Gender, Masculinities and Lifelong Learning 9781136294747, 9780415667586

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Gender, Masculinities and Lifelong Learning

Gender, Masculinities and Lifelong Learning reflects on current debate around gender in education, where academics, practitioners and policy-makers are beginning to refer to a crisis of masculinity. Why is there an under-representation of men in education? Why do women increasingly outstrip men in terms of achievement? Is it possible men are becoming educationally disadvantaged? Drawing on research from a number of countries including the UK, Australia, New Zealand and Canada the contributors reveal the full spectrum of issues in gender inequality in education. Other forces which have comparable impacts, and which intersect with gender include class, ethnicity and age as well as colonization. In the light of this, the book provides both evidence and argument to illuminate contemporary debates about the involvement of women and men in education, including: •• •• •• •• •• ••

International surveys on men and educational participation. Gender, masculinities and migrants’ learning experiences. Boys-only classes as the solution to ‘the problem of underachieving boys’. Community learning eand public policy. Older men’s perspectives on (re-)entering post-compulsory education. Implications for practice, research and policy.

Importantly, this book critically addresses some of the taken-for-granted beliefs about men and their engagement in lifelong learning, presenting new evidence to demonstrate the complexity of gender and education today. With these complexities in mind, the authors develop new frameworks and questions which provide a theoretical basis to develop further understanding of the many issues involved with gender and lifelong learning. Gender, Masculinities and Lifelong Learning will be of interest to any practitioner open to the fresh ideas and approaches in teaching and programming connected with gender and education. Marion Bowl is Senior Lecturer in Education at the School of Education, University of Birmingham, UK. Robert Tobias is an independent researcher, writer and activist in adult and community education, based in Christchurch, New Zealand. Jennifer Leahy is an adult educator, researcher and trainer based in Christchurch New Zealand. Graeme Ferguson is a researcher and teacher at the University of Canterbury, Christchurch, New Zealand. Jeffrey Gage is Senior Lecturer in Health Sciences at the Health Sciences Centre, College of Education, University of Canterbury, Christchurch, New Zealand.



Gender, Masculinities and Lifelong Learning

Marion Bowl, Robert Tobias, Jennifer Leahy, Graeme Ferguson and Jeffrey Gage

First published 2012 by Routledge 2 Park Square, Milton Park, Abingdon, Oxon OX14 4RN Simultaneously published in the USA and Canada by Routledge 711 Third Avenue, New York, NY 10017 Routledge is an imprint of the Taylor & Francis Group, an informa business © 2012 Marion Bowl, Robert Tobias, Jennifer Leahy, Graeme Ferguson and Jeffrey Gage for selection and editorial material. Individual chapters, the contributors. The right of the editors to be identified as the authors of the editorial material, and of the authors for their individual chapters, has been asserted in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reprinted or reproduced or utilised in any form or by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publishers. Trademark notice: Product or corporate names may be trademarks or registered trademarks, and are used only for identification and explanation without intent to infringe. British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library Library of Congress Cataloging in Publication Data Gender, masculinities, and lifelong learning / [edited by] Marion Bowl  .  .  .   [et al.].   p. cm.   1. Adult education–Social aspects–Cross-cultural studies.  2.  Continuing education–Social aspects–Cross-cultural studies.  3.  Sex differences in education–Cross-cultural studies.  4.  Men–Identity–Cross-cultural studies. 5.  Underachievement–Cross-cultural studies.  I.  Bowl, Marion.   LC5225.S64G46 2012  374–dc23 2011049208 ISBN: 978-0-415-66758-6 (hbk) ISBN: 978-0-415-66759-3 (pbk) ISBN: 978-0-203-11537-4 (ebk) Typeset in Galliard by Graphicraft Limited, Hong Kong



E raka te mauı¯ , e raka te katau A community can use all the skills of its people (Ma¯ori proverb)



Contents

List of illustrations Notes on contributors Acknowledgements

ix x xii

part i

Concepts, theories and current debates

1

  1 Gender, masculinities and lifelong learning: entering the debate

3



marion bowl and robert tobias

  2 Ideology, discourse and gender: a theoretical framework

  3 Men and educational participation: is there a problem? Some findings from international surveys

14

marion bowl and robert tobias

29

robert tobias and marion bowl

part ii

Changing discourses and images

45

  4 ‘Educating Jake’: a genealogy of Maori masculinity

47

brendan hokowhitu

  5 Images of men and learning: the impact of imperialism on settler masculinities and lifelong learning

58

robert tobias

  6 Gender, masculinities and migrants’ learning experiences steve jordan and lisa trimble

72

viii Contents

  7 Men in United Kingdom adult and community education: the politics of practice and pedagogy

82

rebecca o’rourke

part iii

Gender, masculinities and learning in the life course

95

  8 Troubling boys and boys-only classes as the solution to ‘the problem of underachieving boys’

97

graeme ferguson

  9 Learning about fatherhood for men in ‘at risk’ families

111

jeffrey gage

10 Men’s sheds, community learning and public policy

122

barry golding

11 Men’s learning through community organizations: evidence from an Australian study

134

barry golding

12 Older men’s perspectives on (re-)entering post-compulsory education: insights from a Scottish study

147

brian findsen and brett mcewen

part iv

Implications 159 13 Implications for practice, research and policy

161



marion bowl



Index 175



Illustrations

Figures 3.1 Mean percentages of men and women who participated in all forms of education 32 3.2 Mean percentage of men and women aged 25–65 who participated in all forms of education, 1994–98 and 2002–06 33 3.3 Mean percentages of men and women aged 25–65 who participated in formal and non-formal education, 2002–06 33 3.4 Mean percentages of men and women of various age groups who participated in all forms of education, 1994–98 and 2002–06 34 3.5 Mean percentages of men and women of various age groups who participated in formal education, 2002–06 35 3.6 Mean percentages of men and women of various age groups who participated in non-formal education, 2002–06 35 3.7 Mean percentages of men and women aged 25–65 with various levels of prior schooling who participated in all forms of education, 1994–98 and 2002–06 36 3.8 Mean percentages of men and women aged 25–65 who participated in all forms of education, by rural and urban area, 1994–98 and 2002–06 38 3.9 Mean percentages of men and women aged 25–65 who participated in all forms of education, by current work situation, 1994–98 and 2002–06 39 3.10 Mean percentages of men and women aged 25–65 who participated in formal and non-formal education, 2002–06 40 3.11 Mean percentages of men and women aged 25–65 who 41 participated in all forms of education, 1994–98 and 2002–06

Table 11.1 Aspects of communication in the ACSF, with purposes and relationships 139



Notes on contributors

Editors Marion Bowl is Senior Lecturer at the University of Birmingham, UK. She was formerly Senior Lecturer in Adult and Community Education at the University of Canterbury, Christchurch, New Zealand. Her professional background is in community education. Her research interests include post-compulsory, adult and informal education, and participatory research approaches. Robert Tobias is an independent researcher, writer and activist in adult and community education. He was formerly Director of Extra-Mural Studies at the University of Cape Town, South Africa and Senior Lecturer in Continuing Education at the University of Canterbury, Christchurch, New Zealand. His research interests include studies in the history, sociology and politics of adult and community education. Jennifer Leahy specializes in teaching and facilitating groups of adult learners and has over 25 years’ experience in the community education sector. She acknowledges all that she has learnt about teaching adults at Christchurch Women’s Prison and the College of Education, University of Canterbury, Christchurch, New Zealand. She is currently studying for her Ph.D. and working as an adult educator. Graeme Ferguson is a part-time teacher, with 40 years’ experience teaching in New Zealand primary schools and in tertiary-level teacher education programmes. He is also a student in the College of Education, University of Canterbury Ph.D. programme, undertaking research into the impact of constructions of masculinities on boys’ learning dispositions. Jeffrey Gage is Senior Lecturer in Health Sciences at the University of Canterbury, Christchurch, New Zealand. He is a registered nurse with particular research interests in family health, men’s health, fathering and health promotion.



Notes on contributors  xi

Contributors Brian Findsen is Professor of Education in the Faculty of Education at the University of Waikato, New Zealand. His research interests include older adults’ learning, the sociology of (adult) education and international adult education. His most recent publication is Lifelong Learning in Later Life: A handbook of older adult learning, co-written with Marvin Formosa. Barry Golding is Professor and Associate Dean, Research in the School of Education and Arts, University of Ballarat, Australia. His research into adult learning focuses on adult and community education with an emphasis on men’s learning through participation in community organizations. He is honorary Patron of the Australian Men’s Sheds Association and Vice President of Adult Learning Australia. Brendan Hokowhitu is Ngati Pukenga. He is an Associate Professor in Te Tumu, the School of Maori, Pacific and Indigenous Studies and is Associate Dean (Maori), Division of Humanities at the University of Otago, Dunedin, New Zealand. His research interests include indigenous and critical theory, masculinity, media and sport. Steve Jordan is Associate Professor and Chair in the Department of Integrated Studies in Education, Faculty of Education, McGill University, Montreal, Canada. Brett McEwen has recently completed a Ph.D. study in Sociology at the University of Waikato, New Zealand. Rebecca O’Rourke is a Senior Teaching Fellow in the School of Education, University of Leeds, UK. She formerly worked as a community educator and was a Senior Lecturer in the School of Continuing Education, University of Leeds until its closure. She researches post-compulsory and professional learning and writing development. Lisa Trimble is a Ph.D. candidate and instructor in the Department of Integrated Studies in Education, Faculty of Education, McGill University, Montreal, Canada.



Acknowledgements

We owe a debt of gratitude to Liz Tully, former Director of the University of Canterbury Department of Continuing and Bridging Education, for encouraging us in our efforts to develop this project into a book. We are grateful to Bertha Tobias for bearing with our endless conversations about the book and hosting our meetings in September 2011, particularly in the midst of earthquake uncertainties and disruptions. Thanks to Hemi te Hemi for his assistance with an appropriate whakataukC (proverb) for the book. Our special thanks go to Tim Davies for his copy editing and proof reading skills.

Part I

Concepts, theories and current debates

Chapter 1

Gender, masculinities and lifelong learning  3

Gender, masculinities and lifelong learning Entering the debate Marion Bowl and Robert Tobias

This chapter presents our reasons for embarking on this book and our aims in bringing it to publication. It goes on to explain how some of the terms which recur throughout the book are defined by us and, finally, to outline the book’s structure. The book arises from our discomfort about, and disagreement with, discourses surrounding what is regarded as male ‘underachievement’ and ‘under-representation’ in some forms of education. Briefly, these discourses rest on claims that there is currently a ‘crisis of masculinity’ or at the very least increasing confusion regarding the character of masculinity and men’s position in relation to the family, the economy, the state and civil society. These concerns have been expressed by writers in countries including Australia (Biddulph 1995, 1997), Aotearoa New Zealand (Lashlie 2005), the United States of America (Faludi 1999; Tiger 1999; Mansfield 2006; Sax 2009, 2010); and the United Kingdom (McGivney 1999, 2004; Sutherland and Marks 2001). Issues of boys’ educational achievement and men’s participation in education are also a topic of debate among practitioners and policy makers. It has been argued by some that boys and men are increasingly educationally disadvantaged relative to girls and women. Whilst this discourse has been effectively challenged in relation to schooling (Epstein et al. 1998; Francis and Skelton 2005; Skelton et al. 2006; Archer and Francis 2007), it persists in and pervades the field of lifelong learning and adult and community education (ACE). Our sense that there was a need for this book was the result of discussions and debates which took place during 2007 with colleagues who teach and organize adult and community education, and who write and research in the field of lifelong learning. As adult education academics and practitioners we felt an intuitive resistance to a discourse – reflected in the media – of ‘failing boys’, ‘missing men’ and ‘gender gaps’ in education. One of the practitioner responses to this discourse has been to argue for provision that is in some way specifically ‘male’, premised on assumptions about men’s particular need for activities which ‘satisfy men’s desire for practical experiences’ (ACE Aotearoa 2007: 2). These assumptions include some or all of the following: ••

that there is inequality of opportunity for men in the sphere of lifelong learning;

4  Marion Bowl and Robert Tobias

•• ••

that community-based education is a ‘feminized’ space; that there is a need for specifically ‘male’ forms of educational provision.

The Men’s Sheds movement in particular (Golding et al. 2007) has sought to provide a community space specifically for men, in which they can engage in ‘hands on’ activities based primarily on construction and practising craft skills such as woodwork and metal work. Whilst we would not argue against the provision of educational opportunities to meet the diverse needs of men and women – learning separately or together – we view some of the suggested solutions to the assumed problem as representing, at best, an over-simplification of the issues involved in gender and lifelong learning. At worst, some of the concern about men’s participation has been hijacked in the service of an anti-feminist discourse which blames feminism, women teachers and women themselves for changing trends in educational participation. It is our view that, in spite of the gains of feminism in many industrialized countries from the 1970s onwards, many women remain disadvantaged in the spheres of education, work and social life. While we recognize the desirability of a range of provision, including activitybased, practically-focused non-formal education, we contest the view that forms of educational provision can be, or should be, understood as masculine or feminine. This view represents a stereotyped and essentialist notion (Fuss 1990) of what it is to be male or female and a simplification of the complex interactions between class, ethnicity, age, sexuality and gender which shape educational aspiration and engagement. It also tends to reduce lifelong learning to an exclusive focus on activity, downplaying its potential to facilitate critical engagement and transformative learning (Foley 1999; Crowther 2000), which raises questions about gender and other power inequalities. We do not dispute that, in the countries alluded to above, there is evidence that a greater proportion of women than men are involved in community-based adult education; however, we remain unconvinced by the evidence for a generalized and growing gender gap. We would argue that the reasons for women’s involvement in forms of community-based education relate, first, to their relative exclusion from other forms of education and training and, second, to the success of feminist educators in offering forms of education which have engaged with marginalized women. Furthermore, we note that in a number of countries discussed in this book, adult and community education is the area which has suffered most grievously from the effects of spending cutbacks, thereby predominantly disadvantaging women looking to return to education. Our aim for this book is to explore what we see as a more complex, nuanced and sometimes contradictory situation in our field of practice. The book appraises critically some of the assumptions currently being made about gender and lifelong learning; in doing so we draw on historical sources, international literature and recent research around gender and education and men and their participation in learning.



Gender, masculinities and lifelong learning  5

We begin this introductory chapter by defining some of the key terms in the field of lifelong learning and indicate how we have used the terms in the book. We then outline the structure of the book and the contributions of its chapter authors, before moving on in Chapter 2 to present the theoretical framework on which we, as the book’s editors, agree. Overall the book argues that gender is but one of several key structural forces that have influenced education and learning over the past centuries. Other forces which have comparable impact, and which intersect with those of gender, include class, ethnicity, colonization, sexuality and age. In the light of this, the book provides evidence and argument to illuminate contemporary debates about the involvement of women and men in lifelong learning. It is worth stressing, however, that the extent to which invited chapter authors felt able to sign up to these theoretical assumptions varied – an indication perhaps that this is a debate which continues. In arriving at a title for this book we also had to engage in discussion among ourselves about the terminology of our field of enquiry. It is to this we turn before moving on to outline the book’s structure.

Defining the field of lifelong learning and education: some key concepts Confusion and conflicts over terminology in the field of lifelong learning have a long history. It is worth noting that all definitions are contextual: they arise out of particular material conditions and serve specific social and political purposes within particular historical contexts. In this section we briefly introduce some of the terminology which is central to this book and discuss some of the problems of definition which beset writers and practitioners in this field. Education, learning and lifelong learning The concept of education is an ambiguous one; its meaning has shifted historically. To call an activity ‘educational’ is to ascribe social value to it; and to say that someone is ‘educated’ or ‘uneducated’ implies a normative and evaluative judgment. However, the social values and the criteria underlying these judgments are not necessarily self-evident. They are strongly influenced by wider social forces and by the struggles of groups and movements to shape their destinies. As Raymond Williams (1983: 111–112) has suggested, the original meaning of the term ‘to educate’ was ‘to rear or bring up children’. It was only in the late eighteenth century that it came to be used in a more specialized sense to refer predominantly to ‘organised teaching and instruction’. Williams pointed out that distinctions between the ‘educated’ and ‘uneducated’ were made more commonly from the nineteenth century onwards – the very time when organized education was beginning to be widely developed. He argued further: ‘There is a strong class sense in this use, and the level indicated by (the word) “educated” has been continually adjusted to leave the majority of people who have received

6  Marion Bowl and Robert Tobias

an education below it.’ Education therefore, and its companion term ‘training’ – which is frequently used to indicate a more instrumental, and less theoretical relationship with knowledge – are both terms which carry ideological messages. If there are difficulties associated with the word education, the same is also true of the concept of learning. Stephen Yeo (1996) has argued that learning, unlike education, is an active and inclusive word, and hence is unconstrained by the notions attached to ‘education’. Learning, like breathing, is something that everyone does all the time, even if they do not realize it. And yet even the concept of learning is not innocent: its use is shaped by ongoing historical struggles, within which claims are made about the varying degrees of social importance of different forms of learning. Learning is closely linked with culture, and cultural traditions are not neutral. They embody values and relations of power. Moreover, learning does not occur in a vacuum, it takes place in a variety of social contexts; these vary in their degree of formalization and are shaped by various forms of social control. Indeed there are those (see for example Snook 2001; Jackson 2011) who argue that to refer in a policy sense to learning rather than education can have the effect of individualizing and atomizing highly complex social processes, masking the political and social basis of all forms of attitude formation and knowledge and skill acquisition, and denying the value-laden nature of all forms of learning and education. It tends to shift focus away from education as a citizen’s right and towards learning as an individual’s responsibility. In this formulation, the lifelong learner must constantly demonstrate willingness to retrain, up-skill and adapt in response to changing economic and social conditions. Historically, the focus for discussion of education and learning has tended to be on young people and formal schooling. However, from the 1970s onwards, in particular, the term lifelong learning has been central to policy discussion nationally and internationally, sponsored through UNESCO, the OECD and the European Union (Lengrand 1970; Faure 1972; Dave 1976; OECD, 1996; Delors 1996). This focus on learning throughout life has acted as a counterbalance to the emphasis on formal schooling. However, the meaning of the term lifelong learning has been shaped to a variety of sometimes conflicting policy aims – an issue which has been discussed at length in the lifelong learning literature (Coffield 2000; Field 2000; Leathwood and Francis, 2006; Burke and Jackson 2007; Jackson 2011). In its widest interpretation, ‘lifelong learning’ refers to the whole spectrum of learning activity from ‘cradle to grave’ and from formal schooling to incidental and unplanned learning. However, it is most commonly associated with post-compulsory education and the education and training of adults. Latterly, the term ‘lifelong learning’ has been ‘captured’ by hegemonic notions of human capital, the know­ ledge economy and training for work (Coffield 2000). It has also become something of a platitude, disguising a discourse of individualism, competition and unequal power and economic relations which remain structured by gender, ethnicity, age and class (Burke and Jackson, 2007; Leathwood and Francis, 2006; Jackson, 2011).



Gender, masculinities and lifelong learning  7

As editors we had some hesitation in using the term ‘lifelong learning’ in the title of this book. Whilst the notion that we learn throughout the life span and in informal and non-formal as well as formal contexts is scarcely a new one, the adoption of ‘lifelong learning’ as a central policy concept has left it at the mercy of a range of political agendas. For good or ill, however, educators have become caught up in these debates and these contested agendas. For the purpose of this book, we use the term ‘lifelong learning’ to refer to all educational activities in formal, non-formal and informal contexts, but with a particular emphasis on those which take place with and among adults and outside compulsory schooling.

Formal, non-formal and informal education and learning The significance of non-formal and informal learning has long been recognized by those educators who have sought to expand notions of education beyond that which is ‘provided’ by educational institutions (Freire, 1972; Foley, 1999; Crowther et al. 1999, 2005; Brookfield, 2005). Non-formal and informal educators drawing on radical and popular education traditions (Gramsci 1971; Freire 1972) have stressed the potential of non-formal and informal education to promote critical thinking, community activism and political action. They have advanced the notion of critical pedagogy and resisted the view that education should be centred on individual credential acquisition or economic instrumentalism. Recently, however, the terms ‘non-formal’ and ‘informal’ education and learning have found their way into the policy discourse (see, for example, DIUS 2008, 2009 in relation to the United Kingdom); in the process their meaning has been transformed and, like ‘lifelong learning’, they have become ‘slippery’ terms (Kunzel 2000). There have been many attempts to delineate the boundaries between formal, non-formal and informal education and learning (Coombes and Ahmed 1974; Jeffs and Smith 1999; Livingstone 2001a, 2001b; Rogers 2004). Livingstone, for example, arrived at four categories which focus on the nature of teaching and the curriculum, summarized as: ••

••

Formal education: teacher-directed transmission of a prescribed body of knowledge. Formal education is most closely associated with an institutionalized, hierarchically structured and credentialized ‘system’ of education, spanning schooling and tertiary education. Non-formal education: learners voluntarily extending their knowledge and skills by studying with a teacher, through an organized curriculum, for example in adult education classes or workshops. Non-formal education has been characterized as intentionally provided educational opportunities, offered outside the framework of formal schooling and utilizing less didactic approaches than those associated with formal education. The term ‘nonformal education’ is sometimes substituted by community education or adult and community education (ACE).

8  Marion Bowl and Robert Tobias

••

••

Informal education: mentor- or teacher-facilitated learning which takes place outside educational institutional boundaries and without explicit reference to an established curriculum. Jeffs and Smith (1999) use the term to signify intentional educational activity which utilizes a conversation-based curriculum in settings such as youth clubs and community groups. Informal learning: self-directed, spontaneous and non-organized learning activity involving the pursuit of knowledge, skill or understanding without reference to a curriculum.

However, the lines between formal, non-formal and informal education and learning are blurred and shifting. Formal education’s methods are not monolithic and have become increasingly diverse, particularly with the development of distance and web-based education. In a number of countries featured in this book, and particularly the United Kingdom, many non-formal and community education providers have developed accreditation regimes in response to a policy push towards funding only credentialized education. And whilst in the 1960s and 1970s notions of non-formal and informal education were a radical response to formal education’s hierarchical nature and its failure to address the concerns of poor, colonized and marginalized people (Freire 1972; Illich 1973), increasingly they have been incorporated into discussions of work-based learning and training for work, whilst the term informal education has been supplanted by informal learning, along with the implication that it is not an activity which necessarily requires facilitation – or substantial funding support (see, for example, DIUS, 2009). As editors, our own understandings, interpretations and definitions of formal, non-formal or informal education and learning have also been shaped by our different experiences as learners ourselves, adult and community educators, academics and community activists. Along with Jeffs and Smith (1999) and Rogers (2004) we recognize that there are no clear-cut categories, but a continuum from formal education to informal learning. We recognize, too, that the terms contain ambiguities (Tight 1996) and overlaps and, like ‘lifelong learning’, can be used to advance a range of ideological agendas. Where possible, through this volume we have encouraged chapter authors to make specific the definitions they have operationalized in their discussion.

Structure and organization of the book The scope of the book is necessarily limited, in both geographical and historical terms, to ‘First World’ English-speaking countries in the modern era. Within these limitations we have attempted to explore some of the ways in which cultural and historical forces have shaped dominant discourses about gender, masculinities and learning. However, we are all too aware of the fact that much more than half the world is missing from our account and that there are stark gender disparities which continue to disadvantage women in many parts of the globe.



Gender, masculinities and lifelong learning  9

Part I of the book (Chapters 1–3) explores some of the key concepts and theories and statistical data which form the background to debates around gender and lifelong learning. Chapter 2, in particular, lays the ground for the discussion throughout the book and all chapter authors were asked to engage with the four key assumptions underlying the book, namely that: •• •• •• ••

gender and masculinities are socially constructed: they are products and producers of history; gender and masculinities are social practices rather than characteristics or traits; gender relations and masculinities reflect, produce and reproduce discourses of power; gender and masculinities are multiple rather than unitary or monolithic.

Chapter 3 draws on the findings of two OECD-sponsored statistical surveys of adult participation in education to explore the extent to which they indicate a problem with men and their education in a number of industrialized countries. It confirms the complexity of the issues of men’s and women’s educational engagement and the salience of factors such as geography, age, employment status and occupation. Part II (Chapters 4–7) describes the global and historical contexts in which discourses around gender, images of men and masculinities have been forged. It draws on the international literature in order to explore, and then question, some of the assumptions about men and their participation in education. It goes on to focus on the ways in which discourses about, and images of, men and their learning have been shaped by historical, social and economic forces, including colonialism and migration. In Chapter 4, Brendan Hokowhitu suggests how the image of the uneducated but physically powerful Maori man has been produced and reproduced through colonialism and has served to create and reinforce unequal power relations between Aotearoa New Zealand’s indigenous people and its Pakeha (white settler) popu­ lation. In parallel, in Chapter 5 Robert Tobias draws on a range of historical sources from New Zealand and elsewhere to explore the links between imperial­ ism, colonialism and images of masculinity and lifelong learning in white settler societies during the nineteenth and twentieth centuries. In Chapter 6, Steve Jordan and Lisa Trimble explore the relationships between learning, gender and masculinities as they are experienced by immigrant workers such as these in the context of the Canadian (Québec) workplace. They review recent theoretical insights drawn from the emerging literature on migrant workers and the construction of masculinities. They then offer a brief overview of neoliberal policy and immigrant management, and in so doing shed light on some of the underlying forces generating Canada’s temporary foreign worker programmes. They move on to present perspectives of immigrant workers from a range of programmes in Canada and suggest how immigrant workers in Canada might

10  Marion Bowl and Robert Tobias

be entangled in forms of incidental or informal ‘un-learning’, or ‘learning in reverse’, that reproduce their subordinate position within the workplace and in Canadian society. To meet the challenges posed by neoliberal globalization and its effects on how migrant workers learn, Jordan and Trimble argue for a holistic approach to the understanding of learning as lived experience that encompasses political, cultural and historical contexts, as suggested by Foley’s (1999) notion of ‘learning in action.’ In Chapter 7, Rebecca O’Rourke focuses on the period in the late 1990s when United Kingdom ACE providers and policy makers identified men’s relation to, and participation in, its activities as problematic. She describes some of the initiatives which developed in response to this perceived crisis and the different conceptions of masculinity, gender relations and pedagogy on which they were premised, as well as their different relationship to gender politics, especially to feminism. Part III of the book (Chapters 8–12) presents the findings from and re­ flections on research studies in Aotearoa New Zealand, Australia, and Scotland in order to illustrate some of the key themes, discourses and debates presented in Part I of the book. This section takes a life course approach to the issues – from youth to older age – recognizing, however, that age as a social category is itself fluid. In Chapter 8 Graeme Ferguson discusses some of the findings of a New Zealand research project which examined the impact of implementing single-sex classes as a means of addressing the ‘problem’ of boys’ behaviour and achievement in school. He explores how boys’ attitudes to schooling are affected by pedagogical practices which tend to reinforce traditional notions of masculinity and how initiatives such as single sex classes, based on essentialist notions of gender, may support a discourse of boys’ academic failure and disengagement. Jeffrey Gage, in Chapter 9, focuses on the learning processes of men as they prepare for and become fathers. He presents data from interviews with men involved in an ‘Early Start’ initiative for families which explored how and when men acquire knowledge for parenting and the impact of men’s learning experiences on their intentions to be effective fathers. He suggests that men’s knowledge of parenting is determined by informal processes of observational and relational learning. Reflecting on participants’ perspectives on becoming fathers, Gage suggests that there is a need to move beyond simplistic and dichotomized discourses of fatherhood to explore the wider contextual and structural issues impacting on the ways in which parenthood is enacted by men. Community men’s sheds have become emblematic of the concern among some ACE practitioners at the tendency for some men not to involve themselves in community-based education. In Chapter 10 Barry Golding discusses some of the factors that have influenced the development of men’s sheds in parts of rural and urban Australia and a number of other Anglophone countries. Based on his and his colleagues’ research over a number of years, Barry argues for the contribution which informal learning in men’s sheds can make to the health



Gender, masculinities and lifelong learning  11

and well-being of some men – particularly those who are older, who are not in work and who may otherwise be isolated in their communities. In Chapter 11 Barry Golding reflects further on research undertaken by himself and his Australian colleagues and broadens his focus to explore men’s learning in informal settings in the community including in voluntary, sports, religious and cultural organizations. His findings suggest that such organizations provide opportunities for learning and the development of a range of skills – a fact which is often overlooked in public policy discourse on vocational education and training. Chapter 12 draws on longitudinal research in Scotland which evaluated the learning experiences of older-adult working-class male students, aged over fifty. In their chapter, Brian Findsen and Brett McEwen indicate that hegemonic versions of masculinity which privilege work-related education (human capital) for men may decline in strength as older men enter the third age and undertake learning to develop identity and social capital. They argue that educational initiatives which promote the benefits of lifelong learning for older people need to be geared towards meet the learning needs of third-agers across all three forms of capital. Finally, in Chapter 13, Marion Bowl pulls together the issues raised by the book. She highlights some of the gendered discourses which may, implicitly or explicitly, be drawn on in the development of educational provision for men. She argues the need for a critical and questioning approach to lifelong learning practice, suggesting some of the questions which practitioners may need to ask about their practice and the political and the philosophical assumptions which may underpin it. She makes a number of suggestions for further research, and advocates the interrogation of discourses around participation in lifelong learning policy, practice and research. Finally she calls for the continuation of a debate around gender, masculinities and lifelong learning in which ideological assumptions are surfaced and honestly aired.

References ACE Aotearoa (2007) ‘Community Men’s Sheds: A New Zealand goal’, Adult and Community Education Newsletter, December, Wellington: ACE Aotearoa: 1–3. Archer, L. and Francis, B. (2007) Understanding Minority Ethnic Achievement: Race, class and gender, Abingdon: Routledge. Biddulph, S. (1995) Manhood: An action plan for changing men’s lives (2nd edn), Sydney: Finch Publishing. Biddulph, S. (1997). Raising Boys: Why boys are different, and how to help them become happy and well-balanced men, Sydney: Finch Publishing. Brookfield, S. (2005) The Power of Critical Theory for Adult Learning and Teaching, Maidenhead: Open University Press. Burke, P.J. and Jackson, S. (2007) Reconceptualising Lifelong Learning: Feminist interventions, Abingdon: Routledge. Coffield, F. (2000) Differing Visions of A Learning Society: Volume 1, Bristol: Policy Press. Coombes, P.H. and Ahmed, M. (1974) Attacking Rural Poverty: How non-formal education can help, Baltimore, MD: Johns Hopkins University Press.

12  Marion Bowl and Robert Tobias Crowther, J. (2000) ‘Participation in Adult and Community Education: A discourse of diminishing returns’, International Journal of Lifelong Education 19(6): 479–492. Crowther, J., Galloway, V. and Martin, I. (eds) (2005) Popular Education: Engaging the academy, international perspectives, Leicester: National Institute of Adult and Continuing Education (NIACE). Crowther, J., Martin, I. and Shaw, M. (1999) Popular Education and Social Movements in Scotland Today, Leicester: National Institute of Adult Continuing Education (NIACE). Dave, R.H. (ed.) (1976) Foundations of Lifelong Education, Oxford: Pergamon and UNESCO Institute for Education. Delors, J. (1996) Learning: The treasure within: Report to the International Commission on Education for the Twenty-first Century, Paris: UNESCO. DIUS (Department for Innovation, Universities and Skills) (2008) Informal Adult Learning – Shaping the Way Ahead, London: DIUS Publications. DIUS (Department for Innovation, Universities and Skills) (2009) The Learning Revolution, London: The Stationery Office. Epstein, D., Elwood, J., Hey, V. and Maw, J. (1998) Failing Boys? Issues in gender and achievement, Buckingham: Open University Press. Faludi, S. (1999) Stiffed: The Betrayal of the American Man, New York: William Morrow. Faure, E. (1972) Learning To Be: The world of education today and tomorrow, Paris: UNESCO. Field, J. (2000) Lifelong Learning and the New Educational Order, Stoke-on-Trent: Trentham. Foley, G. (1999) Learning in Social Action: A contribution to understanding informal education, Leicester: NIACE. Francis, B. and Skelton, C. (2005) Reassessing Gender and Achievement, London: Routledge. Freire, P. (1972) The Pedagogy of the Oppressed, Harmondsworth: Penguin. Fuss, D. (1990) Essentially Speaking: Feminism, nature and difference, London: Routledge. Golding, B., Brown, M., Foley, A., Harvey, J. and Gleeson, L. (2007) Men’s Sheds in Australia: Learning through community contexts, Adelaide: NCVER. Gramsci, A. (1971) Selections from the Prison Notebooks of Antonio Gramsci, ed. Q. Hoare and G.N. Smith, London: ElecBook. Illich, I. (1973) Deschooling Society, Harmondsworth: Penguin. Jackson, S. (ed.) (2011) Innovations in Lifelong Learning, Abingdon: Routledge. Jeffs, T. and Smith, M. (1999) Informal Education, Ticknall: Education Now. Kunzel, K. (2000) ‘Europe and Lifelong Learning: Investigating the political and educational rationale of expansionism’, in J. Field and M. Leicester (eds) Perspectives on Lifelong Education across the Lifespan, London: Falmer, pp. 201–213. Lashlie, C. (2005) He’ll be OK: Growing gorgeous boys into good men, Auckland: HarperCollins. Leathwood, C. and Francis, B. (2006) Gendering Lifelong Learning, Abingdon: Routledge. Lengrand, P. (1970) An Introduction to Lifelong Learning, Paris: UNESCO. Livingstone, D.W. (2001a) ‘Expanding Notions of Work and Learning: Latent power’, New Directions for Adult and Continuing Education, 92: 19–30. Livingstone, D.W. (2001b) ‘Adults’ Informal Learning: Definitions, findings, gaps and future research, Toronto: OISE/UT (NALL working paper No. 21). Mansfield, H.C. (2006) Manliness, New Haven, CT: Yale University Press. McGivney, V. (1999) Excluded Men: Men who are missing education and training, Leicester: NIACE.



Gender, masculinities and lifelong learning  13

McGivney, V. (2004) Men Earn, Women Learn: Bridging the gender divide in adult education and training, Leicester: NIACE. OECD (1996) Lifelong Learning for All, Paris: OECD. Rogers, A. (2004) ‘Looking Again at Non-formal and Informal Education – towards a new paradigm’. Online. Available HTTP: www.infed,org/biblio/non_formal_paradigm.htm (accessed 15 March 2011). Sax, L. (2009) Boys Adrift: The five factors driving the growing epidemic of unmotivated boys and underachieving young men, New York: Basic Books. Sax, L. (2010) Girls on Edge: The four factors driving the new crisis for girls, New York: Basic Books. Skelton, C., Francis, B. and Smulyan, L. (2006) The Sage Handbook of Gender and Education, London: Sage. Snook, I. (2001) ‘National Perspectives on Lifelong Learning’, paper presented at the symposium Lifelong Learning & the University in the 21st Century, Christchurch, 23 November. Sutherland, P. and Marks, A. (2001) ‘The Man Learner: Neglected species or dying breed?’, Adults Learning, 12(5): 11–13. Tiger, L. (1999) The Decline of Males, New York: Golden Books. Tight, M. (1996) Key Concepts in Adult Education and Training, London: Routledge and New York. Williams, R. (1983) Keywords: A vocabulary of culture and society, London: Fontana Press. Yeo, S. (1996) ‘Commentary: Work and Learning, Learning and Work – on Changing the Conversation’, Studies in the Education of Adults, 28(1): 1–13.

14  Marion Bowl Chapter 2 and Robert Tobias

Ideology, discourse and gender A theoretical framework Marion Bowl and Robert Tobias

Introduction This book draws on the concepts of ideology and discourse to contribute to the debates on gender, masculinities and lifelong learning. Debates in the field of gender and education are highly politicized; they reflect and are informed by differing ideological and theoretical perspectives. Common-sense theories about gender differences in educational participation and attainment abound and can be discerned in everyday discussion about the relationship between men and women, their knowledge and achievements; but arguments based on common sense are imbued with tacit or explicit beliefs about gender. In writing this book, we have debated among ourselves and with the other contributors our views about gender, masculinities and education and the evidence which supports or undermines them. One of the central arguments of the book is that men’s and women’s learning may best be understood by locating it in a wider context which includes the historical struggles between competing ideologies, theoretical perspectives and discourses, and that those gender differences are socially constructed – shaped by history, culture and power relations. This chapter begins by defining the terms ideology and discourse and suggesting the contribution they make to our understanding of debates around gender and education. In the second part of the chapter we present an outline of some of the ideological positions which are taken in these debates, their accompanying discourses and the theories which support and elaborate them. We conclude the chapter by stating our own theoretical assumptions (recognizing that they too are ideologically influenced) to explain how they have informed the writing of this book.

Ideology, discourse and gender The notion of ideology brings into focus the impact of the material conditions of production on people’s consciousness (Williams 1983; Gramsci 1994, 1995). As used in this book, it describes the system of beliefs and values which uphold and reflect a particular social structure or set of social relations (Brookfield



Ideology, discourse and gender  15

2005). Use of the term ideology in its Marxist formulation (Marx and Engels 1970) points to the fact that under capitalism, dominant, or hegemonic, institutions are necessarily engaged in producing, reproducing and legitimating those forms of consciousness which support the maintenance and strengthening of capitalist structures and relations. The concept of hegemony (Gramsci 1971) describes the way in which power relations are maintained through the inculcation of dominant values, beliefs, norms and discourses which come to be viewed as ‘common sense’ and, as such, remain largely uncontested. These ‘commonsense’ discourses around gender and education can be discerned in much of the populist literature which has emerged in recent years in support of the ‘masculinity in crisis’ thesis (see, for example, Faludi 1999; Tiger 1999; Sax 2009). An anti-hegemonic or critical stance in relation to gender and masculinities in education therefore invites us to interrogate ‘common-sense’ assertions, to ask questions about whose interests they serve and to locate these issues in the context of class and other struggles including those concerning gender, sexuality, ethnicity and colonization. The notion of discourse is both broader and more specific than ideology. As a tool of social analysis, it dates back to the work of Foucault in the 1960s and 1970s. For Foucault (1982, 2006) a discourse is a body of knowledge which structures ‘what can be said and thought, but also who can speak, when and with what authority’ (Ball 1990: 2). Discourses constitute knowledge–power formations which govern or control people, and within which people are positioned in different and unequal ways. Discourses act as a vehicle for the communication of ideologies. Discourses are therefore all-pervasive and immensely powerful. Nevertheless, they can sometimes be difficult to unravel, particularly when the same words may be used differently in support of differing ideological positions. However, although powerful and sometimes elusive, as Foley (1999) points out, they are open to challenge and therefore not immutable. These concepts of ideology and discourse share a number of similarities. Both draw attention to dimensions of power and inequality and to the contested nature of language and belief systems underlying policies and practices. Both imply the hegemonic nature and functions of dominant forms of language and structures of meaning, and both address the role of language, belief systems and institutions in producing, reproducing and challenging the relations and structures of power in social formations. Moreover, both also suggest that the language used to frame and formulate policy and practice and the assumptions and beliefs underpinning policy proposals cannot be understood without examining the wider political and economic contexts in which policy is developed. The term gender (Stoller 1968; Oakley 1972) draws attention to those differences between men and women which are socially constructed, in contrast with ‘sex’, which denotes biological, rather than social distinctions. Parr and Rosenfield (1996: 1) write: ‘Gender is shaped by social interaction. Gender identities – masculinity and femininity – acquire meaning in relation to one another.’ Studies of gender are aimed at exploring the social formation and

16  Marion Bowl and Robert Tobias

maintenance of relationships based on differences in sex and, in particular, the power differentials and inequalities that have underpinned relations between women and men and have been sustained and reinforced through social institutions, including education.

Ideologies and discourses on gender and education A number of ideologically influenced perspectives and their related discourses underpin current debates around gender and education (see also Francis and Skelton 2005). Often unspoken, or partially articulated, they nevertheless influence the views of policy makers, practitioners and academics working in this field. Broadly speaking, discourses of gender and education are constructed, albeit often loosely, around different ideological positions which may draw on particular theoretical perspectives and can be placed along a spectrum – with conservative and neoliberal at one end of that spectrum and critical and radical perspectives at the other. In any attempt at categorization there is always the danger of over-simplification and reductionism and it is important to recognize that there are both tensions and contradictions, even within seemingly similar ideological perspectives. We are aware of this danger, but nevertheless feel it helpful to provide a sketch map for ‘reading’ the various discourses at play in discussion of gender and education. In this section, we briefly touch on a number of such perspectives: •• •• •• ••

conservative and neoliberal perspectives; psychoanalytic and sex role perspectives and theories; socialization perspectives and theories; critical and radical perspectives based on analyses of power inequalities.

We go on to explore what feminist post-structuralism and critical studies of men and masculinities can add to the debate, and articulate the assumptions which underlie our work on this book.

Conservative and neoliberal perspectives Conservative ideologies have historically played a key role in gender politics and in shaping dominant understandings about men’s and women’s education and learning, and they continue to do so. One of the best-known theoretical positions which supports conservative discourse on gender and education is that known as ‘sociobiology’ advocated by Edward O. Wilson (1975) and developed in relation to sex and gender by Barash (1979). Sociobiologists generally argue that traditional understandings of masculinity, femininity and the nuclear family serve a wider evolutionary function. This discourse emphasizes the biological distinctions between men and women and asserts that the traditional social hierarchies of male dominance and the traditional sexual division of labour are



Ideology, discourse and gender  17

both natural and inevitable. In this view gender, like sex, is biologically determined, and masculinity and femininity are defined with reference to selected traits and characteristics generally seen as universal and immutable. A related form of conservatism – moral conservatism – has had a strong revival in recent years in the United States and United Kingdom (Durham 1991; Apple 2001a). Moral conservatism, whilst not making a direct appeal to biological differences as its basis, generally upholds what is viewed as the sanctity of ‘traditional’ forms of family and ‘traditional’ roles of women and men. In doing so, it tends to utilize a discourse of ‘family values’, ‘moral rearmament’ and a retreat from the ‘permissive society’. And whilst some strands of moral conservatism might not specifically take an anti-feminist stance (Luff 2000) its tendency is to support policy and practice which see education as being tailored to men’s and women’s differentiated status in society. Neoliberalism emanates from an economic rather than a social analysis. The logic of neoliberalism is based in a belief that the market, rather than the social realm, is paramount and that the state should play a minimal role in the economy. The role of education and training in this formulation is to develop human capital and, by means of credentials, to provide for the differentiation and fragmentation of the labour market (Harvey 2005; Francis 2006). Furthermore, the logic of neoliberalism places responsibility for educational success or failure on the individual, rather than on inequalities arising from socio-economic structures (Beck 1992). Michael Apple (2001b, 2009) has argued that in a number of countries, but particularly the United States, a new alliance has been formed between moral conservatism and the market-driven ideology of neoliberalism – what he terms ‘conservative modernization’: This power bloc combines multiple fractions of capital who are committed to neo-liberal marketized solutions to educational problems, neo-conservative intellectuals who want a ‘return’ to higher standards and a ‘common culture’, authoritarian populist religious conservatives, who are deeply worried about secularity and the preservation of their own traditions, and particular fractions of the professionally and managerially oriented middle class who are committed to the ideology and techniques of accountability and mea­ surement, and the ‘new managerialism’. (Apple 2001b: 410) While this alliance may not be a stable one and contains contradictions and tensions, it utilizes a discourse which currently exercises a profound influence on education: the discourse of markets and choice, standards and measurement, attainment and credentials. Although neoliberalism may appear to ignore the question of gender and education, its emphasis on the market as the determinant of educational and other opportunities points to its reinforcing existing economic and power differentials

18  Marion Bowl and Robert Tobias

between men and women. But in relation to education, a paradox emerges as female attainment, measured by the standard credentials of many OECD countries, has shown an improvement in relation to that of males (Hayes and Lingard 2003; Francis and Skelton 2005). From this have arisen new discourses (discussed by Epstein et al. 1998; Mills 2003; Francis 2006 among others), fuelled by moral panic, around ‘failing boys’ and the ‘feminization’ of education (Burman 2005) and a crisis of masculinity (Biddulph 1995; Faludi 1999). Yet there have been contradictory tendencies in these discourses. The first has been a ‘backlash’ discourse blaming schools, the curriculum and women themselves for what is seen as boys’ growing disadvantage in education (Lashlie 2005). The second has been described as a discourse which problematizes and/ or demonizes boys themselves for their individual ‘failures’. The third tendency (in which liberal feminism has been implicated) has been to take girls’ relative educational progress as a message that the fight for gender equality has been won, that hard work pays off for all girls (Ringrose 2007) and a vindication of neoliberalism which ignores the persistence of social and economic inequalities which cut across and intersect with gender: ‘disguising attacks on the poor with cloaks of gender discourse’ (Francis 2006: 197).

Psychoanalytic and sex role perspectives and theories Freudian-influenced psychoanalytic theories stress the importance of innate psychosexual forces within the unconscious mind and the role of the ego and super-ego in directing, containing, repressing and sublimating these forces. In this formulation, gender identities are forged before birth or through early socialization processes. They operate primarily at the level of the unconscious but mark out the differences between men and women, their psychological characteristics and the roles they might be expected to take. Although Freud himself seems to have recognized some of the complexities of gender, rejecting any simple masculine– feminine dichotomy (Freud 1977), this complexity is sometimes lost in discussions of gender based on psychoanalytic and sex role theory which tends to privilege anatomical difference as an explanation of differences between men and women. Chodorow (1978) has approached psychoanalytic theories from a feminist perspective to posit differences in male and female attributes through an exploration of boys’ and girls’ early relationships with their mother. For girls, she argues, there is a greater continuity of attachment. For boys, there is at some early point a break in the relationship, attributable to the realization of the difference between the female mother and the male child. This, Chodorow argues, leads to the development of differently gendered characteristics (the ‘distant’ and ‘independent’ male versus the ‘emotionally dependent’, ‘nurturing’ female). In the context of discussion of gender and education, discourses founded explicitly or implicitly on psychoanalytic and sex-role theories tend towards assumptions about women’s and men’s preferences for certain forms of vocational or educational pursuit (those



Ideology, discourse and gender  19

related to caring, personal and social development for women; those related to competitive, sporting or practical activities for men, etc.). Van Hoven and Hörschelmann (2005) provide a brief summary and critique of psychoanalytic and sex-role theories. Underlying these theories, they argue, is an assumption of essential differences between men and women which are reflected in discrete masculine and feminine roles and identities. They go on to suggest that both psychoanalytic and sex role theories undervalue the power relations latent beneath perceptions of gender differences and tend towards a static and prescriptive image of gender identities. Such theories, they also argue, can provide the basis for a view which attributes the male psyche and men’s attitudes and actions to biological mechanisms and/or their early socialization. In such a formulation men may be cast as ‘victims’ of their early socialization, leaving the issue of power differentials unsurfaced and undebated and limiting the possibilities of challenge and change in power relations.

Socialization perspectives and theories Theories and discourses of socialization emphasize the social nature of human beings and support the view that gender is learned through interactive processes and through absorbing existing ideas, rather than being biologically determined: that we ‘become gendered’ rather than being born so. From this point of view, human skills, capacities, interests and understandings are largely socially and historically constructed – through family and educational expectations and behaviour, through gender stereotyping and through modelling and reinforcing behaviour commonly associated with men’s or women’s ‘roles’ which are open to change or re-construction. A social-constructive perspective endorses individuality and ‘personhood’, whilst rejecting ideologies of individualism (Lukes 1973; Williams 1983) that assume certain fixed or ‘given’ psychological features which define or constitute human nature and in particular the nature of femininity and masculinity, independent of social conditions. In relation to gender and education such a perspective supports the view that educational curricula and educational choices are shaped by historical and cultural assumptions and reinforced and reproduced by social norms and behaviour. Thus males and females are exposed to different kinds of educational opportunity, have different educational expectations laid upon them and, by and large, conform to these expectations. Education and employment are therefore ‘gendered’ not because this is the natural order of things, but because the social order determines it to be so. However, this perspective inevitably raises two critical questions: first, whether it takes into account the variety of socialization experiences which exist within the categories of male and female – mediated by social class, ethnicity, age, sexuality and location (Connell 2002); and, second, the question of who has power to determine the social order (Ryan 2001). From these questions arise theories and discourses linked with critiques of social structures and power relations – socialism, feminism, anti-racism and anti-colonialism.

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Critical and radical perspectives based on analyses of power inequalities Even where there is broad agreement that socialization, social relations, social structures and power differentials are all implicated in creating and sustaining notions of gender difference and inequality, there are ideological differences about the degree to which patriarchy – asymmetric power relationships which subordinate women’s interests to those of men (Millett 1971; Weedon 1997; Weiner 1997) – is the prime factor in unequal gender relations and to what extent class, ethnicity-based and other inequalities intersect with gender. This section introduces the different strands within a critical analysis of gender and masculinities and how they are linked to different ideological positions and discourses concerning men, women and education. It begins by exploring the influences of Marxist and socialist ideologies on analyses of class and gender and goes on to discuss critiques arising from feminist, anti-racist and anti-colonialist standpoints. It then moves to a discussion of ‘men’s studies’ and post-structuralist approaches to the study of gender and discourses around masculinities. Socialism Socialism locates power inequalities in the unequal distribution of wealth and the concentration of capital in the hands of wealthy individuals or corporations; human nature is thus not fixed, but is produced and reproduced in the context of historical and contemporary socio-economic inequalities. Socialism therefore rejects the expansion of private, corporate ownership of the means of production, distribution, exchange and consumption under global capitalism and in particular the commodification and privatization of resources, goods and services. Within these discourses the state performs a key role. A socialist discourse in respect of education involves a critique of the reproductive nature of education and its role in perpetuating power inequalities based on socio-economic status or class (Bowles and Gintis 1976). A socialist analysis of gender relations would posit capitalism, rather than patriarchy as the source of unequal power relations between men and women and focuses on the workplace as the main site of oppression for working-class men and women alike. Feminisms Feminism is both an ideological and political position and gives rise to a number of theories which seek to analyse and explain power inequalities between men and women. It is widely recognized, however, that it is more appropriate to talk about feminisms in the plural than about a single strand of feminism since analyses of the causes, effects of and solutions to gendered inequalities also contain within them broader ideological influences and differences (Weiner 1994; Francis and Skelton 2005).



Ideology, discourse and gender  21

Feminist discourses identify education and the family, as key sites for the production and reproduction of inequalities. Socialist feminists have drawn on Marx to develop their theoretical frameworks as well as critiquing the tendency of socialist organizations to sideline gender relations (Rowbotham et al. 1980). Socialist feminists also argue that the family’s role should be viewed in relation to broader class-based structures of socio-economic power relations. Socialist feminist discourses therefore focus on the sexual division of labour and the role of the family and education as institutions which help to maintain and reproduce class inequalities. Radical feminism (Millett 1971; Firestone 1972), on the other hand, whilst having much in common with socialist feminism, places patriarchy, rather than class, at the centre of its analysis of gender inequalities. But, in seeing the power inequalities between men and women as fixed and universal such theories have tended towards an essentialist – almost biological – standpoint on gender difference (Ryan 2001). Further critiques of feminism have been offered from a Black perspective by bell hooks (1984) and Patricia Hill Collins (1990) who have been among those who have identified the tendency within feminism to brush aside econ­ omic and social differences between women (and particularly between white and black women) and to concentrate instead on the experiences of white (and mainly middle-class) women. Similarly, there are critiques of the colonizing discourses and assumptions in feminist theories. Mohanty et al. (1991) describe how discourses emanating from a Western view tend to cast Third World women (and men for that matter) as ‘victims’ rendering them as powerless and cutting off the possibilities for resistance and change. Joyce Green (2007), too, in her discussion of indigenous feminism has argued for an ‘aboriginal feminism’ which uses the tools of feminist analysis while offering a critique of colonialism and decolonization and the gendered and raced power relationships which colonialism has engendered in both settler and indigenous communities. Discourses on masculinities During the 1970s and 1980s a number of feminist writers drew attention to the invisibility of women and their culture in history (Rowbotham 1973; Spender 1982; Thompson 1983) and the tendency for men to occupy centre stage in accounts of social and cultural life (Smith 1978). From the 1980s, however, some writers began to argue that not only had women been absent from human history but also that gender itself, including the study of ‘men as men’ had been largely invisible. There was a call for a ‘realist’ sociology of masculinity which would study the lives and circumstances of men in all their complexity (Carrigan et al. 1985). More recently, others (Kimmel 1993, 1997; Law et al. 1999; McKay et al. 2005) have drawn attention to the ‘invisibility’ of men, perpetuated by the tendency to treat male perspectives and experiences as the norm.

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Until the 1980s the notion of masculinities was largely absent from mainstream academic research. Studies of gender tended to assume masculinity as unitary, monolithic and unproblematic (Mac an Ghaill 1996; Connell 2005). A variety of factors have contributed to the relative lack of attention paid to the study of men and masculinities, not the least of these being the position of power occupied by men in most historical societies. This allowed for the production of historical accounts in which men, rather than women, were the main actors, and that this appeared ‘natural’ and therefore unremarked. Joy Parr, for example, noted the ‘late gestation of studies of masculinity within gender history’ and suggested: Masculinity had been naturalized so effectively that it seemed without names of its own. The words to describe its properties always seemed to attach more readily to something else, to the artisan’s skill, the colonial administrator’s burden, the pastor’s wisdom, or the entrepreneur’s acumen .  .  . (Parr 1996: 17)       

This view of gender accords closely with that articulated in the growing body of literature investigating and theorizing various discourses on masculinity. Thus, according to Beasley (2008a) masculinity studies writers have begun to draw attention to the extent to which gender and masculinity are implicated in aspects of social life and organization. In recent times, too, many feminists and pro-feminists have made use of post-structural theory to provide a theoretical framework with which to engage critically with gender issues in education (Flax 1990; Weedon 1997; St. Pierre 2000). Some of the beliefs commonly found in humanism and which are deconstructed by post-structural thinking include ‘the existence of a stable, coherent self ’, the idea that ‘language is in some sense transparent’ and the idea that reason ‘exists independently of the self ’s contingent existence’ (St. Pierre 2000: 41–42). St. Pierre examines the responses of post-structural thinking to these beliefs and outlines what it is about poststructural theory that feminists find promising. For example, she refers to the problems with assuming that language is ‘transparent’ and that words, devoid of underlying values, attitudes or beliefs, simply name that which already exists in the world rather than being the site where subjectivity, is constructed (Weedon 1997; St. Pierre 2000). St. Pierre points out that words like man and woman or girl and boy have come to encompass and mask various differences based on other categories such as class, race, ethnicity, sexuality, disabilities and so on. What results from this is humanism’s tendency to shore up the notion of a single category (for example masculinity) with a clearly definable essence. Many popular studies of masculinity (for example Bly 1990; Biddulph 1995; Lashlie 2005) are premised on this notion of a single unitary category that is ‘man’ and its clearly definable essence that is ‘manhood’ or ‘masculinity’.



Ideology, discourse and gender  23

St. Pierre (2000: 500) describes the subject of humanism as ‘a conscious, stable, unified, rational, coherent, knowing, autonomous and ahistoric individual’. In contrast, post-structural subjectivity is characterized (Weedon 1997: 32) as ‘precarious, contradictory and in process, constantly being reconstituted in discourse each time we think or speak’. Subjectivity, our awareness of ourselves as individuals and our understanding of our relationship to the world, rather than being innate is produced socially, historically, culturally and politically through language and in relationships. In this construction of subjectivity the individual has agency in that he or she is afforded the opportunity to position himself or herself within available discourses and practices but at the same time is positioned by, or subjected to, those same discourse and practices. As Connell (2002, 2005) has pointed out this means that there is no one role for boys and another for girls, just as there is no one role for men and another for women: ‘There are multiple patterns of masculinity and femininity in contemporary societies’ (Connell 2002: 77); and that these patterns vary over time, across cultures and from place to place. Connell has made extensive use of the concepts of hegemonic, subordinate and marginal masculinities in his work to indicate diversity and to argue that within any single context some versions of masculinity are more highly regarded than others – hegemonic masculinity being the construction that dominates. His use of ‘hegemonic’ masculinity, however, has been critiqued (Beasley 2008a) for sliding between several meanings: hegemony: ‘as a political mechanism’; hegemony as an adjective standing for ‘dominant’, or hegemony as signalling empirically ‘actual groups of men’ (Beasley 2008a: 88). The need for gender researchers to avoid ambiguity by distinguishing between hegemonic and simply dominant masculinities has been acknowledged (Beasley 2008b; Howson 2008; Messerschmidt 2008). Beasley (2008b: 114) suggests that it is important not to view hegemonic masculinity as fixed and monolithic but to emphasize its relational and hierarchical dimension: that there is not a singular hegemonic masculinity but ‘internal relations between hierarchically organized hegemonic masculinities – some of which may be local while others may have a more global reach’. Post-structuralism can be seen as a theory employed by feminists and profeminists to advance their own understandings of feminism but above all it is employed by those who wish to do the difficult and complex work of deconstruction, of moving us beyond that which limits, hinders, discriminates and victimizes (St. Pierre 2000). As a theoretical framework within which to position work that engages with current debates about gender issues in education it affords an opportunity to critique, to analyse and to interrogate taken-for-granted assumptions so as to build up a more nuanced picture of the complexities involved in gender, masculinities and lifelong learning.

Theoretical assumptions underlying this book In this section we state our own theoretical positions as authors and some of the assumptions which led us to write this book and guided the discussions

24  Marion Bowl and Robert Tobias

presented here. First, we reject the notion that gender differences are biologic­ ally or psychologically embedded. In relation to lifelong learning and adult education, therefore, we do not accept some of the popular contemporary assumptions about gender and education: that there is a ‘problem’ with ‘men’s and boys’ education’; that education has become ‘feminized’ to the detriment of men; that there is a ‘men’s solution’ to appropriate educational provision. Rather, we assert that gender and masculinities are social constructions and are enacted through social practices which are infused with unequal power relations based on gender, class, sexuality, ethnicity and history – in particular the history of colonization (Green 2007; Hokowhitu 2002, 2004, 2008). Thus, notions of gender are not fixed, but are open to challenge and change and notions of masculinity are both contested and overlapping. Assumption one: gender and masculinities are socially constructed – they are products and producers of history A first key to our understanding of gender is that it refers to socially constructed differences both between and among men and women. Masculinities and femininities are socially produced and constructed. They are historical creations. They are also best conceived as relational constructs. Kimmel (1987) and Connell (2005) are among those who have pointed out that gender identities and experiences cannot be adequately understood in isolation. If gender differences are not to be understood as biologically determined, but rather are socially constructed, it follows that the social structures and policies which constructed these differences can legitimately be expected to change. Assumption two: gender and masculinities are social practices rather than characteristics or traits A second key to our understanding of gender and masculinities is that they refer to social practices. Not only does gender refer to a social practice but, as Connell and others have pointed out, ‘Gender is a way in which social practice is ordered. In gender processes, the everyday conduct of life is organized in relation to a reproductive arena, defined by the bodily structures and processes of human reproduction’ (Connell 2005: 71). In arguing that gender is enacted in the reproductive arena, Connell is at pains to say that he is not referring to gender as the sum of biological differences, but that gender as practised refers constantly to a discourse around male and female bodies: what they do, or do not do. He emphasizes too that the ‘gender structuring of practice’ does not necessarily have anything to do with the biology of reproduction. There is an implication here (West and Zimmerman 1987) that gender should be conceived as an active, routine accomplishment through everyday interaction and should be understood as a verb: ‘doing gender’ rather than a noun.



Ideology, discourse and gender  25

Assumption three: gender relations and masculinities reflect, produce and reproduce discourses of power Our third understanding of gender and masculinities focuses on the issue of inequality between men and women. Relations of power are central to an understanding of these differences. Indeed the starting point of feminist and pro-feminist theory and of critical forms of men’s studies lies in the recognition of the gendered nature of power structures and discourses. Throughout much of human history these have served to maintain and perpetuate the domination, exploitation and/or marginalization of women. Nor have they served the interests of most men. As Kimmel argues: To speak and write about gender is to enter a political discourse, to become engaged with power and resistance. It is about the resources that maintain power, the symbolic props that extend power, and the ideological apparatuses that develop to sustain and legitimate power. (Kimmel 1993: 32) Assumption four: genders and masculinities are multiple rather than unitary or monolithic As we have already noted, early studies of gender have been criticized for their tendency to assume a unitary, monolithic and unproblematic notion of masculinity (Mac an Ghaill 1996; Connell 2005). From the 1980s onwards studies of gender and gender relations from a variety of theoretical and ideological perspectives began to suggest more complex understandings of masculinity. Cornwall and Lindisfarne (1993) have provided a framework for studying masculinities which not only highlights their multiplicities, but also looks at the differences between various forms of masculinity. They reject the notion that masculinities and femininities are necessarily closely associated with the male– female or men–women binaries. Instead they argue that we should examine masculinities as they reflect the power differences in societies. We support the view that, as Connell (2002, 2005) has argued, there is a diversity of masculinities across space and over time. And, within a single society too, there are different recognizable ways of ‘being a man’ – mediated by socio-economic status, culture, ethnicity, age, sexuality and dis/ability.

Summary In this chapter we have outlined the theoretical orientations and assumptions underpinning this book. We have argued that men’s and women’s learning can best be understood by locating it within wider ideologies and discourses. In this book we understand gender as a relational construct. We understand gender to refer to discourses and social practices which are structured to reflect, produce

26  Marion Bowl and Robert Tobias

and reproduce relations of power between and among women and men. We reject any monolithic interpretation of masculinity or femininity and instead endorse the view that there is a plurality of masculinities and femininities. We believe that men’s and women’s experiences of life and learning tend to be different. However, we also believe that the differences among women and among men of different ages and generations, classes, cultural groups, sexualities, and so on are at least as significant as those between women and men.

References Apple, M. (2001a) Educating the ‘Right’ Way: Market standards, God and inequality, New York: Routledge. Apple, M. (2001b) ‘Comparing neo-liberal projects and inequality in education’, Comparative Education, 37(4): 409–423. Apple, M. (2009) ‘Some ideas on interrupting the right’, Education, Citizenship and Social Justice, 4(2): 87–101. Ball, S. (ed.) (1990) Foucault and Education: Disciplines and knowledge, London: Routledge. Barash, D. (1979) The Whisperings Within, New York: Harper & Row. Beasley, C. (2008a) ‘Rethinking hegemonic masculinity in a globalizing world’, Men and Masculinities, 11(1): 86–103. Beasley, C. (2008b) ‘Reply to Messerschmidt and to Howson’, Men and Masculinities, 11: 114–115. Beck, U. (1992) The Risk Society, London: Sage. Biddulph, S. (1995) Manhood: An action plan for changing men’s lives (2nd edn), Sydney: Finch Publishing. Bly, R. (1990) Iron John: A book about men, New York: Addison-Wesley. Bowles, S. and Gintis, H. (1976) Schooling in Capitalist America, London: Routledge & Kegan Paul. Brookfield, S. (2005) The Power of Critical Theory for Adult Learning and Teaching, Maidenhead: Open University Press. Burman, E. (2005) ‘Childhood, neo-liberalism and the feminization of education’, Gender and Education, 17(4): 351–367. Carrigan, T., Connell, B. and Lee, J. (1985) ‘Toward a new sociology of masculinity’, Theory and Society, 14(5): 551–604. Chodorow, N. (1978) The Reproduction of Mothering: Psychoanalysis and the sociology of gender, Berkley: University of California Press. Connell, R. W. (2002) Gender, Cambridge: Polity Press. Connell, R. W. (2005) Masculinities (2nd edn), Cambridge: Polity Press. Cornwall, A. and Lindisfarne, N. (1993) ‘Dislocating masculinity: Gender, power and anthropology’, in A. Cornwall and N. Lindisfarne (eds) Dislocating Masculinity: Comparative ethnographies, London; New York: Routledge. Durham, M. (1991) Sex and Politics: The family and morality in the Thatcher Years, London: Macmillan. Epstein, D., Elwood J., Hey, V. and Maw, J. (eds) (1998) Failing boys?, Buckingham: Open University Press. Faludi, S. (1999) Stiffed: The betrayal of the American Man, New York: William Morrow. Firestone, S. (1972) The Dialectic of Sex, London: Paladin.



Ideology, discourse and gender  27

Flax, J. (1990) ‘Postmodernism and gender relations in feminist theory’, in L. J. Nicholson (ed.) Feminism/Postmodernism, New York: Routledge. Foley, G. (1999) Learning in Social Action – a contribution to understanding informal education, Leicester: NIACE. Foucault, M. (1982) ‘Afterword: The subject and power’ in H. Dreyfus and P. Rabinow, Michel Foucault: Beyond structuralism and hermeneutics, Brighton: Harvester Press. Foucault, M. (2006) The Archaeology of Knowledge, trans. R. Hurley, London: Routledge. Francis, B. (2006) ‘Heroes or Zeroes? The discursive positioning of “underachieving boys” in English neo-liberal education policy’, Journal of Education Policy, 21(2): 187–200. Francis, B. and Skelton, C. (2005) Reassessing Gender and Achievement, London: Routledge. Freud, S. (1977) On Sexuality, Harmondsworth: Penguin. Gramsci A. (1971) Selections from the Prison Notebooks of Antonio Gramsci, ed. Q. Hoare and G. N. Smith, London: ElecBook. Gramsci, A. (1994) Letters from Prison Volumes 1 and 2, trans. and ed. D. Boothman, New York: Columbia University Press. Gramsci, A. (1995) Further Selections from the Prison Notebooks, trans. and ed. D. Boothman, Minneapolis: University of Minnesota. Green, J. (2007) Making Space for Indigenous Feminism, London: Zed Books. Hayes, D. and Lingard, B. (2003) ‘Introduction: rearticulating gender agendas in schooling: An Australian perspective’, International Journal of Inclusive Education, 7: 1–6. Harvey, D. (2005) A Brief History of Neoliberalism, Oxford: Oxford University Press. Hill Collins, P. (1990) Black Feminist Thought, London: Unwin. Hokowhitu, B. (2002) Te Mana MAori – Te Tatari nga Korero Parau, Dunedin: University of Otago. Hokowhitu, B. (2004) ‘Tackling Maori masculinity: a colonial genealogy of savagery and sport’, The Contemporary Pacific, 16(2): 259–284. Hokowhitu, B. (2008) ‘The death of Koro Paka: “traditional” Maori patriarchy’, The Contemporary Pacific 21(1): 259–284. hooks, b. (1984) Feminist Theory: From margin to centre, Boston: South End Press. Howson, R. (2008) ‘Hegemonic masculinity in the theory of hegemony’, Men and Masculinities, 11: 109–113. Kimmel, M. S. (1987) ‘The Contemporary “Crisis” of Masculinity in Historical Perspective’, in H. Brod (ed.) The Making of Masculinities: The new men’s studies, Boston: Allen & Unwin. Kimmel, M. S. (1993) ‘Invisible masculinity’, Society, 30(6): 28–35. Kimmel, M. S. (1997) ‘Integrating men into the curriculum’, Duke Journal of Gender, Law and Policy, 4: 181–196. Lashlie, C. (2005) He’ll be OK: Growing gorgeous boys into good men, Auckland: HarperCollins. Law, R., Campbell, H. and Dolan, J. (eds) (1999) Masculinities in Aotearoa New Zealand, Palmerston North: Dunmore Press. Luff, D. (2000) ‘ “British Moral Right” women and feminism’, Sociological Research Online, 5(1). Available: HTTP: www.socresonline.org.uk (accessed 10 October 2011). Lukes, S. (ed.) (1973) Individualism, Oxford: Basil Blackwood. Mac an Ghaill, M. (ed.) (1996). Understanding Masculinities: Social relations and cultural arenas, Buckingham: Open University Press. Marx, K. and Engels, F. (1970); C. J. Arthur (ed.) The German Ideology London: Lawrence & Wishart.

28  Marion Bowl and Robert Tobias McKay, J., Mikosza, J. and Hutchins, B. (2005) ‘Gentlemen, the lunchbox has landed: Representations of masculinities and men’s bodies in the popular media’, in M. Kimmel, J. Hearn and R. W. Connell (eds), Handbook of Studies on Men and Masculinities, Thousand Oaks, CA: Sage, pp. 270–288. Messerschmidt, J. W. (2008) ‘And now, the rest of the story’, Men and Masculinities, 11: 104–108. Millett, K. (1971) Sexual Politics, London: Hart Davis. Mills, M. (2003) ‘Shaping the boys’ agenda: the backlash blockbusters’, International Journal of Inclusive Education, 7: 57–73. Mohanty, C. T., Russo, A. and Torres, L. (eds) (1991) Third World Women and the Politics of Feminism, Bloomington: Indiana University Press. Oakley, A. (1972) Sex, Gender and Society, London: Temple Smith. Parr, J. (1996) ‘Gender and historical practice’, in J. Parr and M. Rosenfeld (eds) Gender and History in Canada, Toronto: Copp Clark. Parr, J. and Rosenfeld, M. (eds) (1996) Gender and History in Canada, Toronto: Copp Clark. Ringrose, J. (2007) ‘Successful girls? Complicating post-feminist neoliberal discourses of education achievement and gender equality’, Gender and Education, 19(4): 471–489. Rowbotham, S. (1973) Hidden from History: 300 years of women’s oppression and the fight against it, London: Pluto Press. Rowbotham, S., Segal, L. and Wainwright, H. (1980) Beyond the Fragments: Feminism and the making of socialism, London: Merlin. Ryan, A. (2001) Feminist Ways of Knowing, Leicester: NIACE. Sax, L. (2009) Boys Adrift – the five factors driving the growing epidemic of unmotivated boys and underachieving young men, New York: Basic Books. Smith, D. E. (1978) ‘A peculiar eclipsing: Women’s exclusion from man’s culture’, Women’s Studies International Quarterly, 1(4): 281–295. Spender, D. (1982). Invisible Women: the Schooling Scandal, London: Writers and Readers Publishing Cooperative. Stoller, R. (1968) Sex and Gender: On the development of masculinity and femininity, New York: Science House. St. Pierre, E. A. (2000) ‘Poststructural feminism in education: an overview’, International Journal of Qualitative Studies in Education, 13: 477–515. Tiger, L. (1999) The Decline of Males, New York: Golden Books. Thompson, J. (1983) Learning Liberation: Women’s responses to men’s education, London: Croom Helm. Van Hoven, B. and Hörschelmann, K. (2005) Spaces of Masculinities, New York: Routledge. Weedon, C. (1997) Feminist Practice and Poststructuralist Theory (2nd edn), Oxford: Blackwell. Weiner, G. (1994) Feminisms in Education, Buckingham: Open University Press. Weiner, G. (1997) ‘Feminism and education’, in A. H. Halsey, H. Lauder, P. Brown and A. Stuart Wells (eds) Education, Culture, Economy, Society, Oxford: Oxford University Press. West, C. and Zimmerman D. H. (1987) ‘Doing gender’, Gender and Society, 1(2): 121–151. Williams, R. (1983) Keywords: A vocabulary of culture and society, London: Fontana Press. Wilson, E. O. (1975) Sociobiology: The new synthesis, Cambridge, MA: Belknap Press of Harvard University Press.

Chapter 3

Men and educational participation  29

Men and educational participation: is there a problem? Some findings from international surveys Robert Tobias and Marion Bowl

Introduction The question of gender and educational achievement in the compulsory school years in industrialized countries has been the subject of much debate and ana­ lysis (Epstein et al. 1998; Francis 2000; Gorard et al. 2001; Francis and Skelton 2005; Archer and Francis 2007; Hattie 2009). From a reading of the literature a number of conclusions are suggested. First, those differences between boys’ and girls’ achievement which do exist are often statistically negligible or ques­ tionable (Hattie 2009; Gorard et al. 2001); second, gender differences are less prominent than, and are intersected by, inequalities, particularly those based on ethnicity and social class (Epstein et al. 1998; Francis and Skelton 2005; Archer and Francis 2007); third, gender differences in achievement are not consistently distributed across level and subject of study (Gorard et al. 2001; Francis and Skelton 2005); fourth, the examination achievements of both boys and girls have been improving, although at different rates (Francis 2000; Francis and Skelton 2005); and fifth, notwithstanding the improvement in girls’ achievement rates, boys’ career and salary prospects after leaving school are better than those of girls (Francis 2000; Francis and Skelton 2005). In the field of post-compulsory education, the focus has tended to be on gender differences in participation in education and training, rather than differ­ ences in attainment. Veronica McGivney’s work (1999, 2004) in the field of adult education has been influential in this area and, in spite of the fact that she emphasizes the social class and ethnic dimensions of differentials in participation, the title of her book Excluded Men (1999) suggested concern with men’s edu­ cational participation across the board, and in adult and community education in particular which has been echoed in some of the academic commentary and practitioner initiatives around men and adult education (Golding et al. 2007; Golding 2010). In this chapter we draw on data from two international surveys (OECD and Statistics Canada, 2000; Statistics Canada and OECD, 2005 along with OECD 2009) to examine what the evidence from large-scale statistical studies reveals about patterns of educational participation by men and women.

30  Robert Tobias and Marion Bowl

Adult participation in education The two OECD and Statistics Canada surveys whose findings are discussed in this chapter collected data on educational participation by men and women in the period from the mid-1990s to the mid-2000s. Drawing on some of the data gathered through these surveys we examine the relationships between age, level of schooling, geography, occupation and educational participation among different groups of women and men. Both studies were large-scale international surveys carried out with the cooperation of governments, national statistics agencies, research institutions and multilateral agencies. The studies were developed and coordinated by Statistics Canada and the Educational Testing Service (ETS) in collaboration with the National Center for Education Statistics (NCES) of the United States Department of Education and the Organisation for Economic Co-operation and Development (OECD). By analyzing the two surveys side by side we are able to look both longitudinally and cross-nationally at patterns of adult educational participation. The first of these surveys was the International Adult Literacy Survey (IALS) (OECD and Statistics Canada, 2000). This survey was conducted in three phases (1994, 1996 and 1998) in twenty-two countries. The second was the Adult Literacy and Life Skills Survey (ALLS) (Statistics Canada and OECD 2005; OECD 2009). It was conducted in two phases (2002 and 2006) in twelve countries. In each participating country probability samples were drawn from the civilian, usually resident, non-institutionalized population aged 16 and over or 16 to 65. Excluded therefore were long-term residents of homes for older people, hospitals, and psychiatric institutions, inmates of penal institution, members of the permanent armed forces, and overseas visitors. For the purpose of the analysis presented here, however, we have for the most part only drawn on data collected from those aged 25 to 65. The exception to this is in the analysis of the relationship between age and educational participation where we have drawn on the entire 16 to 65 data. The practice of analysing those 25 and over is not uncommon among those interested in adult learning and education (see O’Connell, 1999). Both surveys used a combination of educational testing techniques and household survey research to determine literacy levels and provide the information necessary to make these measures meaningful. Respondents were first asked a series of questions to obtain background and demographic information on educational attainment, literacy practices at home and at work, labour force involvement, information and communication technology (ICT) usage, educational participation and literacy self-assessment. Once the background questionnaires had been completed, respondents were asked to complete a series of tasks of increasing difficulty which were intended to measure their literacy competence. We did not utilize the literacy findings for the purpose of this chapter. However, the background sections in both surveys included questions on educational participation which have been drawn on here.



Men and educational participation  31

The primary question was similar in both surveys and covered a range of involvement in education and training. Education and training were broadly defined, but principally in relation to deliberate, more or less formally organized educational activity: During the past 12 months  .  .  .  did you take any courses, private lessons, correspondence courses, workshops on-the-job training, apprenticeship train­ ing, arts, crafts, recreation courses, or any other training or education? Unlike the IALS survey, the ALLS Survey also included a number of followup questions to identify, among other things, respondents’ participation in different types of educational activity. This enables us in this chapter also to analyse the responses to two further questions. The first of these questions was as follows: During the past 12 months  .  .  .  did you take any courses as part of a programme of study toward a certificate, diploma or degree? For the purpose of this chapter we use the responses to this question to provide a measure of participation in formal education. The second question was as follows: During the past 12 months  .  .  .  did you take any courses that were not part of a programme of study? [For those respondents who had responded in the affirmative to the previous question the final phrase of this second question was modified to refer to ‘your programme of study’ instead of ‘a programme of study’.] And for our purposes we use the responses to this question as a measure of participation in non-formal education. In this chapter, as a result, the distinction between formal and non-formal education is essentially between credential-bearing and credential-free education; informal and incidental learning is not analysed. To allow for the fact that twenty-two countries participated in the IALS survey in the 1990s and twelve in the ALLS survey in the 2000s and to enable comparisons to be made, we have limited our analysis to those countries which took part in both surveys and for which data were available at the time of our analysis. Our analysis is therefore based on data from the following six countries: Canada, Italy, New Zealand, Norway, Switzerland and the USA. We have used unweighted means as our measure of educational participation. Unweighted means rather than weighted means were used because the former are unaffected by sample size. The following graphs are intended to shed light on trends and patterns of educational participation by men and women over the period covered by the two surveys.

32  Robert Tobias and Marion Bowl

Gender and participation in all forms of education and training Figures 3.1 and 3.2 present a picture of the patterns of participation by men and women in all forms of education in the 1990s and early 2000s. Figure 3.1 shows the percentages of men and women who participated in all forms of education in both surveys in each of the six countries included in this analysis. These percentages varied widely from country to country. In New Zealand and Norway they were relatively high, particularly when compared with Italy. And in every country except Italy, the percentages of participants rose considerably over time among both men and women. Country by country, gendered differences in overall participation seem to have been small, except in Switzerland and Italy, where the percentages of men who participated were higher than those of women in both surveys. Figure 3.2 shows the unweighted mean percentages of men and women who had participated in all forms of education in both surveys. In the 1994–1998 survey the proportion of women who said they had participated in some form of education was 39 per cent as compared with 41 per cent of men. By the 2000s, however, although women’s participation had grown more rapidly than men’s, mean participation levels for both men and women had risen to 47 per cent. Whilst women’s levels of educational participation appear to have been growing at a faster rate than men’s, the findings from these two surveys suggest that women were catching up with men rather than outstripping them; they also suggest that any claims for a ‘gender gap’ in educational participation may be somewhat over-stated. Figure 3.3 summarizes the data on participation by men and women in formal and non-formal education. It is based on responses to the ALLS Survey between 2002 and 2006. No comparable data were available from the IALS surveys in

Figure 3.1  Mean percentages of men and women who participated in all forms of education



Men and educational participation  33

Figure 3.2  Mean percentage of men and women aged 25–65 who participated in all forms of education, 1994–98 and 2002–06

Figure 3.3  Mean percentages of men and women aged 25–65 who participated in formal and non-formal education, 2002–06

the 1990s. It shows, first, that a very much larger proportion of both men and women participated in non-formal as compared with formal education and, second, that there was little difference between the proportions of men and women who participated in formal and non-formal education.

Age, gender and educational participation The following three figures (3.4, 3.5 and 3.6) summarize the data from the surveys which relate to questions about the influence of age and gender on educational participation. Figure 3.4 illustrates differences in the mean percentages of men and women of various age groups who participated in any form of education in the six countries between the 1990s and early 2000s. The first point to note is that

34  Robert Tobias and Marion Bowl

Figure 3.4  Mean percentages of men and women of various age groups who participated in all forms of education, 1994–98 and 2002–06

the proportions of both men and women who participated in education or training rose substantially in all age groups in the period between the two surveys. Second, in the 1994 to 1998 survey the proportion of younger women (aged 16 to 34) who participated was somewhat lower than that of men, while among older men and women (aged 35 to 65) the proportions of men and women participating were similar. In the years between the two surveys the picture of participation among younger adults changed markedly, whereas among older adults the changes were not so marked. Thus, although among younger adults the proportions of both men and women participants had grown, the rate of growth among younger women (16 to 34) was greater than that of their male counterparts. As a con­ sequence of this, by 2002 to 2006 the proportion of women participants among 16- to 24-year-olds slightly exceeded that of men, while among those aged 25 to 34 the proportion of participants among women and men had moved very much closer. In the older age groups the growth in participation by both men and women was not so marked. Among those aged 35 to 44 the proportion of men and women who participated rose by 5 per cent and 7 per cent respectively; among those aged 45 to 54 the proportion rose by 11 per cent for men and 12 per cent for women; and among those aged 55 to 65 the proportion rose by 12 per cent for men and 11 per cent for women. Importantly in terms of the thesis of this book, it will come as no surprise to note that the data in Figure 3.4 illustrate the fact that age appears to be a far greater determinant of educational participation than gender. In spite of impressive increases in each age group, with only two or three exceptions the mean levels of participation by both men and women were lower with each succeeding age group in both surveys.



Men and educational participation  35

Turning to Figure 3.5, data on participation in formal education in the period 2002 and 2006 from the ALLS Survey also suggest a strong relationship between age and participation with only small differences in the proportions of men and women participants. Similarly, when we turn to Figure 3.6, the data on participation in non-formal education illustrate a strong relationship between age and participation. However, the pattern of participation is different from that of formal education. Whereas in the case of formal education the mean proportion of participants was very much greater among both men and women

Figure 3.5  Mean percentages of men and women of various age groups who participated in formal education, 2002–06

Figure 3.6  Mean percentages of men and women of various age groups who participated in non-formal education, 2002–06

36  Robert Tobias and Marion Bowl

in the younger age groups, in non-formal education the mean proportion of participants for both men and women is considerably greater among those aged 35 and older than among younger age groups. The statistics on age and participation overall therefore suggest that age is a stronger determinant of participation in both formal and non-formal education than gender. Across the board, overall educational participation by men and women increased in the period between the surveys, and, while the rate of increase was greater for women than for men, male/female differences in participation were small or non-existent. Again, claims for a ‘problem’ specifically in relation to men’s participation do not seem to hold up in the light of the data presented here.

Gender, schooling level and educational participation Figure 3.7 summarizes the data from the two surveys relating to questions about the influence of level of prior schooling and gender on educational participation. For the purpose of this analysis we have drawn on the International Standard Classification of Education (ISCED) (United Nations Educational, Scientific and Cultural Organization (UNESCO) 2006). The ISCED is used to classify formal education by level, ranging from pre-primary education to postgraduate studies. In order to simplify matters, we have reduced the number of categories from eleven to four. For this analysis we draw on data from five countries – Canada, Italy, New Zealand, Norway and Switzerland. First, the figure highlights the close links between prior formal schooling and both men’s and women’s participation in all forms of education. Thus, for example, the proportion of participants among men and women with no more

Figure 3.7  Mean percentages of men and women aged 25–65 with various levels of prior schooling who participated in all forms of education, 1994–98 and 2002–06



Men and educational participation  37

than a lower secondary school qualification was less than half that among men and women with tertiary or degree qualifications. In both surveys the propor­ tions of men and women with similar levels of prior schooling were similar. The data presented in Figure 3.7 therefore support the view that prior schooling – like age – is a more striking determinant of participation than gender. Second, the figure shows that in the 1990s at every level of prior schooling (except among those with a university degree) the proportion of women who participated was lower than that of men. In the case of those with a university degree the proportion of male and female participants was the same. Third, the figure points to the fact that between the 1990s and early 2000s (a) there was an increase in the proportion of both men and women who par­ ticipated at every level of prior schooling, but that (b) at every level the increases among women were greater than among men. As a consequence of these changes the figure shows that there was a convergence in the proportions of participants among men and women among those with lower secondary, upper secondary and non-degree tertiary qualifications over the period. It is only among those with degrees that the proportion of women participants grew to exceed that of men. Overall then the data are congruent with the findings of previous studies (see Tobias, 2007) which demonstrate that level of prior schooling is a key factor influencing educational participation in the adult years for both men and women.

Gender, rural/urban differences and educational participation Figure 3.8 summarizes the data from the surveys in six countries which relate to questions of geography and, specifically, the relationship between rural/urban living and levels of educational participation by men and women. In this section our analysis is based on data from all six countries referred to earlier. Figure 3.8 illustrates differences in the mean percentages of men and women from rural and urban areas who participated in any form of education in the six countries during 1994–1998 and 2002–2006. The first point to note, again, is the increase over time in overall educational participation among men and women in both rural and urban areas. The second is the way in which women’s participation – especially low in rural areas in the first survey – rose to levels comparable with men’s by 2002 to 2006. The proportion of men in rural areas who participated in education rose from 37 per cent in the mid-1990s to 45 per cent in the early 2000s and the comparable figures for rural women were 35 per cent and 44 per cent. Among urban men and women the growth was not quite as striking. Neverthe­ less among urban men the increase was from 43 to 48 per cent and among urban women it rose from 40 to 48 per cent. The third point is that in urban areas there was little difference between the proportions of men and women who participated. The only differences of note were those in rural areas, where women’s participation rates seem to have increased

38  Robert Tobias and Marion Bowl

Figure 3.8  Mean percentages of men and women aged 25–65 who participated in all forms of education, by rural and urban area, 1994–98 and 2002–06

considerably over time, and by the time of the second survey were equal to those of men.

Gender, work situation and educational participation In this section we examine the patterns of educational participation of men and women in various labour market situations. The categories of situations are the following: employed or self-employed; unemployed; doing unpaid household work; retired; and other. We have excluded full-time students from this analysis, and the analysis is based on mean percentages of participants in all six countries referred to earlier. Figure 3.9 presents data on the mean percentage participation in all forms of education by men and women in each of the work situations. The first relevant point is that there were substantial variations in the rates of educational participation by both men and women between the various work situations. Overall the impact of work situation on educational participation seems to be greater than that of gender. In both surveys in the 1990s and early 2000s the highest levels of participa­ tion were among those in paid employment. The next highest were among those who were unemployed. The proportions of participants in this category and among those in the ‘other’ category were, however, very much lower than those employed in the paid labour force. The lowest levels of participation in both surveys were among those who were retired or doing unpaid household work. Second, there were increases in participation among both men and women over the period from the 1990s to early 2000s in almost every category of work situation. The only exception was among men doing unpaid household work



Men and educational participation  39

Figure 3.9  Mean percentages of men and women aged 25–65 who participated in all forms of education, by current work situation, 1994–98 and 2002–06

where there was a small fall (of 2 per cent) in the level of participation from 17 to 15 per cent. On the other hand the biggest increases were among employed women (8 per cent), unemployed men (9 per cent) and women in ‘other’ situations (9 per cent). Third, although in almost every category of work situation, the level of women’s participation was somewhat higher than that of men, the differences in most cases were not great. The biggest differences were between employed men and women (where in the early 2000s the percentage of women par­ ticipants was 6 per cent higher than that of men), between unemployed men and women (where in the 1990s the percentage of women participants was 9 per cent higher than that of men), and between men and women in ‘other’ situations (where in the 1990s the percentage of men was 10 per cent higher than that of women). Turning to Figure 3.10, data are presented which summarize the level of participation in formal and non-formal education by men and women in different labour market situations in the 2002–2006 period. The data are drawn from the ALLS Survey. The point which strikes us first here is that, once again, despite major differences in the patterns of participation between formal and non-formal education, the data suggest that in almost every employment situation, the percentages of men and women participants in formal education and in non-formal education were very similar. Second, in relation to formal education, the differences in levels of participa­ tion between men and women, such as they were, ranged from 2 per cent among the employed, 4 per cent among the retired and those doing household work

40  Robert Tobias and Marion Bowl

Figure 3.10   Mean percentages of men and women aged 25–65 who participated in formal and non-formal education, by current work situation, 2002–06

and 13 per cent among the unemployed. It seems, then, that the proportion of unemployed women who engaged in formal education was substantially higher than that of unemployed men. Apart from that, gender differences in levels of participation in formal education were small and less marked than work situation differences. Third, in relation to non-formal education, the differences in levels of par­ ticipation between men and women ranged from 1 per cent among the employed and unemployed to 6 per cent among the retired, 8 per cent among ‘others’, and a very large 37 per cent among those doing unpaid household work. It seems, then, that the proportion of women in household work who engaged in non-formal education was substantially higher than that of men in household work. And once again, apart from this, it seems that gender differences in levels of participation in non-formal education were small and less significant than work situation differences.

Gender, occupation and educational participation In this final section we examine the patterns of educational participation of men and women in various occupational categories. The categories used are based on the International Standard Classification of Occupations (ISCO) (International Conference of Labour Statisticians, 2007). This is an International Labour Organization (ILO) classification structure for organizing information on labour and jobs. Our analysis is based on unweighted mean percentages of participants in each category in the four countries – Italy, New Zealand, Norway and Switzerland – for which adequate occupational data were available for the study.



Men and educational participation  41

Figure 3.11 presents data on the mean percentage participation in all forms of education by men and women in each of the occupational categories. Here one immediately notices that occupation types appear to be closely linked with level of educational participation. In both the 1990s and early 2000s there was considerable variation between occupational categories in the level of educational participation by both men and women. Overall the largest proportions of participants were to be found among professional and technical workers. This was followed by those in the management, clerical and service worker categories, while the smallest proportions, not surprisingly, were among agricultural, forestry and fisheries, and building and production workers and labourers and cleaners. Once again gender seems to have been trumped by occupation as an influence on level of participation. In spite of this, there were some striking differences in several occupational categories between the proportions of men and women who were educational participants. Among professional and technical workers the proportion of women who participated was very much higher than that of their male counterparts, while the reverse seems to be the case among service and building and production workers with the proportions of male participants being higher than their female counterparts. Third, there were some striking differences over the time period between the two surveys. The proportion of managers participating in education – among both men and women – appears to have decreased over time. On the other hand, the most noticeable increases in participation appear to be among male and female service workers and labourers and female agricultural workers. In general, then, insofar as there were gender differences in levels of educa­ tional participation, these seem to have varied between occupational groups, rather than there being an overall ‘gender divide’.

Figure 3.11  Mean percentages of men and women aged 25–65 who participated in all forms of education, by occupational type, 1994–98 and 2002–06

42  Robert Tobias and Marion Bowl

Conclusion In the presentation of the statistics in this chapter, we have tried to offer description, rather than interpretation or causal explanations. What can be seen is that the picture is a complex one and that variations in participation may be related to geography, age, education level and occupation, as well as gender. Below we summarize what seem to us the most striking findings and their implications. First, it is clear that in the period between 1994 and 2006 adult participation in education increased across the board and in the case of women the rate of increase, from a lower starting base, was often higher than that for men. However, there was little evidence that women had outstripped men in terms of educational participation. Indeed, the only level at which women’s participation seems to have grown markedly when compared with men’s is at degree level. Second, it appears that the differences between male and female patterns of participation are relatively small, when compared with differences based on other factors, such as age, geographical location and occupation. This would suggest that there is a need for caution in respect of generalizations about men’s and women’s participation and particularly in claiming that there is a ‘problem’ with men and their participation. Third, the differences between the six industrialized countries for which we have analysed data suggest that it is unwise to attempt cross-country generalizations; local policies, practices and cultural expectations are clearly important determinants of who participates. Finally, it appears that prior educational level and current occupation remain important determinants of adult participation in education. Whilst it does appear that women are taking advantage of new-found opportunities – to participate in higher education and to enter professional and technical occupations, and while this may well be a cause for celebration rather than concern, it is also clear that if equality of access to educational opportunities is seen as important, greater focus needs to be placed on inequalities based on occupational status and prior educational achievement – for both men and women. In this chapter we have presented the findings from our own statistical analysis of available survey data on adult participation in education in six countries, from two surveys which cover the periods 1994 to 1998 and 2002 to 2006. In summary, our findings suggest that gender is not as important as other factors in influencing levels of educational participation by adults. Indeed, age and prior educational achievement appear to be factors of far greater influence. Where gender differences do exist, they are not necessarily in favour of women, and where they do favour women, the differences are small.

Acknowledgements We gratefully acknowledge the cooperation of Statistics Canada in providing us with the micro-data used for the analyses discussed in this chapter. All compu­ tations based on these were prepared by the authors who take responsibility for their use and interpretation.



Men and educational participation  43

We also acknowledge with gratitude the assistance of the following people: Dr Xin Zhau (Department of Mathematics and Statistics, University of Canter­ bury) and Paul Satherley and Elliot Lawes (New Zealand Ministry of Education).

References Archer, L. and Francis, B. (2007) Understanding Minority Ethnic Achievement: Race, Class and Gender, Abingdon: Routledge. Epstein, D., Elwood, J., Hey, V. and Maw J. (eds) (1998) Failing Boys: issues in gender and achievement, Buckingham: Open University Press. Francis, B. (2000) Boys, Girls and Achievement: addressing classroom issues, Florence KY: Routledge. Francis, B. and Skelton, C. (2005) Reassessing Gender and Achievement, London: Routledge. Golding, B. (2010) ‘The big picture on men (and boys’) learning’, Australian Journal of Adult Learning 50(1): 54–74. Golding, B., Brown, M., Foley, A., Harvey, J. and Gleeson, L. (2007) Men’s Sheds in Australia: learning through community contexts, Adelaide SA: NCVR. Gorard, S., Rees, G. and Salisbury, J. (2001) ‘Investigating patterns of differential attainment of boys and girls at school’, British Educational Research Journal 27(2): 125–139. Hattie, J.A.C. (2009) Visible Learning: a synthesis of over 800 meta-analyses, Oxford: Routledge. International Conference of Labour Statisticians (ICLS) (2007) International Standard Classification of Occupations – ISCO-08, Geneva: International Labour Organization (ILO). Online. Available HTTP: www.ilo.org/public/english/bureau/stat/isco/index.htm (accessed 3 November 2011). McGivney, V. (1999) Excluded Men: men who are missing education & training, Leicester: NIACE. McGivney, V. (2004) Men Earn, Women Learn: bridging the gender divide in adult education & training, Leicester: NIACE. O’Connell, P.J. (1999) Adults in Training: An International Comparison of Continuing Education and Training, Paris: Centre for Educational Research & Innovation, Organisation for Economic Co-operation and Development (OECD). OECD Directorate for Education (2009) International Adult Literacy and Basic Skills Surveys in the OECD Region (OECD Working Paper No. 26), Paris: Organisation for Economic Co-operation & Development (OECD). OECD, and Statistics Canada (2000) Literacy in the Information Age: final report of the International Adult Literacy Survey, Paris and Ottawa: Organisation for Economic Co-operation & Development (OECD), Statistics Canada. Statistics Canada, and Organisation for Economic Co-operation and Development (OECD) (2005) Learning a Living – First Results of the Adult Literacy and Life Skills Survey, Ottawa and Paris: Statistics Canada, Organisation for Economic Cooperation and Development (OECD). Tobias, R.M. (2007) ‘Educational participation by adults, 1978–1996: a survey of surveys’, New Zealand Journal of Adult Learning 35(2): 4–31. United Nations Educational, Scientific and Cultural Organization (UNESCO) (2006) International Standard Classification of Education – ISCED 1997, Paris: United Nations Educational, Scientific and Cultural Organization (UNESCO).

Part II

Changing discourses and images

Chapter 4

A genealogy of Ma¯ ori masculinity  47

‘Educating Jake’ A genealogy of Ma¯ ori masculinity Brendan Hokowhitu

Introduction Maori academic Andrew Vercoe’s 1998 book Educating Jake: Pathways to Empowerment was in part a reaction to the movie Once Were Warriors (Tamahori 1995) and in particular the lack of attention the film paid to the colonial antecedents of the central character’s abusive violence. Once Were Warriors centred on the sociopathological violence of Maori father Jake Heke (a.k.a. ‘Jake the Muss’ – short for ‘Jake the Muscle’) and its effects on his immediate family. The film provided a bleak yet realistic description of the violence within urban Maori life, and some resolution to this problem (a return to indigenous culture and tribal homelands). As its name suggests, the film intimates that what was appropriate and noble in the pre-colonial warrior culture has, in ‘modern’ times, become a naturalized symptom of Maori male urban dysfunction. The ‘uneducated savage’ trope, internalized by the Maori male deviant, confines him in a highly dysfunctional position. This is a space where many Maori men locate themselves, are located to, and struggle to break free from. The uneducated Jake emanates physicality: in his violent rampages, his sexuality, his being itself. He cannot deal with the complexities of his home life except by living up to his nickname. Entirely governed by his passions, he is unable to function other than through uncivilized physicality, void of mature expression. He slurps oysters. He gives Beth ‘the bash’. He is not merely physical; he is hyper-physical. Given the film’s central theme of uneducated savagery, it was logical, under a colonial taxonomy at least, that the sequel What Becomes of the Broken Hearted? (Mune 2001) should focus on Jake’s redemption; or what could be defined as postcolonial adult salvation, that is, the civilization of his savage nature and the inculcation of culturally normative behaviour. Jake returns to an authenticated bodily performance of Maori masculinity: pig hunting. There he is able to ‘return to nature’ and to employ his violence within a socially acceptable setting. Vercoe, on the other hand, as the title of his book intimates, offers an altogether different conception of postcolonial adult education (that is, ‘pathways to empowerment’) in accordance with having learnt and understood the effects of past colonization on the actions of today, and with the renaissance of Maori

48  Brendan Hokowhitu

culture. Simply put, at that point in postcolonial history Vercoe and a groundswell of both Maori and non-Maori academics in various fields built upon the radical urban indigenous politics of 1970s New Zealand to lay the groundwork for a critical decolonial theory which has since become a touchstone for the panindigenous movement worldwide (for example, Linda Smith, 1999). The phenomenon that was Once Were Warriors demonstrated an urban indigenous masculine culture in ruin, and was part of a general trend referred to by Anthony Clare (2000) as ‘masculinity in crisis’. ‘Masculinity in crisis’ refers to the postmodern fracturing of the traditional performances of men at work, in education, in the family, in sexuality and in health. Yet typically (and unsurprisingly) analyses of this crisis have focused solely on the debilitation of North American and British masculinities: white, middle to upper class, and straight. Yet the fracturing of traditional masculine roles has probably been felt most keenly by others – those men most disenfranchised in the working class for instance. Moreover, it could be argued that since colonization the state of crisis in indigenous masculinity has been unremittingly constant. As the genealogy of postcolonial Maori masculinity and education in this chapter demonstrates, the state sponsored construction of Maori men as ‘physical beings’ has determined the disastrous production of the trope of an uneducated MAori man. Maori masculinity (in a singular, stereotypical sense) is archetypically considered hyper-masculine in some regards but lacking in others. While a general masculine trait may be ‘assertiveness’ or ‘muscularity’, in the supposedly hyper-masculine Maori man these traits manifest themselves as aggression, violence and an imbalanced reliance on physicality and the passions and, as a consequence (within the mind–body dialectic), an under-reliance on intelligence and emotional maturity. This chapter follows Michel Foucault’s use of the genealogical method as influenced by the notion of discourse as a discursive formation. Thus, the chapter moves away from describing the indigenous ‘Other’ as silenced and as an object of fantasy, and towards Foucault’s analyses of discourse ‘as part of a specific practice whose knowledge is formed at the interface of language and the material world’ (Young 2001: 399). Foucault’s work is important to my analyses of masculinity and adult education because he provides a method which rejects the notion that materiality is somehow divorced from theory; that the body is somehow less relevant to history than philosophy. Through a Foucauldian lens masculinity is not an ethereal concept: rather, in this case, the Maori male body is the materialization of discourse; it is a discursive formation, and education is a discursive practice. The genealogist is thus not interested in the linear progression of Maori masculinity from its origins in the supposed ontological purity of the past through to the imagined ontological narratives of today. Rather the genealogist asks why masculinities exist in their present forms. What accidental historical and heterogeneous factors came together to render ‘physical masculinity’, for example, a strategic discursive formation in a particular context?



A genealogy of Ma¯ ori masculinity  49

Genealogy The influence of Nietzsche upon Foucault is clear, not merely because of the common nomenclature (e.g. ‘genealogy’) but more fundamentally because of a desire to render knowledge as a strategic formation; to shift the focus away from the Kantian thesis ‘How is knowledge possible?’ towards the question ‘Why is knowledge necessary?’ That is, what strategic function does the production of certain formations of knowledge serve? Through a conscious attempt to reject totalizing and singular discourses, Foucault interrogates discourses in terms of ‘strategic possibilities’ that enable disparate statements to be perceived as natural accumulations. He disqualifies totalizing knowledges by showing how an epistemo­ logical focus shifts from epoch to epoch, which in turn produces an altogether varied morality and material existence. He thus demonstrates that the morphing body is subject to morphing knowledge: ‘Shift the object and change the scale. Define new tactics in order to reach a target that is now more subtle but also more widely spread in the social body’ (Foucault 1995: 89). There is not the space here to elaborate fully upon Foucault’s expansive genea­ logical method; however a number of his points are pertinent to what follows. First, a discursive formation is formed by the accumulation of disparate statements and it is the Foucauldian genealogist’s task to explicate the relations between these statements. That is, rather than the conventionally historical endeavour to produce logical, unitary and totalizing accounts, it is the genealogist’s undertaking to explicate how a discursive formation functions through a ‘principle of dispersion and redistribution, not of formulations, not of sentences, not of propositions, but of statements’ (Foucault 2002: 121). As Robert Young (2001: 406) explains, ‘[t]he unity of a discourse therefore lies not in its concepts, its representations, its themes, but in its underlying system of rules. A discursive practice establishes an interactive relation between otherwise heterogeneous material elements.’ The genealogist is interested in the rules that governed the accumulation of the heterogeneous statements which here enabled the discursive formation of the Maori male body as a material site where history is writ. For Foucault, while the linear historian seeks to describe ‘the evolution of a species and  .  .  .  the destiny of a people’, the genealogist commits himself or herself to dissipating ‘the roots of our identity’ (Foucault 1984: 81, 95). Second, like the corporeal manifestations of power that Foucault relates through his analyses of medicine and sexuality, the notion of ‘biopower’ is also critical to thinking about masculinity especially in relation to education, where education is defined as one of several regulatory apparatuses that have served to normalize the population. Biopower refers to ‘a power whose task is to take charge of life’ requiring ‘continuous regulatory and corrective mechanisms’ (Foucault 2008: 144). Such a power ‘has to qualify, measure, appraise and hier­ archize, rather than display itself in its murderous splendour  .  .  .  [the] juridical institution is increasingly incorporated into a continuum of apparatuses whose functions are for the most part regulatory’ (Foucault, cited in Rabinow 1984:

50  Brendan Hokowhitu

20). The interconnection between biopower, genealogy and the Maori male body and how this relates to education as a discursive practice is thus the central concern of the present chapter. A genealogy in this regard teases out the discursive formation by asking what precisely are those heterogeneous statements that bind Maori masculinity together? ‘What are its surfaces of emergence? What are the group of rules proper to its discursive practice? How does it order its objects?’ (Young 2001: 408).

Jake’s own genealogy: the trope of the uneducated Ma¯ori man Turning now to the specifics of this chapter, given that education is merely one aspect of society that regulates the body, and given also Foucault’s clear direction to determine heterogeneity and discontinuity in the production of discursive formations, it is evident that the genealogist cannot hope to understand the production of the trope of the uneducated Maori man by means of an educational analysis alone. To delve into such a construction the genealogist must cross disciplinary boundaries. For me, these include anthropology, history, sociology, education, gender and popular culture. By this method I was able to identify that ‘physicality’ was one of those ‘dense transfer points’ that enabled the production of the Maori male body as a discursive formation. In my analysis, the notion of physicality is the lynchpin. It is this that strategically enables the imprint of history to be made upon the Maori male body. Physicality is that terminal hub where competing, contrasting, synthesizing and dissident concepts hover to make possible the various ways that the Maori male body is made real and authentic (see Hokowhitu 2003, 2004a, 2004b, 2007, 2008a, 2008b, 2009). There is not the space here to expound my research in any great depth, yet the breadth of analysis is important if we are to understand why Foucault named ‘discursive formations’ as he did. Needless to say Cartesian dualism was a strategic discourse that helped effect the various discursive formations of colonization, including the physiognomy of the Maori body. Social Darwinism and anthropology provided the scientific taxonomy to facilitate the fragmentation of the human continuum into a hierarchy of social development, where indigenous peoples were located along a continuum from the ape to the ‘enlightened rationalism’ of the European. The indigenous objects of colonization that emerged (that is, the postcolonial discursive formations) in conjunction with the biopolitical management of Maori were dependent on producing a colonial apparatus designed for dialogue with Maori by means of physical statements, and to produce indigenous bodies recognizable through their natural physicality. For example, the Maori soldier was celebrated for his domesticated savagery in the service of the Commonwealth. The ‘ignoble’ violent resistance to colonial domination by various iwi (peoples) in the 1860s civil land and sovereignty wars was an example of Maori physicality that needed to be quelled. ‘For the good of the colony’, then, it was essential



A genealogy of Ma¯ ori masculinity  51

that the violence of Maori men was domesticated (i.e. ‘nobilized’) in the service of the British First and Second World War efforts. Colonization, in New Zealand at least, did not attempt to drive the subversive violence out of Maori men, considering that this was impossible given the immutability of the savage; indeed, indigenous subversion was assimilated into the service of imperialism itself. Likewise, in the particular case of Maori rugby, sport was seen as an appropriate avenue by means of which Maori savagery could be tamed and controlled. The mimicry of certain aspects of colonial masculinity by Maori men served to assimilate them into the violent, physical, stoic, rugged, and sport-oriented ‘Kiwi-bloke’ culture that has pervaded New Zealand society for most of its colonial history (Philips 1987). Yet this assimilation did not include indoctrination into the gamut of post-colonial masculinities. The Maori male, like various ‘Othered’ groups, had merely conditional access to the Pakeha (European settler) man’s world. For example, as a warrior in the service of the British army or in rugby: ‘They showed themselves to be good at those things which Pakeha men [were also] proud of. Maori were good at war and they were damn good at playing rugby, so they took on a special status of being Kiwi males with a slightly exotic flavour’ (Philips, cited in Schick and Dolan 1999: 56). Maori men were only allowed access to these arenas, however, because success within them did not oppose the dominant discourses underpinned by physicality. In education, the curricula of Native Schools reflected a biopolitical ‘physical education’. Racist educational discourses provided the blueprint for the organisation of New Zealand’s workforce, geared towards restricting Maori to the role of physical labourers. Consecutive government administrators of education from the 1860s deemed education suitable for Pakeha children as ‘too academic’ for Maori. In 1866, the Inspector of Native Schools, James Pope, outlined what he thought a Maori masculine education should entail: ‘Maori boys could be taught agriculture, market gardening, stock farming, poultry keeping and bacon curing’ (cited in Barrington 1988: 47). In 1906, William Bird, the Inspector of Native Schools, declared that Maori were unsuited to academic subjects and unable to compete with Europeans in trades and commerce: ‘The natural genius of the Maori in the direction of manual skills and his natural interest in the concrete, would appear to furnish the earliest key to the development of his intelligence’ (cited in Simon 1990: 98). Likewise, Reverend Butterfield, the headmaster of a Gisborne Maori boarding school, told the Young Maori Party in 1910 that Maori were: .  .  .  not fitted to the various professions. About 999 out of 1000 could not bear the strain of higher education. In commerce, the Maori could not hope to compete with the Pakeha. In trades the Maoris were splendid copyists, but not originators. As carpenters they would cope under a capable instructor but not otherwise. Agriculture was the one calling suitable for Maoris  .  .  .  It was therefore necessary to teach them the nobility of labour  .  .  . (Cited in Barrington 1988: 49; emphasis added)

52  Brendan Hokowhitu

By 1913, William Bird outlined the success of his and others’ visions of a ‘physical education’ for Maori: ‘In none of the secondary Maori schools is there any attempt or desire to give what is usually understood by a “college” education  .  .  .  The boys school in English and manual training – woodwork, elementary practical agriculture and kindred subjects and that is all’ (cited in Barrington 1988: 53). Thomas Strong, the Director of Education from the late 1920s to the mid1930s, continued to place limits on Maori access to knowledge. Strong was surprised and disturbed to find that in some schools, Maori were allowed to learn ‘the intricacies of numerical calculations’. He warned that educating ‘the dark races’ and encouraging ‘pupils to a stage far beyond their present needs or their possible future needs’ was a ‘fatal facility’ (Strong 1931: 194). In 1941, Thomas Fletcher, the Inspector of Native Schools, identified home-making, building, furniture-making, cooking and child-rearing as the staple curriculum of the newly established Native District Secondary Schools. In so doing, the Department of Education maintained its tradition of designing a curriculum that limited opportunities for Maori. For example, with no School Certificate courses in Native District Secondary Schools, pupils could not gain the qualifications necessary to compete in the broader workplace (Simon 1998). State-sponsored schools thus provided a critical function serving ‘as a social filter, determining the composition of a new middle class, deciding who would enter the white collar professional occupations and who would not’ (Fairburn 1975: 9). As a consequence, Maori communities were to be ‘reduced to serving as a reserve army of wage labour for Europeans’ (Simon 1990: 88) and, unlike Pakeha men who enjoyed a normal spread throughout occupational strata, by 1965, ‘nearly 90 per cent of Maori men [were] employed as farmers, foresters, labourers, transport operators, factory workers, or in other skilled and unskilled occupations’ (Watson 1967: 6). The ‘physical education’ and consequent assimilation into limited physical employment ensured that the colonized forms of Maori masculinity reified the physical and uneducated archetype that has evolved. The Maori male body symbolized and came to imply the physical realm and, thus was employed for its physical labour, observed for its performativity, and humanized through physical pursuits. For many Maori men of my parents’ generation, this analysis is important because the corporeality of the Maori male body came to be naturalized as ‘working class’. Moreover, a necessary effect of a physically intensive life meant that Maori men acquired different relations to their bodies and corporeal cognizance than the middle or dominant classes: ‘The key concern for the working classes is that the body is seen primarily in instrumental or mechanical terms as something that is a means to an end or that gets the job done’ (Edwards 2006: 145). So in many Maori communities masculine sub-cultures developed based on relationships with a physically labouring body that, in turn, came to symbolize an ontologically authentic Maori man. As Tim Edwards argues, various types of physical capital, ‘are not just different but unequal, and more working-class forms of physical capital typically have a lesser



A genealogy of Ma¯ ori masculinity  53

exchange value, in the more Marxist sense, than their middle-class counterparts’ (Edwards 2006: 146). In a Foucauldian sense under these conditions the authentic Maori male body was of less material value than other bodies, and later a symbol of deviance within the urban setting. That is, the rural ‘physical education’ of Maori in the latter years of the 1800s and the first half of the twentieth century spawned the Maori male body that was to become the urban nightmare as imagined through the hyper-violent ‘Jake the Muss’. The official narrative of Maori urbanization is quite well documented. Prior to World War II, 90 per cent of Maori were rural (Walker 1990: 197); by 1956 ‘nearly two-thirds of Maori lived in rural areas; by 2006, 84.4 per cent of Maori lived in urban areas’ (Te Puni Kdkiri 2007: 7). While it is true that Maori and Pakeha were, in the main, discrete cultures prior to urbanization, the intermeshing of the culture brought by Maori to the city and the culture developed once there meant that, by Bhabha’s (1994) definition at least, urbanization provided the space for the liminal negotiation of cultural identity; in short, urbanization effected a third culture. As Mason Durie argues, ‘.  .  .  from 1945 urbanization became the unmarshalled force which called for fresh understandings of what it meant to be Maori’ (1998: 54). The focus on the physicality of the urban Maori man, however, remained tethered to the working-class roots of his rural past. Urbanization hastened a progressive change in the Maori boys’ curriculum, with a greater emphasis on training for trades. Prior to the 1930s, one of the rationalizations for training Maori boys to be farmers was so that Maori leaders could remain with their communities (Ramsay 1972: 67–71). Urbanization and the developing need for labourers in urban centres debunked the earlier rationale. Maori were increasingly trained in trades for jobs in cities. The search for employment forced many young Maori men and women, and consequently young Maori families, to leave their hapû (extended families). Maori were no longer needed as farmers and farmers’ wives: rather they were needed as carpenters and carpenters’ wives (Ramsay 1972: 68). While the prosperity of New Zealand’s economy in the first 85 years of the twentieth century meant that at least the majority of Maori were employed, following the 1987 financial crisis and ensuing five-year economic depression many Maori lacked the educational capital to retain their jobs. For example, in 1987 the Seasonally Adjusted Unemployment Rate was 3 per cent, jumping to just under 8 per cent in 1992 (Statistics New Zealand 2010). Similarly, in the recent global recession, Maori unemployment in 2010 was 13.4 per cent as compared to 4.7 per cent for New Zealanders of European descent (ibid.). With every economic downturn, therefore, the various policies of channelling Maori boys into a ‘physical education’ has proved a recipe for disaster as the concentration of young, under-educated and disenfranchised Maori men within the various under-class suburbs of major cities has created an often dysfunctional urban masculine culture. The construct of the uneducated Maori man trope was crucial to Maori masculine subservience and subjugation for it largely debilitated Maori men from

54  Brendan Hokowhitu

functioning as equals in society. As the trope became internalized, culpability shifted from the biopolitical processes that produced the Maori masculine body towards the Maori man himself; his lack of education both sign and cause of his savagery. Indeed, the threat of physical proximity that urbanization brought about determined that the urban Maori male subject needed to be reconstituted as a corrupt aberration that has since become fetishized by the mainstream media. Urban Maori men, as epitomized by ‘Jake the Muss’, are constantly represented as deviants: that is, as rapists, wife beaters, child abusers, gang members, criminals and generally members of society who are not to be trusted. Importantly, this construction of colonial power resonates with Hegel’s (1899) modernity in that it speaks to how the Maori man became self-conscious and constituted himself as a postcolonial subject within the Self/Other dialectic of the colonization process through and because of his body and bodily practices. The above genealogy suggests that ‘physically educating Jake’ marks an example of the profound synergies at play in the production of postcolonial citizens. Foucault’s determination of the body’s passivity as a symbol of the contested terrain can be translated to describe the colonized Maori male body and in particular indigenous bodily practices, where the workings of history ‘incest it, mark it, train it, torture it, force it to carry out tasks, to perform ceremonies, to emit signs’ (Foucault 2006: 352). Here, then, the uneducated Maori man signifies a body that is understood in terms of a Maori masculine ontology.

‘Un-educating Jake’: indigenous existentialism In The History of Sexuality: Volume I (2008) Foucault argues that the biopolitical regulation of a population operates beyond the conscious production and control of knowledge. That is, crucial to biopolitical control is internalization; the selfimposition of regulatory mechanisms so that the material, the corporeal and the ethos function in unison, albeit in a unison tethered together by means of heterogeneous statements. It could be argued that the conditioning of the physical Maori masculine trope throughout the process of colonization has not only a symbolic genealogy but a material existence also. Here the aetiological importance of the word ‘genealogy’ should not be underestimated, for it does not merely mean a textual genealogy. Foucault’s nomenclature is literally referring to the material and biological descent of corporeality, where the body is ‘totally imprinted by history’. Similarly, Bourdieu (2001: 39) argues, ‘It is quite illusory to believe that symbolic violence can be overcome with the weapons of consciousness and will alone. This is because the effect and conditions of its efficacy are durably and deeply embedded in the body in the form of dispositions’. Thus, when Foucault argues that bio-power is a ‘grid of disciplinary coercions that actually guarantees the cohesion of that social body’ (2003: 37), he is referring to both the biopolitical normalization of the general population and the physical production of the bodies of its individual citizens. This is all to say that ‘uneducating Jake’ cannot be anything but physiologically profound.



A genealogy of Ma¯ ori masculinity  55

However, I must (if I am not to proffer the nihilistic path that Foucault’s method implies) hold to the view that the discursive formation of the Maori male body need not necessarily be conceived of as terminally oppressive. The genealogy provided here absolutely demonstrates the subjugatory tactics of colonial endeavours; the corporeal colonization at a molecular level that suggests little space for individual agency. Yet, if Maori men are to be ‘educated’, first we need to understand this history. Second, and crucially, we need to take responsibility for it. For me, such a stance calls forth an indigenous existentialism that moves beyond ressentiment and towards notions of choice and responsibility lost at the juncture of the primitive indigene/civilized European binary; lost when indigenous peoples became ‘victims’ of colonization. Indigenous existentialism implores indigenous peoples to move beyond victimhood to reclaim choice and responsibility within their lived experiences. It seems to me that endemic to a postcolonial indigenous consciousness is resistance to the colonizer, whether s/he is imaginary or not. Such a dialectic does not produce a healthy state of mind; constant referral to the power another holds over oneself can only lead to the state where indigenous people romanticize a ‘pure’ pre-colonial past, are filled with anxiety in the present dialectic, and resigned to a future where our identities will be tied to an eternal colonial struggle. The physiological reaction to colonial occupation (tears of despair) is not surprising if our past, present and future appear limited to an endless struggle with the colonizer, a state of mind critiqued by Sartre’s (1962) body-notion of ‘jumping-for-joy’. Albert Camus’ (1987) The Plague metaphorically describes the people of Paris under German occupation as located within a plague-ridden, quarantined city. Camus’ existential critique points out that, first, people’s consciousness and beliefs surrounding the situation they find themselves in determine how they conceptualize the past, present and future and, second, that it is a choice to view one’s facticity, one’s situation, in such limited terms. Camus refers to occu­ pation in terms of people’s perceptions of possibility as opposed to the enforced plague upon the city itself. In the colonial context, Camus’ existentialism provides a lens through which to view how indigenous people conceive of the indigenous body. Do we romanticize it as part of the ‘pure’ pre-colonial past, scarred and traumatized by the rupture of colonial invasion? Are indigenous bodies, lost between the pure past and the impure present, for ever to be ridden with anxiety, and racked by tears over the actions others have wrought upon us? Do we feel cheated of the future? Does our physical genealogy lack responsibility, that is, will we pass on to our children our bodily ‘traditions’, the tears of selfpity? Or, can we ‘jump for joy’ in the knowledge that regardless of our facticity, we have choice, responsibility and freedom? Colonized indigenous ressentiment must be replaced by an indigenous mindset that takes ‘responsibility’ for colonization, not in order to release the colonizer from responsibility, but designed to re-claim the freedom to choose beyond a colonized/colonizer mentality. For Maori men, this means taking ownership of our bodies and their actions, historically, in the present and in the future.

56  Brendan Hokowhitu

References Barrington, J.M. (1988) ‘Learning the “dignity of labour”: secondary education policy for Maoris’, New Zealand Journal of Educational Studies 23(1): 45–58. Bhabha, H. (1994) The Location of Culture, London: Routledge. Bourdieu, P. (2001) Masculine Domination, Stanford, CA: Polity Press. Camus, A. (1987) The Plague, London: The Folio Society. Clare, A. (2000) On Men: Masculinity in Crisis, London: Chatto & Windus. Durie, M. (1998) Te Mana, te KAwanatanga: The Politics of MAori Self-determination, Auckland: Oxford University Press. Edwards, T. (2006) Cultures of Masculinity, London and New York: Routledge. Fairburn, M. (1975) ‘The rural myth and the new urban frontier: an approach to New Zealand social history’, New Zealand Journal of History, 9(1): 3–21. Foucault, M. (1984) ‘Nietzsche, genealogy, history’, in P. Rabinow (ed.) The Foucault Reader, New York: Pantheon Books, 76–100. Foucault, M. (1995) Discipline and Punish: The Birth of the Prison, trans. A.M. Sheridan Smith, New York: Vintage Books. Foucault, M. (2002) The Archaeology of Knowledge, trans. A.M. Sheridan Smith, London: Routledge. Foucault, M. (2003) Society Must Be Defended: Lectures at the Collège de France 1975–1976, trans. D. Macey, New York: Picador. Foucault, M. (2006) ‘The body of the condemned’, trans. A.M. Sheridan Smith, in H. Moore and T. Sanders (eds) Anthropology in Theory: Issues in Epistemology, Malden: Blackwell, 352–56. Foucault, M. (2008) The History of Sexuality, Volume I, trans. R. Hurley, Camberwell (Australia): Penguin. Hegel, G.W.F. (1899) The Philosophy of History, trans. J. Sibree, New York: Colonial Press. Hokowhitu, B. (2003) ‘Maori masculinity, post-structuralism, and the emerging Self ’, New Zealand Sociology, 18(2): 179–201. Hokowhitu, B. (2004a) ‘Tackling Maori masculinity: a colonial genealogy of savagery and sport’, The Contemporary Pacific, 15(2); 259–284. Hokowhitu, B. (2004b) ‘Physical beings: stereotypes, sport and the “physical education” of New Zealand Maori’, in J.A. Mangan, and A. Ritchie (eds) Ethnicity, Sport, Identity: Struggles for Status, London: Frank Cass, 192–218. Hokowhitu, B. (2007) ‘Maori masculinity: overcoming discourses of savagery in working with Maori men’, New Zealand Journal of Counselling, 27(2), Special Issue: Working with male clients, 63–76. Hokowhitu, B. (2008a) ‘The death of Koro Paka: “traditional” Maori patriarchy’, The Contemporary Pacific, 20(1): 115–141. Hokowhitu, B. (2008b) ‘Authenticating Maori physicality: translations of “games” and “pastimes” by early travellers and missionaries to New Zealand’, International Journal of the History of Sport, 25(10), 1355–1373. Hokowhitu, B. (2009) ‘Indigenous existentialism and the body’, Cultural Studies Review 15(2): 101–118. Mune, I. (2001) What Becomes of the Broken Hearted? (video recording), Australia: Universal Pictures. Philips, J. (1987) A Man’s Country?: the Image of the Pakeha Male – a History. Auckland: Penguin Books.



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Rabinow, P. (1984) The Foucault Reader, New York: Pantheon Books. Ramsay, P.D.K. (1972) ‘Maori schooling’, in S.J. Havill and D.R. Mitchell (eds) Issues in New Zealand Special Education, Auckland: Hodder & Stoughton. Sartre, J.-P. (1962) Sketch for a Theory of the Emotions, London: Methuen. Schick, R. and Dolan. J. (1999) ‘Masculinity and A Man’s Country in 1998: An interview with Jock Phillips’, in R. Law, H. Campbell and J. Dolan (eds) Masculinities in Aotearoa/ New Zealand, Palmerston North: Dunmore Press. Simon, J. (1990) ‘The place of schooling in Maori–Pakeha relations’, unpublished Ph.D. thesis, University of Auckland. Simon, J. (1998) NgA Kura MAori: The Native Schools System 1867–1969, Auckland: Auckland University Press. Smith, L.T. (1999) Decolonizing Methodologies: Research and Indigenous Peoples, London: Zed Books. Statistics New Zealand. (2010) Household Labour Force Survey, www.nzchildren.co.nz/ unemployment.php (accessed 14 July 2011). Strong, T.B. (1931) ‘The problem of educating the Maori’, in P.M. Jackson (ed.) Maori and Education: Or the Education of Natives in New Zealand and Its Dependencies, Wellington: Ferguson & Osborn. Tamahori, L. (1995) Once Were Warriors (video recording). Culver City, CA: Columbia Tristar Homevideo. Te Puni Kdkiri. (2007) Historical Influences: MAori and the Economy, Wellington: New Zealand Government Printer. Vercoe, A. (1998) Educating Jake: Pathways to Empowerment, Auckland: HarperCollins. Walker, R. (1990) Ka Whawhai Tonu Matou: Struggle Without End, Auckland: Penguin. Watson, J. (1967) Horizons of Unknown Power: Some Issues of Maori Schooling, New Zealand Council for Educational Research, Wellington: New Zealand Government Printer. Young, R. (2001) Postcolonialism: An Historical Introduction, Oxford: Blackwell.

58  Robert Tobias Chapter 5

Images of men and learning The impact of imperialism on settler masculinities and lifelong learning Robert Tobias

Introduction Over the past two hundred years a range of gendered discourses have shaped images of women and men and their learning in white settler societies. Many were imported from Europe and more recently North America; others arose in the colonies themselves. This chapter explores the links between imperialism, colonialism and images of masculinity and lifelong learning in white settler societies in the nineteenth and twentieth centuries. It draws on the history of Aotearoa New Zealand and other former British colonies. It focuses on white settler societies within British imperial contexts. The chapter aims to show that dominant discourses and ideologies of masculinity are products and producers of history, that they change over time, that they intersect with class, race and other discourses, and that they have implications for lifelong learning. I focus on: gentry masculinities associated with large-scale land ownership which dominated elite sectors of white settler societies; bourgeois masculinities associated with entrepreneurial, professional and individualistic ideologies arising out of industrialization and the expansion of global capitalism; and a range of ‘hard’ masculinities associated with physical toughness and male comradeship arising out of the demands of industrial and imperialist expansion and frontier experiences in white settler societies, the growth of organised sports, nationalism and militarization. The chapter embraces an interpretation of lifelong learning which includes formal, non-formal and informal learning and education (see Chapter 1). However, the emphasis is on informal learning which is ‘ongoing, pervasive and incidental’ (see Tobias 1996: 58).

Imperial origins The period from the eighteenth to early twentieth century was characterized by the global expansion of capitalism, the rise of nationalism and the expansion of imperialism centred on Britain, Europe, North America and other white settler societies in Australia, Canada, New Zealand and South Africa. From the



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mid-twentieth century direct imperialist and colonialist domination was followed by forms of neo-imperialism and neo-colonialism which continue to promote the economic, political and cultural interests of imperial powers and marginalize and exploit their previous colonial subjects (Said 1993). The past three centuries have also seen major changes in the gender order and in dominant forms of masculinity in many parts of the world. Connell (1993, 2009) suggests that the history of hegemonic forms of Euro/American masculinity has involved ‘the displacement, splitting and remaking of gentry masculinity’. Political revolutions, industrialization and the growth of the bureaucratic state have displaced gentry masculinity from its hegemonic position and replaced it with ‘more calculative, rational, and regulated masculinities. The bureaucrat and the businessman were produced as social types as the economic base of the landed gentry declined’ (Connell 1993: 609). Discourses about gender, masculinities and lifelong learning in white settler societies can only be understood in the light of their metropolitan and imperial origins. However we also need to recognize the complex interdependencies between metropolitan centres and peripheries (Kaarsholm 1989; McClintock 1990; Bannister 2005; Marshall 2011). Settler societies also played a part in shaping images of masculinity and lifelong learning throughout the British Empire, not least in reinforcing ideologies of white racial superiority (Denoon 1983; Ellinghaus et al. 2009). Regarding Australia, for example, Gilding (1991) has argued that, although metropolitan trends were influential in the colonies, they did not determine events or policies. Local struggles and conditions were crucial in determining the state of gender relations.

Gentlemanly capitalism and gentry masculinities at the imperial centre In their study of British imperialism, Cain and Hopkins (2002) use the concept of ‘gentlemanly capitalism’ to highlight the links between inherited wealth and wealth generated under capitalism. This patriarchal and familial fusion of feudalism and capitalism, they argue, has been a distinctive feature of British society over the past three hundred years. They claim that the British landed aristocracy succeeded in fusing pre-capitalist authority and status with that deriving from successful capitalist enterprises. British imperialist expansion, they suggest, is best understood as comprising two broad phases of gentlemanly capitalism. The first, from 1688 to 1850 belonged to the landed aristocracy. In the second phase, from about 1850, however, gentlemanly capitalism was sustained and changed by alliances between the landed aristocracy and finance and commercial capital. These alliances facilitated the growth of Empire and the transportation of gentlemanly capitalism. In the eighteenth century it was gentlemanly capitalism which gave rise to dominant forms of gentry masculinity. These masculinities, with their codes of honour, politeness and chivalry, were based on a commitment by men to the

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pursuit of ‘virtue’. In the public sphere this ‘virtue’ could only be pursued by those with sufficient means and leisure to undertake their gentlemanly civic responsibilities (Daunton 1989; Cohen 2005). By the mid-nineteenth century gentry masculinities had changed. Gentlemen were judged by criteria which emphasized ‘character’ rather than ‘virtue’; and ‘character now was tested by striving, self-reliance and the mastering of circumstances’ (Daunton 1989: 132). In pre-nineteenth century Britain and Europe little formal schooling was provided for working people; dominant forms of lifelong learning reflected the requirements of gentry masculinity. Formal education was only provided for boys from families with private means. Grammar schools, ‘public schools’, Oxbridge colleges and private tutors served exclusively the sons of the wealthy. Through the work of local parishes, monastic orders, Bible study groups and missionary societies, churches provided religious non-formal and informal education for children and adults. This highly gendered education reflected dominant patriarchal understandings of the times. Craft-related skills and other knowledges were learned through apprenticeships, lodges and guilds: membership of lodges and guilds being largely restricted to men. In addition, important forms of informal learning took place in families, pubs and coffee houses and in communities where gendered cultural traditions were acquired, modified and passed on generationally.

Gentlemanly capitalism, gentry masculinities and colonial dependency Cain and Hopkins (2002) downplay the impact of industrial capital on the growth of imperialism; they emphasize the dependence of the colonies on the gentlemanly capitalist class in Britain and the close relationship between gentlemanly capitalists and their ‘financial agents’ and ‘ideological supports’ in such places as Australia, Canada, New Zealand and the Cape Colony. They also emphasize the continuing dependence of white settler societies on British institutions and capital. McAloon (2002, 2003) takes issue with this dependency thesis, arguing that few colonial capitalists in New Zealand could be seen as ‘gentlemanly capitalists’ in Cain and Hopkins’ terms. Where Cain and Hopkins (2002: 243) stress the dependence of colonial elites on the ‘financial favours of gentlemanly capitalists in London’, McAloon (2002: 220) argues ‘that emigrants [to New Zealand] who made money were not gentlemanly, although they were certainly capitalists .  .  . essentially provincial and rural in [their] origins’. In contrast to Cain and Hopkins, Morrell (2001) uses the concept of settler masculinity to capture ‘the colonial and class character of masculinity  .  .  . in Natal [South Africa]’ between 1880 and 1920. He claims that: Living in the colonies provided settlers with a social environment which in important respects was free of the constraints that operated in the metropole



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.  .  . While metropolitan trends were always influential in the colonies, local struggles and conditions were always crucial in determining the state of gender relations. Interestingly, colonial images of masculinity also came to shape metropolitan ideas. (Morrell 2001: 14) If McAloon and Morrell are correct, gentlemanly capitalists in London may have had less influence on discourses and images of masculinity in colonial societies than might be expected had the capitalist class in countries such as Australia, Canada, New Zealand and South Africa been embedded through more direct relationships with gentlemanly capitalists in Britain. On the other hand, the indirect influences of Britain’s gentlemanly capitalists and imperialists on colonial elites may have been considerable. McMichael (1984) points out that the dependency of colonial societies tended to increase rather than decrease with the development of the colonial state and closer economic ties with the metropole.

Gentry masculinities in colonial settler societies From the early years of colonization the colonial gentry and bourgeoisie sought to establish the dominance of gentlemanly and bourgeois images of manhood. They viewed the frontier masculinities which emerged beyond the planned settle­ ments with ambivalence or dislike. They sought to construct social institutions, including institutions of learning, which preserved their position and conformed to metropolitan and imperial bourgeois or gentry masculinities. In Natal, schools, sporting bodies, military organizations and agricultural and voluntary associations played a part in producing and reproducing settler masculinities in the white settler society of the period. This was an elite society which identified with the British Empire and drew on gentry masculinities to provide its images of manhood, but which was also fiercely independent. Lifelong learning opportunities were shaped by the dynamic and complex masculinities of the times not only through elite and prestigious schools, but also through the voluntary organizations and other institutions which were almost exclusively male and white. In New Zealand also, as the nineteenth century advanced, a new class of ‘self-made men’ emerged which promoted an ideology of bourgeois masculinity embodying ethics of hard work, savings and self-help. Itinerancy was seen as a vice, and marriage as a key institution with important educational and reformative functions, leading ‘dissolute’ men to ‘settle down’. The influence of this new class can be seen in the debates over women’s suffrage in the 1890s. Phillips (1987: 53–54) states, ‘The main tenor of the parliamentary debates does not reveal any great concern for natural rights or the equality of the sexes. Rather, female suffrage legislation was passed in the hope that it would purify and improve the tone of .  .  . politics’. As in other frontier regions in North America and Australia where women gained the franchise in the nineteenth century, the focus of bourgeois men was on controlling other men rather than

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on giving freedom to women. It was argued that female suffrage would add a moral influence to politics, in effect giving married men two votes and so counteracting the influence of ‘the unmarried drifter’, ‘the rouseabout’ or ‘the larrikin’. The temperance movement also presented an image of masculinity which contrasted with that of the frontier pioneer, highlighting the evils of drink and the violence and disorder associated with the image of the frontier man. It constituted a powerful force for informal education and sought to promote an upright moral man. It reflected a rejection of the spendthrift habits associated with frontier masculinities and promoted an image of the ‘careful hard-working capitalist who has learnt to save and to delay his gratifications’ (Phillips, 1987: 60–61). To achieve its aims, the imagery associated with frontier masculinities was turned on its head. Temperance was presented as a masculine virtue, selfcontrol as a feat of inner strength; those lacking self-discipline were seen as ‘weaklings’. The Presbyterian Bible Class movement established in 1888 to encourage sober behaviour among young men took as its motto the words, ‘Be strong and show thyself a man’ (Phillips, 1987: 61). As in eighteenth-century Britain, Europe and North America, principal forms of lifelong learning in white colonial settler societies drew on discourses of gentry masculinity. Formal and informal learning, largely restricted to boys and men from families with private means, was aligned with the interests of the gentry and the newly emerging bourgeoisie as well as with those at the imperial centre. Phillips (1987: 47) points out that in Christchurch in New Zealand, the colonial elite, concerned to maintain the social order, ‘founded institutions of learning and religion; they played croquet and paid afternoon calls; they even held balls’. In Natal, settler masculinity was disseminated by schools, volunteer regiments and sports organisations (Morrell 2001: 272). Private boys’ schools modelled on English public schools and elite men-only clubs were established. In a relatively closed race- and class-based white settler society, these institutions produced and reproduced dominant gentry masculinities and also played a powerful role in shaping lifelong learning experiences for women and men.

Bourgeois masculinities in nineteenth-century Britain Tosh (1999, 2005), who examines in depth the construction of masculinities in nineteenth-century Britain and its Empire, points to three key features of British society between 1800 and 1914: first, it was an industrializing society; second, it was, ‘with growing conviction, an imperialist country’; and third, it was a society characterized by increasingly ‘sharp distinctions of gender and sexuality’ (2005: 330). He argues that the starting point for understanding changes in discourses on masculinity in Britain in the nineteenth century lies in recognizing the linkages between industrialization, imperialism and changes in the gender order. He highlights ‘the growing ascendancy of a cluster of masculine attributes that



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corresponded to the requirements of an urbanized, market-led, and increasingly industrialized society’ (2005: 331). With increasing mechanization, bureaucratization, specialization and professionalization, men’s occupations in the labour market played a growing role in defining masculinities. Gender differentiation in the domestic sphere also sharpened the distinctions between ‘women’s sphere’ of domesticity and ‘men’s sphere’ of productive paid work. The nuclear family, comprising heterosexual men identified as ‘providers’ and heterosexual women identified as ‘nurturers’, emerged as the dominant if not the only legitimate primary social unit and institution for procreation. Newly emerging bourgeois masculinities were thus associated with major changes in the gender order. They drew on calculative, rationalist, regulated and managerialist discourses, associated with entrepreneurial, professional and individualistic ideologies and were ‘organized around a punishing work ethic, a compensating validation of the home, and a restraint on physical aggression’ (Tosh 2005: 331). Among indigenous peoples in white settler societies as well as in working-class communities throughout the British Empire, the new gender order brought a range of contradictory reactions. These included the growing disempowerment of workers in mechanized industries, an increased emphasis on physically ‘hard’ and aggressive forms of masculinity, an increase in male solidarity and growing (although fluctuating) consciousness of working class solidarity and indigenous interests. The implications of these changes for lifelong learning were profound. The newly emerging bourgeoisie aspired to participate alongside the gentry in elite forms of learning. The nineteenth century therefore saw an expansion of English public schools, universities and other forms of elite education. At the same time, some members of the bourgeoisie responded to pressures from industrialization, urbanization and secularization together with the disintegration of cultural traditions and the rise of radicalism and socialism, by establishing new forms of lifelong learning (Harrison 1961; Kelly 1992). Some sought to assimilate the leadership of the growing working class by providing for the education of artisans and other workers. Others, drawing on radical and socialist thinking, supported popular education initiatives which fostered cooperation and challenged capitalist hegemony. In Britain the rise of adult education as a movement dates from the mid-nineteenth century, reflecting a desire to create educational opportunities for those who had previously been excluded. Harrison (1961: 42) notes that evangelicalism and utilitarianism, ‘the two dominant philos­ ophies of the age’, placed a priority on the creation of a fully literate society. The expansion of formal, non-formal and informal learning in Britain thus took a variety of forms. These included Adult Schools, church-based programmes, Mechanics’ Institutes, Working Men’s Colleges and Associations, Chartist and Socialist initiatives, public libraries, mutual improvement associations, the university extension movement and the Workers’ Education Associations. However, few of these organisations and programmes challenged the gender order or the dominant discourses on masculinities.

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Lifelong learning and masculinities in colonial settler societies The history of lifelong learning in the settler colonies was in some ways similar to and in other ways different from that in Britain (Dakin 1992) and the history was also different within each of the settler colonies. Nevertheless, there are similarities. The following section which focuses on Pakeha (white settler) New Zealand may illuminate histories in other settler societies. In 1840 the Treaty of Waitangi was signed and New Zealand was annexed by the British Crown. There were many reasons for imperial expansion into New Zealand. The most important may have been to allow for implementation of a settlement scheme which held out to the British ruling class a solution to problems of over-population, pauperization, industrial unrest and class conflict which were reaching crisis proportions in Britain in the 1830s. The majority of early British settlers were labourers and domestic servants coming from a country in which less than half the children received any schooling. About 25 per cent of the settlers were illiterate. However, the demands of the Chartists and other radicals for popular education were influential among the colonists and there was considerable interest in learning. In spite of ongoing tension and occasional conflict between those who aspired to gentry, bourgeois or proletarian masculinities, a number of non-formal and informal learning initiatives were undertaken in the 1840s and 1850s (Dakin 1978, 1980, 1981). As in Britain these were driven primarily by evangelicalism and utilitarianism, though in New Zealand pragmatism may also have been significant. Organizations formed in the 1840s and 1850s included the first fee-paying primary and secondary schools, along with Mechanics’ Institutes, lodges, friendly societies, working men’s associations, church-based organisations, temperance associations, bands of hope and YMCAs. These were followed over the ensuing fifty years by the expansion and eventual demise of the Mechanics’ Institutes, the establishment (from the 1860s) of the first university colleges, mutual improvement societies, literary and scientific societies and YWCAs, the gradual consolidation (from the late 1870s) of a national system of free, secular and compulsory primary education, the formation (from the 1880s) of Technical Classes Associations (which provided a basis for the provision (from the early twentieth century) of secondary and technical education for working boys and girls), the initiation (from the 1880s) of trade union-based education, and the formation (in 1915) of the Workers’ Education Associations. Although many initiatives drew their inspiration from Britain, some were local and preceded their British counterparts. Lifelong learning in New Zealand was thus shaped by imperial influences and by local forces. Within the context of a small settler society with a scattered population pressures to conform to dominant gentry, bourgeois and frontier masculinities were considerable and radical initiatives were readily marginalised.



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‘Hard masculinities’: frontier experiences and discourses ‘Hard masculinities’ have been epitomized in the image of the ‘warrior hero’ who has been ascribed with the following attributes: he is physically fit and powerful, mentally strong and unemotional, capable of both solitary, individual pursuit of his goals and of self-denying contributions towards the work of the team, he is resolutely heterosexual, brave, adventurous and prepared to take risks (Woodward 2000: 243). As we have seen, pioneer, frontier and other hard masculinities associated with physical toughness and male comradeship arose out of the demands of imperialist and industrial expansion as well as the experiences of frontier life in white settler societies. These masculinities, along with those associated with the growth of nationalism, Social Darwinism and militarism contained elements of antiintellectualism and hostility to artistic pursuits and interests which were portrayed as ‘feminine’ and less important than the interests of ‘real men’ (Bannister 2005; Ferguson 2009: 15).  Phillips’ (1987) study of Pakeha men in New Zealand explores the image of the self-sufficient ‘man alone’. This image has played a powerful part in settler culture in New Zealand and in other frontier societies. Phillips argues that it arose in response to the frontier experiences of nineteenth-century Pakeha men, the rise of sedentary, urban male occupations in Victorian Britain and widespread anxieties about the perceived increasing ‘effeminacy’ of men in white-collar jobs. Ferguson (2009: 9) has pointed out that images of physical toughness, practicality and versatility derived not only from experiences of frontier life but also from the cultural traditions of settlers from rural areas of England, Scotland and Ireland. He argues that these images, which have been central in New Zealand’s mythology, have served to marginalize intellectual and artistic models of masculinity. Throughout the British Empire frontier regions afforded few opportunities for formal and non-formal learning. In British Columbia Selman (1995) has provided an account of struggles to set up adult education programmes in one small mining town in the 1860s where high value was placed on informal and incidental learning and on versatility rather than specialization. This versatility, a feature of even the most settled of frontier males in settler colonial societies, was characteristic of itinerant workers. As men moved or took up seasonal jobs, they shifted from one kind of employment to another. Few of these frontier jobs required extensive training. They demanded simply physical strength and a willingness to learn new skills. High value was placed on the ability to ‘rough it’ in the harsh and frequently unpredictable weather. Survival in difficult conditions required skill and knowledge as well as toughness and gave rise to differentiation between ‘new chums’ and ‘old chums’ which began to appear from the 1860s. There was a good deal of informal learning to be done before a man could qualify as an ‘old chum’. Although Phillips points to the part played by itinerant and independent men in shaping the colonial frontier society, he also emphasizes the emergence of

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social networks. Forced to rough it in conditions of hardship, men developed comradeship, loyalty and interdependence. A sense of the exclusive quality of male community, described as ‘mateship’, emerged. Phillips (1987: 40) argues that the ‘official legend’ about the pioneers’ achievements has underplayed the ‘rich culture of yarning and singing, of mateship and of drinking that was so prominent a part of most colonial males’ experience’. Special forms of language emerged in these communities. ‘Colourful swearing’ was an essential element in the ‘telling of yarns’, often based on past experiences or personal adventures, which were a central ritual of frontier life. As they told stories, cracked jokes, gossiped or discussed political, social and religious issues in the evenings, they also engaged in singing familiar songs or persuaded their members to recite or read poems or other works. This entertainment frequently took place in the pub and ‘drinking was without doubt the most important and defining ritual of the male community’ (Phillips 1987: 35). The man who drank alone or did not drink at all was not to be trusted.

‘Hard masculinities’: sport and the construction of masculinity From the mid-nineteenth century, competitive sport played an increasing role in constructing Euro/American and settler masculinities and in the education of boys and men. From that time increasing numbers of organized and regulated sporting codes were established. This was initially in response to concerns about the violent behaviour of boys from aristocratic and bourgeois backgrounds attending ‘public schools’ in England (Nye 2007: 428) and perceptions that the formalization of sport would promote among men the attributes needed for imperial expansion (Deslandes 2005: 5). The expansion of sporting codes had a transformative effect on the gender order, pushing women to the sidelines, encouraging the separation of public and private spheres, excluding females from many sports, developing separate sporting codes for women, and ‘imbuing cultural practices with biological meaning’ (McDevitt 2004). In Britain and its empire between the 1840s and 1860s the dominant image of masculinity evolved from ‘an evangelical Christian [one] that privileged earnestness’ into one that emphasized ‘physical strength, muscular development, the stiff upper lip, adventure, fortitude, and action, qualities in keeping with the expansion of a vast empire’ (Nye 2007: 428). Then from the 1870s worries about the health of the ‘Anglo-Saxon race’ and perceptions that society was being feminized led men into a ‘flight from domesticity’ and into imperial service, men’s clubs and sporting competition (Tosh 1999). In the United States the first efforts to link sports participation with the cultivation of character appeared in the late 1860s, ‘amid an explosion in the number of boarding schools for boys where upper-class parents concerned about the feminization of public education could be certain that their sons would be molded “with the desired [read ‘masculine’] character traits”’ (Bundgaard 2005: 32).



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In Britain a competitive games culture evolved alongside the new system of competitive exams in the elite universities (Nye 2007: 428). Oxbridge campuses became self-consciously masculine spaces, homosocial rituals became central to undergraduate life, and athletic masculinity held pride of place (see Deslandes 2005). Throughout the British Empire from the mid-nineteenth century football, rugby and other sports were used as educational tools to temper brutality, inculcate ‘healthy’ competition and promote ‘muscular Christianity’. The prominence of rugby in several settler societies can be explained partly because it was seen as a key means to contain the roughness, toughness and unruliness associated with pioneer, frontier and military masculinity while seeking to build on the strengths of these traditions (Dunning and Sheard 2005; Phillips 1987: 86). Its place in society may also be attributed to the fact that it was established by teachers who were familiar with elite English public schools where the game had developed from the 1850s. In New Zealand, as in South Africa (Morrell 2001), rugby began as an elite sport, but quickly spread through other social classes, and has since played an important role in shaping national identity and constructing an image of muscular masculinity.

‘Hard masculinities’: militarization and its impact on masculinities Throughout recorded history the militarization process has shaped and been shaped by the prevailing gender order. It has also played a key role in the construction of masculinities (Braudy 2003; Dudink and Hagemann 2004; Klein 1997, 1999; Mangan 2003; Nye 2007; Woodward 2000). By way of school cadet forces, military service, formal and non-formal military training, and by more subtle means, militarization has also constituted an important form of education. As we have seen ‘hard masculinities’ have been associated with the image of the ‘warrior hero’. Images of military masculinities are however not monolithic (see Braudy 2003; Goldstein 2001; Nye 2007). They have served to promote various national identities, the growth of nationalism (Mosse 1996) and imperial aspirations (Tosh 2005). For example, in early twentieth-century South Africa. Afrikaner masculinity was constituted in opposition to the ‘barbaric’ British (following their conduct in the Anglo-Boer War); and in the 1940s in wartime Britain the image of a genial British Tommy was constructed and set against an image of a hard and ‘ultra militarized’ German soldier (Dudink and Hagemann 2004). In nineteenth-century Britain and its Empire most men ‘were brought up with a respect for achievement in war, and most had a brazen confidence that in these military matters the Anglo-Saxon was supreme’ (Phillips, 1987: 134). Few, however, were involved in military activity. In the New Zealand wars of the 1860s the fighting was mainly between Maori iwi (tribes) and British regular troops. Similarly in colonial Natal in the Anglo-Zulu war of the 1870s

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the fighting was done mainly by Zulu Impi and British regular troops. The late 1890s, however, saw a surge of military fervour, and in 1899 New Zealand, Australia, Canada and other settler colonies became directly involved, sending volunteers in significant numbers to fight in the Anglo-Boer War. For the first time New Zealand men were called on to shoulder their ‘imperial responsibilities’. During this war key myths about New Zealand’s Pakeha fighting men were established: their bravery and physical strength, their toughness, their capacity to tolerate pain, their riding, shooting and hunting skills, their adaptability and initiative, and their reluctance to conform to external authority. In the late-nineteenth and early-twentieth centuries military masculinities were rampant throughout the empire and their impact on lifelong learning was considerable. Schools were called upon to indoctrinate boys in the dominant militaristic code. Imperial and military values formed part of a moral code on which curricula were founded. The development of ‘character’ or self-control rather than intellectual curiosity became a central purpose of schooling. The Boy Scout movement, which grew out of the British fear of decline in the virility of British men, was founded by Robert Baden-Powell, a hero from the Anglo-Boer War. In New Zealand military drill was made compulsory in most schools and school cadet forces were introduced as a means of preserving the virility of boys and men. In 1909 legislation establishing compulsory military service for men was enacted, a measure which England itself dared not take. ‘Muscular Christianity’ reigned supreme not only in Britain but perhaps in a more extreme form in New Zealand and some other settler societies.

Concluding summary In this chapter I have tried to show that dominant discourses and ideologies of masculinity grow from historical circumstances and in turn modify them, that they cannot be divorced from class, race and other contingent discourses, and that their influence upon lifelong learning can be observed. The chapter has focused on the history of white settler societies in the British Empire in the nineteenth and twentieth centuries. It has examined how gentry masculinities, originating in feudal times, maintained a powerful position throughout the empire, influencing elite forms of secondary and higher education as well as the informal cultural life of gentlemanly capitalists. It has also explored how gentry masculinities have been challenged by social, economic, political and cultural forces. I have also looked at a range of bourgeois masculinities which came to prominence in Britain and in settler societies during this period, drawing on evangelical, utilitarian, pragmatic and liberal philosophies and producing calculative, rationalist, regulated and managerialist discourses on masculinity. These masculinities were also associated with entrepreneurial, professional, individualistic and corporatist ideologies and supported the expansion of elite forms of education as well as technical and general education not only for the bourgeoisie themselves,



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but also to assimilate the leadership of working men. At the same time some members of the bourgeoisie responded to pressures from radical and socialist movements by setting up new forms of non-formal learning. Finally, a range of discourses dominated by images of ‘hard masculinities’ has been discussed. These discourses, associated with the frontiers of Empire and the growth of nationalism, militarization and the rise of competitive sports, also came to prominence over the period. They have supported anti-intellectual ideologies and contributed to the emergence of sharp gender divisions in society. They have also provided the justification for single-sex schools and classes, and curricula tailored to alleged biological differences between boys and girls and men and women.

References Bannister, M. (2005) Kiwi Blokes – Recontextualising White New Zealand Masculinities in a Global Setting, Genders OnLine Journal (42). Available HTTP: www.genders.org/ g42/g42_bannister.html (accessed 18 October 2011). Braudy, L. (2003) From Chivalry to Terrorism: War and the Changing Nature of Masculinity, New York: Vintage Books. Bundgaard, A. (2005) Muscle and Manliness: The Rise of Sport in American Boarding Schools, Syracuse, NY: Syracuse University Press. Cain, P. J. and Hopkins, A. G. (2002) British Imperialism, 1688–2000 (2nd edn), New York: Longman. Cohen, M. (2005) ‘Manners’ Make the Man: Politeness, Chivalry, and the Construction of Masculinity, 1750–1830, Journal of British Studies, 44(2): 312–329. Connell, R. (1993) The Big Picture: Masculinities in Recent World History, Theory and Society, 22(5): 597–623. Connell, R. (2009) Gender: Short Introductions (2nd edn), Cambridge: Polity Press. Dakin, J. C. (1978) The Origins and Beginnings of Continuing Education in Wellington, Continuing Education in New Zealand, 10(1): 77–97. Dakin, J. C. (1980) Adult Education and Social Class in Early Nelson, 1841–1861, Continuing Education in New Zealand, 12(2): 22–43. Dakin, J. C. (1981) Provision for Education in New Zealand’s First Colonial Settlements 1840–1850 – Early Influences and Initiatives, unpublished manuscript, Wellington. Dakin, J. C. (1992) ‘Derivative and innovative modes in New Zealand adult education’, New Zealand Journal of Adult Learning, 20(2), 29–49. Daunton, M. J. (1989) ‘Gentlemanly Capitalism’ and British Industry 1820–1914, Past and Present, 122(1): 119–158. Denoon, D. (1983) Settler Capitalism: The Dynamics of Dependent Development in the Southern Hemisphere, Oxford: Clarendon Press. Deslandes, P. R. (2005) Oxbridge Men: British Masculinity and the Undergraduate Experience, 1850–1920, Bloomington, IN: Indiana University Press. Dudink, S. and Hagemann, K. (2004) Masculinity in Politics and War in the Age of Democratic Revolutions. 1750–1850, in S. Dudink, K. Hagemann and J. Tosh (eds), Masculinities in Politics and War: Gendering Modern History (pp. 3–21), Manchester:

70  Robert Tobias Dunning, E., and Sheard, K. (2005) Barbarians, Gentlemen and Players: A Sociological Study of the Development of Rugby Football (2nd edn), London; New York: Routledge. Ellinghaus, K., Carey, J. and Boucher, L. (eds) (2009) Re-Orienting Whiteness, London: Palgrave Macmillan. Ferguson, G. W. (2009) Intellectualizing the Anti-intellectual, unpublished paper, University of Canterbury. Gilding, M. (1991) The Making and Breaking of the Australian Family, Sydney: Allen & Unwin. Goldstein, J. (2001) War and Gender: How Gender Shapes the War System and Vice Versa, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Harrison, J. F. C. (1961) Learning and Living, 1790–1960: A Study in the History of the English Adult Education Movement, London: Routledge. Kaarsholm, P. (1989) Kipling and Imperialism, in R. Samuel (ed.) Patriotism: The Making and Unmaking of British National Identity (Vol. 3), London; New York: Routledge. Kelly, T. (1992) A History of Adult Education in Great Britain (3rd edn), Liverpool: University of Liverpool. Klein, U. (1997) The Gendering of National Discourses and the Israeli–Palestinian Conflict, European Journal of Women’s Studies, 4(3): 341–351. Klein, U. (1999) ‘Our Best Boys’ – The Gendered Nature of Civil–Military Relations in Israel, Men and Masculinities, 2(1), 47–65. Mangan, J. A. (ed.) (2003) Militarism, Sport, Europe: War Without Weapons (Vol. 5), London: Frank Cass. Marshall, P. J. (2011) Foreword: British Imperial History ‘New’ and ‘Old’, History in Focus. Online. Available HTTP: www.history.ac.uk/ihr/Focus/Empire/#intro (accessed 25 May 2011). McAloon, J. (2002) Gentlemanly Capitalism and Settler Capitalists: Imperialism, Dependent Development and Colonial Wealth in the South Island of New Zealand, Australian Economic History Review, 42(2): 204–223. McAloon, J. (2003) Gentlemen, Capitalists and Settlers: A Brief Response, Australian Economic History Review, 43(3): 298–304. McClintock, A. (1990) Maidens, Maps and Mines: King Solomon’s Mines and the Reinvention of Patriarchy in Colonial South Africa, in C. Walker (ed.) Women and Gender in Southern Africa to 1945, Cape Town: David Philip. McDevitt, P. F. (2004) ‘May the Best Man Win’: Sport, Masculinity, and Nationalism in Great Britain and the Empire, 1880–1935, New York: Palgrave Macmillan. McMichael, P. (1984) Settlers and the Agrarian Question: Foundations of Capitalism in Colonial Australia, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Morrell, R. (ed.) (2001) From Boys to Gentlemen: Settler Masculinity in Colonial Natal, 1880–1920, Pretoria: UNISA Press. Mosse, G. L. (1996) The Image of Man: The Creation of Modern Masculinity, New York: Oxford University Press. Nye, R. A. (2007) Western Masculinities in War and Peace, American Historical Review, 112(2): 417–438. Phillips, J. (1987) A Man’s Country? The Image of the PAkehA Male – a History, Auckland: Penguin Books. Said, E. W. (1993) Culture and Imperialism, New York: Knopf. Selman, G. (1995) Adult Education in Barkerville, 1863–1875 in G. Selman (ed.) Adult Education in Canada, Toronto: Thompson Educational Publishing.



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Tobias, R. M. (1996) What Do Adult and Community Educators Share in Common?, in J. Benseman, B. Findsen and M. Scott (eds) The Fourth Sector: Adult and Community Education in Aotearoa/New Zealand, Palmerston North: Dunmore Press. Tosh, J. (1999) A Man’s Place: Masculinity and the Middle Class Home in Victorian England, New Haven, CT: Yale University Press. Tosh, J. (2005) Masculinities in an Industrializing Society: Britain, 1800–1914, Journal of British Studies, 44(2): 330–342. Woodward, R. (2000) Warrior Heroes and Little Green Men: Soldiers, Military Training, and the Construction of Rural Masculinities, Rural Sociology, 65(4): 640–657.

72  Steve Jordan Chapter 6 and Lisa Trimble

Gender, masculinities and migrants’ learning experiences Steve Jordan and Lisa Trimble

They treat us like slaves. The Mexican government sells us and the Canadian government exploits us. (Temporary Mexican farm worker)

Introduction The ascendance of neoliberal doctrine from the early 1980s witnessed the systematic dismantling of the social democratic consensus of the post-World War II era (Harvey 2005). While neoliberalism has been primarily concerned with privatization and the deregulation of increasing areas of life within what is now a globalized capitalist economy, it has also affected policy regimes (for example the World Trade Organization) focused on the reduction and elimination of impediments to what it views as the free flow of capital and labour across national boundaries. One of the effects of this shift in policy has been the creation of a global market in labour that has seen massive migration take place from the South to the developed countries of the North (although regionally this dynamic also exists within countries of the South, for example between Egypt and the Gulf states). This global ‘reserve army of labour’ (Marx 1954), comprising millions of men, women and children, has increasingly become a source of cheap temporary labour, intended to service sectors of the economies of the North (for example with agricultural and domestic workers) where local labour markets cannot supply the necessary resident workers. Often with the cooperation of countries in the South that export labour (for example Mexico and the Philippines), countries in the North such as Canada have begun to enact policies like the Temporary Foreign Worker Program (2002), that carefully regulate the conditions under which temporary foreign workers can enter Canada, stay, and must eventually return to their home country. This chapter explores the relationships between learning, gender and masculinities as they are experienced by immigrant workers such as these in the context of the Canadian (Québec) workplace. We have organized our thinking as follows: the first section reviews and outlines recent theoretical insights drawn from the



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emerging literature on migrant workers and the construction of masculinities; the second section provides a brief overview of neoliberal policy and immigrant management, and in so doing sheds light on some of the underlying forces generating Canada’s temporary foreign worker programmes. The third section looks specifically at the lived experience and perspectives of immigrant workers from a range of programmes in Canada. Finally the fourth section explores how immigrant workers in Canada might be entangled in forms of incidental or informal un-learning, or learning in reverse, that reproduce their subordinate position within the workplace and in Canadian society and culture. The chapter concludes by noting that gender and masculinity are not fixed, pre-determined categories, but are subject to changing biographical, cultural, political and historical processes. In the contemporary era, neoliberal policies have connected these processes with the construction of migrant worker identities with types of informal un-learning that serve to marginalize and subordinate their position in the Canadian workplace. To meet the challenges posed by neoliberal globalization and its effects on how migrant workers learn, we argue for a holistic approach to the understanding of learning as lived experience that encompasses the political, cultural and historical suggested by Foley’s (1999) ‘learning in action’.

Theoretical considerations on migrant workers and the construction of masculinities While the literature on gender, masculinities and the workplace has been growing over the past two decades, research on migrant workers within this field of inquiry has been slower in coming and in many respects is still emerging. Consequently, our discussion below will focus on research primarily concerned with the gendered relations of masculinity as they are lived by migrant workers under global capitalism. Drawing on this discussion, we hope to develop theoretical insights to be used later in the chapter to illuminate how immigrant workers are experiencing the often contradictory dynamics of the contemporary global workplace. In advancing their theoretical framework in Chapter 2 of this book, Bowl and Tobias argue for an approach to understanding gender and masculinities as the outcome of struggles over discursive formations and ideologies within particular social and cultural contexts. As they also point out, these struggles are themselves part of an on-going historical process that is invested with relations of class, gender and ethnicity (and in the Canadian context, the colonization of indigenous peoples). The character of learning and education, therefore, has to be understood as a contested terrain, where competing discourses and ideologies not only vie to define the nature and content of curricula, pedagogy, or assessment, but are also intimately connected with the construction of subjectivity as lived experience (Corrigan et al. 1987; Donald 1985a; Donald 1985b; Donald 1992; Johnson 1970). Rather than seeing masculinity or gender as fixed and firmly defined,

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however, we recognize that these concepts are fluid and evolving, and are part of broader theoretical debates connected with patriarchy under capitalism. In this respect we emphasize the observation of the historian E.P. Thompson that, ‘Moreover “patriarchy” gives us a poor vocabulary to express large modifications in the forms of male domination and control, gender alienation or (on occasion) gender partnership’ (Thompson 1991: 500). Migrant workers experience a profound sense of dislocation when they leave their home countries, and their experience is in many ways characterized by a continuing anxiety about ‘fitting in’ to their host society. In this respect Hondagneu-Sotelo and Messner (1999) suggest that for immigrant men, gender displays of traditional masculinities are not fixed, but rather are engaged with as models of resistance and negotiation, depending on the extent and the way in which other intersections of power and privilege inform and shape their lives. Further, the experience of migration is more than economic and political, involving complicated and shifting emotional and embodied experiences that have to be taken into account in seeking to understand how immigrant men interpret and make sense of their masculinities (Datta et al. 2008). Similarly, Lomsky-Feder and Rapoport (2003: 114) also suggest that ‘situations in which masculinity is uprooted from its indigenous cultural context and placed in contact with other models of masculinity provide important insights into the issue of “being a man” and the construction of manhood’. We can perhaps best understand masculinity as a critical ‘interpretive field’ (Lomsky-Feder and Rapoport 2003: 132) that immigrant men use to assess local models of male behaviour against their own cultural codes and norms. As Daniel Coleman (1998) has suggested, we can think about masculinities and femininities as being metaphorically similar to sound waves, which change shape and properties in response to what surrounds them; masculinities are elastic and continually redefined according to the hegemonic social, political and cultural contexts with which they are in dialogue. For immigrant workers, renegotiating a sense of what the masculine self is can be a particularly challenging task: many are already trying to navigate multiple and often competing discourses in complex and shifting relationships to power (particularly in a second or third language). Depending on what the immigrant man’s social status was prior to leaving his home country, steering a safe course through the hegemonic margins means that migrants must adopt different flexibility strategies if they are to succeed in the workplace. One of the most profound challenges faced by migrants navigating the social relations of a host country is that immigrant men who want to remain employed may have to adjust to being subservient, deferential employees who can be counted on to not challenge authority. As Lomsky-Feder and Rapoport note: The experience of the male immigrant is disruptive and anxiety-laden, as he must cope with his ambiguous position as a stranger, his lack of control,



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and the implicit threat to his identity and status. His anxiety as an immigrant is coupled with his anxiety as a man, a feeling that typifies, according to Homi Bhabha (1995), the masculine position. The multiple disruptions and anxieties engender among immigrants intense ‘interpretative work’ that may produce or undermine cultural differences. (2003: 133) For instance, Näre (2010) found that employers in Naples (Italy) constructed Sri Lankan men as ‘soft’ and feminized, and thus believed them to be capable of assuming care-giving and cleaning work traditionally relegated to women. She concluded that these men adapted their behaviour to reflect their subordinated and gentle-seeming masculinities in their Neapolitan workplaces, while in their own cultural and domestic milieus they engaged with masculinities that would be considered much more traditional and hegemonic. This finding is also reflected in Batnikzky et al. (2009) in their study of immigrant men in the United Kingdom, where they show that class position had a significant impact on whether or not immigrant men were likely to adapt their gendered identities to gain and sustain work. In particular they found that low- and un-skilled migrants who had dependent families in their countries of origin were much more predisposed towards modifying their masculine identities so that they could take on ‘women’s work’ and gain employment.

Neoliberal policy and immigration management: Canada’s foreign worker programmes While much of what is understood to constitute neoliberal globalization may appear as new – such as the proliferation of the new technologies that have generated the revolution in information technology and biotechnology – globalization is nevertheless embedded within the reassertion of a historical process of capitalist development and accumulation, not unlike that which took place in the nineteenth and the first half of the twentieth centuries. One of the primary effects of this process has been the disruption and displacement (by poverty, war, political instability, etc.) of entire populations and their associated way of life. In the post-war era this has resulted in increasing numbers of workers migrating from the Global South to wealthier countries, such as Australia, Euro­ pean Union countries and the United States and Canada. Since the inception of the Canadian state in 1867, Canada has historically relied on importing foreign labour to sustain its economic development. However, the composition and origins of foreign workers radically changed after World War II. Whereas until the 1960s the majority of immigrants came from European countries, from the 1970s onward these were replaced by increasing numbers of immigrants arriving from countries in the Caribbean, Central and South America, Africa, the Middle East and Asia, a trend which continues to present times.

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In the past three decades Canadian policy on immigrant workers has undergone radical transformation. Broadly speaking, there has been a shift away from a discourse embedded in public obligations and citizen rights to one that understands migrants as a factor of production necessary for the development of Canadian capital. This trend has intensified with the commencement of the global recession in late 2008. Governments around the globe have responded to the recession by adopting similar policies that have resulted in major cutbacks in social provision (health, education, and social security), as well as further deregulation of employment laws to induce greater flexibility in labour markets (through casualization, depressing wages, revoking of employment rights) and the intensification of the labour process. Foreshadowed by the Reagan–Thatcher years of the 1980s, this neoliberal policy regime has come to define the social relations of contemporary (capitalist) globalization (Harvey 2005). Finally, and most recently, this particular approach to ‘immigration management’ has been galvanized by the intersection of two historical processes: the first, the emergence and rise of neoliberalism, and the second, the terrorist attacks on the World Trade Center in New York on 11 September 2001 (i.e. ‘9/11’). While legislation enacted after 9/11 legitimized greater surveillance and tighter immigration controls in the name of national security, it also accelerated the implementation of policies aimed at privatizing and commodifying immigrant labour. In that respect, although Bills C-36, the Canadian Anti-Terrorism Act (2001b) and C-11, the Immigration and Refugee Protection Act (2001a) were ostensibly aimed at tightening national security, legislation here merely served to reinforce already existing trends in immigration policy that had been in place for at least a decade before. The effects of this policy regime has been to make it increasingly difficult for migrant workers to obtain landed status to such a point that in 2008 workers entering Canada under the Temporary Foreign Worker Program outstripped those given residency permits. Consequently, what these developments point to is the emergence of a highly segmented system of immigration that is both elitist and which aims to create an underclass of temporary ‘guest workers’ which Canadian capital can draw on (and dispose of ) at will.

Lived experience and perspectives of immigrant workers from Canadian programmes In what follows we explore the effects of this model of immigration management on migrants’ learning by drawing on a study informed by interviews with immigrant workers collected in the Montreal area of Québec, Canada between 2004 and 2006 (Choudry 2009). The 51 participants had been in Canada for a range of time periods: some for as little as two years and some for as long as two decades. Workers who were in Canada under short-term ‘guest worker’ programmes such as the Live-in Caregiver Program (LCP) or the Seasonal Agricultural Worker Program (SAWP) were part of the study, as were refugee claimants and those without legal status. While this study was principally



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concerned with types of informal learning engaged in by immigrant workers to defend their rights and resist unjust conditions in their jobs, their narratives provide insights into how the gendering of masculinity is interpreted and handled in the workplace under contemporary neoliberal globalization. In general, new immigrants not only have to confront discriminatory workplace conditions, including lower rates of pay, hazardous jobs and arbitrary dismissal; they also do not benefit from established cultural networks of family and friends that would normally provide them with social and emotional support and affirmation of their identities. Such experiences were common among the 51 workers interviewed. In what follows we have selected excerpts from interviews from both migrant and landed immigrant workers to highlight how and in what ways these conditions were experienced, particularly as they affected possibilities for informal learning. The following commentary is extracted from a focus group of seven Mexican farm workers participating in Canada’s Seasonal Agricultural Workers Program (SAWP): We work about 12 hours a day  .  .  .  we work under any weather conditions – but the [Canadians] are happy with eight hours, nothing more – they don’t need the money like us so they don’t work as much. Someone from here can’t handle harvesting all day long – they’ll do it but only for a little while [.  .  .] I’ve seen friends with lacerations on their hands – from the chemicals [.  .  .] the boss should treat us for that, not charge us for it! One got sick and they didn’t treat him, they sent him back to Mexico. It’s not fair. These experiences were common to other groups of immigrant workers who reported being subject to similar workplace conditions. Another Canadian guest worker programme, the Live-in Caregiver Program (LCP), which provides employment to immigrant women as domestic aides, revealed how similar working conditions were organized in the homes of professional middle-class families who employed them. As a Filipina LCP worker noted: Well, the female employer was always complaining about my work, she wasn’t satisfied. She wants everything to be done, like this, like that [.  .  .] they wanted me to pick up the clothes they threw on the floor, one by one  .  .  .  there was a hamper that they could have put it in, but they wanted me to pick up after them, like if they took their socks off in the kitchen. If they took it off just beside the bed, I had to pick it up. So, I got mad and complained, that it wasn’t supposed to be my obligation to pick up their underwear – why can’t they put it in the hamper? And it was always long hours. The contract was supposed to be 51 hours, but I always worked 55–60 hours a week, without getting paid overtime. While both groups of workers were clearly indignant at the long hard hours they had to put into their jobs (especially compared with Canadian workers

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doing the same or similar tasks), their ability to contest and challenge these essentially exploitative relations was tempered by the constant fear of deportation. However, as a Filipina LCP caregiver noted, there were other issues that compromised a path of active resistance: .  .  .  because you are afraid that if you complain, then you will be deported. But apart from that, it’s that the Filipino have a cultural challenge to resist, to rebel. Especially the Filipino women, most of us believe that sacrificing is the way to get to heaven. It is according to our religious and cultural beliefs, ‘Don’t complain, don’t be critical.’ In the Philippines, you do what you are told. You can’t rebel against your parents; they are deciding for you what to do and what you would learn, because they are the ones who are paying for the school. After you finish with your studies, you feel guilty because they have spent so much money on you, so then you have to pay them back by working abroad and sending them the money. So there’s no way you can rebel at your work, even if they shout at you, or humiliate you. You automatically feel guilty. It takes a lot of time to change this attitude and to develop awareness. Although both the SAWP and LCP as part of the Temporary Foreign Worker Program deliberately create a form of structured dependency for these workers, thereby undermining their ability to challenge and resist abusive work environments, it is also clear that both cultural/religious beliefs and financial commitments to families back home are significant factors in muting resistance.1

Learning in reverse – learning to un-learn The experiences of these migrant workers point to four issues that we want to highlight regarding the relations between learning and gendering the neoliberal workplace. First, the labour–capital relation still underpins, mediates and refracts the ways in which exploitation is organized (Nichols 1980). An inherent tendency still exists to de-skill, degrade and reduce labour to an interchangeable commodity that can be bought and sold on the market for the lowest possible price. Second, as we suggested earlier in the chapter when immigrant workers first arrive, they not only have to deal with a profound sense of dislocation in terms of their own identity and cultural expectations, they also enter a ‘critical interpretive field’ in which they engage in an ongoing process of navigating the dominant social relations of gender and masculinity within the host (Canadian) society. Third, the identity formation of these workers in their home countries can generate a disposition or set of beliefs which militate against any kind of opposition to the circumstances in which they find themselves — as the Filipina worker above puts it, ‘Don’t complain, don’t be critical’. This brings us to our fourth, and perhaps most salient, issue. Combined with the ever-present fear of deportation, this disposition of compliance often leads to an un-learning amongst



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the immigrant workers interviewed, or a ‘learning in reverse’. Learning in reverse can be described as a deliberate process where immigrant workers systematically un-learn expectations, deny their former identity and/or status so that they can adapt to low pay and a life at the bottom of the labour market, despite previous lives as highly educated professionals in their home countries. This tendency is exemplified by Ahmed, an Algerian biologist and ecologist, who noted that: I learned very quickly that that is not the way it works here  .  .  .  If I had followed their advice [the employment agency] I never would have gotten a job  .  .  .  I took bachelor off my CV – you have to understand employers want to save money – they won’t recognize an immigrant’s qualifications and they don’t want to pay you for it. This leads us to connect these workers’ experiences with what Foley (1999) calls ‘learning in action’, a process which he conceptualizes as a multifaceted human activity that occurs within particular historical and cultural contexts. This type of learning arises from incidental, informal practices in the everyday world (outside institutions). Despite the seemingly negative effect of this type of learning for migrant workers, Foley’s framework allows us to see learning as a politically situated activity and, in so doing, to argue that these non-formal and informal learning experiences may also serve to open up possibilities for counter-hegemonic pedagogies of resistance. Foley argues that embedded and tacit learning shapes messages about gender and power, and contends that these types of informal or non-formal learning can either reinforce the status quo or (in the right circumstances), resonate with the intensity of emotion and action which bring about social change. Further, he asserts that any theory of adult education that does not take into account and offer a radical critique of workplace learning and capitalism is only serving as a tool of reproducing existing power structures. From his perspective, adult learning theory needs not only to articulate the aims of education, but must also offer a viable critique of the discourses with which we mediate teaching and learning. Anything short of this merely continues to make invisible the un-learning that promotes or represses resistance to existing power structures, which in a workplace context means that capitalist relations continue to be reinforced.

Concluding comments The theoretical implications of what we have argued in this chapter can be reduced to two main points. First, we have shown that gender and masculinity are not fixed categories but are tied to fluid and evolving biographical, cultural, political and historical contexts. This implies that gender and masculinity, as analytical concepts, have to be understood as being dependent upon these factors. The construction of gender for immigrant workers is connected to everyday, incidental and

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informal experiences of un-learning that can serve to reproduce their marginalization and cement their subordinate position within the workplace and labour market. Ironically, they have little choice but to engage in this process as a necessary survival strategy. Second, and on a more hopeful note, for this reason we strongly encourage future research in this area to seek and develop alternative conceptual frameworks such as Foley’s (1999)‘learning in action’. Such frameworks, particularly at the service of liberatory rather than oppressive practices, may have tremendous potential in their capacity to provide a holistic view of learning, one that is historical and cultural, and in which learning is experienced through real, everyday activities as they are lived.

Acknowledgements Steve Jordan wishes to thank Aziz Choudry, Jill Hanley, Eric Shragge and Martha Steigman, his co-researchers on the immigrant workers project. We would also like to acknowledge the comments of an anonymous reviewer of this chapter, as well as Elizabeth Wood for helping us edit and revise it.

Note 1 The recent adoption (22 June 2011) of the Convention on the Rights of Domestic Workers by the International Labour Organization (ILO) may lead to improvements in the working conditions of LCP workers in Canada. For example, at present LCP workers in the provinces of Alberta, Ontario and New Brunswick are denied rights to join a union.

References Batnitzky, A., McDowell, L. and Dyer, S. (2009) Flexible and strategic masculinities: the working lives and gendered identities of male migrants in London, Journal of Ethnic and Migration Studies, 35: 1275–1293. Canada, G. O. (2001a) Bill C-11: Immigration and Refugee Protection Act in Immigration, C. A. (ed.), Ottawa: Parliament of Canada, House Publications. Canada, G. O. (2001b) Bill C-36: Anti-Terrorism Act, in Department, J. (ed.), Ottawa: Parliament of Canada, House Publications. Choudry, A. A. (2009) Fight back: Workplace justice for immigrants, Halifax: Fernwood. Coleman, D. (1998) Masculine migrations: Reading the postcolonial male in ‘New Canadian’ narratives, Toronto: University of Toronto Press. Corrigan, P., Curtis, B. and Lanning, R. (1987) The political space of schooling, in T. Wotherspoon (ed.), The political economy of Canadian schooling. Toronto: Methuen. Datta, K., Mcllwaine, C., Herbert, J., Evans, Y., May, J. and Wills, J. (2008) Mobile mas­culinities: Men, migration and low paid work in London, London: University of London. Donald, J. (1985a) Beacons of the future: schooling, subjection and subjectification, in V. Becehey and J. Donald (eds) Subjectivity and social relations: a reader, Milton Keynes: Open University Press.



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Donald, J. (1985b) Troublesome texts: subjectivity and schooling, British Journal of the Sociology of Education, 6: 341–351. Donald, J. (1992) Sentimental education: Schooling, popular culture and the regulation of liberty, London: Verso. Foley, G. (1999) Learning in social action: a contribution to understanding informal education, London: Zed Books. Harvey, D. (2005) A brief history of neoliberlaism, Oxford; New York: Oxford University Press. Hondagneu-Sotelo, P. and Messner, M. A. (1999) Gender displays and men’s power: The ‘new man’ and the Mexican immigrant man, in S. Coontz, M. Parson and G. Raley (eds), American families: A multicultural reader, New York: Routledge. Johnson, R. (1970) Educational policy and social control in early Victorian England, Past and Present, 49: 96–119. Lomsky-Feder, E. and Rapoport, T. (2003) Juggling models of masculinity: Russian-Jewish immigrants in the Israeli army, Sociological Inquiry, 73: 114–137. Marx, K. (1954) Das Capital, London: Lawrence & Wishart. Näre, L. (2010) Sri Lankan men working as cleaners and carers: negotiating masculinity in Naples, Men and Masculinities, 13: 65–86. Nichols, T. (1980) Capital and labour: A Marxist primer, Glasgow: Fontana. Thompson, E. P. (1991) Customs in common, London: Penguin.

82  Rebecca O’Rourke Chapter 7

Men in United Kingdom adult and community education The politics of practice and pedagogy Rebecca O’Rourke

This chapter explores the period in the late 1990s when adult and community education (ACE) providers and policy makers in the United Kingdom identified men’s relation to, and participation in, its activities as problematic. This happened alongside what the media quickly termed a ‘crisis of masculinity’, a crisis played out in relation to citizenship, public order, social welfare and schooling. The initiatives developed in response to this perceived crisis adopted various approaches and purposes which align with the different conceptions of masculinity, gender relations and pedagogy on which they were premised. They also carried a differentiated relationship to gender politics, especially feminism. Feminism is an important, if sometimes unacknowledged, context for thinking about men’s participation in ACE. In this chapter I briefly outline the ‘crisis of masculinity’ and its relationship to feminism before reviewing initiatives developed within UK ACE as a response to the perceived difficulties experienced by some men. In order to contextualize this review it is important to understand the impact of neoliberalism upon both the ACE sector and UK society as a whole (Harvey 2007). Briefly, the social impact of a neoliberal response to the continued economic crisis, by both the New Labour government (of 1997 to 2010) and the current coalition government, foregrounds the need for ACE to be considered as part of wider lifelong learning provision – at precisely the point when the sector’s continued existence is put at risk by funding cutbacks. In relation to pedagogy, the intensification of an instrumental and individualistic approach to learning severely limits the role which ACE can play in helping to transform communities and social groups. One consequence of this is that issues of men’s learning have come to be framed in wider terms than that of education as social engagement and participation, and have migrated to public health and social policy, especially youth and criminal justice. These sites of practice are characterized by their multi-agency approach, with scope for education providers to form part of the network. Paradoxically, within these different locations there is greater emphasis on informal learning, which offers possibilities for personal and social transforma­ tion in the work of negotiating new ways of being and becoming men. However, this potential is compromised because these new partnerships, such as Connected Communities (Marcus et al. 2010), Flexible New Deal (Department for Work



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and Pensions) and Sure Start (NESS Research Team 2010), are top-down initiatives from government designed to meet strategic priorities for social cohesion, getting people into employment and preventative work to increase child protection.

The ‘crisis of masculinity’ Towards the end of the twentieth century in the UK a moral panic developed about boys in compulsory education. There were concerns about their performance in public examinations, their levels of truancy, their behaviour when they did attend school and their perception of the value of education (QCA 1998). The schooling debates (which continue and have intensified) were a particularly potent version of wider social discourses – and disquiet – concerning men and masculinity. References to a ‘crisis of masculinity’ started to appear in the media from the 1990s onwards and a concern with men and masculinity subsequently became a feature of social policy and analysis. ACE has always responded to the wider social world so it too turned its attention to these issues. At the time, these debates and initiatives were met with some ambivalence by feminists. This was partly a response to the misogyny of some of the contributions to the debate. In relation to schooling, women as mothers – especially when they were single parents – and as teachers were often identified as the source of the problem. It also reflected the way in which the pro-woman, anti-patriarchy stance of the modern women’s liberation movement included a radical feminism characterized by an anti-male, separatist ideology (Jeffreys 1985/1997, 1990). But largely it reflected the way in which men, as a social group and within education, continued to experience benefits and privileges which women, as a social group, did not (Acker 1987; Epstein et al. 1998). ACE had made a significant contribution to forging the new knowledge and pedagogic values of women’s studies and also in creating ‘return to study’ opportunities for women who would not otherwise have considered these possibilities. This was a contested, because politicized, practice: other kinds of adult education, attracting both men and women, went on alongside this work, and whether it was day-release industrial studies, woodworking, sugar craft or traditional liberal adult education, the introduction of women’s education led to arguments about resources and the purpose and nature of adult education. Some of these argu­ ments challenged any political affiliation; others posited conflict between a radical politics based on class and community and one based on gender. Wherever positioned on the political/apolitical spectrum, mainstream ACE in the 1970s and early 1980s was predominantly male in its orientation and staffing, certainly at senior levels. This created a culture which was often contemptuous of women, as tutors and students (Thompson 1983). At this time, the concept of men as learners or education for men would have been unthinkable because men were normative within these practices. The debate about men in ACE is framed in terms of their non-participation, crystallized in the title of the first critical survey, Excluded Men (McGivney

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1999). A peculiarity of the problem of men’s participation in education is that it is only in a minority of contexts that they are under-represented or underachieving. As McGivney (1999: 27) concedes, ‘men are, as a whole, more highly qualified than women’. More women than men had no qualifications (21 per cent compared with 16 per cent) and more men than women had qualifications at National Vocational Qualification levels 3, 4 and 5. That 26 per cent of women, compared with 16 per cent of men, had Level 1 qualifications needs to be understood in this overall context of gender relations and educational participation and achievement. This need for precise specification is also true of other education statistics. For example, the figures showing increased participation rates for women in higher education as a whole disguise other significant details. Dissected, they show that women are concentrated in first degrees rather than postgraduate study, in part-time rather than full-time modes of study, in subject areas traditionally perceived as female – a feature even more distinctive in further education – and the relatively poor career progression in education leadership and management still experienced by women when compared to men. This illustrates two of the central premises of this book: that genders and masculinities are multiple and that gender relations reflect, produce and reproduce discourses of power in which inequality between and among women and men continue to play a significant part. McGivney and others (Epstein et al. 1998; Francis and Skelton 2001; Lloyd 2002) have identified the nuanced specificity of the concern with men’s and boys’ educational participation: first that the issue in schooling is about girls doing well, as much as it is about boys doing badly; second, that the focus is on a particular sort of boy, growing up to be a particular sort of man, involved in a particular sort of educational provision. The ‘missing men’ are those with low basic skills, few or no qualifications, experiencing chronic unemployment, often accompanied by offending or anti-social behaviour. They are often from Black and minority ethnic or white working-class backgrounds. The fact that women from the same class and community share the same low levels of participation and aspiration is rarely perceived as a problem. Underachieving boys are not new, but their reduced employment prospects and employability are. [.  .  .] The combination of underachievement, the changing workplace and sex-typed masculine attitudes make the transition into work particularly difficult for some individuals and groups of young men. (Lloyd 2002: 16) The phenomenon presented in the late 1990s as an issue of male participa­ tion in learning linked to a general crisis in masculinity, is better understood as symptomatic of profound and structural changes in the UK economy resulting from deindustrialization and the influence of neoliberalism, and the impact of these on employment, family and social life for men and women alike.



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Spotlight on masculinity Masculinity is a concept with historical reach, often allied with progressive social and political movements. One of the earliest studies of masculinity in the UK (Tolson 1977) strongly identified with a men’s movement taking responsibility for engaging with feminist consciousness and practices and developing these in men. The notion of men organizing as men to explore the radical progressive politics of their personal lives reached a peak in the 1970s and 1980s. Groups of this nature still exist but a testament to their rarity is the media attention received when two such groups recently formed at UK universities (Murray 2009). Several men’s action groups formed in the UK from the 1970s onwards. They spanned the political spectrum from social reform positions to those of the extreme right wing and anti-feminism. The first of these, Families Need Fathers, formed in 1974. It is a self-help campaigning organization supporting individuals and lobbying for legislative change in relation to non-resident parents and the wider family. Currently characterized by a mainstream social reform perspective, it previously embraced direct action methods and anti-feminism (Chaplin 2008). Working with Men, established in 1998, is a campaigning organization seeking to benefit the development of men and boys through projects raising awareness of issues that impact upon men and boys and through research, training and consultancy. Its approach is pragmatic, with many reports prefaced with the words: ‘What works with  .  .  .’, tackling issues such as sex education, preparation for work, young fathers, risk-taking, carrying knives and boys’ upbringing. Fatherhood is a focus of many projects and policy campaigns supported by Working with Men. It is the sole focus of the think tank and charity the Fatherhood Institute, which originally formed in 1999 as Fathers Direct. The aim to develop father-inclusive practice amongst public and third sector agencies and employers sits within a broadly social reformist approach. Its gender politics challenge sex-stereotyping, there is no evidence of an anti-feminist stance and its definition of family is broadly based. Unlike other campaign organizations it adopts a strong evidence-based approach, commissioning and promoting independent academic social research. Fathers 4 Justice, founded in 2001, is explicitly antifeminist and sits further towards the right than any of the other campaign organizations, including its own breakaway organizations such as Real Fathers for Justice. A campaign organization, it specializes in high-profile actions: hunger strikes and sit-ins at landmark buildings. Academic work on masculinity came to prominence in the 1980s and 1990s in a range of disciplines: cultural studies, gender studies, sociology and psychology. This work challenged the monolithic and unitary notions of masculinity and femininity which tended to inform sex/gender work with girls and women as their focus. It did so in three ways: first, through specific analysis of the sites of formation of masculine identities, such as school, health, leisure and youth .

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subcultures (Willis 1977; Connell 1989, 1995; Messner and Sabo 1990; Mac an Ghaill 1994); second, through analysis of transgressive and subordinate sexual identities and practices, usually homosexuality but also specific forms of workingclass and Black masculinities and, more recently, the experience of transgendered people and those with disabilities (Mercer and Julian 1988; Weeks 1989; Plummer 1992; Marriott 1996); third, unitary notions of masculinity were challenged through theoretical work which developed a more complex understanding of patriarchy’s public and private lived relations. This enabled the concept of hegemonic masculinity to be simultaneously invoked and decentred as part of the argument for plural and diverse ways of being and becoming a man: masculinities rather than masculinity (Clatterbaugh 1990; Hearn and Morgan 1990; Segal 1990; Hearn 1992; Brod and Kauffman 1994). More recently, an interest in learning processes rather than educational settings has expanded the focus, with work on men’s health becoming increasingly significant (Williams 2009). Bourdieu’s concept of habitus has been incorporated into the theorization of masculinity (Coles 2009) which signals the attention to diversity and complexity which now characterizes work on men and masculinities in relation to UK education.

Initiatives for the ‘missing men’ Throughout the 1980s a good deal of UK ACE focused on provision for people who were unemployed. This included vocational education through programmes such as Replan and non-vocational return to study provision. However, in the 1980s such programmes were as likely to be accessed by men as by women and many providers offered dual-track programmes of mixed- and single-sex provision for women. Throughout the 1990s, these return to study initiatives, based in colleges, universities and local authorities, were supported by a series of policy initiatives, most notably the Kennedy Report on widening participation in the post-compulsory sector (FEFC 1997) which captured the spirit of optimism with which New Labour came to power the same year. Education was central to its programme of social inclusion and economic and social regeneration. This period laid the groundwork for the transformation of educational discourse – from privilege to a right, and then to an obligation. Education, especially postcompulsory education, had once been a means to get on in society; it rapidly became the means to get into society. It was no longer simply a social good but a social requirement. It is in this context that the absence of working-class men from education became visible and problematic. These concerns were already present in ACE where the difficulties of engaging unemployed men in further education provision had been highlighted a decade earlier (Cunliffe and Foxton 1989). Northern College, a residential college for trade unionists and community activists, organized a conference in March 1990 on ‘Working Class Men and Further Education’, which identified a series of obstacles to their participation. These included feeling uncomfortable in groups with women (a perhaps understandable reaction from men whose



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previous educational experience was trade union education linked to exclusively male work) and reluctance to engage in provision that was not clearly vocational. The monthly practitioner journal Adults Learning first carried articles about men’s education in 1994. One of these reported on a research project into the education and training needs of (ex)-miners and their families in north-east England. It noted the orientation towards, and take-up by, women of many ACE courses on offer. ‘The problem of encouraging men to become more active in the community was acknowledged by most community educators. [.  .  .] For men, returning to education is often seen as an admission of failure’ (Carr and Williams 1994: 121–122). They proffer three reasons for men’s reluctance to return to education, which recur in all subsequent projects seeking to engage men and boys in ACE. They are: men’s negative view of education; ‘macho’ ideology which connects male identity with manual work; and men’s preference for short-term training connected directly to employment. Colin Neville (1994) contributed an article to the same edition of Adults Learning arguing that adult educators should target long-term unemployed men without formal qualifications in the same way they make special provision for women returners. These men, it was argued, were affected by structural changes involving the shedding of manual jobs and could not realistically compete for the jobs replacing them in the service sectors. He argued that retraining provision did not support men to make the radical changes in skills, motivation and confidence required because programmes were too short and instrumentalist. However, as Neville made clear, it is not enough to substitute men for women in mirror image provision. Because women, on the whole, were motivated to return to learning and men were not, course publicity and information required rethinking as much as content and tutoring. Neville reported how unsuccessful a seven-week community-based course had been when titled ‘New Directions for Men’. A name change (‘Change Course – Careers Guidance for Men’) and partnership with the local university recruited eleven men from a variety of educational and employment backgrounds. Not all completed the course, leaving when they received the information they wanted or found another job. Of those completing, three expressed serious interest in further courses and those continuing to prioritize seeking employment reported interest in part-time evening education (Neville 1994: 208–209). A critical moment in galvanizing educational work with men, specifically men as fathers, was a ministerial seminar which led to several community education initiatives, funded by the Family Policy Fund (Home Office 1998). Trefor Lloyd (2001) evaluated these initiatives, and other informal education projects working with fathers, for example Working with Men. The report was aimed at those wish­ ing to start similar projects, indicating the buoyancy of educational provision for men at the time. Lloyd notes that work of this nature had existed since the late 1970s, although it had been fragmentary and dependent on the enthusiasm of individual workers and volunteers. These projects worked with fathers in a range

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of circumstances: isolated, lone parents; divorced/separated; young – but not necessarily teenage; self-referred on the basis of needing support to be more actively involved with their children; or struggling with anger management or discipline. The type of intervention also varied: one-off sessions, ongoing informal sessions, structured groups, and a 35-week therapeutic programme. The barriers to involvement identified by Lloyd were similar to those outlined by Carr and Williams (1994). Success was predicated on reaching and recruiting fathers – although no single way to do this was advocated. Outreach was recognized as time consuming and as requiring both extensive local publicity and multi-agency involvement. Although Lloyd did not explicitly state that he saw fathers as the ideal tutors/facilitators, he strongly suggested that they offer ‘insider information’ essential to trust building. A diversity of professionals was described as supporting these activities; they were not solely educators. In fact, educators were the minority, with family workers, social workers, community workers, advice workers, students and volunteers all acting as facilitators (Lloyd 2001: 6). The Working with Men website lists several reports and evaluations of work of this kind, underlining how pervasive this form of provision had become. Veronica McGivney (1999) reports on over eighty initiatives aimed specifically at men, including mentoring schemes, family learning projects, literacy, practical and vocational skills training, group work, information and guidance, cultural, sports and health projects. Such initiatives were targeted at boys from nursery education to secondary school, at young men in the community, in work and in prison, at vulnerable boys and men, men and their children; men and their sons, mothers and their sons and at older men and people working with boys and men. In 2004 the Parenting Fund was launched, which funded extensive work by the Community Education Development Centre (later re-named ContinYou). ContinYou’s work with and for men is one strand of a wider equality intervention based on understanding social inequality as both determined and experienced in complex ways. Three of its five projects were directed towards men: Active Dads, Top Dads and Developing Men Friendly Organizations. Although ContinYou no longer runs such projects itself, schemes such as this, for example Every Dad Matters, continue to run throughout the UK, funded by local councils as part of their health and social care or children and families provision. Though exclusive to men, projects often state a challenge to sex-role stereotyping and identify benefits to mothers, as well as fathers and children, amongst their aims. A strong message in the evidence base which informs work with men as fathers is the irrelevance of gender. ‘The most striking point that came out of the study was that these desirable qualities in a parent were ungendered, that there may be nothing unique which fathers rather than mothers provide’ (Milligan and Smith 1999: 3). This challenges biological essentialism, emphasizing that it is the social and cultural configurations of family relations which produce gendered differences in and towards parenting. As well as community education initiatives for fathers and family learning, some projects set out to engage a group seen as being even harder to reach – disaffected



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young men. One action research project mobilized a multi-agency team from the Youth and Careers Services to engage a group of young men, aged 16 to 18 with histories of violence, in education and training. Working with them posed difficulties as they were often involved in drugs, alcohol and petty crime. They were also highly distrustful of professionals and it took time and intensive work to establish relationships of tolerance and trust. Even then, the nine young people who participated in the project ‘were the most easily contactable with most stable lifestyles and not necessarily the most typical of the wider group as a whole’ (Reid 2001: 21). Batsleer and Davis (2010) in their evaluation of Blue Room, a group-work project that used structured creative activities to work with young male sex workers in Manchester, offer a realistic, and ultimately hopeful, account of the project and its contribution to bringing about personal change. However, it is important to note that this was a three-year project, running in partnership with a well-established community support group for young gay men, involving six organizational partners, five funding streams and a total of thirty-two part-time and sessional staff. The more disaffected and vulnerable the group worked with, the greater the resources needed to do so effectively and ethically. One Blue Room partner was a Public Health Development Service. This demonstrates an important trend in the provision of ACE for men’s learning, namely its link to health and health promotion. A focus on men in gendered health inequality has been developing since the late 1990s (Cameron and Bernardes 1998). The Men’s Health Forum, established by the Royal College of Nursing in 1994, is now a strategic partner of the Department of Health. Popular understandings of men’s health issues often focus on alcohol, drugs and mental health, especially suicide, where rates for men are between three and five times higher than for women (ONS 2011). This has been a catalyst for ACE work, especially through arts and health initiatives. ‘If these men can find something that expands their intellectual horizons, draws them out of the narrow confines of their own lives and shows them that there is more to life, then they will have gained a reason to live’ (Marks 2000: 13). The north-east of England embraced work with men. ContinYou’s successful Developing Men Friendly Organisations consultancy was originally developed with a charity, Children North East, and the County Durham Workers’ Educational Association led and evaluated a Learning and Skills Council project, Male Learners into Community Provision, in 2003/ 2004 (Mahood 2004). The evaluation of ContinYou’s Parenting Fund programme by Willmott et al. (2006), Mahood’s account of the Durham project (2004) and McGivney’s Men Earn, Women Learn (2004) make an important contribution to research on masculinity and education because of their focus on the adult learner. Each study draws similar conclusions about obstacles to men’s participation in learning – school experience, attitudes to education amongst family and community, a focus on work which is seen to be in opposition to learning, and stakes in a version of masculinity which sees learning as effeminate. Mahood, working on a smaller scale than McGivney or

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Willmott et al., brings a helpful degree of specificity to the debate through her frank discussion of the sceptical view of learning she observes in young workingclass men and their often unrealistic expectations about how far and how fast interventions can take them. However, the claim that men exhibit deep-seated resentment of authority figures and a reluctance to commit themselves introduces an essentialist view of men and their learning which undermines the critical and radical perspective of her overall argument. Mahood argues that while provision is fragmented across providers, with competition for funds exacerbated by unrealistic target setting (the target for the project he evaluates was 60 per cent male learners), the consequence is to stimulate and meet only short-term demand in which there is very little chance of engaging men in the kind of transformative learning necessary to address and overcome their resistance. Benn and Burton anticipated this when they responded to Neville (1994): ‘Providers may come under pressure to fill places with the easiest groups to attract. This may well continue to be women’ (Benn and Burton 1994: 96). The negative pressure targets continue to exert on ACE is unrelenting. Projects are funded for smaller units of time, with greater outcomes expected and greater restrictions on project participants. Lloyd reports an early initiative he evaluated taking nine months to start up (Lloyd 2001: 4). It is hard to imagine this time frame available to providers now. Both Mahood and Willmott et al. emphasize the importance of the concept and practice of ‘men friendliness’. Mahood, in particular, is careful to avoid slipping into feminist backlash and, when outlining the good/bad practice examples, makes clear that project structure and management, not the worker’s gender, makes the difference (Mahood 2004: 15–19). Her ‘good practitioner’ is a woman, thus underlining the importance of how men are worked with, rather than who works with them. Her refutation of identity politics challenges both the prevailing values of men’s work, which puts considerable emphasis on role models, and the historical emphasis on separate provision characterizing women’s education. It foregrounds the need for gender work to make explicit its politics, and to recognize that the ways in which gender relations and identity are theorized also involve political allegiances. This insight informs Lyn Tett’s manifesto for practitioners in single-sex work, which urges them to develop a theoretical perspective on their practice. She cautions against simplistic notions of responding to the needs of men or women, urging practitioners to identify ‘which men/ women; in which context; and for what purpose’ (Tett 1996: 63) as a means of engaging with their own and others’ lived experience. Mahood highlights, as does McGivney (1999: 111–118), perceived differences in how men and women conceptualize learning. Mahood presents this as men’s lower tolerance than women of ‘poor provision’ (Mahood 2004: 17) but, following the work of Pratt and Associates (1998), this could also indicate where teachers’ and learners’ teaching perspectives are not aligned, and who do not critically engage each other in a discussion of what learning and teaching mean to them. Mahood offers a profile of men as learners who are impatient, instrumental and



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individualistic. If true, this would make them less disposed to approach learning as collaborators or co-constructers. It aligns them with neoliberal values, which see learning as an information- rather than knowledge-based commodity. Such different perceptions of the nature of learning have implications for effective pedagogy, which are unlikely to be gender neutral. One noticeable difference between women’s education in the 1980s and 1990s and recent initiatives for men is the absence of tutor teams, which both feeds the characteristic individualism of male learners (and, perhaps, their tutors) and makes it difficult to develop a shared body of pedagogy and curriculum expertise. If men and women learn and teach together, can they do so without confronting questions of gender directly? Experience tells us they can; but it also teaches that gender, like all other categories of social difference shaping our identities, social relations and practices, will still be present and influence interactions. As Chappell et al. (2003) comment, pedagogy is always identity work, whether or not its claims are overt and explicit.

Conclusion This chapter has contextualized and explored a period in recent UK history when attention to, and initiatives designed to widen, men’s participation in ACE became prominent. The ‘masculinity in crisis’ discourse was a product of its time and place; as was the confidence with which educational initiatives were invoked as a means to redress the social harm caused by economic crises and neoliberal policies. A generation earlier post-compulsory education had helped develop and popularize political understandings of becoming and being a woman (Thompson 1983). The absence of progressive gender politics directed towards men makes it difficult for post-compulsory education to play a similar role in relation to the ‘crisis of masculinity’. There are three reasons for this. First, the absence of a self-directed social movement led by and about men combined with the top-down initiatives from the state regarding parenting, health and basic skills reduces both the impetus and space for critical evaluation. Second, closure of university adult and continuing education departments across the UK also diminishes research-led teaching and developmental projects and, perhaps more importantly, ends their work as specialist training providers. New generic teaching qualifications for the UK post-compulsory sector espouse a pragmatic, atheoretical approach, positioning tutors as managers of learning and learning environments. Scope for transformative learning becomes difficult to sustain in the increasingly highly regulated and outcomes-focused postcompulsory sector (Schuller and Watson, 2009). Change within universities moved adult and community provision off its agenda at the same time that adult and community education providers in colleges and community organizations experienced the imposition of a crude vocationalism as the measure of purposeful work. This moves productive engagement with socially and educationally disadvantaged working-class men, as well as women, further and further out of reach.

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Finally, many of the education projects specifically targeting men adopted a methodology which mimicked feminist models of women’s education but was not – and could not be – rooted in equivalent radical politics. Many interventions in men’s education were state initiated and oriented towards behaviour change, work-readiness or up-skilling. In contrast, provision for women in community education often challenged the traditional gender roles and relations which men’s education tended to confirm. The educational initiatives which have sought to intervene in this perceived crisis of masculinity are asymmetrical. Their impact upon the life chances, identity and educational aspirations of low-skilled, unemployed or low-income women are overlooked. Practical initiatives to engage working-class boys and men in formal and informal community learning, especially about health and parenting, are often premised on, and reinforce, essentialist and stereotypical views of the social roles of men and women, including their disposition towards education. Men’s experience of ACE is indeed a legitimate issue for debate in policy and pedagogic practice but it requires a more complex understanding of men, masculinities and male power than that which informed the ‘masculinity in crisis’ discourse. Failure to mark the significance of the role of power in the construction and reproduction of gender inequality has made it difficult to identify, or change, the relational dimensions of this inequality – which operate within, as well as between, social groups of men and women, and articulate with other dimensions of social identity and belonging, such as age, race and sexuality. This has denied men the chance of a critical perspective on the social and cultural influences shaping their ways of becoming and being men and their gendered experience of education.

References Acker, S. (1987) ‘Feminist Theory and the Study of Gender and Education’, International Review of Education, 33(4): 419–435. Batsleer, J. and David, B. (2010) The Blue Room Report, Manchester: 42nd Street. Benn, R. and Burton, R. (1994) ‘Access to Higher Education: A class or gender issue?’, Adults Learning, 6(3): 94–96. Brod, H. and Kauffman, M. (1994) Theorising Masculinities, London: Sage. Cameron, E. and Bernardes, J. (1998) ‘Gender and Disadvantage in Health: Men’s Health’, Sociology of Health & Illness, 20(5): 673–693. Carr, M. and Williams, B. (1994) ‘Coal Was Our Life’, Adults Learning, 5(5): 121–123. Chaplin, D. (2008) ‘Does Family Justice Needs Families Need Fathers?’, Family Law Week. 2 October. Online. Available HTTP: www.familylawweek.co.uk/ (accessed 27 October 2011). Chappell, C., Rhodes, C., Solomon, N., Tennant, M. and Yates, L. (2003) Reconstructing the Lifelong Learner, London: Routledge. Clatterbaugh, K. (1990) Contemporary Perspectives on Masculinity: Men, Women and Politics in Modern Society, Oxford: Westview Press. Coles, T. (2009) ‘Negotiating the Field of Masculinity: The Production and Reproduction of Multiple Dominant Masculinities’, Men and Masculinities, 12(1): 30–44.



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Connell, R. W. (1989) ‘Cool Guys, Swots and Wimps: The Interplay of Masculinity and Education’, Oxford Review of Education, 15(3): 291–303. Connell R. W. (1995) Masculinities, Cambridge: Polity Press. Cunliffe, A. and Foxton, D. (1989) ‘Further Education and Unemployed Men’, Replan Reach-out Newsletter, Issue 8. Epstein, D., Elwood, J., Hey, V. and Maw, J. (1998) Failing Boys? Issues in Gender and Education, Buckingham: Open University Press. Francis, B. and Skelton, C. (eds) (2001) Investigating Gender: Contemporary Perspectives in Education, Buckingham: Open University Press. Harvey, D. (2007) A Brief History of Neoliberalism, Oxford: Oxford University Press. Hearn, J. (1992) Men in the Public Eye: The Construction and Deconstruction of Public Men and Public Masculinities, London: Routledge. Hearn, J. and Morgan, D. (eds) (1990) Men: Masculinities and Social Theory, London: Hyman & Unwin. Home Office (1998) Boys, Young Men and Fathers: A Ministerial Seminar, seminar report, London: Home Office Voluntary and Community Unit. Jeffreys, S. (1985/1997) The Spinster and Her Enemies, Melbourne: Spinifex. Jeffreys, S. (1990) Anticlimax: A feminist perspective on the sexual revolution, Melbourne: Spinifex. Kennedy, H. (1997) Learning Works: Widening Participation in Further Education, Coventry: FEFC. Lloyd, T. (2001) Working with Men, London: Working with Men. Online. Available HTTP: www.workingwithmen.org/ (accessed 19 October 2011). Lloyd, T. (2002) Underachieving Young Men: A report for practitioners, York: Joseph Rowntree. Mac an Ghaill, M. (1994) The Making of Men: Masculinities, Sexualities and Schooling, Buckingham: Open University Press. Mahood, D. J. (2004) Male Learners into Community Provision, Durham: WEA and LSC. Marcus, G., Neumark, T. and Broome, S. (2010) Connected Communities: How Social Networks Power and Sustain the Big Society, London: Royal Society of Arts. Marks, R. (2000) ‘Men’s Health in the Era of “Crisis” Masculinities’, Adults Learning 12(5): 11–13. Marriott, D. (1996) ‘Reading Black Masculinities’ in M. Mac an Ghaill (ed.) Understanding Masculinities, Buckingham: Open University Press. McGivney, V. (1999) Excluded Men, Leicester: NIACE. McGivney, V. (2004) Men Earn, Women Learn, Leicester: NIACE. Mercer, K. and Julian, L. (1988) ‘Race, Sexual Politics and Black Masculinity: A Dossier’, in R. Chapman and J. Rutherford (eds), Male Order: Unwrapping Masculinity, London: Lawrence & Wishart. Messner, M. A. and Sabo, D. F. (eds) (1990) Sport, Men and the Gender Order, Champaign, IL: Human Kinetics. Milligan, C. and Smith, J. (1999) Cool Dads, Edinburgh: Health Education Board for Scotland. Murray, J. (2009) ‘It’s Time for Men’s Lib’, Daily Mail, 26 November. NESS Research Team (2010) The Impact of Sure Start Local Programmes on five year olds and their families, Research Report DFE-RR067, London: Department of Education. Neville, C. (1994) ‘Achilles’ Heel’: Developing Provision for Unemployed Men, Adults Learning, 5(5): 207–209. Office of National Statistics. (2011) Suicide Rates 2000–2009, online. Available HTTP: www.ons.gov.uk/ (accessed 19 October 2011).

94  Rebecca O’Rourke Plummer, K. (ed) (1992) Modern Homosexualities, London: Routledge. Pratt, D. D. and Associates (1998) Five Perspectives on Teaching in Adult and Higher Education, Malabar, FL: Krieger. QCA (Qualifications and Curriculum Authority) (1998) Can Do Better: Raising Boys’ Achievement in English, London: Qualifications and Curriculum Authority. Reid, N. (2001) ‘Detached Lives and Faint Voices’, Adults Learning, 13(2): 21–24. Schuller, T. and Watson, D. (2009) Learning through Life, Leicester: National Institute of Adult Continuing Education. Segal, L. (1990) Slow Motion, London: Virago. Tett, L. (1996) ‘Theorising Practice in Single-Sex Work’, Studies in the Education of Adults, 28(1): 48–63. Thompson, J. L. (1983) Learning Liberation: Women’s Response to Men’s Education, London: Routledge & Kegan Paul. Tolson, A. (1977) The Limits of Masculinity, London: Tavistock. Weeks, J. (1989) Sexuality and its Discontents: Meanings, Myths and Modern Sexualities, London: Routledge. Williams, R. (2009) ‘Masculinities and Vulnerability: The Solitary Discourses and Practices of African-Caribbean and White Working-Class Fathers’, Men and Masculinities, 11(4): 441–461. Willis, P. (1977) Learning to Labour: How Working Class Kids Get Working Class Jobs, Aldershot: Saxon House. Willmott, N., Baksh, F., Gibb, J. and Mainy, A. (2006) Evaluation of ContinYou’s Parenting Fund Programme, London: National Children’s Bureau.

Websites ContinYou: www.continyou.org.uk/ Department for Work and Pensions: www.dwp.gov.uk/ Fatherhood Institute: www.fatherhoodinstitute.org/ Fathers 4 Justice: http://fathers4justiceadvertising.wordpress.com/ Men’s Health Forum: www.menshealthforum.org.uk/ Real Fathers for Justice: www.realfathersforjustice.org/ Working with Men: www.workingwithmen.org/accessed

Part III

Gender, masculinities and learning in the life course

Chapter 8

Troubling boys and boys-only classes  97

Troubling boys and boys-only classes as a solution to ‘the problem of underachieving boys’ Graeme Ferguson

Our vision is for young people who are confident, connected, actively involved, and lifelong learners. (New Zealand Curriculum 2007, p. 8)

Introduction Over the past two or three decades in New Zealand, Australia, the United Kingdom and the United States, questions have been asked about boys and their schooling. As recently as May 2011, headlined ‘Boys-only classes create brighter future’, concern was expressed in a New Zealand national Sunday newspaper about boys’ achievement with claims being made that current teaching approaches favour girls. Despite relatively little research into its effects, one solution to address the supposed ‘boy problem’ has been to introduce boys-only classes within co-educational schools (Sukhnandan et al. 2000). Newspaper readers responded online to the question ‘Do you think State co-ed schools should segregate classes by gender?’ There were 714 responses received: 48 per cent said ‘No’; 25 per cent said ‘Yes’; 25 per cent said ‘It depends on the circumstances’ and 2 per cent said ‘Don’t know’. The article contained anecdotal comments from three teachers favouring segregated classes to lift boys’ achievement. No reference was made to much detailed research exploring the issues of boys, schooling and masculinities prompted by concerns not just about boys’ education but about gender and lifelong learning. This may highlight a failure of investigative journalism; but it also calls into question teachers’ threshold knowledge of gender and education (Martino et al. 2004).1 Bob Connell2 (2002: xii) even describes concerns about boys as a media myth ‘around boys’ supposed “failure” in schools, leading to very questionable proposals for re-segregated education as the solution to boys’ problems’. Within widespread debates about a worldwide ‘crisis of masculinity’ and underlying both media debates about boys and schooling and populist texts by authors such as Celia Lashlie (2005), Steve Biddulph (1997) and Christina Hoff Sommers (2000) is the notion that gender differences are biologically determined; that males and females do things differently and that these differences are natural

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(Helen Hatchell 2007). Here a ‘common-sense’ discourse argues that social behaviour is determined genetically. Our biology is our destiny; so anti-social behaviour, such as the propensity for risk-taking behaviour among males resulting in drug and alcohol abuse and dangerous driving, is explained by male testosterone levels, over which the individual has little control; this is simply the way the world is. Biologically deterministic explanations for differences in schooling out­ comes for boys and girls claim that biological differences result in dissimilar aptitudes and interests, that schools have become feminized environments biased in favour of girls, that changes to curriculum, assessment and teaching also advantage girls, that boys’ anti-social behaviour adversely affects school per­ formance and that feminism has had an impact on society and schools which generally disadvantages boys and men. What these writers, and teachers and parents influenced by their books, fail to do is to engage with the research-based literature theorizing gender as socially, historically, culturally and politically constructed. Researchers working from this perspective have worked within a feminist post-structuralist theoretical framework, some drawing on the work of Michel Foucault, which gives rise to a more nuanced analysis of gender, masculinities and education. Post-structuralist arguments demonstrate that gender identity is not ‘fixed’ but changes across sites, times, culture and so forth. Where post-structural­ ism is useful then, is that the notion of discursive positioning allows for an explanation of the differences between groups/individuals [original emphasis] in specific situations. It also permits consideration of variables such as ethnicity and social class on identity. (Christine Skelton 2001: 22) Research broadly within this theoretical framework includes that undertaken by Paul Connolly (2004), Debbie Epstein (1998), Becky Francis and Christine Skelton (2005), Máirtín Mac an Ghaill (1994), Wayne Martino (1998), Wayne Martino et al. (2005), Wayne Martino et al. (2009), Lynn Raphael Reed (2006), Emma Renold (2001, 2004) and Christine Skelton (2001).

Research in a boys-only class In 2004 I was part of a research project conducted at Willow Oak School (pseudonym). This co-educational New Zealand primary school had set up a single-sex class of years 7 and 8 boys (10–13-year-olds) in response to widespread concerns about boys’ achievement and also to meet the educational needs of a specific boy group which had worried the school for several years. Their classroom teacher described the boys as academically and behaviourally challenging, being unwilling or unable to participate successfully in the school’s learning culture throughout their school years. Believing that positive attitudes breed academic success, Willow Oak’s primary objective was to improve attitudes to school. My



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role during the year was to gauge these boys’ attitudes to school, to survey their parents on how well the boys-only class worked for their sons, to observe the class in action and to conduct interviews with both boys and parents to gain insights into their experiences of this single-sex class. What I wanted to do was to move beyond the backlash and the recuperative masculinity politics (Bob Lingard and Peter Douglas 1999) inherent in popular media explanations of gender differences, which theorize boys and men as victims of feminism, damaged and in some way in need of rehabilitation. I also wanted to avoid the propensity of pop psychology to essentialize the binary categories whereby boys are fundamentally different from girls, but within each gender all are basically the same. What appeared to me missing from these explanations was that dominant discourses of masculinity might have some bearing on the processes of learning, especially learning dispositions.3 Might some boys constitute themselves in such a way that their understanding of themselves as boys comes into conflict with the academic requirements of being a schoolboy?

Analytic framework The analysis in this chapter is undergirded by explanations of the concepts of discourse, power and subjectivation as set out by Michel Foucault. In contrast to the abstractions of a technicist, a contextual and a political linguistic analy­ sis focused on sentence structures (see Terry Threadgold’s 2000 description of conversation analysis) discourses for Foucault are material practices. They ‘are not, as one might expect, a mere intersection of things and words’ but ‘practices that systematically form the objects of which they speak’ (Foucault, 2006/1969: 53–54). Foucault evolved his notion of the subject and subjectivation processes from his early concept of a relatively passive entity, controlled by social coercion and regulation, in favour of a more politically active characterization. .  .  .  I am now interested in how the subject constitutes itself in an active fashion through practices of the self, [although] these practices are  .  .  .  not invented by  .  .  .  himself  .  .  .  [but] models  .  .  .  proposed, suggested, imposed upon him [sic] by his culture, his society, and his social group. (Foucault 1997: 291) Discourse analysis within a Foucauldian theoretical framework, rather than seeking abstract rules or universal meanings, includes an examination of discourse’s contextual role. It searches for ways language is implicated in the formation of knowledge (including knowledge of the self ). It explores how people construct their understandings of themselves and their worlds and how each becomes a person in any particular context. It searches texts to identify what people say and do as they take up subject positions and are positioned by others. It is alert to the operation of underlying discourses, aware of how processes of subjectivation either reproduce or withstand prevailing discursive practices and current distributions

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of power. Discourses are unstable; identities are always in a state of becoming; so analysis looks for underlying contradictions and listens for what is not being said and why. It considers differences and marginality. Who gets listened to? Who gets censured and for what reasons? And who benefits most from current arrangements (Allan Edwards and James Skinner 2009)? In any given setting multiple discourses circulate; new discourses can surface to displace existing ones. This manoeuvring for dominance is a function of the productive, capillary nature of power, operating through texts and talk, newspapers, speeches, conversations, anecdotes and stories. The focus of feminist post-structural theory that draws on Foucault’s account of discourse is on the way each person actively takes up the discourses through which they and others speak/write the world into existence as if it were their own. Through those discourses they are made speaking subjects at the same time as they are subjected to the constitutive force of those discourses. (Bronwyn Davies 1993: 13; original emphasis)

The study and its methodology Willow Oak is a decile4 8, full primary (Year 0–8, ages 5–13) state-funded, co-educational school situated in the rural central South Island of New Zealand. With a roll of approximately 385 (92 per cent Pakeha5 and 8 per cent Maori), the school describes itself as having ‘a strong sense of heritage and tradition, balanced with an innovative approach to education’ (Education Review Office6 1999). Its innovative approach led to the establishment of a single-sex class for 20 of their Years 7 and 8 boys (the final two years of primary school). Boys were selected for the class in consultation with their parents and the school was guided by a list of criteria included, as an example, in the report The Achievement of Boys (ERO 1999) under the heading of ‘innovations in schools to improve boys’ achievement’ (ERO 1999: 33). These included ‘boys: who were reluctant learners, did not choose to read, had difficulty completing work, lacked confidence and were very male oriented in behaviour or attitudes’ (p. 35; my emphasis). The classroom teacher reported to me that he agreed ‘to take on’ the boys’ class with the comment, ‘Am I bloke enough to do the job?’ This suggested to me that he held an underlying belief that the work required a particular kind of masculinity perhaps consistent with what Martin Mills describes as ‘a conservative reading of the “what about the boys?” issue’ (2002: 169) and reinforced by the essentialist writings and mythopoeic politics (Michael Schwalbe 2007) of Steve Biddulph (1997) which helped inform his knowledge of gender, masculinities and learning and hence his classroom programme. The data were generated through semi-structured focus group interviews with the boys, running records based on social practices observed during the class in action as well as field notes. These notes record informal interactions such



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as the above comments by the classroom teacher, which were interrogated ‘in order to identify the discursive practices embedded in them and the potentially constitutive forces of these’ (Deborah Youdell 2005: 254). Interview transcripts and field notes were carefully read and re-read searching for instances of the discursive practices through which gender relations played out in the research setting.

The classroom programme Teaching methods and curriculum materials in the boys-only class were modified to make lessons shorter and very structured. Lessons were punctuated with frequent bursts of physical activity in the form of games, sport and physical challenges. Topics believed to be ‘boy friendly’ were chosen in social studies, science and health. These included ‘Lord of the Rings’ – a study of Athens Olympics and the modern Olympics, ‘Superheroes’, ‘Explorers’ and ‘Flight’. Books and poems read to the boys were selected on a similar basis. Prominently displayed in the classroom were books about motorbikes, extreme sports, rugby, soccer, space, dragons and dinosaurs. An example of the books read to the boys was Bryce Courtenay’s The Power of One. In his analysis of books recommended for boys, Martin Mills (2002) warns that selections such as this often ‘buy into dominant constructions of masculinity and/or reinforce existing gender relations rather than challenge them’ (Mills 2002: 176). Mills outlines how, in the course of this novel containing very few positive images of females, the central character Peekay develops into a ‘warrior’ who takes up boxing, is worshipped by South African Blacks, highly regarded by fellow prisoners, beats his childhood tormentor to a pulp, gouges a tattoo from his arm with a knife and ‘grows into a healthy, independent and resourceful young man thanks solely to the male mentors in his life’ (ibid.: 177). Classroom pedagogy such as this precludes the possibility of interrogating the social construction of gender and runs the risk of reifying the very discourses of hegemonic masculinity that seem to result in the boys’ disaffection with schools and learning. Classroom observations, especially earlier in the year, revealed high levels of disruptive behaviour associated with ‘laddishness’ (Becky Francis 1999; Carolyn Jackson 2002, 2010) – perhaps in New Zealand more commonly referred to as blokey behaviour. Jackson describes performances of laddish masculinities as involving ‘group behaviours; attention seeking; competition; [publicly] prioritising sport over academic work; avoidance of overt academic work; disruptive behaviours; and lack of respect for authority’ (2010: 509). The Willow Oak boys took time to settle to a task with some preferring to challenge the rules by roaming around interrupting the work of others, calling out across the room, looking for distractions, throwing paper, swinging on their chairs and making random noises. In his reflections late in the year the class teacher noted just how much time he spent ‘keeping the lid on’ and how little time he was able to spend working with individuals.

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Fairclough (2003) explains how material practices or ways of being are generated by discourse. He says that ‘discourses are dialectically inculcated not only in styles, ways of using language; they are also materialized in bodies, postures, gestures, ways of moving, and so forth’ (2003: 208). Following her theory that identity is a form of ‘doing’, this notion of the materiality of gender discourses has been described by Judith Butler (1990: 33) as “the repeated stylization of the body, a set of repeated acts within a highly rigid regulatory frame that congeal over time to produce the appearance of substance, of a natural sort of being’. In this way, Butler (1997) maintains, an individual comes to exist through being recognized by the address of the Other but also by making the Self recognizable, in this instance through the embodiment of the discourse of laddishness, and that this only becomes discernible at the moment the action takes place. Skelton and Francis (2003: 6) have discussed how this issue of boys and ‘laddishness’ has been interpreted by feminist researchers. They refer to suggestions in feminist work outlining how boys who invest in discursive versions of masculinity as competitive and macho and seek to position themselves as ‘hard’ and ‘cool’. They demonstrate their masculinity by being the ‘hardest’, ‘cheekiest to teachers’ or ‘anti-heroes in the classroom’ and in doing so compensate for their lack of academic success, which may stem from a disengagement with literacy and language subjects that have been traditionally positioned as feminine. ‘So feminist researchers have tended to see boys’ underachievement at particular subjects as due to their constructions of gender, and indeed due to the dominant constructions of desirable masculinity in society at large.’ I argue elsewhere that the hegemonic construction of masculinity in New Zealand is that of ‘good Kiwi blokes’, epitomized by rugby-playing All Blacks: a competitive, aggressive and macho version of masculinity. Underachieving boys who disengage from schooling may well be those who invest heavily in this particular discursive construction (Ferguson 2004).

The discursive learning environment The boys’ attitudes to school were surveyed twice during the boys-only year using a questionnaire including a fourteen-item, five-point Likert Scale.7 This was followed up with five semi-structured focus group interviews. Very favourable attitudes to school were recorded on both occasions. However, when asked to note down their favourite school activities few mentioned traditional subjects. Of the thirty-six questionnaires returned only five mentioned mathematics, two referred to reading and art was listed six times. If the boys’ positive attitudes were not related to academic learning, what was it that excited them? When we discussed their experiences of the boys-only class, the first topic to come up in each focus group was the higher level of sports, games, physical challenges and off-site activities (tramping, cycling, skate park visits):



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Okay, well it’s pretty cool because you get lots of games. You get to do lots more games, like yesterday we got to push a car around and see who got the fastest time. We have a real short lesson and then we have games and then we have like another two things and then we have a game. We have to play games and stuff or else we beat each other up and be stupid. We play more games than usual, that’s  .  .  .  because as being a boys-only class I guess that we get a bit more irritable and less focused so we have got to have more games to get a bit of fresh air and stuff. You feel privileged when you go out for games and like, in normal classes you don’t do that so you just be annoying all the time. In making sense of these experiences the boys appeared to be positioning themselves within an embodied version of masculinity that emphasized being active, competitive, restless and energetic rather than studious. They made interesting comments when I asked about the emphasis on games: Well to get fresh air and just guys are just sort of they are just, they concentrate less. They just um, perhaps it’s just the way our brains are built. I don’t know girls, girls are girls and boys are boys. Some people and I include myself in these ones, but just sometimes you don’t feel like playing and it’s all about team spirit and we’ve all agreed to play a game like even if you don’t like it you’ve got to go out with some people, including your own self sometimes may not want to. Here we see a particular sort of person, or subject, being produced discursively. Butler, in developing Foucault’s idea of discourse and subjectivation, describes the process as discursive performativity: Discursive performativity appears to produce that which it names, to enact its own referent, to name and to do, to name and to make. Paradoxically, however, this productive capacity of discourse is derivative, a form of cultural iterability or rearticulation, not creation ex nihilo. (1993: 107) The power of discourse to produce gendered subjectivities is alluded to in the last boy’s comment above. When acting otherwise was not seen as an option, putting aside personal preferences for the good of the ‘team’ – ‘playing the

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game’ – was an important part of the classroom culture beyond immediate activities. Deborah Britzman (2003: 39) also notes that ‘a discourse becomes powerful when it is institutionally sanctioned’. This way certain positions and practices are made available and others unavailable. Privileging sport and games in the programme, and compulsory participation, both created and normalized this particular discourse of masculinity. It reiterated a wider discourse equating sport and masculinity in Aotearoa New Zealand. Research by Martino et al. (2004) draws attention to the consequences: ‘What this research has indicated is that teacher threshold knowledges about gender impact significantly on the execution of pedagogy, often with the effect of reinforcing taken for granted assumptions about the ways boys as a group learn and behave’ (2004: 451). When schools fail to challenge dominant constructions and practices of masculinity and femininity, they argue, reform policies based on ‘essentialist and biologically determinist teacher knowledges about gender and schooling’ (ibid.: 451) fail to tackle underlying causes of the ‘problems’ of boys’ education. To ignore the more nuanced analysis and understanding of the issues offered by feminism and post-structuralism risks worsening these problems. How the boys referenced different curriculum areas as they performed their gender identities became apparent in focus group discussions with many stating a preference for mathematics, art, science and technology rather than literacy, and writing in particular: Toad:8 G.F.: Toad:

 e have more fun doing the subjects we do than writing. W What is it about writing? Sometimes you get bored with it and there’s extra words to learn sometimes. Smack-down: It’s just like a dumb subject. Jamy: I don’t mind doing it but I would rather be, I mean I don’t mind doing writing but there are some things you have to do in life, so I don’t mind doing it. Recent studies of participation rates and achievement levels across subjects indicate only slight differences between girls and boys (Sheree J. Gibb and David M. Fergusson 2009; John Hattie 2010) except in the area of writing, where girls are favoured (Terry Crooks 2003). Traditionally mathematics has been regarded as a masculine subject while English and the language arts have been seen as feminine (Francis and Skelton 2005). To be recognized as appropriately masculine requires alignment with the ‘hard’ subjects such as science, technology and mathematics. Disavowal of the feminine emerged in discussion in complex ways: G.F.: Meow:

Do you miss having girls in the class? No not really. They are just a pain in the bum. They are always talking and like that and giggling and like that like girls do.



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G.F.: What do you think about not having girls in the class? Narelig: It’s good because people show off to the girls sometimes and disrupt other people. Jore: It’s better ’cos you don’t have to do dumb stuff all the time. Crash: There’s like no girls to get ahead of you and stuff and they learn faster and they understand it more and the teacher listens to them more and all boys interrupt like the girls when they are trying to work and they get told off. Apple: When they have finished their work they are all like bragging and they make us lose our confidence but when we are with boys we are all like real slow and take ages to do stuff and the girls like go, come on hurry up we have to do something and we are like make them laugh and stuff like get in trouble because we like to show off at them. Girls were discursively positioned as troublesome, smug, nuisances, distractions, academically more able, and the reason some boys retreat into the laddishness that gets them into trouble. When I asked them to expand these comments feelings of inferiority felt by some became surfaced: ‘.  .  .  we can’t keep up with the girls in their work, some of us can but some of us can’t  .  .  .’ and ‘.  .  .  they’re better at writing, and better at reading, they’re not better at maths but sometimes at art like we are better than them but most of the time they are better than us  .  .  .’. The dominant discourse positions girls with the academic aspects of school, where boys discursively identify with physicality and practicality. Will this ethos achieve the vision of the current New Zealand Curriculum of confident, lifelong learners ‘active seekers, users, and creators of knowledge’ (Ministry of Education 2010: 8)? With masculinity and femininity constituted as relational concepts, each the opposite of the Other, there is a risk for some boys: in order to appear appropriately masculine to their discursive peers, they may steer clear of activities associated with femininity. Even if they do not overtly reject academic work, they may by this iterative process fail to engage fully with academic learning. Yet exactly this unwillingness or inability to engage was identified as the source of boys’ under-achievement: but what if instead of solving the problem, the boys-only class should actually make it worse? Explanations for the boys’ feelings of inadequacy may be found in Carolyn Jackson’s work (2003, 2006) on understanding the motives behind laddish behaviour. She argues that explanations that rely too much on the concept of hegemonic masculinity are inadequate and fail to capture laddism’s complexities. She draws on psychosocial notions of self-worth and social worth to suggest fear of failure may prompt some to hold back protectively against the consequences of failure: shame, anxiety and being identified as lacking ability within a schooling system with too narrow a definition of achievement. Laddish boys are seeking to protect themselves from ‘the damaging implications of a lack of academic ability’ as well as ‘the negative implications that ensue from not displaying “appropriate forms of masculinity” ’ (2003: 585). Jackson also refers to

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the wider social and political context by discussing how the neoliberal discourse emphasizing individual attainment and standards, affects schools, and in turn boys’ experiences, motivations and learning processes. Neoliberalism has existed in New Zealand since the 1984 Labour Government espoused a doctrine of individualism, individual responsibility, competition and the mechanisms of the market place to deliver social justice generally and social equity in education (Hugh Lauder 1990). Successive administrations, left or right, have kept this hegemonic discourse alive. Reform of the education system began in 1989 with the introduction of self-governing schools. As this was accompanied by the rhetoric of ‘performance goals’, ‘accountability’, ‘raising standards’ and ‘excellence’ ultimate control was maintained by the Ministry of Education. What resulted were new forms of Foucauldian surveillance and performance appraisal for both teachers and pupils. The current National-led Government, while stopping short of national testing, has imposed National Standards on primary and intermediate schools. Narrowly focused on literacy and numeracy, the Ministry states that ‘the standards set clear expectations that students need to meet in reading, writing, and mathematics in the first eight years at school’ (www.minedu.govt, accessed 30 August 2011). This policy emphasizes product over process. That product is academic achievement, as measured and audited by these standards; standards for which the individual is responsible. The stage is set for the fear of failure outlined by Jackson to become more commonplace in New Zealand schools and affect the attitudes and motivation of boys already lacking confidence in their ability to perform academically.

Concluding remarks Schools find themselves under pressure to perform within a political climate which emphasizes the economic rather than the social roles of education and measures successful performance in terms of a narrow definition of academic learning. So they may find themselves grappling increasingly to address the needs of pupils such as the boys in this research who have difficulty engaging with the learning culture. Experimenting with single-sex classes for boys in co-educational schools, rather than fostering positive attitudes to learning and preparing them to become successful lifelong learners, may only exacerbate the problem. The impact of gender on the subjectivities of learners is complex and ongoing; pedagogical practices to enhance all pupils’ learning and achievement must avoid simplistic strategies such as segregation based on stereotypical beliefs about how boys and girls as mutually exclusive groups learn and behave. Classroom teachers and those in leadership roles need to reflect critically on the ways in which their own gender practices are shaped by wider discourses and how these impact on policies, curricula and the subjectivities of their pupils. If teachers, school practices, and policies are to avoid reinforcing gender stereotypes, opportunities must be provided to enable all members of a school to consider how their behaviour and attitudes, especially to learning, are constrained by the



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social, political and cultural discourses of gender. This process is but one crucial step in ensuring that schools cater for both the educational and the social needs of all their pupils and that the vision of lifelong learning becomes a reality. School pupils’ subjectivities are discursively constituted at the intersection of gender, class, race, ethnicity and sexuality. This research has focused on a single class in a single school. To understand fully why it is that some pupils, and not just the boys who were selected for the boys-only experiment, find themselves unable to engage fully with the learning opportunities schools provide, requires further critical research that addresses these trajectories.

Notes 1 Throughout this text and in the references list I have used authors’ full names, rather than the impersonal and masculinist usage of surnames only. 2 Professor Connell now publishes under the name Raewyn Connell. 3 Lilian Katz (1988) describes dispositions as ‘a very different type of learning from skills and knowledge. They can be thought of as habits of mind, tendencies to respond to situations in certain ways’ (p. 30). 4 New Zealand schools are rated decile1–10. ‘Decile 1 schools draw their students from areas of greatest socio-economic disadvantage, decile 10 from areas of least socioeconomic disadvantage’. www.ero.govt.nz. 5 ‘Pakeha’ is used to describe any people of non-Maori or non-Polynesian heritage. 6 Education Review Office (ERO) reviews schools and early childhood education services, and publishes national reports on current education practice. 7 The boys were asked to respond to statements such as ‘School is exciting’ and ‘School is a waste of time’ using a five-point scale: strongly agree (SA), agree (A), undecided (U), disagree (D), strongly disagree (SD) (Robert L. Linn & Norman E. Gronlund, 1995, p. 285). 8 In an attempt to respond to feminist concerns about power and reciprocity in the relationships between the researcher and the researched, the boys chose their own pseudonyms (Leslie Rebecca Bloom, 1998; Shulamit Reinharz, 1992).

References Biddulph, Steve (1997) Raising boys: Why boys are different and how to help them become happy and well-adjusted men, Sydney: Finch Publishing. Bloom, Leslie Rebecca (1998) Under the sign of hope, Albany: State University of New York Press. Britzman, Deborah (2003) Practice makes practice (rev. edn), Albany: State University of New York Press. Butler, Judith (1990) Gender trouble: Feminism and the subversion of identity, New York; London: Routledge. Butler, Judith (1993) Bodies that matter: On the discursive limits of “sex”, New York: Routledge. Butler, Judith (1997) Excitable Speech: A politics of the performative, New York; London: Routledge. Connell, Robert W. (2002) ‘Masculinities: The global dimension’, in Sharyn Pearce and Vivienne Muller (eds) Manning the Next Millennium: Studies in Masculinities, Bentley, WA: Black Swan Press.

108  Graeme Ferguson Connolly, Paul (2004) Boys and schooling in the early years, London; New York: RoutledgeFalmer. Courtenay, Bryce (1998) The power of one, London: Penguin. Crooks, Terry (2003) ‘The relative achievement of boys and girls in New Zealand Primary Schools’, Combined Annual Conference of the Australian Association for Research in Education and the New Zealand Association for Research in Education, Auckland, 2 December. Davies, Bronwyn (1993) Shards of glass: Children reading and writing beyond gendered identities, Sydney: Allen & Unwin. Education Review Office (1999) ‘The achievement of boys’ (Education Evaluation Report No. 3), Education Review Office NZ/Te Tari Arotake Matauranga. Edwards, Allan and Skinner, James (2009) ‘Discourse and critical discourse analysis in sport management research’, in Allan Edwards and James Skinner (eds) Qualitative Research in Sport Management, San Diego, CA: Butterworth–Heinemann. Epstein, Debbie (1998) ‘Real boys don’t work: “Underachievement”, masculinity, and the harassment of “sissies” ’, in Debbie, Epstein, Jannette Elwood, Valerie Hey and Janet Maw (eds) Failing Boys? Issues in gender and achievement, Buckingham: Open University Press. Fairclough, Norman (2003) Analysing discourse: Textual analysis for social research, London; New York: Routledge. Ferguson, Graeme W. (2004) You’ll be a man if you play rugby: Sport and the construction of gender, Palmerston North: Dunmore Press. Foucault, Michel (1997) ‘The ethics of the concern for self as a practice of freedom’, in Paul Rabinow (ed.) Ethics: Subjectivity and Truth/Michel Foucault, New York: New Press. Foucault, Michel (2006) L’Archeologie du savoir/The archaeology of knowledge, London; New York: Routledge (original work published 1969). Francis, Becky (1999) ‘Lads, lasses and (new) labour: 14–16 year old students’ responses to the laddish behaviour and boys’ underachievement debate’, British Journal of Sociology of Education, 20: 355–371. Francis, Becky and Skelton, Christine (2005) Reassessing gender and achievement: questioning contemporary key debates, London; New York: Routledge. Gibb, Sheree and Ferguson, David M. (2009) ‘Research note gender differences in educational participation and achievement across subject areas’, New Zealand Journal of Educational Studies, 44: 83. Hatchell, Helen (2007) ‘Gender’, in Michael Flood, Judith Kegan Gardiner, Bob Pease and Keith Pringle (eds) International encyclopedia of men and masculinities, London: Routledge. Hattie, John (2010) ‘Boys’ achievement: Rethinking the question’, Association of Boys’ Schools of New Zealand Conference: Wellington. Jackson, Carolyn (2002) ‘Laddishness as a self-worth protection strategy’, Gender & Education, 14: 37–50. Jackson, Carolyn (2003) ‘Motives for “laddishness” at school: Fear of failure and fear of the “feminine” ’, British Educational Research Journal, 29: 583–598. Jackson, Carolyn (2006) Lads and ladettes in school: Gender and a fear of failure, Maidenhead: Open University Press. Jackson, Carolyn (2010) ‘ “I’ve been sort of laddish with them  .  .  .  one of the gang”: Teachers’ perceptions of “laddish” boys and how to deal with them’, Gender & Education, 22: 505–519.



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Katz, Lilian (1988) ‘What should young children be doing?’, American Educator, 12(2): 29–45. Lashlie, Celia (2005) He’ll be OK: Growing gorgeous boys into good men, Auckland: HarperCollins. Lauder, Hugh (1990) ‘The New Right revolution and education in New Zealand’, in Sue Middleton, John Codd and Alison Jones (eds) New Zealand education policy today: Critical perspectives, Wellington: Allen & Unwin. Lingard, Bob and Douglas, Peter (1999) Men engaging feminisms: Pro-feminism, backlashes and schooling, Buckingham: Open University Press. Linn, Robert L. and Gronlund, Norman E. (1995) Measurement and assessment in teaching, Englewood Cliffs, NJ: Merrill. Mac an Ghaill, Máirtín (1994) The making of men: Masculinities, sexualities and schooling, Buckingham: Open University Press. Martino, Wayne (1998) Interrogating masculinities: Regimes of practice, Perth, WA: Murdoch University. Martino, Wayne, Kehler, Michael and Weaver-Hightower, Marcus (eds) (2009) The problem with boys’ education: Beyond the backlash, New York: Routledge. Martino, Wayne, Lingard, Bob and Mills, Martin (2004) ‘ “Issues in boys” education: a question of teacher threshold knowledges?’, Gender and Education, 16: 435–454. Martino, Wayne, Mills, Martin and Lingard, Bob (2005) ‘Interrogating single-sex classes as a strategy for addressing boys’ educational and social needs’, Oxford Review of Education, 31: 237–254. Mills, Martin (2002) ‘Boys, schooling and backlash politics’, in Sharyn Pearce and Vivienne Muller (eds) Manning the next millennium: Studies in masculinities, Bentley, WA: Black Swan Press. Ministry of Education (2010) The New Zealand Curriculum, Wellington: Learning Media. Neale, Imogen (2011) ‘Boys-only classes create brighter future’, Sunday Star Times, 5 August. Potter, Jonathan (1997) ‘Discourse analysis as a way of analysing naturally occurring talk’, in David Silverman (ed.) Qualitative research: Theory, method and practice, Thousand Oaks, CA: Sage Publications Inc. Raphael Reed, Lynn (2006) ‘Troubling boys and disturbing discourses on masculinity and schooling: A feminist exploration of current debate and interventions concerning boys in schools’ in Madeleine Arnot and Máirtín Mac an Ghaill (eds) The RoutledgeFalmer reader in gender and education, London; New York: Routledge. Reinharz, Shulamit (1992) Feminist methods in social research, Oxford: Oxford University Press. Renold, Emma (2001) ‘Learning the “Hard” Way: boys, hegemonic masculinity and the negotiation of learner identities in the primary school’, British Journal of Sociology of Education, 22: 369–385. Renold, Emma (2004) ‘ “Other” boys: negotiating non-hegemonic masculinities in the primary school’, Gender and Education, 16: 247–267. Schwalbe, Michael (2007) ‘Mythopoeic movement’, in Michael Flood, Judith Kegan Gardiner, Bob Pease and Keith Pringle (eds) International encyclopedia of men and masculinities, London: Routledge. Skelton, Christine (2001) Schooling the boys: Masculinities and primary education, Buckingham; Philadelphia: Open University Press.

110  Graeme Ferguson Skelton, Christine and Francis, Becky (2003) ‘Introduction: Boys and girls in the primary classroom’, in Christine Skelton and Francis Becky (eds) Boys and Girls in the Primary Classroom, Maidenhead: Open University Press. Sommers, Christina Hoff (2000) The war against boys: How misguided feminism is harming our young men, New York: Simon & Schuster. Sukhnandan, Laura, Lee, Barbara and Kelleher, Sara (2000) ‘An investigation into gender differences in achievement’, University of Liverpool: NFER Publications Unit. Threadgold, Terry (2000) ‘Poststucturalism and discourse analysis’, in Alison Lee and Cate Poynton (eds) Culture and text: Discourse and methodology in social research and cultural studies, St Leonards, NSW: Allen & Unwin. Youdell, Deborah (2005) ‘Sex–gender–sexuality: How sex, gender and sexuality constellations are constituted in secondary schools’, Gender and Education, 17: 249–270.

Chapter 9

Learning about fatherhood in ‘at risk’ families  111

Learning about fatherhood for men in ‘at risk’ families Jeffrey Gage

Introduction The purpose of this chapter is to describe how men learn about fatherhood. Empirical data are drawn from a research study in which a theoretical explanation of the meaning of fatherhood was developed from the experiences of New Zealand men in families at risk of poor health outcomes. Men described becoming – and then being – fathers as a process of observational and relational learning throughout the life-course. I begin with an appraisal of literature about fatherhood followed by an explanation of the research method. Findings are presented using the personal narratives of participants to identify and elaborate key themes related to learning and fatherhood. Results from this study contribute to the growing awareness of fatherhood as a complex phenomenon, raising questions about the need for its critical examination within the contexts of gender, masculinities, family and lifelong learning.

Deficit and generative paradigms of fatherhood Research about fatherhood falls into two broad categories: research about becoming a father and research about being a father (West 2007). Within these categories, men’s competence as fathers is often described by means of a deficit paradigm in which their inadequacies are emphasized; they are assumed to be emotionally distant and less able than mothers to care for children (Hawkins and Dollahite 1997; Lee and Owens 2002). The underlying discourse associated with a deficit paradigm negates the possibility that fathers do nurture their children and implies an innate or learned distinction between the parenting abilities of women and men. For example, in a systematic review of nursing research the concept of ‘parenting’ was found to be synonymous with ‘mothering’ revealing a powerful professional discourse that marginalized fathers as parents (Gage et al. 2006). Fathers, and those on low incomes in particular, may also be marginalized by stereotypical assumptions that they are incompetent or dangerous as parents (Lee 2010; Lewis and Lamb 2007; Scourfield 2001).

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To counter assumptions of deficit in fatherhood research, a generative paradigm is proposed as an alternative way of conceptualizing the contributions fathers may make to nurturing future generations (Hawkins and Dollahite 1997). More recent fatherhood research underpinned by a generative paradigm focuses on the contributions fathers make to the wellbeing of their children. For example, Saracho and Spodek (2009) found that supporting positive father involvement in families can lead to improvements in children’s academic achievement, peer relationships and overall development. Becoming a father may also be a turning point in the lives of some men by providing new opportunities for personal development through direct experience of raising children. Palm (1993) identifies areas of potential social and emotional growth for fathers including increased capacity for self-reflection, empathy and emotional expression. Strauss and Goldberg (1999) also recognize men’s poten­ tial for change. When fatherhood is central to men’s identities they are inclined to compare their present selves with possible selves as they contemplate the kind of father they want to become. Similarly, Everett et al. (2007) suggest that the transition to fatherhood provides an opportunity to promote men’s health in response to their increased awareness of personal responsibilities.

Fatherhood, masculinity and gender roles When men become fathers they encounter a new set of socially and culturally constructed norms which may conflict with previously held views of manhood (Greaves et al. 2010). Two dominant and competing discourses describe these norms. The essentialist discourse emphasizes masculine ideals that include physical prowess, lack of emotion, risk-taking, aggression and competitiveness (Connell 1995). This affirms and reinforces a father’s primary role as material provider for his family (Marsiglio et al. 2000). A contemporary discourse on the other hand (Greaves et al. 2010) promotes the concept of the ‘new’ father who is expected to behave in ways previously thought to be more feminine and entails caring and nurturing (Bradford and Hawkins 2006; Cabrera et al. 2000; Lee and Owens 2002). Both essentialist and contemporary discourses can have negative implications for fathers. Adherence to hegemonic masculine ideals of fatherhood may limit opportunities for men to develop close relationships with their children. However, if men undertake to perform roles expected of the ‘new’ father they may gain emotional closeness, yet attract the disapproval of others who hold to essentialist views (Lee and Owens 2002). Fathers may therefore face competing choices. Whichever choice they make may not completely satisfy social expectations. Gillis (2000) argues that the increase in the proportion of women entering the workforce since the 1970s has inhibited men’s opportunities to maintain the role of breadwinner, precipitating a crisis in fatherhood. At the same time, nurturing behaviour remains overwhelmingly associated with mothers, whereas fathering is often considered to be of secondary importance (Lewis and Lamb 2007).



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How do men learn to be fathers? Much research has focused on how men experience the transition to fatherhood; a challenging time for expectant fathers as they learn to negotiate new roles and responsibilities (Palkovitz 2007; Strauss and Goldberg 1999). However, the transition should not be seen as being complete after the birth, but rather as a continuous learning process as men move from a position of ‘fatherhood’ to ‘fathering’ (Draper 2003). Gillis (2000) contrasts the act of biological fatherhood with social fathering; the degree to which fathers’ ongoing behaviour meets societal expectations. Relatively little attention has been given to understanding how prior learning prepares men for parenthood. Researchers now recognize that men’s developmental histories should be taken into account when assessing their competence as parents, rather than assuming a generic parenting experience (Bradford and Hawkins 2006; Palm 1993). Jaffee et al. (2001) examined fatherhood outcomes from a longitudinal study which aimed to produce predictive risk profiles for early and absent fatherhood. Findings revealed that both ‘family of origin’ and ‘individual risk factors’ influenced the age at which young men became fathers and the length of time they lived with their children. Men who experienced conduct problems, school difficulties, early sexual activity and poor quality of family life in their formative years were more likely to become fathers at a younger age. The amount of time fathers spent with their children decreased as the number of personal risk factors increased. In a more recent study Ngu and Florsheim (2011) explored the effect of relational competence on the parenting abilities of young men thought to be at risk due to school dropout and poor family relationships. Relational competence was determined by measuring cognitive empathy, acceptance, expression of fondness, cohesion and relational growth. Findings indicated that men who were more relationally competent prior to becoming fathers scored more highly for positive parental functioning than those who were less relationally prepared for fatherhood. There is growing interest in how patterns of learning throughout the lifecourse influence the abilities of men to negotiate fathering. Identification of childhood risk factors as predictors of future parenting performance is an important topic for further research. Equally important is identifying positive influences on boys’ and young men’s capacities to successfully make the transition to fatherhood. It is recognized that there is no universal pathway of learning about fatherhood (Doherty et al. 1998) and that fatherhood is a complex and dynamic phenomenon. Progress towards greater understanding of fatherhood has been inhibited by a lack of theoretical frameworks to explain the roles and activities of men as fathers (Lewis and Lamb 2007). This chapter seeks to remedy that lack by describing men’s perceptions of how they learned to be fathers as part of the larger study about the meaning of fatherhood.

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The research Participants in the study were men who identified themselves as fulfilling the role of father to children in their care and who were enrolled with their families in the Early Start Programme (ESP) in Christchurch, New Zealand. This programme is an early intervention home visiting service targeting families with children under five deemed to be ‘at risk’ of poor child and family health outcomes. Criteria for risk include economic disadvantage and lack of formal education, supports and resources for parenting. Family Support Workers in the ESP provide regular home visits in response to the individual needs of families for the purpose of promoting healthy development of children. Twenty-two fathers participated in individual interviews during which they described preparing for and becoming fathers. The average age of participants was 32 with a range of 19–50. The majority of men involved in this project were living with their partners. Eight were married and two described themselves as parenting alone. Fifteen men were employed full-time. Four were full-time fathers at home; one father received a disability benefit and two had been unemployed for more than one year. Individual interviews were audio-recorded then transcribed and analysed using a systematic process of thematic coding outlined by Dey (1999). Con­ stant comparison of and between data was undertaken throughout the research process (Strauss and Corbin 1998) to develop a theoretical explanation of the meaning and construction of fatherhood from the perspectives of men who participated. Complete findings of this study have been published elsewhere (Gage et al. 2009). Findings in this chapter represent men’s understandings of their preparation for fatherhood throughout the life-course and the influence of their prior learning on their abilities and intentions to build meaningful relationships with their children. Participants’ names have been changed to protect anonymity.

Findings Life-course learning about fatherhood Participants were asked to describe what they learned about fatherhood from their own life experiences. Although life-course narratives were individual and personal, constructions of fatherhood were influenced by observational and relational learning focused primarily on the relationships with their own fathers but also other men with whom they had a significant attachment. Some men reflected on positive childhood experiences like Bryan who enjoyed spending time with his father: ‘We used to go fishing and go out golfing and go-carting.’ Similarly, Jamie had fond early memories of going for walks, fishing and playing games with his father. Alan’s dad, however, had died in a car accident when he was two. He described a friend of his father as a role model: ‘A friend of



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my father has been around from about ten years old. I’ve sort of got to know the guy. I’ve sort of learnt how to be, not learnt, but sort of seen how to be a dad.’ The fathers and father-figures of these men provided modelling that was experienced in childhood then remembered positively in later years. Jamie explained how important the connection with his father was to him: ‘I realised the thing my father gave me the most was to look at nature and go and enjoy it and give yourself hopes and dreams to inspire you and stuff. And when Daniel was in the womb all I could picture doing was taking him up the hills and taking him to parks and picnics. So in a way, that was me reconnecting with my dad.’ Not all men experienced positive relationships with their fathers. The majority of participants remembered events from as young as age five that were neglectful and abusive. Matt, for example, recalled abuse at the hands of his father: ‘He punched me and sat me on the sink, he punched me and I dropped out through the kitchen window onto the drive outside. He punched me outside a service station, you know, he would hit me with numerous bloody weapons.’ Mark stated: ‘I got harsh discipline. As a police officer today I’d have no qualms about locking people up for what was done to me.’ Some participants were unwilling to describe the abuse they experienced. Others did not suffer direct abuse but remembered their fathers being physically and emotionally absent. John explained how he missed being able to kick a ball around with his father who was too busy working and playing sport. Similarly, Robert described how little he saw of his father because he was in the army and was away ‘for weeks on end’. In his words, he developed ‘strong father attachments’ for other men in his life. By the time his father retired from the army Robert was preparing to move away from home. Participants who described positive experiences of being fathered reflected on the times they spent participating in activities with their fathers and father-figures. These men stated their intention to re-enact these activities with their own children to build relationships similar to those they had enjoyed. Men who reported neglect and abuse from their fathers stated their determination not to emulate these behaviours. Drawing on their childhood experiences participants seemed to suggest the dichotomy described by Furstenberg and Weiss (2000) as ‘good dad/bad dad’. These findings suggest, at least theoretically, that the conduct and behaviour of biological fathers and other father-figures in a child’s early years provided informal learning opportunities which influenced men’s understanding and intentions later in life. These learning opportunities, as described by men in this study, were informal and relational. This is consistent with the view that patterns of parenting are reproduced across generations, though how and why ‘remains something of a mystery’ (Furstenberg and Weiss 2000: 197). These findings raise questions about the extent to which men learn from both good and bad models of being fathered and the degree to which they are able to act on their good intentions to formulate their own behaviour based on prior learning.

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Becoming a father The transition to fatherhood prompted self-evaluation of attitudes and behaviour. Becoming a father acted as a turning point in the lives of these men – a time to reflect on their past experiences as well as their new roles and responsibilities. The metaphor of a ‘switch’ was commonly used to signify the abrupt change in their life trajectories. ‘Yeah, it’s a switch from being young and irresponsible to being the same age but feeling a lot more mature and responsible than, say the day before he was born. It was just after he was born it gave me a lot; put a lot more meaning in my life and stuff.’ At this stage most men in the study re-examined their fathers’ parenting performance as a standard for evaluating their own. Dan’s biological father left his family when he was an infant. He met him for the first time that he could remember in his early teenage years; then his father ‘walked out again’. He knew enough about his father’s lifestyle to decide against drinking and smoking so he could be a better father to his children. Robert stated: ‘I was right into drugs and alcohol since I can remember. Well I don’t need that now. I have to think about them now.’ He credited his children with saving his life. Prior to becoming a father he had engaged in drinking and drug-taking. As a result of self-evaluation he decided he did not want his children to grow up with a father like his. Robert’s story was similar to those of other young men in this study who made efforts to improve their own health for the benefit of their children. It was beyond the scope of this study to determine the longer-term outcomes of fathering. However, some participants indicated health-behaviour change which they attributed to their transition to fatherhood. Men’s self-reports are consistent with literature describing events in the life-course such as parenthood as ‘teachable moments’. According to McBride et al. (2003: 156) teachable moments are ‘naturally occurring health events thought to motivate individuals to spontaneously adopt risk-reducing health behaviours’. Moreover, they are characterized by their potential to increase awareness of personal risk, prompt affective responses and refine self-concept. Some men in this study described becoming a father as their prompt to improve their health for their own sake and the sake of their children. Despite this possi­ bility, Palkovitz et al. (2001: 64) acknowledge that fatherhood will not change all men. For some the ‘baggage from their personal histories’ will be such that they will be unable to accept responsibility of being involved fathers. Being a father ‘Being a father’ described the capacity of men to promote close relationships with their children when they had intentions to do so. Each participant was asked to explain what he knew about being a ‘good’ father and what he was doing to demonstrate this in his own life. Those who had fond memories of the actions of their own fathers or father-figures had no difficulty articulating



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what they intended to do. The activities they described were similar to those they experienced in childhood: going for walks, swimming, playing, reading and being involved in bedtime routines. However, this question highlighted a problem faced by participants who had little knowledge of ‘good’ fathering because of their experiences of abuse and neglect, as evidenced in this example: Interviewer: What does a good father do? Peter: I don’t know how to say it in words. Interviewer: What does it mean then to be a good dad? What does a good dad look like? Peter: Um, I don’t really know what to say. Despite tendencies to reflect on their experiences of being fathered and for some, their best intentions to improve on their own father’s performance, a lack of observational and relational learning inhibited understanding of how to achieve this goal. Instead of knowing what to do, some fathers could only articulate what they would not do. They defined good fathering by what it was not. Andrew stated: ‘I don’t know how to answer that. I didn’t have enough of a relationship with my father to get a list of things to do, but I’ve got a long list of don’ts. Don’t drink before noon. You don’t have to be right all the damn time. You don’t have to be a control freak. The kids don’t have to do what they’re doing your way.’ Jacob lived with several different relatives during his childhood and he had a prison record. When he was asked what it meant to be a good dad he stated ‘I really don’t know’. He knew he did not want his son to end up in prison like he had but was unsure what he could do to prevent this. ‘I dunno, just treat him right really. Not like I was.’ These examples raise questions about how to facilitate the learning of men who have intentions to be involved fathers but lack the life experiences and knowledge to do so. These men could be characterized as having ‘generative potential’ (Hawkins and Dollahite 1997). Gerson (1997) suggests that supportive social arrangements and policies are required to encourage personal transformations, including flexible working arrangements, allowing parents to integrate paid work and childcare, more opportunities to share parenting and greater encouragement for men to develop relationships with their children. Learning by doing Participants without personal examples on which they could draw described parenting as an apprenticeship through which they would ‘learn on the job’. John said: ‘I’ve made a lot of mistakes because, you know, no-one taught or showed me, you know, told me how to do things. I had to learn pretty much from scratch, make my own mistakes; learn from those mistakes.’ Learning was recognized as an ongoing process. All participants stressed their desire to love and care for their children. They also described their need to learn about the

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day-to-day care of young children including bathing, feeding and changing nappies. Some men felt advantaged in this respect if they had previous experience caring for young siblings or nieces and nephews. Others were disadvantaged, especially if they lacked experience of ‘good’ fathering and had no prior experience with young children. Learning for these men involved a process of trial and error. Interestingly, men who were living with their partners described how shared parenting helped them learn new skills and become more confident as fathers. Martin stated: ‘Yeah, we’re both looking after him. She knows what bubba needs and she just sort of says, you got to do this or do that and then it’s up to me to figure out my own way of doing that. She’s guiding me in what children need.’ Most participants indicated their intention to be actively involved with the care of their children. Michael explained how he changed jobs to allow him to spend more time with his baby: ‘I was working 7.00am till 7.00pm so I wasn’t going to be seeing her, so I changed jobs. Now it’s a bit of a fifty-fifty job share and I like having my little buddy around. And it’s good, because it’s time alone with her. Just me and her. It’s quite good.’ Some of the men in this study attempted to balance providing for their families with spending time with them. Peter described his responsibility to provide for his daughter: ‘Providing food for her, clothing, roof over her head. Yeah, keeping her nice and healthy.’ Aaron described a similar role: ‘You know, we’ve got our happy medium. I take him to work with me when I go, you know, on Saturday mornings. I deliver circulars and stuff. And he’s learning numbers and how to pronounce street names and a wee bit of education and we smile at each other the whole day.’ Dienhart and Daly recognize that men can and do learn parenting skills from women. They also describe a tension in shared parenting precipitated by a ‘culture of maternalism’ (1997: 152) which assumes that mothers are the family experts. If fathers are to increase their participation in co-parenting they must be willing to challenge their partner’s expertise. Conversely, some women must be willing to let go of aspects of childcare for which they may feel primarily responsible. Building meaningful relationships The fathers in this study were oriented towards developing meaningful relationships with their children. Spending time with their children was identified as the key to developing quality relationships. Paul began flying lessons so that he and his son could eventually go flying together: ‘It’s going to be something he can remember and be proud to go back to his mates at school and say, “Oh, this is what I’ve done with my dad”. At the end of the day that’s what I never had with my father.’ Reflecting on his upbringing David offered this advice to younger fathers: ‘You’ve got to use the past to fix the future. I’ve looked back at my past to what I can do in the future to not have the repercussions of my father happening. If I manage OK my child will go to university and not to jail.’



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These fathers recognized the importance of promoting strong relationships with their children with an emphasis on activities. This suggests a view that patterns of parenting are learned and transmitted across generations (Furstenberg and Weiss 2000). Pleban and Diez (2007) describe this as a process of mentoring. The core characteristics of mentorship include teaching, tutoring, supporting, guiding and promoting personal growth. Although a variety of adults may perform a mentoring role, fatherhood provides a mentoring opportunity for men who choose to invest in a sustained relationship with their children. When these safe and supportive opportunities exist they should be encouraged (Pleban and Diez 2007).

Summary and conclusion The primary purpose of this research was to explain the meaning of father­ hood for men in families at risk of poor health outcomes. In describing fatherhood, participants also described their understandings of how they learned to be fathers. The men in this study identified learning as informal and gained through observations and relationships with their own fathers and other adults. Becoming a father caused them to reflect on their individual life-course experiences as a foundation for their own parenting. Participants experienced varying degrees of what they identified as good and bad fathering. For some, their negative experiences provided motivation for personal development, particularly health behaviour change, though all men intended to nurture their own children for the purpose of developing meaningful relationships. A limitation of this study is that actual changes as a result of men’s intentions were not explored over time. Fatherhood research is generally underpinned by paradigms of deficit or generativity. Findings highlighted fatherhood as generative and developmental. Although some participants acknowledged their role to provide for their families they did not generally subscribe to an essentialist discourse. Instead, all the fathers in this study articulated their intentions to develop meaningful relationships with their children through caring and nurturing behaviour consistent with the contemporary discourse of the ‘new’ father. The capacities of participants to work towards this goal varied. Personal and sometimes painful experiences of being fathered ensured that men in this study did not all begin on an equal footing. Some described themselves as better prepared, primarily because they had experienced in their own lives what they thought a good father should be and how he should behave. These men intended to use their understanding as a starting point in their own parenting. However, the majority of men in this study had barriers to overcome as a result of neglect and abuse at the hands of their own fathers. Findings do, however, draw attention to the potential for men to learn from, improve, and in some cases transform their parenting practice for the next generation. This study portrays the complexity in the lives of those men who become fathers. There is a need to move beyond both essentialist and contemporary discourses of fatherhood and the simplicity of the ‘good dad/bad dad’ dichotomy. A

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critical discourse is suggested which incorporates the wider issues of power relationships, family, gender, race, ethnicities, sexuality and socio-economic conditions that have yet to be explored in the context of men enacting parenthood. Only by doing so will the multiple forms of parenting and its effect on family health outcomes be more fully understood. The challenge also remains to confront assumptions of deficit about fathers in ‘at risk’ families and to find ways to support their capacities for learning, personal growth and influence on the next generation.

Acknowledgement The author gratefully acknowledges the financial support for this study from the New Zealand Families Commission.

References Bradford, K. and Hawkins, A.J. (2006) ‘Learning competent fathering: A longitudinal analysis of marital intimacy and fathering’, Fathering, 4(3): 215–24, 227–34. Cabrera, N.J., Tamis-LeMonda, C.S., Bradley, R.H., Hofferth, S. and Lamb, M.E. (2000) ‘Fatherhood in the twenty-first century’, Child Development, 71(1): 127–36. Connell, R.W. (1995) Masculinities, Australia: Cambridge: Polity Press. Dey, I. (1999) Grounding grounded theory: Guidelines for qualitative inquiry, San Diego, CA: Academic Press. Dienhart, A. and Daly, K. (1997) ‘Men and women co-creating father involvement’, in A. Hawkins and D. Dollahite (eds) Generative Fathering: Beyond Deficit Perspectives, Thousand Oaks, CA: Sage. Doherty, W.J., Kouneski, E.F. and Erickson, F. (1998) ‘Responsible fathering: An overview and conceptual framework’, Journal of Marriage and the Family, 60(2): 277–92. Draper, J. (2003) ‘Men’s passage to fatherhood: analysis of the contemporary relevance of transition theory’, Nursing Inquiry, 10(1): 66–78. Everett, K.D., Bullock, L., Longo, D.R., Gage, J.D. and Madsen, R. (2007) ‘Men’s tobacco and alcohol use during and after pregnancy’, American Journal of Men’s Health, 1(4): 317–25. Furstenberg, F.F. and Weiss, C.C. (2000) ‘Intergenerational transmission of fathering roles in at risk families’, in H. Peters, G. Peterson, S. Steinmetz, and R. Day (eds) Fatherhood. Research, Interventions and Policies, New York: Haworth Press. Gage, J.D., Everett, K. and Bullock, L. (2006) ‘Integrative review of parenting in nursing research’, Journal of Nursing Scholarship, 38(1): 56–62. Gage, J.D., Kirk, R. and Hornblow, A. (2009) Head and heart: Explanation of fatherhood, Families Commission Blue Skies Report No. 31/09, Wellington: Families Commission, New Zealand. Gerson, K. (1997) ‘An institutional perspective on generative fathering: Creating social supports for parenting equality’, in A. Hawkins and D. Dollahite (eds) Generative Fathering: Beyond Deficit Perspectives, Thousand Oaks, CA: Sage. Gillis, J.R. (2000) Marginalization of fatherhood in western countries, Childhood, 7(2): 225–38.



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Greaves, L., Oliffe, J.L., Ponic, P., Kelly, M.T. and Bottorff, J.L. (2010) ‘Unclean fathers, responsible men: Smoking, stigma and fatherhood’, Health Sociology Review, 19(4): 522–33. Hawkins, A.J. and Dollahite, D.C. (eds) (1997) Beyond the role-inadequacy perspective on fathering, Thousand Oaks, CA: Sage. Jaffee, S.R., Avshalom, C., Moffitt, T.E., Taylor, A. and Dickson, N. (2001) ‘Predicting early fatherhood and whether young fathers live with their children: prospective findings and policy reconsiderations’, Journal of Child Psychology and Psychiatry, 42(6): 803–15. Lee, C. and Owens, R.G. (2002) The Psychology of Men’s Health, in S. Payne and S. Horn (eds), Philadelphia, PA: Open University Press. Lee, E. (2010) ‘Pathologising fatherhood: The case of male post-natal depression in Britain,’ in B. Gough and S. Robertson (eds) Men, Masculinities and Health: Critical Perspective, London: Palgrave Macmillan. Lewis, C. and Lamb, M.E. (2007) Understanding fatherhood a review of recent research, York: Joseph Rowntree Foundation, York Publishing Services Ltd. Marsiglio, W., Amato, P., Day, R. and Lamb, M.E. (2000) ‘Scholarship on fatherhood in the 1990s and beyond’, Journal of Marriage and the Family, 62(4): 1173–1191. McBride, C.M., Emmons, K.M. and Lipkus, I.M. (2003) ‘Understanding the potential of teachable moments: the case for smoking cessation’, Health Education Research 18(2): 156–70. Ngu, L. and Florsheim, P. (2011) ‘The development of relational competence among young high-risk fathers across the transition to parenthood’, Family Process, 50(2): 184–202. Palkovitz, R. (2007) ‘Transitions to fatherhood’, in S. Brotherson and J. White (eds) (2) Why Fathers Count: The Importance of Fathers and Their Involvement with Children, Harriman, TN: Men’s Studies Press. Palkovitz, R., Copes, M.A. and Woolfolk, T.N. (2001) ‘ “It’s like  .  .  .  you discover a new sense of being”: Involved fathering as an evoker of adult development’, Men and Masculinities, 4: 49–69. Palm, G.F. (1993) ‘Involved fatherhood: A second chance’, Journal of Men’s Studies, 2(2): 139–55. Pleban, F.T. and Diez, K.S. (2007) ‘Fathers as mentors: bridging the gap between generations’, in S. Brotherson and J. White (eds) Why Fathers Count: The Importance of Fathers and Their Involvement with Children, Harriman, TN: Men’s Studies Press. Saracho, O.N. and Spodek, B. (2009) ‘Fathers: The invisible parents’, in D. Jones and R. Evans (eds) Men in the Lives of Young Children: An International Perspective, New York: Routledge. Scourfield, J. (2001) ‘Constructing men in child protection work’, Men and Masculinities, 4: 70–89. Strauss, A. and Corbin, J. (1998) ‘Grounded theory methodology: an overview’, in N. Denzin and Y. Lincoln (eds) Strategies of qualitative inquiry, Thousand Oaks, CA: Sage: 158–83. Strauss, R. and Goldberg, W.A. (1999) ‘Self and possible selves during the transition to fatherhood’, Journal of Family Psychology, 13(2): 244–59. West, J. (2007) ‘The methodology of studying fathers in child development research’, Applied Developmental Science, 11(4): 229–33.

122  Barry Golding Chapter 10

Men’s sheds, community learning and public policy Barry Golding

Introduction This chapter examines connections between the recent development of men’s sheds in community settings in Australia, adult and community learning and public policy. It discusses some factors that have led to the proliferation of community-based sheds as centres for informal learning, to a point that they have become a part of public policy discourses, particularly related to older men’s learning and wellbeing in Australia. With men’s sheds spreading also in New Zealand, Ireland and the United Kingdom in 2011, it is timely to reflect on some of the factors that have created and shaped what is now described as the men’s shed ‘movement’. These include debates about whether sheds are, or should be, inclusive of all men or exclusive of some women. It leads into a critical examination of the reasons why sheds function for some older men not in paid work. It raises some public policy implications for single-sex and gendered adult learning places and spaces, particularly beyond the workplace for older men. Backyard and garden sheds have long been known to be attractive and culturally iconic to many men in Australia and some other Anglophone nations. Some time during the mid-1990s, a small number of men in south-eastern Australia began developing shed-based organizations in community settings beyond the bounds of their personal sheds at home. These community men’s sheds (described below either as men’s sheds or sheds) were neither predicted by research nor an outcome of public policy. By 2005 men and women in diverse communities and locations across Australia had created a small but poorly connected network of around fifty informal, grassroots, men’s shed-based organizations. They were places where mainly older men, particularly those who were retired or not in paid work, could gather socially and informally, to share and practice hands-on skills and help each other maintain and enhance their health and wellbeing. The evidence of the positive associations between learning, mental capital and wellbeing has been documented by Cooper et al. (2010). Kirkwood et al. (2010: 10) define mental wellbeing as ‘a dynamic state in which the individual is able to develop their potential, work productively and creatively, build strong and



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positive relationships with others and contribute to the community’. Their definition is a useful starting point for this chapter, since it will be shown to have strong resonances in community men’s sheds. It is no accident that men’s sheds are concentrated in Australia in areas of relative deprivation, in which as Barry and Friedli (2010: 479) note, ‘poor mental health is consistently associated with less education, low income and standard of living, in addition to poor physical health and adverse life events’. Interestingly, most men’s sheds as well as the ‘men’s sheds movement’ did not originate out of any of the previous four men’s ‘movements’ (Profeminist, Fathers’ Rights, Mythopoeic and Inclusive) identified by Karoski (2007). With few exceptions, men’s sheds in community settings originate as spin-offs from existing health and wellbeing, learning, social and community organizations and enterprises and tap into a previously poorly articulated movement of mainly older men in local communities. The impetus for men’s sheds was primarily about informally developing identity through participation rather than formal learning. As evidence, our own research into men’s sheds across Australia (Golding et al. 2007) found that 99.5 per cent of men who participated in the research agreed with the statement that, as a result of participating, ‘I feel better about myself ’ and ‘I have a place where I belong’. Sheds were a grassroots expression of a perceived need by some men to have somewhere to feel ‘at home’ by contributing to the community, beyond paid work or home. It was more than being social and ‘doing stuff ’ without obligation as ‘blokes’, though this was part of it. Men who participated also recognized men’s sheds as places where they were able to learn informally, with the support of other men, and in many cases of their partners and families, to stay fit, active and healthy. In the six years following the first men’s shed conference in Lakes Entrance in rural Australia in 2005, there was a veritable explosion in the number and type of community men’s sheds: by 2009 formal state and national organizations and networks had been created across the country. More recently they were also to be found in New Zealand, Ireland and England to the point that by October 2011 there were over 650 shed-based organizations in Australia and at least 80 elsewhere in the world. By 2011 the Australian government and one state government (Victoria) were providing significant policy and financial support for a national network through the Australian Men’s Shed Association (AMSA) as well as for shed start-ups. This chapter critically examines some characteristics of this men’s sheds movement, as well as some implications for adult and community education (ACE) for older men. It also explores some implications for public policy to do with these male-gendered places and spaces where men can participate in what are identified as informal learning communities of men’s hands-on practice (Lave and Wenger 1991). Community men’s sheds have come to the attention of policy makers and practitioners in adult education (as well as men’s health, wellbeing and welfare) for a range of reasons. The first is that they attract and meet the diverse needs

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of the mainly older men that conventional programmes do not appear to. The second reason, and the main focus of this chapter, is because of a need to better understand how and why they attract and engage these mainly older men (the median age of Australian men’s shedders is around 65) and what this engagement has to do with learning and with masculinities. This chapter uses evidence and insights from the men’s shed movement in Australia to take up the challenge, posed in Chapter 2, that it may be timely to argue a case for the study of men from a position that acknowledges a less well theorized aspect of older men’s learning, specifically about older men’s positive agency in community settings. With hundreds of men’s sheds and tens of thousands of men participating in community men’s sheds in Australia we should reflect on what is occurring here at the level of community practice. What is clear from our research is that very few of the men themselves are reading, talking or theorizing about masculinities. Karoski’s (2007) study of men’s movements in Australia, whose data predate the development of men’s sheds, poses the question asked by men in his study: If the concept of masculinity indicates a concern with the nature of men, then why not talk about men? If as Clatterbaugh (1998: 41, cited in Connell 2000: 16) claims, ‘talking about men seems to be what they want to do’ why bother to introduce the muddy concept of masculinity at all? The presupposition in this chapter is that discourse about the men’s shed movement and men’s interest in their own health and wellbeing is positive and useful. As Karoski (2007: 216) suggests, it ‘is essential for the wellbeing of the whole society that men make themselves healthier and more fulfilled’. This imperative, as Koroski (2007: 286) concludes, ‘involves men in society, as fathers, as husbands, as lovers, identifying and addressing men’s emotional needs, and learning to relate in a non-domineering or exploitative way.’

The sticky intellectual wicket of researching men’s sheds and men’s learning The extent to which scholarship by and about women had dominated the research field of adult and community learning was evident through my interactions with research colleagues and practitioners in 2000. I was told then by several colleagues that it was not politically acceptable, theoretically feasible or practically useful to undertake research that might be used to support a movement whose rationale was to create safe social or learning places which were mainly or exclusively for men. The situation in Australia is fundamentally different in 2011, after a decade of research and practice related to men’s health, learning and wellbeing. Men’s sheds are now widely understood and accepted in Australian policy, research and practice. And yet I am quickly reminded when I travel to and research in many other countries what a contentious field this is to work in.



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As with many contentious social issues, I regard ignorance as part of the problem. The small number of researchers who object on theoretical grounds to community men’s sheds as a form of social and community practice are, in my view, typically uninformed about the nature or intent of these sheds. At the extreme, some hold negative, hegemonic and stereotypical views about ‘all’ men, particularly older and ‘working-class’ men, which are not supported by empirical data. While it is true, for example, that many forms of violence are perpetrated mainly by men, relatively few men are violent. What changes people’s opinions, from my experience, is either visiting men’s sheds or seeing and hearing men’s stories from the sheds. For many older, baby-boomer generation adults now in positions of relative power, it is often about having empathy for a father, grandfather or uncle who is finding social connections difficult to maintain beyond work. I acknowledge here that my own father and both my grandfathers could have had different and more productive lives if shed-type organizations had been around in their later years. McGivney (1999: 69) has argued that in the UK ‘adult and community education is seen as a service for women and consequently has limited appeal for men’. As an illustration, McGivney identified the problem of male non-participation in family learning projects as being self-perpetuating, ‘being seen as exclusively for women and therefore effectively feminized’. And yet the history of ACE in Australia suggests this is analogous to what has happened in adult learning centres and neighbourhood houses in the past three decades. In our Houses and Sheds paper (Golding et al. 2008: 237) we identified ‘a number of tantalising parallels’ between the growth and development of the Australian ACE sector since the 1970s and of community men’s sheds since the mid-1990s. One difference, as we have argued, is that while men have been able to claim the men’s shed as one male-gendered space, women have been unable or unwilling to effectively and officially claim any house space or the community house sector more generally as gendered other than through practice (Golding et al. 2008: 256 –7). Ninety-four per cent of the 565 AMSA registered sheds in 2011 included the word ‘men’s’ in the name of the organization; however to describe organizations like sheds as being exclusively for and about men is an over-simplification. For a start, most men who participate do so with the consent (and typically encouragement) of a (mainly) female partner. In many cases, particularly where sheds have auspice arrangements through health or learning organizations, women are typically involved in some way in the organization and activity, particularly organizing the funding. The peak body (Australian Men’s Shed Association, www.mensshed.org AMSA 2011a) seeks to clarify (or perhaps deflect) the question as to whether women can become shed members. It suggests that women ‘are welcomed at most Sheds, [but] call first to ensure they have activities you would like to participate in’. I return to McGivney (1999) for support for my contention that alternative places such as men’s sheds are important to informal learning in communities

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of older men’s practice. This contention is supported by empirical data from both our major studies (Golding et al. 2009a, 2009b) of men’s learning through community organizations in Australia. Those studies confirm that adult education in Australia, in which they might otherwise comfortably engage, was regarded by most men surveyed and interviewed as one or more of the following: inaccessible, patronizing, ageist or inequitable. In the other Anglophone nations where sheds are currently spreading rapidly, adult learning providers of second chance education tend also to be geared (in terms of staff, programmes and pedagogies) towards women’s needs, typically in communities of women’s practice. Because of the theoretical contestations in this area, researching men in 2011 and advancing the arguments and evidence above is still not without its difficulties, as McGivney (1999) found in her UK-based research. McGivney’s research arose from a concern on the part of some community education providers that ‘whenever new access and learning opportunities are created, it is invariably women who take advantage of them’ (McGivney 1999: 1). More recent research in the UK (Feinstein et al. 2010: 319) suggests that ‘the returns to academic qualifications appear to be much higher for females than males’. McGivney’s concern was essentially about equity, rather than about gender per se. As McGivney (1999: 1) put it, ‘If we have education and training programs and institutions which are ostensibly open to all but which attract only certain segments of the population, then that “openness” is itself open to question’. It is important to acknowledge that women remain significantly disadvantaged with respect to education globally in nations without universal access to primary and secondary schooling. A study of Commonwealth nations in which girls are significantly out-participating and out-performing boys (Jha and Kelleher 2006) showed that the phenomenon is found mainly in nations in which access to lower levels of education has become almost universal. It is also important to note that advocating for sheds for some men is not an essentialist position. Not all men or women enjoy gendered communities of practice. Nor is it all about numbers. Each of our Australian research studies into men’s learning in the past decade showed that whilst some males need, and access, adult education of a similar kind to that accessed by some women, men who are most disadvantaged and most disengaged benefit from a male community of practice which works to enhance their quality of engagement in the company of other men. The literature on women in adult education comes to similar conclusions for women.

What are men’s sheds in community settings? In order to establish a case for men’s sheds as a form of community practice, it is important to examine their diverse forms and purposes to explore what they might have to do with learning. Community men’s sheds in 2011 are springing up in diverse community venues and organizations, not all of which might be conventionally regarded as learning organizations. The recently opened (2011) Monash Men’s Shed in suburban Melbourne, for example, was housed in a



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renovated former Scout Hall. In Fremantle in Western Australia, Fremanshed uses the former Fremantle suburban pigeon racing association shed; the men’s shed in McLaren Vale in suburban Adelaide uses the former Returned Services League war veterans shed, the shed in rural Donnybrook in Western Australia was formerly used to store the local apple festival floats. The Donald Men’s Shed flourishes in an under-used pavilion in the local showgrounds under the auspices of a rural community learning centre. In many instances in the State of Victoria (the only State in the world, aside from the Australian government support of AMSA to 2011, to provide significant financial support for men’s sheds) sheds are often associated and/or co-located with community learning centres or neighbourhood house organizations. In this sense sheds are not oppositional to adult learning centres, and are often complementary. One of the important things about men’s sheds, and arguably a reason for their spread, is their flexibility, diversity and embeddedness in the community. They seldom originate, like many government services or programmes, as a con­ sequence of top-down policy or programme directives, but as local, grassroots initiatives that work for and with the men who self-organize and participate. They are not about students, patients, customers or clients. While there are seldom teachers or education programmes, our research (Golding et al. 2007) provides evidence of the informal salutogenic or health-giving effects (Antonov­ sky 1987). While around one in five men in our research suggested they might return to work and need more vocational skills, most wanted skills for a healthy and productive later life. In several important senses sheds, unlike top-down and typically metrocentric government programmes are local, voluntary, ‘bottom up’ and decentred. While they do produce informal learning and health and wellbeing outcomes for men, these outcomes are deliberately not foregrounded. The extensive published (mostly Australian) research to 2011 (AMSA 2011b) indicates the diversity of sheds in geographical and cultural communities and also the diversity of men’s needs. Sheds are now found or being planned from Bruny Island in far south-western Tasmania, to Alstonville near the easternmost point in Australia, to Augusta in the far south west of Western Australia, to Australia’s remote and westernmost city of Carnarvon. Beyond Australia, the Irish Men’s Sheds Association was launched in 2010 at Gorey in County Wexford in Ireland. Men’s sheds are now perceived as an important health innovation by men’s health policy makers in the only two nations with such policies – Ireland (IDH 2009) and Australia (DHA 2010). In Australia participants targeted by sheds range from school resisters mentored by older men, young men on Work for the Dole (national unemployment benefits), on community-based corrections orders, in rural towns where all-comers are included, to men in their eighties and nineties using sheds embedded within residential or day care settings. While some sheds specialize: such as for men with dementia, men with acquired brain injury, isolated single men in poor health or with depression and particularly for Vietnam War Veterans, there is a stated commitment from the state and national peak bodies in Australia that

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sheds are open for and welcoming of all men. Shed organizations have different rules as to the conditions under which women are welcome as participants. Our 2007 national men’s shed research (Golding et al. 2007), which surveyed and interviewed male participants, showed that around one-third of men in sheds at that time saw the activity as being mainly or solely for men. Another third said they would admit and include women in sheds on the condition that men were free to behave like men, or ‘blokes’ – in the cultural parlance of several Anglophone nations. The remaining third indicated in response to the survey that they were equally accepting of men and women. However, in interviews men also made it clear that what happened in the shed should be solely or mainly for and about men. A study of men’s sheds across five Australian states (Golding et al. 2007) confirmed that men who had recently had the most difficult lives were least likely to want to share the space and the shed activity with women at that time.

In what ways might men’s sheds inform adult and community education? Having established the diversity of shed practice, it is important to identify some of the reasons why sheds appear to work, and why they work in ways that are particularly inclusive of some men. Several of these same factors might apply to women involved in single-sex communities of practice (Tett 1996), including women who are alienated as learners or socially excluded. Ollagnier’s (2008) work Researching Gender in Adult Learning is primarily about women as learners. However Ollagnier informs the current interest in men’s learning when she notes that ‘The histories and traditions of our western culture, but also our socio-economic organisation and the related stereotypes are such that social roles are gendered as are the types and levels of recognition that derive from them’ (2008: 19). Ollagnier (2008: 20) notes that ‘in the English-speaking world researchers, using a range of different epistemological approaches have for many years been attempting to more clearly define .  .  . the specificity of women’. She proceeds to identify a rich and emerging field of theoretical argumentation, ‘which poses not only the question of specificity of women in education and in adult education in particular, but which values the right to gender difference in the elaboration of appropriate educative strategies’ (Ollagnier 2008: 20). Adult learning research has seldom attempted in the same way to clearly define the specificity of men in education on the similarly strong premise that a right to gender difference in educative strategies might apply to men too. By replacing the word ‘women’ with ‘men’ in the following quote in Ollagnier (2008: 22), it is possible, on evidence advanced in the four points outlined below, to argue that men also ‘have their own particular way of making sense of life and choose their modes of knowledge construction accordingly and do not necessarily lay great stock in ways of learning that are valued in their



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universality’. The difficulty has been to find a theoretical perspective that accommodates men’s diverse masculinities, in Ollagnier’s (2008: 22) words ‘as a central element .  .  . in the field of pedagogy’. Rather than starting from one or more theories of masculinity and working towards men’s single-sex practice, research into men’s sheds provides an opportunity to examine men’s practice and to try, retrospectively, to select theories that are explanatory of practice. Four points are advanced below as reasons in favour of men’s sheds, supported by the suite of existing, mainly Australian research, and as a starting point for further research and debate. The first reason is that community men’s sheds’ approaches tend not to patronize participants as clients, customers, students or patients. Men are not ‘enrolled’ in programmes or ‘treated’ by professionals. While men typically access a range of services, information and activities provided through the shed organization, they are provided informally. Where services are provided within sheds by professionals (doctors, health workers, adult educators) it is usually by invitation to a space in which the participants are already ‘at home’, exercising individual and group agency, with responsibility for their own and other men’s lives and also for the shed organization. Men who use them are typically regarded as co-participants in a community activity, where participation is not based on a deficit, ageist, client or market model. Mainly older men come voluntarily as individuals to a space that acknowledges them as experienced men. The shed organization and its ethos acknowledge their agency, diverse interests, abilities and needs. Unlike many formal and accredited educational programmes, the learning is oriented to what men collectively know and can share through informal and mutual mentoring, rather than being based on what they don’t know and are judged to need to learn. McGivney (2004: 125) predicted that it would be possible to draw in ‘men who are not attracted to learning programmes’ as long as the programmes and pedagogies do not ‘replicate the worst aspects of their schooling’ and ‘are based directly on their existing interests and skills’. Sheds as learning spaces avoid several perceived negative aspects of formal schooling for the one half of men in Australia with no completed post-school qualifications: compulsory attendance, inflexible and text-based curricula and pedagogies and assessment linked to vocational utility. Importantly, attendance and participation in men’s sheds is typically voluntary. Men surveyed highly valued the shed as a workshop-like site in which they felt ‘at home’ without compulsion or obligation. It is as acceptable in a shed for a man to sit and have tea or coffee as it is to make something at a workbench. While a small number of specialized sheds include men with obligations associated with community based-corrections orders and men who have been referred to the shed by health workers, psychologists or doctors, attendance is still voluntary. The second reason why sheds work is that they do not describe the activity or the participants in the name of the shed. In that sense, sheds are a deliberately open space where ‘shedders’ with diverse backgrounds can do individual ‘stuff ’,

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or that which the group of men has collectively decided they want to do. Men who participate can exercise agency not only over the activity but also over aspects of their lives outside and beyond home and work, specifically in the community. Many sheds have auspice arrangements with health services, adult learning centres, churches, local governments, war veterans and indigenous organizations, and embed programmes that address men’s learning, health and wellbeing needs including disabilities, suicide prevention and depression. Third, sheds are radical learning organizations in that there is no perceived need for outside teachers, curricula, teaching or assessment. Men learn with and share what they need to learn from each other. The AMSA adopted as their slogan ‘Men don’t talk face to face, they talk shoulder to shoulder’. While it is possible to interpret the words as an essentializing over-statement, they have taken on a particular resonance in sheds. The words arguably work for the shed sector because they simultaneously reject the negative stereotype that men don’t talk and share emotions, but at the same time acknowledge that something social and emotional sometimes happens informally for some men when they are engaged hands-on, together, socially, ‘shoulder to shoulder’ in a community of practice with a tangible community purpose. This might be fixing a lawn mower or making a box for hollow-dependent wildlife. Alternatively, in other organizations where men tend to predominate, it might be playing in a football or rugby team, fighting a grass fire or preparing for and responding to other emergencies. The words that comprise this AMSA slogan were aired without forethought by the author for the first time in Sydney at the 2007 AMSA conference, but originated from a ‘shedder’ at a social gathering at that same conference the night before. In combination with several of the other principles enumerated here, the words encapsulate (and tend to contradict the feminist specificity of) several concepts seen by Ollagnier (2008: 22) to be embodied in feminist pedagogical theory: that is ‘speech, cooperation, promoting emotions, demystifying knowledge, power sharing etc.’. Men certainly do speak, cooperate and promote emotions in community shed settings, particularly when these actions are not foregrounded, and in informal settings where power is shared. Our research shows that sheds work best when they are non-hierarchical and community-owned and managed. Nevertheless, men who participate in sheds indicated through surveys that someone has to be responsible in the shed, and that the shed equipment and working environment must be safe. In our ‘Houses and Sheds’ paper (Golding et al. 2008), we noted that some aspects of the structure of sheds mirrored feminist practice in community and neighbourhood house settings in Australia. In several senses, then, shedders appear to have adopted pedagogical principles also claimed by many feminists. Fourth, and important for governments that need to identify financial benefits of sheds if they are to support public policy investments, our research confirms the value of men’s sheds as ‘safe’ and health- and wellbeing-promoting spaces, aside from home (sometimes with a partner), or social inclusion and welcome



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relief from the ‘four walls’ of a room for some single men, where they can ‘feel at home’ away from home. There is evidence from our decade of research into men in community settings, backed up by recent AMP (2009) research, that many adults not in paid work and of working age are in poor health. Many are physically, emotionally or psychologically damaged by the stresses of a lifetime of paid work, sometimes in parallel with difficult life and family experiences that are known from international research by the World Health Organization (Wilkinson and Marmot 2003) as the social determinants of ill-heath. These include difficult early lives, disability, unemployment and poor health, self-inflicted risk taking behaviour, substance abuse and poor nutrition. For all these reasons it is unsurprising that a ‘third place’ (in a community setting, aside from home and work) is valuable for many older men. The research I have led over the past decade identifies the importance, particularly for many older, retired men, of a routine, that includes the shed to ‘look forward to’ at least once a week. Sheds, by providing a context in which to be actively and socially included give some men valuable and often new, post-work community identities. They provide some older men with reasons to, and improved knowledge about how to, stay fit and healthy and age productively which are increasingly important as life expectancy continues to rise and as men seek meaning and agency in their post-work lives.

Conclusion and reflection When I first ‘stumbled’ into the field of men’s learning research in adult and community education a decade ago I was confidently told by (mainly female) adult educators that most men (particularly older men) did not engage in adult education because they were not interested in learning and that the learning would be of no relevance or use to them. I conclude that these statements, on the basis of the evidence from men’s sheds examined in this chapter, are largely incorrect. The problem for men in adult education (and arguably also in health and wellbeing) could be restated as being partly about ignorance and indifference to men’s different and multiple needs; partly about negative, ageist and stereotypical views about many men as they age and retire from paid work. While sheds are demonstrably not for every man, parallel research into learning in several other types of community organization where older men are also found (Golding et al. 2009a, 2009b) shows that sheds informally but effectively ‘tick’ more of the important identity, social, wellbeing and learning ‘boxes’ than many other organizations, including dedicated learning organizations, particularly for older men. They do so in ways that empower men who have often suffered from negative and essentialist views about ‘old men’. In future research it is important to investigate the ways in which practice and presuppositions in ACE may already be as comprehensively (but more silently) gendered as men’s sheds are. The challenge meanwhile is for men and women to find, share, research, celebrate and apply theoretical perspectives and pedagogies that are consistent

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with men’s and women’s diverse and sometimes different needs. I am predicting that many places aside from men’s sheds will be found that have the potential to enhance older men’s learning and wellbeing in other national contexts. We have only just started to look.

References AMP (2009) Healthy, wealthy and wise? The relationship between health, employment and earnings in Australia, AMP NATSEM Income and Wealth Report 23, Canberra: University of Canberra. AMSA Australian Men’s Shed Association (2011a) Frequently Asked Questions. Online. Available HTTP: www.mensshed.org/page17728/About_FAQs.aspx (accessed 29 March 2011). AMSA Australian Men’s Shed Association (2011b) A list of research that informs men’s shed based practice, November 2011. Online. Available HTTP: www.mensshed.org/ page16994/Research.aspx (accessed 29 October 2011). Antonovsky, A. (1987) Unravelling the mystery of health: How people manage stress and stay well, San Francisco: Jossey Bass. Barry, M. and Friedli, L. (2010) ‘The influence of social, demographic and physical factors on positive mental health in children, adults and older people’, in C. Cooper, J. Field, U. Goswami, R. Jenkins and B. Sahakian (eds), Mental capital and wellbeing, Wiley Blackwell: Chichester, 475– 484. Cooper, C., Field, J., Goswami, U., Jenkins, R. and Sahakian, B. (2010) Mental capital and wellbeing, Wiley Blackwell: Chichester. DHA Department of Health and Ageing, Australia (2010) National male health policy, online. Available HTTP: www.health.gov.au/malehealthpolicy (accessed 28 October 2011). Feinstein, L., Vorhaus, J. and Sabates, R. (2010) ‘Learning through life: future challenges’, in C. Cooper, J. Field, U. Goswami, R. Jenkins and B. Sahakian (eds) Mental capital and wellbeing, Wiley Blackwell: Chichester 307–342. Golding, B., Brown, M., Foley, A. and Harvey, J. (2009a) Men’s learning and wellbeing through community organisations in Western Australia. Report to Western Australia Department of Education and Training, Ballarat, University of Ballarat. Golding, B., Foley, A., Brown, M. and Harvey, J. (2009b) Senior men’s learning and wellbeing through community participation in Australia. Report to National Seniors Productive Ageing Centre, Ballarat, University of Ballarat. Golding, B., Kimberley, H., Foley, A. and Brown, M. (2008) ‘Houses and sheds: an exploration of the genesis and growth of neighbourhood houses and men’s sheds in community settings’, Australian Journal of Adult Learning 48(2): 237–262. Golding, B., Brown, M., Foley, A., Harvey, J. and Gleeson, L. (2007) Men’s sheds in Australia: Learning through community contexts, NCVER: Adelaide. Heiskanen, T. (2008) ‘Approaching gender issues with action research: collaboration and creation of learning spaces’, in J. Ostrouch and E. Ollagnier, Researching gender in adult learning, Frankfurt an Main: Peter Lang, 123–138. IDH Irish Department of Health (2009) National men’s health policy 2008–2013. Online. Available HTTP: www.dohc.ie/publications/national_mens_health_policy.html (accessed 29 October 2011). Jha, J. and Kelleher, F. (2006) Boys’ underachievement in education: an exploration in selected Commonwealth countries, London: Commonwealth of Learning.



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Karoski, S. (2007) ‘Men on the move: the politics of the men’s movement’, unpublished PhD thesis, University of Wollongong, Australia. Kirkwood, T., Bond, J., May, C., McKeith, I. and Teh, M. (2010) ‘Mental capital and wellbeing through life: future challenges’, in C. Cooper, J. Field, U. Goswami, R. Jenkins and B. Sahakian (eds) Mental capital and wellbeing, Wiley Blackwell: Chichester, 3–53. Lave, J. and Wenger, E. (1991) Situated learning: legitimate peripheral participation, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. McGivney, V. (1999) Excluded men: men who are missing from education and training, Leicester: NIACE. McGivney, V. (2004) Men earn, women learn: bridging the gender divide in education and training, Leicester: NIACE. Ollangier, E. (2008) ‘Gender, learning recognition’, in J. Ostrouch, and E. Ollagnier, Researching gender in adult learning, Frankfurt am Main: Peter Lang, 19–33. Tett, L. (1996) ‘Theorising practice in single sex work’, Studies in the Education of Adults 28(1): 48–64. Wilkinson, R. and Marmot, M. (eds) (2003) Social determinants of health: the solid facts, 2nd edn, Copenhagen: World Health Organization.

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Men’s learning through community organizations Evidence from an Australian study Barry Golding

Introduction This chapter draws on findings from research focused on learning that occurs for men in diverse community organizations rather than in dedicated educational settings. It provides evidence of the benefits for men of learning over the life course, as the relevance and availability of more formal options for learning in educational settings decrease. It seeks to broaden the discussion about learning in ways that are inclusive of perspectives other than those about learning for work, but which look specifically at men’s interests, needs and pedagogies in community contexts. Despite difficulties in precise definition, wellbeing has risen to recent prominence as a term which combines positive expectations of material security and health by diverse individuals and communities (Littlewood 2010). The relation between mental capital and mental wellbeing is explored by Cooper et al. (2010) and the importance to wellbeing of learning across the life course (lifelong learning) and across all facets of life at any age (lifewide learning) is relatively well understood. Learning through life is now recognized as playing a role in unlocking a range of benefits (Schuller and Watson 2009), impacting particularly on mental health and wellbeing. While this chapter recognizes the tripartite value of learning in most industrialized societies: to economic productivity, to social inclusion and cohesion, and to personal development, fulfilment and expression, its emphasis is on the latter two values that approximate to notions of social, community and personal wellbeing. While adult and community education (ACE) is known from research in industrialized nations to have the potential to enhance the wellbeing of vulnerable citizens (Cooper et al. 2010; Schuller and Watson 2009), men on average are less likely than women to participate (McGivney 1999a, 2004) in publicly funded or community-based adult education, but are more likely to learn through work or independently (Schuller and Watson 2009: 70). While all adults of working age are vulnerable to social exclusion as a consequence of unemployment, older men not in paid work, with limited education or community connections have been identified from our recent Australian research (Golding et al. 2009a, 2009b) as



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particularly vulnerable to exclusion or withdrawal from formal learning. This research into men’s learning does not disregard or discount women’s difficulties. Rather, it shines a light on a group whose voice is rarely heard, and acknowledges that the collection of data on the health and wellbeing of men not in paid work and with limited social connections should be of concern. The emphasis in this chapter is on the experiences of older men as learners in diverse community organizations. These include but go beyond ACE, to encompass sporting and fire and emergency services, and age-related as well as men-specific organizations. The chapter is informed by literature confirming ‘large gender differences between the social support networks of older people, with women having more supportive and extensive networks of friends than men’ (Stewart and Prince 2010: 471). It is important to stress at the outset that it is inappropriate to draw universal conclusions about all men in all places, and there is insufficient evidence to do so. The chapter seeks instead to contribute to a rather barren research field about some men learning informally in some Australian community contexts. The research discussed in this chapter is based primarily on Golding et al. (2009a, 2009b). It was undertaken in the context of a growing realization of the adverse impact of difficult early lives on young people (Cooper et al. 2010). In the case of boys, an early aversion to formal and compulsory education is known to compound problems in later life, and can adversely affect some men’s wellbeing across the lifespan, quite apart from the better known limiting effects on formal post-school qualifications and productive working lives. Average rates of functional illiteracy in Australia closely approximate to numeric age beyond forty for adults (ABS 2006). In effect, at age sixty-five, approximately two-thirds of Australian men are functionally illiterate. It is therefore important to ask, ‘What are older men’s experiences of and opportunities for learning in community settings, and what should they be?’ The research referred to in this chapter sought to examine how and where such men might (and do) learn in community organization settings. Our research from 2009 was framed in a way that sought to answer questions about men’s learning in and through Australian community organizations that census data, and data restricted to students already enrolled, cannot. It builds on findings from the United Kingdom about benefits of community-based learning (McGivney 1999b) and men’s learning (McGivney 1999a, 2004) as well as survey-based research into men in socially disadvantaged and geographically isolated areas (Golding et al. 2004; Vinson 2007). It is also informed by Australian research into learning by men with low skills and negative attitudes towards education and training who are involved as volunteers in fire and emergency services organizations (Hayes et al. 2004) and as participants in community-based men’s sheds (Golding et al. 2007). The 2009 research referred to in this chapter, while restricted to Australia, explored how community involvement affects a number of aspects of men’s learning and the fields of their personal, cooperative, procedural, technical,

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systems and public communication. It has also explored whether and how community involvement has the potential to address wellbeing by recognizing the determinants of some men’s disadvantage (Wilkinson and Marmot 2003), including social exclusion, unemployment, difficult early lives and stress. These learning, communication and wellbeing outcomes were anticipated from earlier research into learning through community men’s sheds in Australia (Golding et al. 2007) and are teased out in more depth in Chapter 10. Empirical data on learning by men of all ages from Western Australia (Golding et al. 2009a) are supplemented by new data on learning by older men aged 50-plus from three Australian states (Golding et al. 2009b).

Why bother about men’s learning? The research that informs this chapter about men’s learning through community organizations was framed in the context of what Schuller and Watson (2009: 69–70) describe as the ‘single most striking trend in education in the last 10–15 years’, that is ‘the way women have overtaken men in educational achievement, at every level, and in almost every OECD country’. The other remarkable trend is that it ‘has attracted remarkably little analysis’. While most industrialized nations stress vocational training as the way to address skill shortages, the international literature is relatively pessimistic about the value of formal training for re-integrating displaced males in the workforce (Lattimore 2007: 187). In Australia (COAG 2006) there have been national calls to improve educational opportunities for adults with no formal qualifications in order to improve their employment prospects. However, the Australian Adult Literacy and Life Skills Survey (ABS 2006) showed that approximately half of adult Australians scored below the minimum level for one or more of the literacy/numeracy domains required for everyday life and work, let alone to engage in formal training. The Australian Council for Adult Literacy (ACAL) uses the data above to invoke a ‘crisis’ in adult literacy in Australia and argues that the cost to the nation of deficiencies in human, social and financial capital are high. Perkins (2009: 11) remarks that while ‘90 per cent of all [Australian] jobs now require some form of post-school qualification  .  .  .  at least half of those in the workforce do not have those qualifications or have not even completed secondary schooling’. There is a correlation between low literacy levels and lack of social and workplace engagement, limited education and training involvement and a lack of qualifications, low income, poor health and a poor sense of well-being (ABS 2006; Perkins 2009). In essence, the literacy outcomes from models of educational provision in Australia are not sufficient to meet the needs of a significant proportion of the adult population. To compound these difficulties, adult education provision, other than work-related vocational education, is patchy and fragmentary across the country. In some Australian states and regions it is non-existent. Where non-vocational adult education programmes do exist in most industrialized nations, they are sometimes geared towards the needs of women (McGivney



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1999a, 2004). Claiming (and even investigating) a case for such bias has sometimes been difficult in the face of government education policies which espouse gender neutrality, but which are informed largely by neoliberal vocational education ideologies and discourses which sometimes advantage men; on the other hand, ACE until recently has been informed largely by policies, pedagogies and discourses in which men tend not to be named. As an example from Australia, the two major Senate inquiries into adult and community education in Australia, Come in Cinderella (1991) and Beyond Cinderella (1997), explicitly gave voice to ‘Cinderella’. In doing so it identified the ACE sector as being explicitly and mainly for women without critically analysing why men tended to be missing. Heiskanen (2008: 135) suggests that while many ‘formal practices and policies in organizations tend to seem neutral  .  .  .  when examined more closely, they may have different impacts on men and women’. Meantime neoliberal policy agendas in the past decade have moved much Australian adult education, where it has not been dismantled or become part of the ‘training market’, away from state provision of non-vocational programmes and towards accredited vocational outcomes and ‘user pays’. While there is a trend in Australia towards an ageing population (ABS 2009), most adult learners are younger people preparing for work, already in work or being retrained, women or new migrants. It is timely, rather than asking why women in many industrialized nations are more likely to be lifelong learners, to ask why men tend, in increasing proportions at all ages, to be missing. A possible clue to the situation for men is to be found in Gorard’s (2010) critique of discourses about barriers to learning. Gorard (2010: 353–357) notes that ‘government policy focuses on the removal of the impediments or barriers which prevent those people from participating in education who would benefit from doing so’. He concludes that ‘the most obvious barriers are situational, stemming chiefly from the life and lifestyle of the prospective learner’. Gorard reflects that ‘We need to revise any complacency that the existing set-up for learning is appropriate for all, and that the reluctant learner needs only to be lured back on track’. In this sense, consistent with the findings from my own and my colleagues’ research into men’s learning in the past decade, and in Gorard’s words, most adult male non-participants in learning ‘are not put off by barriers, but by their lack of interest in something that seems alien and imposed by others’. Rather than looking for ‘barriers’ to men’s participation in ACE, our research looked at men who were actively and voluntarily participating in community organizations and asked what they were learning. We tried to avoid relying on research evidence from the self-reports of existing participants in education, focusing instead on exploring some of the reasons most men don’t attend. In using terms such as ‘most’, ‘some’ and ‘many’ I acknowledge problems created by seeking one answer to questions about all men. This chapter and any analysis of men’s learning will not find the answer for all men. In this chapter I focus on men who are not in work and who are without access to what is widely recognized as the most important site for lifelong learning, the workplace.

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Lattimore (2007) showed that men who are not in paid work comprise a large and growing proportion of all Australian men. Apart from the loss to national economic activity and the cost of social support associated with men’s nonparticipation in the labour market, it can have a devastating social impact on the men, their families and communities. He identified some of the factors influencing men’s non-participation in paid work. They include reduced tolerance in contemporary economies for employing men with disabilities and lower skills as well as the ‘feminization’ of many new forms of work. Lattimore also showed that economically inactive men tend to group together spatially. My own (2008, 2009a, 2009b) research showed that un-partnered men, men without other community connections and men who did not enjoy or benefit from school are particularly vulnerable to labour market withdrawal or exclusion and that they benefit socially and in their attitudes to learning from regular and informal community involvement with other men. The particular issue for ACE and vocational education and training (VET) is that the very men who appear to most need literacy and vocational training are the least likely to have the attitudes and skills necessary to participate in and benefit from them (Golding et al. 2009a, 2009b).

Research methods The research described here involved surveys and focus group interviews. Surveys focused on men’s attitudes towards and experiences of learning and perceived outcomes from participating. The focus group interviews took place with up to four men in up to six selected organization types in 12 diverse sites across Australia. The interviews followed a semi-structured format and took place at the organization or a location familiar to the participants. Interviews were audio recorded, typically for approximately 30 minutes. All interviewees had previously consented to being interviewed, consistent with university research ethics approvals. In six sites (in Western Australia), men of all ages were included. In the other six sites (in three other Australian states), only men aged over 50 were included. This allowed for a comparison of survey and interview data from older cohorts of men with men aged under 50. The six selected organization categories were inclusive of men across the community including ACE, but also: sporting organizations; religious, indigenous and cultural organizations; voluntary fire or emergency services; age or disability-related organizations and men’s special interest organizations. These non-ACE organization types were selected since they are representative of community organizations that are inclusive of men in most populated localities across Australia. These community organizations provided a means of access to research participants, both in and out of work, who may not have had recent education and training experience. Interviews and surveys produced around 44 hours of transcribed audio-recorded data from 250 men, and survey data from 406 men in



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86 organizations. This number of surveys was sufficient to undertake sub-group analysis using tests of significance. The interview transcripts were analyzed for key themes and by organization type, surfacing accounts of men’s learning experiences in a number of community organizations and contexts.

Men’s learning analysed through the Australian Core Skills Framework filter This section summarizes insights from the interview and survey data using the Australian Core Skills Framework (ACSF 2008) as a filter. The ACSF provides a convenient framework for linking aspects of communication (that are typically taught) to purposes and contexts (in which skills learned are typically seen to be applied). A comprehensive analysis of the survey and interview data for men of all ages on which this summary is based is available in Golding et al. (2009a), and for men over 50 years, in Golding et al. (2009b). The Australian Core Skills Framework (Table 11.1) identifies six aspects of communication along with their perceived purposes and relationships. Reading Table 11.1 from left to right, personal, cooperative, procedural, technical, sys­ tems and public communication are seen in the ACSF framework as providing, respectively, opportunities through learning for adults to express identity, interact in groups, perform tasks, use tools and technologies, interact in organizations and interact with the wider community. The interview responses of adult men of all ages (in six Western Australian sites) and men over 50 (in three other Australian states) illustrated the ways in which community organizations tended to function in a reverse direction to that in Table 11.1, from right to left with men from diverse backgrounds and of all ages. For example carrying out tasks was found to improve men’s procedural skills. In all fire, emergency service and rescue organizations, the training was rigorous for volunteers wishing to use each piece of equipment. The safety of motor sports organizations was found to be dependent on proficiencies and accreditation of volunteers in a range of roles, from checking the legal specification of vehicles, food preparation, to safe service of alcohol, event management and Table 11.1 Aspects of communication in the ACSF, with purposes and relationships ACSF: Aspects of Communication

For  .  .  .

Related to  .  .  .

Personal Cooperative Procedural Technical Systems Public

expressing identity interacting in groups performing tasks using tools and machinery interacting in organizations interacting with community

personal identity or goals functioning of groups carrying out tasks tools, machines, technology interaction in organizations social and community context

Source: Adapted from Australian Core Skills Framework (ACSF 2008).

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crowd control. Over 90 per cent of men of all ages surveyed agreed that ‘being part of the organization helps me learn’. The most effective learning, as described by the men, was associated with community contexts that cast them as coparticipants in hands-on, shared group activities, rather than as clients, students, patients or customers. The learning was regarded as being particularly useful, if apart from the focus on the learning activity (through sport, fire and emergency services, gardening, art or community men’s shed-based practice), there was consideration of the changing needs, interests and aspirations of the men themselves. The men over 50, 81 per cent of whom were not in paid work, were positive about learning, 84 per cent regarded the organization they participated in as ‘a place to learn new skills’ and 93 per cent agreed they were ‘keen to learn more’ through the organization. As one older man said in a social pottery group for gay and HIV positive men, ‘I think education can be liberating. It can take me out of what I was and the more I learn, the more I understand’. The responses from all organization types suggested a range of opportunities, albeit in different combinations and with differing emphases, for men to learn informally, develop and practice all six interrelated aspects of communication contained within the ACSF. As evidence, 74 per cent of men over 50 years agreed that their communication or literacy skills had improved as a result of participating in the community organization; 77 per cent agreed that their social skills had improved and 98 per cent agreed that they ‘felt better about themselves’. These findings run counter to perceptions noted in our 2001 Australian research into ACE practice (Golding and Rogers 2001) that because men tend not to enrol in educational programmes that are not work-related they are not interested in learning. What they point to is learning through participating in communities of practice (Lave and Wenger 1991), rather than being taught through models of education based on programme delivery which focus on competencies for industry, using sometimes inaccessible literacies, and based on assumptions that most men who learn will be young and on the way to, or already in work. In the case of personal communication (expressing identity), there was evidence from the responses of opportunities for the men to develop, express and share a range of positive identities through community organizations that are seldom regarded as ‘learning organizations’. The particular value of these organizations is that they provide men with opportunities for developing and enhancing positive identities without foregrounding the benefit. While one of the many benefits was learning, it was achieved partly because it was not named, in groups that typically comprised men exhibiting a range of identities in contexts where learning as a separate activity was not necessarily highly valued. Crawford (2002: 5) identified dominant forms of masculinity that typically embody toughness, competitiveness, determination and self-sufficiency. Jha and Kelleher (2006: 43) noted that ‘ “not being feminine” assumes special importance when one tries to trace the relationship between masculinity and boys’ achievement in education’.



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As Golding (2010: 67) concluded, some forms of masculinity promise ‘more immediate gratification of power and prestige from earning and work (and release from lack of success and prestige at school) rather than gratification from more learning’. All six organization types examined provided opportunities for men to engage in cooperative communication (interacting in groups). The data from a range of Australian contexts, from small and remote communities to large cities enabled an analysis of men’s perceptions of opportunities to learn by location and size of organization. These opportunities were richest in relatively small towns and community organizations where volunteers worked in teams or groups and had opportunities to take on responsible roles within the organization. For example churches, indigenous organizations, community men’s sheds and sporting clubs, particularly in smaller, rural communities, provided a range of important services to their communities through volunteers. By contrast, in many ACE providers men of working age were typically doing courses because they had to, in order to receive unemployment benefits, or as a statutory requirement (such as a recreational boat, shooting, fishing or farm chemical users’ certificates). In such instances, these courses and services would be provided, without a reciprocal expectation of giving back to the ACE provider. In order to fulfil voluntary roles in community-run organizations, there was a need for cooperative communication. Learning was particularly valued by older men who were active participants in organizations if it also provided opportunities for procedural communication (performing tasks) and technical communication (using tools and technologies), such as through volunteer fire brigades and community men’s sheds, which involved ‘giving back’ to the community. Both these aspects of communication presupposed a practical context in which tasks were undertaken and in which tools and technologies were regularly used. While these opportunities were available in some sporting organizations they again were richest in fire and emergency services, community men’s sheds, sporting and gardening settings, where men were able to work for the common and community good in groups. Opportunities were also available in all community organizations for men to maintain responsible roles. The exception was in some ACE and training providers where participants were treated as students, customers or clients. For example, older men who were unemployed typically participated in training programmes through ACE providers as a prerequisite of receiving income support. In order to be paid, they had to ‘show up’, but not necessarily actively participate or formally complete the programme. There were ample opportunities for men to practise systems communication (interacting within organizations) through fire and emergency service organizations. In order to fulfil these roles there was a need for high-level systems communication. Finally but importantly, most fire and emergency services as well as men’s sheds organizations actively interfaced with the wider community, providing opportunities for men to practise public communication skills.

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Discussion The analysis of the interview data from our 2009 research gives us evidence that some community organizations, particularly those aside from ACE, provided contexts in which a range of aspects of communication (identified formally in the ACSF as: personal, cooperative, procedural, technical, systems and public communication) were actively learned, regularly practised and highly valued. While we cannot draw conclusions about learning by the larger proportion of men who are not participants in community organizations, nor involved in ACE or paid work, we would posit that such men are at risk of social exclusion. Our research questions the assumption in the ACSF skills framework that ‘levels of performance’ of ‘core skills’ (learning, reading, writing, oral com­ munication, numeracy) are the appropriate starting point for analysing and addressing literacy for adults, in this case men. Most community organizations studied provided effective contexts for men to develop and practise all aspects of communication. In the process of voluntary engagement in community organizations, a range of wellbeing and learning outcomes was achieved through co-participation by men in community settings where neither was named nor foregrounded. Several policy-related conclusions are advanced based on this research evidence. One is that since ACE is not available to, appropriate to or working for some men in Australia, community organizations offering ACE might need to find new ways, places and pedagogies to ‘bring in more blokes’ (LCL 2004). Alternatively, it might be concluded that informal learning through community organizations that already successfully ‘reach’ men might be relied on more and be better funded. Another reading of the research, combined with the recent findings from the UK-based Foresight research reported in Cooper et al. (2010) suggests that more funding might be invested in ‘a lifelong learning system that takes wellbeing as its primary purpose’ (Field 2009: 39), which ‘is likely to differ significantly from the present models’. Given that half of working age Australians in poor health are not able to participate in the labour force (AMP 2009), it might be concluded that narrowly focused vocational education policies and programmes, including those encouraged by national and state governments across Australia and internationally through both VET (and often through ACE or labour market programmes), are either insufficient or inappropriate for men not in work. This is relevant for men not in paid work, including retired men but also men damaged by changes over the life course and through work. As AMP (2009: 27) concluded, despite the long period of economic boom until recently, individuals with persistent poor health experienced a decline in employment and earnings  .  .  .  irrespective of gender, education and the area people lived in. It is safe to assume that such individuals may be among the segment of the population hardest hit by the current economic downturn.



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Appropriate learning opportunities for men not in work in Australian regional and major rural cities appear to be missing. This suggests a need for more ‘first step’ opportunities for men through ACE. Some of the models and pedagogies for successful ‘first step’ learning for men of all ages are to be found within fire and emergency services organizations. For some older men, participation options are missing beyond organizations like community men’s sheds, bowling clubs and senior citizens’ groups. Separately, there is little evidence that the learning and wellbeing opportunities in communities with large, adult, male, indigenous populations are being appropriately provided in Australia.

Conclusion Men of all ages derive important learning, enjoyment and fulfilment through participation in community organizations. Lifewide and lifelong learning are essential to men’s identities in and beyond the labour force through diverse community organizations in Australia. ACE and vocational education in Australia tend, respectively, to target the needs of women as community members, men as workers and young people as prospective workers on the assumption that men are either in, or should be in, paid work. Men who are unemployed, not connected to community, retired or not working expressed a desire in this research for positive ways to contribute to the community, to stay fit, independent and healthy. For many older men, learning through accredited vocational courses, or in an ACE environment, was not desirable, appropriate or available, as governments placed ACE more directly under the vocational education banner. Nevertheless, around half the men in this study who participated in community organizations were hypothetically interested in taking part in more learning: not through ACE as it is currently configured, but through the organizations in which they participated; not through teaching but through mentoring or bringing in a local or outside tutor; ideally hands on, through special interest courses, in small groups where they could meet other people. In the absence of appropriate learning opportunities to address ageing and social isolation for men, particularly those not in the workforce, it is concluded that community organizations in Australia aside from ACE are playing important roles as learning and wellbeing organizations. The most striking conclusion is about the difficulties many of these men have faced in life, in work and particularly out of work and the value of the learning experienced informally through the organizations they belong to. These organizations are important in maintaining and enhancing their identities, social relationships, happiness, health and wellbeing and buffering them against changes in age and employment status. Community organizations in Australia are helping men to learn about change; to enhance wellbeing and re-shape their lives after setbacks related to family, identity, ageing, health and social and community relationships. It appears necessary, as Field (2009: 36) observes, ‘to tackle the persistent gap between medical

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and other approaches to wellbeing  .  .  .  other interventions can also play an important role in an integrated strategy for promoting wellbeing’. While there is an acknowledged correlation between formal education, work, income and wellbeing, recent research in Australia (Stanwick 2006) has shown that the outcomes from lower-level vocational training are either minimal or negative for many adults. In spite of this, there is a general move, including across parts of Europe, away from funding and supporting community education other than that which is overtly vocational. This may be appropriate for some younger unemployed people, but is inappropriate for older adults, particularly for men who are not in paid work and with limited social networks beyond home. Finally, I would argue that the most effective learning for men in community settings occurs where learning intentions are not formalized or brought to the fore, where the pedagogies build on what men know, and where social relationships rather than courses or enrolments are emphasized. For men with the most negative attitudes toward learning, pedagogies based on communities of men’s informal practice have been found to be effective. Given that very few of these pedagogies have been the subject of empirical study as they apply to men, it is timely to ask why.

References ABS (Australian Bureau of Statistics) (2006) ‘Adult literacy and life skills survey: summary results’, Cat. No. 4228.0, ABS: Canberra. ABS (Australian Bureau of Statistics) (2009) ‘Future population growth and ageing’. Online. Available HTTP: www.ausstats.abs.gov.au/ausstats/subscriber.nsf/LookupAttach/ 4102.0Publication25.03.092/$File/41020_Populationprojections.pdf (accessed 14 February 2012). ACSF (2008) Australian Core Skills Framework, Department of Education, Employment and Workplace Relations: Canberra. AMP (2009) Healthy, wealthy and wise? The relationship between health, employment and earnings in Australia. AMP NATSEM Income and Wealth Report 23, University of Canberra: Canberra. Autlich, T.G. (1991) Come in Cinderella: The emergence of adult and community education, Canberra: Senate Printing Unit. COAG (2006) Council of Australian Governments Communiqué of February 2006: a new national reform agenda, Council of Australian Governments: Canberra. Cooper, G., Field, J., Goswami, U., Jenkins, R. and Sahakian, B. (2010) Mental capital and wellbeing: inquiry into the future of lifelong learning, Wiley-Blackwell: Oxford. Crawford, D. (2002) ‘Becoming a man: the views and experiences of some second generation Australian males’. Electronic Journal of Sociology. Online. Available HTTP: www.sociology.org/content/vol7.3/02_crawford.html (accessed 12 January 2011). Crowley, R. (1997) Beyond Cinderella: Towards a learning society, report of the Senate Employment, Education and Training References Committee, Canberra: Senate Printing Unit. Field, J. (2009) Well-being and happiness, Inquiry into the Future for Lifelong Learning, Thematic Paper 4, NIACE: Leicester.



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Golding, B. (2008) ‘Researching men’s sheds in community contexts in Australia: what does it suggest about adult education for older men?’, Journal of Adult and Continuing Education 14(1) 17–33. Golding, B. (2009) ‘Older men’s lifelong learning: Common threads/sheds’, in J. Field, J. Gallagher and R. Ingram (eds) Researching transitions in lifelong learning, Routledge: Abingdon, 63–65. Golding, B. (2010) ‘The big picture on men’s (and boys’) learning’, Australian Journal of Adult Learning 50(1) 4–74. Golding, B. and Rogers, M. (2002) Adult and community learning in small and remote Victorian towns, report for Adult, Community and Further Education Board), ACFEB: Melbourne. Golding, B., Harvey, J. and Echter, A. (2004) Men’s learning through ACE and community involvement in small rural towns: findings from a Victorian survey, final report to Adult, Community and Further Education Board, University of Ballarat: Ballarat. Golding, B., Brown, M., Foley, A. and Harvey, J. (2009a) Men’s learning and wellbeing through community organisations in Western Australia. Report to Western Australia Department of Education and Training, Ballarat: University of Ballarat. Online. Available HTTP: http://archimedes.ballarat.edu.au:8080/vital/access/HandleResolver/ 1959.17/ 1644 (accessed 26 February 2010). Golding, B., Foley, A., Brown, M. and Harvey, J. (2009b) Senior men’s learning and wellbeing through community participation in Australia, report to National Seniors Productive Ageing Centre, Ballarat: University of Ballarat. Online. Available HTTP: http://archimedes.ballarat.edu.au:8080/vital/access/HandleResolver/1959.17/16450 (accessed 26 Feb 2010). Golding, B., Brown, M., Foley, A., Harvey, J. and Gleeson, J. (2007) Men’s sheds in Australia: learning through community contexts, NCVER: Adelaide. Gorard, S. (2010) ‘Participation in learning; barriers to learning’, in G. Cooper, J. Field, U. Goswami, R. Jenkins and B. Sahakian Mental capital and wellbeing: inquiry into the future of lifelong learning, Wiley-Blackwell: Oxford, 351–360. Hayes, C., Golding, B. and Harvey, J. (2004) Learning through fire and emergency organisations in small and remote towns, NCVER: Adelaide. Heiskanen, T. (2008) ‘Approaching gender issues with action research: collaboration and creation of learning spaces’, in J. Ostrouch and E. Ollagnier (eds) Researching gender in adult learning, Peter Lang: Frankfurt am Main, 123–138. Jha, J. and Kelleher, F. (2006) Boys’ underachievement in education: an exploration in selected Commonwealth countries, Commonwealth Secretariat and Commonwealth of Learning: London. Lattimore, R. (2007) Men not at work: an analysis of men outside the labour force, staff working paper, Australian Government Productivity Commission: Canberra. Lave, J. and Wenger, E. (1991) Situated learning: Legitimate peripheral participation, Cambridge University Press: Cambridge. LCL (2004) Bringing in the blokes: a guide to attracting and involving men in community neighborhood and learning centres (2nd edn), Learning Centre Link: Perth. Littlewood, R. (2010) Comparative cultural perspectives on wellbeing, in G. Cooper, J. Field, U. Goswami, R. Jenkins and B. Sahakian, Mental capital and wellbeing: inquiry into the future of lifelong learning, Wiley-Blackwell: Oxford, 935–941. McGivney, V. (1999a) Excluded men: men who are missing from education and training, NIACE: Leicester.

146  Barry Golding McGivney, V. (1999b) Informal learning in the community: a trigger for change and development, NIACE: Leicester. McGivney, V. (2004) Men earn, women learn: bridging the gender divide in education and training, NIACE: Leicester. Perkins, K. (2009) Adult literacy and numeracy: research and future strategy, NCVER: Adelaide. Schuller, T. and Watson, D. (2009) Learning through life: inquiry into the future of lifelong learning, NIACE: Leicester. Stanwick, J. (2006) Australian Qualifications Framework lower level qualifications: outcomes for people over 25, Adelaide: NCVER. Stewart, R. and Prince, M. (2010) ‘The influence of demographic, social and physical factors on ageing and the mental health of older people’, in G. Cooper, J. Field, U. Goswami, R. Jenkins and B. Sahakian (eds) Mental capital and wellbeing: inquiry into the future of lifelong learning, Wiley-Blackwell: Oxford, 467–474. Vinson, T. (2007) Dropping off the edge: the distribution of social disadvantage in Australia, report for Jesuit Social Services and Catholic Social Services: Curtin. Wilkinson, R. and Marmot, M. (eds) (2003) Social determinants of health: the solid facts, Copenhagen: World Health Organization.

Chapter 12

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Older men’s perspectives on (re-)entering post-compulsory education Insights from a Scottish study Brian Findsen and Brett McEwen

Introduction Decreased fertility rates and increased longevity have led to a significant ageing of industrialized country populations (WHO 2002). Many countries now have an unprecedented proportion living within what Laslett (1989) has termed the third age – which is associated with older adulthood and (typically) characterized by a reduction of employment and social responsibilities. Age-categorizing the third age has limitations (Findsen 2005) but following Jarvis (2001) this chapter will utilize a definition of 50–74 years of age. Education can play an important role in productive ageing (Findsen 2005; Jarvis 2001; Narushima 2008; Purdie and Boulton-Lewis 2003) and the concept of lifelong learning is increasingly a component of governmental positive-ageing strategies (McNair 2009a). McNair (2009b) reviewed the UK research literature and identified that third-age adults (re)entered education for three broad purposes: the development of identity capital, human capital and social capital. Identity capital entails maintaining a sense of enjoyment and interest, constructing meaning in life and developing self-esteem; human capital is the ability to contribute to the paid and unpaid economy; social capital is commonly interpreted as social networking and the capacity to live as a contributing member of the community. None of these forms of capital is non-contentious; beneath the surface are multiple types of masculinity, and masculine identity is fluid and contested (Archer et al. 2001). Concerns have been raised about men’s perceived under-engagement with post-compulsory education at all ages. In the UK, McGivney (1999, 2004) investigated this, reporting that when statistics detailing all forms of learning had been taken into account, men were engaged in post-compulsory education and training at rates similar to women – although some male sub-populations were under-represented in specific domains. McGivney (2004) identified gender differences in the types of learning men and women enrolled in, with men significantly more likely to be engaged in work-related (human capital) learning and women more likely to be enrolled in a wider range of further and higher education programmes. She argued that many men’s preferences for work-related

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learning resulted from a narrative of masculinity that associated male identity and status with paid work. Following McGivney, a number of researchers have further investigated Scottish men’s engagement with post-compulsory education (Cameron and Morrison 2008; Cleary 2007, 2009; Morrison 2007) and also identified dominant human capital motivations. Cleary (2007) reported that Scottish working-class men enrolled in further education learning centres preferred short courses focused on vocational skills leading directly into employment. She also reported that: .  .  .  there are real barriers to male participation – their involvement in full time work, their participation in shift work or their long term uptake of welfare benefits. Secondly, there are clear social expectations of men to be the breadwinners  .  .  .  any initiatives to improve male participation rates therefore need to take account of these social pressures. (2007: 19) Cleary (2009) did note that not all men have the same learning needs and that attitudes towards further learning depend upon social class and ethnic background, individual preferences and age. Further, as noted by Archer et al. (2001), their learning needs will inevitably be determined by their constructions of masculinity, some of which may see educational participation as ‘unmanly’. Several critical and feminist theorists have challenged the orthodoxy around masculinity and argue men choose pathways that reflect their versions of what it means to be a man, just as women assume different avenues based on feminine constructions of identity (Archer et al. 2001; Archer 2006; Blackmore 2006; Dalley-Trim 2007). Even the neoliberal notion of ‘choice’ is problematic as typically choosing is contextualized as part of wider hegemonic notions of masculinity. Hegemonic masculinity at a macro-level tends to privilege a vocational and skills based agenda for working-class men in which higher education is definitely ‘uncool’ as too closely associated with middle-class masculinity (Archer 2006). The seemingly neutral domain of lifelong learning tends to accentuate men’s technical and economic prowess rather than their capacity to be caring and interdependent. At the level of classroom interaction, DalleyTrim (2007) has emphasized that the performance acts of boys close down options for others as their ‘doing’ of hegemonic masculinity silences girls by exerting power through aggressive language. While there are no necessary causal links between early classroom behaviour and later life decision-making, it would be naïve to believe that men’s educational choices are not affected by prevailing masculine values in a largely patriarchal society. Although there is growing research into male students’ learning experiences, little of this work has specifically investigated the learning experiences of thirdage male learners (Chen et al. 2008). This chapter discusses the experiences of male students aged 50-plus who participated in a 2005–2008 Scottish



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longitudinal research project (Findsen and McCullough 2008). This was funded by the West of Scotland Wider Access Forum and is significant because researchers deliberately chose working class students, a group identified as usually disenfranchised from formal education opportunities (Archer 2006).

The Scottish study Critical educational gerontology here forms the broader context. Central to this approach is the idea of ageing as being socially constructed (Glendenning 2000). In particular, this study draws upon political economy perspectives and biographical and narrative traditions. This focus on class, gender, ethnicity, other areas of social stratification and the role of the state has special relevance. Gender here is a major factor in relation to ageing and social class (Phillipson 1998). Bury (1995) argues that we need to consider that the imbalance of power relations and status in older adulthood between men and women derive not only from the labour market but from cultural parameters in a given society. The study involved seven institutions across the West of Scotland: three universities (categorized as ‘ancient’, ‘post-1992’ and the Open University) and four colleges (situated in community, suburban and rural settings). In Scotland, a college is a tertiary institution traditionally providing vocational and further education (sub-degree) programmes. Across the seven institutions, 85 students aged 50-plus and from low-income residential areas (the Scottish Index of Multiple Deprivation Zones was utilized to identify these) were randomly selected to participate. Students were sent a letter of invitation by their host institution, with supporting project information and a consent form for return to project staff. Due to an initial low uptake, a re-selection and wider mailing were undertaken until the target number was achieved. This chapter outlines some learning experiences of 39 male students who participated in the two-year project. Over half (23) were aged 50–59 years, 12 were aged 60–69 years, three were aged 70–79 years, and one was over eighty years of age. Just over one third (15) were working; 12 were retired, eight unemployed, and four on a disability allowance. Just over half (21) were attending colleges and seventeen were at universities. The majority (35) identified their ethnicity as white (unsurprising in mainly mono-cultural Scotland). Among college students, computer-based courses were the most popular areas of study, followed by arts, sciences, and vocational skills. Amongst university students, arts-based courses were the most common area, followed by health, law, science, computers, and education. The high proportion of arts students is in keeping with the wide range of arts subjects offered by the participating universities, confirming the importance of liberal education in universities and some non-vocational offerings in the colleges. Otherwise, the choices by participants reflect what Francis (2006: 60) calls ‘gendered training courses’ where ‘work-based training routes remain disproportionately subscribed to by men’.

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The study utilized a predominately qualitative approach to data collection, involving four rounds of face to face semi-structured interviews over a two-year period. Some quantitative data were also collected during interviews related to individual biographical profiles, plus demographic data. Overwhelmingly, the majority of data concerned the personal experiences of these older students as they negotiated a new academic culture. Further information outlining the methodology is detailed in Findsen and McCullough (2008).

Study findings Following McNair (2009b), participants’ motivations for (re)-entering postcompulsory education are detailed under human capital (related to paid or unpaid work), identity capital (intrinsic worth) and social capital (social interconnectedness). Case studies illustrate male students’ experiences. Human capital Human capital motivation has previously been identified as the primary reason men engage in further and higher education (McGivney 1999, 2004). In the current study, students were asked if they hoped their engagement in education would benefit their work situation and one third (14) responded affirmatively. Further analysis revealed, perhaps predictably, that working students were most likely to report hoped-for employment-related benefits, followed by unemployed students, and retired students were least likely to do so. Students in employment Amongst working students who hoped their engagement with further and higher education would have employment benefits, the majority viewed study as an opportunity to strengthen their current employment situation and/or to increase future employment opportunities. Atholl, a white male in his early fifties and in full-time employment, was engaged in higher education for work-related reasons. He had been with his employer ten years and as part of his work role was responsible for the company’s ‘health and safety’ issues. Atholl’s employer had been visited by the local government health and safety inspector and while showing her around Atholl had been questioned about his qualifications. Atholl commented: She’s saying, almost in an indignant way ‘What qualifications have you got to do this sort of thing?’ And I thought okay, fine, I can deal with that, it’s quite easy to go and get a bit of paper to say I’ve got that  .  .  .  So there was a bit of motivation from that point of view. As a consequence, Atholl enrolled in a university-based health and safety course to legitimate his role within the company. After completing the first level



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(a certificate), he enrolled part-time to complete a BA in Occupational Health and Safety Management. Atholl’s employer was helping to fund him and he expected to complete his degree within two years. He acknowledged that a degree would not only support him in his work role but expand future work opportunities. One significant aspect of Atholl’s story is that at school he had difficulties with learning, his family had been unsupportive of education, and he had left at an early age: I think the value of education was never really stretched [by the family] at that time. My mother and father said you probably learn more after you left school than in school  .  .  .  When I left school I had virtually no qualifications at all. I went back to further education after I served an apprenticeship. The apprenticeship gave me a bit of insight into further education  .  .  .  And after I’d served an apprenticeship, I thought, well, I must have a little bit more up top than what the schools ever thought I ever had. After his apprenticeship, Atholl enrolled in a college course to complete his ‘O’ levels, subsequently undertaking a mechanical engineering certificate as a mature student. As Atholl succeeded at college, and in other work-related courses, his selfconfidence as a student grew: ‘I must say my primary education was pretty abysmal. It almost put me off it and it was only in later years that I realized that I had certain abilities  .  .  .’ Atholl commented that growing academic confidence allowed him to engage in further work-related learning (he had not enrolled in any post-compulsory education for identity capital or social capital motivations); he felt pride in his later life academic achievements. His negative experience of compulsory schooling was not unique amongst the male students (Willis 1981). Unemployed students Among the eight unemployed male students participating in the research, three reported engagement in post-compulsory education for work-related reasons. All three were in their fifties, and all hopeful that further qualifications would increase their ability to re-enter the paid work force. William, a white male in his fifties, and unemployed ‘off-and-on’ for a number of years, discussed his motivation for enrolling in a two-year (part-time) Information Technology (IT) college certificate course: I can’t get a job  .  .  .  and if I do get a job, it’s a temporary, low-paid role  .  .  .  [I want] to get a job with good money. [I am] just fed up with temporary jobs, nothing for the last couple of years  .  .  .  This is the only way I can find to be able to get something to be able to work permanently. All three unemployed students expressed frustration at their inability to find paid employment; this impacted upon how they felt about themselves. William

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had previously worked in semi-skilled jobs (most recently as a tyre-fitter). These employment opportunities provided him with limited in-house skill-based training. William reported he had always been interested in electronics and his current IT-based course was a continuation of this interest: ‘With a job in [IT] networking, the money is good in it. I’ll be doing something that I’m going to enjoy and have money. The job would be there and I’d have permanent work until I retire.’ William commented that financial issues were the biggest barrier to overcome before he started his IT course. He was divorced and living alone on a limited income. He discussed how he had to fund his course through a government unemployment training initiative: ‘I’ve got debt as it is  .  .  .  I stay by myself, I’m divorced – and it’s just, it’s hard. So that’s why I had to go back to just staying unemployed, [to gain education access] through the government jobcentre, doing it that way.’ Financial issues were identified as a potential barrier by all the unemployed men participating in the study and all depended upon government funding to access education. Interestingly, in a follow-up interview, William, asked what impact current engagement with education had had upon him, remarked: ‘More confident, I’m usually on the shy side. Now I’m more outspoken, speak up more than I used to and that’s really been at college that’s done that as well, because you had to do it in the class. You’ve got to talk up, it doesn’t matter if you’re rubbish or not, you’ve still got to do it to find something out.’ William’s involvement with education built his social confidence through interaction with others and his self-esteem through thinking of himself as a student with opportunities, rather than a long-term unemployed person. Identity capital Identity capital was the most common motivation reported by male students in the Scottish research. Participants were asked to rate (using a five-point scale) how valuable they had ‘personally’ found their learning experience and the vast majority of students (36 out of 39) agreed it had been positive. Students said they valued the personal challenge, satisfaction, enjoyment, new knowledge and intellectual stimulation learning offered them. Douglas, a white male in his late sixties and retired several years, discussed why he had enrolled in a universitybased Gaelic-language course: ‘It’s something I wanted to do for a while but I kept putting it off because I was too busy  .  .  .  Because it’s part of Scottish culture, and while I’m not an iron Nationalist, I am very interested in Scottish culture.’ Alongside gaining satisfaction from increasing his knowledge of Gaelic, Douglas also remarked on his enjoyment of class participation: The lecturer for a start made it interesting, there were lots of interesting things. It just wasn’t about grammar and hard work. There were lots of little asides of it, life in the Western Isles, and bits about Gaelic music which was interesting, and the people and the places where it’s spoken. And the



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other class members all had their stories to bring in too. [It was] a very pleasant class to be in. Many students in the study reported an enjoyment of learning. Douglas had as a school leaver engaged in higher education and had familiarity with, and confidence in relation to post-compulsory education. Enjoyment of learning was not, however, limited to students with previous post-compulsory educational experience. Hugh, a white male in his early seventies, left school at fourteen and worked in shipyards and on oil-rigs until being made redundant in his late fifties. He discussed his engagement with post-compulsory education as an older-adult student: ‘Yes, well 12 years ago I had no job, I’d go to the job-club and sign on and all that, they were doing a course  .  .  .  and I thought I wouldn’t get a job anyway so I joined this course at the College, in social care  .  .  .  and communication.’ It wasn’t until Hugh had ‘time on his hands’ that he considered enrolling in a course and he has enrolled each year since – at the time of the interview he was studying Greek Civilization. Hugh remarked that as a consequence of his study: ‘I’ve got a better view of life I think  .  .  .  Better understanding of things and life in general  .  .  .  I find myself seeing this from other ways.’ For Hugh there was a sense of ‘catching-up’ on learning in later life and he was enjoying it. A secondary, and often unexpected, outcome reported by the majority of participants was an increase in their level of personal confidence. Hugh discussed how his learning had affected him: ‘There’s always a positive side, you are always gaining more knowledge, I wouldn’t say more wisdom, and then you are more informed about things, you know. You do things probably with a wee bit more confidence, you know  .  .  .’ For Hugh and Douglas, and others no longer engaged in the paid workforce, freedom from work and work-related expectations allowed the opportunity to engage in areas of study previously unavailable to them. These men now had not only time, but also ‘social permission’ to engage in non-work-related study (Francis 2006). For a number who had retired from the paid workforce, the value of their learning was associated with keeping mentally active. Douglas commented that – alongside developing his knowledge of Gaelic – he gained self-satisfaction from remaining cognitively active. Social capital For many male students in this study, engagement in post-compulsory education, whether for human capital or identity capital motivations, included social capital benefits. For some, social capital outcomes were an unexpected benefit and for others a conscious aspect of their decision to engage in education. When asked to rate on a five-point scale how valuable they had found their learning within their ‘wider life’, the majority (28 of 39) responded positively. Chris, a white male in his early sixties living alone, is an example of a student engaging with post-compulsory education for both identity capital and social

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capital reasons. Ten years previously, Chris was admitted to hospital with a serious condition and had been on a disability allowance since then. After discharge Chris decided to enrol in a college-based creative art class as he had always had an interest in art (identity capital) but, as he explains, art classes were also an opportunity for him to meet other people: I’d always quite fancied the idea of taking an art class and just never got around to it, but eventually about a year after I came out of hospital I realized that it was that or liver damage because there wasn’t much else in my life at that point. I’m also gay and you know gay people tend to meet other gay people in pubs and I just wasn’t up for that [due to health problems], and so that was literally the only reason that I started taking art classes. And I have to say it probably took two or three years before I realized exactly how much I was enjoying it. Over the previous nine years, Chris had continued to participate in part-time college courses which were art-related. He commented that these courses had allowed him to socialize with other like-minded individuals – both students and teaching staff – and also to participate in an activity that he enjoyed and was capable of undertaking despite his poor health. Chris was not alone in engaging in formal learning for social capital motivations. A number of men who had recently retired, or been made redundant, discussed feeling socially isolated once they were no longer engaged in paid employment, and these men remarked that their involvement in further and higher education had allowed them to expand their social contacts. Similar comments were also made by some of the men who had lost a partner through death, separation or divorce. For example, Hugh, whose wife died a number of years previously and who had felt isolated, remarked on the support he gained from interacting with other students: ‘They’re always coming in or out you know, or sitting there before the class. They like talking to each other and seem friendly so it kind of puts you at your ease you know.’ Support to study When asked what factors had supported their engagement with post-compulsory education, financial aid was the most commonly identified support, followed by teaching staff and student peers. Amongst students who responded that they did not require additional support for their study (excluding financial support), most commented that they relied upon themselves, rather than others. An example of this self-reliant attitude is illustrated by Ashby, a university student in his fifties working full-time and studying Japanese language for personal interest. He discussed his typical response when faced with a difficulty with learning: ‘I just had to kind of work harder, just [a] question of working harder. There was maybe other techniques I could have tried to get



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things to go in [to learn] but I didn’t really know of any and it was just a case of doing extra work.’ For many of the male students participating in the study there seemed to be an independence of attitude that precluded them from engaging with others – apart from teaching staff – for support. They had a tendency to ‘battle along’ by themselves, as is consistent with what is sometimes characterized as a Scottish, masculine stoicism.

Discussion This study highlights multiple motives for participation in post-compulsory education. It is noteworthy that only one-third of the men engaged in postcompulsory education for employment-related reasons (human capital), contrasting with previous UK-based research showing employment-related motivation as the principal reason men (aged 16-plus) undertake education (Cameron and Morrison 2008; Cleary 2007, 2009; Morrison 2007; McGivney 1999, 2004). It is likely this difference is largely attributable to the age and working status of the participants in this study – with just under being half retired or on a permanent disability allowance. This finding supports McNair’s (2009b) observation that amongst older adults, employment-related motivation to study typically declines with age. Men who previously saw themselves as their family’s economic mainstay were looking for other identities in later life. Dominant (hegemonic) forms of masculinity are those narratives ‘of masculinity which claim the highest status and exercise the greatest influence and authority and which represent the standard-bearer of what it means to be a “real man or boy” ’ (Dalley-Trim 2007: 201). The ideal of masculinity is historically and contextually dependent (Weaver-Hightower 2003) and within industrialized culture a man’s worth has often been associated with paid employment. As a social construct, masculinity is influenced by a range of other variables including class, ethnicity, and race (Archer et al. 2001). The findings of the study reported here suggest that age also impacts upon the dominant narrative of masculinity – as men move towards retirement they may feel less compelled to subscribe to a version of masculinity that privileges work-related worth. Many students in the study, based primarily on a white working-class sample, valued the personal challenge, intellectual stimulation and enjoyment that learning offered them, and these factors have been found to be primary motivations for many older students (re-)entering post-compulsory education (Kim and Merriam 2004; Lamb and Brady 2005). An often unexpected outcome of the learning process was that many of the men reported increased personal and social confidence (social capital) as a result of their educational participation (Lamb and Brady 2005; Stone 2008). These findings support McNair’s (2009b: 10) position that ‘participation in learning of any kind increases the chances that an individual will continue to learn, building their independence and their social networks’. For men whose social contacts

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have historically been dominated by work-related relationships, engagement in post-compulsory education can provide a means of developing new social contacts – particularly for those recently retired or made redundant. For a small number of male students participating in the study, the decision to (re-)enter education was a response to changing life circumstances including divorce, health problems, recent retirement and mental health concerns. For these students education was viewed as a positive counterbalance to some of the challenges they faced in their lives (Cleary 2007). Further, some of these life transitions may relate to developmental periods in adulthood where education functions as a catalyst for further exploration (Fisher 1993). The British Government’s White Paper The Learning Revolution comments that ‘learning for leisure in later life can maintain mental and physical health, and contribute to people’s sense of wellbeing’ (DIUS 2009: 6). The findings of this study support the argument that lifelong learning can play a valuable role in supporting ‘positive ageing’ strategies. The current study identified that teaching staff and student peers played an important role in supporting older students’ education. For those entering postcompulsory education for the first time, tertiary education institutions can be intimidating (Christie et al. 2008; Young 2000), and teaching staff need to be reminded of their importance in supporting students to integrate into new learning environments (Duay and Bryan 2008; Tinto 2006). For men who subscribe to a view of masculinity that privileges independence and self-reliance, teaching staff may be particularly important as the only source of learning support they feel legitimately able to access. Reluctance to admit a learning need may have related to a restricted view of masculinity that prohibited looking ‘dumb’ or ‘vulnerable’ (McGivney 2004; Morrison 2007). Finally, the Scottish study demonstrates that hegemonic versions of masculinity that privilege work-related education (human capital) for men may decline in strength as they enter the third age and undertake learning for reasons of identity capital (enjoyment, knowledge and self-worth) and social capital (social contribution). Initiatives to promote lifelong learning need to ensure a range of educational opportunities is available to meet the learning needs of thirdagers across all three forms of capital.

References Archer L. (2006) ‘Masculinities, femininities and resistance to participation in postcompulsory education’, in C. Leathwood and B. Francis (eds) Gender and lifelong learning: critical feminist engagements, London: Routledge: 70–82. Archer, L., Pratt, S. and Phillips, D. (2001) ‘Working-class men’s constructions of masculinity and negotiations of (non) participation in higher education’, Gender and Education, 13(4): 431–449. Blackmore, J. (2006) ‘Unprotected participation in lifelong learning and the politics of hope: a feminist reality check of discourses around flexibility, seamlessness and learner



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earners’, in C. Leathwood and B. Francis (eds) Gender and lifelong learning: critical feminist engagements, London: Routledge: 9–26. Bury, M. (1995) ‘Ageing, gender and sociological theory’, in S. Arber and J. Ginn (eds) Connecting Gender and Ageing: a sociological approach, Buckingham: Open University Press: 15–29. Cameron, M. and Morrison, I. (2008) The North Forum for Widening Participation in Higher Education: engaging men through Local Learning Centres Phase Two, Inverness: North Forum. Chen, L., Kim, Y.S., Moon, P. and Merriam, S.B. (2008) ‘A review and critique of the portrayal of older adult learners in adult education journals 1980–2006’, Adult Education Quarterly, 59(3): 3–21. Christie, H., Tett, L., Cree, V., Hounsell, J. and McCune, V. (2008) ‘A real rollercoaster of confidence and emotions: learning to be a university student’, Studies in Higher Education, 33(5): 567–581. Cleary, P. (2007) Motivation and Attainment in the Learner Experience (MALE ) – Final Report, Glasgow: Centre for Research in Lifelong Learning. Cleary, P. (2009) Promote: promoting male opportunities to education – Final Report, Glasgow: Centre for Research in Lifelong Learning. Dalley-Trim, L. (2007) ‘ “The boys” present  .  .  .  Hegemonic masculinity: a performance of multiple acts’, Gender and Education, 19(2): 199–217. DIUS (Department for Innovation, Universities and Skills, UK) (2009) The Learning Revolution, London: The Stationery Office. Duay, D.L. and Bryan, V.C. (2008) ‘Learning in later life: what seniors want in a learning experience’, Educational Gerontology, 34: 1070–1086. Findsen, B. (2005) Learning Later, Florida: Krieger Publishing Company. Findsen, B. and McCullough, S. (2006). Older adults’ engagement with further and higher education in the West of Scotland: tracking educational journeys – literature review, Glasgow: Department of Adult and Continuing Education, University of Glasgow and West of Scotland Wider Access Forum. Findsen, B. and McCullough, S. (2008) Older adults’ engagement with further and higher education in the West of Scotland: Tracking educational journeys – final report, Glasgow: Department of Adult and Continuing Education, University of Glasgow and West of Scotland Wider Access Forum. Fisher, J. (1993) ‘A framework for describing developmental change among older adults’, Adult Education Quarterly, 43(2): 76–89. Francis, B. (2006) ‘Troubling trajectories: Gendered “choices” and pathways from school to Work’, in C. Leathwood and B. Francis (eds) Gender and lifelong learning: critical feminist engagements, London: Routledge: 57–69. Glendenning, F. (ed.) (2000) Teaching and Learning in Later Life: theoretical implications, Aldershot: Ashgate Publishing Company. Jarvis, P. (2001) Learning in Later Life: an introduction for educators and carers, London: Kogan Page. Kim, A. and Merriam, S.B. (2004) ‘Motivations for learning among older adults in a Learning in Retirement Institute’, Educational Gerontology, 30: 441–455. Lamb, R. and Brady, E.M. (2005) ‘Participation in Lifelong Learning Institutes: what turns members on?’, Educational Gerontology, 31: 207–224. Laslett, P. (1989) A Fresh Map of Life: the emergence of the third age, London: Weidenfeld & Nicolson.

158  Brian Findsen and Brett McEwen McGivney, V. (1999) Excluded Men: men who are missing from education and training, Leicester: NIACE. McGivney, V. (2004) Men Earn Women Learn: bridging the gender divide in education and training, Leicester: NIACE. McNair, S. (2009a) ‘Demography and lifelong learning’, IFLL thematic paper 1, Leicester: NIACE. McNair, S. (2009b) Older People’s Learning: an action plan; a NIACE policy paper, Leicester: NIACE. Morrison, I. (2007) The North Forum for Widening Participation in Higher Education: Engaging Men through Local Learning Centres, Inverness: North Forum. Narushima, M. (2008) ‘More than nickels and dimes: the health benefits of a communitybased lifelong learning programme for older adults’, International Journal of Lifelong Education, 27(6): 673–692. Phillipson, C. (1998) Reconstructing Old Age: new agendas in social theory and practice, London: Sage. Purdie, N. and Boulton-Lewis, G. (2003) ‘The learning needs of older adults’, Educational Gerontology, 29: 129–149. Stone, C. (2008) ‘Listening to individual voices and stories – the mature-age student experience’, Australian Journal of Adult Learning, 48(2): 263–290. Tinto, V. (2006) ‘Research and practice of student retention: what next?’, Journal of College Student Retention, 8(1): 1–19. Weaver-Hightower, M. (2003) ‘Crossing the divide: bridging the disjunctures between theoretically oriented and practice-oriented literature about masculinity and boys at school’, Gender and Education, 15(4): 407–423. Willis, P. (1981) Learning to labour: how working class lads get working class jobs, New York: Columbia University Press. Withnall, A. (2010) Improving learning in later life, London: Routledge. World Health Organization (2002) Active Ageing: a policy framework, Geneva: WHO Press. Young, P. (2000) ‘ “I might as well give up”: self-esteem and mature students’ feelings about feedback on assignments’, Journal of Further and Higher Education, 24(3): 409–418.

Part IV

Implications

Chapter 13

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Contemporary events: a window on gender, masculinities and lifelong learning This chapter begins by reflecting on two international events which, in different ways, seemed to resonate with the themes of gender, masculinities and lifelong learning as we met to finalize this book. The first illustrates the power of discourses of male physicality (Brown and Macdonald 2007) and the way in which they may support capitalism; the second draws attention to the wider political and economic contexts in which debates around gender and lifelong learning take place. I discuss some of the constructions of gender and masculinities which may be implicit in lifelong learning practice and go on to suggest how critical reflection and engagement with wider political and social phenomena might inform practice, research and policy and lead us to re-interrogate assumptions about gender, as well as the role and purpose of education.

International rugby: celebrating ‘hard’ masculinities The first, and perhaps (for some) more prosaic, event was the Rugby World Cup, which took place in New Zealand in August to October 2011 and involved teams from Africa, North and South America, Europe, Asia and the Pacific. In New Zealand it was accompanied by saturation media coverage characterized by masculinist hyperbole, military metaphors and nationalist fervour: ‘Man against man, muscle, flesh and bone collide and the team that dominates this fearsome face-off takes a giant stride towards winning the game of footy.’ (http://stuff. co.nz/sport/rugby/21 October 2011). Alongside this type of media coverage, New Zealand’s All Blacks team, its individual team members and its logo have been used to sell everything from men’s underwear to breakfast cereal. The likely financial returns from what has been dubbed ‘Brand New Zealand’ (BBC News, 13 September 2011) have been calculated by MasterCard Worldwide, one of the event’s sponsors (www.masterintelligence.com/RugbyWorldCup). Their report suggests that the 2011 Rugby World Cup could generate around two billion New Zealand dollars (US$1.67 billion) for the ‘global sports economy’

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and that, over ten years, it could bring in up to 14 billion New Zealand dollars (US$11.7 billion) to the New Zealand national economy. It has been a difficult event for us to avoid; in company with our friends, families and colleagues we have been drawn to the Rugby World Cup as a sporting spectacle and a display of national sentiment. At the same time we have recognized its tendency to normalize and even glorify certain (physical, competitive and combative) forms of masculinity – those same ‘hard’ forms which have been described by Brendan Hokowhitu (in relation to the Maori experience of col­ onial subjugation), by Robert Tobias (in relation to European settlers) and by Graeme Ferguson (in his description of single-sex schooling initiatives directed at engaging disaffected boys). As both Hokowhitu and Tobias have suggested, the discourse of the combative, rugged and sport-oriented ‘Kiwi bloke’ has become embedded in New Zealand society for Maori and Paheka as a consequence of its colonial history. As they also suggest, such ‘hard’ masculinities have tended to support anti-intellectualism, with Maori being constructed as non-academic and best suited for training for physical labour, whilst the European ‘frontiersman’ has been constructed as the practical, self-sufficient ‘bloke’, not expected to engage in more cerebral pursuits. The promotion of ‘manly’ toughness and warrior images through rugby underlines the continuity and pervasiveness of those discourses, shaped by history, which are described in Chapters 4 and 5. It leads us to reflect critically on how gendered images are sustained, not just through non-formal and informal learning from the media and in our communities but also through schooling. As Ferguson discusses in Chapter 8 these images are at the heart of single-sex schooling initiatives, designed to reflect and reinforce particular masculine stereotypes through the promotion of a boys’ curriculum. While we may not always be conscious of them in our daily lives, an analysis of events like the Rugby World Cup also demonstrates how historically and culturally formed discourses are capitalized upon by multinational corporations, the media and governments. It brings these discourses on masculinities into contemporary view. Foley (1999: 3) has suggested that it helps if we understand that people’s everyday experience reproduces ways of thinking and acting which support the, often oppressive, status quo, but that this same experience also produces recognitions which enable people to critique and challenge the existing order. A brief reflection on the Rugby World Cup therefore suggests the importance of questioning common-sense assumptions about everyday experiences and events to reveal the way in which dominant constructions of gender may impact on attitudes to education and learning. It may also cause us to consider how one of the assumptions of neoliberalism – that everything, including sport, can be reduced to its commodity value – turns the discourse of ‘hard’ masculinities into a useful marketing tool for global capitalism.



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The capitalist crisis and popular resistance The second series of events around the world in October 2011 was inspired by the ‘Arab Spring’ protests which began earlier that year in cities across North Africa and the Middle East. The Occupy Wall Street protests and ‘We are the 99 percent’ website (www.wearethe99percent, accessed 21 October 2011) have been manifestations of a popular reaction against unemployment, inequality and corporate greed in the industrialized world (Harvey 2010; Duménil and Lévy 2011). Originating in Canada, spreading to the financial district of New York, to other cities in the US and then to over 900 cities across the world, the Occupy Wall Street movement represents a protest against the economic status quo. And whilst it may not have a clear and unified political programme, the hundreds of statements and placards posted on the ‘We are the 99 percent’ website suggest outrage at the state of economic power relations: We are the 99 per cent. We are getting kicked out of our homes. We are forced to choose between groceries and rent. We are denied quality medical care. We are suffering from environmental pollution. We are working long hours for little pay and no rights, if we’re working at all. We are getting nothing while the other 1 per cent is getting everything. We are the 99 per cent. This year I graduated with my Master’s. I am unemployed with over $120,000 in student loans. I no longer believe the American Dream is for me. When you’re young, you’re told you can be anything. I’m sick of being fed lies. I graduated with BA in 2009 and I’ve been searching for a job ever since. My generation is lost, depressed, in debt, struggling. (www.wearethe99percent October 20 2011) These events represent a general dissatisfaction on the part of men and women in the industrialized world – from diverse locations, ethnicities and ages. The source of this dissatisfaction may be seen in the statistics on unemployment and pay. Unemployment rates for men and women in the OECD countries have risen markedly since 2008 and there is little evidence of any recovery (OECD 2011a). Unemployment disproportionately affects young people, people in the poorer nations and temporary workers. The risks associated with long-term unemployment include poverty, ill health and lowered educational achievement. What have these events to do with gender, masculinities and lifelong learning? First, they are evidence that the neoliberal-inspired idea that education and training are tools for human capital development (Becker 1975) and the knowledge economy may well be flawed. The belief that investment in one’s own education and training will be rewarded by increased earnings does not appear well-founded, and it is difficult to see how the claim for the link between human capital investment and social mobility can be sustained (Coffield 2000; Avis, 2007). The assertion is undermined by the evidence of the protesters’ placards which seems to suggest that the privatization of educational endeavour, financially only

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manageable with difficulty for all but the wealthiest, may lead to increasing debt, rather than the amassing of wealth and improved social status. Second, in spite of women’s increasing commitment to education, the gender pay gap remains stubbornly resistant (OECD 2011b) to their efforts to educate their way out of inequality (Blackmore 2006). Notwithstanding the increased proportion of women in the workforce and the growing engagement of women, particularly in tertiary and higher education (illustrated in Chapter 3 of this book), in many OECD countries: ‘Women are less likely to work for pay, they are more likely to have lower hourly earnings, and are less likely to reach decisionmaking positions in either public or private sectors’ (OECD 2011c: 4). Furthermore, the gap between men and women who are higher-wage earners (and presumably more highly educated) is greater than between male and female lower wage earners; it is the introduction of minimum-wage legislation in some OECD countries – rather than increasing engagement in education and training – which has helped to narrow the wage gap for lower-income women workers (OECD 2011c). Archer and Francis (2007) have already suggested, in relation to schooling in Britain, that the focus on gender and educational achievement shifts attention from some of the more pronounced and persistent inequalities, particularly those based on social class and ethnicity. The statistical evidence presented in this book and available through the OECD seems to confirm that the moral panic over disaffected boys and excluded men ‘as a group’ (Archer and Francis 2007: 22) may be a diversion from some of the stark differences in educational participation rates and employment outcomes based on geography, age, occupational, and, as Steve Jordan and Lisa Trimble suggest in Chapter 6, migrant status. A third lesson about lifelong learning from the recent anti-capitalist demonstrations is that they draw attention to the possibilities for learning beyond formalized educational provision. They remind us that educational institutions and organized provision are not the only sites where learning takes place. Informal education and incidental learning – through social movements, engagement in political struggle and protest and through community action – is often tacit and unacknowledged. The prevailing conceptualization of educational ‘participation’ with its emphasis on professional control, individual achievement and instrumental aims (Crowther 2000) fails to acknowledge the interactive, social and open-ended nature of learning.

Gendered discourses and lifelong learning practice This is not to say that we should not be concerned about ensuring equal access to formally organized education, or about the impact of educational achievement on the life chances of people with low levels of prior educational attainment, who are long-term unemployed, who suffer discrimination or are isolated in their communities, among whom men are heavily represented. Successful experiences of educational participation can bring personal, social and economic



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benefits (Feinstein et al. 2003, 2008). It is therefore important for educators and policy makers to address why some boys and men steer away from education and how they might be encouraged to engage more enthusiastically. In Part II of this book authors have discussed some of the initiatives which have focused on boys and men in vulnerable groups – disengaged schoolboys, young men ‘at risk’ of offending or poor health, older men, unemployed men, or men from socio-economically disadvantaged backgrounds. Through their discussion, it is possible to discern some of the discourses on masculinity which may be drawn upon in provision for men. Below I discuss some of these discourses and the potential difficulties which may arise from them. I go on to advocate a critical approach to educational practice which interrogates our own assumptions, as well as those embedded in policy and funding initiatives designed to address men’s participation in various forms of lifelong learning. Epstein et al. (1998: 3–9) have critiqued the way that the debate around boys’ school achievement has been conducted in some industrialized nations, including those discussed in this book. They refer to a number of ‘significant different threads’ in the discourses of boys and schooling, which have been utilized in this debate. They reflect a range of theoretical and ideological perspectives on gender (as described in Chapter 2). They identify three of these threads – ‘poor boys’, ‘failing schools failing boys’ and ‘boys will be boys’ – and their theoretical underpinnings. They go on to describe the kinds of educational practices which arise from these sometimes tacit positions regarding the nature of boys and education. In relation to lifelong learning it is possible to discern similar, overlapping – and sometimes contradictory – discourses: of excluded men, instrumentalist men and real men which contain within them theoretically and ideologically influenced perspectives on the nature of men and masculinities. Excluded men Like the ‘poor boys’ discourse characterized by Epstein and her colleagues excluded men are conceptualized as victims of changing social circumstances in the course of which women, feminism and ‘feminization’ are sometimes said to have monopolized education, teaching, the curriculum – and educational resources. Drawing implicitly on biological and sex role theories, this perspective posits a range of solutions for lifelong learning practice including the redirection of resources to target men, the implementation of a masculinized and/or segregated curriculum, and the recruitment of male role models as mentors and teachers. As Rebecca O’Rourke has discussed here in relation to the UK, a good deal of the provision targeting excluded men has focused on fathering. Running through some of the work on fathers is an essentialized construction of fatherhood, with a discrete repertoire of roles, rather than a more fluid construction of parenthood which recognizes the diverse ways in which children may be parented, by men and by women, together or separately. In his discussion of

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New Zealand-based research, Jeffrey Gage suggests that there has been a tendency for research to be premised on a deficit discourse; in educational practice ‘role modelling’ the ‘good’ father is frequently advocated to address such deficits. Gage argues for the need for practice and research to incorporate considerations of class, race, ethnicities and sexuality as well as gender. O’Rourke, however, does identify examples of practice focused on fathers which challenges biological essentialism, emphasizing the social and cultural configurations of family relations which produce gendered differences around parenting. This suggests the utility of critical analysis and reflection preceding and accompanying the implementation of parenting initiatives aimed at men. Another form of educational practice targeted at excluded men is therapeutic. Here, men are constructed as damaged, vulnerable and ‘at risk’. Initiatives of this nature tend to focus on health and particularly mental health. Educational activity (be it arts-, group- or activity-based) is seen as a means of taking men ‘out of themselves’, diverting them from their problems and giving them a sense of purpose. While it may be the case that men experiencing long-term unemployment and social isolation are at increased risk from activities harmful to themselves and of anti-social behaviour, therapeutic practice solutions may focus on the individual-as-victim, rather than on the source of the upheaval – economic restructuring, de-industrialization, cutbacks in welfare provision and the fragmentation and impoverishment of communities. Such initiatives may be expected to remedy complex and deeply embedded historical, social, economic, cultural and personal disadvantage. They may indeed attract and assist some men; however, they may increasingly alienate others, as well as leaving untroubled the complexities of unequal economic and power relations. As the ‘We are the 99 percent’ protests demonstrate, men and women, in similar as well as different ways, are unprotected in the face of neoliberalinspired policies and corrupt practices. This suggests that it is important for practitioners to consider the wider social, economic and political contexts in which individual alienation and isolation may arise. Instrumental men A discourse of instrumentalism focused on vocational training and education for employment is one which has come to dominate practice and is discussed in O’Rourke’s, Golding’s, and Findsen and McEwen’s chapters. Working-class men, young people with few qualifications and older men have all been particularly vulnerable to the long-term unemployment which has arisen from industrial restructuring, the globalization of production processes and attacks on trade union organization and workers’ rights and protections. In industrialized countries where unemployment rates are rising, unemployed men – and women – are expected to pass through a revolving door of training schemes, work readiness programmes and qualification accumulation in order to retain unemployment benefits. Constant up-skilling has become a social



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requirement, and men, particularly young men, are a prime target for vocational training schemes. In the UK for example, the term NEET (Not in Education, Employment or Training) has become a means by which certain young people, aged 16 to 25 and in a variety of circumstances and situations, are grouped, labelled as problematic and targeted for intervention (Yates and Payne 2006). Any resistance to compulsion constructs non-participants as responsible for their own failure to find work or become involved in training (Coffield 1999, 2000). The instrumental men discourse puts the onus on men to recapture their lost, reduced or unrealized status as prime earner whilst skating over economic policies and crises which have led to increased unemployment. Furthermore, the neoliberal construction of lifelong learning, which emphasizes human capital development and that individuals should fund their own education, limits the perceived value of non-vocational educational engagement. At the same time, it puts it out of the financial reach of many, helping to reconstruct men’s orientation as primarily vocational. Robert Tobias’s discussion of the history of men’s involvement in non-vocational forms of education – through the Workers’ Educational Association, Mechanics’ Institutes and university continuing education departments – undermines the view that their educational orientation is, in some preordained way, unswervingly vocational. We suggest that men’s ‘inclination’ toward vocational training has more to do with what is expected of and available to them than any particular biological or psychological need. As Findsen and McEwen and Golding reveal, when men (by virtue of age, changed circumstances or the availability of alternative community-based learning opportunities) are able to take up non-vocational options, they are quite likely to do so; men’s orientations to education are by no means fixed or monolithic. This draws our attention to the need for practitioners critically to question their own, and their organizations’ assumptions about the perceived instrumentalism of men and the ideology which underlies the policy priority on training for work. Real men The real men discourse, like that of ‘boys will be boys’, tends to focus on physical and action-oriented forms of learning as an outlet for what are seen as men’s practical or aggressive natures. Again, this discourse has its origins in biological explanations of differences between men and women. It is reflected in educational provision based on outdoor or other ‘hands-on’ activities perceived as being male-oriented, and often linked with boxing, football and rugby clubs, motor sports and mechanics, and military-style training. It is particularly popular in provision for young educationally ‘disaffected’ men, and boys who are disengaged from schooling or deemed to be at risk of offending. It reaffirms ‘hard’ and heterosexual stereotypes while paradoxically claiming to control and channel negative or aggressive behaviour, thereby simultaneously condoning and condemning a particular construction of masculinity.

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Education practitioners may be tempted to see this as helpful, since it informs an approach which captures males’ interest in educational activities. However, if its pedagogy is limited to reinforcing stereotypes of ‘hard’ masculinities, its potential to challenge gender-based assumptions remains unrealized and, more seriously, it may exclude or isolate those who do not fit with these assumptions. In relation to schooling, Graeme Ferguson, in his discussion of single-sex classes, underlines the importance of educators reflecting critically on how their own practices are shaped by wider discourses of masculinity and how these discourses impact on the subjectivities of their pupils. If teachers, classroom practices and school policies are to avoid reinforcing gender stereotypes then all involved need to consider how their own attitudes are influenced by discourses of gender. Similarly, in relation to older adults, there is ongoing debate (reflected in the content of this book) around whether the ‘men’s sheds movement’ tends towards a men’s men discourse in its emphasis on ‘hands-on’ pursuits which promote the image of the practical, physically strong and silent ‘man alone’. In countries with a colonial past, as Tobias suggests in Chapter 5, this discourse draws on the settler and frontier experiences of men in the nineteenth century. It may promote a number of assumptions around learning and education. First, that working men could not or should not engage in institutional forms of education; second, that intellectual and artistic pursuits are the preserve of a bourgeois elite; third, that the only worthwhile forms of education and training are those associated with the labour market. Thus, while on the one hand the man’s man discourse (for example in relation to men’s sheds) may stand in opposition to an exclusively vocationalist view of men’s education and learning, it may also be reinforcing a narrow, instrumentalist perspective. Again, the need for a critical and historically contextualized examination of approaches to practice is manifestly signalled. So also is a considered analysis of the value of other forms of lifelong learning – for example through Universities of the Third Age (U3A), Workers’ Educational Associations (WEA) and community-based adult education – and the ways in which they address the aspirations of working class, rural, older and unemployed men and women. Some questions for practice Educators currently work in a policy environment driven by regimes of accountability, prescription, instrumentalism and social control. In adult education in particular, practice initiatives based on short-term funding with top-down, imposed aims and outcomes are dictated by policy priorities, rather than being built on dialogue between educator and learner. Within this environment and amidst competition for resources, ‘quick-fix’ solutions are difficult to avoid. But as educators we need to reflect critically on our own assumptions critically, and those implicit in policy and funding, exploring the possibilities for emancipatory practice.



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Below we suggest a number of questions which those involved in lifelong learning practice might ask about their practice and what underpins it: ••

••

••

••

What are my own assumptions and beliefs about the attributes, predispositions, abilities and achievements of the men and women with whom I work as colleagues and how they intersect with other structural and historical forces including class, ethnicity, sexuality, age and experiences of migration and colonization? What evidence supports these assumptions and beliefs? Are they based on my own common-sense understanding, on my employing agency’s perspective or on historical and empirical evidence? What is the historical, economic, political and cultural context within which my practice as an educator is situated? To what extent and in what ways does it limit what learners are able to do or aspire to? What room to manoeuvre do I have as a practitioner to consult with and engage as equals with learners about the programme or curriculum, to engage in dialogue in the learning process? What are the transformative possibilities beyond the stated policy aims of any given piece of practice? And how can these possibilities be achieved? What are the ideological underpinnings of any particular policy or funding stream for educational practice? To what extent do they reinforce, exacerbate or seek to combat structural inequalities based on gender, social class, ethnicity, sexuality, age, migrant or refugee status and the negative effects of colonization? What scope is there for me/us to challenge inequalities through my/our own practice? In targeting specific groups or individuals, who is potentially excluded and why? How can practice targeted at specific groups of men or women still ensure that it challenges gender-based stereotypes?

Issues for research in gender, masculinities and lifelong learning In the course of writing this book we have been conscious of the dearth of recent research into gender, masculinities and lifelong learning, particularly research which goes beyond statistical analyses of participation rates or evaluations of specific pieces of funded practice. This section discusses why this may be the case and indicates some of the gaps which might be filled by research exploring the specificity of men’s and women’s everyday learning experiences in their social, political and historical contexts, and in the context of globalization. Diversifying research approaches There are a number of possible reasons for the relative scarcity of recent research in this field. First, as we have found, contesting widely held ‘common-sense’ assumptions about males and females and their learning can give rise to scepticism, misunderstanding and heated debate. It involves surfacing issues of gender and

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power; it requires that feminist and anti-feminist ideologies and discourses be engaged with and argued out. Second, the general decline in adult and communitybased education in recent years may have diminished research capacity. The closure of university continuing education departments, in the UK, New Zealand and elsewhere (Bowl 2010) has resulted in the loss of traditional centres of research and scholarship in the field of adult and informal education and it has not been easy to sustain such work in university education departments, whose focus is principally on schooling. Moreover, the scope of research in this area may be limited by the growth in influence of neoliberal ideology upon educational research more generally (O’Connor 2007; Roberts and Peters 2008). The impact of this has been that research for the broader public interest has been sacrificed in favour of a more competitive research climate with a narrower definition of utility and an emphasis on what can be measured for policy or corporate purposes. After a period during the 1980s and 1990s when non-positivist research approaches became more accepted in academic circles (Dressman 2008), the past two decades have seen a reassertion of the dominance of empiricism. Empiricism (Chambers 1992; Van Fraassen 2002) emphasizes quantifiable data, evidence directly observable by the researcher, straightforward causal explanation and generalization of findings across educational settings. Thus, in lifelong learning research, statistical analyses of who participates and who is ‘missing’ from educational participation, of who is achieving or ‘under-achieving’ at school have tended to predominate. Identifying missing groups may be a starting point for analysing educational needs and promoting specific forms of provision, but it leaves unsurfaced the experiences of those who are most marginalized (for example migrants and indigenous people) and, as has been demonstrated in this book and elsewhere, it skates over the complex and contingent nature of educational participation. In calling for more research in the field of gender, masculinities and lifelong learning we advocate that it addresses the specificity of men’s and women’s learning experiences in the context of their histories and of power relations, including those based on gender (Smith 1988; Gitling 1994; Griffiths 1998). We reassert the value of small-scale, in-depth, qualitative and longitudinal studies (as Gage suggests in Chapter 9) which explore the learning experiences of people located in different social, economic and geographical contexts. We would further suggest that another fruitful area for future inquiry is research which critically analyses the impact of institutional practice around gender and learning (as described by Ferguson in Chapter 8). The assumptions about the socially constructed nature of genders and masculinities that inform the writing of this book should also inform research in the wider field. Learning from researching history Throughout this book we have stressed the importance of understanding history and how contemporary discourses of gender and masculinities have arisen, have



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been shaped by educational practice and in turn have shaped it. As we have discussed in this chapter (in relation to the Rugby World Cup), gendered constructions which have their antecedents in previous historical conjunctures may persist in the popular imagination and be manifested in current understanding and attitudes. Brendan Hokowhitu and Robert Tobias demonstrate the value of historical research through their chapters focusing on the different experiences of Maori and Pakeha in New Zealand’s colonial past. They demonstrate how some men have been variously constituted to preclude or exclude them from particular forms of education. Research in the history of education has a role to play in uncovering the link between past and present (McCulloch 2011). It may also be used to surface gendered experiences of education which have previously been rendered invisible by the tendency to regard men’s experiences as normative. Finally, as Hokowhitu suggests, it enables us, through understanding how our past impacts on our present relations and dispositions, to begin to reclaim our future (Freire 1972). Researching in a globalized context Chapter 1 noted the limited geographical scope of this book. Its main focus has been on a small number of Anglophone countries. In many parts of the globe stark gender disparities in education continue to disadvantage girls and women (Aikman and Unterhalter 2005). Further research is needed which explores the impact of global policy formulations on gender and lifelong learning in countries with different historical, cultural and political contexts, providing us with evidence and argument in the struggle against gender-based educational and social disadvantage worldwide. However, the impact of global inequalities can be seen and felt nearer home and should be researched within our own national borders too. We are reminded, in Jordan and Trimble’s chapter, of the negative impact of labour market globalization. Their description of migrants’ experiences illustrate how workers may be deskilled to the extent that they deny their own educational qualifications and experience and may ‘unlearn’ previous understandings of gender and identity in order to survive in a precarious employment market. More studies of this nature could uncover the impact of globalization on the educational and work experiences of men and women and expose the lived realities behind the rhetoric of the knowledge economy and human capital development.

Where do we go from here? Some challenges to policy Throughout this book we have noted the neoliberal turn in lifelong learning policy, away from a broadly based definition of education and learning and towards an instrumentalist, formalized and managerialist one. In the countries discussed, publicly provided education, particularly non-vocational adult education, has been in the front line of cutbacks made in the name of the recent economic

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crises. Women and men will feel the impact of these policies in different ways, depending on how they are positioned socially, economically and geographically. As practitioners we share a concern to influence policies which we feel limit how learning is conceptualized and who can access education. As workers, community members and learners, however, we often share a sense of powerlessness in the face of policies which have global reach and damaging effects. But education is by its nature political work, requiring political analysis and political action. One of our conclusions, in relation to policy, is that in arguing for resources to support educational provision, we should not do so on the basis of crude essentialized dichotomies – which pit men against women, boys against girls, or vocational training against non-vocational education. Such divisive and diver­ sionary strategies leave us squabbling over crumbs. Recognizing the ideological nature of policy discourses on gender and lifelong learning and critiquing the assumptions which underpin them are important prerequisites for arguing for policy change. It is important too, to recognize that formal education is but one site of struggle around gender and inequalities. As mentioned earlier in this chapter, movements for political and policy change are (at the end of 2011) springing up across the globe. Issues of education are central concerns of these movements. We therefore need to look beyond the boundaries of formal learning towards engagement in political struggles and protests and through community action. A valuable task which we can undertake towards effecting policy change is to identify and promote ‘learning in action’ (Foley 1999: 4) so that it can be put at the service of movements for equality and social justice (Crowther et al. 2005).

Conclusion We have tried to suggest through this book that educational practice needs to reflect the complexity of orientations to education and learning, rather than falling back on essentialized, ‘common-sense’ conceptions of gender differences which may reinforce stereotypes and shore up unequal power and economic relations. We have argued that educational initiatives based on gendered assumptions about boys’ and girls’ or men’s and women’s ways of engaging in education, learning and acquiring knowledge fail to take into account the differences between males and females in different social and economic circumstances, as well as the potential commonalities between males and females who share experiences of powerlessness and inequality. There are no simple solutions to the questions raised in this book; relations between gender and education are intertwined with those based on class, ethnicity, sexuality, age, location and other power differentials. Education is also a battleground for contesting ideological agendas, currently dominated by neoliberalism and capitalist economics. Our role as educators, academics and learners – male and female – should be to challenge, question, investigate and subject to critical evaluation our own and others’



Implications for practice, research and policy  173

common-sense assumptions, which when scrutinized may be seen to be unfounded and in the end counterproductive.

References Aikman, S. and Unterhalter, E. (2005) Beyond Access: transforming policy and practice for gender equality in education, Oxford: Oxfam. Archer, L. and Francis, B. (2007) Understanding Minority Ethnic Achievement, Abingdon: Routledge. Avis, J. (2007) Education, Policy and Social Justice: Learning and skills, London: Continuum. BBC (British Broadcasting Corporation) (2011) ‘Rugby World Cup to boost New Zealand by $1.2bn’. Online. Available HTTP: www.bbc.co.uk/news/business-14893361 (accessed 19 October 2011). Becker, G.S. (1975) Human Capital: a Theoretical and Empirical Analysis with special reference to Education, New York: Columbia University Press. Blackmore, J. (2006) ‘Unprotected Participation in Lifelong Learning and the Politics of Hope: a feminist reality check of discourses around flexibility, seamlessness and learner earners’, in C. Leathwood and B. Francis (eds) Gender and Lifelong Learning: Critical Feminist Engagements, Abingdon: Routledge. Bowl, M. (2010) ‘University Continuing Education in a Neoliberal Landscape’, International Journal of Lifelong Education 29(6): 723–738. Brown, S. and Macdonald, D. (2007) ‘Masculinities in Physical Recreation: the (re)production of masculinist discourses in vocational education’, Sport, Education and Society 13(1): 19–37. Chambers, A. (1992) Empiricist Research on Teaching: a philosophical and practical critique of its scientific pretensions, Norwell, MA: Kluwer Academic Publications. Coffield, F. (1999) ‘Breaking the Consensus: lifelong learning as social control’, British Educational Research Journal 25(4): 479–499. Coffield, F. (2000) Differing Visions of A Learning Society: Volume 1, Bristol: Policy Press. Crowther, J. (2000) ‘Participation in Adult and Community Education: a discourse of diminishing returns’, International Journal if Lifelong Education 19(6): 479–492. Crowther, J., Galloway, V. and Martin, I. (2005) Popular Education: engaging the academy, Leicester: NIACE. Dressman, M. (2008) Using Social Theory in Educational Research: A Practical Guide, London: Routledge. Duménil, G. and Lévy, D. (2011) The Crisis of Neoliberalism, Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Epstein, D., Elwood, J., Hey, V. and Maw, J. (1998) Failing Boys: Issues in Gender and Achievement, Buckingham: Open University Press. Feinstein, L., Budge, D., Vorhaus, J. and Duckworth, K. (2008) The Social and Personal Benefits of Learning, London: Centre for Research on the Wider Benefits of Learning. Feinstein, L., Hammond, C., Woods, L., Preston, J. and Bynner, J. (2003) The Contribution of Adult Learning to Health and Social Capital, London: Centre for Research on the Wider Benefits of Learning. Foley, G. (1999) Learning in Social Action: a contribution to understanding informal education, Leicester: NIACE. Freire, P. (1972) The Pedagogy of the Oppressed, Harmondsworth: Pengiuin.

174  Marion Bowl Gitlin, A. (1994) Power and Method, London: Routledge. Griffiths, M. (1998) Educational Research for Social Practice, Buckingham: Open University Press. Harvey, D. (2010) The Enigma of Capital: And the crises of capitalism, London: Profile Books. MasterCard Worldwide (2011) ‘Rugby World Cup 2011 to drive US$1.67 into global sports economy’: New MasterCard Research (press release, 13 September 2011). Online. Available HTTP: www.masterintelligence.com/RugbyWorldCup_pr.psj (accessed 20 October 2011). McCulloch, G. (2011) The Struggle for the History of Education, Abingdon: Routledge. O’Connor, A. (2007) Social Science for What? Philanthropy and the social question in a world turned rightside up, New York: Russell Sage Foundation. OECD (2011a) OECD Employment Outlook 2011, Paris: OECD Publications. Online. Available HTTP: http://dx.doi.org/10.1787/empl-outlook-2011-en (accessed 21 October 2011). OECD (2011b) OECD Family Database: ‘LMF1.5: Gender pay gaps for full-time workers and earnings differentials by educational attainment’. Online. Available HTTP: www.oecd.org/els/social/family/database (accessed 19 October 2011). OECD (2011c) OECD Gender Initiative. Gender Equality: Education – Employment – Entrepreneurship, Paris: OECD. Online. Available HTTP: www.state.gov/documents/ organization/171239.pdf (accessed 21 October 2011). Roberts, P. and Peters, M. (2008) Neoliberalism, Higher Education and Research, Rotterdam: Sense. Smith, D. (1988) The Everyday World as Problematic: a feminist sociology, Milton Keynes: Open University Press. Van Fraassen, B.C. (2002) The Empirical Stance, New Haven, CT: Yale University Press. Yates, S. and Payne, M. (2006) ‘Not so NEET? A critique of the use of “NEET” in setting targets for interventions with young people’, Journal of Youth Studies 9(3): 329–334.



Index 175

Index

accountability 17, 106, 168 accreditation 8, 139 ACE Aotearoa 3 achievement 3, 10, 14, 29, 42, 62, 66–7, 84, 97–8, 100, 104–6, 112, 117, 136, 140–2, 149, 151, 163–5, 169 Acker, S. 83 Active Dads 88 Adelaide 127 Adult and Community Education (ACE): see education Adult Literacy and Life Skills Survey (ALLS) 30–9, 136 Adults 6, 9, 11, 24, 29–30, 34, 37, 42, 47–8, 60–5, 79, 83, 89, 91, 119, 122–31, 134–9, 142–4, 147, 153, 155, 168, 170–1 Adults Learning 87 aetiological 54 Africa 75, 161, 163 age 4, 5, 6, 9, 10, 11, 19, 25–6, 30, 33–42, 63, 89, 92, 100, 105, 113–16, 124, 131, 134–43, 147–51, 155–6, 163, 164, 167–99, 172 Ageism 126, 129, 131, 136 agency 23, 55, 79, 124, 129–31 aggression 48, 63, 102, 112, 148, 167 agriculture 41, 51, 52, 61, 72, 76, 77 Ahmed, M. 7 Aikman, S. 171 Alcohol 89, 98, 116, 139 All Blacks 102, 161 America: Central 75; South 75, 161; North 48, 58, 61, 62; United States 3, 17, 30, 31, 66, 75, 97

Anglo-Boer War 68–8 Anglophone 10, 122, 126, 128, 171 Anglo-Saxon 66, 67 Anglo-Zulu War 67–8 anthropology 50 anti-colonialism 19, 20 anti-feminist 85 anti-hegemonic 15 anti-intellectualism 69, 162 anti-patriarchy 83 anti-racism 19, 20 anti-social behaviour 84, 97–8, 166 Antonovsky, A. 127 Aotearoa New Zealand 3, 9, 10, 58, 104 Apple, M. 17 apprenticeships 31, 60, 117, 151 Arab Spring 163 Archer, L. 3, 29, 147, 148, 149, 155, 164 archetype 52 aristocracy 59, 66 artisans 63 Asia 75, 161 assertiveness 48 assimilation 51, 52, 63, 69 ‘at risk’ 110–20, 165–7 attachment 18, 114, 115 attainment 14, 17, 18, 29, 30, 106, 164 Australia 3, 10, 11, 58–61, 68, 75, 97, 122–32, 134–44 Australasian Bureau of Statistics (ABS) 135–7 Australian Core Skills Framework (ACSF) 139, 140, 142 Australian Council for Adult Literacy (ACAL) 136

176 Index Australian Men’s Sheds Association (AMSA) 123, 125, 127, 130 Avis, J. 163 backlash 18, 90, 99 Baden-Powell 68 Ball, S. 15 Bannister, M. 59, 65 Barash, D. 16 Barrington, J. M. 51, 52 Barry, M. 123 Batnikzky, E. et al. 75 Batsleer, J. 89 Beasley, C. 22, 23 Becker, G. S. 163 Beck, U. 17 Benn, R. 90 Bernardes, J. 89 Bhabha, H. 53, 75 bible 60, 62 Biddulph, S. 3, 18, 22, 97, 100 biographical 73, 79, 149, 150 biological 15–17, 19, 21, 24, 54, 66, 69, 79, 98, 165, 167; essentialism 19, 88, 166; father 113, 115, 116 biopolitical 50–1, 54 biopower 49–50 Bird, W. 51, 52 Blackmore, J. 148, 164 blokes 51, 100–2, 123, 128, 142, 162 Bloom, L. R. 107 Blue Room 89 Bly, R. 22 Boulton-Lewis, G. 147 Bourdieu, P. 54, 86 Bourgeois 61–4, 66, 69; elite 168; masculinities 62–4, 68 Bowles, S. 20 Bowl, M. 11, 73, 173 boys 3, 10, 18, 22–4, 51–3, 60, 62, 64–6, 67, 68, 69, 83–5, 97–106, 135, 148, 155, 162, 164–7, 172; ‘boys will be boys’ 165; educational achievement 3, 29, 97, 100, 102, 105, 140, 165; ‘failing boys’ 3, 10, 16, 18, 97, 165; boys-only classes 87–9, 92, 97–107 ‘poor boys’ 165 Boy Scout movement 68 Bradford, K. 112, 113 Brady, E. M. 155 Brand New Zealand 161

Braudy, L. 67 breadwinner 112, 148 Britain/British 48, 51, 58–68, 156, 164 British Columbia 55 British Empire 59–68 Britzman, D. 104 Brod, H. 86 Brookfield, S. 7, 14 Brown, S. 161 Bryan, V. C. 156 building workers 41, 52 Bundgaard, A. 66 Burke, P. 6 Burman, E.18 Burton, R. 90 Bury, M. 149 Butler, J. 102, 103 Butterfield, Reverend 51 Cabrera, N. J. et al. 112 Cain, P. 59, 60 Cameron, E. 89 Cameron, M. 148, 155 Camus, A. 55 Canada 9, 10, 29–31, 36, 42, 58, 60, 61, 68, 72–80, 163 Canadian Anti-Terrorism Act 76 capacity 68, 80, 103, 112, 116, 147, 148, 170 Cape Colony 60 capital 17, 20, 60, 72, 76, 78; commercial 59; educational 53; finance 59, 136; forms of 11, 147; human 6, 11, 17, 147–8, 150, 153–6, 163, 167, 171; identity 11, 147, 150–6; industrial 60; mental 122, 134; physical 52; social 11, 147, 150–6 capitalism 15, 20, 59–63, 72–6, 79, 163, 172; gentlemanly 59–61, 68; global 20 Caribbean 75 caring 19, 112, 118, 119, 148 carpenters 51, 53 Carrigan, T. 21 Carr, M. 87, 88 Cartesian Dualism 50 Chambers, A. 170 Change Course – Careers Guidance for Men 87 Chaplin, D. 85

Chappell, C. et al. 91 Chartism 63, 64 Chen, L. et al. 148 Children North East 89 chivalry 59 Chodorow, N. 18 choice 17, 19, 55, 80, 112, 148, 149 Choudry, A. A. 76, 88 Christchurch, New Zealand 62, 114 Christie, H. et al. 156 churches 60, 63, 64, 130, 141 citizen 6, 54, 76, 82, 134, 143 civil society 3 Clare, A. 48 class (social) 4–6, 11, 15, 17, 19, 20, 21, 22, 24, 26, 29, 36, 48, 52–3, 58, 60–9, 73, 75, 77, 83, 84, 86, 90, 91, 92, 98, 107, 125, 148, 149, 152, 155, 164, 166, 168, 169, 172 Clatterbaugh, K. 86, 124 cleaners 41, 47 Cleary, P. 148, 155, 156 clerical workers 41 Coffield, F. 6, 163, 167 Cohen, M. 60 Coleman, D. 74 Coles, T. 86 colonial 22, 47–55, 58–69, 162, 168, 171; dependency 60–1; taxonomy 47 colonialism 9, 19, 20, 21, 59; anti- 19–20 colonization 5, 8, 15, 24, 47–51, 54–5, 61, 73, 169 commodification 20, 76, 78, 91, 162 common sense 14–15, 98, 162, 169, 172–3 Commonwealth 50, 126 communication 15, 30, 136, 139–42, 153 communities 10, 11, 21, 52, 53, 60, 63, 66, 82, 122–32, 134–44, 162, 164, 166, 172 community activism 7, 8, 86, 87, 129, 164 community-based education 4, 10, 170 community education 7, 8, 86, 87, 129 Community Education Development Centre 88 community groups 8 communities of practice 123, 126, 128, 130, 140, 144

Index 177 community organizations 11, 91, 123, 126, 131, 134–44 competition 6, 66, 67, 90, 101, 106, 108 competitiveness 19, 66, 67, 69, 102, 103, 106, 112, 140, 162, 170 Connected Communities 82 Connell, R. 19, 22–5, 59, 85, 97, 112, 124 Connolly, P. 98 consciousness 14, 15, 54, 55, 63, 85 conservatism 16–17, 100; moral 17 conservative modernization 17 conservative perspectives 16–17, 100 constant comparison 114 construction: discursive 101; fatherhood 114, 165; gender 79, 92, 101, 102, 161, 162, 171; identity 148; knowledge 128; lifelong learning 167; masculinity 9, 23, 62, 66, 67, 73, 74, 101, 102, 104, 148, 161, 167; Maori men 48–54; social 24; migrant workers 73; subjectivity 22 contexts, learning 5–10, 79, 84, 132–5, 139–42, 161, 166, 169–71 ContinYou 88–9 Coombes, P. H. 7 Cooper, J. et al. 122, 134, 135, 142 Corbin, J. 114 Cornwall, A. 25 corporeal 49, 52, 54, 55 Corrigan, P. 73 counter-hegemony 15, 63, 79, 86, 112 Courtenay, B. 101 Crawford, D. 140 credentials 7, 8, 17–18, 31 crime 89 criminal justice 82 crisis in fatherhood 112 crisis of masculinity 3, 10, 15, 18, 48, 82, 83–4, 91–2, 97 critical theories: 16, 20–3; critical decolonial theory 48; critical educational gerontology 149; critical engagement 4; critical interpretive field 78; critical pedagogy 7, 11; critical stance 15, 16, 20, 90, 91, 106, 107, 161, 162, 165, 166, 167, 168–9, 170, 171–3; critical studies of gender 16, 20, 22, 25, 83, 92, 111, 120, 123, 137, 148

178 Index Crooks, T. 104 Crowther, J. et al. 4, 7, 164, 172 culture 6, 13, 14, 17, 21, 23, 25, 26, 47, 48, 50, 51, 52, 53, 65, 66, 67, 73, 83, 86, 98, 99, 104, 106, 118, 128, 150, 152, 155; indigenous 47, 48, 52, 53 Cunliffe, A. 86 curriculum 7, 8, 18, 19, 51, 52, 53, 68, 69, 73, 91, 97, 98, 101, 104, 105, 106, 129, 130, 162, 165, 169 Dakin, J. C. 64 Dalley-Trim, L. 148, 155 Daly, K. 118 Datta, K. et al. 74 Daunton, M. J. 60 Dave, R. H. 6 David, B. 89 decolonization 21, 48 deconstruction 22, 23 deficit paradigm 111, 119 Delors, J. 6 Denoon, D. 59 Department of Health 89 Department for Work and Pensions 82 dependency 60, 61, 78 depression, economic 53, 127, 130, 163 deregulation 72, 76 Deslandes, P. R. 66, 67 Developing Men Friendly Organisations 88, 89 developmental histories 113 deviance 47, 53, 54 Dey, I. 114 dialectic 48, 54, 55, 106 Dienhart, A. 118 Diez, K. S. 119 dis/ability 22, 25, 86, 114, 130, 131, 138, 149, 154, 155 disadvantage 3, 4, 8, 18, 91, 98, 114, 118, 126, 135, 136, 165, 166, 171 discipline 50, 54, 85, 115 discontinuity 50 discourse 3–11, 14–25, 48–51, 58–69, 73–4, 76, 79, 83–4, 86, 91–2, 98–107, 111–12, 119–20, 122, 124, 137, 161–72 discrimination 23, 164

discursive: formation 48–50, 55, 73; learning environment 102; performativity 103; positioning 98, 105, 107; practices 48–50, 99, 101; versions of masculinity 102 disenfranchised 48, 53, 149 disengagement 10, 102, 126, 165, 167 dislocation 74, 78 DIUS 7, 8, 156 Doherty, W. J. et al. 113 Dolan, J. 51 Dollahite, D. 111, 112, 117 domesticity 63, 66 domestic workers 64, 72, 80 Donald, J. 73 Donnybrook, 127 Douglas, P. 99 Draper, J. 113 Dressman, M. 170 drugs 89, 98, 116 Duay, D. L. 156 Dudnick, S. 67 Duménil, G. 163 Dunning, E. 67 Durham, M. 17 Durie, M. 53 dysfunctional 47, 53 ‘Early Start’ 10, 114 economic conditions 6, 120 economic disadvantage 114 economic downturn 142 economic instrumentalism 7 economy 3, 6, 9, 17, 53, 59, 68, 72, 74, 75, 83, 84, 86, 91, 134, 138, 142, 147, 161–3, 171, 172 education: adult 3, 4, 7, 24, 28, 29, 30, 47, 48, 63, 65, 79, 83, 123, 126, 128, 131, 134, 136, 137, 168; adult and community education (ACE) 3, 4, 7, 8, 10, 29, 82–92, 123, 125, 131, 134–143; boys/men and 3, 4, 9, 11, 24, 29, 30, 31, 32, 29–42, 52, 60–6, 82–8, 92, 97–107, 123, 126, 128, 131, 135, 138, 140, 147–56, 165–71; class and 5, 8, 19, 21, 29, 60, 62, 68; colonialism and 47, 60–4; conservative and neoliberal perspectives 16–18; credentialized 8, 17, 18, 31; definition of 4–8; feminism and 8, 4, 21; formal 7–8,

31–40, 58, 60, 62, 63, 65, 67, 87, 92, 114, 136, 144, 149, 164, 172; gender and 3–5, 6, 9, 10, 11, 14–24, 29–42, 60, 63, 84, 92, 97, 137, 164, 171, 172; girls/women and 18, 29, 64, 69, 84, 91, 92, 97, 98, 104, 105, 106, 126, 148, 171, 172; higher 42, 51, 68, 84, 147, 148, 150, 153, 154, 164; inequality and 9, 16, 17, 19, 20, 21, 24, 49, 60, 62, 63, 83, 164; informal 7–8, 31, 58, 60, 62, 63, 87, 146; Maori and 48–55; masculine/feminine dichotomy in 4, 17, 18, 172; masculinity/ masculinities and 3, 8, 9, 11, 14, 15, 18, 24, 48–9, 55, 62, 66, 68, 82–8, 89, 97, 148, 17; neoliberalism and 17–19, 91, 106, 170–2; non-formal 4, 7, 8, 31–40, 58, 60, 63, 64; non-vocational 86, 136, 137, 149, 167, 171, 172; physical 51–3; policy 7, 11, 16, 17, 73, 76, 82, 85, 91, 106, 142, 165, 169; popular 7, 63–4; post-compulsory 6, 29, 86, 91, 150, 155, 156; psychoanalysis and 16, 18–19; racism and 51–2; secondchance 126; socialism and 20, 63; socialization and 19; tertiary 7, 37, 149, 156, 164; therapeutic 166; vocational 11, 18, 86, 138, 142, 143, 144, 167, 171; web-based 8 educational: aspiration 4, 84, 92, 168; attainment 14, 29–30, 106, 164; disadvantage 3, 4, 8, 18, 98, 126, 171; engagement 4, 9, 40, 77, 82, 147–56, 164, 167; expectations 19, 106; gerontology 149; opportunities 3, 4, 7, 11, 17, 19, 42, 52, 61, 62, 65, 83, 107, 115, 126, 135, 136, 139, 143, 149, 150, 153, 156, 167; participation 3, 4, 9, 10, 14, 29–43, 63, 82, 84, 91, 98, 104, 123, 125, 126, 134, 137, 138, 141, 148, 149, 152, 153, 154, 155, 164, 165, 170; provision 3, 4, 11, 24, 64, 82, 84–90, 92, 136–7, 164, 165, 167, 170, 172; pursuit 18; testing techniques 30 Education Review Office (ERO) 100, 107 Educational Testing Service 30 Edwards, A. 100

Index 179 Edwards, T. 52–3 ‘effeminacy’ 65 ego 18 Egypt 72 Ellinghaus, K. et al. 59 emancipatory practice 168 embodiment 74, 102, 103, 140 emergency services 135–143 emotional: absence 115; closeness 112; dependence 18; distance 111; experiences 74; expression 112; growth 112; maturity 48; needs 124; support 77 empirical data 111, 125, 126, 136 empiricism 170 employment 9, 19, 38, 39, 52, 53, 65, 75–9, 83–4, 87, 136, 142, 147–8, 150–3, 154–5, 164, 167, 171 employment status 9, 38–40, 52, 53, 74, 77, 86, 87, 92, 114, 141–4, 149, 150–2, 163–6, 168 empowerment 47, 131 enlightened rationalism 50 epistemological 49, 128 Engels, F. 15 England 65, 66, 68, 87, 89, 123 enlightened rationalism 50 entrepreneurial ideologies 58, 63, 68 Epstein, D. et al. 3, 18, 29, 83, 84, 98, 165 essentialism 4, 10, 19, 21, 88, 90, 92, 100, 104, 112, 119, 126, 130, 131, 165, 166, 172 ethnicity 4, 5, 6, 15, 19, 20, 22, 24, 25, 29, 73, 84, 98, 107, 148, 149, 155, 164, 169, 172 Euro/American masculinity 59 Europe 50, 51, 52, 53, 55, 162 European Union 6, 75 evaluative judgement 5 Evangelicalism 63, 64, 66, 68 Everett, K. D. et al. 112 Every Dad Matters 88 excluded men 29, 83, 164–6, 171 exclusion 4, 134, 135, 136, 138, 142 existentialism 54–5 exploitation 25, 59, 72, 78, 124 ‘Failing boys’ 3, 18, 165 Fairclough, N. 102 Faludi, S. 3, 15, 18 Families Need Fathers 85

180 Index Family: bourgeois 60, 62; and deindustrialization 84; and education 21, 89, 125, 151; expectations 19; experiences 131; experts 118; extended 53; forms 17; health outcomes 114, 119, 120; and inequality 21; and learning 60, 88, 111, 123; life 84, 113; Maori 53; men and 3, 48, 85, 87–9, 111–120, 125, 131, 138, 143, 155; of migrants 75, 77, 78; networks 77; nuclear 16, 63; of origin 113; relations 88, 113, 120, 166; role of 21; and socialization 19, 21, 166; values 17; wider 85; workers 88 Family Policy Fund 87 Family Support Workers 114, 118 fatherhood 111–20 Fatherhood Institute 85 fathers 10, 85–8, 111–120, 123, 124, 165, 166 Fathers Direct 85 Fathers 4 Justice 85 Fathers’ Rights 123 Faure, E. 6 Feinstein, D. et al. 126, 165 FEFC (Further Education Funding Council) 86 female(s) 4, 18, 19, 24, 25, 36, 37, 41, 42, 61, 62, 66, 77, 84, 97, 101, 125, 126, 131, 164, 169, 172 femininity 15, 16, 17, 19, 23, 26, 85, 104, 105 feminism/feminist 4, 10, 19, 20, 21–3, 25, 82, 83, 130; analysis 21; anti- 4, 17, 6, 85, 170; backlash 90; black 21; consciousness 85; discourse 21, 170; and education 4, 92; and gender 21, 25; indigenous, 21; liberal 18; and men’s participation in education 82, 83; perspective 18, 20; poststructuralist 16, 22, 23; practice 130; radical 21, 83; researchers 102; socialist 21; theories 21, 130, 148 feminization 4, 18, 24, 66, 75, 98, 125, 138, 165 Ferguson, G. 10, 65, 102, 162, 168, 170 Fergusson, D. M. 104 fetishized 54 feudalism 59, 68 Field, J. 6, 142, 143

Filipino 77–8 financial crisis 53, 82, 163 Findsen, B. 11, 147, 149, 150, 166, 167 Firestone, S. 21 Fisher, J. 156 Flax, J. 22 Fletcher, T. 52 Flexible New Deal 82 Florsheim, P. 113 Foley, G. 4, 7, 10, 15, 73, 79, 80, 172 football 67, 130, 167 forestry workers 41, 52 formal education 6–8, 31–6, 39, 40, 58, 60, 62, 63, 65, 67, 92, 114, 129, 134, 135, 136, 149, 154, 164, 172 Foucault, M. 15, 48, 49–50, 53, 54, 55, 98, 99, 100, 106 Foxton, D. 86 franchise 61 Francis, B. 3, 6, 16, 17, 18, 20, 29, 84, 98, 101, 102, 104, 149, 153, 164 Freire, P. 7, 8, 171 Fremantle 127 Freud, S. 18 Friedli, L. 123 friendly societies 64 frontier 58–69, 168 frontiersman 162 Furstenberg, F. F. 115, 119 Fuss, D. 4 Gage, J. 10, 111, 114, 166, 170 gay 89, 140, 154 gender: communities 126; construction 79, 98, 101, 102, 171; differences 14, 19, 20, 21, 24, 29, 32, 40, 41, 42, 63, 89, 90, 97, 99, 128, 135, 147, 166, 172; divisions 41, 69; equality 18, 41; gap 3, 4, 8, 32, 164, 171; identities 15, 18, 19, 24, 75, 91, 98, 104, 171; inequalities 4, 18, 20, 21, 24, 89, 92, 169, 172; neutral 91, 137; order 59, 62, 63, 66, 67; politics 10, 16, 25, 82, 83, 85, 91; practices 106, 131; processes 24; relations 9, 10, 20, 21, 25, 59, 61, 73, 78, 82, 84, 90, 92, 101, 170, 172; roles 92, 112; segregation 97; social construction 9, 14, 15; stereotyping 19, 106, 168, 169; studies 85; work 85, 90

gendered discourses 8–11, 14–26, 58–9, 61, 102, 107, 122, 162, 164–8, 170, 172 gendered education 19, 60, 92, 122, 149, 171, 172 gendered health inequality 89, 163 genealogy/genealogical method 48–55 generative paradigm 111–12 ‘gentlemanly capitalism’ 59–61 gentry masculinities 58–62, 68 German 55, 67 gerontology 149 Gerson, K. 117 Gibb, S. J. 104 Gilding, M. 59 Gillis, J. R. 112–3 Gintis, H. 20 girls 3, 18, 23, 29, 64, 69, 84, 85, 97, 98, 99, 103–6, 126, 148, 171, 172 Gisborne Maori Boarding School 51 Gitling, A. 170 Glendennig, F. 149 global capitalism 20, 58, 72, 73, 162 globalization 10, 72, 73, 75, 76, 77, 166, 169, 171 Goldberg, W. A. 112, 113 Golding, B. 4, 10, 11, 29, 123–131, 134–6, 138–141, 166, 167 Goldstein, J. 67 good dad/bad dad 115, 119 Gorard, S. et al. 29, 137 grammar schools 60 Gramsci, A. 7, 14, 15 Greaves, L. 112 Green, J. 21, 24 Griffiths, N. 170 group work 88, 89 guilds 60 Gulf States 72 habitu 86 Hageman, K. 67 hape 53 ‘hard’ masculinities 58, 63, 65–9, 161, 162, 168 Harrison, J. F. C. 63 Harvey, D. 17, 72, 76, 82, 163 Hatchell, H. 98 Hattie, J. 29, 104 Hawkins, A. J. 111–13, 117 Hayes, C. 135

Index 181 Hayes, D. 18 health 10, 48, 66, 76, 82, 85–9, 91–2, 101, 111–20, 122–31, 134–6, 142–3, 149–51, 154, 156, 163, 165, 166 Hearn, J. 86 Hegel, G. F. W. 54 hegemony 6, 14, 23, 59, 63, 74, 75, 79, 106, 125 hegemonic masculinity 11, 15, 23, 86, 101, 102, 105, 112, 148, 155, 156 Heiskanen, T. 137 heterogeneous 48, 49, 50, 54 heterosexual 63, 65, 167 higher education 42, 51, 68, 84, 147, 148, 150, 153, 154, 164 Hill Collins, P. 21 history 5, 6, 8, 9, 14, 21–2, 24, 25, 48–51, 54, 55, 58–69, 91, 125, 162, 167, 170, 171 historical: accounts 22; assumptions 19; circumstances 68; contexts 9, 10, 79, 169, 171; creations 24; disadvantage 166; evidence 169; factors 48; forces 8, 9, 169; inequalities 20, 166; processes 73, 75, 76; reach 85; research 171; societies 22; sources 4, 9; struggles 6, 14 Hoff Somers, C. 97 Hokowhitu, B. 24, 24, 162, 171 holistic 10, 73, 80 Home Office 87 homosexuality 86 Hondagneu-Soleto, P. 74 hooks, b 21 Hopkins, A. G. 59, 60 Hörschelmann, K. 19 Howson, R. 23 human capital 6, 11, 17, 136, 147–56, 163, 167, 171 humanism 22, 23 human nature 19, 20 hunger strikes 85 husbands 124 hyper-physical 47 ICT 30, 151 identity 15, 18, 19, 24, 49, 53, 55, 67, 73, 75, 77–9, 85–7, 90–2, 98–100, 102, 104, 112, 123, 131, 139, 140, 143, 155, 171 identity capital 11, 147, 150–6

182 Index ideology/ideologies 6, 8, 11, 14–26, 58–61, 68, 69, 73, 87, 137, 165, 167, 169, 172; anti-feminist 170; anti-intellectual 69; competing 14, 73; conservative 16; corporatist 68; individualistic 19, 58, 63, 68; Marxist 20; of masculinity 58, 68; neoliberal 17, 137, 170; separatist 83; socialist 20 Illich, I. 8 Immigrant and Refugee Protection Act 76 immigrant workers 9, 72–80 immigration 75, 76 imperialism 9, 51, 58–68 indigene 55 indigenous: body 50, 54, 55; communities 21; culture 47, 48, 74; existentialism 54–5; feminism 21; masculinity 48; organizations 130, 138, 141; ressentiment 55; peoples 9, 50, 55, 63, 73, 143, 170; politics 48; subversion 51 individualism 16, 9, 58, 63, 68, 82, 91, 106 indoctrination 51, 68 industrialization 4, 9, 29, 42, 58, 59, 62–5, 134–7, 147, 155, 163–6 inequality: class 21, 29, 164, 169; ethnicity 20; gender 3, 4, 20, 21, 25, 29, 42, 84, 88, 89, 92, 163, 164, 169, 171, 172; of opportunity 3; power 4, 16, 20, 21; socio-economic 17, 18, 20 informal education 7–8, 58, 60, 62, 63, 87, 146, 164, 170 informal learning 7, 8, 10, 31, 58, 62–5, 73, 77, 79, 82, 92, 115, 119, 122, 123, 127, 135, 140, 142, 143, 162 information technology (IT) 30, 75, 151, 152 innate 18, 23, 111 instrumental 6, 7, 52, 82, 87, 90, 164–8, 171 instrumentalism 7, 166–8 International Adult Literacy Survey (IALS) 30–2 International Labour Organization (ILO) 40, 80 International Standard Classification of Education (ISCED) 36 international surveys 29–43

interviews 10, 76, 77, 79, 99–102, 114, 117, 126, 128, 139, 142, 150, 152, 153; focus group 100, 102, 138 invisibility 21 Ireland 65, 122, 123, 127 Italy 31, 32, 36, 40, 75 itineracy 61, 65 iwi 50, 67 Jackson, C. 101, 105, 106 Jackson, S. 6 Jaffee, S. R. et al. 113 Jarvis, P. 147 Jeffreys, S. 83 Jeffs, T. 7, 8 Jha, J. 126, 140 Johnson, R. 73 Jordan, S. 6, 10, 164, 171 Julian, L. 86 Kaarsholm, P. 59 Kantian thesis 49 Karoski, S. 132, 124 Katz, L. 107 Kauffman, M. 86 Kehler, M. 98 Kelleher, F. 126, 140 Kelly, T. 63 Kennedy Report 86 Kim, Y. 155 Kimmel, M. S. 21, 24, 25 Kirkwood, T. 122 ‘Kiwi Bloke’ 51, 102, 162 Klein, U. 67 knowledge 6–8, 10, 14, 15, 48, 49, 52, 54, 55, 60, 83, 91, 97, 99, 100, 104, 105, 117, 128, 130, 131, 152, 153, 156, 172 knowledge economy 6, 163, 171 knowledge-power 15 Kunzel, K. 7 labour 16, 40, 41, 51, 52, 72, 75, 76, 78, 162; division of 21; force 30, 38, 142, 143; market 17, 38, 39, 63, 72, 76, 79, 80, 138, 142, 149, 168, 171 labourers 41, 52, 53, 64 Labour Government 106 Labour, New 82, 86 laddishness 101, 102, 105

Lamb, M. E. 111–13 Lamb, R. 155 language 15, 22, 23, 48, 64, 66, 99, 102, 104, 148, 152, 154 ‘larrikin’ 62 Lashlie, C. 3, 18, 22, 97 Laslett, P. 147 Lattimore, R. 136, 138 Lauder, H. 106 Lave, J. 123, 140 Law, R. 21 LCL (Learning Centre Link) 142 Learning 5–10; community 122–3, 135–144, 167; dispositions 99; formal 7–8, 58, 62, 63, 64, 123, 134, 154, 172; in action 10, 73, 79, 80, 172; incidental 6, 10, 65, 79, 164; informal 7, 8, 10, 31, 58, 60, 62–5, 73, 77, 79, 82, 92, 115, 119, 122, 123, 125, 127, 135, 140, 142, 143, 162; in reverse 10, 73, 77–9; lifelong 3–11, 14, 23, 24, 58, 59, 60, 62, 63, 64, 68, 82, 97, 107, 134, 142, 143, 147, 148, 156, 161–172; non-formal 7, 8, 58, 63, 64, 69, 79, 162; non-organized 10; observational 10, 114; relational 10, 111, 114, 117; self-directed 8; tacit 79; teacher facilitated 8; transformative 4, 91; unplanned 6; work-based 8, 79, 137, 148, 151 Learning and Skills Council (LSC) 89 Leathwood, C. 6 Lee, C. 111–12 Lengrand, P. 6 Lévy, D. 163 Lewis, C. 111–13 Lickert Scale 102 life course 10 lifelong learning see learning life trajectories 116 lifewide 134, 143 liminal 53 Lindisfarne, N. 25 Lingard, B. 18, 97, 98, 99 literacy 30, 88, 102, 104, 106, 135, 136, 138, 140, 142, 144 Littlewood, R. 134 lived experience 10, 55, 73, 76, 90 Live-in Care Giver Program (LCP) 76, 77, 78, 80 Livingstone, D. 7

Index 183 Lloyd, T. 84, 87–8, 90 local authorities 86 location 19, 42, 82, 122, 138, 141, 163, 172 lodges 60, 64 Lomsky-Feder, E. 74 Luff, D. 17 Lukes, S. 19 McAloon, J. 60, 61 Mac an Ghaill, M. 22, 25, 86, 98 McBride, C. M. 116 McClintock, A. 59 McCulloch, G. 171 McCullough, S. 149, 150 McDevitt, P. F. 66 MacDonald, D. 161 McEwen, B. 11, 166, 167 McGivney, V. 3, 29, 83, 84, 88, 89, 90, 125, 126, 129, 134, 135, 136, 147, 148, 150, 155, 156 McKay, J. 21 McMichael, P. 61 McNair, S. 149, 150, 155 Mahood, D. 89–90 Male: attainment 18; attributes 18; behaviour 74, 98, 100; bodies 24, 48–55; colonial 66; community 66, 126; comradeship 58, 65, 66; ‘distant’ 18; dominance16, 74; educational opportunities 19; frontier 65; identity 87, 148; immigrant 74; ‘independent’ 18, 61, 65, 101, 156; learners 90, 91, 148; mentors 101; occupations 65; participants 37, 41, 42, 84, 125, 128, 137, 148; perspectives 21; physicality 9, 47–54, 58, 63–6, 68, 105, 115, 161, 162, 167, 168; power 92; provision 3, 4; psyche 19; role models 165; socialization 19; solidarity 63; students 11, 148–56; testosterone 98; underachievement 3, 84; under-representation 3, 84, 147; workers 41 Male Learners into Community Provision 89 managers 41, 91 ‘man alone’ 65–6, 168 managerialism 17, 63, 68, 171 Manchester 89 Mangan, J. A. 67

184 Index manhood 22, 61, 74, 112 Mansfield, H. C. 3 Maori: academics 47, 48; body 49–55; boys 51, 53; communities 52; culture 48; education 51, 53; iwi 67; leaders 53; life 47; masculinity 47–55; men 9, 47–55; physicality 50; schools 52; soldier 50; unemployment 53 Marcus, G. et al. 82 marginalization 4, 8, 25, 65, 73, 80, 111, 170 market 17, 38, 39, 63, 72, 76, 78, 79, 80, 129, 137, 138, 142, 149, 162, 168, 171 market gardening 51 Marks, A. 3 Marks, R. 89 Marmot, M. 131, 136 marriage 61, 62, 114 Marriot, D. 86 Marshall, P. J. 59 Marsiglio, W. et al. 112 Martino, W. 97, 98, 104 Marxist 15, 20, 53 Marx, K. 15, 21, 72 Masculinity (ies) 3–9, 14–26, 58–68, 72–6, 86, 92, 97–100, 111, 124, 129, 161–70; black 86; bourgeois 58, 62, 63, 68; dominant 23, 59, 101, 140; frontier 61–7; gentry 58–68; ‘hard’ 58, 63, 65–8, 161, 162, 168; hegemonic 15, 23, 101, 105, 155, 156; indigenous 47–55; Maori 47–55; marginal 23; military 67, 68; multiple 23, 25; 26; 84, 141; proletarian 64; settler 58–61; socially constructed 9, 24, 67, 148; sociology of 21; subordinate 23 masculinity in crisis 3, 10, 15, 18, 48, 82–4, 91–2, 97, 112 MasterCard Worldwide 161 materiality 48, 102 maternalism 118 ‘mateship’ 66 mathematics 43, 102, 104, 106 measurement 17 Mechanics’ Institutes 63, 64, 167 mechanization 66 Melbourne 126

Men: achievement 14, 36, 169; bourgeois 61; educational disadvantage 3, 98, 126; educational participation 3, 4–5, 9–10, 11, 29–43, 82–4, 89–91, 114, 123–30, 134–8, 142–3, 147, 148, 165; ‘excluded’ 29, 83, 142, 165–6; gay 89; heterosexual 63; images of 9, 58–69; immigrant 74–5; instrumental 165, 166–7 ; invisible 21; learning 10, 11, 25, 58–69, 83, 89–91, 113, 117–19, 124–130, 134–9, 143, 168; Maori 47–55; married 62; men-only 62, 125, 128, 129; men’s studies 20, 25; ‘missing’ 3, 84, 86, 137, 143; older 11, 122, 132, 135, 136, 139–41, 147–58, 166; Pakeha 51, 52, 58–69; parenthood 10, 110–20; power 20, 22, 25, 26, 92; ‘real’ 65, 155, 165, 167–8; socialization 19; unemployed 86, 122, 134–5, 137, 138, 142–4, 165, 166, 168; working class 69, 86, 90, 91, 125; young 62, 84, 88, 89–90, 113, 127, 140 Men Earn, Women Learn 89 Men’s Health Forum 89 men’s sheds 4, 10, 122–132, 135, 136, 140, 141, 143, 168 Men’s Shed Movement 4, 122, 123, 124, 168 men’s studies 20, 25 mental capital 122, 134 mental health 89, 123, 134, 156, 166 mentoring 8, 88, 101, 119, 127, 129, 143, 165 Mercer, K. 86 Merriam, S. B. 155 Messerschmidt, W. 23 Messner, M. A. 74, 86 metrocentric 127 metropole 60, 61 Mexico 72, 77 middle-class 17, 21, 48, 52, 53, 77, 148 Middle East 75, 163 migrants 9, 10, 72–9, 137, 164, 169, 170, 171 migration 9, 72, 74, 75, 169 militarism 65 militarization 58, 67–9 Millet, K. 20, 21

Milligan, C. 89 Mills, M. 18, 97, 98, 100, 101 mind-body 48 mining 65, 87 Ministry of Education 43, 105, 106 misogyny 83 missing men 3, 84, 86, 137, 143 missionary 60 modelling 19, 115, 166 modernity 54 Mohanty, C. T. 21 Monolithic 8, 9, 22, 23, 25, 26, 67, 85, 167 moral conservatism 17 moral panic 18, 83, 164 moral rearmament 17 Morgan, D. 86 Morrell, R. 60–2, 67 Morrison, I. 148, 155, 156 Mosse, G. L. 67 mothers 18, 83, 88, 111, 112, 118, 151 Mune, I . 47 Murray, J. 85 muscular Christianity 67, 68 muscularity 48 mutual improvement associations 63, 64 mythopoeic politics 100, 123 Näre, L. 75 Narushima, M. 147 Natal 60, 61, 62, 67 nationalism 58, 65, 67, 69, 152, 161 National Standards 106 National Vocational Qualifications (NVQ) 84 Native Schools 51, 52 neglect 115, 117, 119 NEET (Not in Employment, Education or Training) 167 NESS Research Team 83 Neville, C. 87, 90 ‘new chums’ 65 neo-colonialism 59 neo-conservative 17 neo-imperialism 59 neoliberal 9, 10, 16, 72–7, 91, 106, 137, 148, 163, 167, 170–1 neoliberalism 15, 17, 18, 72, 76, 78, 82, 84, 106, 162, 172 New Directions for Men 87 New Labour 82, 86

Index 185 new managerialism 17 New York 76, 163 New Zealand 3, 9, 10, 31, 32, 36, 40, 48, 51, 53, 58–68, 97–106, 110, 114, 122, 123, 161–2, 166, 170, 171 Ngu, L. 113 Nichols, T. 78 Nietzsche 49 nihilism 55 non-formal education 4, 7, 8, 30, 31–40, 58, 60, 63, 64 non-formal learning 7–8, 58, 63, 64, 65, 67, 69, 79, 162 non-participation 83, 125 normative 5, 47, 83, 171 norms 15, 19, 21, 74, 112 North American 48, 58, 61, 62 Northern College 86 Norway 31, 32, 36, 40 nurturing 18, 63, 111, 112, 119 Nye, R. A. 66, 67 Oakley, A. 15 observational and relational learning 10, 111, 114, 117, 119 O’Connor, A. 170 occupation 9, 30, 40, 41, 42, 52, 55, 63, 65, 151, 164 Occupy Wall Street 163 O’Connell, P. J. 30 OECD (Organization of Economic and Co-operative Development) 6, 9, 18, 29–30, 136, 163–4 Office for National Statistics (ONS) 89 ‘old chums’ 65 older men 10, 11, 24, 122, 123, 124, 125, 126, 127, 129, 131, 132, 134, 136, 138, 140–4, 147–56, 165, 166, 168 Ollagnier, E. 128–9, 130 Once Were Warriors 47–8 ontology 48, 54 Open University 149 oppression 20, 54, 80, 162 O’Rourke, R. 10, 165, 166 ‘other’ 48, 51, 54, 102, 105 Owens, R. G. 111, 112 Oxbridge 60, 67 Pakeha 9, 51–3, 64, 65, 68, 100, 107, 171

186 Index Palkovitz, R. 113, 116 Palm, G. F. 112, 113 Pan-indigenous movement 48 parenthood 10, 113, 116, 119, 165 parenting 10, 88, 91, 92, 111–20, 166 Parenting Fund 88 parents 52, 66, 78, 83, 85, 88, 98, 99, 100, 111, 113, 117 Parr, J. 15, 22 Participation in education by adults 3–4, 9–11, 14, 29–42, 63, 82–4, 86, 89–91, 123–30, 134–43, 148, 150, 154–6, 164, 165, 169, 170; age and 30, 33–6, 42, 143, 148; geography and 30, 42; labour market situation and 38–40, 142, 148, 151, 152; level of schooling and 30, 36–7, 42; occupation and 30, 40–2; urban/rural 37–8; class and 29, ethnicity and 29 patriarchy 20, 21, 59, 60, 74, 83, 86, 148 Payne, M. 167 pedagogy 10, 73, 79, 82, 83, 91, 92, 101, 104, 106, 126, 129, 130,131, 134, 137, 142, 143, 144, 168 peer relationships 105, 112, 156 perceptions of possibility 55 performativity 52, 103 Perkins, K. 136 permissive society 17 ‘personhood’ 19 Peters, M. 170 Philippines 72, 78 Phillips, J. 51, 61, 62, 65–77 Phillipson, C. 149 philosophy 11, 48, 63, 68 physical 50–5, 65, 101, 102, 162, 167; activity 101; aggression 63; beings 48; education 51–3; health 123, 156; masculinity 48; prowess 112; strength 65, 66, 68; toughness 58, 65 physicality 47–8, 50–1, 53, 105, 161 physiognomy 50 pig-hunting 47 plague 55 Pleban, F. T. 119 Plummer, K. 86 policy 3, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 15, 16, 17, 24, 42, 53, 72, 73, 75–6, 82, 83, 85, 86, 91, 92, 104, 106, 117,

122, 123, 124, 127, 130, 137, 142, 161, 165–72 policy discourse 7, 11, 12, 172 politeness 59 politics 10, 16, 48, 61, 62, 82–3, 85, 90–2, 100, 161–4 Pope, J. 51 popular culture 50 popular education 7, 63, 64 popular resistance 163 postcolonial 47, 48, 50, 54, 55 post-compulsory education 6, 29, 91, 147–57 postmodern 48 post-structuralist 16, 20, 23, 98 poverty 75, 163 power: bio- 49, 54; -bloc17; colonial 54; differentials 16, 17, 19, 20, 25, 172; discourses of 9, 25, 99–100, 103, 161; exerting 148; gender and 79, 170; imperial 59; inequalities 4, 6, 15, 16, 20, 21, 24, 92; intersections of 74; male 22, 92; physical 9, 49; relations; 6, 9, 14, 15, 19, 20, 21, 24, 25, 26, 74, 120, 149, 163, 166, 170, 172; relative 125; sharing 130; structures 15, 25, 79 Power of One 101 practice 4, 11, 15, 17, 24, 30, 48, 49, 50, 82, 83, 85–6, 90–2, 119, 122–31, 140, 141, 161, 164–72 practitioners 3, 5, 10, 11, 16, 29, 87, 90, 123, 124, 166–9, 172 pragmatism 64, 68, 85, 91 Pratt and Associates 90 pre-colonial 47, 55 Prince, M. 135 prior educational achievement 42, 164 prior learning 113, 114, 115 prior schooling 36, 37, 53 privatization 20, 72, 76, 163 production workers 41 profeminst 23, 123 professional 17, 41, 42, 52, 58, 63, 68, 77, 79, 88, 89, 129, 164 professional discourse 111 professional ideologies 58, 63, 68 proletarian 64 psychoanalytic perspectives/psychoanalytic theory 16, 18–19

psychological 18, 19, 24, 131, 167 psychology 85, 99 public health 82, 89 public policy 11, 122, 123, 130 public schools 60, 62, 63, 66, 67 pubs 60, 154 Purdie, N. 147 qualitative research 150, 170 quantitative research 149 QCA (Qualifications and Curriculum Authority) 83 qualifications 37, 52, 79, 84, 87, 91, 126, 129, 135, 136, 150, 151, 166, 171 Quebec 9, 72, 76 Rabinow, P. 49 race 21, 22, 52, 57, 62, 66, 68, 92, 107, 120, 155, 166 racism 51–2 radical 7, 8, 16, 21, 48, 63, 64, 69, 75, 76, 79, 83, 85, 90, 92, 130; education 7, 8, 64, 79, 87, 130; feminism 21, 83; perspectives 16, 20, 63, 90; politics 48, 69, 83, 85, 92 Rafael Reed L. 98 Ramsay P. D. K. 53 Rapoport, T. 74 Reagan, R. 76 Real Fathers for Justice 85 ‘real men’ 65, 165, 167–8 redemption 47 Reid, N. 89 Reinharz, S. 107 relational competence 113, 115 relational learning 10, 111, 113, 115, 117 religion/religious 11, 17, 60, 62, 66, 78, 138 Renold, E. 98 Replan 86 ‘reserve army of labour’ 52, 72 Ringrose, J. 18 risk 65, 82, 101, 104, 105, 111–20, 142, 163, 165–7 risk-taking 85, 98, 112, 131 Roberts, P. 170 Rogers, A. 7, 8 Rogers, M. 140 role model 90, 114, 165, 166

Index 187 Rosenfield, M. 15 ‘rouseabout’ 62 Rowbotham, S. 21 Royal College of Nursing 89 Rural 10, 37, 38, 53, 60, 65, 100, 123, 127, 141, 143, 149, 168 rural/urban differences 37, 38 rugby 51, 67, 101, 102, 130, 161–2, 167 Rugby World Cup 161, 162, 171 Ryan, A. 20, 21 Sabo, D. F. 86 Said, E. W. 59 St. Pierre, E. A. 22 salutogenic effects 127 Sampson, E. E. 109 Saracho, O. N. 112 Sartre, J. P. 55 savagery 47, 50, 51, 54 Sax, L. 3, 15 Schick, R. 51 schools and schooling 3, 7, 10, 18, 82; Adult 63; boarding 66; boys’ 10, 18, 29, 66, 68, 83, 84, 85, 88, 89, 97–107, 162, 165, 167, 168; co-educational 97, 100, 106, 136; compulsory 7, 29, 151; debates 83–4; formal 6, 7, 36, 129; gender and 18, 29, 36, 61, 83, 98, 104, 106, 164, 168; girls’ 29, 83, 98, 105; Grammar 60; intermediate 106; level of 30, 36, 37; Maori 52; Native 51–2; poor experience at 113, 127, 129, 136, 138, 141; post-school qualifications 129, 134–5, 136, 151; primary 64, 98, 100, 106, 126; prior 36–7; public schools 60–3, 66, 67; secondary 52, 64, 136; self-governing 106; settler 64, 68; single-sex 69, 162; state 52 Schuller, T. 91, 134, 136 Schwalbe, M. 100 Scotland 10, 11, 65, 147–56 Scottish Index of Multiple Deprivation Zones 149 Scourfield, J. 111 Seasonal Agricultural Worker Program (SAWP) 76–8 secular 17, 63, 64 Segal, L. 86 self-directed 8, 91

188 Index self-help 61, 85 self/other 54 Selman, G. 65 service workers 41, 72, 87 settler 9, 21, 51, 58–69, 162, 168 sex 15–19, 84, 85, 88, 165 sexuality 4, 5, 15, 19, 22, 24, 25, 47, 48, 49, 54, 62, 92, 107, 120, 166, 169, 172 sex workers 89 sex role theory 16, 18–19, 165 Sheard, K. 67 shedders 124, 129, 130 silenced 48, 148 Simon, J. 51, 52 single sex classes 10, 69, 90, 97–107, 122, 128, 129, 162, 168 Skelton, C. 3, 16, 18, 20, 29, 84, 98, 102, 104 skills 4, 6, 7, 8, 11, 19, 22, 51, 60, 65, 68, 84, 91, 118, 122, 127, 129, 135, 136, 138–42, 148, 149 Skinner, J. 100 Smith, D. E. 21, 170 Smith, J. 88 Smith, L. 48 Smith, M. 7, 8 Snook, I. 6 social capital 11, 136, 147, 150, 151, 153–6 social class: see class social conditions 6, 19 social-constructive 19 social control 6, 168 Social Darwinism 50, 65 social forces 5, 9, 68 socialism 20, 21, 63, 69 socialization 18–19, 20 socialization theory 16, 19 social mobility 163 social norms 19, 112 social practices 9, 24–5, 91, 100, 125 social structure 14, 19, 20, 24 Socialist feminists 20 social construction 9, 14, 15, 24, 101, 149, 170 sociobiology 16 Sociology 21, 50, 85 South Africa 58, 60, 61, 67, 101 Spender, D. 21 sport 11, 19, 51, 58, 61, 62, 66, 67, 69, 88, 101, 102, 104, 115, 135,

138, 139, 140, 141, 161, 162, 167 Sri Lankan 75 standards 17, 106 Stanwick, J. 144 statistical data 9, 84, 147, 163, 164 statistical studies 9, 29–42, 167, 169 Statistics Canada 29–30, 42 Statistics New Zealand 53 status quo 79, 162, 163 stereotype/stereotyping 4, 19, 48, 85, 88, 92, 106, 111, 125, 128, 130, 131, 162, 167–9, 172 Stewart, R. 135 stoic 51, 155 Stone, C. 155 Strauss, A. 112, 114 Strauss, G. 113 Strong, T. 52, 53 struggle 5, 6, 14, 15, 47, 55, 59, 61, 65, 73, 164, 171, 172 subculture 52, 86 subjectivity 22, 23, 73, 103, 106, 168 subjugation 53, 162 suburban 126, 127, 149 Sukhnandan, L. 97 super-ego 18 Sure Start 83 surveys 9, 29–43, 83, 99, 102, 126, 128–30, 135, 136, 138, 139, 140 Sutherland, P. 3 Switzerland 31, 32, 36, 40 Sydney 130 symbolic violence 54 Tasmania 127 taxonomy 47, 50 teachable moments 116 Technical Classes Association 64 technology 30, 75, 104, 139, 141, 151 temperance movement 62, 64 Temporary Foreign Worker Program 76, 78 Te Puni Kdkiri 53 tertiary education see education Tett, L. 90, 128 Thatcher, M. 76 theories: adult education 79; common sense 14; critical decolonial 48; feminist 20, 25, 130, 148; masculinity 129; post-structural

22–3, 100, 102; psychoanalytical 16, 18–19; sex role 18–19, 165; socialization 16, 19 therapeutic 166 third age 11, 147, 148, 156, 168 Thompson, E. P. 74 Thompson, J. 21, 83, 91 Threadgold, T. 99 Tiger, L. 3, 15 Tight, M. 8 Tinto, V. 156 Tobias, R. 37, 58, 162, 167, 168, 171 Tolson, A. 85 Top Dads 88 Tosh, J. 62, 63, 66, 67 trade unions 64, 86, 87, 166 trades 51, 53 training 4, 6, 8, 11, 17, 29, 31–4, 53, 65, 67, 85, 87–9, 91, 126, 135–142, 147, 149, 152, 162, 163, 164, 166–7, 168, 172 transformation 76, 82, 86, 117 transformative learning 4, 90–1 transgender 86 Treaty of Waitangi 64 tribal homelands 47 trope 47, 48, 50, 53, 54 truancy 83 unconscious 18 underachievement 3, 84 ‘underachieving’ boys 84, 97–107 under-class 54, 76 under-representation 3, 84, 147 uneducated 5, 9, 47, 48, 50, 52, 53, 54 unemployment 38, 39, 40, 53, 84, 86, 87, 92, 114, 127, 131, 134, 136, 141, 143, 144, 149–52, 163–7, 168 unitary 9, 22, 25, 49, 85, 86 United Nations Educational, Scientific and Cultural Organization (UNESCO) 6, 36 United States of America (USA) 3, 17, 30, 31, 66, 75, 97, 163 United Kingdom (UK) 3, 7, 8, 10, 17, 75, 82–92, 122, 125, 126, 135, 142, 147, 155, 165, 167, 170 university 37, 63, 64, 86, 87, 91, 118, 138, 149, 150, 152, 154, 167, 170

Index 189 University of the Third Age (U3A) 168 un-learning 10, 73, 78, 79, 80, 171 Unterhalter, E. 171 up-skilling 6, 92, 166 urban 6, 10, 37–8, 47, 48, 53–4, 63, 65, 92 urbanization 53–4, 63 utilitarianism 63, 64 values 5, 6, 14, 15, 17, 22, 68, 83, 90, 91, 148 Van Fraassen, B. C. 170 Van Hoven, B. 19 Vercoe, A. 47, 48 victims 19, 21, 55, 99, 165 violence 47, 48, 51, 54, 62, 89, 125 Vietnam 127 Vinson, T. 135 virtue 60, 62, 167 Vocational Education and Training (VET) 11, 18, 86, 88, 127, 129, 136–8, 142–4, 148, 149, 166, 167, 172 vocationalism 91, 168 voluntary organizations 11, 61, 127, 129, 138, 141, 142 volunteers 68, 87, 88, 135, 139, 141 Walker, R. 53 warrior 47, 48, 51, 65, 67, 101, 162 Watson, D. 91, 134, 136 Watson, J. 52 Weaver-Hightower, M. 98, 155 Weedon, C. 20, 22, 23 Weeks, J. 86 Weiner, G. 20 Weiss, C. C. 115, 119 wellbeing 11, 112, 122–4 , 127, 130–2, 134–6, 142–4, 156 Wenger, E. 123, 140 West, C. 24 West, J. 117 white collar 52, 65 White Europeans (Pakeha) 9, 21, 48, 58–68, 84, 149, 150, 151, 152, 153, 155 Wilkinson, R. 131, 136 Williams, R. 5, 14, 19 Willis, P. 86, 151 Willmott, N. et al. 89–90 Wilson, E. O. 16

190 Index Women: black 21; achievement 14; disadvantage 4, 8, 126, 171; differences and relations with men 16–26, 92, 111, 172; invisibility 21, learning 4, 14, 16, 25, 26, 58, 62, 89–91, 118, 128, 169, 170; Maori 53; marginalized 4, 25, 66, 83; opportunities for 83; parenting 83, 165; participation in education 4, 5, 9, 18–19, 29–42, 84–7, 126, 128, 134, 136–7, 147, 148, 164, 172; power differentials 18, 20–1, 26, 84, psychological characteristics 18; qualifications 84; research 125; returners 87; roles 17, 19, 23, 63, 92; and sheds 127–8, suffrage 61–2; teachers 4, 83; third world 21; training 166; unemployed 92, 163, 168; white 21; and work 72, 75, 77, 112, 164, 171 Woodward, R. 65, 67 woodwork 4, 52, 83 work (paid and unpaid) 4, 30, 38–40, 48, 61, 63, 65, 71–7, 83–92, 100, 105, 117–19, 122–31, 134–44, 148–55, 164, 167 Workers’ Education Association (WEA) 63, 64, 89, 167 workforce 51, 112, 136, 143, 153, 164

working class 11, 20, 48, 52, 53, 63, 86, 90–2, 125, 148–9, 155, 166, 168 Working Men’s Colleges 63 Working with Men 85, 87, 88 World Health Organization (WHO) 131, 147 World Trade Centre 76 World Trade Organization (WTO) 72 World War I 51 World War II 51, 53, 67, 72, 75 Yates, P. 167 Yeo, S. 6 YMCA 64 Youdell, D. 101 Young Maori Party 51 Young, P. 156 Young, R. 48, 49, 50 young people 6, 34, 53, 62, 84, 88, 89, 97, 113, 116, 127, 135, 137, 143, 144, 163, 165, 166, 167 youth 10, 82, 85 Youth and Careers Service 89 youth clubs 8 YWCA 64 Zimmerman, D. H. 24