analysis, I sift through the two stories of experience (Connelly & Clandinin, 1990) and snag relevant narrative threads that illustrate teachers’ relationships and emotions as lived within the professional knowledge landscape of schools, which is the focal point of this chapter. Just as different aspects of individual narrative inquiries comprise a whole, so do different aspects of cumulative inquiries conducted by the same inquirer constitute a whole. Each of the accounts extracted from the narrative inquiries I share here helps inform understanding of life on the professional knowledge landscape of schools as being shaped by relationship and filled with emotion. After each narrative account is probed separately, a synthesis of the findings will be shared.

TEACHERS’ EMOTIONAL AND RELATIONAL EXPERIENCES ON THE PROFESSIONAL KNOWLEDGE LANDSCAPE OF SCHOOLS Relationships and emotions are inevitably present in my school-based narrative inquiries (Xu & Connelly, 2010) because they are part of the human condition. During my work with teachers and schools, two stories bubbled to the surface as exemplars of teachers’ emotional and relational experiences on the professional knowledge landscape of schools. One is the experiential story of Tim and the influential relationships that unfolded within the context of one of Connelly and Clandinin’s Social Sciences and Humanities Research Council of Canada grants. These narratives, in turn, helped to inform Clandinin and Connelly’s (1996) conceptualizations of stories of teachers – teacher stories and stories of schools  school stories. The other is the collaborative story of a knowledge community of literacy teachers who created and unpacked a core metaphor to make sense of their school’s reform initiative, which was funded by a private philanthropy in the U.S., and their relationships with it. Where Tim was concerned, the mega narrative that became unearthed on his school landscape had to do with his campus’ quest to be a ‘healthy school’ (story of school), whereas the teachers who formed Tim’s knowledge communities lived the underbelly of this narrative in their telling and retellings, living and re-living of Kirkpatrick healthy school stories (school story). I share Tim’s ‘healthy school’ experience here because I believe it uncovers the ‘hidden curriculum’ (Jackson, 1968) of emotions unavoidably present in the relationships of educators sharing common school contexts.

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All sorts of subterranean understandings can be teased to the surface by probing the ‘healthy school’ phenomenon. The collaborative story of four literacy teachers centres on a school reform writing initiative that carried with it required changes to teaching but limited practical support from district/consulting experts. The core metaphor of The Monkey’s Paw1 (Jacobs, 1902) emerged in their discussions in response to external demands and involvements in their teaching as a way to express the ironies encountered in teachers’ experiences. The metaphor strikes at the heart of the let-down the teachers felt when they got what they wanted (a funded school reform effort)  but that it played out in a manner different than they had anticipated. The knowledge communities that Tim in Canada and the four literacy teachers in the United States had formed served as safe places for them to share their feelings in an uncensored environment, to sort out their emotional responses to the changes/alternatives before them, and to restory how they would respond to limitations the given changes would place on their teacher practices and on their personal and professional selves. What follows are condensed versions of stories of school-school stories extracted from my research at two school sites. The first is Tim’s school: Kirkpatrick Elementary School in western Canada, a 400-student campus located in a middle class neighbourhood. The second campus story revolves around T. P. Yaeger Middle School, a highly diverse 1,500-student campus located in an upper middle class neighbourhood in the mid-southern U.S. In the sections that follow, I specifically attend to the relationships and emotions of teachers evident in the particular narratives that were lived and told, re-lived and re-told. Also, my use of more recent narrative conceptualizations adds a new layer of analysis to the original accounts and the subsequent meta-level layer of analysis.

Kirkpatrick School in Western Canada: The Healthy School While conducting research with Tim, a beginning teacher at Kirkpatrick Elementary School (K-6) in Canada (Craig, 1995a), he informed me of a canonical mega narrative that he came to know on Kirkpatrick’s professional knowledge landscape. When Tim shared his small story of feeling frustrated and overwhelmed by the number of duties he was required to do in his initial year of teaching, an experienced teacher shared the raison d’eˆtre for the many duties expected of Kirkpatrick faculty. She confided over lunch one day: ‘Teachers at Kirkpatrick have to do all these activities for the

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school to be healthy school. Schools where these activities do not occur are dead schools.’ In these few words, Tim’s teacher friend voiced an unquestioned sacred story (Crites, 1971) that attributed living qualities to a non-living entity. In her two sentences, the moral push behind activities in schools was articulated. Also in her statement were the accumulated findings of the effective schools movement, which had left its footprint on educational policy by virtue of the school district’s healthy school mandate. As a neophyte to the profession, Tim’s immediate, unvoiced response to his colleague was ‘Better dead schools than dead teachers!’ Evident in his unspoken exasperated reply was his elevation of the well-being of human beings (teachers) over man-made institutions (schools). His early brushing against the boundaries of the ‘dead [burnt-out] teacher’ syndrome in his teacher education program and later as teachers became inundated with extra duties at Kirkpatrick had brought him to this terse, almost instinctive response. But Tim was astute enough to silence himself in the otherwise amicable lunch conversation. He knew newcomers speaking truth to power was taboo in his new school setting. So, he consciously and unconsciously made the healthy school plotline a topic of inquiry throughout his first two years of teaching. For example, Tim discussed the matter with Joyce and Rhonda, two Kirkpatrick teachers with over 10 years of experience and proven track records in an abundance of school activities. As members of his knowledge communities, he described them as ‘powerful movers’, ‘unofficial leaders’, ‘cornerstone people’, ‘two of the most positive people on staff. In conversing with Joyce and Rhonda, he discovered that they, like him, were also fatigued. They told of a time they were overcome by ‘too many demands on their time’ (Rhonda’s words). As a result, Tim took their stories of experience into his personal knowing. He told me: ‘If people like Joyce and Rhonda who will do anything are getting burnt out [through involvement in too many activities], we need to step back and take a look at the problem.’ Here, the two teachers’ candid responses caused Tim to reframe what previously had been a passing wonder into a felt problem, deserving of direct attention. Tim also discussed the matter with Dolores, the congenial teacher at his grade level who had taken him ‘under her wing’, nurtured him and introduced him to school policies and procedures. She was the person, for example, who had taught him how to write ‘an anytimeanywhere lesson plan’ for substitute teaching faculty. Dolores confirmed what Joyce and Rhonda had shared. According to her, school activities had swollen out of proportion and were ‘out-of-hand’.

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Tim also paid careful attention to what Victor, the school principal, had to say about the matter. At the conclusion of Tim’s first year of teaching, Tim took Victor’s comments as a confirmation of what he [Tim] personally felt. At the end of the year y on the organizational day [for teachers] y Victor said he had a concern about the number of things we have been doing. Not the quality or anything like that, but just the number of things we were doing y He has identified it as a problem y either someone came to him or he identified it himself.

With his knowledge validated by Joyce, Rhonda, Dolores and Victor, among others, Tim began to develop a more comprehensive position. ‘We need to see the whole thing [the school’s curricular and extra-curricular programs] y as a big picture rather than piece by piece y ’ was what he told me. He said that different combinations of activities were overwhelming different people and that Kirkpatrick’s entire extra-curricular program needed to be revisited. About the same time as Tim worried about his personal survival as a beginning teacher, the faculty member who shared the healthy school plotline of Kirkpatrick School praised Tim profusely at a faculty meeting. She announced, Tim has learned many things this year, most of which were outside his job description as a teacher. For example, he has been the Master of Ceremonies for the Sports Day Assembly y and [has] been very active in public relations activities such as the School Carnival and the Spring Concert.

In this passage, Tim’s contributions to the extracurricular activities at Kirkpatrick were considered notable and praiseworthy, while his curricular activities inside his classroom and in relationship with his students were not visible to others and therefore not publicly commendable. Despite the high compliment sent his way, Tim held to his belief that the Kirkpatrick faculty needed some non-structured time. He shared the following with me: I definitely see a need for [unstructured time] because it all gets back to wellness and reflection y We are doing too much to make time for ourselves and our own professional needs or own wellness needs y We need time to think about and communicate what we are doing as teachers y Because we are so focused on doing things for other people, we forget about ourselves y So y if the promotion of wellness becomes a committee function [next year], I will encourage reflection among the staff.

In this excerpt, Tim named the competing values underlying the perceived ‘concern’ faced by Kirkpatrick’s faculty. On one hand, there was ‘doing

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things for other people’ (i.e. teachers’ altruism and fidelity to children, teachers’ loco parentis roles, teachers’ compensated work for the school district, etc.). On the other hand, there was ‘doing things for [them] selves’ (i.e. personal professional growth, self-preservation, etc.). Readers will note that the first position is virtually selfless in nature, whereas the second one can be viewed as solipsistic. At the beginning of Tim’s second year of teaching, the school district upped the ante on its healthy school focus, this time adopting Cahoon’s (1991) concept of a ‘regenerative work environment’. Teachers at all campuses were to place full attention on this district priority. In the interim, Tim’s knowledge communities had expanded. Among his new confidantes were Leonard who was involved in Teachers’ Association work like Victor, Jonas who was Kirkpatrick’s Assistant Principal and on a forward-moving trajectory like Leonard (albeit a different one) and Marj who Tim described as ‘a quiet leader’, an individual to whom ‘everyone sits up and listens’. Tim’s interactions with Marj enabled him to see her as a person who supported the agency and efficacy of other faculty members without affecting the outcome of their decision-making. In Tim’s second year, Victor attempted to launch the school year in a serious manner, but Victor was interrupted in a jovial way by several teachers who teased him about the school district’s health commitment, while concurrently robbing Victor of key faculty members due to promotions and other position changes. Unavoidably, Victor and the remainder of the faculty would be left with more  not less  work to do. ‘Everyone had a good laugh [at the irony] and was quite relaxed’ was how these faculty interactions were described in the participant observation notes. But when the laughter subsided, Victor focused the teachers’ undivided attention on Kirkpatrick’s revamped mission statement: ‘to develop a regenerative work environment which will ensure high quality student education and professional wellness’. The vision, which had originated in Calhoon’s scholarship, had been appropriated by the school district, and was now being disseminated in a chain-like fashion down the conduit to teachers in district schools by respective leadership teams spearheaded by principals like Victor. However, when Victor opened the discussion, he said they would be working on a ‘school action plan’, a different turn of phrase from the previous year’s language of a school improvement plan whose origins clearly was effective schools based. Victor’s choice of the word, action, meant that he intended that the problem of school activities would be addressed. He said that the school faculty had been ‘biting off more than could be chewed’

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and ‘pushing themselves y by doing too much’. He urged the teachers to ‘learn to be realistic and y let some things go y We have to think about what we can reasonably accomplish and what we can cooperatively accomplish’. The faculty then worked through the full range of activities on campus that largely fell into two groups: clubs and sports. To begin, the music teacher dug her heels in about any possibility of eliminating the Winter Concert. Victor responded by questioning why the winter program had a ‘sacred (no pun intended) existence’ in Kirkpatrick’s story of the school. The faculty then embarked on a discussion of sports events. At this point, Dolores spoke of ‘burnt-out kids y inundated by activities’. When she pleaded for the number of in-school and after-school events to be reduced, Jonas, who derived a good portion of his ‘story to live by’ (Connelly & Clandinin, 1999)  his identity expressed in narrative termsfrom coaching/administering and was one of Tim’s new knowledge communities, also asserted his desire to continue offering traditionally expected school activities. However, Jonas did not ground his defence in what he personally wanted to do; he spoke of something teachers dreaded: ‘hearing from parents’. The hidden message Jonas communicated was that Kirkpatrick teachers would be letting children down if the school did not provide a full slate of club and sports activities in a manner satisfying to families. In a nutshell, teachers would not be doing the jobs as public employees. The faculty meeting debate gained additional intensity as other teachers entered the fray, arguing for or against specific school activities. After Jonas, who formed a strong male presence on the school’s professional knowledge landscape, claimed that the teachers were privileging their personal and professional wellness at the expense of the wellness of Kirkpatrick’s students, many female teachers recanted on their previously stated positions. They once again became subservient. They admitted to the ‘guilt’ they experienced when they could not ‘meet the demands placed upon them’. Prior to Victor putting the matter to a vote, Tim also appealed to the staff. Surprisingly, he took a position mirroring that of Jonas, who, for Tim, was a male role model, and abandoned (to a certain extent) the position he had previously developed in his other knowledge community relationships with Joyce, Rhonda, Dolores and Victor. According to Marj, Tim’s reinforcement of Jonas’s position  a distinctively male coach stance  ‘made the guilt trip set in with the staff and soon people were saying, ‘‘Well, if so and so is going to do this, then I should be doing something too’’ y Teachers’ egos were involved y’ Marj regretted that the faculty was heading towards ‘a repetition of the same kinds of activities as last year’, but accepted the

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decision as the outcome of a democratic process. Victor expressed a similar regret. By a 1410 margin, all of the sports and club activities at Kirkpatrick Elementary School were retained. And, while Tim at first brush appeared to significantly shape Kirkpatrick’s healthy school plotline, it could also be said that in many ways he was showing how the story of Kirkpatrick as a healthy school  part of the hidden curriculum of the campus  had profoundly shaped him in his first two years of teaching. Through it  and by virtue of his relationships with the administrators around him, it became apparent that he discovered the male-dominated pathway to administration. Reflective interpretation In the healthy school narrative, a full range of emotions is present in Tim’s knowledge community interactions and in faculty deliberations on Kirkpatrick’s professional knowledge landscape. Readers become privy to intimate discussions between faculty members, sharing and confirmation of personal viewpoints and stories, public recognition of a job well done, the influence of gender in the workplace and humour arising from the duplicity of a school district’s purpose. At the same time, vulnerability, guilt, male dominance, conflicting agendas and ego concerns are also shared. All in all, the narrative originating at Kirkpatrick Elementary School in Canada shows continuities amid discontinuities (Dewey, 1938) having to do with school activities as experienced by teachers, as well as how relationships also inform positions teachers take. Readers get the sense that the everyday discussions involve ‘real acts, real teachers, real children’ (Schwab, 1969, p. 35). The narrative of experience paradoxically illustrates that even when more experienced teachers in schools are nearing the precipice of change (approaching a tipping point), those younger and newer to campuses may have already accepted the stories their teaching counterparts initially held up for them as models as they socialized them into the school-level professional knowledge community. Tim’s story illustrates how teachers’ experiences cross the boundaries between in-classroom and out-of-classroom activities, from ‘a safe place for living the sacred stories of teaching to a place of moral persuasion and abstract knowledge [on the larger landscape]’ (Clandinin & Connelly, 1995, p. 104). Tim’s adoption of the school story with its multitude of activities influencing his identity reveals the personal, social, emotional and relational connections that teachers have with school narratives and how a change in positioning and what one values can temporarily resolve inner emotional dilemmas that are deeply felt. Paradoxically, however, Tim would outwardly continue to struggle with

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having too many activities as long as he remained a teacher at Kirkpatrick. Tim’s narrative shows how changes that both new and experienced teachers advocate  albeit at different junctures of time  unavoidably involve relationships and emotions that shape and are shaped by the tenor of Kirkpatrick Elementary School’s professional knowledge landscape.

T. P. Yaeger Middle School in the Mid-Southern U.S.: School Reform and The Monkey’s Paw While engaging in a research study at T. P. Yaeger Middle School in the mid-southern U.S. (Craig, 2001), I discovered that four of Yaeger’s male literacy teachers, Bob, Daryl, Howard and Charles, who formed a particular community of knowing had named a mega narrative of school reform that their small stories of experience repeatedly refuted. The condensed plotline of the story went like this: ‘[School reform] is The Monkey’s Paw. It appears as if it is a gift but it really is not a gift. [School reform initiatives] hold many ironies for teachers.’ The four males were among the 85 faculty members at Yaeger who were expected to implement the models of teaching change agenda on their campus. Bob, Daryl and Charles were Caucasians who were included in the group selected by administrators to receive special professional development provided by the reform movement; Howard, an African American, was not chosen as one of the specially prepared teachers. All four members of the knowledge community frequently bantered back and forth, sifting their personal reform movement experiences through monkey metaphor lenses contained in the 8th grade reading anthology from which they all taught. Daryl, who was the literacy department head, worried about ‘the monkey see, monkey do’ mentality underlying what was expected of teachers. One department member, he shared, was upset because ‘teachers had become slaves to forced generalizations y and slaves to mandated curriculum writing’. The servitude to which the department member referred connected not only to the history of racial segregation in the American South, but also with teachers’ public servant roles. All in all, teachers in the literacy department had, in Daryl’s estimation, covered the whole range of emotions where the models of teaching reform was concerned y ignorance, confusion, anger, with bits of relief tucked in here and there y And then the whole thing would start up again. The main problem y is few examples are given from which to work. Also y the student element is missing. ‘So what does equal or unequal relationships look like from a student’s perspective?’

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Personally, Daryl wondered when Yaeger would be able to move past the models of teaching mandate. He queried, ‘[The reform movement] promised to go beyond [teaching to the state-mandated tests], but couldn’t our school go beyond [the reform movement]?’ In short, how might reform extend beyond the boundaries of those bounding it? As for Bob, the youngest among the four teachers in the particular knowledge community, viewed what has transpiring through the ‘monkey business’ lens. He told me that he agreed with Daryl and that only two people on his team are trained and everyone is totally confused. He said something must be ‘terribly wrong’ because ‘the whole building was experiencing turmoil’. Bob particularly spoke of the moral implications of the change and how the ‘reform movement made teachers feel guilty’, an approach he did not condone. Also, the ‘monkey business’ the Yaeger teachers had experienced had robbed them of any feeling of accomplishment. In his words, ‘there is no feeling of success y just more promise of more work to come that is certain to displease y’ Concerning the Monkey’s Paw metaphor, Howard, who as earlier explained was African American and not one of the hand-picked participants, centred on two related metaphoric expressions: ‘monkey suits’ and ‘monkey wrenches’. He identified himself as a ‘monkey suit’, an African American representative of his race (he wore suits and crisp white shirts; white males in the school wore khaki pants and t-shirts) who stood out from the faculty and never had a voice or a place in important decision making. He spoke of how the campus had employed nine African American males when the federal government forced the public schools in certain southern states to desegregate. At the time the research was conducted (close to three decades post-desegregation), he was one of only two black males who remained. For Howard, any reform movement that does not take into account race, culture and representation in initiating a change agenda is highly problematic. As for his second metaphor, his ‘monkey wrench’ perspective on the reform movement, Howard shared how the reform movement representatives would simply arrive at Yaeger and disrespectfully scuttle everyone else’s pre-arranged plans. He commented, The [models of teaching reform movement] is disjointed and piecemeal. The reformers are hell bent in continuing their agenda in spite of the incredible turmoil they create y They [the proponents] have [forgotten] that the message has to be carried through a messenger, a teacher, to the students. Otherwise, their message is lost.

Meanwhile, the fourth literacy teacher, Charles, asserted that the Yaeger faculty worked ‘from hybrid models y and that the whole school was a

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collection of creative genius’. However, the adoption of the models of teaching represented a ‘monkey on teachers’ backs’ as the longer discussion below illustrates: Charles: A sacred promise made last year has been broken. We were told we would never have to train other teachers y Colleague: We are being forced to teach curriculum differently y Charles: We have to share our experiences [of the reform movement]. Working in a vacuum is frustrating. Daryl: It is like being in the woods without a flashlight y I don’t have time to sit down and focus on curriculum writing y Bob: We have done very little because other things are calling us, like the parents whose child has received a B for the first time in his/her life y Colleague: We have put the [reform movement] under the microscope. Let’s not shelve it y Charles: It is ‘The Monkey’s Paw’. It appears as if it is a gift but it really is not a gift. The [reform] holds many ironies for teachers y It cannot be forced y placed like a monkey on the backs of teachers.

In this narrative, the Yaeger teachers productively used metaphor to express and share their feelings (emotions) about the required curriculum writing initiative. This, in turn, helped them to strengthen the relational bonds of their knowledge community and provided them with a tightly knit support system in the mist of turbulent change. Reflective Interpretation In The Monkey’s Paw story, which cohered around the core ‘monkey’s paw’ metaphor and four teachers’ associated metaphors, readers witness a broad spectrum of emotional responses shared by members of a particular knowledge community lodged within T. P. Yaeger’s literacy department. With respect to the specific change effort, Daryl identified widespread feelings of ‘ignorance, confusion, anger, with bits of relief tucked in here and there’; Bob spoke of confusion, moral perturbation and a general lack of satisfaction; Howard focused on turmoil and power-mongering; and Charles honed in on ‘a sacred trust that had been broken’ the fact that teachers are hired to teach students, not fellow professionals. However, in spite of emotions quite unlike others they had experienced in the past, the

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four teachers at Yaeger managed to keep their lines of communication open  despite Howard not being part of the privileged group. By virtue of their relationships forged in their knowledge community, they were able to continue the conversation imaginatively grounded in metaphors from an 8th grade short story that they all taught. The shared metaphor allowed them to express emotions, to relationally support each other, and to maintain a knowledge community despite external disruptions and the lack of institutional support. In a flesh-and-blood way, the relationships they shared in their knowledge community instantiated how they worked ‘from hybrid models y ’ and supported their continued work in relationship with the youth they teach and in productive partnerships with their peers. Their knowledge community transactions illuminated the ‘collection of creative genius’ on Yaeger’s professional knowledge landscape.

SERIAL INTERPRETATION Having probed the emotions and relationships evident in the two narratives of experience having to do with knowledge community/professional knowledge landscape interactions in two international school settings, I now engage in ‘serial interpretation’ as proposed by Schwab (1969). Comprehensively surveying this work, it is evident that the Kirkpatrick and Yaeger teachers were, as Schwab maintained, ‘people with personalities, characteristics and prevailing moods’ who ‘possess feelings about themselves and others’ and are able to act as ‘agents of education in its entirety, not merely y of its subject matter’. (Schwab, 1954/1978, p. 128) Furthermore, what they know and who they are is embedded in their relational and emotional responses to situations. Put simply, their knowing and being are imbued with emotion. As Schwab (1954/1978) explained, education cannot separate subject matter from feeling and action, whether in the interest of the one or the other. Training of the intellect [unavoidably takes] place in a milieu of feelings and must express itself in actions y We may employ the emotional and active factors existent in [situations] as a means for intensifying and facilitating the process y or ignore them and suffer y an alienation, which places emotions in active opposition to our purposes. (p. 124–125)

Through approaching the Kirkpatrick and Yaeger teachers in this chapter as something other than purveyors of others’ desires and demands and

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objects to be manipulated to others’ ends, the intended and unintended consequences (Jackson, 1968) of educational policy and the imprint it leaves on teachers’ experiences and lives can be seen. This was evident when the teachers became frustrated by the undue demands made of their time and felt let down when the mandated programs they were expected to implement were not accompanied by appropriate human support systems. What additionally comes into view is the fact that the Kirkpatrick and Yaeger faculty members worked in ‘changing contexts riddled with idiosyncrasies’ (Eisner, 1984, p. 24) and that each of them was constantly ‘interrupted y by others’ claims to their attention’ (Torbert, 1981, p. 143). Moreover, it is apparent that educators at both schools organically employed metaphors [healthy school; monkey’s paw of school reform]symbolic of their situations and understood within particular knowledge community relationships to navigate the complexities of their professional knowledge landscapes and ‘to organize otherwise inchoate experiences’, particularly ‘somatic experiences, such as affects’ (Modell, 1997, p. 220). The teachers used metaphors not only as embodied containers to hold their empirical knowledge refined in context, but also as spoken forces through which their heartfelt emotions and relational knowing could be expressed. In fact, it may be that metaphors are the only vehicles humans possess to communicate relational meaning and emotion in a concentrated and compact form. Finally, despite the hidden curriculum stories of the healthy school and the monkey’s paw of school reform extending into the future in largely unresolved ways, something positive nevertheless happened to the teacher participants who storied and re-storied, lived and re-lived those experiences in their respective school milieus and via the research process. De Salvo (1999) worded it this way, When [teachers] deal with unassimilated events, when [they] tell [their] stories and describe [their] feelings and integrate them into [their] sense of self, [they] no longer y actively work at inhibition. This alleviates the stress of holding back [their] stories and repressing or hiding [their] emotions, and so [despite perennial challenges], well-being improves. (pp. 24)

Bringing the largely unplumbed emotional curriculum of schools to the surface for vigorous discussion with colleagues  while recognizing the pernicious problems it presents  appears to be the way teachers cope, and life in schools (Jackson, 1968) proceeds. Inquiring into teachers’ knowledge communities offers a bird’s eye view of the relational and emotional tenor of the professional knowledge landscapes of schools and insights into why change does or does not happen. It reminds us of the human qualities that

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teachers bring to the teaching and learning task and the complexities that emerge as their lives forge into the future.

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS Special thanks is extended to Tim and his Kirkpatrick Elementary School colleagues in Canada and the four T. P. Yaeger Middle School teachers, Howard, Charles, Bob and Daryl, and their colleagues in the U.S. for their contributions to this work. Appreciation is also extended to research assistants, Gayle Curtis and Dr. Xiao Han, who helped in the preparation of this chapter.

NOTE 1. The Monkey’s Paw is a short story, which warns that we need to be careful what we wish for in case we get it.

REFERENCES Bateson, M. C. (1994). Peripheral visions: Learning along the way. New York, NY: Harper Collins. Cahoon, A. (1991). Keynote address. Summer Institute for Kirkpatrick Elementary School’s School District. Carger, C. L. (2005). The art of narrative inquiry: Embracing emotion and seeing transformation. In J. Phillion, M. F. He & F. M. Connelly (Eds.), Narrative and experience in multicultural education (pp. 231–245). London: Sage. Clandinin, D. J. (1986). Classroom practice: Teacher images in action. Philadelphia, PA: The Falmer Press. Clandinin, D. J., & Connelly, F. M. (1995). Teachers’ professional knowledge landscapes. New York, NY: Teachers College Press. Clandinin, D. J., & Connelly, F. M. (1996). Teachers’ professional knowledge landscapes: Teacher stories-stories of teachers-school stories-stories of school. Educational Researcher, 25(3), 24–30. Clandinin, D. J., & Connelly, F. M. (2000). Narrative inquiry: Experience and story in qualitative research. San Francisco, CA: Jossey-Bass. Clandinin, D. J., Huber, J., Huber, M., Murphy, S., Murray Orr, A., Pearce, M., & Steeves, P. (2006). Composing diverse identities: Narrative inquiries into the interwoven lives of children and teachers. New York, NY: Routledge. Coles, R. (1989). The call of stories: Teaching and the moral imagination. Boston, MA: Houghton Mifflin.

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Connelly, F. M., & Clandinin, D. J. (1990). Stories of experience and narrative inquiry. Educational Researcher, 19(5), 2–14. Connelly, F. M., & Clandinin, D. J. (1999). Shaping a professional identity: Stories of educational practice. New York, NY: Teachers College Press. Connelly, F. M., & Clandinin, D. J. (2004). Canadian teacher education in transition. In Y. C. Cheng, K. W. Chow & M. C. Magdalena Mok (Eds.), Reform of teacher education in the Asia-Pacific in the new millennium: Trends and challenges (pp. 35–43). The Netherlands: Kluwer Academic Publishers. Connelly, F. M., & Clandinin, D. J. (2006). Narrative inquiry. In J. Green, G. Camilli & P. Elmore (Eds.), Handbook of complementary methods in education research (pp. 375–385). Mahwah, NJ: Lawrence Erlbaum. Craig, C. (1995a). Knowledge communities: A way of making sense of how beginning teachers come to know. Curriculum Inquiry, 25(2), 151–172. Craig, C. (1995b). Safe places on the professional knowledge landscape: Knowledge communities. In D. J. Clandinin & F. M. Connelly (Eds.), Teachers’ professional knowledge landscapes (pp. 137–141). New York, NY: Teachers College Press. Craig, C. (2001). The relationships between and among teacher knowledge, communities of knowing, and top down school reform: A case of ‘‘The Monkey’s Paw’’. Curriculum Inquiry, 31(3), 303–331. Craig, C. (2002). The conduit: A meta-level analysis of lives lived and stories told. Teachers & Teaching: Theory & Practice, 8(2), 197–221. Craig, C. (2003). Narrative inquiries of school reform: Storied lives, storied landscapes, storied metaphors. Greenwich, CT: Information Age Publishing. Craig, C. (2007a). Illuminating qualities of knowledge communities in a portfolio-making context. Teachers and Teaching: Theory and Practice, 13(6), 617–636. Craig, C. (2007b). Story constellations: A narrative approach to contextualizing teachers’ knowledge of school reform. Teaching and Teacher Education, 23(2), 173–188. Craig, C. (2009a). The contested classroom space: A decade of lived educational policy in Texas schools. American Educational Research Journal, 46(4), 1034–1059. Craig, C. (2009b). Research in the midst of organized school reform: Tensions in teacher community. American Educational Research Journal, 46(2), 598–619. Cremin, L. (1990). Popular education and its discontents. New York, NY: Harper & Row, Publishers. Crites, S. (1971). The narrative quality of experience. Journal of the American Academy of Religion, 39(3), 291–311. Czarniawka, B. (1997). Narrating the organization: Dramas of institutional identity. Chicago, IL: University of Chicago Press. De Salvo, L. (1999). Writing as a way of healing. San Francisco, CA: Harper. Dewey, J. (1938). Education and experience. New York, NY: Collier Books. Eisner, E. W. (1984). No easy answers: Schwab’s contributions to curriculum. Curriculum Inquiry, 14(2), 201–209. Eisner, E. W. (1991). The enlightened eye: Qualitative inquiry and the enhancement of educational practices. Toronto, ON: Collier Macmillan. Georgakopoulou, A. (2004). Narrative analysis workshop: How to work with narrative data. Presented at Narrative Matters 2004: An Interdisciplinary Conference on Narrative Perspectives, Approaches, and Issues across the Humanities and Social Sciences, Fredericton, New Brunswick, Canada, May 20–23, 2004.

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Hollingsworth, S., Dybdahl, M., & Minarik, L. (1993). By chart and chance and passion: The importance of relational knowing in learning to teach. Curriculum Inquiry, 23(1), 5–35. Jackson, P. W. (1968). Life in classrooms. New York, NY: Holt, Rinehart & Winston. Jacobs, W. W. (1902). The monkey’s paw. The lady of the barge. London: Harper & Brothers. Reprinted by permission of Dodd, Mead & Co., Inc. and The Society of Authors. Modell, A. (1997). Reflections on metaphor and affects. Annals of Psychoanalysis, 25, 219–233. Olson, M., & Craig, C. (2005). Uncovering cover stories: Tensions and entailments in the development of teacher knowledge. Curriculum Inquiry, 35(2), 161–182. Olson, M., & Craig, C. (2009a). Small stories and mega-stories: Accountability in balance. Teachers College Record, 111(2), 547–572. Olson, M., & Craig, C. (2009b). Travelling stories: Converging milieus and educative conundrums. Teaching and Teacher Education, 25, 1077–1085. Paley, V. G. (1986). On listening to what the children say. Harvard Educational Review, 56(2), 122–132. Schwab, J. (1969). The practical: A language for curriculum. School Review, 78, 1–23. Schwab, J. J. (1954/1978). Eros and education: A discussion of one aspect of discussion. In I. Westbury & N. Wilkof (Eds.), Science, curriculum and liberal education: Selected essays. Chicago, IL: University of Chicago Press. Schwab, J. J. (1962). The teaching of science as enquiry. In J. J. Schwab & P. Brandwein (Eds.), The teaching of science. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Soltis, J. (1995). Foreword. In D. J. Clandinin & F. M. Connelly (Eds.), Teachers’ professional knowledge landscapes (pp. vvii–viii). New York, NY: Teachers College Press. Torbert, W. R. (1981). Why educational research has been so uneducational. In P. Reason & J. Rowan (Eds.), Human inquiry (pp. 141–151). London: Wiley. Xu, S. J., & Connelly, F. M. (2010). Narrative inquiry for school-based research. Narrative Inquiry, 20(2), 349–370.

LEARNING TO TEACH AND THE FALSE APPRENTICESHIP: EMOTION AND IDENTITY DEVELOPMENT DURING THE FIELD EXPERIENCE PLACEMENT Shawn Michael Bullock ABSTRACT The field experience placement is an integral part of teacher education programmes. It is ostensibly meant to provide a place for teacher candidates to enact pedagogical theory gained during coursework under the supervision of an experienced host teacher. In reality, the field placement is a source of considerable tension for teacher candidates, as they struggle to reconcile their prior assumptions about teaching and learning and their prior identities as students with the demands of school culture that requires teachers and students to act in particular ways. The field experience is emotional work that has a considerable impact on the development of new teachers’ identities. In this chapter I will focus on how two new teachers learn during the field experience placement, with a particular emphasis on the roles of emotion and the development of

Emotion and School: Understanding How the Hidden Curriculum Influences Relationships, Leadership, Teaching, and Learning Advances in Research on Teaching, Volume 18, 119–140 Copyright r 2013 by Emerald Group Publishing Limited All rights of reproduction in any form reserved ISSN: 1479-3687/doi:10.1108/S1479-3687(2013)0000018011

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professional identity in learning to teach. Cultural–historical activity theory (CHAT) will provide a useful lens to interpret some of the challenges of learning to teach during the field placement. Keywords: Mentoring; beginning teacher; field placement; identity; false apprenticeship; cultural–historical activity theory The field placement experience, a hallmark of teacher education programmes, is a locus of the complexity of the relationship between learning to teach, prior assumptions about teaching and learning, and teacher socialization. Learning from experience in a teacher education programme is neither intuitive nor obvious, and the tensions associated with learning during field experiences are magnified by the concurrent identity construction associated with learning to teach. First I will discuss the issues surrounding learning to teach through field placement before focusing on the emotions associated with teacher identity development. This discussion will set the stage for the use of cultural–historical activity theory (CHAT) to examine how teachers learn and develop under the current state of teacher field experience.

LEARNING THROUGH OBSERVATION New teachers come to the profession with a lifetime of experiences of observing teacher behaviour. Unlike other forms of professional education, such as medicine or law, teacher candidates come to their preparation programmes with well-formed – although perhaps tacit – ideas about how teachers should enact their professional roles. While it is true that would-be teachers have some experience with the medical profession (as patients) and perhaps with the legal profession (as clients), in most cases it is safe to assume that the number of hours spent on the receiving end of the efforts of doctors and lawyers is far smaller than the amount of hours they have spent as students in school. The result is that almost anyone can do a reasonable impression of teacher behaviour; particularly those who have decided to enter the teaching profession. Anyone who has been to school has thus engaged in a kind of apprenticeship of teaching. An apprenticeship is commonly thought of as an arrangement in which a novice can learn from an expert side-by-side, by experiencing the same problems of practice as an experienced professional

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and by attending to the ways in which the host professional solves the problem. An important feature of this kind of relationship is the ability of the expert practitioner to explicitly articulate the reasons for their actions and to provide opportunities for the novice to practice the skills and habits of mind associated with the profession with guidance, support and supervision. Framing the concept of an apprenticeship in this way allows us to see the difficulty with the apprenticeship of teaching that we all undergo by attending school: it is a false apprenticeship because the goal of most teachers is to provide curricular instruction, not to mentor K-12 students into the teaching profession. Students presume to learn about teaching from witnessing teachers enact particular pedagogies, yet with little or no access to the reasoning teachers use when making particular decisions. Lortie (1975, p. 62) named this kind of relationship the ‘apprenticeship of observation’; it has implications not only for how new teachers learn to teach but also for how new teachers are socialized into the profession. Darling-Hammond (2006a) named the apprenticeship of observation (along with the problems of complexity and enactment) as one of the three major problems of learning to teach. Russell (2008) argued further that the apprenticeship of observation was the major problem of learning to teach. The problem of the apprenticeship of observation is compounded by the fact that ‘teaching looks easy and is widely regarded as easy, the image of teaching as transmission and the perspective of technical rationality mask the many ways in which challenging and engaging teaching represents a highly disciplined view [of teaching and learning]’ (Loughran & Russell, 2007, p. 217). The construction of professional knowledge of teaching and learning is far more complicated and requires considerable effort to develop than casual thought might suggest. Although people who have attended school have an important starting point – namely, their prior experiences as students – with which to initially approach their practice, it is critical that new teachers move beyond their prior experiences as students to develop disciplined ways of examining new teaching experiences. The practice of teaching should not be capricious or arbitrary, viewed only through the lenses of the prior student experiences of new teachers. Unfortunately, many still view teaching as subject to individual flights-of-fancy. Loughran and Russell (2007) cautioned, ‘We pay a high price for seeing teaching as something whimsical, based on a teacher’s personal preferences for presenting the curriculum, rather than as something disciplined – as a discipline in its own right’ (p. 219). Lanier and Little (1986) voiced these same concerns decades ago stating that teacher education programmes create ‘teachers [who] learn to think that the way to learn more about

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teaching is through trial and error, not through careful thought and scholarship’ (p. 551). Although it varies in both structure and scope, the field experience placement is still a hallmark of teacher education programmes. Despite decades of calls for reform, teacher education programmes are still, by and large, designed using the framework of technical rationality. Candidates are presumed to learn the theories of education during on-campus coursework before moving to a co-operating school under the watchful eye of an associate (mentor) teacher. Most teacher education programmes are built around some kind of interplay between time spent attending courses on campus and time spent in schools working with host professionals. This conceptualization of professional education is so thoroughly engrained in teacher education that Clandinin and Connelly (1995) referred to it as a ‘sacred story’, in the sense that few seem willing to challenge the conceptual underpinnings of the theory-to-practice approach. Munby, Russell, and Martin (2001, p. 897) lamented the pervasive technical rationalist perspective in teacher education in the following way: Traditionally, we have assumed that no one should be permitted to teach until he or she has been told how to perform [by teacher educators and associate teachers]. This view is founded on arrogance so deeply rooted that it has given rise to the very description of the field experience as ‘practice teaching’, as though all that our students [teacher candidates] need do to develop professional knowledge is to practice what teacher educators have preached.

The problems associated with the practicum field experience placement are not new. Lortie (1975) called attention to the limitations of the field experience with respect to offsetting the prior perspectives developed through the apprenticeship of observation: Because of its casualness and narrow scope, therefore, the usual practice teaching arrangement does not offset the unreflective nature of prior socialization; the student teacher is not forced to compare, analyse, and select from diverse possibilities y there is little indication that it is a powerful force away from traditionalism and individualism. (p. 71)

In a historical article that uses Australian and British sources dating back to the early twentieth century, Vick (2006) points out that ‘this approach, and in particular the integration of theory and practice it rested on, had become normative – a matter of belief, beyond pragmatic considerations’ (p. 184) early in the history of teacher education. Paradoxically, many of the current problems of the technical rationalist underpinnings of teacher education were known decades ago. Vick (2006) sheds light on historical sources that

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express concern over the organization of the practicum (e.g. the roles and responsibilities of associate teachers vs. education professors with respect to the practicum), the academic requirements associated with the practicum (e.g. reports that were submitted both by teacher candidates and by supervising professors) and the disconnect between pedagogical methods emphasized by faculty and staff at teachers colleges and the strategies advocated by practicing teachers. One Director of Education for New South Wales, Australia, ‘considered the College’s work too academic and independent of what he saw as the overriding need to prepare competent basic classroom teachers’ (Vick, 2006, p. 189). One of Vick’s central arguments is that despite many attempts to address the aforementioned concerns, no one seemed to question the underlying beliefs of the theoryinto-practice structure of teacher education. These concerns have echoed throughout many decades of teacher education makes it difficult to deny that the ‘sacred story’ of theory-into-practice is alive and well to this day. Despite the challenges associated with the field experience, teacher candidates tend to report that the time spent working with associate teachers in host schools was far more productive than time spent attending teacher education classes (Cochran-Smith & Zeichner, 2005). The field experience is indeed complex. It is meant to serve as a genuine, meaningful apprenticeship for teacher candidates where they ostensibly have the opportunity to put research-based ideas about teaching into practice under the supervision of an experienced professional. This view of learning to teach is, at best, oversimplified and, at worst, woefully unrealistic. DarlingHammond (2006a, p. 37) names a ‘problem of enactment’ that occurs when teacher candidates try to put into practice their ideas about teaching. Thinking like a teacher is not the same as acting like a teacher, ‘teachers need not only to understand, but also to do a wide variety of things, many of them simultaneously’ (Darling-Hammond, 2006b, p. 305). Bullock (2011) describes and interprets some of the tensions faced by teacher candidates. Of particular relevance to this chapter is the crisis of identity that candidates experience when the pedagogies enacted during practicum placements are different from how they saw themselves as teachers. In some cases this is because they are required to teach in particular ways by their associate teachers; in other cases the candidates feel they needed to master what they felt were ‘the basics’ of teaching before they implemented active-learning approaches to education. The tensions associated with not being able to teach in particular ways is exacerbated by the tensions and complexities associated with the identity de- and re-construction associated with becoming a teacher.

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IDENTITY, EMOTION AND LEARNING TO TEACH We often associate identity with ‘being recognized as a certain ‘‘kind of person’’ in a given context’ (Gee, 2000, p. 99). Casually, we might use anything ranging from a person’s vocation to a particular personality trait to describe someone’s ‘identity’. Gee (2000) provided a useful table of identity development that helps us to consider what it means to be a ‘certain kind of person.’ The table can be summarized in the following four points: 1. Nature-Identity develops from forces found in nature. 2. Institution-Identity is authorized by those in power (the authorities) within institutions. 3. Discourse-Identity is recognized in the discourse or dialogue with rational individuals. 4. Affinity-Identity is shared in the practice of affinity groups. (p. 100) Gee was quick to point out that his four ways of viewing identity are not distinct, arguing that they ‘focus our attention on different aspects of how identities are formed and sustained’ by providing ‘ways to formulate questions about how identity is functioning for a specific person (child or adult) in a given context or across a set of different contexts’ (Gee, p. 101). Consider these four perspectives of identity development in light of teacher candidates’ processes of identity construction. Some might argue that there are certain ‘natural’ qualities that make for a good teacher (e.g. a high degree of empathy); that some are simply born with abilities that make them ideal for the profession. From the institution-identity perspective, a teacher candidate becomes a teacher, in Canada, the moment they are provincially licensed to teach in the K-12 system. From the discourse-identity perspective, a teacher candidate might not be considered a teacher until their peers recognize them in a particular way. For example, new teachers frequently report that they do not feel empowered as sources of professional knowledge within their work environments (Ulvik & Langorgen, 2012); although they are teachers in the institutional sense, they have not been sufficiently acculturated into the profession via years of experience and staffroom discourse to be considered ‘teachers’ by their more experienced peers. Gee (2000) states that discourse-identity might be thought of ‘as an ascription or achievement’ (p. 104); in this case the achievement is not realized until after the first five years of a teaching career, when one’s opinions and ideas are finally recognized for their worth.

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Finally, the affinity-identity perspective might also shed light on teacher candidates’ process of identity construction. Outside any natural abilities, institutional empowerment, or recognized achievement, teacher candidates might engage in an affinity group associated with teaching. According to Gee (2000, p. 105), an affinity group exists when the people in the group share ‘allegiance to, access to, and participation in specific practices that provide each of the group’s members the requisite experiences’ Thus teachers might voluntarily belong to professional organizations (e.g. the Ontario Association of Physics Teachers [OAPT, http://www.oapt.ca]) or interact using social media platforms such as Twitter or Facebook. These affinity groups may cross both geographical and institutional boundaries and tend to broaden the identification of teachers. Jenkins (2008) makes the case that identity is a process, rather than a thing that someone either has or does not have. Identity is a ‘multi-dimensional classification or mapping of the human world and our places in it, as individuals and as members of collectives’ (Jenkins, 2008, p. 5). Teacher candidates begin a process of identity construction as teachers in their teacher preparation programme, a process that is often hard for them to articulate (Sutherland, Howard, & Markauskaite, 2010). As Beijaard, Meijer, and Verloop (2004) noted, the construction of professional identity as a teacher initially requires the integration of a number of sub-identities that eventually stabilize into an overall process of becoming. The formation of professional identity is both an individual process and one ‘involving many knowledge sources, such as knowledge of affect, teaching, human relations, and subject matter’ (Beijaard et al., p. 114). The effects of the apprenticeship of observation provide an initial source of knowledge for teacher candidates; a source that often seems to be overlooked in teacher education (Russell & Bullock, 2010). The two largest factors influencing the development of teachers’ identity once in the profession are the school climate and the individual commitment to the profession (Flores, 2006); both factors are clearly influenced by emotions. For example, experiences in a difficult school climate where teacher morale is low might result in a new teacher developing feelings of hopelessness, which in turn could lead to a diminished commitment to the profession. Emotions are also often linked with the process of identity construction. O’Connor (2008) argues, ‘Discussing professional identity, or the individual’s ability to negotiate and improvise aspects of a professional role, requires an understanding of how emotions guide our professional practices and decisions’ (p. 118). Zembylas (2003) goes further in his belief

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that a poststructuralist perspective demands that any consideration of identity formation be grounded in a consideration of emotions. He argued in the following way: Emotions connect people’s thoughts, judgments, and beliefs, and it can be said that emotions are the ‘glue of identity’, as Haviland and Kahlbaugh (1993) write, by providing meaning to experiences. People organize their worlds partly in terms of the emotions experienced in events, and show enormous variability in their propensity to experience specific emotions y Not only is emotion central to the construction of identity, but our understanding of its role is complicated by the multiplicity of emotions likely to be experienced in any one event, and by the complex nature of the relationship between emotion and other aspects of one’s identity. (Zembylas, 2003, p. 222)

It is important to note that ‘identity does not, and cannot make people do anything’ but people ‘make and do identity for their own reasons and purposes’ (Jenkins, 2008, p. 9). Thus Jenkins speaks of identification (the process that I call identity construction) rather than identity (the product). Although I agree that identity does not cause people to take action, I argue that emotions are powerful catalysts for actions that in turn can construct identity. Emotions and actions are ‘integrally connected’ and although ‘teaching, learning and leading may not be solely emotional practices y they are always irretrievably emotional in character, in a good way or a bad way, by design or default’ (Hargreaves, 2000, p. 812). Understanding the emotional aspects of learning to teach is thus critical to understanding how teacher candidates construct a professional identity, which is in turn deeply tied to knowledge of practice. Hargreaves (2000) developed the idea of emotional geographies from a study of 52 elementary and secondary school teachers. Emotional geographies of schooling ‘consist of the spatial and experiential patterns of closeness and/or distance in human interactions and relationships that help create, configure and colour the feelings and emotions we experience about ourselves, our world and each other’ (p. 815). In interviews that asked teachers to provide eight examples of emotional episodes within their professional relationships, Hargreaves concluded that ‘teachers now gain their psychic and emotional rewards not just from exceptional breakthroughs with individual students, nor only from receiving positive student feedback once their teaching of them is over y [but also] now gain positive feedback from students while they are teaching them’ (p. 824). He contrasted the results with Lortie (1975) and concluded that there was ‘an indication of stronger emotional understanding between teachers and students than in Lortie’s day’ (Hargreaves, 2000, p. 824). Some of my own

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work (Bullock, 2011) has confirmed that teacher candidates place a high value on the emotional understanding they develop with their students. Although the issue of attending to the emotional needs and development of teacher candidates has not received enough attention in the research literature, particularly with respect to the degree of emotional understanding that develops between teacher educators, teacher candidates and associate teachers, it is important, as Hargreaves (2000) warned, not to treat the role of emotion in education in a sentimental manner. He advocated a critical view of emotion in education that goes beyond individual psychologies and adopts a social-constructivist orientation that describes and interprets ‘how the emotional character of teaching is influenced and shaped by teachers’ lives and identities on the one hand, and the changing conditions of their work on the other’ (Hargreaves, 2000, p. 813). The rest of this chapter focuses on the interaction between the social context of the field experience in which teacher candidates have their first professional learning experiences, the apprenticeship relationship between candidates and their associate teachers, and the emotions that often result in actions that contribute to the process of identity construction. CHAT provides a useful lens with which we can examine the complexities of becoming a teacher.

Cultural–Historical Activity Theory CHAT is, at its core, based on a Vygotskian approach to learning and cultural development. It also draws an intellectual lineage from both German classical philosophy and Marxism (Engestro¨m, 1999). Although grounded in Vygotsky’s cultural–historical psychology, CHAT was mostly developed by two of his students – Luria and Leont’ev – even though most English-speaking scholars seem to access CHAT primarily through Vygotsky’s founding work (Roth & Lee, 2007). Leont’ev’s major innovation was to make human action (activity) the unit of analysis, a move that allows a researcher to focus on praxis. According to Roth and Lee (2007), One of the most attractive features of CHAT for educators is that it lessens the theorypraxis gap due to the historical primacy of material, work-related activity over language and theory y Actions are always theoretically grounded in the sense that practitioners normally anticipate the results for their actions, which are linked to practical reasons for acting. (p. 210)

Roth and Lee (2007) highlighted the difference between CHAT’s focus on praxis, which focuses on the actions taken in the moment that have

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consequences, and practice, which is essentially a pattern of actions. Praxis can be revealed through CHAT’s focuses on what happens in particular moments, whereas practice can be revealed through reflection after the fact. There is a clear analogy here between Scho¨n’s (1983) constructs of reflection-in-action (which focuses on the puzzling problems of practice encountered in a moment) and reflection-on-action (which focuses on a practitioner’s recollection of specific events and helps to create a sense of individual practice). CHAT places particular emphasis on the ways in which physical and psychological tools are used to take action by a collective culture (Ellis, Edwards, & Smagorinsky, 2010). Its focus on collective culture allows for the examination of interactions between cultural groups, such as teachers in a given department. McNicholl and Childs (2010) provided an example of the use of CHAT in understanding how science teacher candidates learned within a small department; they emphasized the relationship between the candidates’ actions that contributed to local knowledge, as opposed to simply focusing on the ways in which candidates’ actions were dictated by the social context in which they found themselves. The authors provided a more nuanced description of the collaborative learning that occurred between teacher candidates and more experienced teachers in the department. Of particular significance were the conclusions that ‘expertise across the three areas of the science curriculum is distributed across a department and is a resource to be drawn on for the benefit of pupils’ and the ‘acknowledgement that specialist expertise is not a function of professional status’ (McNicholl & Childs, p. 56). Ellis et al. (2010) provide a useful summary of the insights provided by CHAT into the process of learning to teach. Of particular importance to this chapter are the following three assertions: 1. Expert knowledge of teaching is not situated within an individual, it is ‘distributed across systems’ and ‘learning involves being able to perceive, access and contribute to that expertise’ (Ellis et al., 2010, p. 4). 2. Learning to teach is ‘a continual, mutually mediating process of appropriation and social action, where practitioners take on the cultural practices that are valued in the social situations of their development – whether these settings are schools or universities – and employ them in turn to shape that social situation’ (p. 4). 3. The ‘transitions between settings in teachers’ learning’ are ‘important foci of analysis’ (p. 4).

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Below I present research that explores how this framework interacts with data collected from teacher candidates to shed light on the challenges associated with learning from experience and the process of constructing professional identity, a process that is grounded in emotional experiences.

Context and Methods The data for this study were collected in the 2011–2012 academic year at a small university in Canada. Like many post-baccalaureate teacher education programmes in Canada, the teacher education programme in which data was collected awards a Bachelor of Education (B.Ed.) degree upon successful completion of an 8-month programme, typically undertaken after completing a four-year honours degree in arts or sciences. Participants in this research were seeking certification as secondary school teachers in physics and one other disciplinary subject. As such, they were required to take my physics curriculum methods course throughout their B.Ed. programme. In this course, teacher candidates are asked to create and contribute to a password-protected blog accessible only to me and to the teacher candidate. Teacher candidates are asked to post a minimum of five times during the semester; many candidates exceed the minimum posting requirements. All candidates were required to complete a blog for assignment purposes. Permission was sought at the end of the academic year to use the blog assignment for research purposes. The rhythm of this teacher education programme – and many others like it – alternates the context in which teacher candidates learn on roughly a monthly basis. During the first semester, teacher candidates begin the academic year with a month of on-campus course work (late-August and September) before going on their first field experience placement during the month of October. Candidates then return for coursework in November before going out to a different field experience in December. During semester two, teacher candidates spend January and February on-campus and finish the programme with an extended, six-week field experience. In my view, the programme is designed from a traditional theory-into-practice perspective. There are a number of reasons that I require teacher candidates to keep a blog during the first semester of a preservice teacher education programme. I have been convinced of the benefits of writing about practice, both as a way of documenting and analysing experiences, and many of my former

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teacher candidates have anecdotally commented that, despite initial reticence, they value having a blog that documents their first experiences in the classroom. More importantly, I wanted to examine if the blogs could function as shared, safe spaces online in which I could continue to develop my relationship with teacher candidates as they go out on their first field placements. This chapter reports on a section of data collected for a larger research programme dedicated to the investigation of the use of digital technologies in my pedagogy of teacher education. Specifically, I wished to use blogs to enhance my understanding of how candidates learn to teach during practicum placement. The prompts provided by me for the blogging assignment are quite open-ended, although I do ask that the first post focuses on candidates’ prior assumptions about teaching and that, in one of the subsequent posts, candidates comment on an aspect of teaching that they found particularly puzzling during field placement. My previous work (Bullock, 2011) indicated that the first practicum is an enormous source of tension for teacher candidates, as they experience themselves as ‘living contradictions’ (Whitehead, 1993), and so I was particularly interested to see how digital technology might help me to tune into both the emotional nature of the first practicum and how the process of identity construction begins for science teacher candidates. For purposes of this chapter, I present excerpts from two participants’ blogs that illustrate the complexities of emotion and identity formation associated with learning to teach. The data from the blogs were analysed using standard techniques of qualitative analysis, such as constant comparison and coding (Patton, 2002; Punch, 2009), with a view to examining emotional elements of the practicum, the challenges of identity formation, the importance of relationships in teacher education and the nature of the apprenticeship model of the practicum.

THE CHALLENGE OF LEARNING FROM EXPERIENCES IN TEACHER EDUCATION PROGRAMMES In this section I analyse and interpret data retrieved from the blogs of two pre-service teachers using the pseudonyms Peter and Lawrence. It is important to note that although both participants were seeking certification as secondary school physics teachers, both had their first placement in grade

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eight classrooms in keeping with the requirements of the programme. Both participants had their second placement in secondary school classrooms. Rather than separating the data into the themes of emotions, identity formation, and relationships, I present the data from each individual as a subsection. In so doing, I believe that I can use the CHAT framework suggested by Ellis et al. (2010) more appropriately, as a key feature of CHAT is the focus on actions taken by individuals within particular cultural frameworks. Peter: The Struggle with Classroom Management Lortie (1975) called attention to a ‘conservative bias’ in education that exists because most people who choose to become teachers were themselves good students. This assertion has an intuitive appeal that is somewhat supported by data; if we view schools as sites of cultural replication then it stands to reason that adults who choose to work in these sites enjoyed their experience the first time around. Peter, however, does not fit the typical profile of a teacher candidate because he struggled with school: Through all my years of education I would never classify myself as a ‘good student’. Until after my 2nd year of university I just coasted through the system. Even if I enjoyed a particular subject the thought of being told to do it, because I have too, put a bad taste in my mouth. I have many experiences of learning the hard way. Whether it was growing up and pushing the boundaries of the rules or being on the brink of dropping out of university. I’ve always seemed to bounce back and be better from the experience. (Peter, 15 September)

Right from his first post Peter provided an important reminder that actions have consequences that speak back to the instigator. His first post paints him as a student who simply did not engage with the cultural routines and expectations associated with schooling. He was more interested in pushing boundaries with teachers with whom he did not have a rapport. Peter highlighted his grade six teacher and a high school physical education teacher as being unique because ‘they had an ability to make a connection with a student in a way that let me as a child see them as a human being rather than an authoritative figure’ (Peter, 15 September). This past history may also help to explain Peter’s apparent reticence to deal with disciplinary issues during his practicum placements. Perhaps he was concerned that dealing with classroom discipline would automatically make the ‘authoritative figure’ he rebelled against as a student and that such authority would impede his ability to build a rapport with students. He likely had some

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emotional investment in developing the same kind of rapport with students that he enjoyed with only two of his former teachers. Perhaps part of his identity construction as a new teacher hinged on being ‘that teacher’ for as many students as possible. Peter’s focus on building rapport with his students was evident in the post he wrote immediately following his first placement. He felt that building a relationship with grade eight students was relatively easy because ‘the relationship between teacher and student is still friendly’ (Peter, 8 November). Peter characterized his experience with his associate teacher as ‘wonderful’ because he was allowed to do whatever he wished in the classroom, including making mistakes. Positive emotions were linked with a sense of personal autonomy in the first practicum placement. Presumably, his associate teacher provided a fair degree of support around classroom management issues, since Peter noted that the students ‘were accustomed to certain pre-established rules’ and that he was ‘still unsure or not confident about discipline’. This provides an important link to the power of the false apprenticeship: Peter was able to push an uncomfortable part of teaching to the periphery of his experience by leaving discipline up to his associate teacher. In this way, Peter might maintain the positive emotions associated with developing an identity as a teacher who builds a positive rapport with student. Here we see the tacit effects of the apprenticeship model that exists between teacher candidates and their associate teachers. Peter wrote that he needed ‘to experience different scenarios’ to learn how to deal with discipline issues. It is difficult to believe that a grade eight class had no instances of discipline during a one-month placement – was Peter referring to the fact that the same kinds of disciplinary issues were repeated, or did he feel like he needed to know more to learn how to deal with different classroom situations? Presumably, the associate teacher provided the discipline in the class, thus not allowing Peter to take actions and have to deal with the consequences of his actions. In short, Peter did not have a praxis of discipline, because he could not take actions. Learning from experience, in this case, may have been short-circuited by a well-intentioned associate teacher. Peter’s emotional relationship to his field experience took a negative turn in his second placement. He wrote the following about the first day of his secondary school placement: It was a little awkward coming to the school; the secretaries didn’t know what to do with me since I came so early. The atmosphere is not as friendly, throughout the school, as in an elementary school. The relationship between my AT [associate teacher] and myself

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feels more of a professional relationship compared to my AT in the elementary school, which was more of a friendship relationship. (Peter, 4 December)

It is particularly interesting that Peter set up a dichotomy between ‘professional’ relationships and ‘friendship’ relationships with his associate teachers. He felt that secondary school teachers ‘will spend more time in their department and form cliques with department staff’. Peter was particularly concerned that he would not get along with his associate teacher, and wondered if he would have the ‘freedom’ to develop his own teaching style or if he would have to ‘conform’ to his associate teacher’s wishes. These feelings of concern are not surprising, given that Peter was able to define the parameters of his apprenticeship with the first associate teacher in a comfortable way that did not affect his developing identity. For the second placement, however, his identity was threatened because he was unsure of what his role would be. It is possible that a certain amount of Peter’s apprehension is due to his confidence in content knowledge. This lack of confidence is also an identity issue; one of the major myths of teaching articulated by Britzman (1991/ 2003) is that the teacher is the expert in the classroom. At the elementary level, Peter did not mention any concerns about his ability to understand and teach the requisite material. Given that relatively few elementary school teachers in the province come from science backgrounds, Peter may have drawn comfort from his self-identity as someone who is competent with elementary-level science – perhaps more so than his associate teacher. In contrast, Peter stated he was ‘unsure’ about teaching secondary school physics in a meaningful way, because he recalled ‘a lot of equation plugging’ in his past experiences as a student. It might be surprising to learn that people coming from physics majors or minors in their undergrad degrees experience crises of confidence in their understanding of content material. The participants in my previous work (Bullock, 2011) also articulated similar feelings about their understanding of basic physics, particularly because teaching physics at the secondary school level requires an ability to explain concepts from a qualitative perspective, rather than relying on advanced mathematics. Peter offers the following anecdote of his first two classes teaching senior physics: On the Wednesday I taught my first two classes about wave interference, beats and resonance. I was very nervous because the classroom management is very relaxed and students seem to be disengaged. I was fortunate to interest the class enough with my lesson or maybe I was just a new face, but I kept their attention for the most part with video clips and demonstrations throughout my lesson. Students were also able to come

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up and try the different demos. The next two days I felt more comfortable and I’m building rapport with the students in all the classes. (Peter, 4 December)

Here we see that Peter’s previously articulated concern about being able to effectively manage discipline came up early in his second field placement. Unlike his first associate teacher, the second associate teacher seems to have had less structure in place for the students. Although this is a developmentally appropriate approach for secondary school students, it is not clear that Peter understood the theoretical underpinnings of his associate teacher’s approach. Peter focused instead on praxis, where he had taken actions and dealt with their consequences. The activity here was Peter’s use of video clips and demonstrations during his lesson; presumably the ability of students to engage with demonstrations themselves played a key role in his success. Given that the situation provided Peter with positive feedback (i.e. he was able to mostly keep students’ attention), he was able to shift his focus again to relationship building with his students. Lawrence: Planning for Learning Experiences Lawrence’s prior experiences of learning physics were more typical of teacher candidates studying to become physics teachers because he identified as someone who succeeded at school by following the rules and quickly learning what teachers expected of him. He identified two teaching strategies that produced effective learning opportunities for him: experiments and ‘seeing example, after example, after example and so on until the cows come home’ (Lawrence, 20 September). In my experience, this approach to learning how to solve physics problems – although often an effective strategy for achieving high marks on tests and exams – results in an algorithmic understanding of problem-solving rather than a deep understanding of the conceptual framework of physics problems. Many teacher candidates who come into the B.Ed. programme immediately following their B.Sc. exhibit this kind of understanding of physics. Lawrence was confident about his content knowledge but similar to Peter, was concerned about classroom management. Lawrence acknowledged that it was difficult to have authentic practice with classroom management at the Faculty of Education because there was no way that he could take action to correct particular situations; it remained at the level of theory. Interestingly, he commented that the requirement to plan lessons in pairs was initially useful because it removed ‘the uncertainty that comes from working alone’ (Lawrence, 20 September). Yet he was quick to imply that the instant

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feedback he received from bouncing ideas off a partner was potentially dangerous: ‘It would not be a stretch to suggest that someone who becomes confident planning lessons in partners could become dependent on this method so it should perhaps only be used early on’. The apprenticeship of observation had socialized Lawrence to rely on his own abilities in school – working with others seemed like too convenient a shortcut. It is also possible that the exercise felt inauthentic to Lawrence because a part of his developing teacher identity included the ability to be self-sufficient when it came to lesson planning. Throughout Lawrence’s blog, he wrote about the emotional tension associated with classroom management. Responding to student discipline problems was ‘of great concern (Lawrence, 6 November) during placement, although he seemed to take some comfort in the fact that his ‘associate teachers were there in the background in case I needed them’. Interestingly, Lawrence’s tension shifted away from classroom management (due to his success in developing ‘a significant rapport’ with his students) towards lesson planning during his first placement. The challenge of lesson planning met his expectations: ‘I also expected a steep learning curve around the task of lesson planning and was not disappointed. Those first few lesson plans took many hours to come up with and refine’. Lawrence seemed to regard this time as part of the challenge of learning to teach; it fit into his prior assumption about being self-sufficient and relying on his content knowledge to come up with interesting lessons. It is also possible that there were multiple features of the false apprenticeship at work here; he might have had to create lessons that met his associate teacher’s expectations and yet might not fit with what he learned during coursework at the faculty. The stress of lesson planning was exacerbated almost immediately in his second placement: The part of teaching that stresses me out the most is the planning, knowing what to do and when with a unit. As a class we barely discussed the organization of one unit, yet on the first day of my second placement I am being told that I will be teaching most of the biology unit for a science class. Not an altogether unfamiliar feeling as I taught roughly the same amount of math in a grade 8 class earlier in the year, but an altogether different beast y my least liked, least prepared for teachable. The challenge is something that I won’t back down from, if I can’t get through three weeks of biology classes how could I think about doing a whole course? But have I been prepared for this? I suppose if I have been prepared right the theory will all come together and it shouldn’t matter than most of my studies about teaching were in physics. (Lawrence, 30 November)

Again we can see the importance of taking an action to mediate the emotions associated with feelings of inadequacy around his ability to plan

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lessons. Lawrence was quick to admit that biology was ‘the furthest science from [his] comfort zone’ (3 December). Compounding the problem was that his associate teacher was ‘not very comfortable with biology either,’ which led to concerns about ‘not providing effective lessons to the students’. Lawrence’s case is an interesting reminder of the distribution of knowledge within a particular system. During the first field experience, Lawrence was comfortable with his content knowledge and happy to rely on his associate teacher in case discipline issues got out of control. Unlike Peter, Lawrence still engaged in praxis of discipline early in his practicum that allowed him to learn from the consequences of his actions. Lawrence experienced more emotional tension during his second placement, because he was required to teach unfamiliar content and the discipline requirements in the new school were more challenging. He said, ‘In the first day of placement I heard more swear words than in my entire placement in the elementary school, and nothing was done’. Lawrence’s emotional challenges of learning to teach were pushed further because he felt less able to contribute to the local knowledge – he was still struggling with classroom management and he no longer had the safety of content knowledge to rely on.

DISCUSSION Teacher education programmes are still, by and large, designed from a theory-into-practice perspective that assumes teacher candidates are able to quickly and un-problematically transfer theoretical knowledge to field experiences under the watchful supervision of an associate teacher. Teacher candidates face a myriad of problems in learning from experiences during the field placement, not the least of which is reconciling their vision of teaching with the realities of what they are able to put into practice, and to draw together the disparate threads that contribute to their self-understandings as new teachers. CHAT recognizes that emotions and actions are inextricably linked (and thus speak back to one another) and that identity is a process, ‘a dialectical feature [that] is produced and reproduced in practical activity, which both presupposes and produces identity’ (Roth & Lee, 2007, pp. 215–216). One of the key insights provided by CHAT is that knowledge of teaching is distributed across a particular system and that the ability to learn relies on the capability of contributing to that system (Ellis et al., 2010). Both Peter and Lawrence were concerned about learning how to manage discipline in a class. In Peter’s case, this concern was exacerbated because he did not have

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an opportunity to take action during his first placement – his associate teacher remained the expert in classroom management and he did not have a chance to contribute to the expertise in the learning system. Lawrence, on the other hand, had the opportunity to take disciplinary actions during his first placement, thus relieving some of the emotional tension because he could contribute to the knowledge of teaching in his classroom. This relief was tenuous, however, as Lawrence’s emotional angst returned when presented with a new school that had more lax discipline policies. Lawrence lost confidence in his ability to contribute to the learning system. Both Peter and Lawrence were also concerned about their ability to teach certain content during their second placement. Peter’s emotional tension around teaching physics was somewhat reduced as a result of the action of including interactive demonstrations during his first lessons – a move that also increased his confidence in classroom discipline. Lawrence’s emotional tension was due to feelings of inadequacy around his knowledge of biology, a feeling that was compounded by his perception that his associate teacher also lacked knowledge of content. Lawrence’s emotional tension was highlighted because neither he nor his associate teacher could contribute to expert knowledge of teaching within the classroom. The result, he feared, would be a poor learning experience for students. Another insight provided by CHAT is that teacher candidates recognize and appropriate the social actions and routines of their teaching environments and, in so doing, use these same actions to reshape their teaching environments (Ellis et al., 2010). Peter and Lawrence had strong prior assumptions about what teaching should look like based on their apprenticeships of observations. Both placed a high value on the relationship between teachers and students. Yet we also see how, as a result of a lifetime of appropriating the routines of schooling, Peter and Lawrence sought to replicate the routines of their field experience environments. Neither candidate mentioned the possibility of doing things differently in their placements, the concern was figuring out how to replicate the expectations and actions of their associate teachers. The emotional duress here was not only around the kinds of teachers they wished to become, but also the ability to be who their associate teachers wanted them to be. The emotional concern has more to do with replication than learning. Candidates did not take action to learn, they took action to fit into the expectations of their surroundings. Although the field experience placement might be thought of as a place where a genuine apprenticeship occurs between teacher candidates and associate teachers, I argue that the field experience might be better categorized as a false apprenticeship due to its tacit emphasis on performance

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rather than learning. Teacher candidates’ initial construction of professional identity is linked to these performances during field experience.

CONCLUSIONS This chapter has highlighted the importance of relationships and emotions on the transition of the teacher candidate to the field experience as well as the concurrent challenges that these present to the development of teaching identity. Using CHAT has given additional evidence for Ellis et al.’s (2010) conclusions about its relevance to learning to teach. In the case studies that were presented, we saw that the false apprenticeship of learning to teach is created by the current structure of the field placement, which has direct effect on the identity development. First, candidates may feel pressure to adopt the social practices, feeling considerable angst if they do not perceive themselves as fitting into the expectations of their host schools. Negative emotions also tend to result if candidates do not feel as though they can contribute to teaching expertise. These and other emotions can result in actions that lead to a process of identity de- and re-construction. Teacher education institutions and host schools give teacher candidates institutional identities and authorization to act as teachers. Yet these two dimensions of identity are not enough, they need to see their knowledge recognized in discourse with their students (e.g. through developing a strong rapport with their classes) and their associate teachers. Second, although the knowledge of teaching was distributed across both the teacher candidate and the associate teacher, it was done in a way that contributed to a false apprenticeship. The field experience relies on an assumed mutually productive relationship between associate teacher and teacher candidate. Paradoxically, however, both teacher candidates and associate teachers can push critical issues of learning to teach to the side by distributing the responsibility for the classroom environment in a way that relies on the associate teacher’s expertise rather than giving the teacher candidate the opportunity to systematically process and practice teaching strategies. Such a false apprenticeship precludes teacher candidates from developing a positive emotional outlook on something that is a part of every teacher’s career, and perhaps slows a particular element of their identity development. Perhaps developing informal affinity-identities with both other teacher candidates and other teachers could help candidates in the process of identity construction. Perhaps digital technologies, such as social networking sites and blogs, can provide useful loci for the construction of professional

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identity. Regardless, if we believe that emotions are at the core of the process of identity construction then it falls on teacher educators to find ways to tune in to their teacher candidates’ emotional development and the concurrent construction of professional knowledge so that the lessons of the false apprenticeship are not perpetuated.

REFERENCES Beijaard, D., Meijer, P. C., & Verloop, N. (2004). Reconsidering research on teachers’ professional identity. Teaching and Teacher Education, 20(2), 107–128. Britzman, D. P. (1991/2003). Practice makes practice: A critical study of learning to teach. Albany, NY: State University of New York Press. Bullock, S. M. (2011). Inside teacher education: Challenging prior views of teaching and learning. Rotterdam, The Netherlands: Sense Publishers. Clandinin, D. J., & Connelly, F. M. (1995). Teachers’ professional knowledge landscapes. New York, NY: Teachers College Press. Cochran-Smith, M., & Zeichner, K. M. (2005). Studying teacher education: The report of the AERA panel on research and teacher education. Mahwah, NJ: Lawrence Erlbaum Associates. Darling-Hammond, L. (2006a). Powerful teacher education. San Francisco, CA: Jossey-Bass. Darling-Hammond, L. (2006b). Constructing 21st-century teacher education. Journal of Teacher Education, 57(3), 300–314. Ellis, V., Edwards, A., & Smagorinsky, P. (Eds.). (2010). Cultural-historical perspectives on teacher education and development: Learning teaching. New York, NY: Routledge. Engestro¨m, Y. (1999). Activity theory and individual and social transformation. In Y. Engestro¨m, R. Miettinen & R.-L. Punama¨ki (Eds.), Perspectives on activity theory (pp. 19–38). Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press. Flores, M. A. (2006). Being a novice teacher in two different settings: Struggles, continuities, and discontinuities. Teachers College Record, 108(10), 2021–2052. Gee, J. P. (2000). Identity as an analytic lens for research in education. Review of Research in Education, 25, 99–125. Hargreaves, A. (2000). Mixed emotions: Teachers’ perceptions of their interactions with students. Teaching and teacher education, 16(8), 811–826. Jenkins, R. (2008). Social identity (3rd ed.). London: Routledge. Lanier, J., & Little, J. W. (1986). Research on teacher education. In M. Wittrock (Ed.), Handbook of research on teaching (3rd ed., pp. 527–568). New York, NY: Macmillian. Lortie, D. C. (1975). Schoolteacher: A sociological study. Chicago, IL: University of Chicago Press. Loughran, J., & Russell, T. (2007). Beginning to understand teaching as a discipline. Studying Teacher Education, 3, 217–227. McNicholl, J., & Childs, A. (2010). Taking a sociocultural perspective on science teachers’ knowledge. In V. Ellis, A. Edwards & P. Smagorinsky (Eds.), Cultural-historical perspectives on teacher education and development?: Learning teaching (pp. 45–62). New York, NY: Routledge.

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Munby, H., Russell, T., & Martin, A. K. (2001). Teachers’ knowledge and how it develops. In V. Richardson (Ed.), Handbook of research on teaching (4th ed., pp. 877–904). Washington, DC: American Educational Research Association. O’Connor, K. E. (2008). ‘‘You choose to care’’: Teachers, emotions and professional identity. Teaching and Teacher Education, 24(1), 117–126. Patton, M. Q. (2002). Qualitative research and evaluation methods (3rd ed.). Thousand Oaks, CA: Sage. Punch, K. F. (2009). Introduction to research methods in education. New York, NY: Sage Publications Ltd. Roth, W.-M., & Lee, Y.-J. (2007). ‘‘Vygotsky’s Neglected Legacy’’: Cultural-historical activity theory. Review of Educational Research, 77(2), 186–232. Russell, T. (2008, March). Two principles for enacting a pedagogy of teacher education. Paper presented at the meeting of the American Educational Research Association, New York, NY. Russell, T., & Bullock, S. M. (2010). From talk to experience: Transforming the preservice physics methods course. Brock Education Journal, 20(1), 19–33. Scho¨n, D. (1983). The reflective practitioner. New York, NY: Basic Books. Sutherland, L., Howard, S., & Markauskaite, L. (2010). Professional identity creation: Examining the development of beginning preservice teachers’ understanding of their work as teachers. Teaching and Teacher Education, 26(3), 455–465. Ulvik, M., & Langorgen, K. (2012). What can experienced teachers learn from newcomers? Newly qualified teachers as a resource in schools. Teachers and Teaching: Theory and Practice, 18(1), 43–57. Vick, M. (2006). ‘‘It’s a difficult matter’’: Historical perspectives on the enduring problem of the practicum in teacher preparation. Asia-Pacific Journal of Teacher Education, 34(2), 181–198. Whitehead, J. (1993). The growth of educational knowledge: Creating your own living educational theories. Dorset, UK: Hyde Publications. Zembylas, M. (2003). Emotions and teacher identity: A poststructural perspective. Teachers and Teaching, 9(3), 213–238.

THE INTERPERSONAL DIMENSION IN THE CLASSROOM: A MODEL OF TEACHERS’ INTERPERSONAL ROLE IDENTITY, APPRAISAL AND TEACHER–STUDENT RELATIONSHIPS Perry den Brok, Anna van der Want, Douwe Beijaard and Theo Wubbels ABSTRACT In this chapter, a model to understand teachers’ professional identity, appraisals and behaviours in the classroom is presented and illustrated with empirical data. It is argued that the comparison between interpersonal identity standards and interpersonal appraisals of classroom situations results in two types of emotions experienced by teachers. One type of emotion is the direct result of teachers’ interpretations of, and coping with, specific classroom events whereby their emotions are part of the appraisal process of situations and evaluated in the light of their interpersonal role identity standards. The second type of emotion emerges

Emotion and School: Understanding How the Hidden Curriculum Influences Relationships, Leadership, Teaching, and Learning Advances in Research on Teaching, Volume 18, 141–159 Copyright r 2013 by Emerald Group Publishing Limited All rights of reproduction in any form reserved ISSN: 1479-3687/doi:10.1108/S1479-3687(2013)0000018012

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as a result of tensions or dilemmas of prolonged differences between appraisals and identity standards. It is argued that the Teacher Interpersonal Identity Role and Appraisal model is helpful for both researchers and practitioners to better understand, recognise and support beginning (and experienced) teachers with emotions that occur in the classroom, and to help stimulate both their personal as well as professional development. Keywords: Teacher–student interpersonal relationships; professional role identity; appraisals; identity standards; identity tensions

In the context of this book on emotions in the school, this contribution will focus on teachers’ emotions in relation to the interpersonal dimension of teaching and their professional identity in the interpersonal domain, further referred to as interpersonal role identity. Using an interpersonal perspective on teaching means studying teacher competence from the perspective of the relationship teachers establish with their students (e.g. Wubbels & Levy, 1993). This perspective can be distinguished from other perspectives to study teaching, such as a learning-activities perspective (in what learning activities does the teacher involve the student?), or content perspective (what is the content taught?) (Brekelmans, Sleegers, & Fraser, 2000; den Brok, 2001; Wubbels, Brekelmans, den Brok, & van Tartwijk, 2006). In the interpersonal perspective, we describe teacher–student relationships in terms of two dimensions: Control (Dominant–Submissive) and Affiliation (Cooperation–Opposition). Control refers to the degree to which the teacher determines what happens in the communication with the students and is on one end of the spectrum characterized by teacher dominance (the teacher is in control), and on the other by submissiveness (the students are in control). Affiliation refers to the emotional closeness between teacher and students or the degree to which the teacher and the students are in harmony or conflict; one end of the spectrum is characterised by cooperation, while the other by conflict and opposition towards each other. Teacher–student relationships require much attention from teachers in the classroom, and are an important source of their concerns and happiness (Beijaard, Meijer, & Verloop, 2004; Day et al., 2006; Veenman, 1984; Weinstein & Evertson, 2006). Nias (1996) argues that the emotional reactions of teachers to their work are connected to the views that they have of themselves and others. Hence, teacher–student relationships are an important source of teachers’ emotions, both inside and outside the

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classroom. This study takes a unique perspective by describing and analysing teachers’ emotions in connection to teacher–student relationships through a professional identity lens. The concept of professional identity here refers to questions that teachers may ask themselves, like ‘who am I as a teacher?’ and ‘what kind of teacher do I want to become?’ (Beijaard et al., 2004; Korthagen & Vasalos, 2005). In the present study, professional identity development is seen as the process of integrating one’s personal knowledge, beliefs, attitudes, norms and values, on the one hand, and professional demands from schools and teacher education institutes, including broadly accepted values and standards about teaching, on the other (Beijaard et al., 2004). Developing one’s professional identity, then, involves reconciling the personal and professional side of becoming and being a teacher (Alsup, 2006; Lipka & Brinthaupt, 1999; Olsen, 2010; Volkmann & Anderson, 1998). We assume a reciprocal relation between teacher’s actions and identity. A teacher’s identity, in this case the identity related to the interpersonal domain, acts as a filter through which teachers perceive and respond in particular classroom situations. This reaction includes both a perceptual process as well as an emotional, cognitive or behavioural response (Pillen, Beijaard, & den Brok, in press). At the same time, these situations and teachers’ reactions to them affect their interpersonal role identities, evoking a circular process of evolving teaching actions and identity development. Based on a literature-based review, we propose a model that describes this process and illustrate the model with data from some of our studies. We think that analysing teachers’ emotions and behaviours in the classroom through a professional identity lens is productive, as it will help to understand how emotions emerge and how they affect decisions and actions in the classroom and in a teacher’s career. Such an approach may be beneficial for helping teachers develop a strong interpersonal identity role, which has proven to be important for teachers’ well-being, reducing teacher attrition and improving student outcomes. Feelings and emotions are an inherent part of teaching (Hargreaves, 2005; Kelchtermans, 2005; Olsen, 2010), and research has shown that one of the major sources of positive as well as negative teachers’ emotions in the classroom are teacher–student interpersonal relationships (Lewis, 1999). For example, the VITAE-project, a large scale UK project on teachers’ biographies in relation to their teaching effectiveness, has shown that positive relationships with students are central to teachers’ self-efficacy – ability to teach well and professional identity – in all phases of their teaching career (Day et al., 2006). Problematic teacher–student relationships, on the other

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hand, seem to be an important reason for teacher attrition early in the career (Ingersoll & Smith, 2003; MacDonald, 1999), and an important factor for teacher stress and burnout later in the career (Tatar & Horenczyk, 2003). Many beginning and veteran teachers experience problems in the domain of interpersonal relationships and classroom management (Veenman, 1984; Weinstein & Evertson, 2006). In this respect, teacher interpersonal competence is an important factor in creating and maintaining positive relationships with students and enhancing the quality of the teaching career (Wubbels et al., 2006). Teachers with a healthy teacher–student relationship are better able to teach effectively and motivate their students (CorneliusWhite, 2007).

INTERPERSONAL ROLE IDENTITY, APPRAISALS AND TEACHER EMOTIONS IN THE CLASSROOM: A MODEL In this section, we will propose a model that links the interpersonal part of a teacher’s professional identity to his/her appraisals of classroom situations and the resulting effects in terms of teachers’ emotions and reactions in the classroom. The core of this model, the Teacher Interpersonal Identity Role and Appraisal Model, is based on the work of Burke and Stets (2009) on professional identity and work by several authors on teacher appraisals (e.g. Admiraal, Korthagen, & Wubbels, 2000; Lazarus & Folkman, 1984; Lewis, 2005). In subsequent sections, we elaborate on the different components of the model and illustrate these components as well. Following Burke and Stets (2009), we perceive people as having multiple identities in their lives, including in the personal sphere (e.g. mother, spouse, friend), the professional sphere (e.g. subject matter specialist, coach, personal guide, interpersonal or pedagogical expert) and in the contextual sphere (e.g. an English speaking person, an African American). For each identity, a person enacts a certain role, an identity role. An identity role is the internalised set of meanings related to a particular part of individuals’ lives (e.g. a job, position within society or family) that they apply to themselves (Burke & Stets, 2009). We will focus on the interpersonal role identity. We describe the meanings that teachers give to specific interpersonal situations and how teachers relate these meanings to their own interpersonal frame of reference, their so-called interpersonal identity standard (Burke & Stets, 2009).

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Research on teacher professional identity shows that teacher–student interpersonal relationships are an important element of their identities as teachers. In his study on secondary school teachers’ professional identity, Beijaard (1995) investigated 14 themes that shape professional identity. Apart from more general themes such as the subject taught, the interpersonal relationship between teacher and students emerged as being very important in teachers’ perceptions of their professional identity. This was linked to at least eight themes: bonding with students, preferences for (specific) students, respect for and by students, interacting with students, maintaining a distance from students, affective neutrality and commitment to helping students. Thus, the teacher–student interpersonal relationship comprises an important component of the professional identity of a teacher. This is particularly true in the first phase of the career, where teachers face many dilemmas and problems that pertain to developing a good relationship with students (Volkmann & Anderson, 1998). The model, Teacher Interpersonal Identity Role and Appraisal Model, which links the interpersonal identity standards of teachers to their emotions, is displayed in Fig. 1. As can be seen in Fig. 1, teachers’ interpersonal identity standards shape their perceptions of a situation by the meaning they attach to this situation and the manner in which they appraise the situation and

Fig. 1.

The Teacher Interpersonal Identity Role and Appraisal Model.

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respond to it (cf. Burke & Stets, 2009). The appraisal process, in which teachers give meaning to the situation, consists of an emotional response (first appraisal) and a coping strategy (second appraisal) (Arnold 1960; Lazarus & Folkman, 1984). This process starts with a comparison between the identity standards of the teacher and the actual situation. Teachers try to reconcile both, but depending on the degree of match or mismatch, different emotional responses and coping processes may evolve. In this process, reactions (behaviours) and emotions are thus a direct result of the perception and experience of a classroom situation in relation to the identity standards of a teacher. If reconciliation is not possible and differences between interpersonal identity standards and appraisals of classroom situations remain, such differences are often perceived as tensions (Pillen et al., in press). Such tensions in teachers’ identities might even be experienced as dilemmas (Pillen et al., in press), and teachers might struggle to determine which standards are most important and how to change them (in a more personal or professional direction). Such tensions, dilemmas and struggles also evoke emotions, which somehow have to be overcome, either within or outside the classroom.

INTERPERSONAL IDENTITY STANDARD Although someone’s identity role is continuously under (re)construction, there are certain components of a person’s identity role that function as a frame of reference (Burke & Stets, 2009, p. 63). The self-relevant meanings or ideas a teacher internally has function as his/her ‘identity standard’. The identity standard functions as a point of reference and consists of the set of meanings that define the character of the identity (Burke & Stets 2009, pp. 32, 63). Identity standards can be held about oneself (e.g. ‘as a teacher, I should not become too intimate with students’) or about other people as well (‘students should always respect the teacher and comply with his/her requests’). In general, we can define an identity standard of a teacher as the set meanings and ideas of a teacher about him/herself and relevant others that serve as a framework or a point of reference for a teacher. In addition, a teacher’s identity standard represents what the self-relevant meanings in the situation should be (Burke & Stets, 2009, p. 3). Teachers’ images of themselves as professionals, especially as beginning teachers, often conflict with the reality of the images and expectations that others (such as parents, students, colleagues or school management) have of

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them (Volkmann & Anderson, 1998). Research findings on (student) teacher ideals, self-perceptions and students’ perceptions of them (Brekelmans, Wubbels, & van Tartijk, 2005) confirm this: beginning teachers are perceived to exhibit much lower interpersonal control by their students than they themselves would like to exhibit. Significant differences have also been found between teachers’ self-perceptions and their students’ perceptions, and these differences seem to extend to teaching behaviours such as teaching for active learning and clarity (den Brok, Bergen, & Brekelmans, 2006). Moreover, differences between students’ and teachers’ perceptions remain during the teaching career; they are particularly large during the beginning of the teaching period, which appears to be a major source of disappointment for many beginning teachers, thus hindering their learning (Wubbels et al., 2006). On the one hand, beginning teachers would like to be perceived as ‘tough’, but are actually seen as submissive (by their students). On the other hand, they hardly differ with their students when it comes to affiliation (Brekelmans et al., 2005; Wubbels et al., 2006). From an interpersonal perspective, it seems that many beginning and student teachers confuse teacher leadership with teacher strictness, whereas many experienced teachers show leadership to be dominance, rather than strictness (de Jong, van Tartwijk, Verloop, Veldman, & Wubbels, 2012; Holvast, Wubbels, & Brekelmans, 1993). It might be possible that according to beginning teachers, both interpersonal dimensions of control and affiliation are linked, while in the view of experienced teachers (and theory), these are independent. A recent study on teachers’ interpersonal identity standards in relation to appraisals of lesson situations (van der Want, den Brok, Beijaard, Brekelmans, Claessens, & Pennings, 2012) asked both beginning and experienced teachers (30 in total) to describe themselves as teachers from an interpersonal perspective and to indicate what they find important in their relationships with students. Of the 30 teachers, 24 characterised their standards by describing their (desired) relationship with students as open and friendly, whereby students feel free to ask questions and approach them with problems. In addition, 3 of 12 beginning teachers described their (desired) relationship as ‘friendly, but not too friendly, I am still their teacher’, while 6 teachers indicated their relationship with students as a ‘fight/struggle’. Their reported standards thus confirmed findings from other studies (see Holvast et al.,1993; de Jong et al., 2012), indicating that teachers, especially beginning teachers, are still in the process of establishing standards that pick up suitable distinctions between elements such as strictness, leadership and helpful/friendliness.

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TEACHERS’ APPRAISALS OF CLASSROOM SITUATIONS Admiraal conducted research about teachers’ meaning making processes of specific situations (1994; cf. Admiraal et al., 2000). His work investigated the concept of student teachers’ meaning making in demanding classroom situations for which he used the concept of appraisal (cf. Arnold, 1960; Lazarus & Folkman, 1984). In our model, professional identity acts as a filter through which a teacher perceives his/her interpersonal behaviour in specific situations, interprets it and values this behaviour. In turn, teachers’ appraisals of their behaviour in specific situations further shape and modify (the interpersonal component of) their identity, as they become part of their knowledge and experiences. Appraisals play an important role in the comparison process between the perception of the situation and the interpersonal identity standards. In an ideal situation for a teacher, total identity-verification takes place. Identity-verification means that perceptions of the person in the situation are consistent with the person’s identity-standard. A lack of identity-verification occurs when the perceptions about the person in the situation disconfirm the person’s identity-standard meanings. (Burke & Stets, 2009, p. 116)

If there is a lack of identity-verification, ‘y people become upset or distressed in varying degrees’ (Burke & Stets, 2009, p. 208). According to Burke and Stets (2009), people will try to change this mismatch of situational meanings and identity standard into a matching couple. At the same time, both verification and lack of verification thus lead to different interpretations and appraisals of a situation. For example, when at the start of the lesson the students enter the classroom talking loudly to each other, the teacher can make sense of this situation in different ways. S/he can think that it is important for students to settle down and take a minute to talk informally to their peers. In such a case the interpersonal identity standard of the teacher probably is that a teacher should be lenient and allow freedom (e.g. during the start of the lesson). On the other hand, s/he can think that it is very important to use all the time there is to teach the subject to the students and that, therefore, everybody should be quiet and be ready the minute they enter the classroom to start with the lesson; in such a case the interpersonal identity standard is probably that a teacher should always be in control. Depending on his or her identity standard, a teacher will attach different meanings to a situation and will consequently

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also behave differently. In their model, Burke and Stets (2009, pp. 27–28) argue that perception is guiding the behaviour of the person. By controlling their perceptions, people try ‘y to make their perceptions match a reference of set point’, their identity standards (Burke & Stets, 2009, p. 29). Applied to the focus of this chapter, the perception of an interpersonal situation (e.g. students are yelling at each other during the lesson and I as a teacher am not in control) compared to the identity standard of a teacher (e.g. students should be quiet during the lesson and I should be in control) has consequences for a teacher’s interpersonal identity role. This might not only lead to adaptation of or changes in the identity standard, but also to changes in appraisal of the situation or in the perception of the situation and even lead to perceptual defence or priming (e.g. Lewis & Riley, 2009). The concept of appraisal can be understood as the process of categorising a situation, with respect to its importance and effect for a teacher’s wellbeing (Admiraal, 1994; Admiraal et al., 2000; Arnold, 1960; Lazarus & Folkman, 1984). Consciously or unconsciously, appraisal processes take place continuously; every situation is categorised by individuals (Am I in trouble? Is this harmful for my well-being? What should I do now?), and evaluated (e.g. this is life threatening, I need to escape). Several appraisal categories to distinguish the different aspects of an appraisal can be found in the literature (cf. Admiraal, 1994; Admiraal et al., 2000; Lazarus & Folkman, 1984; Scherer, Schorr, & Johnstone, 2001). Each of these studies distinguishes first and second appraisal and emphasises the importance of emotions. Next to that, they either include a description of the situation or an evaluation of significance of the event within the appraisal process (Admiraal, 1994; Admiraal et al., 2000; Lazarus & Folkman, 1984). The first appraisal, summarised in the question ‘Am I in trouble or being benefited, now or in the future and in what way?’, is often expressed in an emotion or feeling and can be divided into three kinds of first appraisal: irrelevant (a teacher experiences no implications for his well-being/ teaching), benign-positive or stressful (Lazarus & Folkman, 1984). When a situation is appraised as irrelevant, this means that a teacher experiences no implications for his well-being/teaching and the situation challenges no value, need, commitment or other part of the ‘set of meanings’ forming a person’s identity. Benign-positive appraisals can be found in situations that are perceived to enhance or preserve the well-being of the teacher or the quality of the teaching. When an event is appraised stressful, a teacher evaluates an event as being harmful or threatening. Each individual has a

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certain sensitivity and vulnerability to certain types of events. The second appraisal is an, evaluative process that takes into account: (1) which options are available to deal with the situation, (2) the likelihood that a given option will accomplish what it is supposed to, and (3) the likelihood that one can apply a particular strategy or set of strategies effectively. (Lazarus & Folkman, 1984, p. 35)

The central question for the second appraisal is ‘What can and might be done about it?’. Obviously, the answer to this question is affected by a number of factors, both cognitive – such as the behavioural repertoire available to the teacher, their (practical) knowledge of the class, of pedagogical strategies and their effect, and of classroom management in related situations – as well as personal and affective – such as motives and emotions like fear, or personality characteristics (being able to deal with uncertainty, conscientiousness, etc.). We can illustrate the process of perception and appraisal with an example from the previously mentioned study by van der Want, den Brok, Beijaard, and Brekelmans (2012). One of the teachers in her study, Elly, a teacher who mentioned that she wanted to maintain a friendly, yet leading relationship with her students, described the following situation: ‘Students enter the classroom. I greet them while they enter’. The teacher’s first appraisal of the situation was: ‘This is positive. I like this, otherwise I feel in a hurry and I do not like that.’ Thus, Elly seemed to appraise the situation as benign-positive. Her second appraisal was more elaborate: I cannot start immediately, because the students are not ready yet. And I cannot stand still all the time, so I walk. Basically, I have two options available for this situation, namely to wait until they sit and are quiet, or to start as soon as possible. In this particular situation, I decided to wait. This will increase the likelihood that I allow the students to settle down and fine-tune on me, so that they are ready to start with the lesson. I always start the lesson like this, and it works most of the times.

Hence, Elly’s second appraisal concerned two possible options, an argument for the chosen option to justify it and an assessment of the effectiveness of the chosen option. As can be seen, in the appraisal process mainly positive emotions occurred, and the situation was evaluated as a confirmation or strengthening of the identity standard of the teacher. Lewis (2005) defines appraisal as ‘the evaluation of significance in a situation that can give rise to an emotional response’ (p. 170). In other words, appraisal comprises a set of cognitive processes (perception, evaluation, attention, memory, reflection and planning) that are directed towards what is important for the self. Lewis (2005) argues that with respect

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to the interpersonal competence this appraisal concerns the gap that exists between discipline procedures utilised by a teacher and his/her idea of best practice. When teachers experience a discipline ‘stressor’ (situation), they have a primary and secondary appraisal. In the previously mentioned research project of van der Want et al. (2012), 30 teachers (both beginning and experienced) were videotaped and three situations were selected and discussed with the teachers to map their appraisals: the start of the lesson, reacting to students’ disorderly behaviour and reacting to their positive behaviour. These situations have been found to be important in teachers’ coping processes with respect to the teacher– student interpersonal relationship and have been reported prominently with respect to their practical knowledge on classroom management (Admiraal et al., 2000; Wubbels et al., 2006). At the start of the lesson, some beginning teachers reported negative emotions, in particular feeling restless or impatient. These teachers wondered how to get the students quiet when they enter the classroom. Other beginning as well as some experienced teachers reported more positive feelings and indicated they felt more relaxed. For them, the lesson start provided the opportunity to contact the students, to get a sense of the emotional climate of the group and factors affecting the moods and behaviours of the students when entering the room, and to take some time to prepare for teaching. They expected such moments to provide students with time to prepare for learning. With respect to the situation dealing with reacting to students’ positive behaviour, most teachers reported benign-positive appraisals, accompanied by positive emotional correlates, such as feeling confident, feeling reassurance, pleasure and relaxation. They indicated that the situation allowed them to recognise students, to provide them with attention and to ensure smooth transition to the next lesson phase. Some teachers also reported more stressful appraisals, accompanied by more negative emotional aspects such as ‘doubt’; they wondered if they acknowledged the students explicitly enough, or even doubted they had actually rewarded students for their contributions. With respect to the third situation, dealing with students’ disorderly behaviour, most teachers reported stressful appraisals and negative emotional experiences, such as feeling restless and irritated, although the former was more prominently mentioned by beginners, whereas the latter was more often mentioned by veteran teachers. Teachers indicated that they wanted to correct students, but in a clear and brief manner, rather than making a big issue out of the situation. Although such a reaction would be a possible option, it could lead to a potential escalation of the situation. Beginning teachers also reported doubt, as they wondered

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whether they had been clear enough in their reaction. Overlooking the different situations and appraisals, it is clear that different situations evoke different emotions and options to react with teachers.

TENSIONS OR DILEMMAS IN TEACHERS’ IDENTITY STANDARDS Researchers who study teachers’ professional identity seem to agree that professional identity is not a stable entity, but rather a continually changing, dynamic, active and ongoing process, developing over time. It is influenced by the teachers’ own personal characteristics, learning history, prior experiences, etc. on the one hand and professional contexts, including significant others, knowledge, skills and attitudes that are found relevant by teacher educators, etc. on the other (see, e.g. Beauchamp & Thomas, 2009; Beijaard et al., 2004; Cooper & Olson, 1996; Flores & Day, 2006; Hong, 2010; Olsen, 2010, 2011; Schepens, Aelterman, & Vlerick, 2009). Identity roles and identity standards constantly change and develop, and are combined and integrated into the overarching identity of a teacher. These standards and roles may be in harmony and balance with appraisals of situations, but they may also be in conflict. When this happens, tensions may occur (Alsup, 2006; Lipka & Brinthaupt, 1999; Olsen, 2010; Volkmann & Anderson, 1998). If the connection between teachers’ perceptions and appraisals and their professional selves cannot be made (Alsup, 2006, p. 37), then tensions may occur in the professional identity of (beginning) teachers. In turn, these tensions cause internal struggles and emotions, an undesirable situation. Especially for beginning teachers such tensions can be real dilemmas (Volkmann & Anderson, 1998) when they feel as if they have to make a choice between equally undesirable alternatives (Berube, 1982). Pillen, Beijaard, and den Brok (in press) investigated the literature related to identity dilemmas and conducted interviews with beginning teachers to identify 13 types of tensions or dilemmas, of which several are related to interpersonal relationships. In a follow-up of their interview study, Pillen et al. (in press) conducted a questionnaire study with 182 beginning teachers to determine what tensions and dilemmas these teachers experienced, whether they recognised tensions often mentioned in the literature, what kind of feelings and emotions these tensions evoked and how beginning teachers dealt with their dilemmas (e.g. their coping strategies). While their study dealt with tensions outside the topic of teacher–student relationships,

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their findings showed a series of interesting results in relation to this topic. Tensions and dilemmas identified were among others:  Wanting to care for students versus being expected to be tough. Beginning teachers may feel that taking control of the class might sacrifice the close relationship they wish to have with students (de Jong et al., 2012; Fuller & Bown, 1975; Shapira-Lishchinsky, 2011; Volkmann & Anderson, 1998). Over 60% of the teachers in the questionnaire study recognised this tension and this is not surprising since other studies have shown that student teachers want to be in control and to be caring at the same time (e.g. Veenman, 1984; Volkmann & Anderson, 1998).  Experiencing difficulties in maintaining emotional distance was recognised by 27% of the beginning teachers. Beginning teachers may be closely involved in the lives of their students (Veenman, 1984), as they want to show their students that they care about them. This could possibly make it difficult for beginning teachers to distance themselves emotionally; at the same time, however, in order to ‘survive’, they experience the need for this distance (Fuller & Bown, 1975).  Wanting to treat students as persons as a whole versus feeling the need to treat them as learners (or vice versa). If beginning teachers have not (yet) developed a clear perception of how they view students, it makes it hard to decide whether to treat students as persons as a whole or as learners (Berlak & Berlak, 1981). This tension was recognised by 24% of the beginning teachers in the questionnaire study.  Feeling like a student versus being expected to act like an adult teacher (recognised by 16.5% of the beginning teachers in the questionnaire study). Beginning teachers may still feel like a student on the inside, but they are expected by students (and colleagues) to behave like ‘real’ teachers and as adults (Fuller & Bown, 1975; Volkmann & Anderson, 1998).  Wanting to respect students’ integrity versus feeling the need to work against this integrity. This tension was recognised by 17.5% of the beginning teachers. Beginning teachers may be taken into confidence by one of their students. This situation becomes difficult when they are forced to decide whether to respect this student’s integrity or to act against it, when doing this seems necessary in order to protect the student or other people (Ka¨lvemark, Ho¨glund, Hansson, Westerholm, & Arnetz, 2004; Shapira-Lishchinsky, 2011).  Experiencing conflicting loyalties towards students and colleagues. A beginning teacher may experience conflicting loyalties, for example when

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a student takes him/her into confidence regarding a colleague (Ka¨lvemark et al., 2004; Shapira-Lishchinsky, 2011). Not surprisingly, teachers mainly mentioned negative emotions in relation to experiencing these tensions, such as feeling helpless, feeling aware of one’s own shortcomings, feeling angry, feeling insecure or doubtful, feeling not being taken seriously, lacking motivation, feeling frustrated, feeling uncomfortable and unsettled, feeling fed up or feeling being pushed. The most common feeling reported of all interpersonal tensions was that of feeling helpless. As indicated in the reported study by Pillen et al. (in press), emotions play an important role in an individual’s experience of tensions (e.g. Volkmann & Anderson, 1998). Due to the fact that tensions can be considered as very stressful for beginning teachers, it seems natural that they are accompanied by negative feelings (Flores & Day, 2006; Kelchtermans & Ballet, 2002). Since there is no easy resolution for many tensions either, beginning teachers need to learn to cope with the tensions they experience. Coping is making an effort to manage a troubled person–environment relationship and implies that teachers appraise their tensions (Admiraal et al., 2000). In the relevant literature, a wide variety of ways in which teachers may respond to workrelated stress can be found (Davis, Petisch, & Smithey, 2006; Yonemura, 1986). Admiraal et al. (2000), for example, followed up on the work of Lazarus and Folkman (1984) by distinguishing between emotion-focused coping behaviour and problem-focused coping behaviour. Emotion-focused coping behaviour is influenced by personality factors and is likely to occur when beginning teachers assume that environmental conditions cannot be modified. They may respond, for example, with avoidance tactics, minimisation, and distancing or selective attention. Problem-focused coping behaviour is more dependent on the context and is related to problem-solving strategies. Beginning teachers may define their problem, speak to significant others or search for alternative solutions: then they take action (Admiraal et al., 2000). In terms of coping strategies, it appeared that most beginning teachers decided ‘to speak to a significant other about their problems’ – this was the most common strategy reported across all interpersonal tensions and was mentioned over 48% of the time. However, other strategies also showed up significantly, such as ‘finding a solution yourself’ (31%) and ‘putting up with the situation’ (19%). The solution ‘receiving help without asking for it’ was hardly mentioned by the beginning teachers (1%).

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Discussion and Implications In this chapter, a model to analyse and describe teachers’ emotions and reactions in the classroom related to the domain of teacher–student interpersonal relationships – the Teacher Interpersonal Identity Role and Appraisal Model – was presented and illustrated with findings from recent studies. The proposed model analysed such emotions and reactions from a professional identity perspective. It was argued that emotions and reactions emerge from the comparison between a teacher’s identity role standards and their appraisal of particular situations, and from the inclination of teachers to resolve tensions, inconsistencies or discrepancies between identity role standards and their appraisals of these situations. Obviously, the present contribution should be regarded as a very first step in presenting and using the model to analyse teachers’ identities in relation to the appraisal of classroom situations and the actual reactions to these situations. Nevertheless, our empirical findings provide support for the fact that different types of emotions felt by teachers play a role when it comes to the domain of teacher–student interpersonal relationships in the classroom, and that it may be fruitful to use a professional identity perspective to analyse these. More particularly, this contribution shows that different tensions can occur with respect to the interpersonal role identity standard of teachers, that these are often accompanied with negative emotions and that their resolution often depends on the personal initiative of teachers experiencing them. The most common experienced tension was the tension of the perceived need to be strict versus the desire to be friendly and helpful. Volkmann and Anderson (1998) treated this ‘care-strictness tension’ as an identity dilemma in their article about creating professional identity. They discussed one beginning teacher’s dilemma in terms of the concept of caring face/tough face: ‘The question that worried this beginning teacher was: How do I take charge and still show my students that I care about them?’ (p. 301). This tension also corresponds to classroom management and building a good relationship with students, which is one of the most serious issues encountered by beginning teachers (Veenman, 1984). Research on teacher– student relationships has shown that in about 80% of cases beginning teachers become emotionally involved with their students (Wubbels et al., 2006). Moreover, a study by Brekelmans et al. (2005) showed that teachers’ perceptions of the ideal levels of control (strictness) and caring (emotional involvement with the students) remain at a high and relatively stable level

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during their career, but that student teachers and beginning teachers are perceived as less controlling (strict) than their more experienced colleagues. As a result, beginning teachers often experience differences between desirable and ideal levels of control, and yet are unable to bridge this divide. It is no surprise that this evokes many emotions in the classroom, and that many of these emotions are unpleasant. Yet, it is comforting that many teachers overcome this tension, although one may wonder at what cost and in what period of time. The findings with respect to teachers’ appraisal of classroom situations showed that teachers’ role identity standards to a large degree can explain why they react to situations in a particular way, but also why they experience particular emotions or perceive a situation in a particular fashion. Our model and findings have several implications for practice. First, the identification of different tensions or identity themes and of appraisal processes of specific classroom situations can be helpful for both (student) teachers as well as teacher educators. It is important that tensions and appraisal tendencies are recognised early on, in order to help beginning teachers to cope with them. Our findings suggested that many tensions and emotions usually stay relatively hidden, as a result of which teachers may not always get the support they need. Beginning teachers cannot be left on their own by their teacher educators and mentors in (practice) schools. Leijen, Lam, Wildschut, and Simons (2009) argue that it would be helpful if beginning teachers are guided by mentors and colleagues via discussion and observation, in order to give meaning to the negative feelings that accompany the tensions they experience and those experienced by others. This ‘educative’ approach to professional identity tensions requires teacher educators and mentors in schools to be able to recognise tensions and the many aspects that may play a part in them (Ehrich, Kimber, Millwater, & Cranston, 2011). Instead of the counter-productive effect that tensions appear to have when they are experienced, teacher educators must be able to help their student teachers turn tensions into learning moments. An interesting point of discussion might be to what degree tensions or difficult classroom situations are necessary for professional growth to occur. According to Meijer (2011), beginning teachers will develop a commitment to teaching because of the intense emotions they experience. Possible positive consequences have also been referred to by other researchers who stress that tensions can be of great importance for the development of teachers’ professional identity (Alsup, 2006; Meijer, 2011; Olsen, 2010). As such, professional identity tensions appear to be a very positive ‘tool’ for teacher learning.

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Finally, as has been noted, this study was a very first step in putting forward a model for analysing teachers’ emotions by relating them to the domain of teacher–student interpersonal relationships from a professional identity perspective. While more research is needed to verify the themes, tensions and processes described in this chapter, we hope this contribution will inspire other researchers to take such a perspective and apply the model to other domains and professional identity standards as well.

REFERENCES Admiraal, W. F. (1994). Reactions of teachers to stressful situations in the classroom. [In Dutch]. Utrecht: W. C. C. Admiraal, W. F., Korthagen, F. A. J., & Wubbels, T. (2000). Effects of student teachers’ coping behaviour. British Journal of Educational Psychology, 70(1), 33–52. Alsup, J. (2006). Teacher identity discourses. Negotiating personal and professional spaces. Hillsdale, NJ: Lawrence Erlbaum Associates. Arnold, M. B. (1960). Emotion and personality. New York, NY: Columbia University Press. Beauchamp, C., & Thomas, L. (2009). Understanding teacher identity: An overview of issues in the literature and implications for teacher education. Cambridge Journal of Education, 39(2), 175–189. Beijaard, D. (1995). Teachers’ prior experiences and actual perceptions of professional identity. Teachers and Teaching: Theory and Practice, 1(2), 281–294. Beijaard, D., Meijer, P. C., & Verloop, N. (2004). Reconsidering research on teachers’ professional identity. Teaching and Teacher Education, 20(2), 107–128. Berlak, A., & Berlak, H. (1981). Dilemmas of schooling. New York, NY: Methuen. Berube, M. S. (Ed.). (1982). The American heritage dictionary (2nd ed.). Boston, MA: Houghton Mifflin. Brekelmans, M., Sleegers, P., & Fraser, B. (2000). Teaching for active learning. In R. J. Simons, J. van der Linden & T. Duffy (Eds.), New learning (pp. 227–242). Dordrecht: Kluwer Academic Publishers. Brekelmans, M., Wubbels, T., & van Tartijk, J. (2005). Teacher-student relationships across the career. International Journal of Educational Research, 43(1–2), 55–71. Burke, P., & Stets, J. (2009). Identity Theory. New York, NY: Oxford University Press. Cooper, K., & Olson, M. R. (1996). The multiple ‘I’s’ of teacher identity. In M. Kompf, W. R. Bond, D. Dworet & R. T. Boak (Eds.), Changing research and practice: Teachers’ professionalism, identities and knowledge (pp. 78–89). Washington, DC: The Falmer Press. Cornelius-White, J. (2007). Learner-centered teacher-student relationships are effective: A meta-analysis. Review of Educational Research, 77(1), 113–143. Davis, E. A., Petisch, D., & Smithey, J. (2006). Challenges new science teachers face. Review of Educational Research, 76(4), 607–651. Day, C., Stobart, G., Sammons, P., Kingston, A., Gu, Q., Smees, R., y Woods, D. (2006). Factors that make teachers more effective across their careers. London: TLRP.

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Lipka, R. P., & Brinthaupt, T. M. (Eds.). (1999). The role of self in teacher development. New York, NY: State University of New York Press. MacDonald, D. (1999). Teacher attrition: A review of literature. Teaching and Teacher Education, 15(8), 835–848. Meijer, P. C. (2011). The role of crisis in the development of student teachers’ professional identity. In A. Lauriala, R. Rajala, H. Ruokamo & O. Ylitapio-Ma¨ntyla¨ (Eds.), Navigating in educational contexts: Identities and cultures in dialogue (pp. 41–54). Rotterdam: Sense Publishers. Nias, J. (1996). Thinking about feeling: The emotions in teaching. Cambridge Journal of Education, 26(3), 293–305. Olsen, B. (2010). Teaching for success. Developing your teacher identity in today’s classroom. London: Paradigm Publishers. Olsen, B. (2011). ‘‘I am large, I contain multitudes’’: Teacher identity as a useful frame for research, practice, and diversity in teacher education. In A. F. Ball & C. A. Tyson (Eds.), Studying diversity in teacher education (pp. 257–273). Lanham, MD: Rowman & Littlefield. Pillen, M., Beijaard, D., & den Brok, P. (in press). Tensions in beginning teachers’ professional development, accompanying feelings and coping strategies. European Journal of Teacher Education. doi:10.1080/02619768.2012.696192 Schepens, A., Aelterman, A., & Vlerick, P. (2009). Student teachers’ professional identity formation: Between being born as a teacher and becoming one. Educational Studies, 35(4), 361–378. Scherer, K. R., Schorr, A., & Johnstone, T. (Eds.). (2001). Appraisal processes in emotion: Theory, Methods, Research. New York, NY: Oxford University Press. Shapira-Lishchinsky, O. (2011). Teachers’ critical incidents: Ethical dilemmas in teaching practice. Teaching and Teacher Education, 27(3), 648–656. Tatar, M., & Horenczyk, G. (2003). Diversity-related burnout among teachers. Teaching and Teacher Education, 19(4), 397–408. van der Want, A., den Brok, P., Beijaard, D., & Brekelmans, M. (2012, June). The interpersonal identity role of teachers. Paper presented at the annual conference of the Netherlands Educational Research Association, Wageningen, the Netherlands. Veenman, S. (1984). Perceived problems of beginning teachers. Review of Educational Research, 54(2), 143–178. Volkmann, M. J., & Anderson, M. A. (1998). Creating professional identity: Dilemmas and metaphors of a first-year chemistry teacher. Science Education, 82(3), 293–310. Weinstein, C. S., & Evertson, C. M. (Eds.). (2006). Handbook of classroom management: Research, practice, and contemporary issues. Mahwah, NJ: Lawrence Erlbaum Associates. Wubbels, T., Brekelmans, M., den Brok, P., & van Tartwijk, J. (2006). An interpersonal perspective on classroom management in secondary classrooms in the Netherlands. In C. S. Weinstein & C. M. Evertson (Eds.), Handbook of classroom management: Research, practice, and contemporary issues (pp. 1161–1192). Mahwah, NJ: Lawrence Erlbaum Associates. Wubbels, T., & Levy, J. (Eds.). (1993). Interpersonal relationships in education. London: The Falmer Press. Yonemura, M. V. (1986). A teacher at work. New York, NY: Teachers College Press.

PART III NAVIGATING THE HIDDEN CURRICULUM

SELF-CONSCIOUS EMOTION: HOW TWO TEACHERS EXPLORE THE EMOTIONAL WORK OF TEACHING Andrea Gallant ABSTRACT Teachers are constantly involved in emotional management. This chapter focuses on two second year teachers and the self-conscious emotional work of teaching. Both teachers were working in a prep (5-year-olds) class. The teachers engaged in The Participatory Inquiry Program (PIP), which is framed by active and critical reflections on classroom practices. The teachers collaborated with each other, firstly filming the other’s practice, and then acting as a critical peer when reviewing the other’s film. Teachers also examined internal feelings and thought processes that influenced their actions. The teachers concluded their participation in PIP by narrating their experience and learning. These narratives were then analysed by focusing on how they became cognisant of emotion and emotion regulation that enhances practice and learning outcomes. Emotion work for these two teachers revolved around three key themes: the emotion work with regard to colleagues; the emotional work

Emotion and School: Understanding How the Hidden Curriculum Influences Relationships, Leadership, Teaching, and Learning Advances in Research on Teaching, Volume 18, 163–181 Copyright r 2013 by Emerald Group Publishing Limited All rights of reproduction in any form reserved ISSN: 1479-3687/doi:10.1108/S1479-3687(2013)0000018013

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that arises in relation to students (feelings of love; annoyance, anger), and emotion and self-awareness. .

Keywords: Beginning teachers; emotional work; display rules; self-esteem

Generally, in teacher education programmes or teacher training courses the focus is on pedagogy, curriculum, planning, assessment and discipline content knowledge. There is time given to ensure pre-service teachers become aware and more knowledgeable about the ethical and legal aspects of the profession. But what consideration is given to preparing teachers for the emotional work of teaching? Sixteen years ago Nias (1996) highlighted how the emotional work associated with teaching was ‘y seldom systemically considered in pre- or in-service education y [and] by implication and omission teachers’ emotions are not a topic deemed worthy of serious academic or professional consideration’ (p. 293). Moving forward to 2009 little seems to have changed, with Sutton, Mudrey-Camino, and Knight (2009) arguing that ‘most pre-service programs give little emphasis to relationships among teachers’ emotions, classroom management, and teaching practice’ (p. 130). But it is not only an omission in pre-service teacher education, as O’Connor (2008) highlighted ‘the role that emotions play in teachers’ work is rarely acknowledged in public policy, and professional teacher standards y tend to downplay or ignore the emotional dimensions of the teaching role’ (p. 119). What is becoming apparent is teachers are ill prepared and under supported by policy in how to manage the difficult emotional work of teaching. While there may be little, if any, attention paid to teacher emotions in pre-service teacher education, or by policy makers, this is not the case for educational researchers (Hargreaves, 1998, 2000; Hosotani & ImaiMatsumura, 2011; Isenbarger & Zembylas, 2006; Kelchtermans, 2009; Na¨ring, Vlerick, & Van de Ven, 2011; Nias, 1996; Tsang, 2011; Zembylas, 2003, 2007). Fried (2011) recognized ‘emotions are intimately involved in virtually every aspect of the teaching and learning process’ (p. 118). Farouk (2012) examined self-conscious emotion, and found teachers ‘bring a substantial part of themselves to their work and how strong emotions, such as jealousy, guilt, anger or a deep sense of satisfaction, are integral to their interactions with others’ (p. 1). This chapter focuses on the emotional side of teachers’ work of teaching for two second year teachers, and is premised on

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the statement: ‘one cannot help teachers develop their classroom and management skills without also addressing their emotional reactions and responses and the attitudes, values and beliefs which underlie these’ (Nias, 1996, p. 294). Emotions in this chapter are understood as: Socially constructed, personally enacted ways of being that emerge from conscious and/or unconscious judgments regarding perceived successes at attaining goals or maintaining standards or beliefs during transactions as part of social-historical contexts. (Schutz, Hong, Cross, & Osbon, 2006, p. 344)

THE COGNITIVE-EMOTIONAL CONNECTION IN TEACHING I accept Nias’ (1996) statement that ‘emotions are rooted in cognition’ and that ‘feelings are not separate from perception [or] affectivity from judgement y Nor are they to be separated from the social and cultural forces which help to form them and which are in turn shaped by them’ (p. 294). Nias’ thesis raises questions about the role of emotion in teaching and its effect on teachers. Teaching evokes the intertwining of emotion and cognition. Emotion is a significant aspect of the learning environment, often overlooked or misunderstood; it is part of the hidden curriculum. The dynamic nature of emotion related to teaching and learning has been captured by Zembylas’ (2007) term emotional ecology. This term illustrates how ‘a teacher’s emotional knowledge about teaching and learning is an inextricable part of the ecosystem of teacher knowledge’ (p. 356). He highlighted ‘teachers must be able to connect their emotional understanding with what they know about subject matter, pedagogy, school discourses, personal histories, and curriculum’ (Zembylas, 2007, p. 364). While Zembylas and others (Hoffman, 2009; Shutz & Lanehart, 2002; Sutton, 2004; Vogt, 2002) present the complex emotion work of teaching and being a teacher, what is often overlooked is how the emotional and cognitive work of teachers impact the individual’s sense of self and professional capability.

TEACHING AS EMOTIONAL WORK There is a professional expectation that teachers ‘need to try to change and manage y emotions’ theirs and others and to display emotions ‘in an appropriate way. This act of emotion management is known as emotion

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work’ (Tsang, 2011, p. 1313). This emotion work is demanding, and research till date (see Na¨ring et al., 2011; Schutz et al., 2006) continues to support Nias’ (1996) earlier findings that ‘the emotional reactions of individual teachers to their work are intimately connected to the view that they have of themselves and others. These perspectives are shaped by early influences, as well as by subsequent professional education and experience’ (p. 294). Teachers are educated about the significance of the emotional lives of students and the importance of classroom climate in regard to self-efficacy and positive learning outcomes. They know creating a positive classroom climate is part of the role of being a teacher. However, there is little emphasis on the cognitive perception and expectation of self as teacher that evokes emotions resulting in either a positive or negative impact. Nias (1996) recognized that teachers’ ‘self-esteem is closely linked to a sense of professional efficacy’ (p. 297). Equally, the research findings of Zembylas (2003) led him to argue, ‘teaching and the classroom are sources for teacher self-esteem, fulfilment and vulnerability’ (p. 217). The overall conclusion that many researchers have arrived at is that teaching involves emotional labour, which can have positive or negative impact (Hargreaves, 2001; Kelchtermans, 2009; Kyriacou, 1987; Schutz et al., 2006; Zembylas, 2003). One such negative impact is teacher stress, as Kelly and Berthelsen (1995) indicated, comes from ‘negative or unpleasant emotions resulting from aspects of their work. These emotional responses are mediated by the perception that the demands made upon the teacher constitute a threat to personal self-esteem’ (p. 346). Teaching and self-esteem are inherently problematic as the teaching role is multi focal, involving numerous stakeholders, critics, experts and policy makers who often do not have teaching knowledge and minimal awareness of the hidden curriculum – the emotional work of teaching. Recently Na¨ring et al. (2011), recognized that ‘the work of teachers is being evaluated in more and more detail and this has also led to an increase in the emotional demands of teaching’ (p. 12). What needs serious consideration is the impact of this emotional work as it consistently increases for teachers and the support they need to ensure their well-being and that of the profession. The research presented in this chapter focuses on two teachers’ conscious examinations of their practice revealing the emotional work of teaching and its effect. I argue that teacher’s emotional responses are cognitively connected to how they perceive the role of a teacher. The goals they set for themselves, students and maintaining standards, which are inclusive of display rules;

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reflecting the social historical context of the teaching and learning environment. The case studies presented here arose from a project funded by the Australian Research Council, which investigated the most effective way to assist classroom teachers to improve their management practices. The teachers, both working in a Prep (5-year-olds) class, were offered professional development designed to support change in classroom management by facilitating more positive relationships between teachers and students, particularly the more challenging students.

SELF-CONSCIOUS EMOTION – CASE STUDIES The teachers engaged in the Participatory Inquiry Program (PIP), an active and critical reflection on classroom processes. The teachers collaborated with each other, firstly filming each other’s practice, and then acting as a critical peer when reviewing the other’s film. The researcher was also present during the film analysis, modelling the role of critical peer: asking probing questions derived from the vision that led to concentrated and focussed reflective analysis of practice. In the PIP model, critical peers do not make judgements of the other. They were required to avoid making good or bad judgement statements in favour of probing questions that require the other to articulate their practice, thinking and feelings. This type of questioning encourages reflection on what was happening in the room for the children, what feelings and thoughts were occurring for the teachers, and how these might have influenced their actions. The purpose of PIP is for teachers to engage with each other as critical peers who make professional enquiries that enhance workplace learning and emotional self-regulation. The PIP process involved me meeting with the teachers five times in their school in 2011. Both teachers (pseudonyms of Lucy and Sally) were completing their second year of teaching, and both were in a Prep classroom in the same low socio–economic background school. As part of the PIP process, the teachers were asked to keep their own journal and to use this as data when writing up their experience of the process as a PIP narrative; their vignettes are presented. I analysed the narratives for evidence of emotional work and its impact. The purpose of the narrative analysis is to make the ongoing emotional work explicit by examining the language. Narrative data were also analysed for their felt sense (which is a bodily sense) of being a teacher. There was also data analysis involving their expectations of themselves, and how they wanted to be recognized as teachers by others. Qualitative investigation such

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as this allows others to become sensitive to teachers’ work, which might otherwise go unrecognized. This sensitivity might influence future considerations for pre-service preparation and professional development, policy development and assessments of performativity. A micro analytical approach such as this also provides illustrative examples of teachers’ voices that speak to theory and highlight the continuing relevance of previous research conclusions. There were three key themes found in both teachers narratives. Firstly, there was the emotion work with regard to colleagues, a continual comparison with others and by others, promoting a sense of vulnerability and insecurity. Secondly, what emerged was the emotional work that arises in relation to students (feeling love, annoyance, anger). Finally, what became apparent was emotion and self-awareness; there was a constant pondering about how to navigate the emotion work, find a balance and surprise at their own emotion displayed. Each narrative title is one that the teachers chose to capture their challenge in being a teacher. The language of the teachers illustrates the cognitive and emotional challenges of teaching. The trustworthiness of the analysis stems from other teachers’ identification with the narrative confirming the analysis captured some authentic emotional work of teaching and being a teacher. Emotions, after all ‘are not simply a matter of personality or idiosyncratic teaching style, but constitute a fundamental aspect of the job’ (Kelchtermans, 2009, p. 269).

CASE STUDY ONE: PASSION VERSUS PERFECTION (LUCY) I want to improve the relationship I have with my students. I see my colleague who runs her class without raising her voice, who has her children collect their learning materials from around the class without fretting when they get it wrong or if the classroom gets messy, she takes her time and is patient and kind when students say they don’t understand the task even after she has explained it more than once. How can I find this calmness in myself – and build a more purposeful and tender relationship with my students?

Theme One: Measuring up to Self and Others Emotion work, with regard to colleagues and the external sense of measuring up to the ideal notion of a teacher is exemplified by Lucy. Her measurement criteria are informed by her conception of a good teacher –

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tidy, takes her time, gives children task responsibilities. The role of teacher is noted as one who runs a class and is in control. Professionally measuring up is connected to the display rules that influences Lucy’s peer assessment. For Lucy the display rules for a Prep teacher are kind, patient, calm and tender. The display rules are ‘generally a function of societal norms, occupational norms and organisation norms and designate expected emotional presentations by social actors’ (Hunt, Gardner, & Fischer, 2008, p. 48). What is noted here is how adherence to these rules consciously impacts this teacher’s self-assessment. These ideals highlight how Lucy’s self-esteem and professional efficacy are vulnerable as she strives to meet the ideals of teaching and being a teacher. Being a perpetual perfectionist and high achiever, I spend a lot of time in the classroom feeling nervous and fretful. I worry my classroom will become disorganised or messy, that my students wouldn’t understand a learning task or that they won’t meet the expectations set for me by school leadership and the region. These worries often play out negatively and cause me to react pessimistically towards my students, which makes my classroom an uncomfortable place for myself and my students.

The emotion and cognitive work for Lucy is made transparent through her task perception (Kelchtermans, 2009, p. 262). She is conscious of the significance associated with carrying out the tasks and the expected learning outcomes, which has her feeling nervous and fretful. Her task perceptions are further compounded by the school leadership and external administrators’ expectations. Multiple expectations by self and others increase the emotional work leading to worry and the impact of negative consequences – react pessimistically – and the classroom as an uncomfortable place – are clearly recognized by Lucy. Lucy also grapples with the display rule of a good teacher – she should be organized and this can be measured by a neat and tidy classroom to an outside observer.

Theme Two: Teacher–Student Relationships Lucy illustrates how the emotional work is pressurized through positive student interaction, which at first seems counter intuitive. The unconditional love and admiration the children display towards me has caught me off guard since the first day I started teaching. ‘You are the best teacher in the world, Miss B, I love you!’ These are words I hear almost every day and they are the words that fill me with pride and enthusiasm for my profession. Yet these words also fill me with an immense sense of responsibility; how can I show the children how much I care for them

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without losing the sense of firm authority I feel is needed to run an effective and safe classroom?

Student affective feedback is a highly significant factor that contributes to the emotional work of Lucy – positively and negatively. Student feedback is internalized as a measure by which she determines good teaching and being a good teacher. As Kelchtermans (2009) has highlighted, ‘to most teachers, students are the first and most important source of feedback, since they are the ultimate ‘‘raison d’eˆtre’ for teachers and their teaching’’’ (p. 262). What is being illustrated here is what Farouk’s (2012) research highlighted as ‘the moral imperative of caring for pupils [as] central to the views that teachers hold about themselves and the work that they do’ (p. 2). Caring is not a binary concept. The display rules are again having a direct impact on the sense of self as a teacher (patient, kind, inspirational, resourceful, ethical, courageous, hold back and assertive). These display rules are apparent in Tsang’s (2011) research, which noted teachers were being ‘encouraged not to express emotions that are either too strong (anger, joy, sadness) or too weak’ (p. 1312). Tsang (2011, p. 1313) highlighted five display rules for teachers in general: love, show enthusiasm, be enthusiastic and passionate about subject matter, love their work and have a sense of humour. However, the display rules are nuanced depending on the age group that a teacher works with. A Prep teacher working with 5 year olds experiences different display rules than those working with adolescents and young adults. There is the expectation that Prep teachers will also be bright, bubbly, colourful, caring, nurturing, patient, smiling and happy. This group of rules represents the ideal alternate mother/father and are represented in Lucy’s comments: I love the children I work with dearly and I want so much for them to achieve. I want them to love their first teacher and love learning y the pride I feel when they achieve and learn something new is what makes me a good teacher.

‘The personal and parental caring that primary school teachers exhibit towards their pupils is usually associated with the relationship that women, rather than men, have with children in western societies’ (Farouk, 2012, p. 3). Where this societal expectation manifests it adds to the emotional work of teachers, especially those in the early years, who are predominately women. This vignette also reflects the heightened emotional importance attached to a child’s first year of formal schooling and therefore an increased sense of responsibility as their first teacher.

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Theme Three: Emotion and Self-Awareness Lucy demonstrates the presence of self-monitoring in order to establish the emotional balance required in a teaching and learning environment for preps. All of this cognitive emotional work is consciously occurring and as Farouk (2012) argued, teachers’ internalised emotions do not remain ‘inert’. They guide their actions when they ‘relate to and interact with their pupils y’ (p. 1). I am learning to try different approaches such as lowering my body, gaining eye contact and asking calmly. Mostly I am learning to give myself time to consider if a situation, such as a misplaced pencil tub or messy learning space, is really an impingement on the children’s learning.

Lucy illustrates the internal oscillation that occurs as a result of the demands placed on her by the school community, and the demands she places on herself. y this depended on me recognising in myself when I was about to react badly to a situation; such as a mess in the classroom, a misplaced pencil tub or a student’s repetitive requests for clarification about a task. The reoccurring theme that emerged for me was the need for me to recognise in myself, the poignant moments that stress, confidence and external expectations negatively affected my interactions and relationship with the children.

The vignette demonstrates how taxing this is on her professionally and personally. The emotional ecology in managing emotional knowledge in her relationships with students is also observable (Zembylas, 2007, p. 358). Both teachers felt less confident teaching numeracy, Lucy identified the emotion work connected to pedagogy. The first time my colleague and I sat down to review a film of my teaching, showing a Math lesson and a Phonics lesson, I was very nervous. I knew that y [it] would be a confronting and emotional process.

Zembylas’ (2007) argument that ‘content, curriculum and pedagogy cannot be separated from emotional issues and that all those are inseparable to teachers’ pedagogical content knowledge’ (p. 356) is represented in Lucy’s comments above and in the following vignette. I realised my negative reaction to the children was representative of the stress I was feeling as a result of the children not understanding the instructions. An unnecessary stress, which came down to my own deep held expectations of perfection.

The emotional work of teachers is exacerbated by working on a ratio of one-to-many, rather than one-to-one. One of the significant aspects of a

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teacher’s work life is helping students to regulate their emotions, while at the same time regulating their own (Fried, 2011). Lucy struggles with personal emotional regulation when she feels less efficacious as a teacher of math instruction. However, she recognized the need to control the experience of emotions and how these are expressed (Gross, 2002; Sutton et al., 2009). This is a challenging aspect of teachers’ work as they are constantly interacting with young people in the classroom, who are also interacting with their peers. Perhaps this multiple relational challenge is why Sutton et al. (2009) found that ‘teachers are much more confident that they can communicate their positive emotions than reduce their negative emotions’ (p. 134). Lucy’s honest and forthright reflections indicated what Farouk (2012) considered as the emotion of guilt which – alongside shame, ‘y is a selfconscious emotion as it involves the individual evaluating his/her own thoughts and actions’ (p. 2). y raising my voice at a group of children when they didn’t get the correct equipment for their learning task. At this poignant moment in the film, my colleague and I were able to see that my body language, facial expressions and raised voice were threatening. I didn’t like what I saw. It did not represent who I wanted to be as a teacher. It was confronting because previously I had never had the chance to realise how I might look from another person’s perspective – especially a child’s perspective.

Farouk (2012) argued, y individuals are thought to experience guilt when they appraise their own conduct to have fallen short of internalised moral codes and standards. Guilt is therefore also considered to be a moral emotion as it is linked to the evaluation of actions in terms of justice and the promotion of the welfare and rights of others. (p. 2)

Lucy has a high sense of moral responsibility and expectation of self as a teacher. Meeting her moral expectations is part of the emotional work of teaching. Lucy’s reflects the ability to name and talk about the emotional experience, which Schutz et al. (2006) argued is, ‘where the potential for emotional regulation during the experiences occurs’ (p. 345). She exemplifies how teaching demands an inward focus ‘towards the self, which will typically result in a foregrounding of thoughts related to what they should or could have been doing differently’ (Schutz et al., 2006, p. 345). When I began teaching my own class my theoretical knowledge and compulsive organisation didn’t hold answers to creating a relationship with students and no matter how much I search through departmental and theoretical literature to find the answers, I found teaching children a confronting and emotional profession. Each day I was in the

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classroom I was actually learning more about myself than anything else. I’d heard it said that teaching mirrors the soul. For me that quote exemplified my experience.

Teaching mirrors the soul reflects the emotional component of teaching and its impact on Lucy. An inward focus can be detrimental if left at the selfinternalizing level. This suggests the need for teachers to have a critical peer and mentor to work with them, helping to gain clarity and perspective, which is constructively developing efficacy and agency. With support Lucy is beginning to explore her ‘potential to handle situations’ in either escalating or de-escalating the emotional response (Schutz et al., 2006, p. 346). I began asking myself deeply personal and philosophical questions; How does one learn to be patient and kind, to be inspirational, to be resourceful, to be creative, to be ethical, and to be courageous? How does one learn to become that person that knows when to hold back and when it is appropriate to be assertive? How does one learn that to become a teacher is choosing a profession that is endlessly gratifying but always incomplete?

Lucy illustrated Shoffner’s (2009) argument that ‘the personal plays an important, yet often overlooked, role in the development of today’s teachers and reflection is one method to support such development’ (p. 783). What is evident is Lucy needed support in managing the emotional work; not because she was ineffective but because of the cognitive and emotional demands of being in a Prep classroom – 25 5-year-olds experiencing their first year of formal schooling. I am more acutely aware of my practice in the classroom y I realise now that I have the resources within myself to regulate the changes that will make my practice easier and more purposeful for the children. y I now view teaching and my practice as a process whereby working together with a trusted colleague and friend I learn to become a regulator of my practice and I am able to more easily identify my weaknesses and strengths. y

Lucy’s challenges the suitability of the lone teacher, lone professional and the importance of providing collective and meaningful support as part of teachers’ development. I feel relieved that I have someone to share my thoughts and feeling without fear of failure. I am gentler with myself. Remaining passionate about teaching is my goal now, not perfection.

The expectations of self as teacher cannot be overlook. If one seeks perfection they look for perfection. If one can be kinder to one’s self then this takes the negative edge off the emotional work.

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CASE STUDY TWO: INSECURITIES VERSUS. CONFIDENCE (SALLY) What if she thinks I can’t teach? What if my children don’t behave? What if I can’t explain what I am doing in the class?

Theme One: Measuring up to Self and Others According to Jenkins and Conley (2007) teachers’ ‘emotional displays vary according to their own motivations and the context of the workplace’ (p. 979). Sally’s motivation is to demonstrate that she is a teacher of repute. Her motivation for this acknowledgement is informed by her professional assessment of Lucy. The colleague I chose to work with for this study is an amazing teacher. She can articulate and talk about her teaching practice with confidence and ease and I greatly admire her. She is also the person I most often feel compared to y

Adding to the emotion work is the self- judgement implicit in Sally’s selfexpectation. Schutz et al. (2006) found that, ‘teachers have goals that include being the ideal teacher: a mental representation of who they want to be professionally and experiences they want to have in the future. They may also be cognizant of their present state and the ‘distance’ between where they currently are and where they want to be’ (pp. 350–351). Seeing one of my colleagues who has been teaching the same amount of time as me explain her practice with such confidence and sincerity to management and other staff members, caused feelings of inadequacy and insignificance. Being insecure has always been an issue for me, I often feel compared to my co-workers and I feel that I cannot teach as well as them as others can. I attend meetings and just listen never willingly contributing to discussions for fear of coming across as naive or unintelligent.

The vignette above signals a warning regarding the dangers of teacher comparisons limiting teachers’ capability and forecasts the risk associated with performativity and high-stakes comparisons being promoted. Sally, like Lucy thought highly of the other, which led them to think less of themselves. However, this is not a simple comparison to another, as Tschannen-Moran and Woolfolk Hoy (2007) indicated, these self-judgements involve ‘the standards teachers hold for what constitutes good teaching y also influence[s] their sense of self efficacy’ (p. 946).

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I love being able to teach by myself in my classroom and enjoy spending time with the students in my grade. The downfall in my professional practice is that my love and enjoyment in teaching is not seen by others outside of the classroom. I have insecurities in being able to articulate my practice to others and often feel that I may not be teaching up to standard only because I cannot recite the theorists and theory behind my classroom decisions.

For Sally’s there is an absence of perceived positive regard for her as a teacher by others and this has an impact on her efficacy (Hosotani & Imai-matsumra, 2011). Over a decade ago Hargreaves (1998) warned, ‘y in an age when the work of teachers is being restructured all around them (often in ways that make it much more difficult), over personalizing and over moralizing about the emotional commitments of teachers without due regard for the contexts in which teachers work (many of which are making teachers’ emotional commitments to students harder and harder to sustain) will only add to the intolerable guilt and burnout that many members of the teaching force already experience’ (p. 836). Sally confirms that this warning still applies as ‘Being confident in yourself and your beliefs as a teacher is often hard to do’. The emotion work of teaching is not limited to the classroom as Sally noted. ‘The pressures of the job and pressures from management and other staff are often hard to deal with’. Sally, like Lucy, is conscious of her sense of vulnerability and insecurity. Emotional work of teaching involves ‘both the effort needed to deal with job inherent emotions and/or organizationally desired emotions during interpersonal transactions’ (Na¨ring et al., 2011, p. 4).

Theme Two: Teacher–Student Relationships ‘Miss S. I know’ ‘Pick me’ ‘I know the answer it is y’ These are things you hear often in Prep. Most children get excited and want to explain what they know straight away. It was when I was watching the video of my own teaching that my heart broke as I realised how my own insecurities were affecting my teaching. I watched in dismay as during question time I only asked the same two children, X and Y, for answers. At the time it occurred in class, I had not realised the implications of this.

The notion of heartbreak and dismay reflect the emotional work involved in aspects of the teacher–student relationships. Who does and does not get

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asked to respond to a question is something so significant in teacher–student relationship, as recognized by Sally. From a student’s point of view, not being asked could easily be misunderstood as not being liked, and conversely being asked suggests the teacher likes you. y my own insecurities and fear of being picked out in class when I was at school or currently at a staff meeting, I was not allowing the other children in my grade to have a chance to answer and feel success.

Sutton et al. (2009) indicated teachers report they often down regulate their negative emotions, such as anger, in order to continue with the planned classroom activities and to establish or preserve positive relationships with students (p. 132). Sally expressed, ‘I felt that my teaching was not being efficient and that the children were losing control. I stopped the lesson early and moved on to something else’. This statement is an example of the cognitive emotional work of teaching being enacted. What is noted here is Sally’s down regulating. Stopping the planned lesson but continuing the learning, involved adopting an alternative method and content to enable her to maintain positive relationship with the class.

Theme Three: Emotion and Self-Awareness I discovered, my insecurities of what others think of my teaching, also affects my practice. y However, watching the film made me realise y This was an eye opener that has led to further reflections and changes in practice.

Self-elicited emotions can ‘y serve as a motivation toward selfimprovement for teachers’ (Hosotani & Imai-matsumra, 2011, p. 1046). However, as Sally notes, ‘Reflection and discussion about your practice at times were not easy conversations to have as often the beliefs behind your teaching are very personal’. With reference to beliefs regarding teaching as personal, what becomes apparent here is why teaching ‘is highly charged with feeling, aroused by and directed towards not just people but also values and ideals’ (Nias, 1996, p. 293). The values and ideals in many cases revolve around the adopted display rules. For Sally, one display rule was that a good teacher is always in control of her class, and this influenced her view of self as a teacher when, ‘During the maths lesson I was feeling stressed and nervous I felt I had lost control of the children in my class’. This fear of losing control is associated with high levels of stress and anxiety ‘results in lower self-efficacy beliefs’ (Tschannen-Moran & Woolfolk Hoy, 2007, p. 945) and for Sally, it occurred in the content area in which she already felt least

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confident. For Sally, the stress was not due to actual loss of control, but lack of confidence and insecurities. Watching the video back of that session I realised that it was not that the children were playing up, in fact they were engaged and participating enthusiastically. What had happened was that I felt stressed and felt insecure that people, particularly the aide in my room, were watching my teaching and judging me and I panicked. I realised at that point that my insecurity about my theory and teaching ability were causing issues in my classroom practice.

The reference to the aide is important as the emotional labour required in this class is increased by their presence. Sally was left feeling vulnerable as she recognized the aide, not being educated about teaching and learning, could easily misjudge the teaching actions occurring. What was not mentioned in the narrative but captured on film was the aide moving around the class silently admonishing children in the background. The emotional work of teaching is connected to being in an environment that can require split second decision making to ensure learning is not interrupted, or safety is maintained, as expressed by Sally, in that ‘Every day we are faced with decisions that we must make quickly and often without much thought’. However, as Sally reflected this is further complicated. Often the decisions we make whether positive or negative often are based on previous personal experience and are not always the best practice that we have been taught or studied. Looking at the decisions I made in my every day teaching showed me that I often revert to my experience at school when dealing with the children. This is seen though my unwillingness to ask children to answer questions if their hands are not up as a result of my insecurities and fear of being asked in school.

Sally exemplified what Shoffner (2009) expressed as ‘reflection and the affective domain are closely entwined, as engagement with reflective practice requires y teachers to identify and analyse complex issues that arise in classroom teaching’ (p. 784). This is the part of the cognitive-emotion work of teaching that is often overlooked. In addition, Sally recognized that what teachers ‘do is subject to scrutiny and audit’ (Jenkins & Conley, 2007, p. 979) and that this as one of the personal stressors of teaching. Looking at my stress when being watched by others is part of my insecurities, it is also something that will only change by me becoming aware and discussing my teaching with others.

Although Sally recognized that she had some control over the effects that such scrutiny had on her, those who implement performative assessments need to recognize that ‘the emotional and less definable elements of teaching

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have also increased’ especially if the professional development of graduate teachers, similar to Sally, is to be fostered (Jenkins & Conley, 2007, p. 979). Sally is more likely to improve through self-reflection, working with a trusted colleague than put under the stress of administrative scrutiny. This process has been an excellent way to begin to develop my confidence. Being able to watch my teaching and given opportunities to talk about the theory behind my practice has been a wonderful opportunity. y The support of a trusted peer in this procedure is invaluable, it allows you to work towards improved practice, even when problems occur or you slip back you have the support person there to discuss and put things in place to continue working on your professional development.

CONCLUSION Three key elements of the teachers’ emotion work emerged in this work. First, the emotion related to collegial comparison by self and others. Manifestation of comparisons by self and others impacted Lucy and Sally’s sense of vulnerability and insecurity as second year teachers. The impact of this needs appropriate consideration when mentoring graduates if their capability is to be fostered. Second, emotion related to student–teacher relationships expectations: the emotional work that arises through teacher– student relationships illustrated the rollercoaster of emotions that are in continual need of regulation. Love of the children evokes the trepidation of responsibility, and guilt aroused by annoyance or anger highlights the complex emotional work of teaching. Third, the emotion related to becoming self-aware of one’s own teaching. PIP allowed Lucy and Sally to work together to critically reflect on their practice and to navigate the emotion work, and find a balance. These three areas highlighted that emotions have a cognitive aspect and impact on self-esteem in teaching. In addition, Lucy and Sally’s professional judgements (of each other and self) provided insight into the display rules of a good teacher and good teaching. This study illustrated that developing graduate teachers’ professional knowledge is also about knowing the impact of interpersonal relationships and emotions that are evoked, through intrapersonal struggles. The emotional–moral accountability that is stimulated when students express such things as, ‘you are the best teacher y I love you’, helps to reinforce the display rules associated with being a Prep teacher. Again the combination of student feedback and the display rules heighten the teachers’ moral sense of responsibility and colours their sense of role achievement and professionalism. The impact of this combination added to working in

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isolation suggests that prior to PIP they did not have a counter balance, such as receiving feedback about their strengths, with which to judge their proficiency. Emotion and self-awareness in this study was illustrated through the teachers being conscious of the self through seeing themselves during the video replay sessions, but also knowing that another would see and judge them, which also led to self-consciousness. Both types of self-understanding turn out to be emotional events. Both teachers demonstrated on going internal processing and emotional engagement. Their internal cognitive and emotional struggle to meet expectations, of themselves and those around them, regarding what it means to be a good teacher by demonstrating that quality teaching was apparent. The effects of the PIP were found to aid in growing self-awareness, and changes in practice. However, what was occurring was more than collegial support and coaching. PIP provided the framework for constructing the role of a critical friend that involved developing trust and collegial professionalism. PIP has a critical mentor – someone detached from the situation enables clarity – emotional perspective. The critical mentor aids in working through the teacher’s response to their emotion work. Every teacher, individually or in groups, should be entitled to a critical friend and mentor, particularly ‘as teachers may experience ‘‘depressive guilt’’ because of their high expectations of caring for and advancing the interests of their pupils’ (Farouk, 2012, p. 2). Just as Lucy and Sally recognized the cognitive and emotional needs of their students and critically strove to ensure they were being met, teacher educators, mentors and leaders need to recognize teachers’ cognitive and emotional needs and strive to ensure that they are also supported. Until there is further research on the impact of emotion work on teacher self-esteem, performativity reviews that measure teacher against each other should be avoided. Comparing rather than cooperating, for example, would have added to Lucy and Sally’s emotion work and may have acted as a deterrent to their professional development. What is being suggested here is the need for on going partnerships with schools and teacher educators. Teacher educators need to be working with and supporting the development of teachers in the field. It is no longer plausible that teacher educators work only with those aspiring to teach. Given the increasing classroom demands on teachers and standards by which teachers are judged, mentoring teachers’ development is required. Teacher educators have a responsibility to the well-being of the profession, which goes beyond pre-service education.

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The limitation of this work is that only two teachers’ emotional work is presented and therefore the findings cannot be generalized. However, this study does show in depth the emotional work of the two Prep teachers, and therefore the degree to which the emotional work impacts their sense of self and being a teacher. The value of this research highlights further research that is needed to investigate the emotional toll on teachers when their ideal teaching image is not being achieved and its impact on inhibiting teaching capability.

REFERENCES Farouk, S. (2012). What can the self-conscious emotion of guilt tell us about primary school teachers’ moral purpose and the relationships they have with their pupils? Teachers and Teaching: Theory and Practice, 18(4), 491–507 (iFirst Article). Fried, L. (2011). Teaching teachers about emotion regulation in the classroom. Australian Journal of Teacher Education, 36(2), 117–127. Gross, J. (2002). Emotion regulation: Affective, cognitive and social consequences. Psychophysiology, 39, 281–291. Hargreaves, A. (1998). The emotional practice of teaching. Teaching and Teacher Education, 14(8), 835–854. Hargreaves, A. (2000). Mixed emotions: Teachers’ perceptions of their interactions with students. Teaching and Teacher Education, 16, 811–826. Hargreaves, A. (2001). The emotional geographies of teachers’ relations with colleagues. International Journal of Educational Research, 35(5), 503. Hoffman, D. (2009). Reflecting on social emotional learning: A critical perspective on trends in the United States. Review of Educational Research, 79(2), 533–557. Hosotani, R., & Imai-Matsumura, K. (2011). Emotional experience, expression, and regulation of high-quality Japanese elementary school teachers. Teaching and Teacher Education, 27, 1039–1048. Hunt, J., Gardner, W., & Fischer, D. (2008). Leader emotional displays from near and far. In R. Humphrey’s (Ed.), Affect and Emotion (pp. 43–65). Charlotte, NC: Information Age. Isenbarger, L., & Zembylas, M. (2006). The emotional labour of caring in teaching. Teaching and Teacher Education, 22(1), 120–134. Jenkins, S., & Conley, H. (2007). Living with the contradictions of modernization? Emotional management in the teaching profession. Public Administration, 85(4), 979–1001. Kelchtermans, G. (2009). Who I am in how I teach is the message: Self-understanding, vulnerability and reflection. Teachers and Teaching: Theory and Practice, 15(2), 257–272. Kelly, K., & Berthelsen, D. (1995). Preschool teachers’ experiences of stress. Teaching and Teacher Education, 11(4), 345–357. Kyriacou, C. (1987). Teacher stress and burnout: An international review. Educational Research, 29, 146–152. Na¨ring, G., & Vlerick, P., & Van de Ven, B. (2011). Emotion work and emotional exhaustion in teachers: The job and individual perspective. Educational Studies, 38(1), 63–72 (iFirst), doi:10.1080/03055698.2011.567026

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Nias, J. (1996). Thinking about feeling: The emotions in teaching. Cambridge Journal of Education, 26(3), 293–306. O’Connor, K. (2008). You choose to care: Teachers, emotions, and professional identity. Teaching and Teacher Education, 24(1), 117–126. Shoffner, M. (2009). The place of the personal: Exploring the affective domain through reflection in teacher preparation. Teaching and Teacher Education, 25, 783–788. Sutton, R. E. (2004). Emotion regulation goals and strategies. Social Psychology of Education, 7, 379–398. Sutton, R., Mudrey-Camino, R., & Knight, C. (2009). Teachers’ emotion regulation and classroom management. Theory Into Practice, 48(2), 130–137. Schutz., P. A., Hong, J., Cross, D., & Osbon, J. (2006). Reflections on investigating emotion in educational activity settings. Educational Psychology Review, 18, 343–366. Schutz, P. A., & Lanehart, S. J. (2002). Introduction: Emotions in education. Educational Psychologist, 37, 67–68. Tsang, K. (2011). Emotional labour of teaching. Educational Researcher, 2(8), 1312–1316. Tschannen-Moran, M., & Woolfolk Hoy, A. (2007). The differential antecedents of selfefficacy beliefs of novice and experienced teachers. Teaching and Teacher Education, 23(6), 944–956. Vogt, F. (2002). A caring teacher: Explorations into primary school teachers’ professional identity and ethic of care. Gender and Education, 14(3), 251–264. Zembylas, M. (2007). Emotional ecology: The intersection of emotional knowledge and pedagogical content knowledge in teaching. Teaching and Teacher Education, 23, 355–367. Zembylas, M. (2003). Emotions and teacher identity: A poststructural perspective. Teachers and Teaching: Theory and Practice, 9(3), 213–238.

TECHNOLOGY-MEDIATED CARING: BUILDING RELATIONSHIPS BETWEEN STUDENTS AND INSTRUCTORS IN ONLINE K-12 LEARNING ENVIRONMENTS Jered Borup, Charles R. Graham and Andrea Velasquez ABSTRACT Caring is an important component of K-12 teaching and learning. An increasing number of K-12 students are enrolling in online courses. The physical separation of students and teachers in the online medium requires a change in the way caring relationships are formed. In this chapter we examine how teachers worked to develop caring relationships with students at the Open High School of Utah, an online charter high school in the United States. Data collection consisted of 22 interviews with 11 instructors. Interviews were transcribed and analysed using constant

Emotion and School: Understanding How the Hidden Curriculum Influences Relationships, Leadership, Teaching, and Learning Advances in Research on Teaching, Volume 18, 183–202 Copyright r 2013 by Emerald Group Publishing Limited All rights of reproduction in any form reserved ISSN: 1479-3687/doi:10.1108/S1479-3687(2013)0000018014

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comparison coding methods. Findings indicate that teachers were able to implement all aspects of Nodding’s model of moral education in ways unique to online contexts, and at times with more depth than experienced in a face-to-face context. Keywords: Caring; K-12 online learning; dialogue; ethic of care; social presence; modelling

Although teaching is seen as a largely academic pursuit, Stansfield (1961) explained, ‘teaching is an intensely human vocation’ (pp. 345346). As a result Johnson (2008) viewed two aspects of teaching: the academic side and the human side. Although research has focused largely on the academic side of teaching (Goldstein, 1999), the human side can be more difficult to perform (Johnson, 2008) and may be foundational to more academic outcomes (Maslow, 1943). One aspect of the human side of teaching is the formation of caring teacherstudent relationships. Repetto, Cavanaugh, Wayer, and Liu (2010) explained that K-12 teachers have a high standard of care because at times they are asked to serve as pseudo parents. Researchers in face-to-face environments have found that quality teacherstudent relationships can impact students’ academic performance (Muller, Katz, & Dance, 1999), intellectual development (Goldstein, 1999) and students’ feelings towards the course and the instructor (Teven, 2007; Wilson, 2006). Noddings (2005) added that ‘teachers not only have to create caring relations in which they are the carers, butythey also have a responsibility to help their student develop the capacity to care’ (p. 18). Murphy and Rodrı´ guez-Manzanares (2008) explained that face-to-face learning environments afford teachers and students several opportunities to engage in dialogue that builds ‘rapport, trust, mutual respect and a caring relationship’ (p. 1068). However, an increasing number of K-12 students are enrolling in online courses, changing the nature of dialogue between teachers and students. Currently students in all 50 American states have access to online learning (Watson, Murin, Vashaw, Gemin, & Rapp, 2011) and in 2008 over 1,000,000 students enrolled in at least one online course (Picciano & Seaman, 2009). The majority of online courses rely on asynchronous communication (Parsad & Lewis, 2009). Asynchronous communication can make the development of caring relationships more difficult resulting in a ‘loss of contact, loss of connection and a resultant sense of isolation’ (Palloff & Pratt, 2007, p. 31). Yet, there are also some

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affordances of online learning that can improve dialogue between students and teachers. For instance, the flexibility that online learning affords can provide students with the ability to reflect between exchanges and interact with teachers more conveniently and privately, allowing students to more freely share information with the instructor (Murphy & Rodrı´ guezManzanares, 2008). Unfortunately, Velasquez’s (2012) review of the literature found that research has ignored the topic of caring in the K-12 online environment. The purpose of this research is to examine how teachers at an online charter high school worked to form caring relationships with students and help students develop the capacity to care.

ETHIC OF CARE Noddings (2008) disputed the idea that caring is a set of behaviours such as ‘cuddling, patting, hugging and drying tears’ (p. 166). Although caring can elicit these types of behaviours, Noddings’ (1984) view of care focused on the relationship between the carer and the cared-for, which requires active participation of both the carer and the cared-for. First, the carer should work to achieve engrossment. Noddings (1988) described engrossment as ‘total presence’ (p. 220) and requires the carer to be attentive, open and receptive to the cared-for (Noddings, 2008). Engrossment allows the carer to recognize the cared-for’s needs and view situations from their perspective. Following engrossment the carer may experience motivational displacement  a motivating energy that drives the carer to act in the best interest of the cared-for (Noddings, 1984). Lastly, caring relationships require reciprocity on the part of the cared-for  an acknowledgement that the care has been received. Reciprocity can include a variety of reactions from a verbal expression of gratitude to a smile. Noddings (1984) stated that caring actions induce joy, which is a ‘major reward for the one-caring’ (p. 132) but when the cared-for fails to respond ‘there is no caring relation’ (Noddings, 2008, p. 163). However, it is important to note that the process of engrossment, motivational displacement and reciprocity can happen on different magnitudes and timetables and does not require ‘a deep, lasting time-consuming personal relation’ (Noddings, 1984, p. 180). For instance, the elements of a caring relationship could be present in a fleeting encounter between a teacher and a lost student seeking directions (Noddings, 1984). Since the focus of this chapter will be the educational context, we will refer to the carer as the teacher and the cared-for as the student. This is not to imply that students cannot care for the teacher; however, Noddings (2008)

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explained that the teacherstudent relationship is ‘unavoidably unequal’ because the teacher ‘serves almost exclusively as carer’ (p. 163).

MORAL EDUCATION In addition to defining caring, Noddings presented a model of moral education that is based on care. Her model contains four components: dialogue, modelling, practice and confirmation. Noddings (2008) defined dialogue as a type of interaction that requires a ‘mutual search for understanding’ (p. 169). Furthermore dialogue is open, requiring both parties to listen and speak (Noddings, 1995). Dialogue is essential in the formation of caring relationships because it allows for engrossment (Noddings, 1995). Dialogue also is the means by which teachers learn about their students and allows them to more effectively respond to student needs (Noddings, 2005). Second, teachers should work to model what it means to care. This can be done while engaging in direct dialogue with the students and caring for them. Teachers also model caring when the student observes the teachers’ behaviour (Noddings, 2005). However, Noddings (2008) explained that modelling should not be the primary intent of caring actions but is ‘an inevitable by-product of genuine caring’ (p. 169) and it is possible that teachers can unconsciously model caring behaviours (Bandura, 1986; Brown & Dunguid, 1993). Third, teachers should provide students with opportunities to engage in caring behaviours themselves. Every human encounter provides an opportunity to care (Noddings, 2008). Teachers can help to facilitate these caring encounters through group work or service projects. However, students’ participation in these types of activities does not ensure that they will practice caring and it is more likely to occur when the teacher reminds students of the importance of caring and monitors their behaviour (Noddings, 2008). The last component of a moral education is confirmation. Confirmation occurs when the teacher affirms the best in others (Noddings, 2005). Noddings (2008) explained, ‘acts of confirmation point students upward by recognizing a better self already partly formed and struggling to develop’ (p. 172). Acts of confirmation occur when teachers react to student actions  good or bad  by revealing to the student their best self (Noddings, 1988). For instance following poor student behaviour a teacher can show disappointment while still attributing the behaviour to the best possible motive. Noddings (2008) described this type of confirmation as ‘perhaps the loveliest of moral acts’ (p. 172).

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ONLINE SOCIAL PRESENCE Caring teacherstudent relationships require ‘total presence’ (Noddings, 1988, p. 220). Within the online learning context, teachers and students are separated by space and often time, requiring their dialogue to be mediated by technology. Although online teachers and students cannot be present physically they can establish online social presence  a prerequisite to establishing caring relationships online. Garrison, Anderson, and Archer’s (2000) Community of Inquiry (CoI) framework defined social presence as participants’ ability to ‘project themselves socially and emotionally, as ‘‘real’’ people (i.e., their full personality), through the medium of communication being used’ (p. 94). Although Garrison et al. (2000) believed that social presence is more easily established when non-verbal cues are present, Rourke, Anderson, Garrison, and Archer’s (2001) content analysis of textbased discussion boards found that online learners were able to establish a high level of social presence via text by posting affective responses (i.e. expressions of emotions, humour and self-disclosure), interactive responses (i.e. acknowledging the contributions of others, continuing a thread and asking questions) and cohesive responses (i.e. addressing others by name, using inclusive language such as we and our and the use of phatic communication and salutations). Anderson, Rourke, Garrison, and Archer (2001) added that social presence was more likely to be achieved when teachers facilitated discourse with and among students, modelled appropriate communication behaviour and etiquette and monitored course communications.

RESEARCH CONTEXT Research was conducted at the Open High School of Utah (OHSU), an online charter high school in the western United States that opened Fall 2009. In its inaugural year OHSU enrolled 127 grade 9 students and employed four full-time teachers. OHSU has steadily grown and during the 20112012 academic year OHSU enrolled 381 students, grades 912, and employed 21 teachers (15 full-time, 4 part-time and 2 adjuncts). Most students (86%) took the majority or all of their course work through OHSU completely online. It is expected that the student enrolment will grow to 500 for the 20122013 academic year. OHSU’s overall course pass rate was 80% and exceeded the state averages on Utah’s Criterion Referenced Tests (CRT) for Math, Science and English (OHSU, 2011).

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OHSU was an especially appropriate setting for this research because teachers work to establish close relationships with students. At OHSU the majority of the learning materials are designed prior to the course and organized into weekly units. The weekly units are then placed on OHSU’s online learning management system allowing students to access the materials at their own convenience during the week. This model eliminates the need for teachers to present information multiple times and affords them with additional time to tutor and interact with individual students. Each teacher has four online office hours in which they are accessible to students via email, instant messaging, phone and video conferencing. Teachers also spend a portion of their workday identifying and contacting students who need additional support. Students are provided with an open online forum where they can interact with other students socially. In addition, OHSU’s mission statement emphasizes the importance of service and ethics in student achievement. To help fulfil their stated mission, OHSU organizes several service projects within the community and has instituted a peertutoring programme. Purposeful sampling was used to ensure a maximum variation of teacher experiences and perspectives (Patton, 1980). In total, nine full-time and two part-time teachers were selected for participation in two 45- to 60-minute interviews: two social studies teachers, two math teachers, two language arts teachers, two science teachers, a health teacher, a Spanish teacher and a special education teacher. Four participants were in their first year of teaching at OHSU, six were in their second and one was in her third. Although none of the selected teachers had previously taught in a K-12 online setting prior to working at OHSU, 9 of the 11 had previously taught in K-12 face-to-face settings averaging 5.8 years experience. Interviews were transcribed and analysed using constant comparison coding methods. Guided by Noddings’ four components of a moral education (i.e. dialogue, confirmation, modelling and practice) the primary author coded all 22 interviews. During the coding process members of the research team met regularly to review the coding and discuss emerging themes. Once the coding was complete for each teacher, the coding categories were examined across all cases to identify comparative findings and common themes. Findings Although physically separated from students, OHSU teachers were able to form caring relationships and provide a moral education by maintaining

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a high level of dialogue with students, engaging in acts of confirmation that help students to recognize their better self, modelling to students what it means to care and providing students with opportunities to care for their peers. Below we outline the ways that OHSU teachers were able to implement Nodding’s four components of a moral education as they establish relationships with their students.

DIALOGUE There were a variety of ways that teachers at OHSU facilitated dialogue: through personal tutoring, interactions focussed on informal social topics and the school’s shepherding program. Although not every student was receptive to teachers’ attempts to interact, overall teachers reported a high level of teacherstudent dialogue at OHSU. In fact, OHSU teachers with previous face-to-face teaching experience believed that teaching online allowed them to spend more time in one-on-one dialogue with students than they experienced in face-to-face settings. For instance, Lisa explained, ‘I feel like I get to spend one-on-one quality time with my students and really work with them on what they are struggling with. I didn’t get to do that as much in the public high school area’. Similarly, Rachel stated that in a face-to-face environment her communication with students was ‘all very superficial’ because ‘that’s what [she] had time for’ but at OHSU she had more time ‘to get to deeper levels of communication’ with students. Teachers’ ability to engage in higher and deeper levels of dialogue with students was the result of several factors. First, teachers’ physical separation from students reduced their custodial and supervision responsibilities. Second, OHSU allowed teachers to develop their curriculum in the summer or provided them with pre-made curriculum reducing teachers’ lesson planning responsibilities during the academic year. Third, teachers found that in a face-to-face environment they were required to present ‘the same thing over and over and over’. In contrast, OHSU placed learning material online where students could access it on their own time allowing instructors to spend the majority of their time contacting and working with students.

One-On-One Tutoring Teachers’ shift in responsibilities afforded them the time to have four office hours each school day where students could receive one-on-one tutoring.

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This one-on-one dialogue was open-ended, allowing teachers to achieve engrossment and motivational displacement. As a result teachers were able to recognize students’ individual academic needs and respond in way that helped meet those needs. Christine explained: Some [students] just need me to sort of hold their hand and say, ‘Yup, you’re doing a good job’ and others need a lot more help setting up or working on problems or questions on the assignmentyOther times it’s 30 minutes of one-on-one tutoring.

When teachers were not responding to student questions it was common for them to proactively contact students in an attempt to initiate dialogue. This was typically done via instant messaging such as Gchat. Steffanie explained, ‘I usually try to reach out to them and say, ‘‘Hey, how is everything going today? Is there anything I can help you with?’’’ In order to better meet student needs, teachers commonly scheduled their office hours during times that were most convenient for their students  including evenings  even if it was less convenient for themselves. This type of scheduling also occurred on an individual basis. For instance, Megan shared an experience of a struggling student who went to Disneyland so she made time to tutor him over the phone whenever he had time to work in his hotel room. This kind of individual attention demonstrated by teachers’ efforts to reach out and accommodate students’ schedules can be seen as an indicator of motivational displacement.

Social Dialogue and Shepherding OHSU teachers and students engaged in a high level of informal social dialogue that focussed on non-academic topics. This type of dialogue helped to establish social presence and close personal relationships. For instance, at the beginning of the course teachers shared personal information, pictures and an introductory video with students. Similarly, students introduced themselves to teachers and peers using surveys, essays and videos. Most of the teachers’ dialogue with students was text-based and teachers found the medium to be less personal than face-to-face communication. As a result teachers attempted to engage students in video communication. While video communication cannot exactly replicate face-to-face communication, teachers found that video’s fidelity allowed students and teachers to ‘put a face with the name’ while still being separated physically and maintaining the benefits of online learning. John added that video communication helped his students view him as ‘more of a personyinstead of an abstract

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thing on the internet somewhere’ and Alex enjoyed viewing her students in video because ‘they became real people’. Social dialogue was also facilitated by a school wide ‘shepherding’ program. Each teacher was given about 20 students ‘to shepherd’, whom they contacted weekly to engage in open dialogue regarding topics that extended beyond course material. Lisa described the dialogue as being casual, ‘I will just check in with them periodically and be like, ‘‘Hey, tell me what you have been doing lately.’’’ Rachel found that the shepherding program provided students the opportunity to tell her ‘all about their volleyball games or their plays that they’re currently in or their chess tournaments’. Megan also told of an experience where she played a game of online chess with a student who was interested in the game. Overall teachers found that this type of dialogue helped in building ‘good rapport with students’. Lisa also believed that when students felt the teacher knew them individually they would be more willing to ‘communicate with you when you contact them’. Rebecca added, ‘Working individually with the students like I do online can and does create friendships’. Many of these relationships appeared to be stronger than what teachers experienced in face-to-face settings. Steffanie explained, ‘I have been totally amazed by how much better I can know the kids online than I could in a classroom’. Of course teachers still expressed difficulty in engaging some reluctant students in dialogue. John believed that some students who may have been more willing to engage in dialogue face-to-face refused to do so online because ‘it’s very easy for the student to just delete the email or ignore the phone call when it comes in’. Lisa explained that with some students, ‘It doesn’t matter what the teachers have done to contact them y we just get no response and no engagement. That is frustrating. It’s hard not to take it personally.’ Students’ unwillingness to communicate is not unique to the online environment and Rachel found that when she taught students faceto-face some students ‘sat in the back of the classroom and never said a word’.

CONFIRMATION Noddings explained that one purpose of caring dialogue was to engage in acts of confirmation by helping students recognize their ‘better self already partly formed and struggling to develop’ (2008, p. 172). This was commonly done by OHSU teachers primarily by providing students with positive praise and encouragement, helping students to recognize their mastery

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experiences, and correcting students’ misbehaviour while simultaneously recognizing their good intentions. First, all teachers reported providing students with encouragement while working on projects and positive praise when the project was successfully completed. Steffanie stated, ‘I feel like one of my most important jobs is really to cheer them on, ‘‘You can do this. I will help you.’’yI am on the other side of the computer with my virtual pom-poms’. These cheerleading activities were typically done via email, instant messaging and text messages. These messages appeared to help students build confidence in their abilities. For instance, one of Alex’s students received positive feedback following an assignment and replied, ‘No one has ever told me I was good at English or good at writing’. Following that experience Alex found that the student ‘blossomedyand [became] one of [her] best writers’. It was also common for teachers to publicly praise students by posting their exemplar work to a course page that was accessible by all students within the course management system. Teachers termed this space the ‘wow wall’, ‘strut-your-stuff wall’ or ‘fabulous finds wall’. For instance, Steffanie began showing one student’s assignments to the class as a good example and explained that, ‘[the student] was kind of amazed by that at firstyShe [said], ‘Oh wow, I never thought I did all that great of a job’. Steffanie also found that providing encouragement to underperforming students had similar effects and shared the following experience: There is one particular student that I have had and the first quarter he really struggledy. Then I got his personal cell phone number and I would text him positive encouraging notes every week and he would still barely pass. I think we got him to squeak in with a D the first quarter. Maybe a D+ or a C the second quarter and now this quarter I still send him all those positive weekly text messages but he has got a B right now and I just sent him an email saying, ‘You know what? You could totally have an A in my class this quarter and here is the plan to make that happen this week’. y So I am happy that I can see a positive change in him.

Following poor student behaviour such as bullying and cheating, teachers attributed student actions ‘to the best possible motive consonant with reality’ (Noddings, 2008, p. 171). Megan said she liked her students even when their behaviour was poor and worked to let each student know that she liked them because they ‘are a nice person, not because [of their performance in] my class’. It was also common for teachers to see students’ misbehaviours as honest mistakes. Lisa felt that students’ posted insensitive discussion board comments because they did not understand how messages ‘can come across in text and it really wasn’t their intent to be that way’. Similarly, Rachel believed that students engaged in cyber-bullying because

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‘they don’t understand that cyber-bullying is actually bullying’. Such behaviour required teachers to provide students with direct instruction regarding online etiquette. In addition Samantha attributed some student cheating to students’ desire to ‘help’ their peers. Following those cases Samantha tried to help students understand that ‘helping and cheating are two separate things’ Alex also viewed one student’s plagiarism as an uncharacteristic act of desperation, ‘One student  just a nice guy  he was just in over his head and was panicked and plagiarized. I feel like it’s been a good learning experience for him’. It appeared that the teachers at OHSU were able to reflect on student motives and attend to learning opportunities rather than reacting with quick and punitive actions.

MODELLING Noddings (2008) explained that a teacher cannot care for a student without simultaneously modelling what it means to care. Teachers’ physical separation from students appeared to limit their ability to model care. Rachel found that it was more difficult to model care using text because students were more prone to misunderstand her intentions. She stated, Learning how to send an email that shows them that I love them that I really do care about them and yet still hold them accountable, that has probably been the biggest learning curve for meySo now everything is smiley faces and exclamation points and ‘Have a fabulous day! I’m so happy you emailed me!’ and you have to go so over the top.

John added that it was more difficult for students to observe teachers’ interactions with other students ‘because they only see the interactions you have with them, for the most part’. However, Steffanie believed that even private caring could be vicariously observed by students: ‘I know they definitely tell their other peers, the friends that they have here, ‘‘don’t be afraid to ask her questions, she’s really nice about it.’’ I know that kind of travels around amongst our students’. Overall, most teachers at OHSU assumed that students were observant of their caring actions towards them. For instance, Lisa believed that her dialogue with students helped them know that she was ‘concerned’ and ‘cared about them as individuals’. Students’ reciprocity to teachers’ caring actions was important in letting teachers know that their caring actions were received and modelled to students. For instance following video communication with students John said, ‘several students in their emails would say, ‘‘Thank you, I really enjoy US History. You’re a really fun

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teacher!’’’ Similarly Lisa said that following her shepherding activities it was common for students to tell her ‘Thanks, this is great! I appreciate you thinking about me’. These verbal indicators were especially important when the dialogue was text based and teachers were unable to see non-verbal signs of reciprocity, such as smiling, that are evident in synchronous video and face-to-face communication.

PRACTICE Noddings (2008) explained that all human encounters are opportunities to practice care. Along those lines, OHSU teachers worked to provide students with opportunities to interact with their peers. For instance, several teachers required peer interaction on asynchronous discussion boards. These interactions tended to be highly organized and with ‘strict guidelines’ that emphasized the importance of being civil to one another. John found that he needed to emphasize students being ‘respectful’ in their comments even when they disagreed with their peers. He found that some students would come across as ‘being a little too nasty’ because they did not ‘understand the online etiquette as much as face-to-face conversation etiquette’. Steffanie also found that when students were participating in a discussion board she would normally post ‘some sort of reminder of proper etiquette to remind students that when you are speaking to your peers, do so respectfully even if you disagree’. Students were also provided with an open social forum where they could communicate with their peers. Lisa described the forum as a ‘kind of like an online hallway’ because ‘it is where the kids can go and just chat and have that social connection with one another’. Samantha found that the forum was similar to Facebook and gave students a ‘chance to communicate with other people in the same position as themyto have that support’. Students also used other social media to communicate such as Twitter, which is where students from OHSU often demonstrated care for fellow students. For instance, John observed the following caring act on Twitter: ‘One of my students posted in her Twitter feed. She said, ‘‘How did you like that video clip that I sent to you?’’ and the girl Tweeted back ‘‘Perfect! This will be great for the Revolutionary Project.’’’ Similarly Rachel observed acts of reciprocity between students, ‘Students would Tweet, ‘‘So-and-So, thank

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you so much for your help; it was so nice!’’’ Julia also found that students used Twitter to engage in acts of confirmation: That Twitter feed is fantastic for that as well, because they’ll say, ‘Oh, I’m just having trouble with my math today, I just can’t get motivated’ and they’ll Tweet it out and you’ll see another [student] Tweet: ‘You can do it, you’re a great student! You’ll be fine!’

Beyond participation in discussion boards teachers tended not to require student collaboration because it removed some of the flexibility that some students required. As a result there was ‘an unwritten policy at OHSU that you can’t make [students] do group work’. However, OHSU provided students with several optional opportunities to practice caring with their peers. For instance, OHSU’s National Honours Society (NHS) organized a tutoring program that connected successful students with students who needed tutoring. Rachel also provided students with an on-line whiteboard where students could collaborate if they chose: I just have a link to a thing called Scribbler in my courses. It’s basically an on-line whiteboardyI’ve seen students get on there and work together every now and then, but it’s just informal and up to themyOne time I randomly clicked on Scribbleryand I saw two students working in there. They didn’t know I was in there, and I was listening to them working back and forth, and the one girl explaining it to the other and they’re helping each other. I guess that’s one of those moments where it’s like, ‘Yes!’ It wasn’t something that I set up, it wasn’t something formal, but they were helping each other and both benefiting from it.

Discussion Online learning is often viewed as student-led and teacher-less (Compton, Davis, & Correia, 2010). This view is consistent with many independent study programs that provide students with learning materials but have limited or no teacher  student interaction (Anderson, 2009; Garrison, 2009). These types of programs focus largely on the academic side of teaching and neglect the human and moral side of teaching. An increasing number of online programs have begun to take a more holistic approach and provide students with quality learning activities that are coupled with a high level of human interaction. Guided by Noddings’ ethic of care and moral education, this chapter examined the ability of OHSU’s teachers to provide students with a moral education at a distance. While there were positives and negatives in attempting to form caring relationships, overall interviews found that  although physically separated from students

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 OHSU teachers were able to form caring relationships and provide a moral education by maintaining a high level of dialogue with students, engaging in acts of confirmation that help students to recognize their better self, modelling to students what it means to care, and providing students with opportunities to care for their peers.

DIFFICULTIES OF MEDIUM LIMITATIONS Although it was found that teachers could provide students with a moral education at a distance, teachers also reported limitations in doing so. First, all teachers found that some students refused to engage in dialogue with them. Noddings (2008) explained that caring relationships require the active participation of the teacher and the student, therefore students’ ‘willingness to enter dialogue is important to the maintenance of personal relationships’ (Noddings, 2008, p. 170). Although teachers reported that some of their face-to-face students were just as unwilling to engage in dialogue, this appeared to be a more common problem online. This may be reflected in online learning’s attrition rate, which tends to be higher than face-to-face courses (Carr, 2000; Patterson & McFadden, 2009). Second, most of teachers’ dialogue with students was private and one-onone. As a result it was more difficult for students to observe teachers’ interactions with other students. John explained that in a face-to-face learning environment he could more effectively model caring because students ‘see how you interact with other students, they see how you treat other students, so they see a lot more of you than just the interactions they have with you’. Ironically, it appears that traditional face-to-face environments enable teachers to more efficiently model caring, because caring acts are more easily observed by other students in the class, but makes it difficult to engage in acts of caring with individual students. Inversely, OHSU’s online teaching model enabled teachers to effectively engage in caring acts with individual students, but harder to model caring acts because students were largely privy only to their personal interactions with the instructor. Additional research should seek to explore the effect that quality and quantity of modelling has on students’ ability to learn what it means to care. In addition, it was somewhat difficult for students to practice caring with their peers because they did not understand how messages ‘can come across in text’. As a result it is important that teachers model appropriate online etiquette to students (Anderson et al., 2001; NACOL, 2008). The International Association for K-12 Online Learning’s (iNACOL, 2011)

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national standards for quality online courses also recommends that online etiquette standards should be ‘clearly stated’ indicating that students may require some direct instruction on the topic (p. 2). Rice and Dawley (2007) found that facilitating appropriate online etiquette was a common topic of online teacher in-service training, which may be a reflection of new teachers’ inability to effectively facilitate online etiquette. Future research should work to identify effective methods to ensure that students use proper etiquette because improper etiquette can undermine students’ attempts to practice caring with their peers. Lastly, in face-to-face learning environments students commonly practice caring while collaborating on projects. However, OHSU teachers found it difficult to require student collaboration on projects because it removed some of the flexibility that online learning offers. Although studentmanaged wikis, blogs and Google Documents allow students to collaborate asynchronously on projects, Beldarrain’s (2006) review of the literature found little research regarding their implementation. As research in the area grows it may be possible to identify best practices for collaboration while still maintaining a high level of flexibility.

SUCCESS THROUGH IN-DEPTH DIALOGUE Dialogue through various technology-based systems formed the foundation for a moral education at OSHU, allowing teachers to learn about their students, recognize their needs and respond to those needs  thus modelling what it means to care. Dialogue also allowed students to engage in acts of reciprocity by acknowledging that teachers’ caring actions had been received. The various ways teachers were able to engage students in dialogue enabled teachers to perform acts of confirmation by providing students with positive praise and encouragement. Our interviews with OHSU teachers show that the ability to dialogue with students also appeared to be a major contributor to teacher satisfaction. One teacher stated, ‘I love it so much. As an online teacher I can focus on what’s important’. Noddings (2008) claimed that high school teachers tend not to be afforded the necessary time to form caring relationships with students and advocated for educational innovations that would increase the personal contact that teachers have with students. Some online learning programs have a higher student-to-teacher ratio than is found in face-to-face environments further reducing the personal contact that teachers have with students. For example, Hawkins, Barbour, and Graham (2012) examined

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studentteacher interaction at a large state funded virtual high school where the student-to-teacher ratio was 1:233 and classes ranged in size from 2 to 1,726. Within this setting it was found that teachers struggled to form caring relationships with students and tended to care for students collectively and not individually. OHSU’s student-to-teacher ratio was more closely aligned with the national average for student-to-teacher ratios found in face-to-face learning environments (Aud et al., 2012) allowing them to have a higher level of personal contact with students and care for them on an individual level. OHSU teachers with previous face-to-face teaching experience reported that they were able to spend more time in one-on-one dialogue with students online than they did in face-to-face settings. In addition, teachers reported that the quality of interactions with students was better online because it was typically open ended and one-on-one, allowing them to achieve ‘deeper levels of communication’ than was possible in a face-toface classroom. This research provides three primary insights into how OHSU teachers were able to establish a high level of rich dialogue with students. First, OHSU provided teachers with pre-designed content and learning activities that were organized and placed online for students to access. This reduced teachers’ need to prepare lesson plans or present material multiple times. Instead teachers’ primarily spent their time in one-on-one dialogue with students. Peters’ (1971) industrial model of instruction recommended that teacher responsibilities be closely examined to identify tasks that can be performed more effectively or efficiently by others. This type of effort may result in teachers spending additional time engaging in dialogue with students. Second, OHSU teachers worked to achieve a high level of social interactions with their students. Murphy and Rodrı´ guez-Manzanares (2008) found that caring relationships are better developed when teachers and students engage in ‘casual social interactions outside of class’ (p. 1068). This type of interaction is especially important because effective dialogue requires teachers and students to ‘know each other well enough for trust to develop’ (Noddings, 1988, p. 223). However, casual and social dialogue can be difficult online where interactions tend to be focused on course content and procedures (Downs & Moller, 1999; Hawkins, Barbour, & Graham, 2011; Murphy & Rodrı´ guez-Manzanares, 2008). To overcome this obstacle OHSU helped to facilitate casual and social dialogue through a school wide ‘shepherding’ program where students were assigned to a teacher who contacted them weekly regarding more social topics. Other online programs should work to find innovative ways to facilitate social dialogue online.

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Third, instructors found that their dialogue was more effective once teacher and student social presence had been established. This belief is supported by Tu and McIsaac’s (2002) correlational study that found a significant relationship between social presence and interactivity. Although previous research has found that social presence can be established in a textbased environment, OHSU teachers supplemented their text communication with asynchronous whole class video introductions and one-on-one synchronous video communication as a way to more fully establish social presence in their courses. Velasquez’s (2012) research in the same context also found that teachers valued synchronous video communication because it helped them to form caring relationship with students, although students preferred the comfort and convenience of text communication until after a caring relationship had been formed. Asynchronous video communication may be a possible compromise by providing teachers with the non-verbal communication cues that can be important in forming relationships while still maintaining the convenience and comfort that students desire. This is supported by research in higher education contexts has found that the nonverbal communication cues contained in asynchronous communication can help students and teachers to efficiently and effectively establish social presence while still maintaining a high level of flexibility (Borup, Graham, & Velasquez, 2011; Borup, West, & Graham, 2012; Griffiths & Graham, 2009, 2010). Future research should examine the use of asynchronous video in a K-12 online environment and work to identify additional strategies that can help teachers and students quickly establish online social presence.

Limitations There were two primary limitations to this study that can be addressed by future research. First, this study contained a relatively small sample size from a single context preventing the generalization of these findings to other contexts. Future research should seek to understand caring in a variety of schools with varying ages and learning models. Such research would likely produce additional insights because ‘budgets, availability of personnel, size of the school, state models and models of instruction are all likely to change the roles that are expected of an online educator’ (Ferdig, Cavanaugh, DiPietro, Black, & Dawson, 2009, p. 496). Second this research relied solely on teacher interviews. Greene, Caracelli, and Graham (1989) explained ‘that all methods have inherent biases and limitations, so use of only one method to assess a given phenomenon will inevitably yield biased and limited results’

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(p. 256). Future research may seek to triangulate these findings using student interviews, virtual observations and content analyses of emails and discussion boards. Obtaining this type of information from online K-12 learning environments can be difficult to obtain and time consuming to analyse but it may provide key insights into technologymediated caring.

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Parsad, B., & Lewis, L. (2009). Distance education at degree-granting postsecondary distance education at degree-granting postsecondary institutions: 2006–07. World wide web internet and web information systems. Retrieved from http://nces.ed.gov/pubs2009/2009044.pdf Patterson, B., & McFadden, C. (2009). Attrition in online and campus degree programs. Online Journal of Distance Learning Administration, 7(2). Retrieved from http://www.westga. edu/Bdistance/ojdla/summer122/patterson112.html Patton, M. Q. (1980). Qualitative evaluation methods. Beverly Hills, CA: Sage. Peters, O. (1971). Theoretical aspects of correspondence instruction. In O. Mackenzie & E. Christensen (Eds.), The changing world of correspondence study (pp. 223–228). University Park, PA: The Pennsylvania State University. Picciano, A. G., & Seaman, J. (2009). K-12 online learning: A 2008 follow-up of the survey of U.S. school district administrators. Mahwah, NJ: Sloan Consortium. Retrived from http://sloanconsortium.org/sites/default/files/k-12_online_learning_2008.pdf Repetto, J., Cavanaugh, C., Wayer, N., & Liu, F. (2010). Virtual high schools: Improving outcomes for students with disabilities. Quarterly Review of Distance Education, 11(2), 91–104. Rice, K., & Dawley, L. (2007). Going virtual! The status of professional development for K-12 online teachers. Learning. Washington, D.C.: North American Council for Online Learning. Retrived from http://edtech.boisestate.edu/goingvirtual/goingvirtual1.pdf Rourke, L., Anderson, T., Garrison, D. R., & Archer, W. (2001). Assessing social presence in asynchronous text-based computer conferencing. Journal of Distance Education, 14(3), 51–70. Retrieved from http://www.jofde.ca/index.php/jde/article/view/153/341 Stansfield, R. N. (1961). The human side of teaching. Peabody Journal of Education, 38(6), 345–350. Teven, J. J. (2007). Teacher caring and classroom behavior: Relationships with student affect and perceptions of teacher competence and trustworthiness. Communication Quarterly, 55(4), 433–450. doi: 10.1080/01463370701658077 Tu, C., & McIsaac, M. (2002). The relationship of social presence and interaction in online classes. American Journal of Distance Education, 16(3), 131–150. doi: 10.1207/S15389286 AJDE1603 Velasquez, A. (2012). Technology-mediated caring in online teaching and learning. Brigham Young University. Watson, J., Murin, A., Vashaw, L., Gemin, B., & Rapp, C. (2011). Keeping pace with K-12 online learning: An annual review of policy and practice. Evergreen Education Group. Retrieved from http://kpk12.com/cms/wp-content/uploads/KeepingPace2011.pdf Wilson, J. H. (2006). Predicting student attitudes and grades from perceptions of instructors’ attitudes. Teaching of Psychology, 33(2), 91–95.

CLASSROOM MANAGEMENT: A PATHWAY TO IMPROVING SCHOOL CLIMATE IN TWO BRITISH SECONDARY SCHOOLS 1 H. Jerome Freiberg, Stacey M. Templeton and Sabra Helton ABSTRACT How classrooms are formed and managed sets the foundation for emotional and intellectual well-being. A person-centred learning environment balances the needs of both the teacher and the learner, utilizing shared responsibility, cooperative leadership and caring. Built on humanistic principles, this chapter examines the effects of a person-centred classroom management programme, Consistency Management & Cooperative Discipline (CMCD ), on the school climate of two large secondary schools in England, the use of which represented a shift in philosophy and practice from primarily behaviouristic to instructional and person-centred approaches to classroom management. The changes in school climate over multiple years demonstrate both the problems schools can create s

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Emotion and School: Understanding How the Hidden Curriculum Influences Relationships, Leadership, Teaching, and Learning Advances in Research on Teaching, Volume 18, 203–225 Copyright r 2013 by Emerald Group Publishing Limited All rights of reproduction in any form reserved ISSN: 1479-3687/doi:10.1108/S1479-3687(2013)0000018015

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and the potential solutions, when students and their teachers receive the care they need to flourish. Keywords: Classroom management; schools climate; special measures; person centred; change in secondary schools

The ways in which schools and classrooms are organized and how the academic milieu is developed and realized often sets the interpersonal tone or climate of the teaching and learning environment. Classrooms can be managed through student compliance and obedience or student selfdiscipline and direction. These two methods create a very different tapestry for what is learned and how learning takes place. A person-centred approach to classroom management, where the teacher facilitates students’ social and emotional growth and helps students to build self-discipline, is an essential pathway in our rapidly changing social world. In an informal meeting with the noted psychologist Carl Rogers at his home in La Jolla, California, he described person-centred learning: I work everyday in my garden. The roses, flowers, and plants do well in Southern California climate if you water them, provide natural food and till the soil to allow oxygen to reach the roots. I am aware that weeds are always present. It is the constant caring that prevents the weeds from taking over the garden. Person-centred education is much like my rose garden. It needs a caring environment to sustain its beauty. (Personal communication with first author, 1984)

The shared responsibility, shared leadership, caring and nurturing in a person-centred learning environment are designed to meet the needs of both the teacher and the learner (Freiberg & Lamb, 2009). This chapter examines the effects of a person-centred instructional management programme (Consistency Management & Cooperative Discipline, CMCD) on the school climates of two large secondary schools in England over multiple years. A brief history of the research on classroom climate, connectedness and emotional well-being is presented, along with current research. The key elements of the CMCD intervention are described, followed by a description of the two British schools with a discussion of outcomes.

HISTORICAL PERSPECTIVE: CLASSROOM CLIMATE Throughout the last century, school climate has been analysed by numerous educational researchers. Arthur Perry’s The Management of a City School

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(1908) discusses ‘esprit de corps’, or the ‘school atmosphere’ (p. 304), identifying that it cannot be changed overnight. The 1930s, 1940s and early 1950s saw the movement towards a more progressive and child-focused learning environment, following the works of John Dewey. The late 1950s saw a revived interest in researching school environments. In 1963, Halpin and Croft developed an instrument to measure the organizational climate of the school, The Organizational Climate Descriptive Questionnaire. This survey began to look at school climate, emphasizing teachers’ perspectives of teacher and principal behaviours. Subsequent instruments were developed to measure perceived change in school climate over time. In 1991, Hoy, Tarter and Kottkamp began to distinguish between climate and culture in how schools are viewed, with school/organizational climate being viewed from a psychological perspective and school culture viewed from an anthropological perspective. Towards the end of the last century, extensive research was conducted identifying factors that comprise the quality of a school, using climate and other factors to define school quality. Teddlie and Stringfield (1993) define school climate as a number of school environment factors, including student sense of academic futility, student perceptions of teacher push, student academic norms, teacher ability, teacher expectations for students, teacher– student efforts to improve, perceptions of the principal’s expectations, parental concern for the quality of education, perceptions of school quality and efforts of the principal to improve. A national school climate group defined it as: ‘The physical, social, emotional, and intellectual climate of schools and classrooms is a significant factor in the achievement, behaviour, well-being, and future success of students and their teachers’ (Freiberg, 1999, as cited in National School Climate Council, 2012, p. 1). Successful schools have cultures which produce a healthy school climate, one conducive to teaching and learning (Freiberg & Buckley, 1981; Rutter, Maughan, Mortimore, Ouston, & Smith, 1979), and one in which the institutional, administrative and teaching are in harmony, directed towards a mission (Hoy, Tarter, & Kottkamp, 1991). A positive school climate is a protective factor against student risk behaviours (Battistich & Horn, 1997; Centers for Disease Control and Prevention, 2010; Resnick, Bearman & Blum 1997) and can foster better student academic, behavioural and emotional outcomes (Brand, Felner, Seitsinger, Burns, & Bolton, 2008; Freiberg, 1999; Ming-Te, Selman, Dishion, & Stormshak, 2010). In many Western countries, we have lost the interpersonal basis of authentic and sustainable learning in the rush to achieve the competitive edge. The assumption being that if you care about the learner, this will somehow diminish the rigour of learning in the classroom. On the contrary,

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some nations have strong examples of sustaining interpersonal relations in the classroom. Canadian schools have for decades focused on the affective side of learning while U.S. schools place greater emphasis on testing outcomes. In the late 1970s, the Canadian deputy minister explained that Toronto’s education mission is for students to: like to learn, think clearly, feel deeply, act wisely, work with others, be problem solvers, respect other cultures and have basic skills (Rogers & Freiberg, 1994). The effects are positive: the average Canadian 15-year-old is almost a year ahead academically of the average American 15-year-old (Fleischman, Hopstock, Pelczar, & Shelley, 2010).

EMOTIONS AND CONNECTEDNESS Renewed interest in the interpersonal domain in education has emerged across nations and within school districts and local authorities. Literature related to students’ emotional well-being and school connectedness has evolved at the research, policy and application levels. Emotional well-being is being defined within the context of learning as those experiences that empower individuals with the resilience needed to meet the demands of everyday life, and the ability to recover effectively from illness, change or misfortune (Freiberg, 1994; The Mental Health Foundation, 2005). In the United Kingdom, The Priory Group (2005), using a nationally representative sample, found that stress at school was reported by over half of the young people in the study. Other factors negatively affecting emotional well-being include family and peer relationship problems, as well as emotional and behavioural difficulties (The U.K. Audit Commission, 1999). Neuroscience tells us that our emotions impact what we learn. The human brain learns best under these conditions: when stress is low and learning experiences are relevant to students, when lessons are stimulating and challenging, when classroom experiences are free of intimidation and when learning is pleasurable (Willis, 2007). In the United Kingdom, Bywater and Sharples (2012) examined programmes designed to promote emotional well-being, finding that school approaches to promote well-being can sometimes compensate for external (cultural, socio-economic) factors. In Estonia, researchers found that school climate, particularly the school value system and teachers’ attitudes towards students, significantly affect students’ psychological and physiological well-being (Ruus et al., 2007). In a meta-analysis of studies from 2000 to 2007, Maxwell et al. (2007) found that whole-school programmes designed to improve students’ emotional

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well-being require ‘a whole-school/universal approach, sustained implementation, involvement of all members of the school community, and a variety of programmes focusing on the school environment, behaviour, and cognitive processes’ (p. 43). School connectedness, an important health factor, can be defined as the belief by students that adults and peers at school care about their learning and about them as individuals (U.S. Centers for Disease Control & Prevention, 2010). McNeely, Nonnemaker, and Blum (2002) examined the relationship between student connectedness and emotional well-being. When students feel cared for by people at school and feel connected, they have higher levels of emotional well-being, and are less likely to engage in high risk-taking behaviours. McNeely et al. (2002) found that school connectedness is greater in schools where the classroom management is sound: teachers are empathetic, consistent, encourage student self-management and allow students to make decisions. School connectedness has also been found to protect against emotional distress (Blum, McNeely, & Reinhart, 2002; Resnick et al., 1997), improve attendance (Rosenfeld, Richman, & Bowen, 1998), reduce classroom misbehaviour (Loukas, Ripperger-Suhler, & Horton, 2009), increase academic outcomes (Klem & Connell, 2004) and academic motivation (Goodenow & Grady, 1993). Hallinan (2008) found that students who perceive that their teachers care about them, respect them and praise them are more apt to like school than are those who do not. By providing social and emotional support, teachers increase students’ liking for school, improving students’ academic and social outcomes. Schools can encourage students’ feelings of belonging, positive emotional well-being and connection through discipline reforms designed to create a positive climate. A pro-social classroom management system, one in which high academic standards, positive student–teacher relationships and a physically and emotionally safe climate is established will facilitate this (Monahan, Oesterle, & Hawkins, 2010).

PERSON-CENTRED APPROACH TO MANAGEMENT: CONSISTENCY MANAGEMENT & COOPERATIVE DISCIPLINE Built on person-centred principles, CMCD is an instructional and behaviour management programme, designed to alter school climate through

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building school connectedness, providing a consistent and supportive school environment and improving student self-discipline. CMCD is designed to help students prepare for success, achieve self-discipline and develop responsibility. This is accomplished through an emphasis on prevention rather than intervention, shared responsibility between teacher and student, increased communication with parents and best instructional practices matched with a person-centred management system. The CMCD programme is comprehensive and school-wide, providing a sustainable schoolwide message for all who work with children and youth. While most programmes focus on the teaching staff alone, CMCD looks at every adult in the school as a source of support and involvement, from the security guard to the janitorial staff. The primary goal of CMCD is to create an active learning environment that is self-disciplined, caring and respectful – providing teachers more time to teach and students more time to learn. Five principles form the foundation of CMCD: (1) Prevent problems before they occur. (2) Establish and maintain a caring learning environment – creating consistent, but flexible active learning opportunities. (3) Enable students to cooperate in the building of self-discipline. (4) Provide the learner with a well-organized and constructive learning environment. (5) Unite classroom/school/community to support the learner. The difference between traditional classrooms and CMCD classrooms reflects the balance of needs of both the teacher and students, creating an emotionally safe learning environment for all persons in the classroom. In this book, Neville (2013) explains that children who are in more traditional classrooms – those with the teacher as the sole leader who demands control through fear and intimidation – might become threatened and anxious by this experience. He explains: ‘ychildren’s brains will be occupied dealing with the threat, their bodies will be tense, they will feel scared and anxious. If they are doing any thinking they are doing it as a means of survival, and are unlikely to be doing it effectively’ (p. 7). Neville further explains that children need to have a trustworthy and reliable adult teaching them and to have peers to whom they can become emotionally connected. Through person-centred principles of Prevention, Caring, Cooperation, Organization and Community, CMCD facilitates this trusting classroom environment where learners can thrive, emotionally and academically. Initially, person-centred relationships are established through changes in the classroom environment. A comprehensive set of CMCD strategies give

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teachers the necessary tools to make these changes take hold in classrooms. Teachers build the learning environment, using the five CMCD principles starting with those strategies that will ‘prevent’ problems before there is a need to intervene. For example, while many classrooms have rules posted, most often the source of those rules is the teacher. Building cooperative discipline starts with cooperative rule development, where the teacher and students create a Magna Carta, or written contract, that meets the needs of all. Creating a ‘cooperative’ and ‘caring’ classroom involves using CMCD strategies that solve conflicts and encourage positive interactions, where the students take on greater responsibilities for supporting the emotional needs of their peers (e.g. Peace Table). When ‘organizing’ the classroom into an optimal learning space, teachers are provided with strategies to structure lessons and the classroom environment, and students begin to participate in daily procedures. Gradually, over the course of the year, students are provided with increased opportunities to shape the affective part of their learning – becoming ‘CMCD managers’ by completing job applications, interviewing with their teacher and then being hired to perform classroom tasks that are traditionally the teacher’s responsibility. Management positions provide students with ownership and engagement, moving many students from tourists to citizens in their classrooms (Freiberg, 1996). Used holistically, CMCD strategies create a ‘community’ of learners that is formed with parents, business leaders and other ‘community’ groups to enrich the learning opportunities for students. CMCD is a non-curricular programme that establishes and maintains an active learning environment, with strategies that vary teachers’ delivery of curriculum, including effectively managing cooperative grouping activities, and enhancing communication with students. The most effective professional development for teachers is based on a multidimensional model of on-going support rather than a one-time workshop (Joyce & Showers, 2002). School staff and administrators receive CMCD coaching at regular intervals, working to overcome implementation barriers, personalizing CMCD strategies to match classroom content settings and expanding behavioural, instructional and organizational management repertoires. CMCD coaches also support sustainability, developing plans towards self-management of the programme. Through these strategies, CMCD coaches open lines of communication and deepen relationships with students, allowing teachers and students to connect on a more affective level. Students’ emotions are attended to daily in CMCD classrooms – they are in a safe place where they trust their teachers and are free to express their thoughts.

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CMCD classrooms create shared responsibilities that lead to a cooperative sense of order, participation and person-centred classroom management. Table 1 provides the framework for understanding some key differences between traditional classrooms and person-centred (CMCD) classrooms. The CMCD programme has received supportive feedback from various agencies and researchers throughout its 20 years in schools (see Eiseman, 2005; Harwood, 2007/2008; Slavin & Lake, 2008) for reasons including

Table 1. Traditional and Consistency Management & Cooperative Discipline Classrooms. Traditional Classroom Management The teacher is the manager. Management relies on control and compliance. The teacher appoints the same students for classroom chores.

Discipline is a form of control and punishment. Daily operations are the sole responsibility of the teacher.

Rules are developed by the teacher and posted for students. Consequences are the same regardless of the circumstances. Rewards are mostly tangible and external.

Students rarely see people from the outside who are not paid to be in their school.

CMCD Management Classroom management is distributed between the teacher and students. Management is a form of support and leadership with high levels of trust and caring by the teacher and students. All students may apply to be classroom managers: selected from posted job applications and interviews, with positions rotated at pre-set times. Students learn self-discipline, building from experiences in managing diverse classroom operations. Students are an integral part of classroom management, working to keep the classroom organized and efficient, with their teacher’s support and guidance. Teachers and students collaborate to create a classroom Magna Carta, signed by all students and posted. Consequences are rational and fit the situation. Rewards are mostly from within as students take greater personal responsibility for their behaviour and learning. Students often see community people who receive no compensation, connecting their classroom and school with the outside world.

Source: ‘Traditional and Consistency Management & Cooperative Discipline Classrooms’, CMCD H. Jerome Freiberg r 2012. All Rights Reserved. Used by Permission.

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whole school integration, student, teacher and parental involvement, and consistency in function, application and support.

TWO BRITISH SECONDARY SCHOOLS The current study was designed to measure school climate in two schools in the United Kingdom, Darby and Northside (pseudonyms), through nontraditional measures, namely the implementation of the CMCD programme. Here we report on the change in school climate for each. Both heads of the two schools discussed in this chapter remained in place for the duration of the initial study period (2001–2007 and 2005–2007, respectively). These schools reflected different stages in the evolution of the CMCD programme in the United Kingdom, but were similar in student population. The outcome measures are based on the changes in school climate. The changes at Darby were measured by the cost of replacing broken windows, student attendance, teacher retention and attendance, the use of in-school suspension as a routine disciplinary action and achievement gains over time. At Northside, change was deduced following the school’s exit from Special Measures. Each school and their respective outcome measures are discussed below.

The Darby School Darby is a comprehensive school of 1,200 students in Years 7–11, located 60 miles outside of London, in what may be considered a medium-sized suburban community, on the outskirts of a large, populous city. The student population is more than 90% Caucasian, with few, if any, immigrant students. In 2001, an external review of the school’s academic effectiveness was conducted by U.K. government inspectors. The report explains the status of the Darby School prior to CMCD implementation: 1. High teacher turnover, with 60–70% of teaching staff leaving within three years. 2. A time-out room was operational, intended to deal with children who could not function appropriately in the classroom – the cost of teachers patrolling halls and staffing the time-out room was d75,000 a year. 3. Received a ranking of below average, or ‘D’, due to poor/erratic attendance and students low scores in Years 10–11.

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4. Inspectors reported that lessons were mostly unsatisfactory for ages 11–14, satisfactory for ages 14–16. (Lynch, 2001) The British secondary school staff and local authority visited several U.S. schools utilizing the CMCD model. Darby decided in 2002 to adopt CMCD and to be the first secondary school in the United Kingdom (Years 7–12) to pilot the programme.

School Climate Changes at Darby Broken Windows Prior to CMCD, the school’s maintenance staff were replacing broken windows weekly. It seemed to be a tradition at the school for students to throw rocks or other objects at the windows after hours. Broken windows were symptomatic of a larger problem – negative student feelings about school and a sense of disconnection. Video interviews conducted at Darby by external reviewers in 2000 (prior to implementation) showed students who were angry at being ignored by their teachers and administrators. Some ‘problem’ students perceived the consequences meted out to them (for what they believed to be as minor infractions) were unfair and they felt other students received far less punishment for similar behaviours. This level of disconnect is not unique to U.K. schools. Brantlinger’s (1993) study of social class differences in secondary schools, found family income manifested itself in the consequences for school infractions. Both high- and low-income students agreed they received differential treatment by school personnel for the same school infractions, with low-income students experiencing ‘anger,ypublic humiliation, and ostracismy’ (Brantlinger, 1993, p. 6). School vandalism is often how students express their anger, and it is an important barometer of the health of the school. The first author asked for broken windows records from pre-CMCD to two years later (2003–2004). The school had calculated costs of replacing glass (not including labour) and these records were used to determine changes in vandalism. There was an eightfold reduction of spending on window glass. A follow-up in 2009–2010 found that glass replacements were down to almost zero (except for one stray ball during a sporting event) (Fig. 1). Achievement Gains When students feel disconnected and disengaged, it shows in their academic performance. Darby in 2000 needed academic improvement, with only 30%

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£20,000

Before CMCD 2001-2002

£17,024

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£15,000

£10,000

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£6,197 £2,208

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Fig. 1. Broken Windows. Comprehensive Secondary School in England. Darby: Repair Bills for Glass Only. 2001–2002 vs. 2002–2003 vs. 2003–2004. Source: ‘Consistency Management & Cooperative Discipline School Data Results.’ CMCD H. Jerome Freiberg r 2004–2011. All Rights Reserved. Used by Permission.

of students passing five or more General Certificate of Secondary Education (GCSE) examinations. After two years of CMCD implementation (2003– 2004), 45% of students passed five or more GCSE exams. Fig. 2 shows how this trend continued throughout two years of full CMCD professional development support (Fall 2002–Spring 2004), two years of limited support where a few staff would only attend an annual conference in Houston (Fall 2004–Spring 2006), and three years of no direct support – with teachers and administration empowered to move the programme forward on their own (Fall 2006–Spring 2009; see Fig. 2). As school climate improved, Darby’s students felt more successful, worked harder and their test scores rose. At the end of the CMCD involvement in 2009, Darby’s improvement continued, with 78% of students passing five or more General Certificate of Secondary Education (GCSE) exams in 2010, 88% passing in 2011 and 89% passing in 2012 (Grainger, 2012). Student Attendance Students want to come to school when they feel cared for by teachers and peers. Disengaged students, however, often skip school (Goark, 2012). Darby’s records show student attendance increased from 89% in 2000–2001 (pre-CMCD) to 93.1% in 2003–2004 (after implementation). As school climate improved, students built stronger relationships with their teachers and peers – giving them a reason to attend: they felt welcomed and wanted.

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Secondary School 2002-2008 General Certificate of Secondary Education (GSCE) Results Percentage of students with 5+A*-C passes or equivalent

80% 68%

PERCENTAGE

70% 60%

56%

59% 58%

50%

54%

55%

45%

40% 30% 30%

43%

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61% 59%

65% 70% 64% 61%

Secondary School Local Authority

20% England 10% 0% 2001-02 2002-03 2003-04 2004-05 2005-06 2006-07 2007-08 2008-09 SCHOOL YEAR

Fig. 2. Darby Student Achievement on GCSE Exams, 2002–2009. Source: ‘Consistency Management & Cooperative Discipline School Presentation’. CMCD H. Jerome Freiberg r 2009. All Rights Reserved. Used by Permission.

Teacher Retention and Attendance Teachers who feel supported and safe – stay. Darby’s teacher retention increased from 63% in 2000–2001 (pre-CMCD) to 97% in 2003–2004 (after implementation). As teachers stayed, an increasingly safe and stable climate was created for all persons in the school. Daily teacher attendance also improved, with an average of 27 daily teacher absences before CMCD, dropping to one or zero daily absences post intervention (Brosnan, 2005). In-School Suspensions At Darby, a large in-school suspension room, staffed by a full-time teacher and aide, accommodated up to 150 students daily. Once CMCD protocols were established (2002–2003), the in-school suspension room was disbanded and staff members were reassigned to classrooms, redirecting the d75,000 from student behaviour to classroom instruction. CMCD facilitators worked cooperatively with subject and grade level teachers to resolve

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behavioural concerns encouraging teachers to support each other and their students. As teachers collaborated to solve problems, students began to see and feel consistency across their classrooms and the school. Student discipline issues were treated with fair, rational and responsible consequences. This approach continued after CMCD implementation concluded. Investors in People Award Third party reviews are important with schools in transition. Supported by the Department for Employment and Learning, Investors in People developed a U.K. national standard in 1991 with a Training Task Force made up of leading national businesses, personnel and professional and employee organizations (Investors in People website, 2012). The organization works with companies and schools like Darby to assist them in the development of their people to achieve business goals. Investors in People uses a ‘standard’ of 39 outcome-based evidence requirements for how a school manages, encourages and motivates its staff and where it can make improvements. Darby had been visited several times by an assessor, and it was unsuccessful in meeting the Investors in People standards. After the first year of CMCD implementation, Darby was assessed again, using the comprehensive evaluation, and met the standards, receiving the award based on the report findings. The most significant of these new processes was the introduction of the strategy of Consistency Management and Cooperative Discipline (CMCD) into the college. (p. 4) And, y the most pragmatic benefit, which is already obvious, is the effect is having on behaviour in the learning environment. Children enjoy being given responsibility as ‘Managers’ in the classroom and are beginning to show an equal measure of frustration with those peers who ignore CMCD practice. (p. 10)

The Northside School Northside is a comprehensive rural school of 1,100 students in Years 7–11. The student population is similar to Darby. At the time of the initial intervention, Northside had been categorized in ‘Special Measures’, a category: ‘y where a school is failing to give its pupils an acceptable standard of education, and, the leaders, managers or governors are not demonstrating the capacity to secure the necessary improvement in the school’ (Ofsted, 2012, p. 16). When a school receives this rating, the local district submits a targeted action plan for improvements and undergoes regular visits from inspectors who report publicly on the school’s progress.

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Since 1993, about 230 schools in the United Kingdom have not met the minimum improvement expectations, and were consequently closed while under Special Measures (Jerald, 2012). Northside had six inspector visitations after receiving the failed category designation (Redman, 2006).

School Climate Changes at Northside After the first year of CMCD implementation (2005–2006), Ofsted removed Northside from Special Measures. In a January 2006 letter to the students at Northside, Christopher Redman, ‘Her Majesty’s Inspector’ (HMI), wrote: As I have inspected your school several times before over the past two years I know that it has struggled to provide you with an adequate education. However, since September 2005 things have improved considerably. You told us that behaviour is much better and we agree. Lessons are not often disrupted which has allowed you to learn more effectively. The introduction of consistency management and cooperative discipline has involved you more actively in lessons and is helping you to develop a sense of responsibility for your learning and behaviour. Some of you are starting to really enjoy learning both in lessons and in the additional activities and clubs you join. Several of you told us you are becoming proud of your school. (Redman, 2006, Annex B)

Northside continues to progress. In 2010, without direct CMCD involvement, Ofsted rated it: ‘A good school with many outstanding features’ (Herriman, 2011). Students Speak A video from student perspectives was created by Northside’s Years 7 through 11 students documenting changes students experienced CMCD. As part of the programme, a Student Cadre with a teacher advisor is created from a cross-section of students to work on ways to improve the learning environment. The students filmed and edited a video documenting the school changes transcribed below: Student Narrator: There have been lots of changes here at Northside. It is important to look back at how it used to be in order to show how great the changes have been. Student A: We were always aware of the rules. Like, we did have them up on most of the walls and teachers did make it clear every year, they would tell us what they expected. But, there was no consistency. Every teacher had a different set of rules.

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Student A: Um, now the teachers seem a lot more organized. It seems like we do have more, kind of, deadlines, it’s more structured. We do learn a lot more. Student B: It’s like a new school, you know what I mean? It’s completely different.yPeople seem to enjoy doing their work now. They enjoy the challenge of work. They want to behave themselves instead of muck around. Student C: Much better. More people are at school every day. Student D: Everyone was late. It was ridiculous. Student E: They just dawdled through their lessons. Student A: Um, now the teachers seem a lot more organized. It seems like we do have more, kind of, deadlines, it’s more structured’. We do learn a lot more. Anonymous student quotes scrolling at end of video: The best thing about CMCD, helping the teachers to help us. It is making this school improve and we can earn responsibility. It is making the school impressive. We are learning more. People are actually recognized for their achievements. You get praised moreyand its improved behaviour. It makes the learning more fun. [Source: Northside (pseudonym) Video 2003 Transcription]

Both Darby and Northside, continue to use CMCD in 2012. Northside’s message to parents and students is ‘We strongly believe that if we show respect for our students, they in turn will respect us, and together, we can achieve great success’ (Herriman, 2012). Eleven years after CMCD implementation, Darby continues to claim that it helps to ‘form a strong framework for learning and teaching at the College’ (The ‘Darby’ School, 2012, p. 8)

THE HIDDEN CURRICULUM OF EMOTIONS AND RELATIONSHIPS Neville (2013) explains emotions and cognition are ‘fully integrated’ and those emotions ‘shape what students see and hear and their ability to process it’ (p. 22). We cannot afford to ignore the affective component of education, as it is inexorably tied to how and what students can learn – it is

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imperative that we provide all students with emotionally supportive school environments. Borup, Graham, and Velasquez (2013) describe the necessity of creating caring relationships with students, even in online learning environments. They explain that teachers must first demonstrate caring through modelling, facilitate opportunities for students to express caring to others and then provide positive affirmations for the caring students show. Nurturing caring relationships and tending to students’ emotions are central to CMCD’s person-centred philosophy. Children have a need to know that you are invested in them as an individual – as a person (Freiberg & Lamb, 2009). Often, this is foundational in their ability to learn new material and their motivation to thrive in spite of difficulties. Good teachers know their students’ names and know their calibre of work. Great teachers know the individuals whose learning they facilitate – knowing their passions, their interests, their shortcomings and how they are motivated. Building strong, healthy relationships with students is foundational to effective teaching. By being involved in classroom procedures through CMCD manager positions, students build a sense of pride and ownership. The feeling of the climate shifts from MY (the teacher’s) classroom to OUR (the teacher and the students’) classroom. As students take classroom responsibilities, they begin to develop self-discipline – they are important members of a classroom community and begin to see themselves as leaders who must set an example (Eiseman, 2005; Freiberg & Lamb, 2009). Through their positions, they receive individualized attention and guidance from the teacher, fostering a mentor–mentee relationship that is mutually fulfilling for both teacher and student. Student managers also perceive that they are helping their teacher, and take pride in supporting the work they do. This lessens the teacher’s emotional exhaustion – no longer does s/he have to worry about attending to people who appear at the door or pass out papers – there are student managers for that. Teachers can focus on instruction and find that they have additional time to meet the individualized needs of each child (Eiseman, 2005). Teachers share the classroom with students, listening to their opinions and guiding them through struggles – interacting more like a family. Creating classroom rules and a constitution to govern the classroom with students further empowers students and strengthens relationships; there is buy-in – these are OUR rules and we must follow them because WE created them. Trust also comes with consistency – students see predictable patterns in each class and develop a sense of safety and stability about school.

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In year two of implementation, the focus extends to entire school, developing a student leadership team, known as the Student Cadre. Most secondary schools have an elected student council or body that provides leadership for the students as a whole. The Cadre is designed to provide students who are rarely selected for such a student group to be nominated by their teachers and/or peers, providing broader opportunities for school-wide engagement. CMCD is inclusive to all students, giving those considered tourists in their school opportunities to become leaders.

DISCUSSION The results of an intervention programme like CMCD that emphasizes the organization and climate of the classroom first (and the school second) can seem counter-intuitive to changing the school environment, but the outcomes from internal studies and external evaluations seem to support this approach. Interpersonal research has supported the need for student growth, but it remains rather uncommon in the classroom (Creemers & Kyriakides, 2010; Creemers & Reezigt, 1999). School climate plays an important role in the well-being of teachers, who in turn add significant value to the learning environment. Darby and Northside represent two distinct examples of the same programme intervention. Both schools’ climates improved in different ways, and the impact observed by Ofsted and other governmental agencies tend to support the transformation of the schools. At Darby, as students felt more connected and perceived the increased consistency and fairness about discipline, the amount of ‘broken windows’ was dramatically reduced. Student attendance increased, along with teacher retention – teachers showed up at school more often and stayed in their current positions. Consistency and stability are important factors in creating positive emotions (Rogers & Freiberg, 1994). The in-school suspension room disbanded, as teachers had more person-centred ways to respond to individual students’ needs. Darby’s achievement also increased. Teachers and students both wanted to be at school more, creating a synergy of improving climate along with improving learning. Darby also received the Investors in People award in recognition of the climate transformation it experienced. At Northside, the exit from Special Measures, a failing school category, after more than four years provides hope for schools that find themselves in

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challenging circumstances. Northside was originally placed in this category due to poor student behaviour, academic problems and low levels of teaching and learning. Their exit demonstrates the power a person-centred approach alongside instruction that prevention can have on the climate of a school, and subsequently, its achievement.

CONCLUSION This study of two British secondary schools supports the research that effective instruction and classroom management can be alterable factors in schools (Wang, Haertel, & Walberg, 1993) given sustainable professional development (Joyce & Showers, 2002) and a collaborative school commitment at the beginning of the process. When seeing the changes in these schools throughout their transformations, one observation can be made: adolescent behaviour may be driven by defensive emotions – a healthy response to an unhealthy learning environment. The dedication exhibited at both Darby and Northside to seek changes to their initial unhealthy climate conditions, along with their continuance of the programme, are a rare occurrence. The person-centred philosophy that drove CMCD’s development is perhaps the most critical aspect necessary when fostering a healthy climate – one with strong relationships, student connectedness and trust. CMCD workshops help educators along the path towards trusting students and forging positive relationships within classrooms. The careful implementation of CMCD helps align the programme’s foci with the current needs of the school, using personalized support, sustained coaching and recurrent analysis of climate and behaviour data. The broken windows, student attendance, teacher retention data, Northside student narratives and HMI government agency observations and The London Challenge advisor perspective triangulated the broader implications and present a collaborative picture of what change looks like within the complexities of the modern schoolhouse. Emotions are driven by a range of human experiences; the stories and cases shared in this chapter show both the problems, and potential solutions, schools can create when students and their teachers receive the care they need to flourish. Each school was unique in their development needs, but both had a necessary goal to improve their students’ emotional and intellectual development. Positive emotions about the places people live, work and learn can drive sustainability. Building emotional capital with teachers, administrators,

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students and their parents necessitates an investment of time and sustaining support. This is needed to make the transition collectively from where we are to where we need to be. Sustaining the initial efforts, however, is no easy task. By carefully planning how an intervention programme is presented and the steps necessary to find out what the needs of the school and its people are, developers and the participants are able to become partners in the process. The administration and teachers at Darby and Northside showed tremendous dedication, tenacity and openness to embrace an alternative means to improve teaching and learning. People are truly the change agents in education. The historical research of specific school reform efforts in the United States shows limited sustainability. Based on longitudinal studies of school reform, Sam Stringfield (1994) indicates that little remains from the initial implementation even one or two years after an initiative starts. Evidence from the British schools presented in this chapter demonstrates that change can be lasting if the key pieces are in place. Individual development of near and far stakeholders enable schools with their students and educators to foster a level of cooperation that is seen as authentic and hopeful. As evidenced in this chapter, local communities and distant policy makers can significantly influence school climate improvements. Building emotional capital needs to begin with a person-centred philosophy, creating a balance of needs between the teachers, administrators, students and staff. All people need to be respected, engaged, and have a say in the areas that directly affect them. Why would teachers become engaging in the classroom – inviting students to participate in the daily operations and decision-making of the classroom – if they are not given the same opportunities in their school? Why would teachers want to give a commitment if they do not have a choice in selecting what and how they will learn? School-wide ownership of staff development is needed to sustain any initiative. However, both internal and external support, feedback and care are necessary to ensure sustainable change. Looking back can provide insights into the future. School climate serves as a guidepost in a school’s travels from one cohort of students and their teachers to the next. Measuring school climate benchmarks and providing sustained feedback enables all adults to take collective responsibilities for students’ emotional well-being, and therefore, their learning. Our challenge in the future will be to create learning environments that enable both students and their educators, to move from being tourists to citizens – and it begins when we take time to care for the emotional well-being of all those invested in a school.

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NOTE 1. For more information on the CMCD programme contact: Consistency Management & Cooperative Discipline, College of Education, University of Houston, 4800 Calhoun Rd., 442 Farish Hall, Houston, TX 77204-5026, http:// cmcd.coe.uh.edu/index.html, or H. Jerome Freiberg: [email protected].

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Eiseman, J. W. (2005). An evaluation of Consistency Management & Cooperative Discipline (CMCD): Implementation for success (study report). Providence, RI: Brown University, Research & Evaluation Division of the Education Alliance. Fleischman, H. L., Hopstock, P. J., Pelczar, M. P., & Shelley, B. E. (2010). Highlights from PISA 2009: Performance of U.S. 15-year-old students in reading, mathematics, and science literacy in an international context. Washington, DC: U.S. Department of Education, National Center for Education Statistics. Freiberg, H. J. (1994). Understanding resilience: Implications for inner-city schools and their near and far communities. In M. C. Wang & E. W. Gordon (Eds.), Educational resilience in inner-city American: Challenges and prospects (pp. 151–165). Hillsdale, NJ: Lawrence Erlbaum. Freiberg, H. J. (1996). From tourists to citizens in the classroom. Educational Leadership, 51(1), 32–37. Freiberg, H. J. (Ed.). (1999). Boston, MA: Allyn & Bacon. Freiberg, H. J. & Buckley, P. K. (1981). Maintaining and improving school climate in urban schools. Annual meeting of the American Research Association, Los Angeles, CA. Freiberg, H. J., & Lamb, S. M. (2009). Dimensions of person-centered classroom management. Theory Into Practice, 48, 99–105. Goark, M. (2012). Skipping to nowhere: Students share their views about skipping school. Get Schooled Foundation. Retrieved from http://www.americaspromise.org/News-andEvents/News-and-Features/APB-2012/Vol-20/~/media/Files/Resources/Get%20Schooled% 20Truancy%20Report.ashx. Accessed on October 11, 2012. Goodenow, C., & Grady, E. (1993). The relationship of school belonging and friends’ values to academic motivation among urban adolescent students. Journal of Experimental Education, 62, 60–71. Grainger, K. (2012). Examination results. Garth Hill College website. Retrieved from http:// www.garthhill.bracknell-forest.sch.uk/. Accesed on October 10, 2012. Hallinan, M. T. (2008). Teacher influences on students’ attachment to school. Sociology of Education, 81, 271–283. Halpin, A. W., & Croft, D. B. (1963). The organizational climate of schools. Chicago, IL: Midwest Administration Center of the University of Chicago. Harwood, P. (2007). A review of ‘‘Consistency Management & Cooperative Discipline’’ in the UK. London Challenge Behaviour Adviser. Harwood, P. (2008, Spring). Consistency management and cooperative discipline programme. London Digest, 2(3). Retrieved from http://www.ioe.ac.uk/about/documents/Study_ Departments/LERU_LDigest2.pdf. Accessed on February 10, 2009. Herriman, J. S. (2011). Letter to parents/carers. The Northside (pseudonym) School. Retrieved from http://www.thedustonschool.northants.sch.uk/sites/default/files/file/ Prospectus/Letter%20to%20parents%20Sept%2011%20JHE.pdf. Accessed on October 9, 2012. Herriman, J. S. (2012). Principal’s welcome message. The Northside (pseudonym) School. Retrieved from http://www.thedustonschool.northants.sch.uk/. Accessed on 9 October 2012. Hoy, W. K., Tarter, C. J., & Kottkamp, R. B. (1991). Open school, healthy school: Making schools work. Newberry Park, CA: Corwin Press. Investors in People. (2012). Investors in people website, United Kingdom. Retrieved from http:// www.investorsinpeople.co.uk/Pages/Home.aspx. Accessed on 26 October 2012.

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Jerald, C. D. (2012). On Her Majesty’s school inspection service. Education Sector Reports. Washington, DC: Education Sector. Joyce, B. R., & Showers, B. (2002). Student achievement through staff development. Alexandria, VA: Association for Supervision and Curriculum Development. Klem, A. M., & Connell, J. P. (2004). Relationships matter: Linking teacher support to student engagement and achievement. Journal of School Health, 74(7), 263–273. Loukas, A., Ripperger-Suhler, K. G., & Horton, K. D. (2009). Examining temporal associations between school connectedness and early adolescent adjustment. Journal of Youth & Adolescence, 38, 804–812. Lynch, V. (2001). Inspection report: The ‘‘Darby’’ School. London: Inspection Quality Division, The Office for Standards in Education (Ofsted). Maxwell, C., Yankah, E., Warwick, I., Hill, V., Mehmedbegovic, D., & Aggleton, P. (2007). Young London matters: The emotional well-being and mental health of young Londoners: A focused review of evidence. London: Thomas Coram Research Unit, Institute of Education, University of London. McNeely, C. A., Nonnemaker, J. M., & Blum, R. W. (2002). Promoting school connectedness: Evidence from the National Longitudinal Study of Adolescent Health. Journal of School Health, 72(4), 138–145. Mental Health Foundation. (2005). Childhood and Adolescent Mental Health: Understanding the lifetime impacts. London: Mental Health Foundation. Ming-Te, W., Selman, R. L., Dishion, T. J., & Stormshak, E. A. (2010). A Tobit regression analysis of the covariation between middle school students’ perceived school climate and behavioral problems. Journal of Research on Adolescence, 20(2), 274–286 (Blackwell Publishing Limited). Monahan, K. C., Oesterle, S., & Hawkins, J. D. (2010). Predictors and consequences of school connectedness: The case for prevention. The Prevention Researcher, 17(3), 3–6. National School Climate Center. (2012). The school climate improvement process: Essential elements. School Climate Brief, 4. Retrieved from http://www.schoolclimate.org/climate/ documents/policy/sc-brief-v4.pdf. Accessed on 17 January 2013. Neville, B. (2013). The enchanted loom. In M. Newberry, A. Gallant & P. Riley (Eds.), Emotion and school: Understanding how the hidden curriculum influences relationships, leadership, teaching, and learning (pp. 3–23). Bingley, UK: Emerald. Ofsted. (2010). Executive summary – The London challenge. Office for Standards in Education, Children’s Services and Skills website. Retrieved from http://www.ofsted.gov.uk/ resources/london-challenge. Accessed on October 8, 2012. Ofsted. (2012). The framework for school inspection. Manchester, UK: Office for Standards in Education, Children’s Services and Skills. Perry, A. (1908). The management of a city school. New York, NY: Macmillan. Redman, C. (2006). The Northside (pseudonym) school: Inspection report. Office for Standards in Education, Children’s Services and Skills. Retrieved from http://www.ofsted.gov.uk/ inspection-reports/find-inspection-report/provider/ELS/122074. Accessed on October 10, 2012. Resnick, M. D., Bearman, P. S., Blum, R. W., Bauman, K. E., Harris, K. M., Jones, J., y Udry, J. R. (1997). Protecting adolescents from harm: Findings from the National Longitudinal Study on Adolescent Health. JAMA, 278, 823–832. Rogers, C., & Freiberg, H. J. (1994). Freedom to learn (3rd ed.). Upper Saddle River, NJ: Prentice Hall.

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PART IV PAYING ATTENTION TO THE HIDDEN CURRICULUM

TYPES OF PROFESSIONAL AND EMOTIONAL COPING AMONG BEGINNING TEACHERS1 Paul W. Richardson, Helen M. G. Watt and Christelle Devos ABSTRACT Teaching is increasingly recognised as a complex, demanding career. Teachers experience higher levels of stress and burnout than other professionals. The career is subject to heightened levels of public scrutiny and yet offers only modest rewards in the form of social status and income. Drawing on a typological model of coping styles among a diverse sample of German health professionals, we identified six types of emotional coping (Good health, Sparing, (healthy) Ambitious, (path to) Burnout, Diligent, and Wornout) among a longitudinal sample of 612 Australian primary and secondary teachers. A significant outcome of our study was the empirical differentiation between burned out and wornout teachers. This extends the literature on teacher burnout and offers new directions to the study of ‘at risk’ beginning teachers. Keywords: Beginning teachers; at risk teachers; wornout teachers; emotional coping

Emotion and School: Understanding How the Hidden Curriculum Influences Relationships, Leadership, Teaching, and Learning Advances in Research on Teaching, Volume 18, 229–253 Copyright r 2013 by Emerald Group Publishing Limited All rights of reproduction in any form reserved ISSN: 1479-3687/doi:10.1108/S1479-3687(2013)0000018016

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As we enter the second decade of the 21st century, teaching is recognised as a challenging, rewarding and demanding occupation, especially in contexts where heightened expectations are expressed through management structures that audit, monitor and assess teaching quality and learning outcomes (OECD, 2005, 2011). Parents, employers, children and adolescents with whom teachers intensively engage in schools and classrooms have been identified as part of what makes the job increasingly emotionally and psychologically demanding. Teaching as a profession is increasingly demanding new roles, becoming less stable, and in many developed countries, offering relatively low status, prestige and monetary rewards in comparison with other professions (Richardson & Watt, 2006). As preservice teachers make the transition to become workers, they simultaneously assume new roles and responsibilities, set goals for their students and negotiate what it means to work in the specific contexts where they find themselves. Unlike other professions where the induction process is more graduated, beginning teachers are expected to take on similar roles and responsibilities to those of more experienced teacher colleagues immediately, including developing their own lessons, and reporting to parents and senior teachers about students’ progress. Concurrently, they need to establish their authority with students as well as winning the confidence of experienced colleagues. Novice teachers are commonly assigned the most difficult schools and classrooms, where they often encounter tough to manage student misbehaviour or students with special needs (Melnick & Meister, 2008). As novices, beginning teachers need to grow in competence and experience by drawing on their personal resources and those available to them externally from senior colleagues, mentors, the school leadership and other systemic supports. However, like all workplaces, the level and quality of support for newcomers can vary significantly from one setting to another, each having its own norms and demands. Individuals who choose teaching as a career are generally highly motivated (Watt & Richardson, 2007). They have high ideals, expectations and standards for themselves and their students, desire to be good teachers, and may even want to represent a new generation with improved teaching methods. Beginning teachers are susceptible to concerns, insecurities and problems associated with the responsibility of taking on the multiple roles required of a teacher, and, at the same time, learning how to teach effectively. The period of induction can represent the realisation of the most positive expectations for some, and a nightmare for others (Hebert & Worthy, 2001). Beyond the time in the classroom, there are few fixed schedules, making it difficult to know when one has done enough, particularly

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for those novice teachers who strive to create excellent lessons, making themselves vulnerable to over-exertion (Kelchtermans, 2009). In these initial years, the challenges and difficulties they encounter are often compounded by lack of time to prepare, inadequate rest, and scant professional preparation for the socioemotional and relational demands they encounter on a daily basis, especially with students and even with other teacher colleagues. Consequently, beginning teachers face a large set of demands and challenges that come from (i) the characteristics of the teaching profession, (ii) the working environment (including external regulations and policy demands) in which teachers operate and (iii) the beginning teachers themselves. How do different types of beginning teachers cope with the stressors of their early years in the profession? In this chapter we hypothesise that novice teachers will bring differential socioemotional resources into a career in teaching and will display different ways of coping. Some will do well and maintain high levels of emotional wellbeing, while others, in an effort to protect their personal wellbeing, are likely to ‘reject’ excessive demands and become professionally less engaged. It is equally likely that others will try to meet the high demands of the profession, but at the expense of their emotional wellbeing, risking burnout. It is an open question as to whether we might also identify other coping styles.

TEACHER COPING AND EMOTIONAL HEALTH Teaching is a profession within which early attrition is an acute problem in the United Kingdom, United States, Australia and many European countries (see Darling-Hammond, 2003; Ingersoll & Smith, 2003; Kyriacou & Kunc, 2006; OECD, 2005; Purcell, Wilton, Davies, & Elias, 2005), which has been linked to job stress and burnout. Teachers generally report their professional experience to be highly stressful (Travers & Cooper, 1993, 1997). Persistent sources of teacher stress are student misbehaviour, parentteacher relationships, interactions with colleagues, student attitudes to learning, work conditions, increased workload, lack of school leadership support, a target-driven culture, and lack of autonomy (Brown, Davis, & Johnson, 2002; Skaalvik & Skaalvik, 2007). If stress is defined as ‘a response syndrome of negative effects, which are developed when there are prolonged and increased pressures that cannot be controlled by an individual’s coping strategies’ (Jepson & Forrest, 2006, p. 183), then the resources an individual has to draw on are central to

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whether that person thrives or not. The Conservation of Resources (COR) theory of stress (Hobfoll, 1988, 1989) indicates how stress is activated, and a mechanism for how it may progress to burnout. According to this model, psychological stress emerges when one of the following occurs: the resources an individual values are threatened, resources are lost, or resources are invested without obtaining the anticipated reward. As Friedman succinctly observed, when ‘motivation is thwarted or denied, stress ensues’ (1996, p. 245). Teachers who maintain their high motivations in situations where they cannot be attained, are likely to burnout (de Jesus & Lens, 2005). Burnout has been linked to teacher turnover (Maslach, Schaufeli, & Leiter, 2001), low professional commitment, poor coping strategies, low work satisfaction, poor wellbeing and early retirement (Cano-Garcia, Padilla-Munoz, & Carrasco-Ortiz, 2005; Hakanen, Bakker, & Schaufeli, 2006, Kovess-Masfe´ty, Rios-Seidel, & Sevilla-Dedieu, 2007; Kieschke & Schaarschmidt, 2008). Importantly, burnout is a forerunner to dysfunctional teaching behaviours, with negative implications for student learning (Dorman, 2003). When an individual does not have the resources to successfully cope with chronic stress, the path to burnout becomes marked. It was Freudenberger (1975) who is credited with providing the label burnout. Burnout, he proposed, resulted from prolonged work-related stress and manifested as physical and emotional exhaustion. Maslach and Jackson (1981) developed what has become a widely used multidimensional definition and measurement of burnout, which consists of emotional exhaustion, depersonalisation and perceived reduced personal accomplishment. Emotional exhaustion is considered the key dimension of burnout (Maslach et al., 2001). The job of teaching appears to exact a considerable toll; teachers suffer more from a lack of occupational motivation than other professional groups (Kieschke & Schaarschmidt, 2008), are prone to burnout more than other professionals (Hodge, Jupp, & Taylor 1994; de Heus & Diekstra, 1999; Johnson et al., 2005; Montgomergy & Rupp, 2005; Stoeber & Rennert, 2008), across different cultural contexts (Byrne, 1999; Fernet, Guay, Sene´cal, & Austin, 2012; Rudow, 1999). In a U.S. longitudinal study, Schonfeld (1992) argued that it was important to focus on beginning teachers because they provided an ideal population in which to examine the ‘job-related risk factors for ill health’ (p. 151). He concluded from three sets of analyses that depressive symptoms were indeed linked to school conditions, which included ongoing stressors (overcrowded classrooms, unmotivated and disruptive students, lack of administrative support) and episodic stressors (threats, confrontation with insolent students, vandalism). Adverse school conditions appeared to have

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negative effects on mental health and wellbeing, whereas more benign environments in which there was support and advice related to better health outcomes for the beginning teachers. Schonfeld (1992) found that preemployment depressive symptoms were not related to any school environment variables, which implies that teachers’ stress was due to work-related factors. Yet, in an Australian longitudinal study, full-time teachers listed a range of job and environment-related factors for their decision to leave teaching, whereas part-time teachers nominated stress-related factors. Intriguingly, the part-time teachers had higher levels of trait-depression and neuroticism than the full-time teachers, both during their teacher education and after their first five years of teaching (Wilhelm, DewhurstSavellis, & Parker, 2000). Findings such as these lend support to researchers who question whether teachers’ own dispositional characteristics may interact with features of the workplace to produce signs of burnout, even very early in their teaching careers (Goddard & O’Brien, 2006). Because of the increased vulnerability of beginning teachers coupled with difficulties related to commencing in the teaching profession (such as temporary positions, difficult schools and classes, lack of experience, time needed to prepare lessons), we expect them to display symptoms associated with burnout. Yet, since they are only recently exposed to the work-related stressors of the teaching profession, we anticipate that they should display this pattern of characteristics at a lower level than documented among veteran teachers. A complementary construct of ‘wornout’ has been proposed (Stephenson, 1990). While this construct shares similar aspects with burnout, it is importantly different. Wornout teachers reduce their effort and occupational engagement in order to cope with chronic stressors, and are no longer personally invested in performing well. Stephenson (1990) identified three times as many teachers were wornout than burned out. Teachers who are worn down by their work exhibit reduced work goals, lower responsibility for work outcomes, lower idealism, heightened emotional detachment, work alienation and self-interest (Burke & Greenglass, 1995). Is it possible to empirically identify this and other coping types among early career teachers?

TYPES OF TEACHER COPING Previous studies have tended to adopt ‘variable centred’ approaches to consider teachers’ coping and emotional health primarily using mean scores

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and examining factor correlations (see Hakanen et al., 2006; Stoeber & Rennert, 2008). Few studies have considered how factors combine together to characterise different types of beginning teachers, according to whether they may be emotionally at risk, or coping well, in their early years. While variable centred approaches provide some information concerning how these variables interrelate, they do not tell us how factors might group to define different types or profiles of teachers. Yet, in order to better understand beginning teachers’ experience, we need to understand how they are coping in their early years. What types of professional and emotional coping do novice teachers display? This is the main question to be addressed in our study.

An Existing Typology of Health Professionals A large typological study has been conducted among diverse health professionals in Germany, including police, firefighters, aged-care workers, nurses, entrepreneurs, social workers, childcare professionals, penitentiary workers and teachers. On the basis of 11 self-reported coping dimensions from the AVEM questionnaire (Schaarschmidt & Fischer, 1997, Arbeitsbezogenes Verhaltens-und Erlebensmuster [Pattern of Work-related Coping Behavior]; subjective significance of work, professional ambition, tendency to exert, striving for perfection, emotional distancing, resignation tendencies, offensive coping with problems, balance and mental stability, satisfaction with work, satisfaction with life, and experience of social support), these researchers identified four types of health professionals who exhibited different profiles of coping: ‘G: Good psychological health’, ‘S: Sparing’, ‘A: Excessively ambitious’, and ‘B: Burnout’ (see Kieschke & Schaarschmidt, 2003, 2008; Schaarschmidt, 2004; Schaarschmidt & Fischer, 1997; Schaarschmidt, Kieschke, & Fischer, 1999). Types G and S exhibit positive psychological health, but differ in the extent to which they are committed to their professional work. Types A and B differ in their degree of professional commitment and are both risk types for poor psychological health outcomes. Rather than summary scores for each dimension, what is important is individuals’ profiles across the dimensions. For example, high professional commitment in and of itself does not constitute a health risk; however, if coupled with an impaired coping capacity, the individual will be psychologically at risk (Kieschke & Schaarschmidt, 2008).

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Specifically, type G show moderate professional commitment, are able to emotionally distance themselves from work, exhibit high wellbeing and possess good coping skills. Type S display below average commitment, a low sense of resignation indicating they have not given up, but an above average ability to distance themselves emotionally from their work. This group experiences high wellbeing stemming from factors outside the workplace, and typically complete only what work is necessary. Type A show excessive commitment to work, limited ability to emotionally distance themselves and poor coping skills, making them less resilient when faced with work stressors. They experience a discrepancy between their commitment and the absence of success, which leads to a ‘gratification crisis’ (see Kivima¨ki et al., 2004). Finally, type B are often exhausted and emotionally negative, have high dissatisfaction and reduced commitment to work, limited ability to cope and are less able to emotionally distance themselves from work, leading to lowered wellbeing (Kieschke & Schaarschmidt, 2008). The incidence of type B was most prevalent among teachers compared with other health professionals in the German study (Kieschke & Schaarschmidt, 2008).

Towards a Typology of Beginning Teachers’ Professional and Emotional Coping The dimensions and profiles identified by Kieschke and Schaarschmidt (2008); see also Klusmann, Kunter, Trautwein, Lu¨dtke, & Baumert, 2008 provide a well-developed and useful framework from which to approach the specific study of the professional and emotional coping profiles of beginning teachers. Since the German population of health professionals differed from our population of Australian beginning teachers, we expected to reveal some differences in identified coping profiles, due to the particular content of the teaching profession, participants’ work experiences and their work contexts. For example, in settings such as Germany where resigning a teaching position has a high ‘cost’, such as the loss of pension benefits, the consequences may induce teachers to remain, and possibly suffer high levels of emotional distress. It would be expected that heightened negative responses to stressors, coupled with a reluctance to leave the profession despite experiencing great difficulties, increases the risk of experiencing burnout. As another example, career switchers into teaching from a range of other professional backgrounds are likely to display different professional and

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emotional coping strategies from those of younger adults entering into their first job. Career switchers into teaching are rather common in the Australian context, but unlikely in Germany because of structural requirements to entering teacher education. Another difference between our study and the previous German study is that to better tap beginning teachers’ experiences in different professional and cultural settings, and to address our interest in specific dimensions of coping (e.g. emotional wellbeing), we added a measure of emotional exhaustion to the AVEM coping factors, as the basis from which to explore teacher types. Because the teaching profession has been found to be one of the most stressful professions with the highest incidence of burnout (Kieschke & Schaarschmidt, 2008), it seemed important to us to investigate this dimension more intently so as to better differentiate participants. These kinds of differences between our study and the German study are likely to lead to identification of different types of coping profiles among our sample of beginning teachers in Australia. The literature on beginning teachers foregrounds two dimensions which appear central to how they appraise their professional experiences. On the one hand, novice teachers are confronted by an array of competing demands, arising from within themselves, as well as a function of the characteristics of the profession played out in particular school environments. External demands, exercised through governmental and school-level policies and practices, increasingly push novice teachers to strive for high professional commitment and achievement. On the other hand, during the initial years of teaching, their emotional wellbeing is often challenged by the necessity to come to terms with factors such as interpersonal relationships with students, a high workload, gaining professional recognition from colleagues and parents and being often employed in insecure job contract positions. It is increasingly acknowledged that teachers’ psychological, physical and emotional wellbeing has a bearing on their professional aspirations, development and retention in the profession, and is thereby critically related to their students’ wellbeing and achievement (Richardson & Watt, 2010). If we are to better understand the reasons why people leave teaching early in their career, it seems especially important to reflect on the coping resources and strategies needed by beginning teachers and what might be the short and longer-term consequences of different coping mechanisms and strategies. The major objective of the study reported in this chapter was to identify profiles or clusters of beginning teachers with regard to their professional

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and emotional coping and consequent psychological wellbeing. Can different coping profiles be distinguished among beginning teachers? How do professional and emotional coping dimensions interrelate  are they associated or incompatible? And, what are the consequences for psychological health? To tap into these dimensions, we used the items of the AVEM questionnaire and added items from the emotional exhaustion scale of the Maslach Burnout Inventory – Educators’ Survey (MBI-ES; Maslach, Jackson, & Leiter, 1996) in order to investigate more thoroughly the emotional wellbeing dimension for teachers. As we have seen, teachers are more likely than other professionals to experience burnout, and emotional exhaustion is considered the core dimension of the burnout syndrome (Maslach et al., 2001). Enriching this dimension ought to therefore offer a better discrimination of beginning teacher types. We anticipated finding similar profiles to those identified in the German study (Kieschke & Schaarschmidt, 2008), resembling Ambitious, Sparing, Good health and Burnout; further, we expected the additional items tapping the emotional wellbeing dimension would provide a more fine-grained exploration of burnout-related profiles. In particular, and as proposed in the literature, we were interested in the possibility of differentiating a wornout from a burned out profile. We set out to empirically investigate these questions among a sample of Australian primary and secondary school teachers, within their first eight years of professional practice. Specifically, our key research questions were: 1. Are there different types of early career teachers in terms of their profiles of emotional coping? 2. Do they replicate the G/S/A/B types identified among a diverse sample of German health professionals? 3. Is a Wornout type empirically identifiable? 4. What are the consequences for emotional health? We hypothesised that a Burnout path would be identifiable but less pronounced for early career teachers; that Wornout and Burnout profiles could be distinguished as a consequence of including emotional exhaustion together with the AVEM; that the Ambitious type may not yet be at a point where they would be at psychological risk, since our focus is on beginning teachers who may not have had sufficient time in the profession to experience the levels of deletion associated with burnout; and finally, that in a teacher-only sample other coping types may be discernible.

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METHOD Participants and Procedure Longitudinal data come from 612 Australian beginning teachers (77.9% women) from the ongoing FIT-Choice project (Factors Influencing Teaching Choice; www.fitchoice.org), who completed primary or secondary teacher education (n=253 and 359 respectively), entered the teaching workforce, and were currently teaching or on a temporary break up to 8 years later (525 currently teaching). Data for the present study come from a broader set of measures collected via an online self-report survey following relevant ethical and departmental approvals.

Measures Emotional coping was measured by the short-form English translation of the AVEM (Kieschke & Schaarschmidt, 2008), as well as the Emotional Exhaustion (EE) subscale of the Maslach Burnout Inventory – Educators’ Survey, validated across a large sample of teaching professionals in the United States (MBI-ES; Maslach et al., 1996). The AVEM covers the areas of professional commitment, coping capacity and subjective wellbeing measured by 11 subscales each containing 6 items rated from 1 (strongly disagree) to 5 (strongly agree). The short-form consists of 1 item per 10 of these 11 dimensions, and 2 items for the Resignation dimension, considered a core factor by the authors (Kieschke & Schaarschmidt, 2008). The EE subscale of the MBI-ES measures feelings of being emotionally overextended and exhausted when individuals are unable to psychologically give of themselves to the degree required. Emotional health was measured by the Depression Anxiety and Stress Scale (DASS; Lovibond & Lovibond, 1995). The DASS taps three factors: Depression, Anxiety and Stress, measured by 21 statements rated in relation to the past two weeks, from 0 (did not apply to me at all) to 3 (applied to me very much, or most of the time). Descriptions of all measures including sample items are summarised in Table 1. Analyses Maximum likelihood exploratory factor analyses examined the structure from the items of the AVEM short-form; Cronbach’s alpha assessed internal consistency of resultant factors as well as the EE dimension of the MBI-ES.

3.76

5.32

4.86

3.67

M

1.20

0.93

1.33

1.54

SD

0.72

0.27

0.40

.85

.78

.89

0.51

0.39

0.57

applied to you over the

.90

.78

1=not at all true – 7=totally true

1=never – 7=every day

.68

1=not at all true – 7=totally true

‘Please read each statement and circle a number 0, 1, 2 or 3 which indicates how much the statement past week’. Stress 7 I found it hard to wind down. 0=Did not apply to me at all – 3=Applied to me very much, or most of the time Anxiety 7 I felt I was close to panic. 0=Did not apply to me at all – 3=Applied to me very much, or most of the time Depression 7 I felt down-hearted and blue. 0=Did not apply to me at all – 3=Applied to me very much, or most of the time

I feel used up at the end of a work day.

.73

a

1=not at all true – 7=totally true

Anchors

DASS (short-form)

6

Subjective wellbeing and coping

9

3

Professional exertion

To what extent is it true for you that you see work as the most important part of your life? To what extent is it true for you that you give too much of yourself, if a specific work assignment requires it? To what extent is it true for you that you are able to rely on understanding and support from people close to you?

Sample Item

Emotional Exhaustion

2

n items

Professional ambition

Construct

Construct Details, Reliabilities and Sample Descriptives.

MBI-ES

AVEM (short-form)

Scale

Table 1.

Types of Professional and Emotional Coping among Beginning Teachers 239

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Hierarchical cluster analysis using Ward’s method educed six profiles of emotional coping, with the decision about number of clusters based on the cluster dendogram, change in fusion coefficient relative to number of clusters, and substantive interpretability. Chi square tested for associations of clusters with gender, teaching strand and teaching status (whether currently teaching or on a temporary break). Two MANOVAs examined educed cluster differences on each of the set of clustering variables and the DASS dimensions.

RESULTS Emotional and Professional Coping Profiles Three ‘higher-order’ constructs were educed from the AVEM short-form: Subjective wellbeing and coping (6 items; a=.78), Professional ambition (2 items; a=.73) and Professional exertion (3 items; a=.68; see Table 1). The reliability of the EE factor was also confirmed (9 items; a=.90). Based on cluster analyses across these four factors, six types of emotional and professional coping profiles were identified (N=506). Influenced by the work of the German study referred to earlier (Kieschke & Schaarschmidt, 2008), we labelled the clusters: Good health (n=125, 24.7%), Sparing (n=91, 18.0%), (healthy) Ambitious (n=98, 19.4%), (path to) Burnout (n=92, 18.2%), Diligent (n =56, 11.1%) and Wornout (n=44, 8.7%). The Good health and Sparing clusters highly resembled those by the same name described by Kieschke and Schaarschmidt (2008). The (path to) Burnout cluster appeared to be not yet completely burned out and the (healthy) Ambitious cluster seemed not too excessively ambitious or at risk and were so named to distinguish from the German study types. A Wornout cluster could be identified and was empirically distinct from the (path to) Burnout type. As well, a new Diligent cluster was found (see Fig. 1 and Table 2). There was a higher proportion of men in the Sparing and Good health types; conversely a higher proportion of women in the (healthy) Ambitious, Diligent and (path to) Burnout types, all of which share a high level of professional exertion (w2(5, 504)=11.14, p=.049). No differences occurred for secondary versus primary strand. Teachers on a temporary break were over-represented in the Wornout type, and under-represented in (healthy) Ambitious, Good health and Sparing types (w2(5, 506)=16.49, p=.006).

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7 6 5 Professional ambition 4 Professional exertion 3

Subjective wellbeing and coping

2

Emotional exhaustion

ut W

or

no

in ar

y) lth (h

ea

at (p

Sp

tio bi Am

)B to h

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g

us

ut ur

he oo

d

ilig D

no

al

en

t

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1

Fig. 1.

Profiles of Beginning Teachers’ Coping. Note: All items rated from 1 to 7.

The six types significantly differed on the combined set of cluster variables (F(20,2000)=78.43, po.001, partial Z2=.44) and displayed significant differences on each of the four component dimensions: Professional ambition (F(5,500)=250.54, po.001, partial Z2=.71), Professional exertion (F(5,500)=143.16, po.001, partial Z2=.59), Subjective wellbeing and coping (F(5,500) = 47.95, po.001, partial Z2=.32) and Emotional exhaustion (F(5, 500)=139, po.001, partial Z2=.58). As shown in Table 2, Burnout and Wornout profiles scored significantly higher than the other types on emotional exhaustion and significantly lower on Subjective wellbeing and coping (Tukey post hoc tests, po.05). The Sparing type scored significantly lowest on Professional exertion and among the lowest on Professional ambition (not significantly different from the Wornout). The (healthy) Ambitious type scored significantly highest on Subjective wellbeing and coping and on Professional ambition, and among the highest in Professional exertion. The Good health and Diligent types displayed more average profiles, except that the first scored significantly lowest on Emotional exhaustion and the Diligent displayed highest scores on Professional exertion together with the (healthy) Ambitious and the (path to) Burnout types.

a,b,c

pW. 05 in Tukey paired post hoc comparisons.

2.75 (0.93) 5.96a (0.46) 5.60a (0.63) 3.73a (0.65)

Diligent M (SD) 3.77 (0.71) 4.22b (0.72) 5.35a (0.85) 2.82 (0.80)

Good Health M (SD) 4.54 (0.99) 5.91a (0.84) 4.59b (0.89) 5.16c (0.79)

(path to) Burnout M (SD) 5.57 (0.80) 5.73a (0.78) 5.99 (0.55) 3.44a,b (0.75)

(h)Ambitious M (SD)

Wornout M (SD) 1.89a (0.83) 4.32b (1.39) 4.37b (0.77) 5.26c (0.61)

Sparing M (SD) 2.01a (0.76) 3.32 (0.96) 5.56a (0.81) 3.28b (0.89)

Cluster Means on Dimensions of Professional and Emotional Coping (N=506).

Professional ambition Professional exertion Subjective wellbeing and coping Emotional exhaustion

Table 2.

242 PAUL W. RICHARDSON ET AL.

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Pattern/Type ‘(h)A’: (healthy) Ambitious These participants displayed among the highest scores on the AVEM scales. Work is central in their life and they want to achieve more than others. They give too much of themselves, want their work to be perfect and experience difficulties in switching off after work. Yet, they also report significantly highest scores of subjective wellbeing and coping. They are very satisfied with their life and professional success, and display offensive coping behaviours in actively confronting problems, coupled with low resignation when facing turmoil and challenges. Finally, they experience rather low levels of emotional exhaustion. Pattern/Type ‘S’: Sparing At the opposite end of the spectrum from the (healthy) Ambitious, participants identified as Sparing were mainly characterised by their low level of professional ambition and low professional exertion. Work is not at all the most important part of their life and they do not care about achieving more at work than others. They can easily switch off after work, and are more likely to distance themselves from it by not giving too much of themselves and not expecting their work to be perfect. Yet, these participants register very high wellbeing/coping and equally low emotional exhaustion to the (healthy) Ambitious type. Pattern/Type ‘G’: Good Health Between these two extremes, the participants identified as exhibiting Good health displayed moderate levels of professional ambition and exertion and had the lowest levels of emotional exhaustion. These participants seem to have found an agreeable level of professional investment and balance. Pattern/Type ‘D’: Diligent The Diligent pattern was a new type that appeared in our results, who simultaneously displayed a combination of low professional ambition and high professional exertion. On the one hand, they reported low scores for the importance of work in their lives and the motivation to achieve more work than others. On the other hand, they scored equal highest together with the (healthy) Ambitious and Burnout types with regard to their tendency to seek a high level of perfection in their work and give much of themselves when the demands of work require it. Further, they displayed similar positive levels of subjective wellbeing to the Sparing and Good health types, and similar low levels of emotional exhaustion to the (healthy)

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Ambitious. They therefore seem to perform their work very conscientiously and diligently but without considering it to be central part of their life. Pattern/Type ‘(p)B’: (path to) Burnout Participants in the (path to) Burnout profile were equal highest in professional exertion (together with the (healthy) Ambitious and Diligent types), and, second-highest after (healthy) Ambitious on professional ambition. However, they also scored significantly higher than the previous profiles on emotional exhaustion, and significantly lower on subjective wellbeing and coping. These participants therefore report significantly higher distress than the profiles presented above. They report feeling significantly more emotionally drained from their work, fatigued when they get up in the morning and ‘used up’ at the end of the day. They feel frustrated, and at the ‘end of their rope’. Complementarily, they display significantly lower scores of satisfaction with life and work, mental stability and assertive coping. Yet, they are still highly engaged in their work. Despite their high emotional distress, they keep working hard, giving much of themselves and seeking perfection in their work. They are among the most engaged teachers but at the same time, among the least happy ones. This group appears likely to be on a path to burnout. Pattern/Type ‘W’: Wornout Teachers in the Wornout type displayed similar scores to the Burnout type on both the Subjective wellbeing and coping and Emotional exhaustion dimensions. These groups were equally lowest on wellbeing – they were the least satisfied with their life and career, quickly unsettled by difficulties, and highest on emotional exhaustion, which is characterised by feeling frustrated, emotionally drained, fatigued in the morning and used up at the end of the day. However, attitudes of the Wornout type towards their work were diametrically opposed to those of the (path to) Burnout group. Whereas the (path to) Burnout type maintained high levels of work engagement, the Wornout type, together with the Sparing type, reported equal lowest scores on professional ambition. That is, they do not consider their work to be central in their life, do not seek perfection in their work, nor do they care about achieving more in their work than others. As a result, they exercised only moderate levels of professional exertion, and tended not to give much of themselves. While the (path to) Burnout teachers were still highly identified with their work and struggling to do it well, the Wornout type appeared rather disengaged from their work, and seem to

Types of Professional and Emotional Coping among Beginning Teachers

Table 3.

Cluster Means on Depression, Anxiety and Stress (DASS) (N=459). Diligent M (SD)

Depression Anxiety Stress a,b,c

245

b

0.38 (0.43) 0.20b (0.25) 0.82b (0.41)

Good Health M (SD) b

0.21 (0.36) 0.17b (0.30) 0.44c (0.40)

(path to) Burnout M (SD) a

0.86 (0.63) 0.53a (0.56) 1.24a (0.60)

(healthy) Ambitious M (SD) b

0.22 (0.30) 0.23b (0.27) 0.63b,c (0.44)

Sparing

Wornout

M (SD)

M (SD)

b

0.21 (0.23) 0.12b (0.21) 0.47c (0.42)

0.84a (0.64) 0.46a (0.54) 1.12a (0.61)

pW.05 in Tukey paired post hoc comparisons.

have given up, consistent with the conceptual distinction between the two types (Stephenson, 1990).

Consequences for Emotional Health Different types of coping profiles had consequences for beginning teachers’ emotional health as measured by the DASS (F(15,1377)=14.29, po.001, partial Z2=.14). There were statistically significant cluster differences for each of Depression (F(5,459)=38.71, po.001, partial Z2=.30), Anxiety (F(5,459)=16.08, po.001, partial Z2=.15) and Stress (F(5,459)=39.45, po.001, partial Z2=.30). As shown in Table 3, the Wornout and (path to) Burnout types scored significantly higher on each of these dimensions (Tukey post hoc tests, po .05). The other types scored similarly and lower on each of Depression and Anxiety; however, (healthy) Ambitious and Diligent types scored next highest after (path to) Burnout and Wornout on Stress, whereas Good health and Sparing types experienced the lowest stress levels.

DISCUSSION Teaching requires engaging in emotional labour, defined as the ‘emotional regulation required to display organisationally desired emotions by the employees’ (Zapf & Holz, 2006, p. 1). Empirical research has begun to reveal a range of negative mental and physical health outcomes, including burnout and its antecedents (emotional exhaustion and depersonalisation; for a review see Zapf, 2002) and psychosomatic ailments (Zapf, Vogt, Seifert,

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Mertini, & Isic, 1999), which stem from undertaking emotional labour. The research examining emotional demands on teachers at the classroom, school and systemic levels has identified that these impact teachers’ wellbeing, mental health, stress, burnout, job satisfaction as well as students’ learning (Chan, 2006; Kyriacou, 2001). Being a teacher involves working with energetic and unpredictable children or adolescents in sometimes unsympathetic and crowded environments (Nias, 1996), while engaging in intense, emotion-laden, personal interactions that occur at a frequency greater than most other professionals (Brotheridge & Grandey, 2002). Schools are complex emotional environments in which teachers must simultaneously self-regulate their own emotions and emotional displays, as well as the emotions of their students. Schools and classrooms are arena in which emotions are activated throughout the day. Negative emotions such as anxiety interfere with our cognitive capacity for processing information (Eysenck & Calvo, 1992), whereas positive emotions increase our capacity to generate new ideas and to handle difficulties (Frederickson, 2001). Hope, fear, joy, anxiety, anger and a host of other affective dimensions propel teachers and students in classrooms for different reasons. This affects teachers’ perceptions and appraisal of students; cognitive, emotional and moral development; curriculum engagement (Frenzel, Goetz, Ludtke, Pekrun, & Sutton, 2009); and, consequently, the quality of teacher/student interactions. It is perhaps because teachers are sensitive to the impact of high levels of negative emotions on both their own motivations and their students’ learning outcomes that they seek to ‘down regulate’ those emotions (Pekrun, Goetz, Titz, & Perry 2002; Sutton & Wheatley, 2003). Such regulation would seem to be important since students are highly attuned to their teachers’ emotional expressions (Thomas & Montgomery, 1998), and report feeling more intense negative emotions in response to teacher anger than peer anger (Klingman & Zeidner, 1993), for example. Teachers’ enthusiasm and expressions of joy in their work have a powerful influence on student motivation, interest, enjoyment and produce favourable student outcomes such as feelings of competence and autonomy (see Klusmann et al., 2008; Kunter et al., 2008). Frenzel et al. (2009) have shown that positive teacher emotions, which stem from enjoyment, are coupled with ‘ongoing social interactions between teacher and students in classrooms’ (p. 706) that forge positive relationships founded upon teacher care, support and high expectations for student achievement. They also motivate students to be more on task and exert more effort to complete their work. As a result, these students earn higher grades, score higher on standardised tests and adjust better to school (Skinner, Wellborn, & Connell,

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1990). However, suppression of negative emotions can, over time, affect teachers’ wellbeing. How teachers cope with the demands of teaching will vary from person to person. Among Australian early career teachers we have identified six types of coping profiles with varying implications for career outcomes, teacher wellbeing and that of their students. In this study we empirically investigated whether conceptually and theoretically proposed profiles of wellbeing and professional engagement might be discernible among a sample of beginning teachers. As hypothesised, distinct professional and emotional coping types were indeed identifiable, which resembled the Good health, Sparing, Ambitious and Burnout types identified in the German typological study of diverse health professionals (Kieschke & Schaarschmidt, 2008; see also Klusmann et al., 2008). We maintained the same labels for Good health and Sparing, which our beginning teacher types closely resembled, but adapted the other labels to (healthy) Ambitious and (path to) Burnout to reflect the particular characteristics of the beginning teacher sample. As a result of adding a measure of emotional exhaustion – the most apparent manifestation and a central component of burnout – we additionally identified a Wornout type, which was distinct from the (path to) Burnout as anticipated. As well, a new Diligent type was identified, likely particular to our investigation focused solely on a teacher sample rather than diverse health professionals. The two new clusters (Diligent n ¼ 56, 11.1%; Wornout n ¼ 44, 8.7%) were by no means negligible in terms of their representation. As we might have reasonably anticipated, given that these were early career teachers with perhaps insufficient time in the profession to yet experience the levels of depletion associated with full-blown burnout, the (path to) Burnout type were not yet fully burned out. Yet, this type still represented 18% of the sample. Being cognisant of the early career status of these professionals, we would venture that the (healthy) Ambitious type may not have had sufficient time in the profession in which to become ‘excessively ambitious’ and at psychological risk, as was the case in the previous German study (Kieschke & Schaarschmidt, 2008). Coping styles had clear implications for emotional health as measured by the DASS (depression, anxiety and stress). As expected and of high concern, the groups displaying high levels of emotional distress were the (path to) Burnout and the Wornout. In contrast to the Wornout type, the (path to) Burnout type, while exhausted, continued to exert high effort, and were engaged with and struggled to do well in their work. The Wornout profile appeared to have given up and disinvested from their work engagement, but both groups had low levels of subjective wellbeing and coping, were as

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affected by work stressors, and were equally emotionally ‘unhealthy’. The groups displaying the lowest levels of distress were the Sparing and Good health; the Diligent and (healthy) Ambitious were in between. One of the main results of our study was the empirical differentiation between burned-out and wornout teachers. This extends the literature on teacher burnout and offers new directions to the study of ‘at risk’ teachers. The Wornout (type ‘W’) profile is probably the most worrying. Following Burke and Greenglass (1995), we can assume that they will continue to exhibit reduced work goals, lowered idealism and responsibility for work outcomes, heightened emotional detachment, work alienation and selfinterest. This profile is probably the most negative and likely to become worse as the years in the job progress. Further, it is cause for concern to observe that such a profile exists even among beginning teachers, who are in the early years of their career. Taken together the Wornout and (path to) Burnout profiles account for 26.9% of the sample, which must be of concern to teacher educators and employing authorities alike. The Wornout profile have little interest in their work, appear to have given up trying, are not coping well, have low levels of professional ambition, and (like the path to Burnout type) the lowest levels of subjective wellbeing. People who exercise a high level of commitment to their work and who eventually become exhausted and cannot continue to perform are experiencing burnout. While the (path to) Burnout type remain high on professional exertion, they are experiencing emotional exhaustion, poor coping and low subjective wellbeing. While they continue to exert energy to be able to perform, it is doubtful that they will be able to sustain this level of professional exertion in the long term. These teachers are currently on the edge and will need to find a way to cope more effectively with the rigours of the profession. Some may adapt their standards and expectations to more moderate levels, whereas others will not be able to cope, become exhausted and no longer able to perform their duties, resulting in a tempering of their professional ambition and exertion.

IMPLICATIONS AND FUTURE DIRECTIONS There are important lessons to be learned from this study first, for teacher education, and second, teacher employers. There needs to be attention paid to the centrality of teachers’ coping, to ensure that beginning teachers are equipped in their preparatory studies with the skills and strategies to be able

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to cope with the considerable demands of the work they are called upon to undertake, and find a satisfying emotional balance which ensures they can engage in the relational work that is central to teaching children and adolescents. Teacher education programmes have almost exclusively concentrated on prototypical aspects of pedagogy and classroom management; with an emphasis on knowing what (content or declarative knowledge), how (pedagogical and procedural knowledge) and when (conditional knowledge). These programs have provided little, if any, guidance or instruction about how to establish, negotiate and manage relationships  skills central to the role of being a teacher, and indeed, often central to the choice of teaching as a career (Butler, 2010; Richardson & Watt, 2006, 2010; Watt & Richardson, 2007). Beginning teachers are placed in a very vulnerable position when fears, concerns and problems associated with learning to teach are exacerbated by multiple demands for which they have not been prepared. The highly situated nature of the emotional experiences of teaching and how these are constrained or supported by a school’s culture is largely overlooked in teacher education. Employing authorities need to ensure that beginning teachers are eased into the profession through appropriate workplace supports and training. Although a great deal has been done to introduce mentoring programs into schools across various Australian States and authorities, the implementation of those programs has been ‘patchy’, to say the very least. It would seem clear that it is high time for governments, employing authorities, politicians and the mass media to show greater understanding of what is demanded of teachers, especially beginning teachers. Repeated calls for the improvement of teacher quality will do little to address the problems being faced by teachers on a daily basis. Moreover, the literature from educational policy and leadership has increasingly recognised that teachers’ interpersonal work is framed by an apparatus of management structures that monitor and assess how teaching and learning is organised and conducted, resulting in work intensification, and instability stemming from curriculum and organisational reform (see Leithwood, 2007). How these multiple stressors are handled initially, and whether novice teachers have suitable coping strategies to accommodate these competing demands, are very likely to set in train the course of teachers’ long-term classroom behaviours and play a part in determining how satisfied they are with being a teacher and consequent levels of professional commitment, exertion, psychological health and wellbeing.

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ACKNOWLEDGEMENT The FIT-Choice research program is funded by the Australian Research Council DP0666253 awarded to Richardson, Watt, & Eccles (2006–2009); and ARC DP0987614 awarded to Watt & Richardson (2009–2012).

NOTE 1. The authors contributed equally to the chapter.

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A REFLECTION ON THE PLACE OF EMOTION IN TEACHING AND TEACHER EDUCATION Anita Woolfolk Hoy ABSTRACT The past decade has witnessed a growing appreciation of the role of emotions in cognition, motivation, decision-making and many other areas of research in psychology and education. This chapter draws upon the contents of the book as well as other sources to consider three questions: What emotions do teachers experience in schools and what shapes those emotions? How do emotions and relationships affect life in classrooms? What should be done to incorporate this knowledge into teacher education? Given the powerful role that emotions and relationships play in teaching and learning, it is critical for teacher education in both preservice and inservice settings to support the development of knowledge and skills for emotional self-regulation and the nurturing of relationships in classrooms. Keywords: Teacher education; teacher emotion; classroom life; teacher development The past decade has witnessed a growing appreciation of the role of emotions in cognition, motivation, decision making and many other areas of research

Emotion and School: Understanding How the Hidden Curriculum Influences Relationships, Leadership, Teaching, and Learning Advances in Research on Teaching, Volume 18, 255–270 Copyright r 2013 by Emerald Group Publishing Limited All rights of reproduction in any form reserved ISSN: 1479-3687/doi:10.1108/S1479-3687(2013)0000018017

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in psychology and education (cf. Kahneman, 2011; Neville, 2013; Schutz & Zembylas, 2009; Weiner, 2010). As Neville so vividly describes: Theories of teaching and learning used to ignore the role of emotions in the classroom, assuming that they were a sort of waste product that got in the way of the brain’s more important functions like cognition, memory, decision-making and planning. It is no longer possible to make this assumption y [because] in normal human functioning cognition and emotion are fully integrated. (pp. 21–22)

This volume is a much-needed guide to the theory and research on emotions in schools. Reading the chapters provides a basis for both breadth and depth in understanding the role of emotions in teaching. This chapter draws upon the contents of the book as well as other sources to consider three questions: What emotions do teachers experience in schools and what shapes those emotions? How do emotions and relationships affect life in classrooms? What should be done to incorporate this knowledge into teacher education?

TEACHERS’ EMOTIONS The early work on emotions in education focused on the role of emotions in attribution theory (Weiner, 2010), test anxiety for students (Zeidner, 1998) and burnout and emotional depletion for teachers (Grayson & Alvarez, 2008). Today, as Schutz and Lanehart (2002) observed in a Special Issue of the Educational Psychologist on Emotions in Education: y researchers interested in teaching, learning, and motivational transactions within the classroom context can no longer ignore emotional issues. Emotions are intimately involved in virtually every aspect of the teaching and learning process and, therefore, an understanding of the nature of emotions within the school context is essential.

In the recent study of emotions in teaching and learning, researchers have introduced the concepts of emotional work and emotional labour, described emotional display rules in teaching and examined the role of appraisals in constructing emotions (Newberry, 2013). What follows is a selective reflection on some of the newer work on teachers’ emotions.

Emotional Work and Emotional Labour The terms emotional work and emotional labour were new to me a few years ago. As I understand it, emotional labour is a kind of emotional regulation

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required for a job or professional role. Consistent with the goals of the organisation, employees are expected to express certain emotions and suppress others to clients, customers and co-workers as part of their job. Emotional work is also emotional regulation, but this time in a private, unpaid context, among family and friends. Here the individual chooses to display particular emotions, often to maintain valued relationships. Both emotional work and emotional labour require effort, planning and monitoring, but emotional work is done in private contexts among friends and family and emotional labour is done at work to meet the emotional display requirements of the job. In schools, ‘emotional labour involves the effort, planning, and control teachers need to express organizationally desired emotions during interpersonal transactions’ (Schutz, Aultman, & William-Johnson, 2009, p. 10). What is interesting about the distinction between emotional labour and emotional work is that for many teachers, their classroom is a kind of extended family with students as the children of the family. Their identity as ‘good teachers’ as well as the goals some teachers set for themselves often involve creating a feeling of community and socialising students to respect and care for each other. That teachers often use metaphors and images of ‘our class as a family’ means that some of what might be considered emotional labour, done to fit the requirements of employment, can become for many teachers the emotional work of maintaining caring relationships among family members.

Emotional Regulation and Display Rules There are individual as well as cultural differences in the emotions people are expected to feel and display or not feel and not display in given situations. In terms of individual differences, people tend to have relatively stable predispositions for certain ways of experiencing and expressing emotions, based on their temperament and personal experiences. Cultural differences include, for example, that individualist cultures may promote open expression of individual feelings, whereas collectivist cultures may favour expressing emotions that promote harmony and the good of the group. Within any culture, we would expect there might be different expectations for emotional experience and expression based on gender, age, religion, occupation or other dimensions (Schutz et al., 2009). The occupation of interest in this chapter is teaching. As Newberry (2013) notes, some teacher emotions are felt but not displayed whereas others are

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displayed but not felt. As examples of the feel but don’t show challenge, teachers are expected to avoid showing anger, even if they find students’ behaviours irritating, frustrating or confrontational. Teachers are expected not to like some students more than others, even though clearly some students are more enjoyable or rewarding to teach. Teachers are encouraged to care for all students in a world where schools are often seen as oases of safety and teachers are expected to assume many of the roles of family members in socialising students (Hargreaves, 2000). In meeting the show when you don’t feel challenge, teachers are expected to model enthusiasm and interest in all the subjects and topics they teach, even if they don’t feel that enthusiastic about them. They are expected to display concern, consistency and seriousness in the face of students’ misbehaviour, even when what they feel at times is amusement or insult. The difficulty of enacting these display rules can range from easy to exhausting. Emotional regulation is needed to align what teachers feel with the demands of the situation. Through the experiences of two second year teachers, Gallant’s chapter in this volume describes the many demanding display rules for teachers. Referring to Tsang’s (2011) research, Gallant notes that teachers are encouraged not to express emotions that are either too strong (anger, joy, sadness) or too weak. In the process, teachers must evidence love of their students and their work, enthusiasm and passion about the subject matter, and a sense of humour. This whole process is further complicated by grade and experience levels of the teacher. For example, novice teachers who work with young children are expected to be ‘bright, bubbly, colourful, caring, nurturing, patient, smiling, happy’ (p. 170) – the ideal (female) parent, whereas veteran teachers of young children are expected to be wise, loving, nurturing and patient – the ideal (female) grandparent. The emotional display demands on primary school teachers can be even more stressful when the teachers embrace the mission to ensure that each child’s first experience in school sets her or him on a path for life-long academic success. Thus teachers who take up this challenge as part of their identity must be the perfect parent to 20+ individual children, differentiating the caring and support for each. And as Newberry (2013) reminds us, ‘teachers do not have the luxury of focusing on single relationships. Classroom relationships are made in context of all of the other relationships that occur therein’ (p. 43).

What Shapes Teachers’ Emotions? Beyond the many factors that explain human emotions, what about teaching particularly shapes emotion?

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Classroom Management One aspect of teaching that is the source of many (often negative) emotions is classroom management (Melnick & Meister, 2008). Teachers are expected to display the emotions of caring while also achieving order and harmony by gaining and maintaining student cooperation, a fundamental task of teaching (Doyle, 2006). The tension between caring and order has long been identified as a dilemma for beginning teachers. Weinstein (1998) found that prospective teachers hold relatively narrow, dichotomous conceptions of both caring and order: Order is achieved through specific managerial strategies (e.g. establishing rules), whereas caring is demonstrated by displaying a nurturing attitude, willingness to listen and accessibility. Because preservice teacher education seldom includes a focus on classroom management, because student teachers usually do not observe their mentors establishing the kind of positive learning environment that engenders both caring and order, and because many student teaching experiences are the kind of ‘false apprenticeships’ described by Bullock (2013), novices have little guidance in classroom management and few mastery experiences on which to base an authentic sense of efficacy for management. Thus the emotions of these novices can range from helplessness to unrealistic optimism. Identity and Roles Struyve and Kelchtermans (2013) describe the intersection of identity, role and emotion for 28 elementary and secondary teachers who had become teacher leaders. These researchers document the poignant stories of individuals struggling to behave in ways that simultaneously satisfy both their former colleagues and those above them in the administrative hierarchy. Clearly innovations and reforms in administrative structures, while offering career advancement, bring with them emotional burdens, loneliness and tensions. In fact, any change in role has the capacity to elicit a whole range of positive and negative emotions. Testing, Evaluation and Accountability Every decade seems to bring new levels of monitoring and evaluation of teachers, increasingly connected to high-stakes testing results. As Newberry (2013, p. 39) notes, ‘With the recent trend in teacher accountability, teachers are under greater scrutiny than ever before. Many times they are subject to observations by several people on district and state levels’. The Chicago teachers’ strike in September 2012 was initiated in part because teachers disagreed with the way standardised test results figured into their evaluation.

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Other uses of testing are tying teacher bonuses to their students’ achievement or determining school funding based in part on testing results. The press for accountability that accompanies the No Child Left Behind Act (NCLB) will be with us for the foreseeable future, even though some of the NCLB restrictions seem to be easing. The evidence to date suggests that the NCLB goals for students are unrealistic and are likely to produce feelings of failure and demoralisation rather than success and pride. The focus on achievement for all students and the special attention on those who are performing poorly are praiseworthy, but if the AYP requirements are enforced, they will result in sanctions for many schools that are making great strides, followed by stress and anxiety for teachers (Linn, 2003). Such scrutiny-induced pressure forces teachers to focus on the technical aspects of their job, grind through the curriculum and deemphasise caring relationships with students (Na¨ring, Vlerick, & Van de Ven, 2012), thus changing the nature of teachers’ work and reducing the time for establishing sustaining relationships with students (Richardson, Watt, & Devos, 2013). These pressures on teachers to ‘raise test scores’ also have led to cheating for both students and teachers.

HOW DO EMOTIONS AND RELATIONSHIPS AFFECT LIFE IN CLASSROOMS? In this section, I highlight just a few ways that emotions and attributions play out in classrooms through decisions about classroom management, forming relationships with students and teaching content. Decisions About Class Management Dealing with student disruptions is a major source of frustration, tension and emotional depletion for all teachers (Bullock, 2013; den Brok, van der Want, Beijaard, & Wubbels, 2013). The teacher’s emotional response often is affected by attributions about causes. When teachers assume that students’ misbehaviour or failure is attributable to forces beyond the students’ control, the teachers tend to respond with sympathy and to avoid giving punishments. If, however, the failures are attributed to a controllable factor such as lack of effort, the teacher’s response is more likely to be anger; retribution and punishments may follow (Reyna & Weiner, 2001; Stipek, 2003).

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These tendencies seem to be consistent across time and cultures (Weiner, 2010). The differences in teachers’ responses based on attributions and the emotions that follow are in keeping with other research on adult–child interactions. Brophy (1996) reviewed a number of studies and concluded: ‘Thus adults tend to respond with concern, assistance, and attempts at long-term solutions when children’s problems do not threaten or irritate them; but they respond with anger, rejection, and emphasis on short term control or punishment when they do’ (p. 431). When threatened by students’ misbehaviour, teachers often become more custodial in their discipline styles (Hoy, 2001). But research suggests that the use of ‘get tough’ sanctions and external controls may be counterproductive (Woolfolk Hoy & Weinstein, 2006).

Forming Relationships with Students Positive relations with students have been assessed as one dimension of school climate (Collie, Shapka, & Perry, 2011, 2012). As such, positive relations are associated with a greater sense of teacher efficacy and lower levels of teacher stress (De Nobile & McCormick, 2005), as well as greater student engagement (Wu, Hughes, & Kwok, 2010) and teacher well-being (Klassen, Perry, & Frenzel, 2012). In fact, across three studies, Klassen and his colleagues concluded that ‘for teachers, satisfaction of the need for relatedness with students leads to higher levels of engagement and positive emotions, and lower levels of negative emotions, than does satisfaction of the need for relatedness with peers’ (2012, p. 150). The Long-Term Value of Classroom Relationships for Students Studies that followed students over several years in the United States and in Italy have found that prosocial behaviours and social competence in the early grades are related to academic achievement and popularity with peers as many as five years later (Elias & Schwab, 2006). Developing emotional self-regulation is especially important in the early years when students are learning how to learn in schools. For example, Valiente and his colleagues (2010) followed almost 300 students from the beginning to the end of kindergarden to assess the relations between effortful self-control, emotionality and academic achievement. They found that students’ anger, sadness and shyness were negatively related to achievement and that self-control was positively related to achievement, particularly for students who showed

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lower levels of negative emotions. So helping students develop emotional self-regulation can set them on a good path for learning in school and probably can help them in social relations with their peers as well. Hamre and Pianta (2001) followed all the children who entered kindergarten in a small school district one year and then continued in that same district through the 8th grade. The researchers concluded that the quality of the teacher–student relationship in kindergarten (defined in terms of level of conflict with the child, the child’s dependency on the teacher and the teacher’s affection for the child) predicted a number of academic and behavioural outcomes through the 8th graders, particularly for students with high levels of behaviour problems. Even when the gender, ethnicity, cognitive ability and behaviour ratings of the student were accounted for, the relationship with the teacher still predicted aspects of school success. In a recent study that followed children from 3rd to 5th grade, Pianta and his colleagues found that two factors helped children with lower skills in mathematics to close the achievement gap. The factors were higher-level (not just basic skills) instruction and positive relationships with teachers (Crosnoe et al., 2010). Evidence is mounting for a strong association between the quality of teacher–child relationships and school performance. Also, students with significant behaviour problems in the early years are less likely to have problems later in school if their teachers are sensitive to their needs and provide frequent, consistent feedback. Although both teachers and students might agree that relationships are critical in classrooms, they may have very different ideas about how to form and maintain them.

Teachers’ and Students’ Contrasting Views of Relationship In reviewing the research on what kinds of relationships students and teachers want with each other, Woolfolk Hoy and Weinstein (2006) found a number of conflicts. Students want teachers to maintain order without being mean or punitive. As they mature, students value choices and chances for responsibilities – they do not want to feel coerced or controlled. Students want respect, affection, trust, a listening ear, patience and humour in their relationships with teachers (Habel, Bloom, Ray, & Bacon 1999; Wentzel, 1997). Often, students’ decisions about whether to cooperate are based on their liking for the teacher. As a student commented: ‘If I don’t like ‘em y I’m not gonna do anything for ‘em’ (Stinson, 1993, p. 221). Teachers who are caring yet provide limits, who have high behavioural and academic expectations yet structure lessons that incorporate students’

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needs and interests are viewed by students as worthy of their cooperation and respect. Even though all students indicate a desire for caring teachers, students who are marginalised particularly value personal caring. They want teachers who care about their home lives, welfare, personal problems and futures – teachers who keep them out of trouble (Cothran & Ennis, 2000; Davidson, 1999). Teachers, on the other hand, look for respect for authority (particularly their authority), cooperation and compliance with school and classroom rules and procedures (Johnson, Whitington, & Oswald, 1994; McCaslin & Good, 1998). Teachers are more likely to ignore personal relations and focus on improving the behaviour and academic performance of alienated students (Brophy, 1996), or the teachers may decide that these students cannot be reached at all and simply demand compliance. Often with pressures on the teachers to raise test scores and maintain order, come more directive and punitive control strategies (Woolfolk Hoy & Weinstein, 2006). Successful students, in contrast, are more likely to value teachers who help them with their academic work and help them get good grades, though they want the respect of the teacher as well. With more successful students, teachers tend to give choices and responsibilities, with less insistence on rule compliance (Flowerday & Schraw, 2000). In other words, teachers may communicate more caring to successful students. But many less successful, marginalised students want teachers to care for them first, their learning and their personal lives, before the students will respect and cooperate with the teachers. Teachers, in contrast, seem to believe that students need to earn their respect, relationship, concern and interest – in a word, their caring. The teachers will provide choices and autonomy support only after the students successfully self-regulate and not before. The problem inherent in these contrasting views of good classroom management is a possible downward spiral of mistrust (Sheets & Gay, 1996, p. 14). Students withhold their cooperation until teachers ‘earn it’ with their authentic caring. Teachers withhold caring until students ‘earn it’ with respect for authority and cooperation. Marginalised students expect unfair treatment and behave defensively. Teachers act tough, publicly reprimand and punish. Students feel correct in mistrusting and become more guarded and defiant. Teachers feel correct in mistrusting and become more controlling and punitive, and so it goes. All this based on different perceptions of the meaning of caring and the requirements for forming close, supportive relationships.

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Teacher Emotions and Student Learning Some studies have found that ratings of teachers’ enthusiasm for their subject are correlated with student achievement gains (Keller, Neumann, & Fischer, 2013), whereas warmth, friendliness and understanding seem to be the teacher traits most strongly associated with students’ liking the teacher and the class in general (Hamann, Baker, McAllister, & Bauer, 2000; Madsen, 2003). But because these are correlational studies, results do not tell us that teachers’ enthusiasm causes student learning or that warmth causes positive attitudes, only that the two variables tend to occur together. Two possible connections are that when teachers are enthusiastic, they capture and hold student attention and that enthusiastic teachers model engagement and interest in learning (Long & Woolfolk Hoy, 2006; Keller et al., 2013). Student attention, interest and engagement lead to learning. Of course it is easier to be an enthusiastic teacher when your students are learning. Given the relationship between teacher enthusiasm and student learning, whatever the mechanisms, is it advisable for teachers to feign enthusiasm and interest in the subjects they are teaching? Is this sort of surface acting valuable or should teachers seek a way to act deeply, consistent with the expressions of enthusiasm. The emotional work needed to discover or construct a fascination with the material taught is likely a good investment.

IMPLICATIONS FOR TEACHER EDUCATION Teachers are neither warned about nor prepared for the reality that their chosen profession will require emotional labour to enact a myriad of sometimes contradictory display rules; that they will live with a constantly changing landscape of criticism and reforms ‘inflicted’ upon them by parents, administrators and policy makers; that pressures of accountability will rob them of time for nurturing relationships with students and for teaching in ways that sustain them and that caring for the students in their charge can be emotionally exhausting. Attrition and burnout are sometimes the outcomes of this lack of forewarning and preparation (Richardson et al., 2013). What can be done? I will look only briefly at the possibilities of improvements in teacher education and preparation in classroom management, directly addressing self-regulation and social support.

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Is Teaching Bad for You? Individuals who are strongly committed to teaching but lack the necessary coping and emotional self-regulation skills to manage stress are candidates for exhaustion and burnout; thus professional commitment is not a uniformly positive or simple attribute. By identifying four patterns of professional commitment, satisfaction and coping, Kieschke and Schaarschmidt (2008) uncovered pathways of risk that can lead to psychological and physical problems. At least over the three years that the researchers followed their sample, only those teachers who began in the G (good health) group were still in this group at the end of the study. People with the G pattern had high, but not the highest, professional commitment. They were able to emotionally distance themselves from their work – they were good at relaxing and preventing professional problems from intruding into personal and leisure time. No teachers moved from the three riskier patterns to the type G cluster. These trends were troubling because only about 16% of the teachers began in the G group and none were added over the next three years. Based on Kieschke and Schaarschmidt’s data comparing the percent of workers in the G group across six occupations including teaching, it is temping to ponder whether teaching is bad for your health. The notion of a balanced life and the self-regulating professional is seldom discussed in teacher inservice or preservice education. Perhaps it should be. Some healthy emotional distance and balance in commitment to teaching may be necessary to sustain a healthy life as a teacher (Kieschke & Schaarschmidt, 2008). Where do prospective teachers discuss these ideas, much less develop the self-regulation tools to thrive in their profession? They are more likely to encounter either unrealistic optimism or jaded cynicism in their courses and field placements. Self-Regulation Social and emotional competences and self-regulation are critical for both academic and personal development. The Collaborative for Academic, Social and Emotional Learning (CASEL) lists five core social and emotional skills and competencies: 1. Self-awareness – accurately assessing your feelings, interests, values and strengths; maintaining a well-grounded sense of self-confidence. 2. Self-management – regulating your emotions to handle stress, control impulses and persevere in overcoming obstacles; setting and monitoring

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progress towards personal and academic goals; expressing emotions appropriately. 3. Social awareness – taking the perspective of and empathising with others; recognising and appreciating individual and group similarities and differences; recognising and using family, school and community resources. 4. Relationship skills – establishing and maintaining healthy and rewarding relationships based on cooperation; resisting inappropriate social pressure; preventing, managing and resolving interpersonal conflict; seeking help when needed. 5. Responsible decision-making – making decisions based on consideration of ethical standards, safety concerns, appropriate social norms, respect for others and likely consequences of various actions; applying decisionmaking skills to academic and social situations; contributing to the wellbeing of one’s school and community (http://casel.org/why-it-matters/ what-is-sel/skills-competencies/). It is apparent that emotional self-regulation is a requirement for teaching. Teachers are expected to regulate their own emotions and help their students learn to do the same. As we have seen, teachers who can self-regulate to keep their professional and personal lives separate are healthier and students with behavioural issues in the early grades are more likely to learn to selfregulate when they have positive supportive relationships with their teachers; these gains are apparent well into middle school (Crosnoe et al., 2010; Hamre & Pianta, 2001). Yet in most teacher preparation programmes, very little time is devoted to teaching self-regulation strategies for either students or the prospective teachers themselves. Teacher Education and Self-Regulation What if student teachers learned to support their students’ self-regulated learning and incorporated self-regulated learning strategies into their regular lessons? This question is being systematically studied at the University of British Columbia. Prospective teachers who join the Self-Regulated Learning cohort explore how to design tasks and interact with students to support self-regulated learning. The student teachers work collaboratively with school-based mentor teachers, university teachers and researchers in UBC’s Teacher Education Programme. The initial results of this effort were encouraging (Perry & Collie, 2011). Compared to student teachers in the general cohort, student teachers in the

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self-regulated learning group reported higher levels of confidence, lower levels of anxiety and more engagement at the end of their practicum, even though they found the experience moderately stressful. In fact, the more they implemented self-regulated learning practices, the lower their stress. The researchers speculated that perhaps integrating the self-regulation strategies allowed the student teachers to use complex tasks, choice and collaboration – approaches that often challenge beginning teachers. These approaches are known to motivate and engage students, so management problems – a major source of stress for all teachers – may have been minimised.

Social Support Social support appears to sustain a sense of efficacy for beginning teachers (Tschannen-Moran & Woolfolk Hoy, 2007; Woolfolk Hoy & Burke-Spero, 2005) and healthy coping for more experienced teachers (Kieschke & Schaarschmidt, 2008). When prospective teachers leave the social supportrich settings of university classes, cohorts and colleagues, they often enter a much more isolated world in the classroom. Could teacher education prepare its graduates to self-regulate their own social support networks? Perhaps if we answered these questions we might increase the number of ‘persisters’ (Richardson et al., 2013) graduating from our programmes.

REFERENCES Brophy, J. E. (1996). Teaching problem students. New York, NY: Guilford Press. Bullock, S. M. (2013). Learning to teach and the false apprenticeship: Emotion and identity development during the field experience placement. In M. Newberry, A. Gallant & P. Riley (Eds.), Emotion and school: Understanding how the hidden curriculum influences relationships, leadership, teaching, and learning (pp. 119–140). Bingley, UK: Emerald. CASEL. Retrieved from http://casel.org/why-it-matters/what-is-sel/skills-competencies Collie, R. J., Shapka, J. D., Perry, N. E. (2012). Social and emotional learning and school climate: Predicting teacher stress, job satisfaction, and efficacy. Journal of Educational Psychology, 104, 1189–1204. Collie, R. J., Shapka, J. D., & Perry, N. E. (2011). Predicting teacher commitment: The impact of school climate and social–emotional learning. Psychology in the Schools, 48, 1034–1048. Cothran, D. J., & Ennis, C. D. (2000). Building bridges to student engagement: Communicating respect and care for students in urban high school. Journal of Research and Development in Education, 33(2), 106–117.

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Crosnoe, R., Morrison, F., Burchinal, M., Pianta, R., Keating, D., Friedman, S. L., & ClarkeStewart, K. A. (2010). Instruction, teacher–student relations, and math achievement trajectories in elementary school. Journal of Educational Psychology, 102, 407–417. Davidson, A. L. (1999). Negotiating social differences: Youths’ assessments of educators’ strategies. Urban Education, 34(3), 338–369. den Brok, P., van der Want, A., Beijaard, D., & Wubbels, T. (2013). The interpersonal dimension in the classroom: A model of teachers’ interpersonal role identity, appraisal and teacher–student relationships. In M. Newberry, A. Gallant & P. Riley (Eds.), Emotion and school: Understanding how the hidden curriculum influences relationships, leadership, teaching, and learning (pp. 141–159). Bingley, UK: Emerald. De Nobile, J., & McCormick, J. (2005). Job satisfaction and occupational stress in catholic primary schools. Paper Presented at the Annual Conference of the Australian Association for Research in Education, Sydney, Australia. Doyle, W. (2006). Ecological approaches to classroom management. In C. Evertson & C. S. Weinstein (Eds.), Handbook for classroom management: Research, practice, and contemporary issues. Mahwah, NJ: Erlbaum. Elias, M. J., & Schwab, Y. (2006). From compliance to responsibility: Social and emotional learning and classroom management. In C. Evertson & C. S. Weinstein (Eds.), Handbook for classroom management: Research, practice, and contemporary issues. Mahwah, NJ: Erlbaum. Flowerday, T., & Schraw, G. (2000). Teachers’ beliefs about instructional choice: A phenomenological study. Journal of Educational Psychology, 92, 634–645. Gallant, A., & Riley, P. (2013). The emotional labour of the aspirant leader: Traversing school politics. In M. Newberry, A. Gallant & P. Riley (Eds.), Emotion and school: Understanding how the hidden curriculum influences relationships, leadership, teaching, and learning (pp. 81–97). Bingley, UK: Emerald. Grayson, J., & Alvarez, H. (2008). School climate factors relating to teacher burnout: A mediator model. Teaching and Teacher Education, 24, 1349–1363. Habel, J., Bloom, L, Ray, M., & Bacon, E. (1999). Consumer reports: What students with behavior disorders say about school. Remedial and Special Education, 20(2), 93–105. Hamann, D. L., Baker, D. S., McAllister, P. A., & Bauer, W. I. (2000). Factors affecting university music students’ perceptions of lesson quality and teaching effectiveness. Journal of Research in Music Education, 48, 102–113. Hamre, B. K., & Pianta, R. C. (2001). Early teacher–child relationships and the trajectory of children’s school outcomes through eighth grade. Child Development, 72, 625–638. Hargreaves, A. (2000). Mixed emotions: Teachers’ perceptions of their interactionswith students. Teaching and Teacher Education, 16(8), 811–826. Hoy, W. K. (2001). The pupil control studies: A historical, theoretical, and empirical analysis. Journal of Educational Administration, 39, 424–442. Johnson, B., Whitington, V., & Oswald, M. (1994). Teacher’s views of school discipline: A theoretical framework. Cambridge Journal of Education, 24, 261–278. Kahneman, D. (2011). Thinking, fast and slow. New York, NY: Farrar, Straus and Giroux. Keller, M., Neumann, K., & Fischer, H. E. (2013). Teacher enthusiasm and student learning. In J. Hattie & E. Anderman (Eds.), International handbook of student achievement (pp. 247–250). New York, NY: Routledge. Kieschke, U., & Schaarschmidt, U. (2008). Professional commitment and health among teachers in Germany: A typological approach. Learning and Instruction, 18(5), 429–437.

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Klassen, R. M., Perry, N. E., & Frenzel, A. C. (2012). Teachers’ relatedness with students: An underemphasized component of teachers’ basic psychological needs. Journal of Educational Psychology, 104, 150–165. Linn, R. L. (2003). Accountability: Responsibility and reasonable expectations. Educational Researcher, 32(7), 3–13. Long, J. F., & Woolfolk Hoy, A. (2006). Interested instructors: A composite portrait of individual differences and effectiveness. Teaching and Teacher Education, 22, 303–314. Madsen, K. (2003). The effect of accuracy of instruction, teacher delivery, and student attentiveness on musicians’ evaluation of teacher effectiveness. Journal of Research in Music Education, 51, 38–51. McCaslin, M., & Good, T. L. (1998). Moving beyond management as sheer compliance: Helping students to develop goal coordination strategies. Educational Horizons, 76, 169–176. Melnick, S. A., & Meister, D. G. (2008). A comparison of beginning and experienced teacher concerns. Education Research Quarterly, 31(3), 39–56. Na¨ring, G, Vlerick, P., & Van de Ven, B. (2012). Emotion work and emotional exhaustion in teachers: The job and individual perspective. Educational Studies, 38(1), 63–72. Newberry, M. (2013). The demand of multiplicity in the classroom: Emotion regulation and cognitive load. In M. Newberry, A. Gallant & P. Riley (Eds.), Emotion and school: Understanding how the hidden curriculum influences relationships, leadership, teaching, and learning (pp. 25–48). Bingley, UK: Emerald. Perry, N., & Collie, R. (2011, April). Can teaching students to self-regulate learning enhance motivation for teaching and well-being in student teachers? Paper presented at the annual meeting of the American Educational Research Association, New Orleans, LA. Reyna, C., & Weiner, B. (2001). Justice and utility in the classroom: An attributional analysis of the goals of teachers’ punishment and intervention strategies. Journal of Educational Psychology, 93, 309–319. Richardson, P. W., Watt, H. M. G., & Devos, C. (2013). Types of professional and emotional coping among beginning teachers. In M. Newberry, A. Gallant & P. Riley (Eds.), Emotion and school: Understanding how the hidden curriculum influences relationships, leadership, teaching, and learning (pp. 229–253). Bingley, UK: Emerald. Schutz, P. A., Aultman, L. P., & William-Johnson, M. R. (2009). Educational psychology perspectives on teachers’ emotions. In P. A. Schutz & M. Zembylas (Eds.), Advances in Teacher Emotion Research (pp. 2–10). New York, NY: Springer Science. Schutz, P. A., & Lanehart, S. L. (2002). Emotions in education: Guest Editors’ Introduction. Educational Psychologist, 37, 67–68. Schutz, P. A., & Zembylas, M. (Eds.). (2009). Advances in teacher emotion research: The impact on teachers’ lives. New York, NY: Springer Science. Sheets, R. H., & Gay, G. (1996). Student perceptions of disciplinary conflict in ethnically diverse classrooms. NASSP Bulletin, 80(580), 84–95. Stinson, S. W. (1993). Meaning and value: Reflections on what students say about school. Journal of Curriculum and Supervision, 8(3), 216–238. Stipek, D. (2003). Motivation to learn (4th ed.). Boston, MA: Allyn & Bacon. Struyve, C., & Kelchtermans, G. (2013). Organisational position and social–professional relationships in schools: An exploratory study of teacher leaders’ work life in Flanders. In M. Newberry, A. Gallant & P. Riley (Eds.), Emotion and school: Understanding how the hidden curriculum influences relationships, leadership, teaching, and learning (pp. 63–80). Bingley, UK: Emerald.

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Tsang, K. (2011). Emotional labour of teaching. Educational Researcher, 2(8), 1312–1316. Tschannen-Moran, M., & Woolfolk Hoy, A. (2007). The differential antecedents of self-efficacy beliefs of novice and experienced teachers. Teaching and Teacher Education, 23, 944–956. Valiente, C., Lemery-Chalfant, K., & Swansos, J. (2010). Prediction of kindergartners’ academic achievement from their effortful control and emotionality: Evidence for direct and moderated relations. Journal of Educational Psychology, 102, 550–560. Weiner, B. (2010). The development of an attribution-based theory of motivation: A history of ideas. Educational Psychologist, 45, 28–36. Weinstein, C. S. (1998). ‘‘I want to be nice, but I have to be mean’’: Exploring prospective teachers’ conceptions of caring and order. Teaching and Teacher Education, 14(2), 153–163. Wentzel, K. R. (1997). Student motivation in middle school: The role of perceived pedagogical caring. Journal of Educational Psychology, 89(3), 411–419. Woolfolk Hoy, A., & Burke-Spero, R. (2005). Changes in teacher efficacy during the early years of teaching: A Comparison of four measures. Teaching and Teacher Education, 21, 343–356. Woolfolk Hoy, A., & Weinstein, C. S. (2006). Students’ and teachers’ perspectives on classroom management. In C. Evertson & C. S. Weinstein (Eds.), Handbook for classroom management: Research, practice, and contemporary issue (pp. 181–220). Mahwah, NJ: Lawrence Erlbaum. Wu, J., Hughes, J. N., & Kwok, O. (2010). Teacher–student relationship quality type in elementary grades: Effects on trajectories for achievement and engagement. Journal of School Psychology, 48, 357–387. Zeidner, M. (1998). Test anxiety: The state of the art. New York, NY: Plenum.

AFTERWORD: THE TEACHING FANTASIA In Disney’s Fantasia, the sorcerer’s apprentice attempts to do what he has observed so many times before. Picking up the master’s wand and placing his cap squarely on his head, he begins to cast spells. It is not long before the spells get away from him. His attempt to correct the mess by casting more misguided spells only adds to the chaos. As the editors of this book, we found this an interesting analogy to the situation of the educational system globally. The parallels between the unskilled but hopeful apprentice and the novice teacher; the attempt to clean up a mess by casting misguided spells to the barrage of reform movements; and the misunderstanding of the mastering of magic to the misconceptions of what it means to teach, to us seemed self-evident. There are some crucial issues that we must deal with if we are to begin to make any serious changes to the current state of affairs.

THE SORCERER’S APPRENTICE As outlined in these chapters, pre-service teachers, beginning teachers, experienced teachers, teacher leaders and aspirant leaders all face the growing demands of emotional labour and are engaged in the emotional work that underpins learning environments. The ‘false apprenticeship’ (Bullock, 2013) highlights how teacher education remains historically problematic, with its focus on observation for replication, rather than the development of an individual’s capability. Educators need to be enabled to refocus their attention on developing professional capital (Hargreaves & Fullan, 2012). According to Hargreaves and Fullan (2012) there are three elements that produce professional capital, these are human capital, social capital and decisional capital. The presence of all three is vital for a healthy productive education system. The education system is made up of people and education is for the people. Society and future societies rely on professional capital being promoted within education. Before that can happen, the apprentice teacher needs to have the opportunity to systematically explore the expert teachers’ decisional capital. 271

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Expert teachers’ need to have time to engage the apprentice teacher in critical dialogues about pedagogy and the emotional labour and work that supports learning. It would seem that if this cannot be addressed it is likely that that theory into practice divide will remain unabridged. This same disconnect will be replicated within the online community of learners, as Borup et al. (2013) highlighted when describing the highly demanding, just in time, emotional labour and emotion work that is also occurring in online learning and teaching. The virtual care required to sustain learners in this environment is intense and consequently social capital is needed to promote sustainable teaching and learning. ‘Social capital increases your knowledge – it gives you access to other peoples’ human capital’ (Hargreaves & Fullan, 2012, p. 90). An implication for virtual learning, as well as in face-to-face environments, is that the focus should be on developing human capital through social capital. Also what this volume highlights is the need for increased awareness of the teacher leaders who find themselves in liminal space, when enacting their decisional capital in their new untitled roles. As educators we need the emphasis on working towards developing greater social capital so that teacher leaders can be freed from walking the micro-political tightrope, which is emotionally taxing and detracts from capability building and consequently minimises professional capital. As Hargreaves and Fullan (2012) argue ‘every time you increase the purposeful learning of teachers working together you get both short-term results and longer term benefits as teachers learn the value of their peers and come to appreciate the worth of constructive disagreement’ (p. 91). It is also the social capital of aspirant leaders that ameliorated their wounding and enabled their resilience in pursuing their ambitions. However, to what extent does this emotional work lead to or inhibit their decisional capital as leaders? The implication here is for further research that will enable the promotion of, and engagement in, professional capability building for the next generation of leaders. The emotional labour and work of teaching and leading in schools is increasing with societal demands, and more recently agricultural economists’ input regarding teacher effectiveness, accompanied by technocratic visions of educational practice. All of which does little to ameliorate diminishing practitioner self-esteem, and worn out or burnt out teachers. As Neville (2013) articulated ‘our brain is sculpted by our experience’ positively or negatively (p. 14) and this applies to students, teachers and leaders. Policy needs to be more critically examined for its potential impact in light of this and scrutinised in its implementation. Economic and technocratic blinkers have led politicians and other external advisors to ignorantly scrutinise

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teachers and leaders, even contractually obligating them to commit to emotion work, while ignoring educators decisional capital. As identified by Hargreaves and Fullan (2012) professionals acquire and accumulate through structured and unstructured experiences, practice, and reflection – capital that enables them to make wise judgements in circumstances where there is not fixed rule or piece of incontrovertible evidence to guide them. Decisional capital is enhanced by drawing on the insights and experiences of colleagues in forming judgements over many occasions. In other words, in teaching and other professions, social capital is actually an integral part of decisional capital, as well as an addition to it. (pp. 93–94)

The creation of all kinds of capital requires time and space. The clear implication from all of the arguments in this volume is that those with the professional decisional capital have been denied informational justice.1 And this has been to the detriment of education and those who make up this system, in allowing the emotional labour and work to remain as hidden curriculum leaving apprentices to their own devises.

MISGUIDED SPELLS As we move further into the information age, trust in institutions is diminishing. Trust in the political process, the priesthood, medical practitioners and teachers, to name just a few, have arguably never been lower than now. ‘Schools once enjoyed the implicit trust of their communities’ (Tschannen-Moran, 2004, p. 7), but increasingly they appear to be in ‘contrived collaboration’ with policy makers, where ‘teachers’ input [and expertise] is rarely taken seriously’ (Tschannen-Moran, 2004, p. 79). Yet the teacher–student relationship, the teacher–leader relationship and the policy–practice relationship rely on trust. When trust is low, organisations compensate by resorting to micromanagement and increasingly prescribed and detailed accountability, in an attempt to eliminate the need for trust. This response is always counterproductive, because trust cannot be denied or circumvented. And, nothing can replace it. To trust another person or institution involves making oneself vulnerable to them. To rely on another, or to be interdependent, is to relinquish power to the other. In the current low-trust climate existing in many parts of the world relinquishing power is too high a price to pay for those in control. Instead they mistakenly resort to manipulating systems in a counterproductive effort to reduce or remove the need for trust and replace it with what Andy Hargreaves powerfully describes in the preface to this volume as

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‘hyper-rationality’ and the tyranny of imposed reform (p. xiii). Rather than fix the problem of low trust, these tyrannies reduce it even further, creating more difficulties and many negative emotions in teachers, leaders, students and parents. Politicians respond by blaming teachers and promising to weed out the low performers, be they teachers or leaders, priming media organisations with stories of the political rescue of the system by policy changes that invariably involve increased simplistic accountability based on unstable data, incorrect assumptions about the influence of teaching contexts and exogenous pressures which lead to attribution errors about causes and effects of teacher effectiveness (Berliner, 2012). Parents and students pick these stories up and can misinterpret teachers’ intentions and behaviours. The chapters of this book revolve around the hidden curriculum, the profession’s emotional work and emotional labour. A commonality across all chapters is that a healthy vibrant system is built on and from trusting relationships and the tentative embrace of uncertainty. Real experts know the limits of their knowledge and embrace the boarder between knowing and not knowing, for that is where growth lies. We have to get back to understanding that it is the relationships that hold the system together that are under threat, not learning outcomes. Get the administrative, leading, teaching and learning relationships right and the outcomes will flow. Interfere with these relationships and the emotional labour of teaching and contrived collaboration increases. The end point is disenchantment in the form of either worn out or burnt out teachers and leaders (Richardson, Watt, & Devos, 2013, Ch. 12). Around the world education systems seem to be caught up in this downward spiral that continually reduces trust in both the system and the members who inhabit it. It is a situation similar to that of the sorcerer’s apprentice, a continual escalation of responses to problems that create more problems.

MISUNDERSTANDING OF PROFESSIONAL SKILLS In March of 2012, Dr Clay M. Christensen, professor in the Harvard Business School, claimed that the relational aspect of teaching makes a difference in traditional universities and will do so even more in the future. The power of relationships was reinforced for him while a guest at a university banquet where, while seated next to the university president, the many donors who gave generously to the university were pointed out to him. One by one, the president connected the generosity of each alumnus to

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a professor or coach that had changed his or her life while attending the university. Dr Christensen then began to pay attention to his own university and hung back at the business school alumni dinners to try to get to the source of allegiance of those who continued to support their alma mater. He stated, y in every case it was the relationship with a faculty member that changed their lives. And the scary thing is, [of all the professors they had come into contact with in the business school] there were only eight who account for almost all of that discussion y When we hire professors, we hire them because we think they will be great researchers and publish a lot. And, as a second thought, then we hope that she’s a good teacher. But never do we think [about] whether in her heart, or his heart, [there] is the drive to mould these young people to be great people. (Christensen, 2012)

Teachers do change the lives of their students through the many ways they relate to them on both a cognitive and emotional level. If this is evident for adults in institutes of higher learning, it is much more profound between students and their teachers and leaders in primary and secondary schools. As David Berliner (2012) emphasized, this should not be confused with teachers improving class mean scores on standardised tests. Education is about relationships, mainly the relationship between teaching and learning. Learning involves deciphering and understanding relationships between ideas, texts, situations and people. Teaching involves cultivating personal relationships in order to facilitate learning. As Bernie Neville states in the first chapter of this volume, ‘ y good teachers do the emotional work of tuning into the frustration, grief or resentment y accept it non-judgmentally and respond to the child instead of the reacting to the behaviour’ (p. XX). In this way, teachers change lives both by changing who the student is (emotion), as well as what a student knows (cognition). That is the hidden curriculum for teachers. As much as the technocrats would like us to believe that education is a product; that learning is solely about obtaining facts and skills, and that teaching is just the delivery of said product, the fact remains that teaching and learning are simultaneously both cognitive and emotional. For students, there is no separating the cognitive function of incorporating new information into one’s schemata from the joy of discovery, the frustration of failure, the pain of letting go of previously believed ‘truths’ or the excitement of mastering a new concept. Likewise, for teachers there would be equal difficulty in separating the cognitive decision-making and planning from the emotional assessment of needs in making appropriate classroom judgments. Cognition has an emotional component, and emotion has a cognitive component. Thus, schools are places where emotion abounds as

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equally as cognition. The difficulty comes when we try to separate the two. We might be better served by acknowledging their complementary status, recognizing the additional emotion work in school relationships – dealing with difficult behaviours, supporting children in crisis (real or imagined), managing competing demands – and incorporating into the profession opportunities to learn the necessary skills, as well as some mechanisms to practice them. Teachers in countries with increased preparation time may find that they are more successful because they have time not only to plan, but also to reflect and do the cognitive work to recover from the emotion work experienced in the classroom (Rime´, 2007). As professionals who are charged with the responsibilities and expectations to know children and youth – how they learn, develop, thrive – and provide guidance as well as information, it would only seem logical that we prepare teachers for the emotional as well as cognitive aspect of teaching. Just as the sorcerer’s apprentice did not fully grasp that being a great magician was more than conjuring spells, many outside the teaching profession do not fully comprehend the complexities of teaching. It is harder than it looks.

ONLY WE CAN RESCUE MICKY MOUSE While education policy is left to career bureaucrats and public servants rather than career educators who understand the essential role of the human condition in the educational system, it seems the sorcerer’s apprentice will still have trouble operating the system. To support the development of professional capital, the idea of learning communities that involve career educators, teacher educators, teachers and leaders need to be promoted and established so that they are the norm, rather than the exception. Equally significant is the development and support for communities of practice within schools, by providing time for critical, reflective discussions. What we need is an acknowledgement that no one has all the answers, and that sustainable improvement in the system will only emerge with increasing trust in all the people who make up the system, including students. This will take courage because it is not a quick fix solution and there will be implementation issues as the system moves from command and control to learning communities and communities of practice. The improvement will emerge from within the system; the people who co-create it every day with cognition and emotion. We will never solve human problems with technical solutions, but we might solve technical ones with human solutions.

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NOTE 1. Informational justice is underpinned by transparent decision-making procedures, and intended outcomes considerate of people’s concerns (Greenberg, 1993).

REFERENCES Berliner, D. (2012). Confusing assessment with testing and quantification: The overzealous promotion of value-added assessment of teachers. Paper presented at The Joint Australian Association for Research in Education and Asia-Pacific Education Research Association Conference World Education Research Association Focal Meeting: Regional and Global Cooperation in Educational Research, University of Sydney, December 2–6. Borup, J., Graham, C. R., & Valasqez, A. (2013). Technology-mediated caring: Building relationships between students and instructors in online K-12 learning environments. In M. Newberry, A. Gallant & P. Riley (Eds.), Emotion and school: Understanding how the hidden curriculum influences relationships, leadership, teaching, and learning (pp. 183–202). Bingley, UK: Emerald. Bullock, S. M. (2013). Learning to teach and the false apprenticeship: Emotion and identity development during the field experience placement. In M. Newberry, A. Gallant & P. Riley (Eds.), Emotion and school: Understanding how the hidden curriculum influences relationships, leadership, teaching, and learning (pp. 119–140). Bingley, UK: Emerald. Christensen, C. M. (2012, March). Theories of disruption in education. Benjamin Cluff Jr. Lecture. Lecture conducted from Brigham Young University, Provo, UT. Greenberg, J. (1993). The social side of fairness: Interpersonal and informational classes of organizational justice. In R. Cropanzano (Ed.), Justice in the workplace. Mahwah, NJ: Erlba. Hargreaves, A., & Fullan, M. (2012). Professional capital. London: Routledge. Neville, B. (2013). The enchanted loom. In M. Newberry, A. Gallant & P. Riley (Eds.), Emotion and school: Understanding how the hidden curriculum influences relationships, leadership, teaching, and learning (pp. 3–23). Bingley, UK: Emerald. Richardson, P., Watt, H. M. G., & Devos, C. (2013). Types of professional and emotional coping among beginning teachers. In M. Newberry, A. Gallant & P. Riley (Eds.), Emotion and school: Understanding how the hidden curriculum influences relationships, leadership, teaching, and learning (pp. 229–253). Bingley, UK: Emerald. Rime´, B. (2007). Interpersonal emotion regulation. In J. Gross (Ed.), Handbook of emotion regulation (pp. 466–485). New York, NY: Guilford Press. Tschannen-Moran, M. (2004). Trust matters: Leadership for successful schools (1st ed.). San Francisco, CA: Jossey-Bass.

Melissa Newberry Andrea Gallant Philip Riley

ABOUT THE CONTRIBUTORS Douwe Beijaard, PhD, is full professor and director of the Eindhoven School of Education, Eindhoven University of Technology, The Netherlands. His current research themes are the professional identity, quality and development of (beginning) teachers, as well as teachers’ roles in educational innovations. Jered Borup, MS, is a doctoral student in the Department of Instructional Psychology & Technology at Brigham Young University, Utah. He was a secondary school social studies teacher for six years prior to his doctoral studies. His research interests include online learning interactions in K-12 and higher education settings. Shawn Michael Bullock, PhD, is an assistant professor of science education at Simon Fraser University, British Columbia, Canada. His research focuses on the epistemological problem of how we learn from experience, with particular attention to how preservice and early-career science teachers learn from the problems and tensions they encounter in personal practice. Perry den Brok, PhD, is full professor and director of research at the Eindhoven School of Education, Eindhoven University of Technology, The Netherlands. He has published extensively on teacher–student interpersonal relationships in education, on topics such as teacher interpersonal behaviour and student outcomes, teacher interpersonal competence in multicultural classrooms and cross-national studies on teacher–student interpersonal relationships. Cheryl J. Craig, PhD, is a professor in the College of Education, University of Houston, Houston, Texas, and serves as the Coordinator of Teaching and Teacher Education. Situated at the intersection where teaching and curriculum meet, her research focuses on how context shapes teachers’ knowledge, communities of knowing and identities. Christelle Devos, PhD, is a post-doctoral researcher at the University of Louvain, Belgium. Her PhD focused on beginning teachers’ self-concept, concerns and reality shock. More broadly, her interests include teachers’ emotions, motivation and identity-related questions. 279

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H. Jerome Freiberg, Ed.D., is a John and Rebecca Moores University Professor in the College of Education at the University of Houston, Texas. He is a fellow of the American Educational Research Association and Founder/P.I. of the Consistency Management & Cooperative Discipline. He is currently the editor of the Journal of Classroom Interaction. He has authored, edited or co-authored 11 books and more than 100 articles, book chapters and monographs. His interests focus on alternatives to traditional classroom management, school and classroom climate in high poverty, urban school environments. Andrea Gallant, PhD, is a senior lecturer in the School of Education at Deakin University, Australia. She also works as a consultant to school leadership teams that wish to reinvigorate their learning organisations aimed at cultural change through a greater awareness of systems thinking. Her research focuses on working relationships, in particular, aspiring women and leadership. She also is an invited guest writer for Harvard Business review blog. Charles R. Graham, PhD, is an associate professor of instructional psychology and technology at Brigham Young University, Utah. He studies technology-mediated teaching and learning, focusing on the design and evaluation of blended and online learning environments as well as the use of technology to enhance traditional teaching and learning. He is the co-editor of the Handbook of Blended Learning. Andy Hargreaves, PhD, is the Thomas More Brennan Chair in the Lynch School of Education at Boston College. He is the editor in chief of the Journal of Educational Change and also co-edited the first two International Handbooks for Educational Change. Andy has published numerous journal articles and authored or edited over 30 books, a number of which have received awards. Andy researches sustainable educational change and leadership. His most recent work focuses on global educational excellence and professional capital in schools. Sabra Helton is a program manager for Consistency Management & Cooperative Discipline at the University of Houston. She holds a master’s degree in Information Sciences from the University of Tennessee, and her research interests include information literacy, information access in high poverty schools and communities, and school climate. Anita Woolfolk Hoy, PhD, is a professor of educational psychology at The Ohio State University, Columbus, Ohio where she studies teachers’ thinking

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and beliefs, particularly teachers’ sense of efficacy, and the role of educational psychology in the preparation of teachers. She has published over 100 books, book chapters and research articles in journals. Her text, Educational Psychology (Pearson) is moving into its 13th edition and has been translated into over a dozen languages. Geert Kelchtermans, PhD, studied philosophy and educational sciences at the University of Leuven (KU, Leuven), where he works as a full professor and chair of the Center for Educational Policy, Innovation and Teacher Education. His research covers issues in teachers’ careers and work lives, school development, as well as (pedagogy of) teacher education. Bernie Neville, PhD is an honorary professor in the Faculty of Higher Education at Swinburne University of Technology. His current research focuses on the model of student advocacy in which teachers take on the responsibility for being the ‘caring and reliable adult’ for particular at-risk or disengaged students, and commit to meeting with them regularly and advocating for them within the school. A third edition of his book, Educating Psyche: Emotion, Imagination and the Unconscious in Learning, was published in 2012. Melissa Newberry, PhD, is an assistant professor of teacher education in the McKay School of Education at Brigham Young University, Utah. Her research explores the social context of education, specifically examining the complex area of student–teacher relationships and teacher emotion regulation through reflection methodologies for self-awareness and teacher development. Shaun Rawolle, PhD, is the HDR coordinator and a senior lecturer in the Faculty of Arts and Education at Deakin University, Australia. His research interests include education policy sociology, policy implementation, the social contract of education, mediatization and Bourdeuian perspectives of educational studies. Paul W. Richardson, PhD, is an associate professor of education, Monash University, Australia. He researches motivations for teaching, teacher selfefficacy, influences on teacher career trajectories and the development of educational aspirations among youth. Philip Riley, PhD, is a member of the Faculty of Education and coordinator of Masters in School Leadership at Monash University, Australia. His ground breaking research applying adult attachment theory to the

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relationship between teachers, students and school leaders was recently showcased in the United States and the United Kingdom with the publication of his first book Attachment Theory and the Teacher–Student Relationship (London: Routledge). He has taught every year level from Grade 2 upwards, and spent the last 4 years of his school career as a deputy principal and acting principal. Charlotte Struyve is a doctoral student (research assistant) at the Center for Educational Policy, Innovation and Teacher Education at the University of Leuven (KU Leuven). She has obtained a master’s in Educational Sciences (University of Leuven, Belgium) and a Graduate Certificate in Policy Studies (University of Sydney, Australia). Her research interests include teacher leadership, social-professional relationships in schools and professional identity. Stacey M. Templeton is a researcher for Consistency Management & Cooperative Discipline at the University of Houston, Texas. She is a former public school teacher and literacy coach, with bachelor’s and master’s degrees in Education and Curriculum and Instruction from Washington State University. She is currently a doctoral candidate at the University of Houston, with research interests in literacy, school climate and motivation to learn. Anna van der Want, MSc, is a doctoral student at the Eindhoven School of Education, Eindhoven University of Technology, The Netherlands. Her doctoral project focuses on the development of the interpersonal competence of teachers, with a special focus on a teacher’s interpersonal identity role as part of the larger construct of professional identity, as well as on the appraisals of teachers of classroom situations. Andrea Velasquez, PhD, is a recent graduate of the Instructional Psychology and Technology doctoral program at Brigham Young University, Utah. Her research interests focus on the improvement of the teacher–student relationship through understanding nurturing pedagogies and theories of care through technology-mediated settings. Her past experience has included teaching middle school and high school technology/computer applications courses. Helen M. G. Watt, PhD, is an associate professor of education, Monash University, Australia. Her interests include motivation, gendered educational and occupational choices, motivations for teaching, teacher selfefficacy, longitudinal research and quantitative methods.

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Theo Wubbels, PhD, is professor of education, and associate dean of the Faculty of Social and Behavioural Sciences at Utrecht University, The Netherlands. His main research interests developed from the pedagogy of physics education, via problems and supervision of beginning teachers and teaching and learning in teacher education, to studies of learning environments and especially interpersonal relationships in education.