Space, Place and Autonomy in Language Learning 9781138656727, 9781315621753

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Space, Place and Autonomy in Language Learning

This book explores theories of space and place in relation to autonomy in language learning. Encompassing a wide range of linguistically and culturally diverse learning contexts, this edited collection brings together research papers from academics working in 14 countries. In their studies, these researchers examine physical, virtual and metaphorical learning spaces from a wide range of theoretical and interdisciplinary perspectives (semiotic, ecological, complexity, human geography, linguistic landscapes, mediated discourse analysis, sociocultural, constructivist and social constructivist) and methodological approaches. The book traces its origins to the first-ever symposium on space, place and autonomy, which was held at the International Association of Applied Linguistics (AILA) 2014 World Congress in Brisbane. The final chapter, which presents a thematic analysis of the papers in this volume, discusses the implications for theory development, further enquiry and pedagogical practice. Garold Murray is an associate professor in the Center for Liberal Arts and Language Education at Okayama University, Japan. Terry Lamb is a professor of languages and interdisciplinary pedagogy and head of the Westminster Centre for Teaching Innovation at the University of Westminster, London, UK.

Routledge Research in Language Education For more information about the series, please visit www.routledge.com.

The Routledge Research in Language Education series provides a platform for established and emerging scholars to present their latest research and discuss key issues in Language Education. This series welcomes books on all areas of language teaching and learning, including, but not limited to, language education policy and politics, multilingualism, literacy, L1, L2 or foreign language acquisition, curriculum, classroom practice, pedagogy, teaching materials and language teacher education and development. Books in the series are not limited to the discussion of the teaching and learning of English only.

Books in the series include: Teaching EFL Learners Shadowing for Listening Developing Learners’ Bottom-Up Skills Yo Hamada Teacher Agency and Policy Response in English Language Teaching Edited by Patrick C. L. Ng and Esther F. Boucher-Yip The Space and Practice of Reading A Case Study of Reading and Social Class in Singapore Chin Ee Loh Asian English Language Classrooms Where Theory and Practice Meet Handoyo Puji Widodo, Alistair Wood and Deepti Gupta A New Approach to English Pedagogical Grammar The Order of Meanings Edited by Akira Tajino Space, Place and Autonomy in Language Learning Edited by Garold Murray and Terry Lamb

Space, Place and Autonomy in Language Learning Edited by Garold Murray and Terry Lamb

First published 2018 by Routledge 2 Park Square, Milton Park, Abingdon, Oxon OX14 4RN and by Routledge 711 Third Avenue, New York, NY 10017 Routledge is an imprint of the Taylor & Francis Group, an informa business © 2018 selection and editorial matter, Garold Murray and Terry Lamb; individual chapters, the contributors The right of Garold Murray and Terry Lamb 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 A catalog record for this book has been requested ISBN: 978-1-138-65672-7 (hbk) ISBN: 978-1-315-62175-3 (ebk) Typeset in Galliard by Apex CoVantage, LLC

Contents

List of contributorsviii   1 Space, place and autonomy in language learning: an introduction

1

TERRY LAMB AND GAROLD MURRAY

PART 1

Urban spaces7   2 Collective autonomy and multilingual spaces in super-diverse urban contexts: interdisciplinary perspectives

9

TERRY LAMB AND GORAN VODICKA

  3 Emotion in the construction of space, place and autonomous learning opportunities

29

CYNTHIA WHITE AND JENNIFER BOWN

  4 Learning a language for free: space and autonomy in adult foreign language learning

44

ALICE CHIK

  5 The ‘English Café’ as a social learning place

61

CEM BALÇIKANLI

  6 Multilingual linguistic landscapes as a site for developing learner autonomy ANTJE WILTON AND CHRISTIAN LUDWIG

76

vi  Contents PART 2

Teacher education spaces95   7 Teacher education for autonomy: case pedagogy as an empowering interspace between reality and ideals

97

MANUEL JIMÉNEZ RAYA AND FLÁVIA VIEIRA

  8 Language students designing a learning project for children: a matter of managing multiple attention spaces

113

LEENA KUURE

  9 Naoko’s story: one autonomous learner’s journey through time and space

128

BEVERLY-ANNE CARTER

PART 3

Classroom spaces and beyond143 10 Ownership of learning spaces through humour

145

MEHTAP KOCATEPE

11 Creating spaces for learning: structure and agency in EST course design

162

CHRISTOPH A. HAFNER AND LINDSAY MILLER

12 Time, space and memory in the teaching and learning of English within a Brazilian juvenile detention centre: the effect of suspension in a confused space

179

VALDENI DA SILVA REIS

PART 4

Institutional spaces199 13 Spaced out or zoned in? An exploratory study of spaces enabling autonomous learning in two New Zealand tertiary learning institutions

201

MOIRA HOBBS AND KERSTIN DOFS

14 Autonomous learning support base: enhancing autonomy in a TEFL undergraduate program WALKYRIA MAGNO E SILVA

219

Contents vii 15 Social learning spaces and the invisible fence

233

GAROLD MURRAY, NAOMI FUJISHIMA AND MARIKO UZUKA

Conclusion247 16 Space, place, autonomy and the road not yet taken

249

GAROLD MURRAY AND TERRY LAMB

Index263

Contributors

Cem Balçıkanlı works as an associate professor in the ELT Department at Gazi University, Turkey. He taught Turkish at the University of Florida between 2008 and 2009 as a Fulbright scholar. He has been the editor in chief of the Journal of Language Learning and Teaching (www.jltl.org) since 2011. His research interests include learner/teacher autonomy, the role of technology in language learning/teaching and second language teacher education. Jennifer Bown is an associate professor in the Department of German and Russian at Brigham Young University. She is the co-author of two textbooks for advancedlevel language learning and editor of a volume on developing professional-level language proficiency. She has published on language learning in non-traditional contexts, focusing on the social and emotional aspects of language learning. Her research has appeared in such journals as Language Teaching, Modern Language Journal and Critical Inquiry in Language Studies. Beverly-Anne Carter is the Director of the Centre for Language Learning at The University of the West Indies (UWI) St. Augustine Campus in Trinidad and Tobago. She also lectures in the Postgraduate Diploma in TESOL. She holds degrees in French language and literature from Université de Franche-Compté à Besançon and a PhD in linguistics from UWI. Her research and publications on learner autonomy in language learning, language policy, non-specialist language learning and language and competitiveness reflect her background as a French language specialist, now focused on promoting institution-wide language learning at her university. Alice Chik is a senior lecturer in the School of Education, Macquarie University. Her research interests include narrative inquiry, popular culture and digital practices in second language education. Her recent work on language learning in online spaces includes Discourse and Digital Practices: Doing Discourse Analysis in the Digital Age (Routledge, 2015) and Digital literacies and language learning (Language Learning & Technology, 2015, 19:3); both volumes were co-edited with Rodney Jones and Christoph Hafner. Kerstin Dofs manages a Language Self Access Centre (LSAC) at Ara Institute of Canterbury, where she has worked for 15 years. She was previously an English language teacher in Sweden and New Zealand and has a Master of Arts in Language Learning and Technology. She is now undertaking PhD studies at Macquarie

Contributors ix University in Sydney in the area of adjustment challenges faced by English as an Additional Language students in mainstream (i.e. non-language) courses. Naomi Fujishima is a professor in the Center for Liberal Arts and Language Education at Okayama University. Her research interests include learner autonomy, lifelong learning and motivation. She is interested in social learning spaces, especially the LC at Okayama University, and wants to encourage more students to spend quality time there. She is the author/co-editor of Social Spaces for Language Learning: Stories from the L-café (2016, authored/co-edited with Garold Murray). She currently serves as vice president of JALT, the Japan Association for Language Teaching. Christoph A. Hafner is an associate professor in the Department of English at the City University of Hong Kong. His main research interests are in specialised discourse, digital literacies, and language learning and technology. He has published widely in these areas and is the co-author (with Rodney Jones) of Understanding Digital Literacies: A Practical Introduction (Routledge, 2012). Moira Hobbs has worked within the educational field for many years, initially as a pre-school educator, then as a tertiary ESOL teacher. For the past 17 years, her role has involved developing and managing a Language Learning Self-Access Centre for language students and researching various aspects of language learning at Unitec in Auckland, New Zealand. Her research interests are around selfaccess and self-access centres, autonomy and language learner advising. Manuel Jiménez Raya is a full professor in the English and German Department at the University of Granada (Spain). His main research interests are pedagogy for autonomy, experiential learning, modern language teacher education and case pedagogy. He has published numerous articles and co-authored several books on FLT methodology. He is also an editor of the Foreign Language Teaching in Europe series published by Peter Lang. Mehtap Kocatepe has been involved in teaching EFL/ESL/EAP for two decades. She holds a PhD in TESOL from James Cook University in Australia. Since 2010, she has been working in the Department of English and Writing Studies at Zayed University in the United Arab Emirates. Her research interests include learner autonomy, motivation and second language writing. Leena Kuure works as a university lecturer in English Philology, University of Oulu, Finland. She is also an adjunct professor (docent) in Applied Language Studies at the University of Eastern Finland. She has a long career as a researcher, teacher and teacher educator in the field of applied language studies. Her current research leans on mediated discourse theory and nexus analysis, which focus on social action and invite multidisciplinary collaboration. Her research interests include multimodal and networked literacy practices in technology-rich environments and participation in constructing the future school. Terry Lamb is a professor of languages and interdisciplinary pedagogy and head of the Westminster Centre for Teaching Innovation at the University of Westminster in London, UK. He works with doctoral students within the Department of Modern Languages and Cultures as well as developing learning and teaching and

x  Contributors pedagogical research across all five faculties. His research interests include multilingualism, urban education, critical pedagogy and learner/teacher autonomy. Terry is the founding editor of Innovation in Language Learning and Teaching and an editor of the Foreign Language Teaching in Europe series published by Peter Lang. He is currently Secretary General (and Past President) of FIPLV (Fédération Internationale des Professeurs de Langues Vivantes), an NGO of both UNESCO and the Council of Europe. Christian Ludwig is currently a substitute professor of American Literature and Culture and TEFL at the University of Education Karlsruhe (Germany), where he is also the director of the Self-Access Centre and head of the English department. He earned his PhD Rites de Passage: The construction of gender identities in Alison Bechdel’s (autobio-)graphic writings from the University of Duisburg-Essen (Germany) in 2015. He is coordinator of the IATEFL Learner Autonomy SIG. His research interests include learning with literature, new media and learner autonomy. Walkyria Magno e Silva is a professor of applied linguistics at the Federal University of Pará, Brazil, where she teaches doctoral and master’s students at the graduate program and undergraduate TEFL program students. Her research interests include autonomy, motivation and language advising in foreign language learning, under the view of the complexity systems paradigm. She has work published in journals and books in her country. Lindsay Miller is an associate professor in the Department of English at the City University of Hong Kong. He teaches a variety of proficiency courses at the BA level, conceptual courses at the MA level and has PhD supervision. Lindsay’s main research interests are in the areas of learner autonomy, listening and teacher education. He has published widely in these areas and has co-authored Establishing Self-Access: From Theory to Practice, 1999, CUP (with D. Gardner); Second Language Listening: Theory and Practice, 2005, CUP (with J. Flowerdew) and Managing Self-Access Language Learning, 2014, CityU Press (with D. Gardner). Garold Murray is an associate professor in the Center for Liberal Arts and Language Education at Okayama University. His research interests focus on learner autonomy, social learning spaces, semiotics of place and imagination in language learning. He is editor of the book The Social Dimensions of Learner Autonomy (2014) and co-editor of Identity, Motivation, and Autonomy in Language Learning (2011, co-edited with Andy Gao and Terry Lamb) and Social Spaces for Language Learning: Stories from the L-café (2016, co-edited with Naomi Fujishima). Valdeni da Silva Reis is an assistant professor of applied linguistics at the Universidade Federal de Minas Gerais (UFMG). She holds an MA in Applied Linguistics (Universidade Federal de Minas Gerais) and a PhD in Applied Linguistics (Universidade Federal de Minas Gerais, Brazil/Ohio State University, USA). She carries out research into the teaching-learning of English as a foreign language within prisons, critical literacy and social justice and issues related to the initial and continuing education of English teachers. Mariko Uzuka is a professor at the Center for Global Partnerships and Education at Okayama University. Her background is in management and marketing. She was

Contributors xi the manager of the English Café, which was the initial stage of the L-café at Okayama University. The café has been developed under her management from a mere language café to a social learning space. In addition to developing a social learning space, she is interested in peer teaching and global education. Currently, she is in charge of advising international students and works closely with the L-café. Flávia Vieira is a full professor at the Institute of Education at the University of Minho (Portugal). Her main research interests are reflective teacher education towards pedagogy for autonomy and pedagogy at university with a focus on building a scholarship of teaching and learning. She has published widely on these topics. She is also an editor of the Foreign Language Teaching in Europe series published by Peter Lang. Goran Vodicka has over ten years of international experience as an architect and urbanist. He is a doctoral researcher at the Department of Landscape, University of Sheffield (UK), where he is a founding member of the Transnational Urban Outdoors research group focused on issues of ethnic and cultural diversity in urban places. Goran has also been teaching at the Sheffield School of Architecture on the MA in Urban Design programme, which has a strong emphasis on community participation and which aims to address the challenges of uneven urban development, both locally and internationally. Cynthia White is a professor of applied linguistics at Massey University, with research interests in learner autonomy, emotion and identity in online and distance language learning. Her current projects include the regulation of affect in language learning and discourses of national identity and belonging in transnational digital networks. Cynthia has completed collaborative research projects with the Open University UK and Nottingham University and has been a plenary speaker at international conferences and workshops in Germany, Thailand, Singapore, Australia, China, the UK, Hawai’i and Malaysia. Antje Wilton is a professor of English and applied linguistics at the University of Siegen, Germany. Her research projects and areas of teaching include multilingualism, intercultural communication and translation, conversation analytic investigations of media genres and sports language, English as a lingua franca, folk linguistics and forensic linguistics. She has also worked on the integration of sociolinguistic issues into language teaching, focusing on English as a lingua franca and linguistic landscapes. She is co-editor of the 2011 volume in the AILA Applied Linguistics Series (English in Europe Today) and the AILA Review 24 (Applied Folk Linguistics). Currently, she is co-editing a handbook on language in organisations (Sprache in Organisationen, published by De Gruyter). She is the Reviews Editor of the International Journal of Bilingual Education and Bilingualism and co-editor of the book series Forum Angewandte Linguistik (Peter Lang Verlag). From 2011 to 2015, she was the head of the Siegen Institute for Language and Communication at the Workplace (SISIB) and has worked for AILA since 2003 in various capacities: from 2011 to 2015 as AILA-Europe coordinator and currently as Publications Coordinator for the AILA Review. She is also co-convener of the AILA Research Network on Folk Linguistics.

1 Space, place and autonomy in language learning An introduction Terry Lamb and Garold Murray

Space and place are like the air we breathe; they form such an integral part of our daily experience that we rarely give the concepts any thought. We are in them, we are a part of them. Notions of space and place are ubiquitous. This is evident in the language we use: common expressions, such as ‘to take place’ (events and activities are linked to place); ‘to make a place for yourself’ (we yearn for a sense of belonging); ‘not to be able to place someone’ (place is associated with memory and cognition); ‘to know your place’ or, on occasion, if you do not, ‘to be put in your place’ (place is tied to our identity and sense of self). Sometimes we feel ‘out of place’. How we feel in a place is important to our sense of wellbeing. Places can invoke strong emotional reactions. We exist in and live our lives moving through space and place. Perhaps, ironically, it is due to the pervasive nature of these constructs that they have been largely overlooked in the field of applied linguistics – until recently. In language education for many years, the prime focus of research has been on a particular kind of place, the classroom. In the latter part of the last century, this focus expanded to include spaces outside the classroom, yet still in institutional settings, for example, the self-access centre. Concomitantly, with the development of self-access language learning came an interest in learner autonomy, learners who took responsibility for their learning and manifested this responsibility in the form of action aimed at meeting their learning goals. Gradually, in the field of language education, ‘context’ as a construct gained importance. The idea became prevalent that context needed to be taken into consideration when studying language learners and learning. Meanwhile, outside of language education, there was a growing interest in spaces in relation to learning. Learning commons started to be the focal points of libraries, and social learning spaces – places for people to gather and work and learn together – began to appear on university campuses. Educators, observing and documenting this phenomenon, came to view space not only as an agent, in and of itself, but as a vehicle for change in pedagogical practice (Oblinger 2006). In this book, the contributors explore space as an agent in relation to language learning. Representing a wide range of linguistically and culturally diverse learning contexts, these researchers draw on a number of theoretical approaches as they explore various aspects of this general theme. Central to this exploration are theories from the field of human geography, which have informed our general understanding of how spaces are transformed into places, in this case, places for language learning. Scholars in the field of human geography view places as social constructions (Cresswell 2004; Harvey 1996; Massey 2005). Places are created through action,

2  Terry Lamb and Garold Murray by people doing things in a particular space (Cresswell 2004). By talking about this space as a setting in which these actions are performed, it becomes identified and defined as a place where certain activities are carried out. Carter, Donald and Squires (1993: ix) write that ‘place is space to which meaning has been ascribed’. Through our actions and discourses, we ascribe meaning to a space and transform it into a place. The product of everyday practices and discourses, places are dynamic and ever-changing. As we participate in these processes, we appropriate spaces, embody them, impose our identities on them and at the same time have our identities shaped by the places we inhabit and the practices we engage in. In this collection of papers, the contributors explore current thinking on space and place in relation to learner and teacher autonomy and focus on the implications for language learning both in and beyond institutional settings. The questions these researchers examine revolve around the processes by which learners transform physical, virtual and metaphorical spaces into places for learning. The researchers, whose studies appear in this collection, see autonomy as playing a vital role in the processes by which spaces are transformed into places for learning. Since it was introduced into the field of language education in the late 1970s, autonomy itself has been moving across time and space (see Lamb 2015). Defined in the early days as ‘the ability to take charge of one’s own learning’ (Holec 1981: 3), the construct later came to be generally viewed as the ‘the capacity to take control of one’s learning’ (Benson 2011: 58). With the advance of sociocultural and ecological approaches, autonomy has also been recognised as a social construction. For example, van Lier (2004: 8), writing from both a sociocultural and an ecological perspective, defines autonomy as ‘having the authorship of one’s actions, having the voice that speaks one’s words, and being emotionally connected to one’s actions and speech (Damasio 2003), within one’s community of practice’ (Wenger 1998). Furthermore, he saw autonomy as being ‘dialogical in Bakhtin’s sense (1981): socially produced, but appropriated and made one’s own’ (van Lier 2004: 8). Jiménez Raya, Lamb and Vieira (2007: 1) extend the definition to emphasise the political dimension and give the area of enquiry a social consciousness and even a mission, when they define autonomy as a ‘competence to develop as a self-determined, socially responsible, and critically aware participant in (and beyond) educational environments within a vision of education as (inter-)personal empowerment and social transformation’. Within these definitions we find facets of autonomy that are examined in this volume: goal-oriented action, emotions, community, criticality, empowerment and change. Key questions to be asked of this collection of papers include: in what ways might an exploration of space and place inform our understanding of autonomy; and, conversely, how might an expanded view of autonomy provide insights into the role of space and place in language learning?

The structure of the book Ordering this linguistically, culturally and contextually diverse collection of papers into some sort of coherent whole to present in the form of a book has been a revealing academic exercise. At first, all of the chapters appeared to examine either physical, virtual or metaphorical spaces. These concepts could have served as a possible means of categorising the papers into sections for the book. However, on closer inspection, one thing that becomes evident from these studies is that learning places

Space, place and autonomy 3 can be polymorphous, sometimes being hybrids of physical, virtual and/or metaphorical spaces. Another, perhaps more obvious classification might have been inclass and out-of-class learning. But then, most of the papers are either situated in out-of-class settings or blended learning contexts. Furthermore, Hafner and Miller’s (Chapter 11) paper, for example, which focuses on the design of an English course for science students, blurs the in-class/out-of-class dichotomy to the extent that one wonders how helpful this distinction might be as language educators look to the future. On the other hand, Chik (Chapter 4) notes in her study, which on one level portrays learners creating virtual learning places beyond the classroom, that the learners initially eked out spaces that recreated classroom conditions. Looking at Chik’s study from another perspective, the participants could be viewed as moving across the urban landscape of Hong Kong drawing on the affordances they saw available in order to create their personal learning niche. This metaphor of movement across a landscape seemed to encapsulate the challenge we were facing as editors. The learning being depicted in this collection of enquiries was moving across various spaces and occurring on multiple levels and time scales. Concluding that any categorisation of the chapters would, therefore, be provisional and that any of the papers might conceivably fit into more than one category, we settled on labels we hoped would be the least confining and grouped the chapters into the following four sections: urban spaces, teacher education spaces, classroom spaces and beyond, and institutional spaces.

Part 1: Urban spaces The first section explores space, place and autonomy across the broad expanse of urban landscapes. Lamb and Vodicka (Chapter 2) consider the plight of minority languages in multilingual urban contexts in the UK. Rather than see these languages marginalised, they draw on a range of disciplines to highlight collectively autonomous everyday public practices engaged in by local communities that ensure that their languages are learnt and maintained; the authors argue that these may be the roots of a broader political and educational engagement that serves to create ‘interlingual shared spaces’, in which these languages and their speakers would be visible and valued to the benefit of everyone. White and Bown (Chapter 3) examine the role of emotions in the transformation of both urban and virtual spaces into places for learning. They do this by drawing on data from two studies: one investigates how learners in a study abroad context in Russia discover places for learning in a foreign city, and the other explores the learning spaces created through telecollaboration by students learning German and English in urban centres located halfway around the world from each other in New Zealand and Germany, respectively. In her study, Chik (Chapter 4) focuses on the role of creativity as she documents how three foreign language learners craft learning spaces in out-of-class contexts. The only stipulation guiding their participation in her study was that the materials they used had to be freely available to the general public in their urban area, Hong Kong. The next enquiry is set in a city in Turkey, where Balçıkanlı (Chapter 5) explores the affordances for language learning in a social learning space, a café where English learners meet for an evening twice each month. In the last study in this section, Wilton and Ludwig (Chapter 6) experiment with linguistic landscapes – language found in

4  Terry Lamb and Garold Murray public places – as a pedagogical tool to enhance teacher education students’ awareness of language use in multilingual urban spaces and to develop learner autonomy.

Part 2: Teacher education spaces In this section, attention shifts more directly to teacher education programmes. Two central themes highlighted in these papers are change and learner development. Jiménez Raya and Vieira (Chapter 7) propose using case pedagogy in order to create an interspace designed to bridge the gap that currently exists between actual teaching practices and the ideals of academia. In their study, set in a postgraduate teacher education programme in Portugal, teachers generate and analyse cases based on narratives, consolidating their professional experience and knowledge and developing their personal theories. This is followed by a study aiming to promote change in language education in Finland by giving students in a teacher education programme first-hand experience in the development and use of technology-based materials. Reporting on this work, Kuure (Chapter 8) examines the attention spaces the learners move between as they work in teams to develop an online learning project for elementary school children. The last paper in this section (Carter, Chapter 9), a narrative inquiry originating in a teacher education course in Trinidad, encompasses a broad expanse of time and space. This autobiographical account documents the language learning life history of a Japanese woman married to a diplomat as she moves across various geographical and metaphorical learning spaces.

Part 3: Classroom spaces and beyond The studies reported in this section focus on the classroom and, in one case, illustrate how the distinction between in-class and out-of-class can become blurred as classroom spaces blend with places beyond. Kocapete (Chapter 10) documents how students in a classroom in the United Arab Emirates use humour to create spaces in which their voices can be heard and they can take ownership of their learning. An interesting feature of this study is that, although the students transformed the learning space into a place different from what the teacher intended, she was nonetheless able to turn their interventions into productive teaching-learning moments. In a study exploring a project-based course in English for science at a university in Hong Kong, Hafner and Miller (Chapter 11) examine the students’ various collaboratively constructed learning spaces and reflect on factors course designers should consider in order to optimise their creation. Hafner and Miller note that features which facilitated collaboration enabled the students to discover learning spaces the teachers could not have foreseen when designing the course. The final study in this section takes place in a classroom in a juvenile detention centre in Brazil. In this paper, Reis (Chapter 12) examines how the participants take turns to construct discursive spaces that engender the stagnation of learning opportunities. The environment they create is in sharp contrast to the one portrayed in the chapter at the beginning of this section in which the students’ interventions serve as the basis for productive learning opportunities.

Space, place and autonomy 5

Part 4: Institutional spaces The studies in this final section look at a broad spectrum of learning spaces in institutional environments, ranging from reconceptualised classrooms to venues for extracurricular activities. To begin, Hobbs and Dofs (Chapter 13) present the case of two New Zealand institutions that are rethinking the use of classroom spaces and converting them into multipurpose areas. They argue that, in the current climate of rapid pedagogical modernisation and conversion to digital course delivery, self-access learning centres take on added importance as places where students can receive both pedagogical and emotional support as well as make a place for themselves for study and social purposes. The next paper, which focuses on undergraduate teacher education students at a university in Brazil, describes how a self-access centre supports language learning by offering a variety of extracurricular activities which immerse the learners in the target language. Magno e Silva (Chapter 14) explains that the ultimate aim of this program is to provide would-be teachers with learning experiences that will empower them to offer their future students similar learning opportunities. The last paper in this section takes readers to a large national university in Japan where Murray, Fujishima and Uzuka (Chapter 15) examine the issue of how learners, often linguistically challenged, might gain entry into social spaces – and the social groups that inhabit them – and transform these spaces into places where they can learn.

Conclusion In the concluding chapter, we return to the central theme of the book, look at the collection as a whole and ask what it can tell us about space, place and autonomy in language learning. We address this question by discussing the results of a thematic analysis of the previous chapters with a view to synthesising how the insights they provide might advance theory development, inform practice and suggest areas for future investigation. Given that the exploration of space, place and autonomy represents a new line of inquiry, we also examine the issue of research methodologies suitable for studies in this area. We reflect on recurrent themes that the authors discuss, but we also tease out trends, which – although they might not have been pursued in these chapters – point us in the direction of roads not yet taken. In this final chapter, the conclusions we draw and the paths we suggest are without a doubt influenced by our own theoretical leanings, research interests and experience as language educators; therefore, we now invite you to explore these papers yourselves and to see where they might lead you in your thinking and practice.

References Bakhtin, M.M. 1981, The dialogic imagination – four essays, University of Texas Press, Austin, TX. Benson, P. 2011, Teaching and researching autonomy, 2nd edn, Pearson, Harlow. Carter, E., Donald, J. and Squires, J. 1993, Space and place: Theories of identity and location, Lawrence and Wishart, London.

6  Terry Lamb and Garold Murray Cresswell, T. 2004, Place: A short introduction, Blackwell, Malden, MA. Damasio, A. 2003, Looking for Spinoza: Joy, sorrow and the feeling brain, Vintage, London. Harvey, D. 1996, Justice, nature and the geography of difference, Blackwell, Cambridge, MA. Holec, H. 1981, Autonomy and foreign language learning, Pergamon, Oxford. Jiménez Raya, M.J., Lamb, T. and Vieira, F. 2007, Pedagogy for autonomy in language education in Europe, Authentik, Dublin. Lamb, T. 2015, ‘Knowledge about language and learner autonomy’, in J. Cenoz, D. Gorter, and S. May (eds.), Language awareness and multilingualism: Encyclopedia of language and education, Springer, Switzerland. doi 10.1007/978-3-319-02325-0_14–1 Massey, D. 2005, For space, Sage, London. Oblinger, D.G. 2006, ‘Space as a change agent’, in D.G. Obinger (ed.), Learning spaces, Educause, Washington, DC, viewed 1 May 2012. www.educause.edu/LearningSpaces. van Lier, L. 2004, The ecology and semiotics of language learning: A sociocultural perspective, Kluwer, Boston. Wenger, E. 1998, Communities of practice: Learning, meaning, and identity, Cambridge University Press, Cambridge.

Part 1

Urban spaces

2 Collective autonomy and multilingual spaces in superdiverse urban contexts Interdisciplinary perspectives Terry Lamb and Goran Vodicka Introduction Unlike in the past, the reality of living in close proximity with strangers seems to be here to stay, and so it demands that skills in daily coexistence with ways of life other than our own must be worked out or acquired; a coexistence, what is more, which will prove not only bearable but mutually beneficial – not just despite, but because of the differences dividing us. (Bauman 2011: 37)

In this chapter, we aim to explore the themes of autonomy, space and place within linguistically super-diverse urban contexts. We will argue that, in some parts of the world, there is not only an ambivalence towards the value of linguistic diversity and the capacity to use a range of languages, but also a tendency to position certain languages and the communities who speak them as pathological ‘problems’, in particular when these languages are spoken by communities of minority ethnic migrant background. This can entail an exclusion of such languages not only from formal educational spaces (the classroom, the school, the curriculum etc.) but also from other public spaces, which means that particular linguistic groups may be excluded from learning or even using their languages beyond the spaces of the home or linguistic community. It also means that negative dispositions towards multilingualism are perpetuated across the population, as the value of other languages and, hence, the contribution of the diverse linguistic communities, to the common good remains unarticulated and invisible. Our position in this chapter is that the invisibility of these languages and, by implication, the identities of those who speak them (Beacco 2005), reflects and reinforces an entrenched linguistic hegemony, sustained by a ‘monolingual habitus’ (Gogolin 1994, 2002), which nurtures an assimilation to the (mono)linguistic norm. We see this as an onslaught on the identities of such language communities and a reinforcement of the marginalisation and exclusion to which they are frequently subjected (Blackledge 2006). We reject such exclusionary practices and argue instead for inclusion, which, at least with regard to language, implies positioning the use of other languages not as a deficit but as a benefit for all (whilst at the same time acknowledging that exclusion will not be fully addressed without deep-seated structural shifts to address issues such as poverty and institutional racism). Drawing on the construct of habitus (Bourdieu 1985), an internalised set of cultural norms that shape individual

10  Terry Lamb and Goran Vodicka thinking, identities, choices and behaviours, we understand that it is constructed by power relations; however, we also acknowledge that it is not determined by structures but emerges from dynamic webs of dispositions that have been shaped by past and present experiences and practices (Bourdieu 1985: 170). Changing such dispositions is therefore a challenge, but the multilingual city offers possibilities for such change (Lamb 2015). We argue that this implies changes in the education and everyday experiences of everyone, both formally in educational spaces and informally in public spaces, which must valorise, make visible and normalise the presence of the languages of our communities and develop a ‘plurilingual habitus’ through the production of interlingual shared spaces (for an exploration of the concept of ‘interlinguality’, see Lamb 2015). Drawing on theories of autonomy, space and place from a range of disciplines and as they relate to contexts of resistance and struggle, the chapter highlights the potential of groups and communities autonomously to ‘find the spaces for manoeuvre’ (Lamb 2000) in order to ensure that their languages continue to be learnt and to celebrate multilingualism, challenging the monolingual habitus within formal and informal urban spaces. This involves shedding fresh light on the definition and nature of autonomy as a political, collectivist construct, interwoven with space/ place and with communities and networks rather than individuals as the basic unit, thus extending critical versions of autonomy in language learning (Lamb 2000; Jiménez Raya, Lamb and Vieira 2007; Vieira 2009). We maintain that the complexities of superdiversity (Vertovec 2007) in urban contexts do not lend themselves to unitary, centrally driven, top-down policy approaches to inclusion of the languages of our linguistic communities. Whilst it is still necessary to acknowledge and attempt to erode the modernist conceptualisations of structural power, the social injustices being experienced demand action in the here-and-now. It is not tenable to wait for mass struggles to bring about social transformation. Instead, we need to enlist critical postmodernist understandings of the possibility of localised skirmishes and grassroots initiatives that can transform everyday experiences and ‘celebrate multilingualism, challenge assumptions and stimulate inclusive policy and practice’ (Lamb 2015: 2). In this chapter, therefore, we illuminate the relationships between the constructs of autonomy, place and space before referring to several studies and interventions in multilingual cities in the UK that illustrate ways in which communities themselves produce spaces in which they can ensure that their languages continue to be learnt and used. This includes, firstly, reference to community-led complementary schools where a range of languages are learnt and used within the community. This is followed by an intervention, which involved local communities, as part of an autonomous network of organisations and individuals, in a multilingual festival in public spaces in the city centre, with the aim of not only challenging prevailing assumptions amongst passersby, but also offering an opportunity to minority linguistic groups, often invisible in the city centre, to showcase their languages in formal public spaces. The limitations of this intervention, however, lead us to examine the potential of building on the emerging linguistically hybrid practices in local informal urban spaces. We propose that the engagement of communities in participatory and activist research may enable them to further develop their collective autonomy in ways that are critical and that involve them in designing local and translocal, informal

Collective autonomy and multilingual spaces 11 and formal, everyday urban spaces that are intercultural and interlingual and reach beyond their local communities (Lamb 2015).

The multilingual city: a critical perspective The multilingual city is intrinsically entangled in the complex phenomenon of globalisation and the global migratory movements generally perceived to be one of its characteristics. Migration is, of course, not a new phenomenon in Europe. In the introduction to this chapter, Bauman describes the exigencies of life in what he calls the ‘third phase of modern migration’, the ‘age of diasporas’ (Bauman 2011: 35); following the first (colonial migration outwards from Europe) and second (migration to Europe of previously colonised populations), the third is described as ‘an infinite archipelago of ethnic, religious and linguistic settlements, heedless of the pathways marked out and paved by the imperial/colonial episode, and steered instead by the logic of the global redistribution of living resources and the chances of survival peculiar to the current stage of globalisation’. Furthermore, though neoMarxists argue that key drivers of globalisation are capitalism and the associated neo-liberal ideologies (Harvey 2005), others, such as Giddens (1990), criticise the preoccupation with economic factors, focusing on processes of ‘transformation in the spatial organization of social relations and transactions’ (Held et al. 1999: 16). Such transformation, ‘the gradual emergence of the flimsy, indistinct, fragile and ultimately fictitious nature of system boundaries’ (Bauman 2011: 33), has provoked widespread academic argument about whether globalisation is a late development of modernity and its related hegemonic, colonialist power structures or a new, postmodern phenomenon (Andreotti 2010; Jacquemet 2005) characterised by liquidity, flux and the loss of credibility of the ‘grand narrative’ (Bauman 2011; Lyotard 1984). Migration is also marked by a shift from rural to urban contexts; indeed, the world’s urban population surpassed the rural population for the first time in 2009 (Cru 2014: 4). What is emerging in these urban settings through Bauman’s ‘third phase of migration’, then, is a kaleidoscopic and constantly shifting pattern of diverse social, ethnic, linguistic and cultural groups. These groups may be small or large, newly arrived or resident for generations, transnational and/or translocal and are characteristic of Vertovec’s (2007) ‘super-diversity’, a ‘diversification of diversity’ (Rampton et al. 2015). One aspect of this relates to what could be called linguistic super-diversity (Lamb 2015), which, though not a new phenomenon in many parts of the world, has led to the transformation of many urban contexts in Europe and elsewhere. The UK, for example, is becoming increasingly multilingual, and not only in cities. The specifically super-diverse nature of cities, however, makes it difficult to know the extent of multilingualism (Salverda 2006), though an indication of the linguistic super-diversity of London can be seen in the number of home languages spoken to varying extents by children in schools – over 300 already in 2000, according to Baker and Eversley (2000). Numbers of languages and sizes of linguistic communities also continue to increase. In Sheffield, for example, 125 home languages were identified in 2012; however, the increasing proportion of children bringing other languages to school can be seen in the fact that, although almost 17% of the overall school population spoke a language other than English at home,

12  Terry Lamb and Goran Vodicka this rose to over 30% amongst those entering primary education (Languages Sheffield 2012). When compared with the 1994 figures (48 languages with 8.1% of the primary school population speaking them at home), the increase can be seen even more sharply (SUMES 1994). In addition, many of these children are not bilingual but plurilingual, a term used by the Council of Europe and in this chapter, which is defined as ‘the capacity of individuals to use more than one language in social communication whatever their command of those languages’ (Beacco 2005: 19). This is rendered even more complex, however, by manifestations of the new ‘multilingualism of entanglement’ (Williams and Stroud 2013), in which multiple languages are used for communication, sometimes simultaneously, by individuals and groups; this is evidenced by studies into forms of linguistic hybridity, such as translanguaging (Creese and Blackledge 2010) and metrolingualism (Pennycook and Otsuji 2015), in ‘post-multilingual cities’ (Lamb 2015: 3). Nevertheless, in the midst of such linguistic super-diversity, England and, indeed, most other Anglophone and European countries, is still penetrated by the Herderian ideology of ‘one state, one people, one language’ (Lamb 2015: 3). There is considerable evidence of the ‘monolingual ideology’ (Blackledge 2001) in England’s schools, for example, where English is often the only language to be valued and any other languages that are brought into school are perceived as a threat to the children’s development of English rather than a resource to support it. The situation is, sadly, particularly evident for children who bring a language spoken by more recent migrant populations from parts of South Asia or Africa (such as Punjabi or Somali), rather than one of perceived high status, such as French or German. The focus on these children’s perceived deficit in English means that their languages are more likely to be seen as a barrier to learning in school, indeed, a barrier to a successful life, rather than as a rich and valuable form of symbolic capital. Writing in the UK, Li Wei (2011: 371) reports that, public perception of minority ethnic children, especially those who speak languages other than English at home, is that of problems. Their multilinguality often seems to be a contributing factor; that is, the children’s apparent underachievement or the socioeconomic disadvantage they are experiencing has been attributed to the fact that they do not speak English only or all the time. The problematisation of multilingualism and plurilingualism is not only apparent in schools. The Nuffield Foundation’s (2000: 36) enquiry into the state of languages in the UK claimed that ‘the multilingual talents of UK citizens are under-recognised, under-used and all too often viewed with suspicion’. Nor is such problematisation only experienced in the UK. Phillipson (2003) has written about the hegemony of English across Europe as a result of globalisation, leading to a decreasing interest in studying other languages and to structural barriers to bringing children’s home languages (where they are not the language of instruction) on to the curriculum. Baetens-Beardsmore (2003) has asked the question, ‘Who is afraid of bilingualism?’ and describes how fear even exists amongst parents of bilingual children. This concern is echoed in Souto-Manning’s (2006) research with bilingual families in the USA and in figures showing the reduction in use of some well-established home languages by Australian families (Clyne and Kipp 1997). It would appear that the

Collective autonomy and multilingual spaces 13 problematisation of multilingualism and plurilingualism can affect everyone, including some of the linguistic communities themselves; combined with the hegemony of English in the context of globalisation, this serves to reduce the range of languages learnt outside the home. Within the modernist paradigm, to overturn a linguistic hegemony would require a revolution, a re-structuring of society. With the onset of late-modernity (Giddens 1993), however, and the increasing complexities of a globalised world, we suggest that pushing for effective and long-term, top-down change is inadequate, even if a national government is willing. For example, the British Labour government expressed commitment to supporting multilingualism in its development of a national languages strategy in 2002: For too long in this country there has been as assumption that because English is spoken in many parts of the world, there is no need for English speakers to learn other languages [. . .] We need to [. . .] recognise the contribution of languages – not just European languages, but all our community languages as well – to the cultural and linguistic richness of our society, to personal fulfilment, commercial success, international trade and mutual understanding. (DfES 2002: 1) This shift in language education policy was marked by numerous multilingual projects, interventions and curriculum developments (including provision of qualifications in a wide range of languages), but all of them were discontinued following the government’s defeat in the 2010 elections. The failure of such policy cannot, however, mean the end of attempts to address the situation. Instead, we authors of this chapter see the potential of contestation and resistance by groups and communities themselves, developing local initiatives to explore linguistic ‘futures in the present’ (Cleaver 1979) at a grassroots level. Such groups and communities may inhabit physical urban spaces or virtual spaces in a global world, but collectively, they will be living an autonomy that is in the present, shaping ‘the vision of the world’, developing their symbolic power themselves and imposing recognition of the value of multilingualism and plurilingualism in a process of shifting the monolingual habitus (Bourdieu 1994: 137–138).

Understanding autonomy as a collectivist construct Autonomy is often demonised as an individualistic and threatening force that is incompatible with the idea of communities: [we] need to celebrate collective solidarity, connection, responsibility for dependent others, duty to respect the customs of one’s community – instead of western capitalist culture’s valuing of autonomy and liberal freedom. (Žižek 2008: 123) We contend that autonomy as applied in the field of language learning and teaching to date has predominantly and ultimately focused on the individual’s personal autonomy, though this is not necessarily at odds with the idea of social living. We are

14  Terry Lamb and Goran Vodicka not claiming that it has been restricted to the Kantian rationalist interpretation (an individual able to govern him/herself according to reason and independently of any emotions or preferences), though early definitions of learner autonomy in the language learning field tended to have a rationalist orientation, with ‘[t]he autonomous learner [. . .] himself capable of making all these decisions concerning the learning with which he is or wishes to be involved’ (Holec 1981: 3). Indeed, we see the construct of personal autonomy as also encompassing the relational, where it is socially embedded; according to Christman (2004: 148, in Baumann 2008), ‘requirements concerning the interpersonal or social environment of the agent’ are one of the defining conditions of autonomy, and for Baumann (2008: 448), ‘[t]he ‘social’ is written directly into the definition of autonomy’. For many years, the social dimension of learner autonomy in language learning has indeed been recognised (Little 2000; Murray 2014); nevertheless, much of this work still focuses either on the ways in which individuals achieve their learning goals not in isolation but through collaboration with others, or on the ways in which the social space affords individual learning. The construct of personal autonomy has been criticised from critical and postmodern perspectives, which deny the possibility of divorcing the individual from the dynamic sociopolitical context and the power it exerts over him/her (Zembylas and Lamb 2008). Reflecting this, scholarship on the social dimensions of learner autonomy in language learning has taken what could be described as a late modernist turn, resonating with the position of this chapter in relation to globalisation and urbanism. Murray (2014), for example, explores the autonomy of learners and teachers in an increasingly interconnected world, where it is entangled within complex webs of social and contextual processes, power flows, interrelationships, motivations and constantly shifting social identities. Here we see a deeper understanding of the ways in which, for example, in-school and out-of-school learning are entwined and how learners’ diverse and ever-changing identities (including their plurilingual identities) are brought into play (or not) when learning another language. Ushioda (2011: 21–22) also argues that motivations and identities ‘develop and emerge as dynamically co-constructed processes’ through social participation, pointing out that ‘[w]hen students are enabled to voice opinions, preferences and values, align themselves with those of others, engage in discussion, struggle, resist, negotiate, compromise or adapt, their motivational dispositions and identities evolve and are given expression’. To some extent, then, such developments mark a shift from a focus on the individual. To what extent it relates to the collectivist autonomy of groups or communities, however, is not articulated, although Vieira’s work is influenced by a Freirian ‘politics of hope’ when she describes her network of teachers, teacher educators and academics as ‘a collective commitment to a collective struggle’ (Vieira 2009: 10). This offers a more collectivist proposal than the earlier critical definition of both teacher autonomy and learner autonomy that emerged from the EuroPAL project: The competence to develop as a self-determined, socially responsible and critically aware participant in (and beyond) educational environments, within a vision of education as (inter)personal empowerment and social transformation. (Jiménez Raya, Lamb and Vieira 2007)

Collective autonomy and multilingual spaces 15 Such developments in the construct of autonomy in language learning reveal a commitment to creating the conditions for social transformation both individually and collectively. It is, however, to other disciplines that we must turn to find interpretations of autonomy, which lend themselves to an exploration of groups, networks or communities autonomously and collectively creating the conditions in which particular languages can be learnt and used and where multilingualism and plurilingualism can be understood and lived as resources rather than problems. In the field of Law, for example, Alexander has written about ‘group autonomy’ as ‘a mode of social organization in which nomic clusters, replacing the individual as the basic unit, are free to pursue their conceptions of the good, just as classical liberalism promotes the autonomy of the individual’ (Alexander 1989: 3). A more radical interpretation comes from Cornelius Castoriadis (1975), a French philosopher of Greek origin, for whom a collectively autonomous society reconciles individual and collective conceptions of autonomy when both society and its members are reflexive, able to interrogate themselves and their laws, and engage in acts of the ‘radical imagination’, through which they can imagine a different way of being and take action to try to make this work. Such collective or group versions of autonomy challenge Žižek’s (2008: 123) juxtaposition of ‘autonomy’ and ‘group’, seen above, reminding us that ‘autonomy’ had its origins as a political construct (the emergence of the self-governing city state), before Plato developed it into a more personal one (Marshall 1996), and that this re-emerged in the 1960s in the form of Italian Autonomism, rejecting hegemony and calling for the creation of autonomous space for the working classes. This chapter is concerned with language communities autonomously finding spaces where they can challenge the monolingual habitus, collectively creating the conditions in which multilingualism can be normalised and interlingual encounters nurtured. We therefore now turn to a cross-disciplinary consideration of the three constructs of collective autonomy, space, and place as informed by critical orientations. This will enable us to gain an understanding of existing strategies for sustaining multilingualism in urban spaces, illuminating possibilities for further struggles. Firstly, we turn to the ways in which the concepts of ‘space’ and ‘place’ are used in a range of disciplines.

Considering space and place The space-place dualism was introduced in the field of human geography in the 1970s. For the phenomenologist Tuan (1977), space is ‘a realm without meaning’, and for Agnew (1987), a place is ‘a meaningful location’. For Cresswell (2015), ‘[s] paces have areas and volumes’ whereas ‘places have space between them’. Such binaries are, however, not uncontested, as demonstrated effectively by Casey (2013), a philosopher of place, in his comprehensive exploration of the concepts. Even if we consider the classical Greek philosophical concepts of chora and topos, often considered to be the origin of the distinction between space (chora) and place (topos), it is clear that not only do they overlap but that they have been used inconsistently and sometimes interchangeably, particularly in relation to the concept of ‘extent’ (Algra 1994). There is in fact as great a lack of consensus in relation to these concepts as there is to the concepts of space and place. Rämö (1999), for example, depicts them as abstract space (chora) and concrete space (topos), though the Greeks used a

16  Terry Lamb and Goran Vodicka third term (kenon) to depict an abstract space or a void, as chora tended to contain something or be occupied. Rämö’s binary depiction is possibly influenced by the Aristotelian understanding of ‘topos’ as fundamental to existence and by Heidegger, for whom existence was necessarily Dasein (the German word for ‘existence’, literally ‘being there’), both subjective concepts of ‘place’ as opposed to the more objective conception of ‘chora’ (space as a vessel in which places may ‘become’) (Casey 2013). The contested nature of space and place can be seen across academic discourse (Dovey 2010: 3). For Malpas, another philosopher of place, places also carry spaces within them (Cresswell 2015: 48). Lefebvre (1974) refers to ‘social space’, or ‘socially produced space’, which has much in common with understandings of place referred to above. For De Certeau (1984), place is empty, and space is created by practice, a ‘tactical art that plays with the structures of place that are provided’ (Cresswell 2015: 70). Soja (1996) rejects binaries altogether, identifying the significance of Thirdspace, which is ‘practiced and lived rather than simply being material (conceived) or mental (perceived)’ (Cresswell 2015: 69–70). In this chapter, we understand space not as abstract or empty, ‘an invisible medium, a contentless container, an exterior stage’ (Friedland 1992: 11) that made it so attractive to enlightenment and modernist thinkers, privileging as they did ‘an objective and abstract conception of space as a framework for the particularities of place’ (Dovey 2010: 4). Instead, we understand that space has the potential to afford the social construction of places, in which meanings are made. Furthermore, we are particularly interested in the ‘particularities of place, a celebration of the possibilities of making new histories’ (Friedland 1992: 11) that modernity was so averse to. Our overall late modern conception of the world, however, also leads us to an avoidance of the risk of essentialism (Dovey 2010; Harvey 1996), which could arise from a tight relationship between place, attached meaning and belonging and which could render a place unwelcoming towards other meanings and therefore exclusionary. In order to achieve this, we draw on the geographer Massey (1994) and the urbanist Dovey (2010). In Massey’s ‘progressive sense of place’, place is open and outward looking rather than enclosed and inward looking; it is characterised by a ‘throwntogetherness’ of interactions, collections of stories, histories of journeys and connections. This can be seen in this example of her research in a local high street in London: while Kilburn may have a character of its own, it is absolutely not a seamless, coherent identity, a single sense of place which everyone shares . . . If it is now recognized that people have multiple identities, then the same point can be made in relation to places. Moreover, such multiple identities can be either, or both, a source of richness or a source of conflict. (Massey 1994: 153) For Dovey (2010: 6), ‘place is an inextricably intertwined knot of spatiality and sociality’ and therefore requires ‘approaches that cut across the spatiality and sociality divide’. In order to find appropriate approaches, he then turns to Deleuze and Bourdieu: I suggest we replace the Heideggerian ontology of being-in-the-world with a more Deleuzian notion of becoming-in-the-world. This implies a break with

Collective autonomy and multilingual spaces 17 static, fixed, closed and dangerously essentialist notions of place, but preserves a provisional ontology of place-as-becoming [. . .] I also suggest we replace the division of subjectivity – objectivity or people – environment with Bourdieu’s concept of the habitus as an embodied world. (Dovey 2010: 6) This returns us to issues of power, which, for us, underpin the structures of society and therefore of the spaces and places within it. We understand that such structural power always needs to be borne in mind, whilst reminding ourselves that action in the here-and-now is needed and that places have the potential to be sites for struggle, where communities can find ‘spaces for manoeuvre’ (Lamb 2000) in order to produce a degree of autonomy. In our interdisciplinary exploration of the interrelationships between space, place and critical, collective autonomy, we hope to gain insights into ways of creating more inclusive, urban, multilingual spaces.

Space, place and autonomy The struggle for autonomy in urban spatial contexts drives the philosophy and writing of the Marxist sociologist, Henri Lefebvre, and the Marxist geographer, David Harvey. For Lefebvre (1974), influenced by Gramscian thought, urban space is socially produced by hegemonic forces in order to maintain their dominance, and this is integral to social reproduction. His theories also foreground everyday life, defined as the intersection of ‘illusion and truth, power and helplessness; the intersection of the sector man controls and the sector he does not control’ (Lefebvre 1947). He argues that everyday life and movement through urban spaces are colonised by capital, which dominates their pace and rhythms as well as turning them into places of consumption. Nevertheless, he acknowledges the potential for revolution through raised awareness, opening the intersections of everyday life to new possibilities. Lefebvre was a great influence on Harvey’s (1996) radical critique of cities and the ways in which the spatial nature of global capital leads to domination and oppression, mobility of production and capital, and postcolonial migrations. ‘We have been made and re-made without knowing exactly why, how, wherefore and to what end’, he claims (Harvey 2003: 939), exposing the fate of particular groups (in this case, groups without access to ‘endless capital accumulation’). Nevertheless, he does not position such groups as passive pawns: We are, all of us, architects, of a sort. We individually and collectively make the city through our daily actions and our political, intellectual and economic engagements. But, in return, the city makes us. (Harvey 2003: 939) Through such actions, Harvey reveals the possibility of change by invoking Lefebvre’s (1968) concept of ‘le droit à la ville’ (‘the right to the city’), ‘not merely a right of access to what already exists, but a right to change it after our heart’s desire’ (Harvey 2003: 939). Seizing the right to the city is a collective enterprise,

18  Terry Lamb and Goran Vodicka which brings a ‘more inclusive, even if continuously fractious city’ (Harvey 2003: 941): The right to the city is far more than the individual liberty to access urban resources: it is a right to change ourselves by changing the city. It is, moreover, a common rather than an individual right since this transformation inevitably depends upon the exercise of a collective power to reshape the processes of urbanization. (Harvey 2008: 23) This includes ‘the right to be different [. . .] but it also implies the right for different group or collective explorations of such differences and, as a consequence, the right to pursue development on some territorial and collective basis that departs from established norms’ (Harvey 2000: 251). For Harvey, this is a real possibility, for ‘[i]f our urban world has been imagined and made then it can be re-imagined and re-made’ (2003: 941). There is also, however, a danger that communities will degenerate into ‘regressive exclusions and fragmentations’ (2000: 240), so the struggle for power in such spaces requires the ‘construction of collective identities, of communities of action, of rules of belonging’, in order to translate the personal and the political onto a broader terrain of human action (2000: 241). In such local and collective action, Harvey (2000) sees ‘spaces of hope’ for communities to achieve for themselves a greater inclusion of their own identities. Through this lens, we see the possibility for linguistic communities to create their own ‘spaces of hope’, not through retreat into themselves, but through engaging with others to create dynamic places in which multilingualism and plurilingualism are seen as an ever-changing but always present norm. For the human geographers Pred (1984) and Massey (1994) and the urbanist Soja (1996), place is a process and is ‘never finished’, always ‘becoming’ (Pred 1984: 279); it is always changing through the repetition of practices, like Soja’s (1996) Thirdspace, which is practised and lived rather than conceived (material) or perceived (mental), ‘an-Other way of understanding and acting to change the spatiality of human life, a distinct mode of critical spatial awareness’ (Soja 1996: 57). Here we see the interaction between structure and agency, also reflected in the philosopher de Certeau’s (1984) distinction between strategy and tactics, where strategy relates to the structures of power and tactics to the movements and actions of people that do not conform to the strategies. De Certeau’s Practice of Everyday Life (1984) offers insights that enable us to see linguistic communities making their own mark on everyday spaces and creating new linguistic landscapes (not only visible but audible) that have the potential to shift perceptions and challenge the monolingual habitus. The constructs of place, space and autonomy explicitly intersect in the fields of political studies and autonomous geographies. Pratchett’s (2004) work on local autonomy explores powers transferred to local communities in the context of devolution from central to local government. Pratchett argues that local autonomy differs from local democracy in that the latter is about influencing decisions and the former about being able to make choices. Local autonomy is used synonymously with sovereignty, which is recognised as being constrained by central government. Pratchett (2004: 366–367) proposes three approaches to understanding local autonomy: ‘freedom from’ (the extent to which the centre devolves to the local); ‘freedom to’,

Collective autonomy and multilingual spaces 19 the extent to which local government can develop localised policies; and ‘reflection of local identity’, which portrays local autonomy as bottom-up and flexible, not free from constraints but with ‘the capacity to define and express local identity through political activity’. Pratchett thus emphasises the activities of local communities, which define their own local autonomy, ‘the discretion to practise politics in preferred ways and the freedom to express and develop local identity through political processes’. As in the field of learner autonomy in language learning, autonomy is intimately related to identity, but in this case to a sense of fluid and flexible collective identity, which, in the context of the multilingual city, may enable the community to experience and develop a sense of the value of their languages as they engage across communities within and beyond the localities, a kind of experiential autonomy. As DeFilippis (1999: 976), working in the same field, argues: ‘autonomy is not a discrete commodity that is possessed or not possessed by individuals or localities. Instead autonomy is a set of power relations’. In his work on political activism and social movements, the radical geographer Chatterton defines autonomy as ‘a desire for freedom, self-organization and mutual aid’ (2004: 545). In his article with Pickerill (Pickerill and Chatterton 2006: 731), the ‘usage, meanings and widespread practices [of autonomy] in activists’ everyday activities’ are explored in the context of localized autonomous spaces, such as social centres, eco-villages, housing cooperatives and self-education. For Pickerill and Chatterton (2006: 730–733), autonomous geographies are ‘spaces where people desire to constitute non-capitalist, egalitarian and solidaristic forms of political, social, and economic organization through a combination of resistance and creation’. Autonomy is a desire, a vision that is ‘simultaneously a documentation of where we are, and a projection of where we could be’, contextual and situated, made and re-made, a collective project capable of multiple trajectories, ‘fulfilled only through reciprocal and mutually agreed relations with others’. Pickerill and Chatterton (2006: 735–736) go on to argue that it is not only a socio-spatial strategy but also a temporal one, preserving collective memories of former struggles and ‘projecting autonomous visions into the present and future’, but never complete. Autonomy does not, however, privilege the local; it also involves connecting with other groups, as ‘[a]utonomous practices are not discrete localities, but networked and connected spaces, part of broader transnational networks, where extra-local connections are vital social building blocks’. Furthermore, they add that autonomy and resistance are constituted and practised in interstitial everyday places and identities, ‘an explosive combination of making protest part of everyday life, but also making life into workable alternatives for a wider social good’ (2006: 737). Finally, rather than autonomous geographies representing a universal notion of social transformation and revolution, they explore the potential of local autonomous spaces to change ‘the nature and boundaries of what is taken as common sense and creating workable solutions to erode the workings of market-based economies in a host of, as yet, unknown ways’ (2006: 738). These considerations of the ways in which other disciplines discuss the relationships between space, place and autonomy, especially where there is a focus on struggle, resistance and challenge to the status quo, offer insights into the ways in which linguistic communities may be developing their own practices, their own tactics, not only amongst themselves, but reaching beyond and thereby eroding the monolingual habitus. Whether rooted in a Marxist economy-focused critique of neo-liberalism

20  Terry Lamb and Goran Vodicka or in relation to broader hegemonic forces, they help us to understand the sociospatial dimension of autonomy in relation to urban spaces and communities and how more inclusive, interlingual spaces might emerge in the here-and-now through action and interaction, creation and re-creation, and education and re-education. In the final section of this chapter, we will briefly reflect on the potential of collective and autonomous spatial actions in English cities to create the conditions for a plurilingual habitus to emerge.

Collective autonomy in urban spaces: challenging the monolingual habitus We have argued in this chapter that there is a need to challenge the social injustices brought about by the problematisation and marginalisation of plurilingualism and multilingualism, palpable in the invisibility of particular languages not only in the school curriculum, but in the everyday life of citizens. This monolingual habitus both shapes and is shaped by the emergent dispositions and everyday experiences not only of monolingual but also plurilingual communities, encouraging even plurilingual families to have concerns. In urban spaces, however, we see the emergence of local communities that are resisting this, creating autonomous places in which their languages can be learnt, used and sustained. In the UK, for example, there is a long history of ‘complementary schools’, organised by local ethnic communities in response to the ‘fear of loss of language and culture and the consequent urge to protect and nurture these heritages’ (Creese 2009: 270). Such voluntary schools usually meet in the evenings or on weekends in rented premises (sometimes local mainstream schools) with volunteer members of the community teaching the classes. Such schools fulfill a desire of the communities to have places where they may learn and maintain not only their ‘community’ languages (as they are known in the UK), but also their religious and cultural values. In Lamb’s (2001) research in Nottingham, UK, it was felt by some of the school coordinators that they could also support learners with other mainstream examination subjects by discussing them in their home languages. As such, it has been argued that complementary schools ‘have presented and will continue to present a challenge to the ideologies of mainstream education and society’ (Li Wei 2006: 82), offering ‘safe spaces [. . .] where teachers and students engage in fluid linguistic practices that allow them to draw on a wide range of available resources in creating meaning’ (Creese 2009: 268). Creese’s research demonstrates that their experiences in these schools challenge the plurilingual learners’ and their teachers’ beliefs since, despite the espoused wishes of teachers to privilege the home languages in the school, they all in fact engage in translanguaging practices, ‘associated with multicultural, transnational subject positioning’ and with the construct of ‘flexible bilingualism’. The complementary schools thus become places, which not only protect the languages and cultures of the communities, but also challenge the ideology that languages should remain as separate and discrete entities. This is similarly argued by Hornberger (2007: 189) in the context of the ‘heritage language initiative’ in the USA, which ‘takes an ecological, resource view of indigenous, immigrant, ethnic, and foreign languages as living and evolving in relation to each other and to their environment and as requiring support lest any of them become further endangered’.

Collective autonomy and multilingual spaces 21 Complementary schools enable us to understand the ways in which spaces can afford particular linguistic practices, even when they are not permanent spaces, but ones that serve other purposes at other times. For the periods in which they are being used as complementary schools, however, they are effectively closed spaces, separate from the rest of society not only in space but also in time and exclusive to particular communities, autonomously preserving their own linguistic and cultural values. As we have argued earlier, this may offer resistance to a totally monolingual hegemony, but it will not necessarily challenge the monolingual habitus of society as a whole; for that to occur, there is a need for everyone to be re-educated to value plurilingualism. Unfortunately, these complementary schools have little impact on this, with even the teachers in the mainstream schools attended by the plurilingual learners unaware of the work carried out in them (Creese 2009: 272). This is not to say that such schools have no role in empowering the communities; a Gramscian view ‘would argue that these languages can only maintain their place in society from a position of strength built up outside the state system, since otherwise they will be at the whim of the majority power’ (Lamb 2001: 10). However, as we have argued, for the monolingual habitus to be addressed, change is needed to re-educate everyone, not just the linguistically disenfranchised, and this requires visibility of the languages throughout the city; for Marten, Van Mensel and Gorter (2012: 1) ‘[b] eing visible may be as important for minority languages as being heard’. The re-education of all has been the driving purpose of Languages Sheffield since its early days as the local government funded Multilingual City Project, launched in 1994. At that time, it described a multilingual city as one where different languages become part of the organic development of the community as a whole. It is where these languages are spoken at home, in public and in education. Crucially, it is where they are on offer to be learnt and used by anyone interested or fired by them – as well as by those who are historically and culturally bound by them. (SUMES 1994: 7) Languages Sheffield is a charitable body that attempts through its networks to develop a city-wide understanding of the value of its multilingualism through projects, partnerships with community groups and complementary schools and development of a local languages strategy. A feature of late modern urbanism is that it is characterised by networks, which Samarajiva and Shields (1997: 536) have conceptualised as spaces, which serve as ‘sites of communicative action structured by a range of social relations’. Networks can be dynamic and creative spaces, offering the flexibility to enable individuals and groups collectively to take some control over issues of importance to them. One example was the large-scale weeklong celebration of multilingualism in central public spaces organised by the authors of this chapter at the University of Sheffield, together with Languages Sheffield and other local and community organisations in October 2014. For a week, Sheffield’s multilingualism became visible to all in parts of the city centre, with multilingual performances of song, poetry and storytelling by children and adults, poster displays in public spaces, public talks on languages and the arts/business/culture, radio debates and an interactive exhibition to which passersby were encouraged to contribute their

22  Terry Lamb and Goran Vodicka stories of language learning and use. The festival generated a great deal of interest and excitement as well as many conversations about languages and language learning. It was noticeable, however, that most of the language performances by children were offered in French, German and Spanish. Over 20 complementary schools were invited to participate, but only three replied (Chinese, Spanish and Oromo). The data from the interactive exhibition have not yet been fully analysed, but it is clear that, though many languages were represented in the exhibits, most of the contributions in community languages were completed locally in advance of the festival, not in the city centre itself, and those completed in the central spaces were from university students and visitors rather than from established Sheffield communities. Further research is needed to understand the use of local community languages in formal city centre spaces, but the festival certainly suggested the possibility that ‘multilingualism is structured and regimented by spaces and relations between spaces’ (Blommaert et al. 2005: 205). It would appear that particular languages and their speakers may be excluded from some civic spaces, just as they frequently are from mainstream classrooms, reducing the likelihood of meaningful re-educative contact between plurilingual individuals and communities and the hegemonic linguistic population. Before concluding this chapter, then, let us return to the spaces, in which our interdisciplinary review of space/place and collective and critical autonomy suggested ‘new histories’ are continuously being made and re-made, the spaces which afford the ongoing social (re-)construction of places through collective and experienced autonomy. These are the local neighbourhood spaces outside the civic centres, such as Massey’s Kilburn, where superdiversity is most visible and audible. Linguistic landscape studies have begun to shift from the commercial city centres, providing rich and vibrant portraits of superdiverse neighbourhoods, such as Brockton, Calgary (Burwell and Lenters 2015), Bogatto and Hélot’s (2010) Quartier Gare in Strasbourg or the London Borough of Hackney (Wessendorf 2015). In Sheffield, it is our experience that in local, informal, public spaces such as streets and parks, the fluid and varied use of languages is an everyday part of life, resonating with Pennycook and Otsuji’s (2015) record of metrolingualism in Sydney and Tokyo. To what extent such spaces are affording a ‘vernacular cosmopolitanism’ (Hall 2009), in which people live amongst and recognise difference without converging to sameness, cannot, however, be known without further research. Such vibrant local urban spaces nevertheless reflect Massey’s non-essentialist ‘progressive sense of place’, which views place as process, open and dynamic, always shifting and characterised by ‘throwntogetherness’, in this case of languages, cultures and identities. They suggest a linguistic Thirdspace, practised and lived, where linguistic tactics reveal the ways in which agency interacts with structure. Within these slippery spaces, we see practices emerging, in which a collective but pluralistic identity may be developing. This is not to deny that there may be tensions and struggle, but overall, they offer the possibility of moving towards an increasingly visible, everyday multilingualism and becoming dynamic ‘spaces of hope’ for a more linguistically inclusive city, with people drawing on all of their linguistic resources to communicate with each other. The potential for local communities to shape the linguistic spaces that they inhabit offers a vision of wider self-empowerment, not just locally but also translocally and transnationally. Of course, such practices could simply reflect an exciting but ultimately nontransformative late modernity, in which anything is possible in local spaces, but

Collective autonomy and multilingual spaces 23 where access to other formal urban and educational spaces remains withheld. We have argued, however, that though we need local activism in the here-and-now, we must not lose sight of the structural injustices experienced by many linguistic minority groups. The monolingual hegemony may be countered in local spaces and the potential for interlinguality may be enhanced there; the challenge, however, is to address the monolingual habitus on a wider level in order to raise awareness of the value of plurilingualism, including the validity of hybrid linguistic practices, beyond the communities themselves. If we return to the Gramscian idea of the ‘war of position’ (Gramsci 1971), we see how such local self-empowerment by linguistic communities is an essential step towards confronting the monolingual hegemony and eroding the monolingual habitus. In order to gain insights into ways of further impacting on broader hegemonic practices, however, including at official institutional and educational levels, we might draw on Mouffe’s (2005, 2007) concept of ‘agonistic’ (as opposed to antagonistic) urbanism, according to which it is to be understood that ‘public spaces are always plural and the agonistic confrontation takes place in a multiplicity of discursive surfaces’ (Mouffe 2005: 3). Whilst challenging the consensus of local hegemonic spaces, then, the construction of agonistic spaces through activist practices nevertheless respects and negotiates with dominant perspectives, engaging with them at different levels, not only locally but also at broader political levels, defusing hostility, yet nevertheless providing ‘affordances for new uses, symbols, and meanings to emerge as an outcome of public process’ (Rios 2008: 218). Through such engagement, the struggle can continue to create more inclusive, socially just places, in which plurilingualism can be valued beyond the local neighbourhood spaces.

Conclusions This chapter has argued that linguistically super-diverse cities offer spaces, in which local language communities can and do challenge the monolingual hegemony through processes which can be understood as collectively autonomous, in the sense that the communities reflect critically on their situation within the broader monolingual context and adjust their local environment to suit their desires. In such spaces, local citizens can produce not only plurilingual places, where it is perceived as normal for many languages to be used, but interlingual places, where hybrid linguistic practices facilitate and reflect a willingness to see all languages as a resource for all (Lamb 2015). Through their everyday practices, as well as through the creation of complementary forms of education in language and culture, such communities are autonomously ensuring that their languages continue to be used, learnt and maintained. Nevertheless, there is also a need to investigate the extent to which these communities themselves are absorbing the monolingual habitus and restricting their own use of their languages to local spaces, such as the home, as identified earlier in this chapter. Where this is the case, there may be the need to build on fledgling work to support communities, and in particular young people, by involving them in coproduced and activist research and training, not only to educate them to continue to value their own plurilingualism, but also to facilitate the ongoing development of their collective and critical autonomy in designing everyday local and translocal, informal and formal, urban spaces that reach beyond their own communities and challenge the monolingual habitus (Vodicka 2015; Lamb and Vodicka 2015).

24  Terry Lamb and Goran Vodicka Taking this a step further, there is the need for communities to be involved in collaborations that develop localised practices into broader institutional policies that value plurilingualism. As we have seen, the monolingual hegemony is particularly tenacious in the English education system. Nevertheless, the acknowledgement of the need to value plurilingualism and multilingualism and the related developments in education policy and curriculum between 2002 and 2010 demonstrate that a more inclusive approach is possible. During that time, for example, the UK Government funded the World Languages Project as a two-year project, though it was curtailed in 2010 following the election of a new government. The aim was to conduct research and develop a strategy to increase the range of languages available to be learnt in schools in England and to encourage monolingual English speakers to learn languages spoken in their communities. As yet unpublished research by the first author included case studies of schools, which were already managing to create places in the curriculum in which pupils could learn such languages, despite the shortage of curriculum time for languages and the lack of community language teachers. Interestingly, despite the research being conducted at a time when there was greater encouragement to diversify, none of the eight case study schools mentioned policy drivers as a rationale for offering a multilingual curriculum. Instead, they had made choices based on principles such as the value of language learning for future citizens of the world and the development of a positively diverse community, elements of an interlingual awareness. Most significantly, however, they had also been influenced by their location in multilingual urban areas and their history of engagement with local linguistic communities. Such engagement had in many cases stemmed from autonomous approaches from the communities to organise their complementary schools on the school premises, as well as offers to provide community teachers (albeit often untrained) in order to develop a more multilingual curriculum, evidence of a critical and collective autonomy that is struggling to bring about shifts beyond its own boundaries and to challenge the monolingual habitus. The struggle to shift the monolingual habitus continues. Financial constraints and central curriculum control make it difficult to sustain such innovations in mainstream education. Language communities, supported by allies in schools, academia and business who see the importance of building on the valuable multilingual resources present in their midst, nevertheless continue to resist the pressures from the monolingual hegemony and to channel their desire that their children learn and use their languages. Local neighbourhood spaces are also increasingly reflecting multilingualism through linguistically hybrid practices. Despite the challenges, then, local and collective autonomous action still offers ‘spaces of hope’ (Harvey 2000) for communities to sustain their languages and to develop agonistic spaces of influence beyond their own local neighbourhoods, building alliances to challenge the monolingual habitus.

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3 Emotion in the construction of space, place and autonomous learning opportunities Cynthia White and Jennifer Bown Introduction Over the past three decades, research attention in learner autonomy has focused largely on the criss-crossing cognitive and motivational pathways that learners forge in the course of developing their expertise in learning a language. This research provides rich descriptions of various aspects of the learner experience of autonomy, yet it generally eschews full acknowledgement of the emotional aspects of autonomous language learning. Thus, the significance of affective experiences in individual learning experiences has remained underexplored. This chapter addresses that gap, arguing that the experience of emotion is consequential in the experience of autonomous language learning. More specifically, we argue that the experience of emotion is salient to how learners construct space, place and opportunity in autonomous language learning, moment by moment. This chapter contributes to an understanding of how language learners actively construct space and place in autonomous language learning, arguing that emotion together with the materiality of the environment are central to developing a more complete understanding of learner autonomy. Our approach is aligned with social constructivist approaches in applied linguistics which seek to identify the kinds of sociocultural dimensions individuals are attempting to construct at any particular moment through specific interactions within the conditions of their lives. We connect themes of emotion, place, space and learning opportunity with reference to two studies of autonomous language learning: the first in Russian study abroad, and the second in telecollaborative projects carried out by distance learners of German. Through these studies, we reveal emotion as integral to the interpersonal and intrapersonal processes that create space, place and autonomous learning opportunities, moment by moment. We conclude by considering how such an analysis enables us to understand students and their experiences of autonomous language learning differently, and arguably, more completely. To begin, and as background to the remainder of the chapter, we review research into emotion, space and place.

Emotion, space and place The affective turn (Clough and Halley 2007) evident in many domains of enquiry in social sciences and related fields means that emotion is now recognised as a crucial aspect of human mental and social life. While earlier studies were based on

30  Cynthia White and Jennifer Bown psychological approaches to emotions, the limitations of those approaches have been identified arguing the need to give attention to the social, cultural and political dimensions of emotional processes and their significance for individuals. From this revised perspective, emotions are public, not exclusively private, objects of inquiry, and cultural and social phenomena are constitutive of emotions affecting the ways in which people feel, perceive and conceptualise life events. In the field of applied linguistics, enquiry into emotion has largely focused on formal, classroom-based settings. Garrett and Young (2009), for example, explore one student’s affective responses to learning Portuguese from beginner level and her affective trajectory over eight weeks. The study reveals that emotional responses were engendered by particular topics and experiences, that some of those responses were modified by new experiences, and that affective appraisals changed over time. Garrett and Young conclude that two kinds of community, the immediate community of the classroom and the distant community of Brazilian culture were key influences on this learner’s affective responses to her language learning experience. A study by Imai (2010) extends perspectives on emotions in language learning by focusing on the collaborative learning experiences of Japanese learners of English in a classroom setting. Concentrating on emotions between people, the study demonstrates how participants’ emotions were manifested in discourse and were co-constructed and shared during the course of particular tasks. In line with sociocultural theories of mind, Imai concludes that just as collaborative relationships are consequential to an individual’s learning, emotions play a role in the ways that collaboration takes place and thus in learning. Students’ affective experiences in language learning outside of face-to-face classrooms have been explored with reference to distance language learning and individualised instruction. In a study of distance learners of Spanish carrying out speaking tasks in an online environment using audiographic tools, de los Arcos, Coleman and Hampel (2009) examine anxiety as a social construct. The study charts changes in learner beliefs and emotions as they progress through different learning settings and experiences: it also provides a fine-grained analysis of how students both perceive and experience different learning spaces and the task of speaking within them. From this research, we have some preliminary indications of the ways in which learners’ perceptions and emotions related to speaking vary within technologically mediated settings and that they may be very different from those in face-to-face settings. A second focus on emotions in out-of-class learning has considered the context of individualised instruction (Bown and White 2010 a, b) in a longitudinal enquiry with 19 learners of Russian over the course of at least one semester.1 The approach in the study was to enquire into learners’ experience of emotions and the meanings they attach to those affective experiences including in terms of their learning trajectories. The study revealed that students’ emotions and their regulation of emotions are affected by the learning environment and by the quality of relationships available to them within that environment. It also illustrated the reciprocal linkages between emotions and their antecedents. More specifically, the study provides evidence of the ways in which emotions feed back to appraisals of the social environment and contribute to the learning environment. It presents a view of the individual and context as one system with emotions as integral to the interpersonal processes that create the learning context moment by moment. We revisit this point throughout this chapter.

Emotion in space, place and learning 31 Thus, we view emotions as neither exclusively private phenomena nor as exclusively sociocultural phenomena. Rather, in line with Leavitt (1996) and Zembylas (2012), we see emotions as: located in the liminal space between the individual and the social, challenging the binary divisions between individual vs. social, public vs. private, and emphasising that emotion operates as a constitutively reciprocal component in the interaction/transaction between larger social forces and the internal psychic and embodied terrain of the individual. (Zembylas 2012: 167) Importantly, then, emotions are thus seen as ‘crucial to the processes in which the psychological and social are produced’ (Zembylas 2007: 63). And while sociocultural frameworks have focused on the need to use methods that are sensitive to the social contexts in which emotions are produced and experienced, there has not as yet been a focus on how the experience of emotion constructs context – including place and space – moment by moment. This will be the focus of our chapter. Turning now to space and place, the importance of context or environment in language learning has been captured by such diverse frames as interactionist approaches, language socialisation, sociocultural theory and classroom ethnographies. A basic tenet of sociocultural theory is that humans learn language via cognitive and linguistic interactions with the material and social worlds. Sociocultural viewpoints have led to an increasing emphasis on the social context in the L2 literature. Noels (2009), for example, argues that features of the context of acquisition can have profound implications for the experience of language learning. However, place and space have, for the most part, been understood as the backdrop or context in which students acquire language skills, exerting little or no influence on what happens. Earlier, we referred to the affective turn in social sciences research; here, we now review some of the key lines of thought which have contributed to the ‘spatial turn’ in many fields of social science and education. One of the earliest theorists to examine ‘space’ and ‘place’ was Tuan (1974), who investigated how people organise places and attach meanings to spaces within their lives. He distinguishes between space and place, arguing that space transforms into place as individuals come to know and ascribe value to it. Part of the process by which place acquires meaning is through ‘the steady accretion of sentiment’ (Tuan 1977: 3), by which space is invested with meaning. Somerville, Power and de Carteret (2009: 6), in their analysis of education, place and space, identify three elements which are key to a reconceptualisation of place in learning: first, that relationships to place are constituted in stories and other forms of representation; that place learning is both local and embodied; and that ‘deep place learning occurs in a contact zone of contestation’. These three elements are particularly relevant to the notion of place in the study abroad data we consider later on, where place essentially involves different ways of knowing and being in the world, confronting different paradigms that call for ongoing meaning-making in experiences which are both situated and embodied. In this chapter, we take the view that constructions of space (and place) are based not simply on the physical features of spaces, but also on emotions. We further argue

32  Cynthia White and Jennifer Bown that emotions are central to how we construct our environment and experiences. This, of course, means that constructions of place and space vary among individuals and change over time and in relation to other spaces. We will explore the ways in which humans shape place and space, arguing that space both shapes practices and emotional responses and is produced by them. This is aligned with the view proposed by Massey (2004), who understands space as a coming together of trajectories, of people and things at a particular moment in time. In the next section, and as further background to what follows, we briefly review one approach to understanding learner autonomy which emphasises the ongoing construction of space, place and opportunity and the role of emotions in that process.

Theorising autonomous learning opportunities: the learner-context interface The notion of the learner-context interface emerged as central to a learner-based theory of autonomous language learning: it was initially derived from a longitudinal study of the expectations and emergent beliefs of distance learners using a phenomenographic approach (White 1999, 2003), and has been the basis of several recent studies in distance language learning (see for example Belamaric Wilsey 2013; Hampel and de los Arcos 2013; Murphy 2011). Learners see themselves and their learning contexts as mutually constitutive, emphasising the primacy within their learning experience of the unique dynamic established between themselves and their learning contexts. According to this view, distance language learning – as a form of autonomous language learning – is essentially characterised by the ongoing construction on the part of the learner of a personally meaningful interface between themselves and their learning contexts: the interface established between individual learners and their particular contexts is based on the actions they take and the ongoing interplay between themselves and those contexts. The theory aligns with sociocultural notions of mediation focusing on how language learners engage with features of their contexts as tools to work on themselves. The key issues take place at the interface: the point at which learners need to establish for themselves a working mode through which to derive learning experiences from the affordances of the environment (White, Direnzo and Bortolotto 2016), out of which they shape space, place and opportunity in language learning. Within the learner-context interface theory, context is seen as both dynamic and variable: it includes not only the features of the learning environment (such as the physical settings in which the learning takes place, target language sources, course work, assessment, sources of support) but also immediate features (such as the task environment and interactions, the task at that moment, feedback provided to the individual learner, affordances and constraints of the technology-mediated environment), which learners may appraise as affordances and constraints in the moment. Working within the interface they have developed up to that point, learners both perceive and respond to features of the context in different ways, meaning that the context is highly variable for each individual, and dynamic, changing moment by moment. And we see the experience of emotion as situated at the learner-context experiential interface, between the individual and the social, involving configurations

Emotion in space, place and learning 33 of actors, conditions and events in dynamic ensembles, all of which contribute to the construction of space and place.

Space and place in Russian study abroad That study abroad poses significant challenges to learners is well documented in the research literature. The experience of crossing cultures during study abroad engenders a significant amount of stress that involves coping with unfamiliar physical and psychological experiences (Cushner and Karim 2004; Ward, Bochner and Furnham 2001). Among the challenges faced by learners, Oberg, in a seminal article on culture shock, identified the ‘loss of familiar signs and symbols of social intercourse’ (Oberg 1960: 177). In essence, Oberg is describing the loss of ‘space,’ in a physical ‘container’ sense, and ‘place’, in the sense of cultural constructs. The learner’s role during study abroad is to construct ‘places’ for learning – both for language learning and for cultural learning. Study ‘abroad entails not only crossing national borders, but operating in semipermanent ‘contact zones’ between cultures. It can lead to a richly productive exchange, but may also foster tension, even conflict. Personal identities are frequently redefined, or recreated; either in reaction to a culturally different “Other,” or as part of a conscious reconstructing of who we are and where we are from’ (Advanced Studies in England, n.d.). Cultural contact zones have much in common with Bhabha’s (1994) notion of ‘third space’. Third space is conceptualised as an added ‘space’ for the construction of one’s identity within contexts of multiple, contested and hegemonic discourses and represents a hybrid space existing between two different cultures. It is in the ‘third space’ (sometimes written as third place vis à vis Kinginger 2010 and Block 2007) that a ‘negotiation of difference’ (Papastergiadis 2000) takes place. Here, past and present ‘encounter and transform each other’ in the “presence of fissures, gaps, and contradictions”’ (Papastergiadis, cited in Block 2007: 864). Kinginger (2010), while acknowledging that such negotiation of difference can result in discomfort and even pain, suggests that it can also lead to deep learning. However, this negotiation of difference or participation in cultural contact zones is not a given, as Kinginger (2010) argues. Negotiation of difference requires active participation in the learning process and in the learning environments. In fact, Kinginger describes instances where learners fail to engage in negotiation of difference, instead retreating to views of national self-sufficiency and even superiority. Recent research on study abroad has underscored its complexity as a learning environment, ‘recognizing that each individual variable interacts with every other variable, both singly and in combination, to create individual trajectories in which both person and context are in constant interaction and flux’ (Coleman 2013: 29). This recognition has prompted study abroad researchers to focus on affective and social factors, recognising that such factors are at once constituted by and constitutive of the learner’s experience. A great deal of research has been dedicated to learner agency on study abroad, to motivation and to social interactions. Missing from these accounts, however, is a focus on emotions per se. Emotions, even in more ecological treatments of study abroad, are often treated as triggers that shape motivation and affect learners’

34  Cynthia White and Jennifer Bown agentic choices and actions (Bown, Dewey and Belnap 2015; Isabelli-Garcia 2006; Pellegrino Aveni 2005), rather than focusing on the construction of emotions themselves. This study focuses on the journals of two North American female students participating in a three-month study abroad programme in St. Petersburg, Russia. As part of the programme, they kept journals on the emotions they experienced during study abroad and how those emotions shaped their overall language learning experience. Natalia and Linda, 20-year-old students from a large, private university in the western United States, travelled to Russia in 2007 as part of a study abroad programme with 17 other students. Their journals detail their efforts to construct a sense of ‘place’ in Russia, a safe place in which to learn and share. Natalia’s very first journal entry details a negative experience that she had in the St. Petersburg metro: In the metro station a girl had asked me where the metro was. We wandered a bit together, stopped 2 other ladies who were also confused by the disappearance of the metro (turns out it was closed until 6:30). The first girl seemed about 16 or 17 and she ended up walking with me towards the next station. Since we were talking and walking together, I decided to be friendly and I asked her what her name is. She didn’t answer me, so I asked again using the formal usage. She just looked at me in silence and said, ‘I think I should be asking you questions’. I don’t know if I sounded foreign and that scared her, but she left my side and we walked individually the rest of the way. I felt really confused because I felt like I had shared a common experience with the girl – we were both searching for the metro and were baffled by its non-existence. I am used to making friends and acquaintances when I share a similar ‘unifying’ moment or circumstance, and when she reacted defensively I thought that I had done something wrong. I still am not sure if it was my language/accent that made her not tell me her name, or if people don’t make friends on the street. I felt really dumb and sad – I thought I was going to make a friend and I didn’t. Initially, Natalia’s experience with the young girl in the metro appeared to be positive; Natalia felt that they were creating a ‘space’ together, sharing a common experience and trying together to find the metro station. When her attempt to substantiate this shared space, by asking for her interlocutor’s name backfired, Natalia felt very confused. Though both women continued their search for the metro, even within the same physical location, they both clearly occupied separate spaces. Natalia had believed that the two were creating a shared space through their ‘unifying’ experience. Her interlocutor, however, was not interested in sharing a space with her fellow adventurer. The second experience recorded in Natalia’s journal described a very different experience, one that allowed Natalia to create a shared space with a native Russian, to feel a sense of connectedness. While sitting alone on a park bench, Natalia was approached by an elderly Russian who, as she discovered with some difficulty, wanted to sketch her. Upon discovering that his interlocutor was a foreigner, the gentleman proceeded to write down a list of must-see sites in St. Petersburg. He taught her some new words, like the word for grass, trees and sky, and told her his name.

Emotion in space, place and learning 35 Natalia reported her joy after this encounter, noting that she had felt like ‘smiling and singing’ because: I was so grateful for this man! Just to talk to me and show me how much he loves his country! It made me realize and remember how much I want to know this country and the people, to be able to communicate with them and understand them and be able to appreciate the history of Russia as much as they do. After her initial negative experience in the metro, this experience in the park reminded Natalia of her motivation. The elderly man shared something of himself with her – sharing his love for his city and his country. The experience gave her ‘hope’ in her Russian journey. Moreover, this experience helped Natalia overcome her ‘fear that Russians will be upset at me if I don’t speak well’. What seems most important about this encounter is the social construction of the space. To create a shared space, individuals must be open to each other, revealing something of their inner selves. Additionally, this experience convinced Natalia to persevere in her language study and her language use. She found that she could be accepted by Russians, even if her language skills were imperfect. Natalia’s increased hope in her language learning and her study abroad experience helped Natalia to open herself up to other experiences, including a trip to the Russian bathhouse or bania. Though she reported initial discomfort at being disrobed in public, the discomfort quickly dissipated when a Russian babushka offered to ‘beat’ her with birch branches. During this experience, Natalia realised, ‘The funny thing was I wasn’t self-conscious at all. I felt very comfortable and almost liberated to be able to just be one and equal with all these women’. Natalia and some of the women in the bania created a safe space, in which the foreigner was inducted into an important Russian ritual. The creation of the space was dependent not only on Natalia’s openness, but also on the willingness of those around her to admit her into the circle, to show her what the bania was all about. When another babushka asked Natalia to participate in the ritual by beating her with birch branches, Natalia reported feeling ‘included and welcome’. The babushki in the bania recognised Natalia’s foreignness and were intrigued by it. One of them asked where Natalia was from: and became excited and told me, ‘Oh what a story this will be to take home tonight!’ She told me all about surviving during the blockade, when there was almost nothing to live on . . . and I could understand most of what she said. I’ll remember this for a very long time. As in the previous examples, here the learning space was socially constructed, and a cluster of dynamic factors played a role. In this case, Natalia’s foreignness, her status as a novice in the bathhouse, and her own willingness combined with the interest of her fellow bathers to create a space that would leave a lasting impression – not only on Natalia, but quite possibly on her interlocutors, one of whom was excited to share the story. The physical location proved very important to the construction of this space, as well. The communal nature of the bathhouse, its importance in Russian culture, contributed to Natalia’s feeling of inclusion. Though she may have met

36  Cynthia White and Jennifer Bown such women in any other place, meeting them in a traditionally Russian environment contributed to her sense of being a part of the larger community. More importantly, Natalia felt that she had gained particular insights into Russian culture; perhaps she had experienced the ‘deep learning’ referred to by Somerville, Power and de Carteret (2009), in that for her going to the bania was: the first time I have seen the ‘community’ that Russians always talk about. They claim to be close-knitted and a ‘community-oriented’ people and that they are ‘all in this together’, but this is the first time I saw it . . . It made me really happy to see it because it really felt like a community and I could feel the strength of the women. Especially since most of them were old, I imagined the Blockade and other hard times the country has experienced, and I understood how activities with a feeling that the баня (bania) had could help them get through and strengthen each other. In all the narratives so far, experiences within particular locales were imbued with emotions and feelings and a quest for meaning, which together contributed to the development of spaces for deep learning. However, cultural contact zones do not always lead to such deep learning and transformation. Often, as indicated above, they can lead to deep tensions, and even conflict as identities are challenged. Natalia’s fellow sojourner, Linda, experienced conflict within many of her cultural contact zones. The ‘places’ that she created were fraught with negative emotions. Sadly, some of the places where Linda spent most of her time – the classroom and her homestay – were zones of nearly constant conflict and tension, and her journal is filled with rehashing of those conflicts, as she tries to process her negative emotions. Here space only permits us to look at one such episode. Linda recalled an experience at the rynok, a public market in St. Petersburg, that forced her to encounter her own ‘otherness’ and the perceptions that Russians hold towards Americans. Natalia’s experience resulted from overhearing a conversation between an Englishspeaking (though non-American tourist) and a seller. She uses this experience to illustrate Russians’ irrational dislike of Americans and other foreigners: My point in all of this is that Russians in general don’t like us and they have a misconception about who we are (real people) what we stand for (our democratic republic and opportunity) and what we have materially. It also seems to me that Russians are not sensitive to cultural differences. In America, we have our ethnocentrism like everyone else, but we try to be tolerant of others, we recognize openly that we are all different and there are some cultural things that we can’t understand . . . In Russia it seems that there is that ethnocentrism, but they don’t try to curb it at all, they just dislike those who are different. I overheard something at the rinok that reaffirmed my conclusions that Russians just don’t like us. I was looking at some things at a stand while a seller and an English speaking tourist (not American) were talking the seller said, ‘If a German says he will come back, it means he will come back, or if someone from England says it or from Russia or Ukraine says he will come back after he looks, he will come back. But if an American says “I will be back” it really means he doesn’t like it or it is too expensive and you will never see him again’.

Emotion in space, place and learning 37 Linda’s experience of ‘otherness’ caused her to revert to the very ethnocentrism of which she accuses Russians as whole. Rather than being willing to consider the truthfulness in the seller’s words, she attributes this discussion to an overall misconception that Russians have about Americans, whom, in her mind, Russians do not see as ‘real people’. That Linda was unable to connect with Russians on a personal level, to create a space of openness and sharing seems to preclude deep learning or negotiation of difference. She continually enters cultural contact zones, but does not appear to build the ‘third place,’ instead retreating to her first place and constantly reasserting its superiority. Natalia, on the other hand, on several occasions managed to construct ‘third spaces’ with native Russians, many of whom were strangers – the babushki in the bania and the old man in the park. In these third spaces, she began to feel that she better understood Russians and felt validated. The development of learning spaces, or lack thereof, also had important implications for the two women’s trajectories. Natalia remained hopeful in her journey and continued seeking opportunities for cultural contact and negotiation of difference. Natalia’s journal is full of her love for Russians and her joy in her study abroad programme. Linda’s, on the other hand, is filled with negativity and a longing to go home. She finishes the programme primarily because she’s ‘paid for it’ and not because she enjoyed it.

Digital spaces as dwelling places for language learning The term ‘learning spaces’ (Selinger 2000) was coined to refer to online environments where the content is constructed and developed by participants as they interact and collaborate on particular topics and tasks (White 2003). The term captures the idea of an open learning environment that individuals can enter, use, shape and build through their contributions. For example, through chat rooms and social networking, language learners become able to meet up with either other learners or native speakers to interact and develop language skills. This marked a further evolutionary trajectory for the field as the boundaries of language learning opportunities were dramatically extended. Importantly, the new digital spaces were situated within the everyday worlds and technologies of users and as such have become what can be termed contemporary dwelling places (White, Direnzo and Bortolotto 2016) for language learning. This point is elaborated on in the case reported below of a bilingual telecollaborative project between learners of English for Academic Purposes in Germany and distance learners of German in New Zealand. Telecollaboration, as defined by O’Dowd and Ritter (2006: 623), involves the use of online communication tools ‘to bring together language learners in different countries in order to carry our collaborative projects’. In the New Zealand-Germany telecollaborative project, collaboration and reflection were central to all the tasks the students carried out: for example, they were required to choose and critically reflect on particular interactions and on their contribution to different aspects of collective activity. There was a good deal of freedom for learners not only to negotiate the topic but also to choose how they would collaborate. Not long after the project began – it was set to last for three weeks – students began to incorporate other everyday tools such as Facebook and YouTube into the project alongside the existing communication tools (such as voice and text chat, asynchronous discussion forums and wikis). In their evaluations, students noted that Facebook and YouTube were sites they

38  Cynthia White and Jennifer Bown visited and spent time in to recharge and enjoy using their foreign language(s). In other words, those sites became personally meaningful dwelling places within their everyday lives, as well as for language learning. Here, we will explore further digital spaces as dwelling places for language learning and for emotional experience through the eyes of Katiya as she reflects on her experience learning German during the course of the telecollaborative exchange. Katiya was a heritage learner of German, keen to reclaim the language of her grandparents, which she recalled hearing as a child. Katiya’s reflections are drawn from two in-depth interviews: the first took place soon after she had completed the NZ-Germany project, and the other at the end of the German language course. She began by recalling her memories of learning German at school, which were very much bound by place and were infused with a sense of being apart and isolated. In the extract below, her positive affective orientation to language learning sits alongside her narrative of learning languages as a solitary activity carried out in a classroom, at the library or at home. Well, I have actually always loved studying languages and even back when I was in high school we didn’t have German as a subject so I studied it by correspondence school. Basically that was me having to sit in a classroom or in the library on my own listening to tapes doing that at home doing some course work. She reflected on her experiences learning German online at university before she took part in the project, and at this point, she emphasises her feelings of discomfort, frustration and disappointment: my classmates . . . would really only talk about the work we were expected to do . . . at one stage one of the students was writing quite detailed personal messages . . . so then I just emailed her personally so that that dialogue wasn’t totally open – we made our own private space. I just didn’t want everything about me being exposed to the whole class . . . just revealing a lot about yourself and it’s not reciprocated. In ‘we made our own private space’ for conversation, Katiya resolved her uneasiness and sense of vulnerability, creating a safe place that was at once private and shared, away from the public discussion space. This brief observation points to the agency of students in creating a sense of place within virtual spaces with socioaffective affordances that work for them. Katiya was very keen to contribute to the web 2.0 telecollaborative project, and she commented that she enjoyed checking into the project in the course of her daily activities: Hearing everyone was exciting – I’d wake up, go online, check it out . . . and again after work . . . there’s something about hearing other people, it’s so immediate, and seeing what we say. For Katiya the online spaces were places where she could listen to others, placing strong emphasis on the value of hearing others’ voice messages which she could

Emotion in space, place and learning 39 easily access and repeat as she wished. The sense of immediacy in accessing the learning space and, within that, interactions in German added another dimension of space and place: Katiya commented that the virtual space was a place where physical distance was no longer defining, where she could be with people from Germany, highlighting the kind of time-space compression identified by Massey (2004): It just kept reinforcing the world is a small place, even though Germany is on the other side of the world, we were connected to them, to people, the opportunity to use the language with German speakers. She juxtaposed this to earlier experiences again with reference to place, where speaking German was confined to the classroom: The whole project was an exciting idea, especially compared to my earlier studies it was so different, earlier we would not have had that opportunity to chat with German students – when we used to leave the classroom we no longer spoke German, there was just the language labs and that’s not the same thing. Now she could speak German in her own home. Importantly, too, for Katiya, she could literally see the outcome of her language use in the online spaces, not just in the replies of others, but in the way her language shaped when and how her online peers helped with the assigned telecollaborative project. I became inspired when I found I could set up the meetings, and arrange things that worked . . . it was only a small thing but my language worked, and it gave me a real sense of possibility, that I was one step nearer to going back to my roots and spending time living my life in German. Katiya also valued the fact that she could keep returning to the online spaces to see what was going on and continue to check out both the form and meanings of the interactions. She made many Facebook friends through the project, and that became a way for her to continue to learn beyond the course: I learned so much from my counterparts in Germany, and in ways that I can continue learning. I am still friends on Facebook with them and can learn how they talk about their lives . . . and it stays with me . . . it felt real, well it was real. Katiya, like many of the students, emphasised that in the course of the project Facebook and YouTube were sites they visited and spent time in to recharge and enjoy seeing and using the target language. In other words, those sites became personally meaningful dwelling places for their everyday lives, as well as for language learning, saying, ‘this just became part of what I enjoyed doing every day’.

Implications One implication of this chapter is that in order to gain access to and better understand contemporary sites and practices of autonomous language learning, we need

40  Cynthia White and Jennifer Bown to draw on a wider range of theoretical frameworks (in this case, theories of space, place and emotion) and an expanded set of methodological tools (in this case, analysis of student reflections on online archival data and longitudinal journals in study abroad). An important theoretical implication is that the experience of emotion is both individual and social, changing moment by moment, and varying with evolving configurations of actors and actions, conditions and events – which simultaneously respond to and construct space, place and autonomous learning opportunities. Thus, the studies in this chapter call for closely following student experiences through narrative accounts in settings where teachers may not be present. In this way, teachers and researchers can gain access to a much wider range of (reported) experiences than has been the case to date. A further theoretical implication of the research is that the experience of emotion in the construction of space, place and opportunity in autonomous language learning can be seen as operating on two interrelated levels: in the reported contexts and interactions, and then within the reporting (and interview) processes, as students examine and reflect on their experiences. Thus, this study suggests the need to give more analytical attention to the sites in which reported experiences have been co-constructed and negotiated, as well as to the contribution of emotion to the construction of space and place within interview processes. The study gives rise to two further interrelated theoretical and methodological implications. First, it is crucial that we continue to address the methodological challenges that permeate enquiry into emotion in language learning so that we can gain a more elaborated perspective on students’ affective experiences that can in turn contribute to theories of how emotion shapes the construction of autonomous language learning opportunities. Second, it is our view that we need to develop theoretical approaches that do not focus on learners and contexts as discrete entities, but focus instead on the interplay between language, individuals and space, place and opportunity moment by moment. A number of new avenues for further research are suggested by the chapter. The complexity of contemporary society calls for new approaches to studying learner autonomy in order to align the field more fully with the needs of contemporary language learners and the spaces, places and opportunities they construct in their everyday lives. In addition, once we have gained a richer understanding of how individuals construct space, place and autonomous learning opportunities a further challenge arises: how can teachers use such knowledge to enhance language learning and teaching processes? Significantly expanded notions of space, place and autonomous learning opportunities also invite researchers and teachers to recognise and attend to the salience and complexity of these constructs in order that understandings and actions may align more fully with students’ lifeworlds. Accordingly, a further key question for future research is: how can understandings of emotion in the construction of space, place and autonomous learning opportunities be transferred to and add value to existing contexts and practices of language learning and teaching?

Conclusion In this chapter, we have explored and interpreted the meanings of space and place in autonomous language learning with reference to Russian study abroad and German-English telecollaborative exchanges. We have shown how affective

Emotion in space, place and learning 41 experiences are central to the construction of space, place and learning opportunities and to the ways in which those opportunities unfold and evolve. Further, we see the experience of emotion as situated at the learner-context experiential interface, between the individual and the social, involving configurations of actors, artefacts, conditions and events in dynamic ensembles, all of which contribute to the construction of place and the nature of learning opportunities. A further conclusion is that the affective dynamics central to the experience of place, space and opportunity occur at expanded scales, drawing on other levels of time and space (including prior events, future hopes, subsequent actions, for example) and in turn shaping further dimensions of time and space. We have also pointed to the need for an expanded view of emotion in language learning: it is our view that emotions should not be seen as an occasional resource to explain certain moments of what transpires in language learning, but rather, they need to be seen as constitutive of not only experience itself, but in the way we shape place, space and opportunity. A further contribution of the chapter has been to show that space and place are in a constant state of transition and need to be understood in relation to other sites, other timescales and diverse subjectivities. While theoretical resources for understanding learner autonomy are being significantly reshaped and expanded, arguably materiality, embodied experience, spatiality and temporality are under-explored as dimensions of autonomy and language learning: emotion is central to all these further areas of enquiry.

Note 1 The study itself lasted one academic year, but some of the participants were enrolled for only one semester.

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42  Cynthia White and Jennifer Bown Bown, J. and White, C. 2010b, ‘A social and cognitive approach to affect in SLA’, International Review of Applied Linguistics in Language Learning, vol. 48, pp. 331–353. Clough, P.T. and Halley, J. (eds.) 2007, The affective turn: Theorizing the social, Duke University Press, Durham. Coleman, J.A. 2013, ‘Researching whole people and whole lives’, in C. Kinginger (ed.), Social and cultural aspects of language learning in study abroad, Amsterdam, John Benjamins. Cushner, K. and Karim, A.U. 2004, ‘Study abroad at the university level’, in D. Landis, J.M. Bennett and M.J. Bennett (eds.), Handbook of intercultural training, Sage, Thousand Oaks, CA. de los Arcos, B., Coleman, J.A. and Hampel, R. 2009, ‘Learners’ anxiety in audiographic conferences: A discursive psychology approach to emotion talk’, ReCALL, vol. 21, no. 1, pp. 3–17. Garrett, P. and Young, R.F. 2009, ‘Theorizing affect in foreign language learning: An analysis of one learner’s responses to a communicative Portuguese course’, The Modern Language Journal, vol. 93, no. 2, pp. 209–226. Hampel, R., and de los Arcos, B. 2013, ‘Interacting at a distance: A critical review of the role of ICT in developing the learner – context interface in a university language programme’, Innovation in Language Learning and Teaching, vol. 7, no. 2, pp. 158–178. Imai, Y. 2010, ‘Emotions in SLA: New insights from collaborative learning for an EFL classroom’, The Modern Language Journal, vol. 94, no. 2, pp. 278–292. Isabelli Garcia, C. 2006, ‘Study abroad social networks, motivation and attitude: Implications for second language acquisition’, in M.A. DuFon and E. Churchill (eds.), Language learners in study abroad contexts, Multilingual Matters, Clevedon. Kinginger, C. 2010, ‘American students abroad: Negotiation of difference?’ Language Teaching, vol. 43, no. 2, pp. 216–227. Leavitt, J. 1996, ‘Meaning and feeling in the anthropology of emotions’, American Ethnologist, vol. 23, no. 3, pp. 514–539. Massey, D. 2004, ‘Geographies of responsibility’, Geografiska Annaler: Series B, Human Geography, vol. 86, no. 1, pp. 5–18. Murphy, L. 2011, ‘Autonomy and context: A tale of two learners’, in D Gardner (ed.), Fostering autonomy in language learning, Zirve University, Gaziantep, Turkey. Noels, K.A. 2009, ‘The internalisation of language learning into the self and social identity’, in Z. Dornyei and E. Ushioda (eds.), Motivation, language identity and the L2 self, Multilingual Matters, Clevedon. O’Dowd, R. and Ritter, M. 2006, ‘Understanding and working with ‘failed communication’ in telecollaborative exchanges’, CALICO, vol. 23, no. 3, pp. 623–642. Oberg, K. 1960, ‘Cultural shock: Adjustment to new cultural environments’, Practical Anthropology, vol. 7, pp. 177–182. Papastergiadis, N. 2000, The turbulence of migration, Polity Press, Cambridge. Pellegrino Aveni, V. 2005, Study abroad and second language use: Constructing the self, Cambridge University Press, Cambridge. Selinger, M. 2000, ‘Opening up new teaching and learning spaces’, in T. Evans and D. Nation (eds.), Changing university teaching: Reflections on creating educational technologies, Kogan Page, London. Somerville, M., Power, K. and de Carteret, P. 2009, ‘Introduction: place studies for a global world’, in M. Somerville, K. Power and P. de Carteret (eds.), Landscapes and learning: Place studies for a global world, Sense Publishers, Rotterdam. Tuan, Y.F. 1974, Topophilia, Prentice-Hall, Englewood Cliffs, NJ.

Emotion in space, place and learning 43 Tuan, Y.F. 1977, Space and place: The perspective of experience, University of Minnesota Press, Minnesota. Ward, C., Bochner, S. and Furnham, A. 2001, The psychology of culture shock, Routledge, East Sussex. White, C. 1999, ‘Expectations and emergent beliefs of self-instructed language learners’, System, vol. 27, no. 4, pp. 443–457. White, C. 2003, Language learning in distance education, Cambridge University Press, Cambridge. White, C., Direnzo, R. and Bortolotto, C. 2016, ‘The learner-context interface: Emergent issues of affect and identity in technology-mediated language learning spaces’, System, vol. 62, pp. 3–13. Zembylas, M. 2007, ‘Theory and methodology in researching emotions in education’, International Journal of Research & Method in Education, vol. 30, no. 1, pp. 57–72. Zembylas, M. 2012, ‘Transnationalism, migration and emotions: Implications for education’, Globalisation, Societies and Education, vol. 10, no. 2, pp. 163–179.

4 Learning a language for free Space and autonomy in adult foreign language learning Alice Chik

Introduction When the Korean period drama Dae Jang Geum (Jewel in the Palace 2003) became a massive hit all over the world, the demand for Korean language classes surged. Most TV viewers might have watched the Korean drama in dubbed versions and treated the series as nightly entertainment, but some fans were motivated enough to take up Korean learning (Joo 2011). In addition to Dae Jang Geum, another example would be The Killing (2008). When the Danish TV miniseries The Killing (2008) was broadcasted with subtitles on BBC in the UK and subsequently in many other countries, millions of viewers enjoyed the programme. Similarly, some viewers were inspired to start learning Danish, and these learners would probably also have enjoyed another popular Danish TV series, The Bridge (2011). In reviewing the literature on out-of-class foreign language learning among adults, it became a mystery as to why adults who have not learned foreign languages in school might start learning beyond the language classroom. Linked to that, how do adults create spaces for their foreign language learning? Stebbins’s (1994, 2015) concept of serious leisure may shed some light on this matter. Stebbins coined the term ‘serious leisure’ (1982) to describe a situation in which the particular leisure activity being pursued is complex, captivating and challenging. In this chapter, I will examine what happened when three young adults decided to take learning a foreign language as serious leisure and how they defined and crafted spaces to sustain the pursuit.

Literature review In order for the process of language learning to be understood, it cannot be separated from a learner’s personal and social world (Stevick 1989; Richards 2015; Sockett 2014). More than 30 years ago, Stebbins (1982) theorised that leisure pursuit was the new nest for personal fulfilment, identity formation and self-expression. In the present digital age, there are greater opportunities and more spaces to pursue language learning for recreational purposes (Kubota 2011). For instance, media in different languages are more widely available online than ever, especially on media sharing platforms like YouTube. Kuppens (2010) shows that exposure to bilingual media (e.g., subtitled TV and film, music, digital games etc.) has a positive impact on incidental language acquisition, even among younger learners.

Learning a language for free 45 Yet, in our daily lives, many foreign languages are not commonly used in the community, even in a multicultural society, as learning such languages is not always encouraged. Hennig (2013) demonstrated with learners of German in Hong Kong that learning a less commonly used language provides learners with opportunities for marking individualities, inner dialogues with self and critical self-reflection. These learners do not necessarily need public interactive space for achieving specific levels of proficiency, but want a space for creating an idealised self within an idealised world in which the target language occupies a central position. The growing literature on learning beyond the classroom shows that successful language learners learn and use their target language both inside and outside the classroom (Benson and Reinders 2011; Richards 2015; Nunan and Richards 2015). Yet, the vast majority of research studies on second or foreign language learning around the world have focused on English in the public education sector, especially in classroom contexts. This could be due to the growing trend of including and providing English language education in public education and at an increasingly early age, especially in Asia (Nunan 2003; Baldauf Jr. et al. 2011). When English is fast becoming the only second or foreign language provided in schools for many Asian students, the spaces for learning and using other modern and Asian languages are diminishing (Chik 2014a). It is not only in Asia that English is becoming the dominant foreign language on offer in schools, at the expense of other languages; there is also a corresponding decline in enrolment in learning languages other than English at school and tertiary level in Europe (Eurostat 2016). In Anglophone contexts, languages education enrolment is low enough to threaten the sustainability of provision (Group of Eight 2007; Modern Language Association 2015; Phillipson 2006; Taylor and Marsden 2014). Despite the decline in non-English foreign language learning in formal learning contexts, some young people and adults are still interested in learning other languages (Bailly 2011; Coffey and Street 2008; Coffey 2014; Peek 2015). Many of them are learning them outside the classroom and on their own initiative. Learning a foreign language independently is not something new. An early diary study of learning Hungarian by Jones (1994, 1998) demonstrates that crossing the lexical threshold was the key to advancing beyond beginner level in self-study. Jones estimated a vocabulary size of about 2,000 words was the threshold that allowed enjoyment in leisure reading of newspapers and other authentic texts. Umino (1999, 2005) examined the ways in which Japanese language learners used popular selfinstructional broadcast materials and showed that they were not just passively consuming these materials. Instead, learners set their own goals and purposes and the pathways to maximise learning. Umino identified being in control and maintaining active engagement as essential for successful learning in the long run. Nowadays, learning a foreign language independently often means doing it online or through digital tools. In synthesising the parallel development of research on autonomy and technology, Reinders and White (2016) argue that the development is no longer parallel but converging, which signals the enabling of ‘a wider range of pedagogies in more locations that are less formal and that give more control to learners’ (p. 150). However, this has yet to be fully explored as advancing technology potentially means an ever-expanding landscape of learning. The expanded landscape enables language learners to traverse between classroom and informal learning

46  Alice Chik (Lai 2015). However, the traverse can be diverse and spontaneous. One learner may use newspaper comments and online news forums for learning French (Hanna and de Nooy 2009). Another learner may use digital gaming to learn Japanese (Chik 2014a). Photography enthusiasts have been using Flickr communities for more than photograph sharing since they started to engage in multilingual commenting and tagging (Barton and Lee 2012). YouTube is also being transformed into virtual outof-class language learning spaces with fan subbing, commenting and editing videos in foreign languages (Benson 2015). In other words, changes in the use of technology expand the repertoire of learning strategies and provide additional ways to personalise learning in difference spaces (Kukulska-Hulme 2012; Thorne, Sauro and Smith 2015). A learner may set the iPhone or other digital interfaces to the target language to enhance exposure, but it is a personal choice; how learners create or personalise their learning spaces cannot be predicted. Being at different stages of life leads to different motivations to learn, which impacts the adoption of learning strategies (Murray and Kojima 2007; Coffey and Street 2008; Busse and Walter 2013). Similarly, having different goals for foreign language learning may motivate or demotivate learners; Bailly (2011) shows that adolescent foreign language learners were more likely to stay on course when they connected personal interests to foreign language learning, but learners who just wanted to complete a certificate were more likely to drop out. The studies cited here point to three dimensions for autonomous foreign language learning beyond the classroom: materials, technology and personal interests. When considering how differently learners construct their learning spaces, creativity and autonomy appear to be the main shaping forces. Rather than considering creativity as singular, Rhodes (1961) uses the four P’s (person, process, press, and products) to highlight the operation of creativity in various dimensions: • • • •

Person includes the intellectual, emotional, behavioural and motivational traits that might contribute to the tangible forms of creative ideas; Process refers to the mental steps in a creative production; Press highlights the interrelationships between an individual and his environment, especially as to how creative thinking frequently comes from responding to the environment and to social needs; and Products are the tangible forms of creative ideas.

Adding to the examination of the environmental and individual dimensions of creativity, Csíkszentmihályi (1996) demonstrates that being situated within a community of creative individuals could enhance creativity. This point is validated by a growing body of work in language learning beyond the classroom, especially that which explores language learning through interest-driven digital spaces, such as photo and media sharing (Barton and Lee 2012; Benson 2015), digital gaming (Chik 2014a) and pop music (Ricker Schreiber 2015). To exploit the new learning affordances and learning spaces requires ‘the ability to take charge of one’s own learning’ (Holec 1981: 3). Many of these new learning spaces are natural environments, so learners have to go beyond the safety of the classroom to interact with the target language communities (Eskildsen and Theodórsdóttir 2017). In negotiating new digital learning pathways and spaces, learner autonomy implies having the competence to identify, source and locate digital

Learning a language for free 47 practices and resources most suitable for language learning purposes. This study examines how foreign language learners identify and create learning spaces using digital practices and resources to explore issues of autonomy and creativity in foreign language learning.

The study The present study adopted a qualitative approach to exploring foreign language learning, particularly through the use of diaries (in the form of blogs) to encourage participants to record and reflect upon their language learning experiences (Bailey 1990). Three English-major undergraduate participants undertook and blogged a month-long project of learning a foreign language (Jenifer, Kitty and John1). There was only one guiding principle for the project: all learning materials must be freely available to the general public. This principle excluded the purchase of language learning materials and the borrowing of DIY-style language learning CDs from the university library because the general public would not have access to these multimedia library materials. However, participants were free to borrow and use selfstudy language learning materials from public libraries.

The participants The three participants chose a foreign language with which they had no formal learning experiences and then planned their own learning: French, Korean and Italian for John, Kitty and Jenifer, respectively. The author also participated in learning a foreign language together with the three participants; however, this chapter will only report on data and findings related to the three undergraduate participants. All participants were free to decide how much time they would spend every day on learning, and on most days, the participants spent about 30 minutes learning or reviewing. Instead of keeping personal diaries, each participant kept a blog that was publicly accessible. A blog also provided the additional advantage of allowing the participants to build an online support community. The three blogs were linked and the participants visited and commented on each other’s blog posts. In addition, preproject individual interviews on their language learning histories, post-project individual interviews on their learning experiences and three mid-project focus group interviews were conducted. All three participants were born and raised in Hong Kong, spoke Cantonese as their first language and learned English as a second language at school. They also recounted using English language pop music, TV, films and novels for both language learning and pleasure. At the time of the project, the three participants were taking their fourth German course and intended to minor in German Studies. A minor would require them to take two additional German courses. Kitty contemplated the prospects of becoming a German teacher: ‘Not a lot of people in Hong Kong know German, and the German economy is strong, so there must be some benefits for me in the future’ (1st group meeting). But John was less optimistic about career advancement, ‘Though the German economy is good and I like German culture, it is for personal vanity that I learn the language – friends who studied abroad in Europe could all speak several languages, I am just following suit’ (interview). Though John considered ‘personal vanity’ (interview) as his prime motivation, he found German

48  Alice Chik films ‘boring’. In fact, all three admitted having difficulties in applying the same learning strategies for learning German as they used for their English learning. Firstly, they found it difficult to use German beyond the classroom as there were very limited opportunities to interact in German socially in Hong Kong. Secondly, the participants had limited access to, and thus knowledge of, German popular culture in mainstream media (1st group meeting). While Humphreys and Spratt (2008) noted that Hong Kong tertiary students had different reasons and, consequently, motivations, for learning an additional foreign language in university, these participants seemed to use language learning as an ‘escape from the ordinary’ (Coffey 2014: 339). Other than formal language classes in university, Jenifer and Kitty had tried to learn new foreign languages on their own prior to joining the project. Kitty had used anime to create an immersive environment for Japanese learning, and she believed she had achieved a competent level of proficiency, especially for listening and speaking. Jenifer had also attempted to learn Japanese, but she had lost interest and motivation quickly and had only achieved a beginner’s level of proficiency. All interviews were conducted in mixed Cantonese and English, with the occasional insertion of vocabulary in the interviewee’s target language. I then listened to the interviews repeatedly to extract relevant excerpts for translation and transcription. Blog entries were written in English, and some entries were code-mixed with phrases in Chinese and the target languages. At times, lyrics in target languages were copied to blog entries. The data were first analysed by open-coding to generate themes that identified shared and varying practices in language learning among the participants (Charmaz 2014). The themes, which included ‘spaces for learning’, ‘demands of study and work’ and ‘unfocused targets’, were mapped onto Rhodes’s (1961) framework to analyse how participants creatively crafted language learning spaces. The findings suggest that these experienced adult learners negotiated their learning spaces very differently according to personal styles and affordances in different online and offline learning spaces.

The findings In the following sections, findings from the project will be discussed using Rhodes’s (1961) model of operation of creativity to explore how and why the participants created their foreign language learning spaces as they did.

The person dimension: clash of the worlds As defined above, Person includes the intellectual, emotional, behavioural and motivational traits that might contribute to displayed creativity, and in this study, these individual traits impacted on the learning spaces. The participants started by setting learning goals, and the goals were quite modest: My ultimate goal is to survive in the city of Paris as a tourist, I expect myself to be able to ask for directions, price of merchandises, order a meal, or at least tell the doctor I am sick but I hope this is not going to happen. (John, Blog, Day 1)

Learning a language for free 49 At the time of the project, John was saving up for a trip to Europe in the following semester, so he first imagined himself as a tourist in Paris. Jenifer chose Italian for a different reason: she was a budding gourmet. Instead of imagining herself in Italy, she had a more local and everyday orientation: I have been always fond of Italian culture, especially Italian cuisine!! But every time I dine in an Italian restaurant, most of the time I couldn’t read the menu, except some common words like ‘pasta’, ‘spaghetti’, ‘pizza’. (Jenifer, Blog, Day 2) This goal made practical sense, as it was a lot more accessible for a student to visit an Italian restaurant than to plan an overseas trip. Meanwhile, Kitty took a very different direction: My target for Korean is being able to read and speak some language. I like the song ‘Coming-of-Age Ceremony’ (성인식 ‘Seonginshik’) by Park Ji Yoon. But I don’t like Korean drama. (Kitty, Interview) Kitty was the only one who mentioned popular culture right from the beginning. Korean TV drama series and pop music have had a very strong presence in Asian mainstream popular media since the mid-2000s, so it was not surprising that a learner of Korean was motivated by the enjoyment of Korean pop culture. On the other hand, Italian and French popular cultural texts (e.g., films and music) were more likely to be available only during arts festivals and at art-house cinemas. When a language occupies a smaller public space in popular media, or has a lower visibility, as will be evident, it impacts on the ways in which learners create learning spaces. By agreeing to learn a language for four weeks, the participants added the research workload to their regular academic demands. The project started around the beginning of the term, and as the project progressed so did the demands of their regular studies. During the project, the reality of learners struggling to fit the learning around daily routines became apparent: When learning a foreign language, you have to put in the energy . . . it is not like watching TV or doing Facebook at the end of the day. (John, Interview) This relates to Stebbins’s (1982) concept of serious leisure. When other commitments were pressing, participants reported honestly about delays in their daily language learning: Inadequate sleep and busy homework have drained most of my energy, I cannot withstand monotonous lesson after a day’s work. More interactive material like the French steps or the www.LanguageGuide.org is preferred. (John, Blog, Day 20)

50  Alice Chik Learning was sandwiched between mundane routine work and school work: I revised lesson 3 twice when I was doing housework. Time is so tight for rushing assignments that I cannot sit down comfortably and learn. (Kitty, Blog, Day 25) This is especially hard on John, as he was already working part time: My day started at 9:30am and ended at 9:30pm, I don’t have much time to sit in front of a computer to learn. Also, I doubt if I would have enough energy left to learn. I want to try out a new mode of learning. Instead of doing it at night, I try to do earlier. (John, Blog, Day 16) As he usually was the last participant to blog, he tended to comment on others’ entries first. The time stamps on their blogs showed that while participants desired to re-create a language classroom learning experience that included structured learning materials, the major difference was the irregular ‘class time’ – none of the participants could allocate a specific time slot for learning every day during the project. Academic and personal commitments meant it became essential to keep learning in smaller chunks and in a shorter period of time (Lai 2015). The blog entries suggested that learning a foreign language as an adult had to be fitted into other daily routines and demands. This ‘pressed-for-time’ characteristic of recreational language learning aligns with Stebbins’s (1994) definition of ‘liberal arts hobby’ or the systematic acquisition of knowledge for its own sake. When being treated as a leisure activity, language learning is not prioritized, but participants have to be creative in finding the time and space for it.

The process dimension: (re)creating individual language learning classrooms Process refers to the mental steps in creative production. Given that each participant had personal goals to achieve, it was anticipated that they would create individualised learning spaces. However, they all started with a very similar idea: re-creating a structured language classroom: My first target is to learn the Korean phonetics and characters step by step! And then the numbers and simple conversations! I am ready! 난 준비 해요! (nan junbi haeyo!). (Kitty, Blog, Day 1) Both John and Jenifer agreed that learning the basic French and Italian pronunciation was essential for self-directed learning, and they turned to user-contributed YouTube videos. The YouTube videos they used were not produced by universities or learning institutes, but they commented that ‘beginners’ videos were all very similar’ (Jenifer, 1st Focus Group).

Learning a language for free 51 Jenifer and Kitty uploaded photographs of handwritten notes of Italian and Korean phrases and vocabulary from online materials in early blog entries: And, I have revised 10 single vowels and tried to write some Korean words. Very ugly. . . . . = =“ (Kitty, Blog, Day 4) The usual entries were of two columns – one column in the target language and the other one in English or Chinese. This was reminiscent of what young students in Hong Kong were required to do when learning English in schools. John did not exhibit photos of copied phrases, but both Jenifer and Kitty felt that copying was the best way to commit the new language items to memory. The main problem is that I cannot write the phrases I have learnt, I only know how to speak. I have to work harder on writing vocabulary. I don’t want to learn it only for travelling. (Kitty, Blog, Day 8) Kitty, who was the only participant learning an Asian language that had a different writing system, felt that it was essential to learn the Hangul, the Korean alphabet, first. She also had trouble downloading the typeface onto her computer (‘Oh, how come I cannot type in Korean!!!!!’ Kitty, Blog, Day 5). For Kitty, handwritten Korean learning notes were not the only way of memorising the Korean Hangul, In order to reinforce my learning, I develop some verbal tricks? (口訣) to remember the pattern of the Korean characters. (Kitty, Blog, Day 4) Ritzau’s study (2015) shows that quantifying learning progress had a motivational push on Swiss students of Danish. In the study reported in this chapter, the participants also used quantity to monitor their progress and to justify their daily engagement; for example, handwritten notes were tools to quantify their daily learning. Soon after learning the basic pronunciation from YouTube videos, the participants wanted more advanced learning materials. They began to move away from user-contributed resources and looked for brand-named products: Jenifer learned with BBC Italian Steps,2 Kitty used a series of podcasts made by Radio and Television Hong Kong (RTHK) and City University of Hong Kong3 and John found a series of videos made by a French professor at Tamkang University in Taiwan on YouTube.4 The choices of materials suggest that the participants believed in ‘brands’ and ‘credentials’. I relied on reputable resources, e.g. BBC, I don’t go shopping around [Alice: how do you know BBC will be a reliable source for Italian learning?] I learned about the BBC resources from our German classes, I want more creditable resources, and I believe BBC is a trustworthy brand. (Jenifer, 2nd Focus Group)

52  Alice Chik Jenifer also had faith that the BBC Language series would deliver the teaching of standard Italian, not regional or dialectal Italian. John believed that it was acceptable to use any videos for pronunciation, but he preferred formal learning materials for serious study. To this point, Kitty agreed: I like my RTHK and CityU resources because it is mediated in Cantonese, so it is easier for to understand. (Kitty, 2nd Focus Group) John claimed that ‘I learn better with multimedia resources, I have to listen to learn’ (John, 1st Focus Group); so he foraged for videos of Beginner French lessons, but did not find them all that useful. He then observed how other online learners used resources on discussion forums and found a bilingual podcast series produced by a French professor from a Taiwanese university. The three participants had been taught English in schools where English was the medium of instruction for all academic subjects, but all three preferred bilingual materials (in Chinese or English) for foreign language learning,5 which appeared to contradict their previous English learning experience in Hong Kong classrooms. For example, John said that it was very challenging to learn from a French video without subtitles. All participants tried to capitalise on the advantages of mobile-assisted language learning (MALL). Whereas Neilson (2011) found that the high attrition rate for adult learners using packaged online learning resources was mainly due to a lack of technical support, the three participants in this study did not appear to have encountered similar problems. However, mobile data usage was a real financial concern, and they mostly waited until they had wifi access at home or at university before accessing online resources. John used podcasts extensively to fully utilise his commute time. Kitty did the same, but Jenifer preferred to use her own learning notes prepared from the night before. When the learners were immersed in their podcasts and learning notes, they were immersed in their portable learning space. But, the limitation of learning resources (e.g., listening to podcasts or revision notes) meant that they were only engaged in receptive learning. It was essentially a unidirectional learning space. Throughout the project, however, the participants did not show any particular interest in social interaction, which might have originated from their university foreign language classes in which online social interaction with the target language communities was absent (O’Dowd 2010). All participants appeared to have the attitude of ‘learn now and use later’, as ‘it’s too early to talk to any one in French’ (John, interview). The participants were therefore content with their self-contained learning spaces. The re-creation of a language classroom, then, was not limited to practices such as copying phrases and vocabulary. The three participants recreated their own language classrooms by sourcing structured materials from ‘reputable’ providers (Jenifer, interview). When learners were given the autonomy to decide on their foreign language learning, they seemingly decided to go back to the classroom. This move reflected their common attitude that in order to have meaningful interaction in the target language, they needed the linguistic basics. And the most direct route was to use formal and structured learning materials published by reputable institutions. The participants shaped the initial phase of autonomous learning beyond the classroom by recreating and simulating classroom learning conditions. The participants went through considerable thinking processes and research to create such learning conditions.

Learning a language for free 53

The press dimension: recreational language classrooms Press highlights the interrelationships between an individual and his or her environment, especially the ways in which creative thinking frequently comes from responding to environment and social needs. In this area, academic and work commitment pushed the participants to become more creative in their language learning. When the participants were pressed for time, they substituted music videos, cartoons on YouTube and language games for their regular textbooks or structured learning resources. In other words, participants were looking for ‘edutainment’ (Bird 2005). John was the first to move away from structured lessons. He embedded a YouTube video of the comedian Eddie Izzard performing bilingually in English and in French, in which an appreciation of the punch lines hinged on audience’s understanding of French. Tgif I know I will enjoy more about this one day. (John, Blog, Day 19) John had no problem with using popular cultural texts for learning, and used them for motivation. But Kitty found these texts as guilty pleasures rather than learning aids, when she expressed the following sentiment after watching a Korean animation: OK, back to Korean learning . . . (feeling guilty). (Kitty, Blog, Day 28) Jenifer’s learning of Italian was also competing with academic demands, so she had been reading ‘light sections’, such as the Food and Weather sections, in an Italian newspaper to replace structured materials. She did not, however, see newspaper reading as learning: Scusa again . . . I have to apologize for not doing any learning today because I am having the IPA test tomorrow, and I have to catch up with my Intercultural Communication readings and video lectures. (Jenifer, Blog, Day 30) Like Kitty, Jenifer did not view using these leisure texts as ‘serious learning’. Towards the end of the project, the participants’ university schedules were packed with assignment due dates and tests: Language learning . . . is not built upon delay in learning. = =“ I hate assignments. (Kitty, Blog, Day 30)

54  Alice Chik Though the assignment submission and other work commitments might have shifted the methods of learning, the recording of their personal lives in the blogs highlighted other realities for adults learning an additional foreign language in their spare or leisure time. Language learning was frequently not prioritized, and other commitments came first: My day officially ends at 1am, Monday. I have been sane and working for over 12 hours. I am not complaining but my brain is shutting down. My logical functioning is deactivating. I am starving and I want to take a bath. Normally I would like to do the French Steps, but I am totally not in the mood. (John, Blog, Day 21) The entries generally showed that the adult learners all turned to ‘lighter’ learning resources when they were under pressure of time and lacking in energy. The new learning resources had more ‘entertaining’ values and required less cognitive demands. This change in learning materials turned ‘structured’ and ‘serious’ simulated classrooms into edutainment-style learning. These resources included educational language games and popular cultural texts, enabling the participants to relax with the materials. The change to edutainment materials also meant that participants had to move beyond their structured learning spaces to source authentic texts in their target languages from everyday practices. So far, all participants had focused primarily on utilising online resources, but Jenifer was also especially attentive to her linguistic landscape. On more than one occasion, she noticed the use of Italian in her environment and turned these sightings into learning opportunities. Jenifer included photos of food packaging labels, restaurant signs and menus to show her sensitivity of the environment: A few days ago I was dining at caffe habitu, and I found this [a photo of the menu showing ‘A guide to pasta shapes’], which is quite interesting :P (Jenifer, Blog, Day 30) Like Jenifer, Kitty also used food package labels to learn German vocabulary and was thrilled to be able to recognise words like ‘Zucker’ and ‘Schokolade’. It was annoying that now the Hong Kong government stuck another food label sticker onto the European Union food labels. (Kitty, Focus Group) The same applied to all imported food, so Kitty could not conveniently use Korean food labels for learning. All participants were keen on acquiring a culinary vocabulary in the target language, and were prepared to spend time looking for resources that would teach them the vocabulary or how to order: A sandwich is fine, but a sausage sandwich is better. May be I will have a beer. Don’t forget to be polite! Je voudrais un sandwich au saucission et une bie, si vous pla . . . Today’s lesson is harder in terms of new sentence pattern. Still, I can’t eat sandwich au saucission for the rest of my life. (John, Blog, Day 19)

Learning a language for free 55 John posted an attractive photo of a sausage sandwich with the above entry. Of course, they were all quite practical in assuming that food ordering is an essential survival skill: Today I learned how to order food . . . Finally, I learned something that I can actually depend on it . . . My life depends on it if I ever set foot in France. (John, Blog, Day 25) At our final Focus Group meeting, both Jenifer and Kitty admitted that they were getting tired of the learning resources, especially when they were pressed for time to complete their academic work. They had both begun to explore other available sources, but admitted that basic language knowledge was still essential for trying something new. Kitty mentioned that she used to watch Japanese anime to learn Japanese and was surprised that her father remembered her doing so. Her father then suggested watching Korean TV drama to learn the language. She understood that her father was recommending a method that she had had success with in the past; unfortunately, Kitty did not think it was suitable because, whilst she was interested in a particular Japanese anime series, she had yet to find a Korean TV drama series that she liked. Similarly, Jenifer decided to use the online edition of an Italian newspaper, Corriere della Sera: When I was aimlessly surfing the internet today, I found an Italian newspaper website (www.corriere.it/). I am delighted that I can actually understand some of the headlines of the news, although not every word, and I can understand what some of the buttons stand for. Tomorrow I will try to read some short news and learn some more [vocabulary] as I read them. (Jenifer, Blog, Day 23) She was thrilled that her beginner’s level allowed her to understand some phrases from the weather report and some cooking instructions in the Food section. This encouraged her to continue reading sections of the newspaper that she could understand. The participants started the project and their learning paths by wandering off into different digital spaces, e.g., YouTube, blogs and discussion forums, for inspiration, and observed and critically assessed learning affordances. Once they had surveyed the digital landscapes for language learning, they settled quite quickly into using traditional brand-named products (e.g., the BBC, university). The participants used these structured materials loyally for a short period of time. Soon enough, however, the restless digital learners left the safety of their branded learning materials behind and meandered into the wild digital spaces for more interesting and entertaining resources. This recursive path shows how participants adapted their learning materials and environments according to their own changing personal schedules and commitments.

The product dimension: creativity in language learning spaces Products show the tangible forms of creative ideas. In this project, the blog entries recorded the participants’ creativity in crafting learning spaces. The participants

56  Alice Chik (person) had modest, or maybe practical, goals for foreign language learning. At first, the types of spaces the participants preferred were non-interactive and unidirectional. The participants were satisfied with text-oriented learning, especially with popular cultural texts in their target language. As they interacted with the learning materials, they were engaged in unidirectional learning; they did not appear to have any interest in trying to connect with native speakers or other learners of their target languages. This might have stemmed from their modest goals of being able to read some texts in their target languages, but the participants did not envision an immediate space for human interaction. For John, the scenarios for using the target language were related to the future possibilities of visiting the countries and functioning as a knowledgeable tourist. Jenifer and Kitty did not include an orientation for social interaction and were content with textual interaction. The participants were clear in how they wanted to direct their own language learning paths. At this point, the products did not appear to be very creative. However, the preference for a closed learning space that involved mostly structured learning materials did not mean the participants were spending less time creating that space. In examining the process of how the participants created their learning spaces, the participants showed their creativity and autonomy. They all started with similar usergenerated YouTube beginners’ instructional videos, but the next steps were less straightforward. The participants navigated through websites, videos and discussion forums. John searched various Taiwanese discussion forums to find his resources. Kitty also searched for information from discussion forums, but did not find any leisure materials that were to her liking. She was the only one closely following structured learning materials at that time. Jenifer combined physical and digital spaces to anchor her learning after she became bored with the structured materials. In examining the press, the participants showed that, as they were dealing with time constraints and other commitments, the learning became more edutainment oriented, which meant that the virtual learning spaces became much more recreational. Yet, the participants were not satisfied that they were being ‘serious’ in their learning. What they considered to be ‘serious’ learning would be following through the material sets. When evaluating the products, what the participants recorded through blog entries as their learning spaces, it should be borne in mind that these were beginner learners of their target languages. Based on their prior school experiences of learning the basics before using the language, all three participants sought out structured learning materials to begin with. Collectively, this was a logical decision based on their educational experiences. While Reinders and White (2016) suggest that advances in technology might have provided greater affordances for autonomous learning, in this study, the participants demonstrated that sourcing structured and branded learning materials was the first step in autonomous learning.

Conclusions The present project was inspired by adults who want to learn a foreign language for recreational purposes but may not have the financial resources to pursue private tutoring or institutional courses. In this digital age, we have access to an abundance of resources, so what do language learners do when they have the autonomy

Learning a language for free 57 to design their own learning spaces? In order to learn a foreign language autonomously, creativity is required for imagining such spaces for learning. In this study, three experienced learners were given the task to learn only from freely available resources. Almost uniformly the three participants sought to re-create a virtual classroom situation with structured materials produced by institutions that were perceived to be reputable. Having made this choice autonomously, the participants then followed the provided learning paths. This new learning space was created with the institutionally set learning goals and progress pathways that were inherent in the materials they chose. Therefore, it is possible that the learners might not have been aware of these preset goals and pathways. On the surface, this product of a virtual classroom does not appear to signal creativity or autonomy in language learning. However, in using Rhodes’s (1961) model of creativity, the complexity involved in creating a personalised learning space began to emerge. The participants evaluated their own learning styles and preferences, the demands for language learning and their personal schedule to come up with the most feasible pathway and space to move their learning forward. The use of Rhodes’s (1961) model for assessing dimensions of creativity shows how participants attempted to craft autonomous language learning spaces. Although these spaces appeared to show limited degrees of autonomy and creativity, the process and the press were domains where it could be claimed that the participants did make attempts to exercise autonomy in crafting individualised learning spaces. This also points to the constraints on adults when learning a language as a leisure activity: though the participants wanted to pursue such learning as serious leisure, they had to operate within the constraints of other demands in life. As Richards (2015) argues that more learners are learning languages beyond the classroom, there is a need to research how autonomous learners create spaces for sustainable learning. The abundant availability of digital resources appears to suggest that a learner can now learn with these resources in creative ways using both interest- and friendship-driven networks, and shun the use of materials that resemble class-based learning. This study suggests that individualised learning spaces are the result of autonomous and creative thinking, and, as researchers, we have to delve into the thinking process of learners in order to understand how these learning spaces were created.

Notes 1 Jenifer and Kitty chose to use their real names for publication. John is a pseudonym for the third participant. 2 The BBC Languages series is no longer updated, and some learning resources are not available. 3 The RTHK Korean learning resources are available in Cantonese and Korean. 4 The French teaching video was a series produced by Taiwan Tamkang University. 5 English teaching in Hong Kong is a contentious and political issue. Schools are divided into Chinese- or English-medium teaching. From 1997, most students go to Chinesemedium schools with English being taught as an academic subject while Cantonese is used as the medium of instruction for all other academic subjects. The three participants had all attended English schools with English as the medium of instruction for English and all academic subjects (except for Chinese and Chinese history).

58  Alice Chik

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Learning a language for free 59 Humphreys, G. and Spratt, M. 2008, ‘Many languages, many motivations: A study of Hong Kong students’ motivation to learn different target languages’, System, vol. 36, no. 4, pp. 313–335. Jones, F.R. 1994, ‘The lone language learner: A diary study’, System, vol. 22, no. 4, pp. 441–454. Jones, F.R. 1998, ‘Self-instruction and success: A learner-profile study’, Applied Linguistics, vol. 29, no. 3, pp. 378–406. Joo, J. 2011, ‘Transnationalization of Korean popular culture and the rise of “pop nationalism” in Korea’, The Journal of Popular Culture, vol. 44, no. 3, pp. 489–504. Kubota, R. 2011, ‘Learning a foreign language as leisure and consumption: Enjoyment, desire, and the business of eikaiwa’, International Journal of Bilingual Education and Bilingualism, vol. 14, no. 4, pp. 473–488. Kukulska-Hulme, A. 2012, ‘Language learning defined by time and place: A framework for next generation designs’, in J.E. Diaz-Vera (ed.), Left to my own devices: Learner autonomy and mobile assisted language learning: Innovation and leadership in English language teaching, 6, Emerald Group Publishing Limited, Bingley. Kuppens, A.H. 2010, ‘Incidental foreign language acquisition from media exposure’, Learning, Media and Technology, vol. 35, no. 1, pp. 65–85. Lai, C. 2015, ‘Perceiving and traversing in-class and out-of-class learning: Accounts from foreign language learners in Hong Kong’, Innovation in Language Learning and Teaching, vol. 9, no. 3, pp. 265–284. Modern Language Association. 2015, ‘Enrollments in languages other than English in United States Institutions of Higher Education’. www.mla.org/enrollments_ surveys. Murray, G. and Kojima, M. 2007, ‘Out-of-class language learning: One learner’s story’, in P. Benson (ed.), Learner autonomy: Insider perspectives on autonomy in language learning and teaching, Authentik, Dublin. Nielson, K.B. 2011, ‘Self-study with language learning software in the workplace: What happens?’ Language Learning & Technology, vol. 15, no. 3, pp. 110–129. Nunan, D. 2003, ‘The impact of English as a global language on educational policies and practices in the Asia-Pacific region’, TESOL Quarterly, vol. 37, no. 4, pp. 589–613. Nunan, D. and Richards, J.C. (eds.) 2015, Language learning beyond the classroom, Routledge, New York. O’Dowd, R. 2010, ‘Online foreign language interaction: Moving from the periphery to the core of foreign language education?’ Language Teaching, vol. 44, no. 3, pp. 368–380. Peek, R. 2015, ‘Exploring learner autonomy: Language learning locus of control in multilinguals’, International Journal of Multilingualism, vol. 13, no. 2, pp. 1–19. Phillipson, R. 2006, ‘English, a cuckoo in the European higher education nest of languages?’ European Journal of English Studies, vol. 10, no. 1, pp. 13–32. Reinders, H. and White, C. 2016, ‘20 years of autonomy and technology: How far have we come and where to next?’ Language Learning & Technology, vol. 20, no. 2, pp. 143–154. Rhodes, M. 1961, ‘An analysis of creativity’, The Phi Delta Kappan, vol. 42, no. 7, pp. 305–310. Richards, J.C. 2015, ‘The changing face of language learning: Learning beyond the classroom’, RELC Journal, vol. 46, no. 1, pp. 5–22. Ricker Schreiber, B. 2015, ‘ “I am what I am”: Multilingual identity and digital translanguaging’, Language Learning & Technology, vol. 19, no. 3, pp. 66–87.

60  Alice Chik Ritzau, U. 2015, ‘Self-positioning through beginners’ foreign language’, International Journal of Applied Linguistics, vol. 25, no. 1, pp. 105–126. Sockett, G. 2014, The online informal learning of English, Palgrave Macmillan, New York. Stebbins, R.A. 1982, ‘Serious leisure: A conceptual statement’, Pacific Sociological Review, vol. 25, no. 2, pp. 251–272. Stebbins, R.A. 1994, ‘The liberal arts hobbies: A neglected subtype of serious leisure’, Loisir et Société/Society and Leisure, vol. 16, pp. 173–186. Stebbins, R.A. 2015, The interrelationship of leisure and play: Play as leisure, leisure as play, Palgrave Macmillan, London. Stevick, E.W. 1989, Success with foreign languages: Seven who achieved it and what worked for them, Prentice Hall, New York. Taylor, F. and Marsden, E.J. 2014, ‘Perceptions, attitudes, and choosing to study foreign languages in England: An experimental intervention’, The Modern Language Journal, vol. 98, no. 4, pp. 902–920. Thorne, S.L., Sauro, S., and Smith, B. 2015, ‘Technologies, identities, and expressive activity’, Annual Review of Applied Linguistics, vol. 35, pp. 215–233. Umino, T. 1999, ‘The use of self-instructional broadcast materials for L2 learning: An investigation in the Japanese context’, System, vol. 27, no. 4, pp. 309–327. Umino, T. 2005, ‘Learning a second language with broadcast materials at home: Japanese students’ long-term experiences’, in P. Benson and D. Nunan (eds.), Learners’ stories: Difference and diversity in language learning, Cambridge University Press, Cambridge.

5 The ‘English Café’ as a social learning place Cem Balçıkanlı

Introduction I remember the first time I heard about the English Corners, which refer to ‘regular meetings organized by English learners in a public place to practise spoken English’ (Gao 2009: 60). It was when I was a novice researcher doing my master’s degree on learner autonomy more than a decade ago. I was in Aberdeen, where I was taking part in my first-ever IATEFL (International Association of Teachers of English as a Foreign Language) conference. Since I was interested in autonomy, I found myself in a LASIG (Learner Autonomy Special Interest Group) event. After I had listened to three different speakers, one of the speakers took to the stage and started to talk about an ‘English Corner’ on the Chinese mainland. In his talk, he was exploring a particular ‘English Corner’ where the participants could find supportive peers and opportunities to express themselves freely (Gao 2009). I was particularly struck by this case, as I had believed that, in order to foster learner autonomy, there is always the need for a teacher to supply guidance and help. This was not the case, after all. Here was a group of people who shared ‘a common concern, a set of problems or a passion about a given topic’, and who, more importantly, were trying their best ‘to deepen their knowledge and expertise in this area by interacting on an ongoing basis’ (Wenger, McDermott and Snyder 2002: 4). More specifically, the participants, as members of a community of practice, were making an effort to develop their language skills as autonomous students. Although I was not aware of the construct then, as I read more about it, I came to realize that the ‘English Corner’ was an example of how a space can be transformed into a place (Carter, Donald and Squires 1993), with the participants attributing a special meaning to this ‘English Corner’ through the actions they took there. Some years later, one of my student teachers in an English Language Teaching Program (ELT) in Ankara, Turkey, told me about an English Café (EC), which reminded me of the ‘English Corner’ that Gao (2009) had described in his talk in Aberdeen. The student teacher was enthusiastically talking about this social learning place, where individuals from all walks of life ‘come together to learn with and from each other in a non-formal setting’ (Murray, Fujishima and Uzuka 2014: 81). This chapter sets out to examine the language learning opportunities this place offered so as to foster interaction, engagement and reflection among Turkish students learning English as a foreign language.

62  Cem Balçıkanlı In this respect, the chapter explores a social learning place and outlines the reasons why and how participants use it autonomously. It specifically looks at the EC and how its participants connect with each other through social relationships and, more importantly, how their shared meanings contribute to the emergence of a social place. It then describes an investigation into the semiotics of this place and discusses the implications for practice and research in relation to the opportunities the EC offers for out-of-class learning activities, the need to fully explore the concept of place in formal/informal language learning environments in EFL (English as a Foreign Language) contexts like Turkey and, finally, the relationship between theories of space and learning in order to analyse the development of learner autonomy by expanding our understanding of the ways in which autonomy is socially mediated (Murray 2014) in informal and shared settings. This chapter finally looks into the relationship between how a place is socially constructed and the link between autonomy and the learners’ sense of place.

Theoretical background Learning does not only happen in formal settings like classrooms (formal learning), but it also results from unexpected interactions among individuals. Social learning, as opposed to formal learning, is a cognitive process that takes place in a social context (Bandura 1963). It is about the various social conversations/relationships/ situations that surround all of us. It also refers to the understanding of ‘the shared knowledge of the community’ and wealth of experience that is available in this community’ (Ribeiro, Kimble and Cairns 2013: 184). It is based on the idea that social learning is all about helping each other, which encourages the formation of new networks and spaces. Social learning might occur in learning spaces that can be found anywhere, including university campuses and city centres. These spaces ‘bring people together and encourage exploration, collaboration and discussion’ (Oblinger 2006: 1) and may create possibilities for learners to experience active, social and experiential learning (Kohonen et al. 2014; Kolb 2014). Learners have the capacity to learn through their experiences and reflections in these spaces. These reflections and experiences help make the spaces conducive to learning (Bickford and Wright 2006; Chism 2006) because social aspects of these spaces offer greater potential for the emergence of the learning community. In this study, the EC is a metaphorical space proposed by the organisers and subsequently transformed by the participants into a place to improve English skills. As such, it offers numerous opportunities to conceptualise autonomy as a social construct since individuals learn from each other in social settings through observation and interaction. According to Benson (2011: 58), autonomy is viewed as ‘the capacity to take control of own one’s learning’, and it includes three dimensions, namely ‘control over learning process, control over cognitive processes and control over content’. In a social learning place, learners are assumed to achieve new levels of autonomy through interaction with others within their zones of proximal development (ZPD), as argued by Little (2000). Such ZPDs, described as the ‘distance between the actual developmental level as determined by independent problem solving and the level of potential development as determined through problem solving under adult guidance, or in collaboration with more capable peers’ (Vygotsky 1978: 86), can foster autonomy. Interactions in such places may give rise to

The ‘English Café’ 63 the development of the learners’ autonomy since ‘space’ as a fourth dimension of autonomy, as suggested in Murray, Fujishima and Uzuka (2014), offers possibilities to exercise one’s own autonomy through interactions, as seen in what Little (1991) and Kohonen (2010) conceptualise as the individual-cognitive and social-interactive dimensions of autonomy. Since language learners are often provided with limited opportunities to use the language outside the classroom in EFL contexts, many of them take advantage of whatever options are available to them in order to deal with the challenges they face. On my first visit to the EC, the organisers and participants expressed their serious concerns about these limited opportunities. What I observed at the EC made me realise that it could be viewed as a community of practice as it enabled learners to connect with others through varied social arrangements (Wenger 1998). My focus on space and place in the field of human geography was basically due to the attempt to understand the semiotic process of this place. People do things in a particular space, and they create places through action. In other words, a space is an environment where certain activities take place and discourse makes these places meaningful (Blommaert 2005; Cresswell 2004; Harvey 1996; Massey 2005; Michelle & Tong 2012). According to Cresswell (2004), Harvey (1996) and Massey (2005), places are socially constructed, and these constructions are founded on acts of exclusion. Being dynamic and socially constructed, places emerge as a result of a process in which people ‘change, appropriate and shape space’ (Parnell and Procter 2011: 79). Blommaert, Collins and Slembrouck (2005: 203) propose three effects spaces have on people; people are influenced by ‘(a) what they can or cannot do (it legitimizes some forms of behaviour while disqualifying or constraining other forms), (b) the value and function of their sociolinguistic repertoires, and finally (c) their identities, both self-constructed (inhabited) and ascribed by others’. My initial analysis of the data I collected on my first series of visits to the EC showed me that this social learning place provided the participants with certain possibilities for their learning. Through the meanings that participants gave to the space through the actions they took and their interactions with others in this place, I came to understand firstly that social action and discourse are inextricably linked to one another, as argued by Chouliaraki and Fairclough (1999), and, secondly, that a set of practices can become identified as a community of practice or a place in time (Jones and Norris 2005; Scollon 2001). According to Murray, Fujishima and Uzuka (2014), mediated actions are taken in time and space and more obviously they develop as ‘sites of engagement’. Goffman (1963) views such sites as ‘social arrangements by which people come together’ as they turn into social practices. ‘Discourse in place’ is used to ‘call attention to all of the discourse’ pertaining to sites of engagement and to study the complex nexus of discourses to identify ‘which are relevant or foregrounded and which discourses are irrelevant or backgrounded for the social actions’ (Scollon and Wong Scollon 2004: 14). As Jones (2005: 152) argues, sites of engagement are ‘made not just of the physical spaces we inhabit and the timescales and trajectories that flow into them, but also, and more to the point, those aspects of space and time that we are inclined to pay attention to’. Accordingly, the EC did not only include the characteristics of a community of practice, but it also contained a multiplicity of sites of engagement in that individuals were observed to sit around tables in the EC, getting support from their peers and exchanging information about their own previous language learning experiences.

64  Cem Balçıkanlı

‘English Café’: the context The idea for the English Café actually came from a former student teacher of mine, Ceyda (pseudonym), as a place where a group of Turkish learners would be able to practise their English in a relaxing environment. When she introduced me to it, meetings had been taking place in the EC for six months. I then arranged to observe the participants at the EC and this continued for three years. In the first year, it was located at a café in Besevler, a college area where mostly university students hang out with their friends. Later, it was moved to another café in Kızılay, and this was where I came to interview the participants. By that time, it had two volunteers serving as coordinators, Mine and Ceyda, who had set up the twice-monthly meetings and advertised their EC on social networking sites. Initially, they had opened a group page on a social networking site to attract the attention of more people and posted various public announcements inviting others in the region to take part in the activities at the EC. When I found out about the EC, the number of participants regularly taking part in the activities had already reached ten, and they were attending twice a month. Because most of the ten participants had a job on weekdays, they only met on Saturdays, usually between 8 and 10 p.m. Ahead of the meeting, the coordinators would identify the topics the participants wanted to discuss. At the beginning of the evening, if there were newcomers, they would introduce themselves and the coordinators would announce the topic of the week on the board. They would briefly talk about the topic, and then encourage others to join in. Afterwards, the participants would mostly sit around with each other drinking tea or coffee and having conversations among themselves. As seen in Table 5.1, the participants had different jobs. However, most of them were students at the time of the study. Four older participants had lived in the USA and the UK for a couple of months for business purposes. Obviously, they had all been learning English for different amounts of time, mostly in a grammar-based way. The interviews I conducted with them indicated that they had been learning English for at least seven years and had found out about this social learning place through their social networks. Table 5.1  The participants in the study Name

M/F/ Age

Occupation

Years of English Learning

Ceyda Mine Ates Gulfem Eylul Ali Ilgaz Deniz Ruzgar Muge Mert

F/19 F/19 M/ 30 M/36 F/21 M/25 F/30 M/19 M/26 M/21

Student Student Teacher Engineer Student Engineer Teacher Student Secretary Student

7 years 7 years 18 years 24 years 9 years 14 years 12 years 7 years 10 years 8 years

The ‘English Café’ 65

The study The chapter reports on an inquiry, which investigated this social learning place, an English Café in the city centre of Ankara, Turkey, that had been established in 2011. This inquiry drew on ethnographic methods and I observed the participants for a period of three years, as well as interviewing them. Whilst they were still in their first location, I visited the EC three times, mostly observing the participants, talking to them and taking notes. In the second year, I visited the EC four times in its new location and asked them to write their language learning histories. In a third series of visits, I made observations of participants’ actions at the EC and more importantly I gathered the first and second set of interview data. As a whole, the study’s data came from three basic sources, namely language learning histories, observations and interviews. At the very beginning of the study, when the participants had already been meeting for almost six months, they were informed about the purpose of the study. After they had agreed to take part, they were assigned pseudonyms to secure their privacy. For the language learning histories, I gave the participants some prompts that allowed them to write more constructively, encouraging them to include, for example, the strategies they used when learning English and the activities they enjoyed doing most. Subsequently, I categorised the data collected through the histories. This process was fulfilled mostly by reading the data many times until I identified some underlying themes, e.g. a place to socialise with others, to share life experiences with other members of the community and, more importantly, to practise their language in a less-threatening environment. Language learning histories provided much information about the participants’ earlier language learning experiences, which made me realise that the experience of the EC was a unique one because they were doing something that they had never done before. In addition to their language learning histories, I interviewed all the participants in groups of five; the first round took place after they had spent almost two years participating in the meetings at the EC and the second followed six months later. There were therefore four interviews, with each one lasting more than one hour. All of the interviews were audio-recorded and transcribed verbatim. The software Nvivo was used to assist in organising the data that derived from the transcriptions of the interviews. As part of the data analysis process, three scholars crosschecked the themes of the transcriptions and refined the categorised data in light of a cyclical reading process. Consensus was achieved through discussions about any differences and flaws as a way of enhancing the trustworthiness of the data (Cohen, Manion and Morrison 2011). Interviews focusing mostly on the participants’ insights into their experiences at the EC enabled me to have a better understanding of why this EC could be regarded as a community of practice and why the participants preferred to use it autonomously. Finally, my observations as a participant at the EC during the research period provided other valuable data. Whenever I visited the EC, I saw at least ten participants. I took notes of my observations, focusing on areas such as their willingness to participate in the activities and the ways in which they exchanged learning tips. These led me to consider the possibilities the EC opens up for out-of-class learning activities, thereby highlighting the need to fully explore the concept of place in formal/ informal language learning environments in EFL contexts like Turkey.

66  Cem Balçıkanlı According to Scollon (2001), ‘nexus of practice’ is a network of social practices and the point where the practices intersect. Scollon (2001: 142) adds that ‘the idea of a community of practice is best thought of as an objectified nexus of practice’. The nexus offers possibilities ‘to map and then navigate networks which circulate through a semiotic ecosystem’ (Scollon and Wong Scollon 2004: 91). These networks, which mostly occur through social actions or practices, are produced by us, even though as social actors we can be unconscious of their existence. Additionally, the way in which social actions, action sequences or activities are constructed out of actions, practices and discourses is an important aspect of nexus analysis. Therefore, as nexus analysis ‘entails not only a close, empirical examination of the moment under analysis but also an historical analysis of these trajectories or discourse cycles that intersect in that moment as well as an analysis of the anticipations that are opened up by the social actions taken in that moment’ (Scollon and Wong Scollon 2004: 8), I decided to use it to study the relationship between the actions the participants took and the discourse they engaged in in this social setting.

Five aspects of a social learning space In the following section, I describe five aspects that emerged from triangulation of the data and suggest how and why the participants autonomously made use of the EC. Additionally, the analysis will show how participants’ practices influenced their understanding of the EC as well as their learning experiences.

A place for language practice The data analysis demonstrated that the practices the participants were engaged in at the EC enabled them to turn the space into a place as they took responsibility for their own learning. This supports Murray, Fujishima and Uzuka (2014: 81) view that ‘how learners imagine a space to be, perceive it, define it and articulate their understandings transforms a space into a place, determines what they do there and influences their autonomy’. My own view that autonomy was one of the most significant characteristics of this social learning place emerged because the participants at the EC took control of their own learning processes. Their actions to develop their English could be regarded as the manifestation of autonomy. Put differently, they had organised themselves in order to take advantage of the EC, as they were constantly seeking ways to improve their English. They had made the decision to come to the EC in the first place, and they had then decided to continue to come, at first to develop their language but then later for other reasons. One can learn grammar or its rules by attending a language course easily. This is what I used to do over the years. However, one needs a social context to speak and use the language effectively. These meetings give great opportunities for us to develop our language skills in a social setting. I became more fluent. (Eylul, 15.02.2014. Translated from Turkish) As is easily seen in the comment above, the participants noted that the EC was one of the best places for them to have the chance to speak English. In particular, the way the

The ‘English Café’ 67 participants valued the EC was based on social aspects of learning in that this place was created to promote the development of students’ language skills through their active use. As Kanno (2003: 286) put it, ‘learning is not just a cognitive process of acquiring a set of skills and knowledge but part of changing participation in communities of practice’. Another important issue voiced by the participants in relation to their previous language learning experiences was that they had never been involved in determining aspects of learning, such as choosing the topic to discuss or the kinds of activities to do. One of the participants talked about his previous learning practices and how he had felt in a traditional classroom environment, and reported why the EC was significant in this regard. For a couple of years, I have done my best to learn English. I paid a lot of money for language courses. What I have seen so far is just a failure, I suppose. In a language classroom, we had to follow a course book, which, was a little too boring most of the time. In this café I really enjoy the atmosphere, which gives me options to practise English, and more importantly I can determine a lot of issues such as topics to discuss and activities to do. (Ates, 15.02.2015, Translated from Turkish) Ates’s quote revealed the value of this café from his perspective. Referring to the options he was given for practising English in this place, he mentioned that he was enjoying this freedom to determine issues. This suggests that he enjoyed the opportunity for autonomy in his learning, as in an autonomous classroom, students have freedom of choice in relation to the materials and topics that they employ in the classroom (Fenner and Newby 2000).

A place to socialise My observations in this social learning place led me to think about the possibilities the EC offered in addition to language learning opportunities. On one visit to the café, I had a conversation with three participants. When I asked them what the best thing was about this café, without hesitating, they replied that they had made many new friends who had been going through more or less the same issues. This reminded me of the definition of communities of practice: ‘a group of people who share a concern or a passion for something they do and learn how to do it better as they interact regularly’ (Wenger 1998: 1). The following comment by one of the participants expands on this point: Main purpose of going there for me is to find people who have the same interests as me, that is obviously learning English, and to talk about the hobbies on a regular basis. Another reason is that I want to communicate with other people and learn more about their life experiences. I personally believe that people develop their empathic skills and tolerance as they communicate with more people. (Ruzgar, 06.04.2014. Translated from Turkish) Ruzgar regarded the EC as a venue to socialise with others. More importantly, this aspect of the café offered numerous opportunities for the participants to fulfil

68  Cem Balçıkanlı their social and psychological needs, as they commented that it was a friendly and supportive learning community. They also mentioned that access to the English Café was easy, and everyone could become a part of it by just coming to the café.

A place to exchange knowledge and life experiences Interaction between young people and comparatively middle-aged participants occurred at the EC. During the interviews I conducted with the participants, I realised that the EC was viewed as a place where they could exchange knowledge and life experiences. To be more specific, the middle-aged participants who were talking about their favourite books/movies and, more importantly, telling their younger friends interesting stories about their life lessons were sharing their knowledge and experiences with them. Furthermore, in lieu of the usual topics covered in a classroom environment, the participants were able to discuss a variety of issues, which, in turn, offered opportunities to increase their knowledge about life experiences. When I am in the café, we do not only speak English, we also learn more about our friends’ life experiences. It was really fun hanging out with all these people there. Also, I learn a lot of new things from my friends. I can get knowledge, news and ideas about everything. (Mine, 06.04.2014. Translated from Turkish) Mine’s quote above indicated that the EC served as a place where the participants could access information about the world at the same time, and my observations confirmed that they enjoyed this opportunity. In the first place, we wanted to speak English with people who had higher level of English in the café. Actually, we did it a lot. I really enjoyed it, because it was fun. As time went by, we got to talk about different things such as living in a big city (I used to live in a very small town, Bolvadin in Afyon). One of the participants in the café who lived in Ankara longer than I did was telling me about the websites of theatres and operas. We became close friends then. (Mina, 10.05.2013, Translated from Turkish) My observations of the participants at the EC illustrated that they became so close that they were giving advice to each other about their own life choices, such as whether to do a master’s course or to go on living in Ankara or move to another city.

A place to learn/get support from peers The study showed that, in addition to learning from each other’s life experiences, the participants with longer language learning experiences than others tended to talk to the others about the learning strategies they had previously used. This could be seen in the comment taken from Mert’s language learning history below: I have been learning English for a long time, but when I come to the café, I hear people’s experiences in learning English. What kind of things they do in

The ‘English Café’ 69 order to develop their language skills. I have never thought of using web sites to practise English with native speakers. One of my friends here told me about that. I am currently using it. (Mert, 15.02.2014. Translated from Turkish) The participants’ comments and my observations showed that they got support from others and provided ‘support through the provision of help and resources to others’ (Littlewood 1999). As people speak, they tend to trust each other more than ever. We know more about other people’s lives, experiences and cultures in this café. We actually learn from each other, which is the philosophy of the café I believe. This is because we have participants whose English is better than others. (Muge, 15.02.2014. Translated from Turkish) It was quite natural for the participants at the EC to ask for help from each other. The comments from Mert and Muge revealed that the EC became a place where the participants managed to get language support, which, importantly, seemed to have encouraged them to continue to participate in the EC. In relation to ‘the support given during the learning process which is tailored to the needs of the student with the intention of helping the student achieve his/her learning goals’ (Sawyer 2006: 5), the participants here reported that they been able to push the level of their language development through benefiting from the guidance of others. Through the support they gained from the interaction in this social context, they were able to develop new perspectives, knowledge and strategies.

A place to learn in a less-threatening atmosphere Participants’ responses to the questions asked during the interviews suggested that they considered the EC to be a place where they felt safe to take the risks necessary to develop their English language. The experiences that they had at the EC indicated that the participants valued the importance of a sense of belonging, thereby leading them to feel secure. I have always been concerned about my English. Whenever I open my mouth to say something, I feel nervous that I will make grammar and pronunciation mistakes, which prevents me from speaking. The first time I came here, I was quite nervous. My English would not be enough to practise English. As time went by, I got used to it thanks to other participants’ help. I started to feel relaxed to try out new things I learned from my peers. (Deniz, 06.04.2014, Translated from Turkish) As Deniz explained in his comments during the interview and his language learning histories, he felt safer to take risks to improve his English during his time at the EC, whereas initially he had not participated actively in the activities and responded only occasionally to questions. His experiences led me to consider that his anxiety levels had drastically diminished over time, which allowed him to try out new things

70  Cem Balçıkanlı and more importantly to take risks. Mert’s comments below supported the view that the participants felt relaxed thanks to the warm peer support at the EC. Furthermore, I recognised that the participants’ speaking skills in particular benefited, as they managed to overcome their inhibitions and to initiate conversations, discuss and talk freely with other people. This club is very important because it really contributes to my English. As I practise, I feel more confident and get to know how to pronounce some English words easily because of the help I get from people who know more than I do. (Mert, 06.04, 2014. Translated from Turkish)

Overall discussion The study points to five important findings. Firstly, in line with the findings of Murray, Fujishima and Uzuka (2014: 82) in their investigation of a social space for language learning, ‘places are created through action by people doing things in a particular space’; in this case, actions which the participants engaged in at the EC, such as practising/speaking English, served to socially construct the place. The participants enjoyed the opportunity to practise English at the EC, especially given that it is not easy to devote a sufficient amount of time to speaking English in classrooms. Secondly, the EC was a place for the participants to make/meet friends in a social environment. Social actions related to other actions tend to become social practices, which can serve as ‘the basis for the identities we produce’ (Scollon 2001: 142). The way the participants viewed the EC was greatly influenced by social actions they were engaged in. Thirdly, the EC was seen as a place to exchange knowledge and life experiences that contributed to each participant’s way of life. In other words, it was a friendly environment for the participants to access information on various subjects. Fourthly, it was observed that there was an interaction emerging between the participants with higher levels of English proficiency and those with lower levels. In Vygotskian terms (1978), there was an exchange of information between these two parties, which led to the creation of a ZPD. I observed that participants were indeed learning through such dialogue and interaction. Finally, the experiences of the participants in the EC highlighted the importance of feelings and emotions in the nexus of practice. The study argued that the participants felt comfortable and confident enough to take risks associated with language development. Actions the participants took in the café led the participants to feel confident enough to engage in autonomous behaviours. The learners were autonomous in that they were accepting responsibility for their learning at the EC. On the basis of the findings of this study, one can suggest that social learning places tend to make the language learning process more tangible, meaningful and valuable, as they create conditions for language learners to take into account individual differences, abilities and potential. As such, it could be recommended that the education system might offer such environments in language learning settings.

Implications for practice The investigation into this social learning place in the context of language learning in an EFL setting suggests implications for practice. The Turkish education system

The ‘English Café’ 71 seems to have a teacher-centred perspective focusing on traditional teaching methods. As Yumuk (2002: 143) describes, ‘the majority of learners undergo the process of learning through recitation in which the teacher is the authority rather than the facilitator’. Accordingly, the Turkish educational system has some aspects that inhibit autonomous language learning; school structures do not encourage authority to be shared and individuality and creativity are not encouraged. As a result of this system, learners tend not to take responsibility for their own learning during their educational process (Karabıyık 2008; Sert 2006; Yumuk 2002). However, the ways in which the EC is used suggests that this may not always be the case, as some learners are indeed assuming responsibility for their learning, albeit outside the classroom. What the participants did at the EC was impressive overall. The participants in this study played a crucial role in maintaining and strengthening a sense of community. They spent a considerable amount of time exercising their autonomy, in other words, taking charge of their own learning. By doing so, they also noticed that learning English was not inseparable from sharing their experiences, reflections and emotions with other learners in the learning process. Because the participants in this study greatly benefited from this social learning place for their own learning processes, it may be feasible for language teachers to consider creating such opportunities so as to help their learners develop community cohesion among themselves and to motivate their autonomous learning efforts. In the process of creating social learning places, educators need to bear in mind that learners who use these places for their language development are affected by how the spaces are designed and how colours are chosen in the design of the spaces (Lemke 2005). Consequently, language educators or coordinators who tend to offer such opportunities need to be mindful about giving particular attention to such environmental elements. Moreover, it is crucial that anyone who is interested in participating in the café be welcomed and supported. As the comments made by one of the participants revealed, he was not feeling relaxed when he first attended the activity, but as time went by, he felt safer to take on responsibilities for his own learning. A final point that needs to be considered is that participants need to be involved in decisions related to the meetings/practices/activities in the café. More specifically, it is important for coordinators to encourage the participants to assume leadership roles as mentors or assistant coordinators.

Implications for future research In addition to pedagogical implications, the findings of the study suggest certain areas for further inquiry. Although it appears that setting up social spaces for language learning may not be common practice everywhere, examples are emerging in China (Gao 2009) and Japan (Murray and Fujishima 2013; Murray, Fujishima and Uzuka 2014; Murray and Fujishima 2016). Since this case is one of very few that I have encountered in Turkey, it might be a good idea to increase the number of such attempts across the country. For instance, in 2015, the Tokat Provincial Directorate of National Education (http://tokat.meb.gov.tr) opened a similar café in Tokat, a relatively small city in northern Turkey. Every Tuesday the participants of the cafe, all of whom were vocational high school students, came together to practise English with their peers. There is a need to fully explore the concept of place in informal language learning environments in EFL contexts like Turkey. On that basis, more

72  Cem Balçıkanlı studies are needed to gain insights into how social spaces might support language learning and what learning strategies the participants of such spaces use to actively search for and create learning opportunities inside and beyond the classroom. The relationship between theories of space and learning needs further exploration in order to shed light on the development of learner autonomy in informal and shared settings. For example, more research on learners’ out-of-class learning experiences could be carried out to examine how pedagogical efforts inside classrooms might enable learners to build their capacity for autonomy outside the classroom. More specifically, the relationship between the regular visits of the participants to the café and their language development could be researched. Valuable insights would furthermore be gained from an in-depth longitudinal study that emphasises the changing and social nature of learners’ experiences at the EC.

Conclusion This chapter has looked at a social learning place in the city centre of Ankara, Turkey, and its members who have been practising English in this relaxing environment. In order to do so, I have used three types of data, namely language learning histories, interviews and participant observations, to understand why and how the participants used this EC. The analysis of the data indicated that the EC became a place through the actions the participants took and the activities they engaged in. That is to say, this space acquired an identity and was transformed into a particular place. Important in this transformation were the meanings that the participants attributed to the EC; for example, the participants considered the EC to be a place where they could practise English with other participants, meet/make friends in a supportive environment and exchange information and life experiences. Furthermore, the participants emphasised their satisfaction with getting support from their peers. Finally, in the minds of the participants, the EC was viewed as a place where they could take risks to enhance their language skills in a less-threatening atmosphere. The effective use of the EC facilitated the development of their capacity for autonomous learning in this out-of-class learning environment. Murray, Fujishima and Uzuka (2014) report on a similar study conducted in Japan where they examined the participants’ experiences and feelings about their EC by drawing on theoretical work from the areas of human geography, mediated discourse analysis and situated learning. In their study, which was the first study to examine space-place relationships in relation to language learning/teaching of which I am aware, they referred to the three dimensions that Benson (2011) proposed to characterise the concept of autonomy: control over learning process, control over cognitive processes and control over content. The findings of their research added a new dimension to these three, however: space. The study reported in this chapter confirms the relevance of this dimension. On the whole, the findings of this study encourage language teachers working in an EFL setting to integrate learners’ out-of-class activities into pedagogical practices. Teachers may need to encourage students to take advantage of out-ofclass social learning spaces so as to develop their English and social relationships, thereby not only enhancing their learning experiences but also increasing the time for practice. That is to say, language teachers may inform their learners about the

The ‘English Café’ 73 possibility/functionality of creating such places outside the classroom in order to help them to recognise the linguistic and social value of language learning in more informal learning contexts. The study also indicates the importance of such integration in order to promote learner autonomy. For this reason, researchers need to focus more on learners’ out-of-class learning so that pedagogical endeavours can be informed in ways that empower learners with the capacity for organising and sustaining their autonomous language learning efforts not only inside but also outside the classroom.

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74  Cem Balçıkanlı Karabıyık, A. 2008, ‘The relationship between culture of learning and Turkish university preparatory students’ readiness for learner autonomy’, Unpublished MA Thesis, Bilkent University, Ankara, Turkey. Kohonen, V. 2010, ‘Autonomy, agency and community in FL education: Developing site-based understanding through a university and school partnership’, in B. O’Rourke and L. Carson (eds.), Language learner autonomy: Policy, curriculum, classroom, Peter Lang, Oxford. Kohonen, V., Jaatinen, R., Kaikkonen, P. and Lehtovaara, J. 2014, Experiential learning in foreign language education, Routledge, New York. Kolb, D.A. 2014, Experiential learning: Experience as the source of learning and development, 2nd edn, FT press, Upper Saddle River, NJ Lemke, J. 2005, ‘Place, pace, and meaning: Multimedia chronotopes’, in S. Norris and R.H. Jones (eds.), Discourse in action: Introducing mediated discourse analysis, Routledge, London. Little, D.G. 1991, Definitions, issues and problems, Dublin, Authentik. Little, D.G. 2000, ‘Learner autonomy and human interdependence: Some theoretical and practical consequences of a social-interactive view of cognition, learning and language’, in B. Sinclair, I. Mc Grath and T. Lamb (eds.), Learner autonomy, teacher autonomy: Future directions, Longman, London. Littlewood, W. 1999, ‘Defining and developing autonomy in East Asian contexts’, Applied Linguistics, vol. 20, no. 1, pp. 70–94. Massey, D. 2005, For space. Sage, Thousand Oaks, CA. Michelle, G.M and Tong, H.G. 2012, ‘Space, scale and languages: Identity construction of cross-boundary students in a multilingual university in Hong Kong’, Language and Education, vol. 26, no. 6, pp. 501–515. Murray, G. 2014, ‘Exploring the social dimensions of autonomy in language learning’, in G. Murray (ed.), Social dimensions of autonomy in language learning, Palgrave Macmillan, Basingstoke. Murray, G. and Fujishima, N. 2013, ‘Social language learning spaces: Affordances in a community of learners’, Chinese Journal of Applied Linguistics, vol. 36, no. 1, pp. 141–157. Murray, G. and Fujishima, N. (eds.) 2016, Social spaces for language learning: Stories from the LC, Palgrave Macmillan, Basingstoke. Murray, G., Fujishima, N. and Uzuka, M. 2014, ‘Semiotics of place: Autonomy and space’, in G. Murray (ed.), Social dimensions of autonomy in language learning, Palgrave Macmillan, Basingstoke. Oblinger, D.G. 2006, ‘Space as a change agent’, in Learning spaces, Washington, DC, Educause. Online book, accessed 18 March 2014, http://www.educause.edu/ LearningSpaces Parnell, R. and Procter, L. 2011, ‘Flexibility and placemaking for autonomy in learning’, Educational and Child Psychology, vol. 28, no. 1, pp. 77–89. Ribeiro, R., Kimble, C. and Cairns, P. 2013, ‘Some first steps in the search for “hidden” communities of practice within electronic networks’, Journal of Organizational Transformation & Social Change, vol. 8, no. 2, pp. 183–197. Sawyer, R.K. 2006, The Cambridge Handbook of the learning sciences, Cambridge University Press, New York. Scollon, R. 2001, Mediated discourse: The nexus of practice, Routledge, London. Scollon, R. and Wong Scollon, S. 2004, Nexus analysis: Discourse and the emerging Internet, Routledge, New York.

The ‘English Café’ 75 Sert, N. 2006, ‘EFL student teachers’ learning autonomy’, The Asian EFL Journal, vol. 8, no. 2, pp. 180–201. Vygotsky, L.S. 1978, Mind in society, Cambridge University Press, Cambridge. Wenger, E. 1998, Communities of practice: Learning, meaning, and identity, Cambridge University Press, Cambridge. Wenger, E., McDermott, R. and Snyder, W. 2002, Cultivating communities of practice: A guide to managing knowledge, Harvard Business School Press, Boston. Yumuk, A. 2002, ‘Letting go of control to the learners: The role of the Internet in promoting a more autonomous view of learning in an academic translation course’, Educational Research, vol. 44, no. 2, pp. 141–156. http://tokat.meb.gov.tr/www/ dil-kafede-ingilizce-konusulmaya-tum-hiziyla-devam- ediliyor/icerik/669.

6 Multilingual linguistic landscapes as a site for developing learner autonomy Antje Wilton and Christian Ludwig

Introduction We are surrounded by all types of written and spoken language in public spaces as they manifest themselves in shop signs, advertisements, names of buildings, public transportation, graffiti, announcements and video screens. The analysis of language in public spaces allows us to draw conclusions about the identity of a city and its inhabitants, as well as to conjecture about the motives for and ideologies behind language use in areas of public life. Since the 1990s, academic interest in the use of language in public spaces has increased (cf. Shohamy 2012: 548). Nonetheless, the study of linguistic landscapes in its own right is still a relatively new area, which draws from different academic disciplines such as applied linguistics, sociolinguistics, anthropology, sociology, psychology and cultural geography. One of the first definitions of the concept was proposed by Landry and Bourhis (1997: 13) who understood linguistic landscapes as the ‘visibility and salience of languages on public and commercial signs in a given territory or region’. More than a decade later, Shohamy and Gorter (2009: 1) widened the scope of linguistic landscape research by including ‘[. . .] language in the environment, words and images displayed and exposed in public spaces’. Dagenais et al. (2009) interpret the concept even more broadly by considering linguistic landscape as ‘environmental print’, i.e. cities as ‘texts’. This brief outline hints at the still rather fluid meaning of the term, illustrating that linguistic landscape research is still developing as a field. Generally, we can say that multilingualism is of central interest in linguistic landscape research as many linguistic landscapes are shaped by the co-presence of (a) local language(s) and English, revealing that ‘the process of globalisation is made visible through the presence of English in the linguistic landscape’ (Gorter 2006b: 81). However, linguistic landscapes do not only appear in English and other languages spoken around the globe. The use of regional dialects and local varieties, for example, can be an expression of processes of regionalisation and localisation (glocalisation) by which emphasis is given to local and regional identities. This chapter examines claims made by various scholars regarding the use of (multilingual) linguistic landscapes as a pedagogical resource (cf. Cenoz and Gorter 2008; Chern and Dooley 2014; Sayer 2010). Among other benefits, language, both written and spoken, displayed in public spaces has been proven to contribute to students’ lexical and grammatical development and to positively affect their language awareness (cf. Hewitt-Bradshaw 2014 for the example of the Caribbean; Shohamy

Developing learner autonomy 77 and Waksman 2009). The present contribution, as a point of difference, explores the potential of linguistic landscapes regarding the development of learner autonomy in the context of foreign language learning. Learner autonomy has been one of the key concepts of research into foreign language learning for over 30 years now and has been defined as ‘the capacity to take control of one’s own learning’ (Benson 2001: 58). It promotes the idea that learners are actively involved in all stages of the learning process from planning and executing to evaluating their learning. More recently, the concept of space as a dimension of learner autonomy and their relationship (cf. Lamb 2014) has gained increasing attention in autonomy research (cf. Murray 2014a). The aim of this chapter is to explore the role of linguistic landscapes in facilitating the development of learner autonomy with regards to its spatial dimension. The results of a small-scale study conducted in the context of an EFL university classroom research project, which required students to collect and analyse examples of predominantly multilingual linguistic landscapes, will be discussed with reference to the claims made about the foreign language learning potential of linguistic landscapes. As a first step, a pre-questionnaire enquired about the students’ awareness of the two concepts of linguistic landscapes and learner autonomy. Participants were then asked to engage with examples of linguistic landscapes from their environment. Additionally, this project phase was flanked by a post-questionnaire to look at how students changed their behaviours and practices with regards to linguistic landscapes. Overall, the results support the idea that engaging with linguistic landscapes can not only enhance students’ awareness of the use of language in public spaces, but also facilitate the development of learner autonomy.

Linguistic landscapes The interest in texts in public spaces has a long history – as demonstrated by Rosenbaum et al.’s study (1977) of the prominence of Roman script on signs in a street in Jerusalem. More recently, there has been increasing interest in the relatively young sociolinguistic sub-discipline of linguistic landscapes (cf. Backhaus 2007: 3). Linguistic landscapes can be defined in the following way: The language of public road signs, advertising billboards, street names, place names, commercial shops signs, and public signs on government buildings combine to form the linguistic landscape of a given territory, region, or urban agglomeration. (Landry and Bourhis 1997: 25) In other words, linguistic landscape research is concerned with the sociolinguistic investigation of language in public spaces as a means to gain insights into the representations of languages in society (cf. Landry and Bourhis 1997) and to describe linguistic ecology, i.e. interactions between any given language and its environment (cf. Haugen 1972) in predominantly urban spaces (cf. Auer 2009). Initially, linguistic landscape research focused on (predominantly written) language in the material world; more recent research has extended its scope to include other semiotic elements such as visuals and sound (Dailey, Giles and Jansma 2005, for example, who

78  Antje Wilton and Christian Ludwig include a variety of sound items such as the language heard when walking in the street or the language heard on television; Rogoff 2002: 24). A number of studies on linguistic landscapes have been criticised for taking a quantitative rather than an interpretative and reflective approach (for criticism, see, e.g., Auer 2009: 274; Weber and Horner 2012: 179). Critics argue that, as linguistic landscape research is recognised as an approach within sociolinguistics, the relevance of the spatial and social context of public language use must be taken into account. Linguistic landscapes are closely related to the space in which they occur, as written discourse interacts with other discursive modalities, such as visuals, non-verbal signs of communication, architecture and the built environment (cf. Jaworski 2010). Thus, an important feature of linguistic landscapes is their (double) indexicality (cf. Auer 2009; Scollon and Scollon 2003): signs derive part of their meaning from the space in which they are placed, including their relationship with other signs in that place. Through their indexicality, forms of written language in public spaces relate social actors to their physical environment (cf. Habscheid and Reuther 2013; Scollon and Scollon 2003). Apart from reflecting linguistic boundaries by marking a territory through the selection of language(s) (cf. Landry and Bourhis 1997), public signage has certain functions, irrespective of its occurrence in multilingual or monolingual contexts (cf. Auer 2009; Habscheid and Reuther 2013); such as naming, giving and structuring information, marking relationships, instructing (on how to behave and use a space), regulating behaviour (also temporal, i.e. ‘keep your documents ready’) and guiding attention (through design features such as granularity of writing, layout, use of colours, fonts and visuals). Language in public spaces is an essential and ubiquitous phenomenon, influenced by and in turn influencing the environment in which it is used. It reflects and regulates language use as social behaviour taking place not only in a social, but also in a material context. In the following section, we will discuss the role of linguistic landscapes in foreign language learning.

Linguistic landscapes as a tool for foreign language learning While it has been stated that linguistic landscapes hold much potential for foreign language learning (cf. Hewitt-Bradshaw 2014), so far, little research into the opportunities for and obstacles to accessing linguistic landscapes as a pedagogical resource has been conducted. This is particularly surprising considering the fact that, as Dagenais et al. (2009: 253) note, ‘the study of linguistic landscapes traces its roots to research conducted with youth and work on literacy, both areas of primary interest in education’. Placing literacy in a broader social context, the use of linguistic landscapes in foreign language learning recognises ‘the social context of language learning and language use, and offers educators many opportunities to create meaningful experiences for learners’ (Hewitt-Bradshaw 2014: 159–160). Contemporary approaches to foreign language learning favour learners as ‘active constructors of knowledge who bring their own needs, strategies and styles to learning’ (Felix 2002: 3) Thus, the environment in which such constructive learning processes take place needs to offer opportunities for learners to engage with realistic and authentic contexts in which to develop their skills and knowledge. Public spaces with their display of language in various forms and functions provide such an environment, in which

Developing learner autonomy 79 language learners are confronted with authentic, i.e. unmediated, and rich linguistic input. Engaging with the richness of language variation and its spatial and social embeddedness can contribute to the development of students’ linguistic, pragmatic, intercultural, multimodal, multiliterate as well as critical and reflective competences. Linguistic learning goals can include increasing students’ vocabulary, e.g., by asking them to identify words in public spaces that have recently been integrated from a foreign, minority, or regional language into their L1 (cf. Sayer 2010), or initiating grammar learning by exploring linguistic innovations such as non-standard grammatical forms or innovative spellings. The greatest potential of linguistic landscapes, however, appears to lie in their ability to raise students’ awareness of the linguistic diversity of their environment and sociolinguistic context. In other words, they support students in avoiding taking a universalist perspective on language that contradicts the ‘multi-character’ of students’ lives (cf. Dagenais et al. 2009: 257). Closely connected to this, linguistic landscapes constitute a new approach to the study of multilingualism (cf. Gorter 2006a), and by engaging with them, students can gain valuable information about which languages are becoming locally and globally relevant (cf. Kasanga 2012). As has been pointed out, many studies into linguistic landscapes focus on analysing and understanding language(s) displayed in public spaces. Broader approaches to linguistic landscapes include ‘any sign or announcement located [. . .] inside a public institution or a private business’ (Ben-Rafael et al. 2006: 14), regional language(s) in school spaces (cf. Brown 2012) or even teacher talk inside the classroom (cf. Dailey, Giles and Jansma 2005). In addition to this, a wide range of technological developments such as Google Earth make linguistic landscapes accessible to a large number of students across geographical distance. Nevertheless, students most likely still have to step out of the classroom to engage with the conundrums of linguistic landscapes and use examples from their own social environment, be it inside or outside of the school building. Hence, linguistic landscapes provide authentic input for learning (cf. Nunan 1999) and opportunities for authentic tasks. So far, this paper has briefly discussed the concept of linguistic landscapes and outlined their overall potential for foreign language learning, mainly focusing on linguistic landscapes as an additional source of input. In the following section, linguistic landscapes are discussed with regards to the concept of learner autonomy, which has become a major area of interest in many cultural and institutional contexts worldwide (cf. Little 1991).

Linguistic landscapes and learner autonomy The relationship between linguistic landscapes and learner autonomy is multifaceted and dynamic. In order to pinpoint how linguistic landscapes can be conducive to the development of learner autonomy, a quick look ‘behind the scenes’ of over more than 30 years of learner autonomy research and practice is indispensable. Learner autonomy has become one of the buzzwords in foreign language learning since Henri Holec’s seminal definition of the term for the Council of Europe, defining it as ‘the ability to take charge of one’s own learning’ (1981: 3). According to Benson (2011: 58), learner autonomy can be defined as ‘the capacity to take control of

80  Antje Wilton and Christian Ludwig one’s own learning’ encompassing three different dimensions: control over learning management (e.g., making a learning plan; cf. Holec 1981), control over cognitive processing (e.g., attention/noticing input; cf. Little 1991) and control over content (e.g., choosing what you learn; cf. Dam 1995). Learner autonomy, however, should not be misinterpreted as being the same as self-instruction or students working on their own (cf. Little 2004) as ‘individuals can only be autonomous in relation to some social context’ (Murray 2014a: 4) and ‘in cooperation with others, as a social, responsible person’ (Dam et al. 1990: 102). Among others, Lamb (2014) and Murray, Fujishima and Uzuka (2014: 81–99) have recently proposed to add a spatial dimension, which, while by no means new to autonomy research, needs to be explored further (cf. Ortiz 2014). To mention but a few specific examples, space in the context of learner autonomy can refer to the physical learning space of classrooms or self-access centres, the virtual world (cf. Chik and Breidbach 2014), formal and informal spaces (cf. Ortiz 2014), internal spaces (cf. Tassinari 2015a; Tassinari 2015b) or a community of practice (cf. Aoki and Osaka University Students 2010). In the following, we will focus on public space or, in other words, on Lefebvre’s (1991) ‘lived space’ as a locus of autonomous learning. Understood as ‘linguistic objects that mark the public space’ (Ben-Rafael et al. 2006: 7), linguistic landscapes can influence students’ linguistic consciousness as they pay increasingly more attention to the linguistic situation and variation present in their spatial and social environment. Moreover, linguistic landscapes can facilitate the development of an awareness of the polymorphous public space as a learning space that can help them become more autonomous, and which, in turn, students can actively co-shape. Landscape in general, i.e. the visible features of an area, is seen as the visual dimension of space, which takes on different forms depending on the society and culture it maps (cf. Lefebvre 1991). Thus, it ‘embodies social relations, and, at times, serves as the locus of struggle between groups over their respective place in a given social order’ (Shohamy, Ben-Rafael and Barni 2010: 237). According to Lefebvre (1991), space consists of three interconnected dimensions, namely ‘spatial practice’ as a visual representation of human action, ‘conceived space’, conceptualised by policy makers, and ‘lived space’ as the space of inhabitants. While the first two dimensions can tell us something about the actual distribution of signs and the political implications of public space, it is the idea of the ‘lived space’ that holds great potential for language learning. As Shohamy, Ben-Rafael and Barni (2010: 237) point out: Finally, we regard Lefebvre’s ‘lived space’ as the ‘experiential’ dimension of the LL [linguistic landscape] as it is represented by ‘inhabitants’. [. . .] Their attitudes and perception of the LL may teach us something about the ways in which the LL is experienced by its ‘inhabitants’ or ‘users’. Shohamy, Ben-Rafael and Barni (2010) mainly draw on Lefebvre’s conception of space in order to gain a deeper theoretical understanding of linguistic landscapes. In a similar vein, we firmly believe that it is the idea of a ‘lived space’, the way in which foreign language students perceive the space that surrounds them, which influences and even requires, their autonomy.

Developing learner autonomy 81

The study Methodology Our aim was to investigate the role of linguistic landscapes, i.e. the public use of language, in facilitating learner autonomy. We placed our investigation in the context of a seminar on English as a global language in the summer term of 2015 held at a German university. The seminar is part of the English teacher training programme, but also caters to students on other courses such as MA courses in English and applied linguistics. We employed two research instruments to collect the students’ ideas about and experiences with linguistic landscapes and learner autonomy and also to collect evidence of the students’ engagement with linguistic landscape under guidance. Our first instrument was a questionnaire administered to students in the seminar at the beginning of the course before becoming acquainted with research on linguistic landscapes, and a second one administered towards the end of the course after they had been introduced to and engaged in research on linguistic landscapes. The main goals of the questionnaires were twofold: firstly, to see if the concepts of linguistic landscapes and learner autonomy were known to students and how their understanding of the concepts might develop by being actively engaged with linguistic landscapes as a field of study and in field work; and secondly, to identify whether, and, if so, how, students are aware of the public space as a learning space both before and after their study of linguistic landscapes. The language of the questionnaires was English; the students correspondingly answered in English. Every quote taken from the questionnaires has remained unaltered. Twenty-seven students took part in the first questionnaire (Questionnaire A); of these, 23 were female, and four were male. The average age was 25 years. This represents a typical class in the English language department of the university, which – mainly, but not exclusively – caters to future teachers of English. In the second questionnaire (Questionnaire B), 26 students took part; of these, 19 were female and four were male, in three questionnaires the gender was not indicated. Due to slight fluctuation in attendance, some students only took part in the first and some only in the second part of the survey. Twenty-three students took part in both runs. The first questionnaire addressed four different aspects: after eliciting some very basic information about the respondents (study subjects, gender, age), the first six questions addressed the students’ familiarity with linguistic landscapes as a research field and their awareness of language(s) in public spaces. Further questions inquired more narrowly about the students’ experiences of public spaces as language learning areas before explicitly addressing the concept of learner autonomy. In the final part of the questionnaire, the students were asked to perform a short analysis of a bilingual (Irish-English) street sign alongside a few guiding questions. The second questionnaire asked students to relate their experiences after actively engaging with linguistic landscapes during the course. A total of 12 questions inquired about the respondents’ experiences when collecting instances of public writing in a chosen area, their awareness of languages and special features of language use in public (such as errors, mistakes and word play) and their opinion about public spaces as areas for autonomous language learning.

82  Antje Wilton and Christian Ludwig In addition to participating in the questionnaire survey, students were asked to take on the role of ‘language detectives’ (cf. Sayer 2010) and go on language awareness outings (cf. Dagenais et al. 2009). To actively engage them with the linguistic landscapes they discovered, they were asked to design or redesign a public space of their choice in terms of its semiotic displays, either to detect and improve deficiencies in the existing signage or to create appropriate signage for a space as yet untouched. In addition to (re-)shaping a public space of their choice, students were encouraged to collect examples of semiotically interesting public signage which they had come across during their investigation of language in public spaces in their respective areas; such as, among others, the university, public transportation (airports and train stations), roads, pedestrian precincts and gymnasiums in different parts of Germany and beyond and upload them on a blog provided for that purpose. In the following, we will present and discuss the findings from the questionnaires and the student projects in more detail.

Results of the pre-questionnaire Students’ ideas about learner autonomy Students were asked to write down anything that came to mind in relation to the concept of learner autonomy. Three students indicated that they had never heard of learner autonomy, while 14 students did not answer the question, which would suggest that the concept was not known to them. The remaining answers indicate that some students had heard of the concept as part of their teacher training, and some engaged in guesswork regarding what they thought learner autonomy might entail. Several students interpreted learner autonomy as an individual process similar to self-instruction: An autonomous learner is a learner who is self-directed and who takes responsibility for their learning. Also, he/she is aware of their learning process and knows how to monitor his learning. The concept of learner autonomy describes the process of learning or studying something by oneself without instructions. One respondent recalled from her previous studies that the main idea of learner autonomy is to learn on one’s own, denying the social dimension of autonomous learning: As far as I can remember the concept of learner autonomy contains experiencing a learning effect on your own e.g. by reading articles/books, watching documentaries and realizing that you didn’t understand before, only by your own experience without the support of others.

Students’ ideas about linguistic landscapes Generally, the survey reveals that most students were initially unaware of 1) linguistic landscapes as an area of research within sociolinguistics, 2) the pervasive occurrence of (written) language in their environment and 3) public displays of (written) language as potential learning spaces. Those students who indicated they had heard

Developing learner autonomy 83 of linguistic landscapes were then asked to define the concept. Again, the answers indicate guesswork on the one hand and definitions focusing on a particular aspect of linguistic landscapes on the other: I don’t really remember what it is about exactly. I guess it is about how different foreign languages (like English) are used in your mother tongue and how they shape the mother tongue. LLs is about the languages that come across in our everyday life. Advertisements, road signs, company names. In questionnaire A, students were asked about their previous ‘learning experiences’ with linguistic landscapes. In total, 12 students responded to the question. One student seemed to have misunderstood linguistic landscapes to be restricted to English that occurs in video games. Another student gave a clearly negative answer. The other answers, however, hinted at the fact that at least accidental language learning took place. Some of their answers are presented and briefly discussed below: When being abroad, you often learn new words by seeing them on signs and thus learn the words (you can guess the meaning by seeing the sign). ‘Treat yourself’ was a slogan on a billboard about vacation. The meaning of ‘treat yourself’ really made sense to me when I read it. I learned new vocabulary whenever I was abroad and read signs or other things. I remember taking a bus ride in Ireland and having read a sign that said: Tips are welcome. I was thinking of the German word ‘Tipp’ and first thought it had something to do with criticism until I watched people handing extramoney to the driver. Yes, because if not translated I googled the words in order to understand them. Furthermore, I learned them, because I had an image in my mind to which I could link the word. Not being in Germany, but when I first came to England there were many things I didn’t quite understand. I tried to store them in my mind and recall them when I had the chance to look them up. But nowadays, I can’t recall any of them. These five students reported that engaging with linguistic landscapes helped them expand their vocabulary. By applying what could be referred to as a multimodal discourse analysis, they made use of the intertwining different semiotic modes to create a unified text (cf. Van Leeuwen and Jewitt 2001). Especially the first respondent took into account the cultural and social context of the sign ‘Tips are welcome’ in order to work out the correct meaning. The second and last respondent showed how they made use of or even developed an existing learning strategy for vocabulary learning. All of the interviewed students displayed a certain degree of metacognitive strategic knowledge that helped them understand the way they learn and assess whether learning was successful or not. Expanding one’s vocabulary in a known language is mentioned as a clear benefit of working with linguistic landscapes. Additionally, encountering a completely new language through its occurrence in a public space is also referred to as an advantage as the following answer shows: I have seen a sign at Conwy castle in Wales. The signs were in English and Gaelic and whenever it said ‘dangerous’ in English, it said something like periculum in

84  Antje Wilton and Christian Ludwig Gaelic, I immediately thought of Latin and through that I learnt that Gaelic is heavily influenced by Latin. Instead of translating the Celtic – mistakenly referred to by the student as Gaelic – word into her native language, the student reports how she used her knowledge of English and another foreign language, in this case Latin, in order to make sense of the Celtic word. The combination of languages on the sign itself as well as the student’s previous linguistic knowledge aided the student in deriving the meaning of the previously unknown word. Furthermore, she used this meaning-making process to make further assumptions about the history of the Welsh language and the role of Latin borrowings in that particular language. The next two statements exemplify that vocabulary acquisition is by far not the only effect of rather incidental engagement with linguistic landscapes. The multilingual linguistic landscapes encountered when on holiday can encourage learners to reflect on irregular language use: When you are on holidays and read a bad translation on a sign you can sometimes make assumptions about the language of that respective country. By noticing a bad translation (presumably into a language the student is competent in), the learner apparently assessed a sign that went against the norms of the standard variety of the language in question. Deviations from that norm might hint at regularities in the local language that caused interference during the translation process. This comment shows reflections on language on two levels: firstly, the student notices deviations from the written standard (here evaluated as ‘a bad translation’); secondly, the student uses this knowledge to further his/her understanding of other languages. This is evidence of an autonomous way of combining information from context-bound language input and prior knowledge in order to advance in the learning process. Finally, the student who provided the next response points to the fact that analysing linguistic landscapes can also be successfully employed in raising students’ intercultural awareness (see, e.g., LACE 2006) and developing intercultural literacy, defined by Heyward (2002: 10) as ‘understanding, competencies, attitudes, language proficiencies, participation and identities necessary for successful cross-cultural engagement’. In this particular case, the student has learned that Australian animal road signs show koalas, which she interprets as an expression of Australian animal protection. In Australian, they have koalas on their signs indicating that they might cross the street. They are protective of their native animals. So far, we have discussed the results of the pre-questionnaire before the students were introduced to linguistic landscape research. In the course of the seminar, students then engaged with linguistic landscape research. They were then asked to apply their knowledge to material they collected in a chosen public space and were invited to upload instances of public writing that caught their attention onto a blog provided for that purpose. In the following, we will present an example of a student project in which the student critically evaluated and (re-)designed the linguistic landscape of a given area.

Developing learner autonomy 85

A student project on linguistic landscapes Taking on the role of researchers, the students participating in the survey were given the task of designing their own research projects. We will introduce one student project that illustrates how opportunities for language learning can be integrated explicitly into a specific linguistic landscape (cf. Bleckmann 2015). This project aims at redesigning and complementing signage at a grammar school in Germany (NorthRhine Westphalia) to provide a learning path for foreign exchange students visiting the school as part of an exchange programme with a school based in Leeds, England. Firstly, the project outlines the significance of signage at the school for orientation within the buildings and the school grounds. The student acknowledges that the signage does not take account of the regular exchange visitors from England in its design, as it is monolingual German. Potential learning effects for foreign students are, therefore, unpredictable, unguided and implicit. In her redesign of the signage, the student proposes two possible modifications to turn the school signage into an explicit learning space: 1) Creating a learning path in the school grounds that takes up situational features and turns them into a language learning opportunity. An example is given in the form of a sign situated among some greenery, explaining and translating the German equivalent of the English saying ‘to beat around the bush’. Furthermore, the sign enables recipients not only to understand the saying and memorise the German version, but also to practise the German pronunciation by providing the text in phonetic script. 2) Complementing existing signage primarily aimed at orientation with translations into English and the phonetic script of the German text. The student adds that the signs could be designed to provide audio examples of the German terms (possibly via QR codes) to turn them into multimodal learning spaces. Furthermore, the learning path does not only address exchange students as English learners of German, but also German students as learners of English.

Results of the post-questionnaire The answers given in Questionnaire B reflect the students’ explorations of linguistic landscapes after engaging with linguistic landscape research both theoretically and practically. Not surprisingly, most students recognised the ubiquitous presence of English in their immediate environment: Gym: many things are in English that have to do with fitness. Airport: lots of English. Traffic signs, pedestrian are areas with lots of English. English is very dominant language. English seems to become more popular. A lot of English is used although there are German equivalents, English sounds simply more catchy.

86  Antje Wilton and Christian Ludwig Nevertheless, some students also noticed that German and English occasionally merge in local contexts, as revealed by comments referring to Denglish (a portmanteau word used in German to refer to a mix of German and English, sometimes including pseudo-English words): A lot of Denglish Languages are being mixes (Denglish) Many of the students chose an area familiar to them from their everyday lives in order to collect samples of public writing. Thus, they engaged with their immediate environment, which is also reflected in their answers, both with respect to why they chose the area and whether they learned something about the linguistic situation in that area: Train station: use them on regular basis, signs in German and English Hometown: most convenient University of Siegen: many international students Many second languages spoken in area Public writing is often incorrect It is noticeable in their answers that the students’ awareness of the multilingual nature of their environment has increased. When asked to name the dominant languages in public spaces in their chosen area in the order of importance, students list an impressive array of languages other than German and English that have caught their attention. Out of the 27 students who responded to the question, all but one respondent named German as the most dominant language in their area, followed by Turkish, which was identified as the second most dominant language by 15 respondents. The prevalence of Turkish is due to the large Turkish community in Germany. Apart from German and Turkish, English was named the third most dominant language by only six students. In total, a number of 13 different languages were identified by students as visible in public spaces. Interestingly, in the answers to questions concerning the usefulness of linguistic landscapes for language learning, a number of students viewed the co-presence of languages critically: ‘Denglish’ words might be confusing If there wouldn’t be weird mix of the languages then yes Maybe if it is correctly used Many signs with mistakes/people learn the mistakes The answers indicate a traditional normative orientation towards the quality of input in language learning, which should be monolingual and ‘correct’, i.e. conform to the standard language grammatical norms. This emphasis on correct language input was reflected in the students’ answers as the suitability of linguistic landscapes for learning purposes was often linked to the prerequisite of correctness (‘If

Developing learner autonomy 87 it is correctly used’). Furthermore, vocabulary learning turned out to be the most important advantage of using linguistic landscapes in foreign language learning, as linguistic landscapes provide opportunities to memorise words: It may help in order to keep the meaning or spelling of a word in mind. It can help you to memorize words unconsciously, which you can then remember later on. In some comments, the multimodal representations of (new) words in linguistic landscapes were particularly highlighted: I think written language can sometimes be helpful for the learning process, especially when a slogan or name occurs in a high frequency or the written language is supported by a symbol which shows its meaning. [. . .] After some time you know words and sometimes even the concept behind them. And maybe one is able to learn the word better by having the image of the writing in mind. In addition, the potential of language in public spaces for intercultural learning was recognised might help the students to actually find their way in the native country of the language and it also helps understanding the culture. One of the clear advantages mentioned in the answers to questionnaire B was that linguistic landscapes provide contextualised and authentic language input that is not only connected to the students’ lives but also promotes acquisition in a natural context rather than through institutional learning: And with the words in general on buildings or things it is easier to understand the meaning and to associate things while you are learning words. Yes, I think it would be helpful. Pupils often remember things easier when they are connected to their daily life. They find such things much more interesting than doing stuff on a worksheet or in a schoolbook. Since many vocabularies that are learned in class (both school and university) are taught without context or at least without actually making a reference between a particular context and the word itself, written language in public spaces helps in the process of language learning. The new vocabularies aren’t just learned, but rather acquired. Furthermore, linguistic landscapes were considered to be pivotal for raising foreign language students’ awareness of the multilingual and multicultural character of their environment as the following statement shows: I think it is helpful for teaching a foreign language, because it shows the students that they are surrounded by different languages than German and those languages (and people!!!) belong to our everyday life in a globalised word.

88  Antje Wilton and Christian Ludwig

Discussion of results and implications for practice Although the key question focused on investigating the role of linguistic landscapes in the development of learner autonomy, more general insights into the value of language in public spaces for language learning were explored as well. Linguistic landscapes can enrich foreign language classroom pedagogy and be used as an educational tool, especially in multilingual and multidialectal environments, as they mirror the linguistic diversity of public spaces within a speech community and inform us about the role and value of different languages or dialects within a community (cf. Hewitt Bradshaw 2014). Moreover, the multilingual and multimodal character of linguistic landscapes as a combination of written language, visuals and sounds can train students’ abilities to communicate between different languages, cultures and identities. As the experiences reported by the students reveal, engaging with linguistic landscapes offers students a way to explore the language of their immediate surroundings and provides them a place to improve their pronunciation, fluency, grammar or understanding of multimodal representations of the languages around them. The main aim of our study, however, was to explore if and how public texts can facilitate the development of learner autonomy. The results of the study indicate that the students employed strategies to exploit the potential of linguistic landscapes as a learning resource. This hints at the fact that working with linguistic landscapes as a site of language and literacy learning can promote students’ development as autonomous learners, which we will discuss in more detail in the following. The concept of learner autonomy advocates that students’ learning should be based on authentic materials that are relevant to them (Dickinson 1987: 68) and not on ‘inputs’ that are transmitted to the learner by a teacher or a textbook’ (van Lier 2008: 163). Not only do the results of the questionnaires support this understanding, they also show that by engaging with public text student-initiated learning actually occurred even before students were introduced to the idea of linguistic landscapes as a learning resource. Moreover, the students’ answers stress that they value the opportunity of learning ‘in the street’. The use of linguistic landscapes, however, should not stop at the classroom door but rather bring the formal learning environment of the classroom and the real world closer together. If we want to inspire autonomous lifelong learning, i.e. learning that is ‘flexible, diverse and available at different times and in different places’ (Lifelong Learning Council Queensland Australia), we need to encourage students to have their own learning experiences outside of the classroom. Students should be able to apply outside what is learned inside the classroom and vice versa. Linguistic landscapes provide authentic target language material that is closely tied to the students’ linguistic and cultural context as well as their (multilingual) language biographies. By using linguistic landscapes in the classroom, we give students the opportunity to explore and express their identities as part of the foreign language learning process. If we provide students with ‘opportunities for autonomy’ (Lamb 2011: 68) by working with their examples and experiences of linguistic landscapes, we move beyond learning and memorising new words and acquiring new grammatical structures, which were frequently mentioned as advantages of linguistic landscapes in the questionnaires. By doing so, we also give students space to express their own ‘local, regional, national and transnational identities’ (Dagenais

Developing learner autonomy 89 et al. 2009: 254). Linguistic landscapes, however, do not simply reflect our students’ environments but also serve as a ‘site/object of identity construction’ (ibid.) for foreign language learners. Linguistic landscapes offer students the opportunity to discover that the target language can be employed to create meaning that is directly relevant to them and to express the collective identity of a given area, as well as an indefinite number of individual identities. On a slightly cautious note, it should be mentioned that while students showed a generally positive attitude towards linguistic landscapes as a learning resource, three respondents assessed the mix of signs and languages as negative and detrimental to language learning due to the high probability of errors and the confusing mix of languages. While the students’ own experiences as related in the questionnaires and their engagement with linguistic landscapes as evidenced by their projects and blog posts show that there is indeed a high level of agency and reflection and, therefore, autonomy, in their own learning paths, their assessments of public spaces as language learning spaces to an extent are still influenced by traditional notions of language learning as a passive process in which the learner is fed with tailored, and above all grammatically correct, linguistic material. In contrast to the autonomous behaviour reported in their previous learning experiences with language in public spaces, their perception of the role of the learner clearly envisages the learner as passive and not able to critically and actively engage with his or her linguistic environment – this part of the learning process is still being seen traditionally as the responsibility of the teacher. Students’ explorations of the linguistic landscapes have various implications for classroom practice. Firstly, linguistic landscapes collected by the students can be employed as authentic materials to initiate discussions about, for example, language choice as well as language and identity. By giving students the space to engage with linguistic landscapes, we can encourage them to become critical and reflective learners. Secondly, giving students the task to explore their immediate surroundings and collect existing examples of multilingual or target language linguistic landscapes can help raise their awareness of their direct environment as a learning space. However, linguistic landscapes should not only initiate learning in a systematic, deliberate way, but also encourage us to value the potential of accidental learning, i.e. the students’ previous and current learning experiences outside of the classroom. The learning experiences reported by the students in the questionnaires show that they have an intrinsic and proactive interest in the world surrounding them (Deci 1995: 2). According to Little, it is this proactive engagement in one’s own learning (cf. Little 1991) that makes a learner an autonomous learner. However, this interest does not only need to be valued but should also be developed and supported by the teacher. The examples of linguistic landscape encounters given in the post-questionnaires emphasise that learning can take place anywhere: at home, when travelling, or in the supermarket. In all those places, students become active participants in their own learning and take ‘full responsibility for the learning process, acknowledging that success in learning crucially depends on ourselves rather than on other people’ (Begum 2014: 278). They do this, for example, by investigating the meaning of the linguistic landscape further, making note of a new word, googling the meaning, or remembering it by connecting it to an image. However, we as teachers are required to further raise students’ awareness of when, where, and how to learn outside of the classroom. As in the two projects discussed in this

90  Antje Wilton and Christian Ludwig article, linguistic landscapes can function as ‘spaces for manoeuvre’ (Lamb 2000: n.p), which students can not only exploit to explore the language around them but also shape by becoming active ‘landscape architects’ who change the linguistic landscape of their community. For example, by redesigning signages in the school yard, students permanently change and appropriate the shape of the respective linguistic landscape by actively contributing to it (cf. Parnell and Procter 2011: 79). In summary, we can say that the students’ reported learning experiences with linguistic landscapes in terms of their use of cognitive and meta-cognitive strategies show that learning can happen autonomously outside of the classroom. This suggests that the use of linguistic landscape material might be worthwhile to pursue for autonomous learning inside the classroom. Furthermore, the students’ behaviour during the student projects shows that they can make autonomous decisions with regards to the content of learning. Thus, linguistic landscapes can provide opportunities for a more flexible understanding of learning spaces.

Conclusion We have presented arguments that the informed use of linguistic landscapes holds considerable potential for foreign language learning, especially as an educational tool in multilingual and multidialectal contexts, as they take into account the students’ social and linguistic contexts, as well as their (multilingual) language biographies. The results of the present study indicate that linguistic landscapes offer opportunities for systematic learning inside the classroom but even more so for autonomous learning outside of traditional learning spaces.

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92  Antje Wilton and Christian Ludwig Lamb, T. 2000, ‘Finding a voice: Learner autonomy and teacher education in an urban context’, in B. Sinclair, I. McGrath and T. Lamb (eds.), Learner autonomy, teacher autonomy: Future directions, Addison Wesley Longman, Harlow. Lamb, T. 2011, ‘Fragile identities: Exploring learner identity, learner autonomy and motivation through young learners’ voices’, The Canadian Journal of Applied Linguistics, vol. 14, no. 2, pp. 68–85. Lamb, T. 2014, ‘Exploring space, place and autonomy for 21st century learning: empowering learners and teachers to deal with change’, paper presented at the annual meeting of GRETA, Granada, 16–18 October. Landry, R. and Bourhis, R.Y. 1997, ‘Linguistic landscape and ethnolinguistic vitality’, Journal of Language and Social Psychology, vol. 16, no. 1, pp. 23–49. Lefebvre, H. 1991, The production of space, Blackwell, Oxford. Little, D. 1991, Learner autonomy. 1: Definitions, issues and problems, Authentik, Dublin. Little, D. 2004, ‘Learner autonomy, teacher autonomy and the European language portfolio’, viewed 14 May 2016. www.utc.fr/~untele/2004ppt/handouts/little.pdf. Murray, G. 2014, Social dimensions of autonomy in language learning, Palgrave Macmillan, Basingstoke. Murray, G., Fujishima, N. & Uzuka, M. 2014, ‘Semiotics of Place: Autonomy and Space’ in G. Murray (ed.), Social dimensions of autonomy in language learning, Palgrave, Basingstoke, UK. Nunan, D. 1999, Second language teaching and learning, Heinle & Heinle, Boston, MA. Ortiz, I. 2014, ‘Spaces for learning by Terry Lamb’, viewed 14 May 2016. www.ecml.at/ News/Conference20143/Articles/tabid/1568/ArtMID/4241/ArticleID/131/ language/fr-FR/Default.aspx. Parnell, R. and Procter, L. 2011, ‘Flexibility and placemaking for autonomy in learning’, Educational and Child Psychology, vol. 28, no. 1, pp. 77–88. Rogoff, I. 2002, ‘Studying visual culture’, in N. Mirzoeff (ed.), The visual culture reader, Routledge, London and New York. Rosenbaum, Y., Nadel, E., Cooper, R.L. and Fishman, J.A. 1977, ‘English on Keren Kayemet Street’, in J.A. Fishman, R.L. Cooper and A.W. Conrad (eds.), The spread of English, Newbury House, Rowley, MA. Samarajiva, R. and Shields, P. 1997, ‘Telecommunication networks as social space: Implications for research and policy and an exemplar’, Media, Culture & Society, vol. 19, no. 4, pp. 535–555. Sayer, P. 2010, ‘Using the linguistic landscape as a pedagogical resource’, ELT Journal, vol. 64, no. 2, pp. 143–54. Scollon, R. and Scollon, S.W. 2003, Discourses in place, Routledge, London. Shohamy, E.G. 2012, ‘Linguistic landscapes and multilingualism’, in M. Martin-Jones, A. Blackledge and A. Creese (eds.), The Routledge handbook of multilingualism, Routledge, New York. Shohamy, E.G., Ben-Rafael, E. and Barni, M. 2010, Linguistic landscape in the city, Multilingual Matters, Bristol and Buffalo. Shohamy, E.G. and Gorter, D. 2009, Linguistic landscape: Expanding the scenery, Routledge, New York. Shohamy, E.G. and Waksman, S. 2009, ‘Linguistic landscape as an ecological arena: Modalities, meanings, negotiations, education’, in E. Shohamy and D. Gorter (eds.), Linguistic landscape: Expanding the scenery, Routledge, New York. Tassinari, M.G. 2015a, ‘Language learning beyond the classroom: Lernerräume (er) öffnen’, in A. Hettinger (ed.), Vorsprung durch Sprache: Fremdsprachenausbildung an

Developing learner autonomy 93 den Hochschulen. Dokumentation der 28. Arbeitstagung 2014 an der Technischen Universität Braunschweig, AKS, Bochum. Tassinari, M.G. 2015b, ‘Ein Selbstlernzentrum als Weg zur Autonomie: Chancen und Herausforderungen’, Jahrbuch Deutsch als Fremdsprache, vol. 40, pp. 170–201. Van Leeuwen, T. and Jewitt, C. 2001, Handbook of visual analysis, Sage, London and Thousand Oaks, CA. Van Lier, L. 2008, ‘Agency in the classroom’, in J.P. Lantolf and M.E. Poehner (eds.), Sociocultural theory and the teaching of second languages, Equinox, London. Weber, J.J. and Horner, K. 2012, Introducing multilingualism: A social approach, Routledge, London.

Part 2

Teacher education spaces

7 Teacher education for autonomy Case pedagogy as an empowering interspace between reality and ideals Manuel Jiménez Raya and Flávia Vieira Introduction Although discourses advocating autonomy pervade current educational research and policies, teaching practices are often alien to theoretical proposals and policy recommendations. This mismatch can be explained by historical and structural factors, one of them being that teacher education has often represented a disempowering space where teachers are expected to assimilate and apply academic knowledge, rather than inquire into and explore their own practices. As a result, teacher education programmes may fail to promote educational change towards autonomy. In order to overcome this problem, teacher education needs to focus on the professional experience of teachers and involve them directly in the construction of educational knowledge. It needs to become an interspace between reality and ideals where the academic and professional worlds intersect, giving rise to hybrid epistemologies, negotiated languages and exploratory practices. In this interspace, teacher educators and teachers can become involved in a joint struggle for more democratic education. We argue that case pedagogy can create such an interspace by encouraging the analysis of established practices and the exploration of possibilities for change, thereby enhancing the construction of professional knowledge based on inquiry into experience. In order to illustrate its value, we describe a particular approach developed in postgraduate language teacher education and analyse teachers’ professional narratives of autonomy-oriented practices. As teachers develop inquiryoriented teaching cases focused on learner autonomy, they have the opportunity to enhance their own autonomy by developing a critical view of education, managing local constraints so as to open up spaces for manoeuvre and exploring ways of centring teaching on learning.

On the need to surpass the theory-to-practice approach in teacher education In the article Education without theory, Carr (2006: 137) argues that educational theory is ‘the name we give to the various futile attempts that have been made over the last hundred years to stand outside our educational practices in order to explain and justify them’. Educational theory is characterised as a ‘cultural invention’ of

98  Manuel Jiménez Raya and Flávia Vieira modernity in the late 19th and early 20th centuries, based on the belief that social progress should be based on ‘knowledge that met universal standards of objectivity and conformed to impersonal criteria of rationality and truth’, that is, theory (Carr 2006: 138). However, because any theory is historically embedded and there are no epistemological foundations that guarantee the truth of theoretical knowledge, the legitimacy of theory to determine practice must be questioned. From a postfoundationalist perspective, educational theory is itself a form of practice and ‘educational theorists cannot abstract themselves from the contingent norms, values and beliefs inherent in this practice since it is only within them that educational theorising can take place’ (Carr 2006: 147). We start with this rather controversial perspective to make the point that we need to surpass the theory-to-practice rationale in teacher education programmes. To a large extent, it explains the prevalence of a positivistic epistemology often characterised as ‘instrumental rationalism’, according to which teachers are technicians rather than critical intellectuals, curriculum developers and agents of change. As Kincheloe argues (2003: 7–8), ‘in its lofty position, positivistic formalism refuses to analyze the relationship between knowledge production and educational practices’. In order to be empowering, then, teacher education programmes should avoid practices that encourage teachers to become passive technicians who simply develop the capacity to execute predesigned instructional programmes. In the late 20th century, post-positivistic proposals subsumed under the umbrella notion of ‘reflective teacher education’ have emerged, highlighting the need for teachers to become critical inquirers and stressing the centrality of experience for professional renewal and empowerment (e.g., Elbaz 1983; Schön 1983, 1987; Smyth 1987a, 1987b; Tabachnick and Zeichner 1991; Tom 1985; Zeichner 1983). However, teacher education policies and curricula do not necessarily put teacher experience on centre stage and teacher development practices often follow a theoryto-practice rationale. A pedagogy of experience in teacher education might be described as an attempt to promote an epistemology of practice by focusing on professional action so as to promote the theorisation of experience with a transformative purpose. It is intended to favour teachers’ epistemological autonomy to make decisions that are conceptually and ethically sound, enhancing their ability to resist constraints and find spaces for manoeuvre and facilitating the construction of theories and practices that are locally valid and socially relevant (Vieira 2009b, 2010). Because professional knowledge and practice are context-bound and ideological, a pedagogy of experience demands a critical position towards what education is and should be, thus entailing a consideration of diverse pedagogical rationalities. The goal is not to apply public theories to practice, but rather to help teachers scrutinise and reconstruct personal theories in confrontation with public theories, thus enhancing their ability to renew practice. From this perspective, ‘educational theory does not cause educational change but may be appropriated in the cause of educational change’ (Carr 2006: 155). Educational change can pursue various purposes. In the field of language education, especially since Holec’s (1981) seminal work on learner autonomy as the ability to manage language learning, autonomy has become one of the tenets of a wide range of theoretical and research proposals (see Benson 2011). Collections of papers from all over the world account for a widespread interest in autonomy in formal

Teacher education for autonomy 99 language education (e.g., Barfield and Alvarado 2013; Barfield and Brown 2007; Barfield and Nix 2003; Jiménez Raya and Lamb 2008; Lamb and Reinders 2008; Palfreyman and Smith 2003; Sinclair, McGrath and Lamb 2000; Vieira 2009a). Nevertheless, school policies and practices still tend to follow a ‘domesticating’ rather than a ‘transformative’ paradigm (Freire 1970, 1996). In a radical manifesto against neo-liberal, market-driven educational policies, Giroux points out the dangers of a ‘pedagogy of repression’ under which ‘students are conditioned to unlearn any respect for democracy, justice, and what it might mean to connect learning to social change’, arguing that ‘this is a pedagogy that kills the spirit, promotes conformity, and is more suited to an authoritarian society than a democracy’ (Giroux 2013, para. 15). Perhaps what we need is not a theory but a vision, ‘an exciting vision of schooling’ that ‘respects the untapped capacities of human beings and the role that education can play in producing a just, inclusive, democratic, and imaginative future (Kincheloe 2003: 111), a vision that allows us ‘to construct curricula for challenge, for change, for the development of people and not the engineering of employees’ (Schostak 2000: 50). This vision can empower teachers to pursue ideals as anticipations of what education might be. Pedagogy for autonomy may entail such a vision. We see autonomy as a personal competence involving self-direction, social responsibility and critical awareness, but also as a collective interest and a democratic ideal, which means that pedagogy for autonomy should entail a vision of education as (inter)personal empowerment and social transformation (Jiménez Raya Lamb and Vieira 2007). Acknowledging that schooling is affected by historical and structural conditions that constrain democratic educational change, pedagogy for autonomy is always a re(ide)alistic practice situated between reality (what we believe education is) and ideals (what we believe education should be), involving an exploration of possibilities (what we believe education can be) (Jiménez Raya, Lamb and Vieira 2017). We thus assume that teacher education should become an interspace of possibility where bridges are created between reality and ideals, a ‘third space’ (Zeichner 2010) where the hegemony of academic knowledge is replaced by a combination of different kinds of knowing and where participants negotiate understandings. Perhaps we can then conceive teacher education contexts as ‘heterotopias’ (Foucault 1986), that is, ‘places which are something like counter-sites, a kind of effectively enacted utopia in which the real sites [. . .] are simultaneously represented, contested, and inverted’ (Foucault 1986: 24). This means that teacher education becomes a space for imagining and enacting change, and we believe that case pedagogy can be a strategy for fulfilling this goal.

The case for case pedagogy in (language) teacher education Recommendations for innovation in teacher education are primarily based on a growing understanding of teacher professional development, namely regarding the complexity and developmental nature of teaching and learning to teach (Harrington 1994: 203). There is an increasing need to surpass approaches based on a theoryto-practice rationale, as well as representations of teaching that place authority for knowing on the teacher exclusively, thus hampering the promotion of autonomy. Deeply rooted views of teaching and learning to teach will not change unless alternative experiences challenge their validity (Duckworth 1987; McDiarmid 1992).

100  Manuel Jiménez Raya and Flávia Vieira In 1938, Dewey developed the concept of ‘experiential growth’ as core to the development of schoolchildren, teachers and professionals in general. He proposed that education, including teacher education (Dewey 1978), be designed on the basis of a theory of experience that rests on two central tenets: continuity and interaction. For him, educational growth consists in combining past experiences with present ones in order to receive and understand future experiences. It is assumed that learning is more lasting and pervasive when individuals take the initiative and are personally involved in the learning experience, which entails setting personal learning objectives and actively pursuing them within a given framework that provides a direction for change. Teachers’ beliefs and choices are influenced inductively by multiple experiences, not determined deductively from theoretical principles (Merseth 1996: 24). Therefore, powerful teacher education approaches should create opportunities for teachers to scrutinise and confront their experiences, consider why certain practices and their associated values and beliefs may be better than others, see examples of innovative practices, preferably under realistic conditions, and experience such practices first-hand as learners. Case pedagogy holds great promise for significant professional development along these lines. Cases have been used in teaching for over a hundred years in law, medical schools and in education (Barnes, Christensen and Hansen 1994). Shulman (1992: 28) envisioned the case method as a strategy that would help teacher educators overcome many of the most serious deficiencies in the education of teachers. Because cases are situated episodes of real practice, they can present a complex picture of the phenomenon being described and convey the idea that teaching requires the exercise of critical thinking and judgement. For Shulman, the contextualisation of understanding supplies the necessary depth, the context and the humanity. By presenting teaching in context and in its full complexity, cases foster reflection and discussion, encouraging teachers to confront experiences and take positions, which may be the catalyst for the revision of beliefs and the exploration of alternatives. Because cases are ‘cases of something’, learning from and with them entails an articulation between the particularities of teaching and the ethical and theoretical rationales that can help us scrutinise pedagogical choices, as well as the factors that may restrain or facilitate the development of autonomy in schools. The aim is to stimulate in teachers a sense of what is as well as of possibilities for change, an awareness of multiple realities present in the classroom not as a ‘given’ but as a ‘made’. As Shulman (2004: 543) puts it, ‘a case resides in the territory between theory and practice, between idea and experience, between the normative ideal and achievable real’. The use of cases in teacher education for autonomy may support professional agency, which is connected to teachers’ empowerment and self-fulfilment, acting as a force for change and for resistance to structural power (Casey 2006; Fenwick and Somerville 2006) and manifesting intentional action (Giddens 1991). Agency in general, and professional agency in particular, is also associated with creativity, motivation, well-being and even happiness (Welzel and Inglehart 2010). It is our contention here that teacher agency is necessary in the construction and renegotiation of professional identities and in the innovation of practice (Eteläpelto et al. 2013). The goal of teacher education is not to indoctrinate teachers to act in certain ways, but to educate teachers to use reason soundly and to be capable of skilful performance (Fenstermacher 1986). Case discussion, with its emphasis on the critical analysis of experience,

Teacher education for autonomy 101 fosters sound reasoning by stimulating participants to explore prior knowledge and experience and by making their professional rationales explicit and debatable. Teacher agency is greatly enhanced by inquiry. According to Vieira (2009a), pedagogical inquiry can enhance transformative learning and become a powerful weapon in fighting against the reification, decontextualisation and technocratisation of knowledge. Inquiry is the engine of vitality and self-renewal (Pascale 1990). When a teacher functions as a researcher-in-practice, the practice itself is a source of renewal (Schön 1983: 299) that highlights the teacher’s voice as a relevant factor of educational change. This means that case pedagogy should include not only case analysis but also case construction, as proposed in our previous work on using cases for the integrated development of teacher and learner autonomy in language education (Jiménez Raya and Vieira 2015). As described in the following section, case construction involves the design, development and narration of autonomy-oriented pedagogical projects. Based on teachers’ case narratives, several gains can be pointed out for the reconstruction of pedagogical action (Jiménez Raya and Vieira 2015: 102–103): • • • • • • • •

Critical analysis of previous educational experience Openness to change oriented by democratic values Awareness of constraints to change and search for spaces for manoeuvre Development of pedagogical action that challenges established routines Valuing learner voices in pedagogical change and inquiry Evaluation of the consequences of change upon self and learners Acknowledgement of the transitional, incomplete nature of pedagogical action View of pedagogical inquiry as a source of valid professional knowledge

Professionalism in teaching is characterised by critical reflection and contextappropriate practice rather than conformity and standardised practice (DarlingHammond 1985). Case pedagogy is in line with this assumption, allowing teachers to appreciate the moral and political nature of teaching, the situatedness of evidence and the interrelationship between practical and theoretical knowledge (Fenstermacher and Richardson 1993; Harrington and Garrison 1992; Shulman 1986). By emphasising experiential learning with a focus on analysing and producing professional narratives, case pedagogy puts teachers centre-stage in the process of professional development. As Shulman (2004) points out, cases can truly become the basis for individual professional learning as well as a forum within which professional communities could store, exchange and organise their experiences. Despite the arguments supporting case-based pedagogy in teacher education, we need to inquire into its value for teacher and learner autonomy in real contexts. This is the purpose of the following section, where we describe and analyse a particular approach.

Creating interspaces between reality and ideals: voices from practice In this section, we describe a particular approach developed in postgraduate language teacher education and analyse teachers’ professional narratives of autonomyoriented practices, seeking to illustrate the value of case pedagogy as an empowering interspace between reality and ideals.

102  Manuel Jiménez Raya and Flávia Vieira

A case-based approach in postgraduate teacher education The approach has been developed by the second author since 2003 with in-service language teachers in a course (45 hours) offered in the first semester of a two-year master’s degree programme on pedagogical supervision and teacher education at the University of Minho, Portugal (see Vieira 2010, 2014; Jiménez Raya and Vieira 2015). During the course, teachers analyse and produce narratives of experience, trying to answer the question ‘what is it a case of?’ as suggested by Shulman (2004), which requires them to connect the narratives to personal/other experiences, that is, to other cases, and also to ‘categories of experience, to theoretical classifications through which they organise and make sense of their world’ (Shulman 2004: 474). During the course, theoretical input is provided by the teacher educator on visions of language education and professional development, pedagogy for autonomy, collaborative supervision and classroom-based inquiry. This input is integrated in case analysis, i.e. interpreting professional narratives produced by other language teachers, and in case construction, i.e. designing, implementing, interpreting and narrating autonomy-oriented classroom-based inquiry carried out by teachers in groups. Case construction is the main task of the course and will be our focus here. Case construction starts with the identification of teachers’ problems or dilemmas, which are then transformed into small-scale action-research plans that incorporate the promotion of learner autonomy. Each pedagogical experiment is carried out by one of the teachers in each group, in one of his/her classes, and supervised by the whole group through classroom observation (whenever possible) and the joint analysis of classroom data collected through strategies like reflective records, questionnaires, self-regulation checklists and analysis of learner assignments. Data analysis is both quantitative and qualitative, entailing the triangulation of sources and methods and focusing on the nature and impact of change processes. The teacher educator’s role is to support and guide the groups by providing input when needed, especially at the planning stage, where pedagogical and data collection materials are created. Pedagogical inquiry follows the following pattern: • Knowing about students’ previous experiences, attitudes and representations (within the selected topic) • Implementing change by integrating the development of language and learning competences through a learner-centred approach focusing on dialogue, awareness of learning, self-regulation and participatory assessment of teaching and learning • Evaluating pedagogical change on the basis of personal understandings and classroom data. Case construction further involves the production of a descriptive-interpretative narrative of 15–20 pages, which is the main element of a group portfolio that also includes records of planning, data collection, out-of-class group meetings, teacher self-evaluation and course evaluation. Each portfolio is assessed by the group and then by the teacher educator, according to criteria related to the quality of the pedagogical experiment and the narrative. On the basis of the teacher educator’s final feedback, groups can revise their narratives as an optional task. Revised narratives have been used in subsequent years for case analysis. Whenever possible, teachers present their cases in professional meetings and publish their narratives.

Teacher education for autonomy 103

Travelling in the interspace In order to analyse the process of travelling in the interspace between reality and ideals, the space of possibilities, we will draw on three narratives produced within the approach described above and published in a collection edited by the second author (Vieira 2014). Although the book includes six cases, these were chosen to illustrate different foci of inquiry: an out-of class routine practice (homework), the development of a language skill (reading comprehension) and learning arrangements (cooperative work). The narratives refer to ELT autonomy-oriented small-scale projects developed in basic and secondary schools, involving a total of 12 experienced language teachers organised into three groups. For each project, Table 7.1 indicates the authors, topic, context and main teaching-research strategies. Narratives were analysed so as to illustrate various aspects of the meaning and impact of pedagogical inquiry towards autonomy, thus entailing a consideration of how teachers interrogate pedagogical cultures and reshape their practice so as to promote autonomy, thereby transforming learning processes and outcomes as well as their own identity as educators. All narrative excerpts were translated into English.

Table 7.1  Summary of projects Authors

Topic & Context

Strategies

AC Brandão, E Monteiro, F Alvim and L Costa (Brandão et al. 2014)

Homework: making it more self-directed and creative (10th grade class of 27 students)

P Ferreira, A Precioso, C Vilela, E Barros and I Azevedo (Ferreira et al. 2014)

Reading: understanding difficulties and changing strategies (9th grade class of 23 students)

A Vasconcelos, I Costa and P Gonçalves (Vasconcelos, Costa and Gonçalves 2014)

Cooperation: promoting cooperative learning (9th grade class of 21 students)

Learner questionnaire about homework Development of innovative homework tasks Analysis of learner performance in homework tasks Learner self/peer-assessment of homework tasks Learner questionnaire to evaluate the project Learner questionnaire about reading Development of innovative reading tasks Analysis of learner performance in reading tasks Learner self-evaluation of reading tasks Learner questionnaire to evaluate the project Learner questionnaire about collaborative work Development of cooperative learning tasks Learner self-evaluation of cooperative learning tasks Teachers’ collaborative journal

104  Manuel Jiménez Raya and Flávia Vieira

Case 1  Redefining homework as a self-directed, creative task In the narratives, teachers interrogate established pedagogical practices and confront them with alternative practices that they believe to be more in tune with humanistic and democratic values. Brandão, Monteiro and Costa (2014) conceptualise their experiment as ‘a case of transforming homework practices, resulting from a need to question its goals and nature, and fight back feelings of dissatisfaction from students and teachers’ (p. 52). They raise questions about the meaning and value of homework, wondering about why so many students resist doing it, thus frustrating teachers’ expectations. They question (their own) conventional, reproduction-oriented practices where assignments are often reduced to ‘exercises from compulsory coursebooks or mere extensions of the logic imposed by them’ (p. 56), and point out that homework can reinforce social inequalities since the students and their families have differentiated social and knowledge backgrounds. Based on readings and moved by Freire’s (1996) vision of education as the creation of possibilities for building knowledge, they subscribe to alternative approaches based on creativity, differentiation, and autonomy. In the narrative title they play with the acronym used in schools to refer to homework – TPC (‘Trabalho Para Casa’, translating literally into ‘Work For Home’). The title indicates a direction for change: TPC: da Tortura Para Crianças ao Tempo Para Criar (homework: from a torture for children to a time to create). They explain that students often translate TPC as ‘tortura para crianças’ (torture for children), and they associate ‘torture’ to the notions of ‘difficulty, punishment, uselessness, reproduction, repetition, routine . . . and lack of novelty, challenge, interest, motivation, and even time’ (Brandão et al. 2014: 53–54). On the contrary, the idea of ‘tempo para criar’ (time to create) underlines the possibility of ‘stimulating the development of students’ creativity and enhancing their autonomy and self-regulation of learning’. They associate creativity with ‘challenge, discovery, novelty, imagination, choice, and personalisation’ (p. 54). The teachers’ intention was then to move from language education as reproduction (reality as they saw it) to language education as transformation (their ideal), and this intention was reinforced by their students’ representations of homework, collected through an initial questionnaire. In fact, most students viewed homework as a task oriented towards reinforcing learning and achieving better academic results, but not as an opportunity to expand knowledge and develop learning strategies, imagination and a critical mind. They also showed ambivalent feelings towards homework, and only a few

Teacher education for autonomy 105 associated it with ‘interest’, ‘challenge’, ‘freedom’, ‘will’ or ‘pleasure’. Therefore, the teachers implemented innovative activities where students had the opportunity to make choices, be creative and self-evaluate learning.

Case 2  Understanding and enhancing reading strategies As illustrated in the above case, the starting point for teachers’ inquiry is usually related to how they come to perceive mismatches between real practice and imagined practice. Travelling in the interspace between reality and ideals thus becomes, to a large extent, a journey into the unknown. In the case narrated by Ferreira et al. (2014), a new approach to reading emerged from the teachers’ frustration regarding the way their students perform reading tasks: ‘why are our classes so silent when we do reading tasks?’; ‘why do students refuse the challenge to interact with texts and specialise in a boring work of cutting and pasting meaningless words?’ (p. 68). They were aware that students’ reading strategies often seemed not to involve comprehension and were uncertain about what caused reading difficulties: were these due to not understanding the text, not understanding the questions, or not being able to write the answers in English? They decided to experiment with a new approach: doing two similar reading tasks in class, one where questions about the text and the students’ answers were written in English as usual, and another one where questions and answers were written in the students’ mother tongue. They hoped that this would help them and their students better understand reading strategies and difficulties. The decision was taken to ‘break with a heavy tradition that has ignored the potential value of using the mother tongue in certain FL learning situations’ (p. 69), even though they were ‘entering unknown terrain’ that raised serious doubts – ‘What would students, parents and peers say? Would we really find answers to our problem?’ (p. 84). The teachers’ intention to change approaches to reading is well expressed in the narrative title: Breaking Routines – Reading with Seeing Eyes? Seeing with Reading Eyes! As they say in their narrative, school cultures are often built ‘towards silencing the students’ voice’ and students ‘appear to be moulded to act according to that condition, and their self is conditioned so as to not see beyond what they usually do’ (Ferreira et al. 2014: 88). Helping

106  Manuel Jiménez Raya and Flávia Vieira students ‘see with reading eyes’ thus involved amplifying the students’ voice by promoting their awareness of reading strategies, helping them focus on meaningful reading and involving them in joint reflection about teaching and learning. The analysis of the students’ reading assignments showed that using the mother tongue allowed both teachers and students to have a clearer perception of where students’ difficulties lay, and the students’ reading performance improved when questions and answers were written in the mother tongue. However, increasing students’ voice is not a smooth process, especially since ingrained beliefs may hamper change. Their students agreed that using the mother tongue in reading tasks avoided misunderstanding the questions and facilitated the demonstration of their reading abilities, but they also felt less secure because they could no longer use the routine ‘cut and paste’ strategy which had been so useful thus far, and they expressed fears that they may be ‘unlearning’ English. The teachers realised that an experiment like theirs has limited scope and impact, but mostly that ‘each student is a story that the teacher needs to know how to read’ (Ferreira et al. 2014: 82). Nevertheless, they strongly felt that in seeking ‘to navigate towards the democratisation of the construction of knowledge, searching for a pedagogy for autonomy, the students’ voices broke the silence’ (p. 83). They further stated that their case played ‘a crucial role in understanding the oppressive forces that mould our mind, which, from a critical constructivist perspective, is essential to make informed decisions about who we want to be’ (p. 82). Perhaps the best way to answer the question ‘what is this a case of?’ is the title given to the narrative section where the teachers describe and analyse their experiment – A Story About the Art of Transforming Wood Puppets into True Children. By using the Pinocchio metaphor, these teachers account for the main purpose of their project – to humanise pedagogy.

Case 3  Promoting collaborative learning The third case, narrated by Vasconcelos, Costa and Gonçalves (2014), is also conceptualised with a metaphor – All Aboard – and is presented as ‘a case of dissatisfaction regarding the lack of implementation of collaborative work in the classroom’ (p. 145). The teachers realise that their own resistance to collaborative work resulted from past experiences where they had

Teacher education for autonomy 107 identified three main unsolved problems: disorganised and unequal student participation, difficulty in controlling student behaviour and uncertainty regarding learning outcomes. The fact that they had given up promoting collaboration in class became more unsettling as they became aware that knowledge is a social construction, that promoting cooperative learning is much more than sitting students together and that autonomy involves interdependence, not independence. This newfound awareness motivated them to develop an action research project that they describe as ‘a journey through seas never navigated before’ (p. 145), a well-known verse of Camões’s Lusíadas, a literary work written in the 16th century about the discovery of the route to India by the Portuguese navigator Vasco da Gama. They use this literary work and a navigation metaphor as inspiration for their titles and for some metaphorical reflections. For example, when referring to the motto swim or sink together used by Johnson and Johnson (1994) regarding cooperative learning, they state that ‘together in the boat of knowledge, teachers and students can surpass the small shipwrecks’ (p. 165). In fact, based on observation, written reflections and the students’ feedback, they conclude that the problems they had identified in their previous experience can be reduced ‘through the division of tasks within groups, which creates positive interdependence and shared responsibility for task success, with the teacher assuming the role of observer, guide, and promoter of reflective moments as a way to challenge routines and beliefs’ (p. 165). This case narrative further highlights the role of collaborative supervision in case construction. As teachers work together to implement and interpret one project, navigating the interspace between the real and the ideal entails sharing and confronting experiences, negotiating perspectives and decisions, managing dissonance and uncertainty and building collective understandings of action. Narratives do not usually document these ‘backstage’ collaborative processes, which are observed by the teacher educator in project supervision and become more evident in other elements of the project portfolio. However, in this particular case, the teachers decided to write a collaborative journal that highlights how interpretations of practice were shared and used to support reflection on/for action. Their method consisted in writing three entries per lesson: the teacher who carried out the project wrote a reflection and shared it with her two colleagues, who then produced a response where they reacted to and commented on the first entry. Later on, they met to discuss the reflections. Some of these reflections were integrated into the narrative. The examples that follow are short excerpts from the last entries, where the three teachers reflect metaphorically about the

108  Manuel Jiménez Raya and Flávia Vieira relevance and incompleteness of pedagogical inquiry towards autonomy (Vasconcelos, Costa and Gonçalves 2014: 166–167): Today our experience (journey) came to an end. It came to an end but also to a beginning. The beginning of new journeys with these and other students [. . .] I believe I can now see the lighthouse, far away. The light is still very tenuous, but I feel happy, just like my crew. I will tell . . . when I arrive on dry land. (AV) For now this journey is coming to an end, we have a sight of the lighthouse, the coast is near. The Monster was after all just one more wave in the rough sea of teaching. The waves drive the boat towards its destiny, so let’s not fear the waves, or the wind, let’s cooperate with them! (IC) More than my transformation and growth [. . .] this journey has brought me a lack of fear to question, not letting my practices fossilize and having the strength and the will to face new journeys . . . The coast is near, and when we arrive we will depart again. (PG)

Concluding thoughts The use of cases in teacher education builds upon the idea that professional experience can play a pivotal role in the reconstruction of professional knowledge and action. The approach here presented encourages teachers to participate in pedagogy as curriculum-in-action (Barnett and Coate 2005), involving self and collective questioning and supervision of practice as empowering processes whereby teachers take control over what counts as valid professional knowledge. It further entails a high level of commitment to democratic educational change, which requires teachers to confront rationales for action, expose fears and dilemmas, identify and face constraints, reframe ideas and practices and deal with uncertainty and ambiguity. As illustrated in the teachers’ narratives, an understanding of pedagogy for autonomy as a pedagogy of possibility appears to be suitable and gives them hope for future developments. They are aware that their projects are like ‘an oasis in a vast desert’ (Ferreira et al. 2014: 82), but also a starting point to engage ‘in a never ending search for possible answers or solutions conducive to change’ (Brandão et al. 2014: 67), a journey where they ‘no longer want to depart without the students and with absolute, unquestionable certainties’ (Vasconcelos, Costa and Gonçalves 2014: 168). The teachers’ stories present evidence of the potential value of case pedagogy to create a ‘third space’ (Zeichner 2010) and a ‘heterotopia’ (Foucault 1986), where possibilities for professional empowerment and educational change arise. The use of metaphorical language is encouraged in an attempt to enhance the construction

Teacher education for autonomy 109 of a personal ‘language of experience’ (Larrosa Bondía 2010). This is a hybrid language that combines creativity and rigour and represents a ‘third idiom’ situated in-between professional and academic codes (Shor 1992), opening up opportunities for teachers to narrate experiences from a unique angle that is both personal and detached, thus producing a legacy of local stories of autonomy that may resonate with other educators interested in making language education more democratic. However, these projects are isolated experiences that do not radically change the teachers’ practices, which tend to be more teacher-centred, and they have no impact upon school cultures. This suggests that there are limits to the development of educational change and teacher agency when autonomy represents a counter-discourse in school settings. Furthermore, the approach here described is not common in the university where it has been developed. Actually, case pedagogy will find resistance in university settings where curricula are dictated or constrained by external policies and academic disciplines, pedagogies are distanced from professional contexts and concerns and an epistemology of practice is undervalued by research regimes. In order for teacher experience to become the nucleus of teacher education programmes in such settings, a scholarship of teacher education needs to be developed by communities of teacher educators in a joint effort to challenge and transform their own realities.

Acknowledgements This work is funded by CIEd – Research Centre on Education, projects UID/ CED/1661/2013 and UID/CED/1661/2016, Institute of Education, University of Minho, through national funds of FCT/MCTES-PT.

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Teacher education for autonomy 111 Jiménez Raya, M., Lamb, T. and Vieira, F. 2007, Pedagogy for autonomy in language education in Europe – towards a framework for learner and teacher development, Authentik, Dublin. Jiménez Raya, M., Lamb, T. and Vieira, F. 2017, Mapping autonomy in language education – A framework for learner and teacher development, Peter Lang, Frankfurt am Main. Jiménez Raya, M. and Vieira, F. 2015, Enhancing autonomy in language education: A case-based approach to teacher and learner development, Mouton de Gruyter, Berlin and New York. Johnson, D. and Johnson, R. 1994, Learning together and alone – cooperative, competitive, and individualistic learning, Allyn and Bacon, Needham Heights, MA. Kincheloe, J. 2003, Teachers as researchers – qualitative inquiry as a path to empowerment, Routledge Falmer, London. Lamb, T. and Reinders, H. (eds.) 2008, Learner and teacher autonomy: Concepts, realities, and responses, John Benjamins, Amsterdam. Larrosa Bondía, J. 2010, ‘Herido de realidad y en busca de realidad: Notas sobre los lenguajes de la experiencia’ [Hurt with reality and in search for reality: Notes on the languages of experience], in J. Contreras and N Pérez de Lara (eds.), Investigar la experiencia educativa [Researching educational experience], Edições Morata, Madrid. McDiarmid, G.W. l992, ‘Tilting at webs of belief: field experiences as a means of breaking with experience’, in S. Feiman-Nemser and H. Featherstone (eds.), Exploring teaching: Reinventing an introductory course, Teachers College Press, New York. Merseth, K. 1996, ‘Cases and case methods in teacher education’, in J. Sikula, T. Buttery and E. Guyton (eds.), Handbook of research on teacher education: A project of the association of teacher educators, Macmillan Library Reference, New York. Palfreyman, D. and Smith, R.C. (eds.) 2003, Learner autonomy across cultures: Language education perspectives, Palgrave Macmillan, Basingstoke. Pascale, R. 1990, Managing on the edge, Touchstone, New York. Schön, D.A. 1983, The reflective practitioner: How professionals think in action, Basic Books, New York. Schön, D.A. 1987, Educating the reflective practitioner, Jossey-Bass Publishers, San Francisco. Schostak, J. 2000, ‘Developing under developing circumstances: The personal and social development of students and the process of schooling’, in H. Altrichter and J. Elliot (eds.), Images of educational change, Open University Press, Buckingham. Shor, I. 1992, Empowering education: Critical teaching for social change, University of Chicago, Chicago. Shulman, L.S. 1986, ‘Those who understand: Knowledge growth in teaching’, Educational Researcher, vol. 15, no. 2, pp. 4–14. Shulman, L.S. 1992, ‘Toward a pedagogy of cases’, in J.H. Shulman (ed.), Case methods in teacher education, Teachers College Press, New York. Shulman, L.S. 2004a, ‘Just in case – reflections on learning from experience’, in S. Wilson (ed.), Lee S. Shulman: The wisdom of practice – essays on teaching, learning, and learning to teach, Jossey Bass, San Francisco (paper initially published in 1996). Shulman, L.S. 2004b, The wisdom of practice: Essays on teaching, learning, and learning to teach, Jossey-Bass, San Francisco. Sinclair, B., McGrath, I. and Lamb, T. (eds.) 2000, Learner autonomy, teacher autonomy: Future directions, Addison Wesley Longman, Harlow.

112  Manuel Jiménez Raya and Flávia Vieira Smyth, J. 1987a, A rationale for teachers’ critical pedagogy: A handbook, Deakin University, Victoria. Smyth, J. (ed.) 1987b, Educating teachers – changing the nature of pedagogical knowledge, The Falmer Press, London. Tabachnick, R. and Zeichner, K. (eds.) 1991, Issues and practices in inquiry-oriented teacher education, The Falmer Press, London. Tom, A. 1985, ‘Inquiring into inquiry oriented teacher education’, Journal of Teacher Education, vol. XXXVI, no. 5, pp. 35–44. Vasconcelos, A., Costa, I. and Gonçalves, P. 2014, ‘Todos a bordo – uma experiência de trabalho colaborativo’ [All aboard – experimenting with collaborative work], in F. Vieira (ed.), Re-conhecendo e transformando a pedagogia: histórias de superVisão [Reknowing and transforming pedagogy: stories of supervision], De Facto Editores, Santo Tirso. Vieira, F. (ed.) 2009a, Struggling for autonomy in language education: reflecting, acting and being, Peter Lang, Frankfurt am Main. Vieira, F. 2009b, ‘Para uma pedagogia da experiência na formação pós-graduada de professores’ [Towards a pedagogy of experience in post-graduate teacher education], Indagatio Didactica, vol. 1, no. 1, pp. 32–75. Vieira, F. 2010, ‘Towards teacher and learner autonomy: Exploring a pedagogy of experience in teacher education’, Revista Canaria de Estudios Ingleses, vol. 61, pp. 13–28. Vieira, F. (ed.) 2014, Re-conhecendo e transformando a pedagogia: histórias de superVisão [Re-knowing and transforming pedagogy: stories of supervision], De Facto Editores, Santo Tirso. Welzel, C. and Inglehart, R. 2010, ‘Agency, values, and well-being: A human development model’, Social Indicators Research, vol. 97, no. 1, pp. 43–63. Zeichner, K. 1983, ‘Alternative paradigms of teacher education’, Journal of Teacher Education, vol. XXXIV, no. 3, pp. 3–9. Zeichner, K. 2010, ‘Repensando as conexões entre a formação na universidade e as experiências de campo na formação de professores em faculdades e universidades’ [Rethinking the connections between training at the university and field experiences in teacher education at colleges and universities], Educação – Revista do Centro de Educação UFSM, vol. 5, no. 3, pp. 479–503.

8 Language students designing a learning project for children A matter of managing multiple attention spaces Leena Kuure Introduction Developments in technology are enabling new configurations of social relationships, work and study, providing new contexts for language learning. For example, virtual games and interest groups draw together people from diverse backgrounds to engage in common interests online. Social media and online tools make it easier to work on shared projects, but they also generate and even require new kinds of multimodal practices of interaction and joint activities (Jones and Hafner 2012; Norris 2004). Being able to share attention between competing activities is an important skill in the digital age (Jones and Hafner 2012: 83). For language students, potential language teachers of the future, it is important to become familiar with complex contexts of language learning and teaching during their studies. They need to understand how the presence and use of technology can transform the language learning situation and what this requires from the teacher. This is therefore also the case in language teacher education. This study is situated in the context of language teacher education in Finland. It focuses on a group of master’s-level university students of English taking part in an elective course on language education and new technologies. The aim of the course was to invite the students to explore and develop their understandings of language learning and teaching in the technology-rich world. As a tool in this work, the students designed and put into practice an online English learning project for 11- to 12-year-old school pupils. Of particular interest to this chapter is how the university students made sense of what was being done and how their work was supported. Diverse types of data were gathered during the course, such as observation notes, discussion entries, documents and reflection papers. On the one hand, the analysis focuses on the various attention spaces – fields for sense-making – that the students needed to move between while creating the project for the pupils. On the other hand, the study sheds light on the interactional and technological attention structures, which guided the students in their work (Jones 2005).

Language teaching and language teacher education in the technology-rich world Even though new technologies have been highlighted as important affordances in education since the 90’s, they have not yet been broadly integrated into pedagogy

114  Leena Kuure as an everyday means and environment for learning and teaching (see OECD 2015; European Commission 2013; Thomas, Reinders and Warschauer 2013). In recent years, there has been a rapid increase in the use of digital technologies in language pedagogy but related research and teaching approaches are still in the process of emergence (Thomas, Reinders and Warschauer 2013). It seems that not only language students training to become language teachers, but also more experienced teachers, are facing challenges in striking a balance between traditional and new practices (Niemi, Kynäslahti and Vahtivuori-Hänninen 2013; Nyman and Kaikkonen 2013). Language teachers’ perception and conceptualisation of their environment has been seen to affect their professional development. Ruohotie-Lyhty’s (2011) study among newly qualified language teachers showed, for example, how the teachers who had seen their environment simply in terms of limitations and restrictions, also constructed their teaching by starting from external norms and environmental pressures. Thus, they were assimilating to the existing culture. However, those teachers who did not see their work environment as restrictive were able to develop more learner-centred teaching approaches and overall assumed a more holistic view of teaching languages (see also Nyman and Kaikkonen 2013). Prevalent practices in the field of language teaching and language teacher education together with people’s personal experiences of a particular kind of language learning and teaching in their own past also provide ground for the traditional to endure. People have their ‘historical bodies’ that guide them in new situations (Scollon and Scollon 2004). In order to trigger change in the conceptions and practices of language teaching with respect to the requirements of technology-rich environments, attention needs to be focused on language students, many of whom will become language teachers. It is important to support them in making sense of the nature of language learning and teaching in the modern world, and in taking charge of their work as change agents in the field. Considering learning situations in technology-rich contexts, teachers and learners may need to regulate their attention in new ways to accomplish their goals (e.g., Meskill and Anthony 2014). Technological tools allow multi-tasking, performing multiple simultaneous interactions not only in the classroom, but also with a range of participants at a distance (Jones 2005; Jones and Hafner 2012: 82). For someone who has experience of such contexts, moving from one activity to another at the click of a mouse or a swipe does not necessarily feel chaotic. Digitally skilled learners are able to share their attention between multiple foci (i.e. polyfocally) while performing numerous simultaneous activities through technology (cf. Jones 2005; Jones and Hafner 2012). In a communicative situation, various attention structures, patterns of orientation to time and space, provide us with guidance in distributing our attention in a particular way (Jones and Hafner 2012: 87). Attention structures may be triggered by our environment. For example, classroom architecture or the availability of technology may either set constraints or offer affordances for particular kinds of interactions between students and teachers (Scollon and Scollon 2004: 51–54). Similarly, applications with different degrees of user-friendliness may either facilitate or complicate work at the computer. Attention structures may also be supported through instructions, directives or tacit rules embedded in practices more broadly (cf. Jones 2005; Jones and Hafner 2012). Jones and Hafner (2012) explain the emergence of attention structures in terms of Scollon and Scollon’s (2004) notion of mediated action: attention structures arise from the interplay between

Language students designing for children 115 the physical environment (discourses in place) as well as the participants’ mutual social relationships (interaction orders), and their memories, skills, goals and plans (historical bodies) (Jones and Hafner 2012: 86–88). In this study, the interest is on how a group of language students, studying to become language teachers, were engaged in designing an English language project for school pupils, making sense of a range of issues and topics that emerged as relevant for accomplishing this task and completing the course. The work involved polyfocal attention while multitasking, engaging in different activities. The design work was challenging for the language students at the university in many ways as their experiences from their own language learning, as well as their pedagogic studies at the university, were primarily based in classrooms with textbook-focused practices in the foreground and little technology available (Jalkanen, Pitkänen-Huhta and Taalas 2012; Härmälä and Hildén 2014). Thus, they were not very familiar with project work based in teams, involving participants in sharing responsibility for activities in progress and using of various digital tools and resources – a pedagogic approach called for by both the previous and the new curriculum (NCBE 2004, 2016). The foci for attention emerging throughout the course will here be called attention spaces. This is a working metaphor to refer to an aspect of the work that requires sense-making by the language students. As Murray, Fujishima and Uzuka (2014: 81) point out, when people imagine, perceive and define spaces in a particular light, articulating their understanding of spaces, they also tend to enact them in that light as well. For example, understandings of language and language learning may thus be consequential for the design of the learning project.

The context of the study English is an important language in Finnish society, in both international and domestic settings. It is also learnt through various leisure activities such as internet use and gaming, that is, not only in the English classroom (Leppänen et al. 2011). National curricula have for a long time reflected socio-culturally informed perspectives on language pedagogy, highlighting the learner’s engagement in meaningful activities and interaction (e.g., Council of Europe 2011; van Lier 2000; NCBE 2004, 2016). Moreover, the country started investing in educational technology and networking two decades ago (e.g., Ministry of Education 1999). Considering this background, one would expect today’s pedagogic designs, curricula and language teacher education already to be drawing on these affordances systematically. However, there seems to be considerable variation between schools in relation to the use of technologies in a pedagogically meaningful way (Häkkinen and Hämäläinen 2012). The context of the study was a university course on new technologies and language education that aimed to support language students’ growth into language teachers in a technology-rich world. Learning about LLT (Language Learning and Technology) involved the students in assuming a view of language education that would place an emphasis on interaction as well as collaboration in activities that the learners would experience as meaningful. It was important that the students take charge of their own learning, but also that they learn to foster the autonomy of their learners (Benson 2008). LLT was part of the regular curriculum of a master’s programme in the English department of a Finnish university. Its basic focus was established in the curriculum

116  Leena Kuure description: students design and put into practice an online English language project for school pupils. In the schools, the project activities were integrated into English classes, with the schoolteachers guiding their pupils to take part in the activities online. As the approach was project-based, with all the participants having a say in what was done and how, the trajectory of LLT emerged step by step. In this way, the lecturer in charge was co-designing the course and the language project with the students. The rationale behind LLT was to prepare the students to handle the pressures of a changing society with regard to (language) education, considering new kinds of language pedagogies and roles for language teachers. LLT aimed at encouraging the students’ personal perspective-taking, experimentation, reflection and autonomy with the support of the co-designing lecturer (cf. Cotterall and Murray 2009; Murray 2013). In practice, LLT involved both face-to-face sessions and online work. The face-to-face meetings functioned as design and content-production workshops for the language students. Teamwork continued online between the meetings. Table 8.1 illustrates the main phases of LLT and its outcome, namely the school project that the participants designed and implemented. Table 8.1  The university course and the school project

WEEK 1

WEEK 2

WEEK 3

WEEK 4 WEEK 5

WEEK 6

WEEK 7

WEEK 8

U N I V E R S I T Y C O U R S E

SCHOOL

ORIENTATION

Contact with the school teachers Establishing the participants

BRAINSTORMING BACKGROUND WORK RESULTS FROM BACKGROUND WORK PLANNING, TEAM FORMATION TESTING TOOLS PROJECT ENVIRONMENT FOR CHILDREN HANDS-ON DESIGN AND PRODUCTION FINALISING THE FIRST STEPS FOR CHILDREN GETTING READY FOR ACTION MONITORING ACTIVITIES ONGOING RE-DESIGN AND PRODUCTION TUTORING, FACILITATING MONITORING ACTIVITIES ONGOING RE-DESIGN AND PRODUCTION TUTORING, FACILITATING MONITORING ACTIVITIES ONGOING RE-DESIGN AND PRODUCTION TUTORING, FACILITATING EVALUATION, REFLECTION

Contact with the school teachers Sorting out practical issues Contact with the school teachers Sharing information Contact with the school teachers Sharing information SCHOOL PROJECT LAUNCH

SCHOOL PROJECT

SCHOOL PROJECT

SCHOOL PROJECT END

Language students designing for children 117 The length of LLT was eight weeks. A further four weeks were added after the course for the students to complete their final assignment. Firstly, the language students explored a number of issues relevant to the project design (weeks 1 and 2): the range of social media and language technology applications suitable for language learning; various approaches to enhancing the learners’ active participation and personal engagement in learning activities; the everyday interests and concerns of the age group to be involved; and possible designs for the school project. Sociocultural and ecological perspectives on language and language learning were also discussed as an important basis for the national curriculum for basic education (NCBE 2004), placing an emphasis on providing affordances for learners’ engagement in meaningful language activities instead of mere cognitive ‘input’ (van Lier 2000). In this vein, the students were encouraged to pay special attention to the affordances of technology for giving space to pupils’ creativity and spontaneous interaction, in contrast to teacher-led and teacher-constrained activities based on textbook themes. In the next phase (week 3), the students started to consider how to apply the information generated during their background work into the design of the school project for 11- to 12-year-old fifth-graders in five schools. The decision was made to build the project around the narrative of a school trip around Europe, led by a canine airline pilot. LLT participants then continued to address the shared goal through collaborative work (week 4). In other words, they were pooling and sharing knowledge within and between teams, and using different media for content production and interaction (Gee 2004). There were various affordances available for communication and collaboration in the virtual learning environment (VLE) platform used during the work, e.g., chat, discussion list, facility to upload objects such as pictures, video and documents as well as editing tools for creating documents. The language students had their own VLE for the LLT course activities and the pupils at the schools were sharing another (created by the students for the project). When the school pupils entered the stage (week 5), the students monitored their work and acted as online tutors during the four school project weeks. The students fine-tuned the project activities and workspace on the basis of their interpretations of what was happening among the participants. This continued until the end of the venture (week 8).

The study The study is qualitative in nature, and it focuses on the working process on the LLT course for 12 university students of English studying to become language teachers. Participant observation provided ground for identifying and examining the attention spaces and attention structures that seemed central for the students in accomplishing course activities and designing the learning project (Cresswell 2014; Jones 2005; Jones and Hafner 2012). Notions of interaction order, historical body and discourses in place from mediated discourse theory (Scollon and Scollon 2004) are referred to when attention structures and spaces are discussed as emerging from the interplay between the language students’ memories, experiences and familiar practices, the participants’ (students and the lecturer) mutual relations, and the physical environment (Scollon and Scollon 2004). The focus of the analysis is on what kinds

118  Leena Kuure of attention spaces emerged for sense-making and learning during the work and what kinds of attention structures were provided. The main focus of analysis is on the 12 language students and their course lecturer. Their actions must, however, be seen in the wider context of the learning project involving 69 pupils (11- to 12-year-old fifth-graders) with their teachers from five schools from different parts of Finland (north, south, east and mid-west). Throughout the LLT course and the school project, data accumulated in the VLEs. This included, for example, discussion list entries, objects of different kinds (such as pictures, web pages, slideshows, video and audio files) and text documents. Activity statistics were also available in the web environment. Furthermore, the students wrote their reflection papers on their experiences as their final assignment. In this study, data extracts were primarily drawn from the discussion list entries (63) in the LLT VLE and the reflection papers (12) that the students wrote at the end of the course. The rest of the accumulated data from the LLT course provided an archive for reference, documenting the overall process of the course and the learning project as a whole.

Language students designing a learning project for children During the university course, the language students had to assume different roles when designing and implementing the language project for pupils at the participating schools. The students were acting at times in the roles of students, tutors, user interface designers, content producers and project workers, to mention a few. Thus, the work involved distributing attention and sense-making in different ways as the tasks and problems evolved throughout the working process (see Jones 2005; Jones and Hafner 2012). As the interactions took place in English, a foreign language to the participants, the quotes from the data, given in their original format, include lapses and mistakes. Pseudonyms are used to maintain anonymity and extracts from different types of data have been given their own labels (D for discussions and R for reflection papers).

The attention space of being a student in the LLT course One goal for the language students was, of course, to complete the LLT course they were attending. Its scope was five credit units involving 135 hours of work during the eight weeks of the course and the following four weeks, in which they wrote their reflective papers as the final assignment. This attention space for meaningnegotiation and learning entailed the language students figuring out what ‘being a student’ in this particular university course involved. The course followed projectbased pedagogy in which all the participants, including the lecturer, were seen as codesigners or team-workers without definite knowledge about where collaboration would take them (see Benson 2008; Cotterall and Murray 2009; Murray 2013). This was not a typical pedagogic approach at the university, as a quote from a student’s reflection paper illustrates: Admittedly, students usually become accustomed to courses that not only have a clear structure but also have a timetable that carefully lists the aims of every session. [Tomi-R]

Language students designing for children 119 As Tomi’s reflection on LLT suggests, the pedagogic approach that university students are familiar with is typically teacher-led – the succession of events and contents being defined in advance by the teacher. In other words, the students needed to adapt to the new approach, which was potentially challenging due to their earlier histories as language students and student teachers at the university (Kuure et al. 2016). Attention structures (Jones 2005) were available as mediational means (Wertsch 1991) to enable the students to see what the nature of the university course was and what was expected from them. One such means of support, directing the students’ attention to the LLT course ‘spirit’, was provided through the initial design of the VLE that the language students were using while planning the language project. The list below describes the structure of the VLE. Explanations for the elements are given in square brackets: Discussions [discussion list] Chat [chat tool] To do [editable document] 1. Basic materials [folder] 2. Internet resources for LL/LT [folder] 3. Social media/ language technology [folder] 4. The world of 11-/12-year-olds [folder] 5. Possible designs for school project [folder] 6. Activities for participation [folder] School project [folder] Reflection papers [folder] The discussion list and the chat tools, as well as the initially empty ‘to do’ document, suggested that exchanging ideas would be part of the course and some tasks would be defined later. From the numbered folders, only the first one included a file with basic information on the course (course description, aims, possible working methods and examples of school projects designed by earlier courses). The rest of the folders were empty, waiting for the course participants’ contribution to background work. The school project folder for planning was also empty, as was the folder for reflection papers to be written by the students at the end of the course. In other words, the VLE design highlighted the project-based approach of the LLT course and the students’ strong role in working towards the shared goal, designing and implementing a school project for learners of English. The examples of previous school projects that had been introduced in the orientation session also indicated how collaboration, the students’ active engagement in teamwork, was an essential aspect of the course. This implied the kinds of relationships that the students had little experience of, where the power balance between the lecturer and the students was equal (Scollon and Scollon 2004). The examples of past learning projects that the lecturer provided in the meetings further suggested that an important aim was to foster the participants’ autonomy, not only as learners on the course, but also as language professionals of the future (see Benson 2008; Cotterall and Murray 2009; Murray, Gao and Lamb 2011).

120  Leena Kuure

The attention space of working as a project team member Another central attention space for the university students on the LLT course was related to accomplishing the project for school children. The students had to be selfconfident and take initiative, i.e. take charge of their learning and decision-making, as the final format of the school project was initially open-ended. In addition to the attention structures provided through the VLE and the initial documents, the course lecturer tried to nurture a fruitful atmosphere for creativity and collaboration, highlighting the students’ important role in carrying out the task, e.g., by arranging brainstorming sessions, facilitating the division of labour and adopting the role of a team member rather than that of a traditional teacher who has primary decision-making power in class. An extract from the lecturer’s discussion list posting to a student on the course reflects the goal of creating an environment for collaboration: Hi Sanna! Welcome on the course, you, too! It is great to have a team of students on this course who have such a wide variety of experience in their pockets. This will all be of use when we are putting the school project together :D Marketta [Lecturer-D] In her discussion entry, the lecturer emphasised the participants as a resource for the coming project work. The entry also shows that in the university context in question the relationship between the lecturer and the students was quite informal. The use of ‘we’ further suggests that the lecturer was positioning herself as a co-participant rather than a traditional teacher in charge of the work. This type of teacher-student relationship (equal interaction order) was, at the time of the course, becoming more common (Scollon and Scollon 2004). On the basis of the data, the interactions between all the university students working on the school project in their teams were similar in tone – inclusive pronouns were used, and comments highlighted collaboration and commitment to the shared goal. As for attention structures, the lecturer expected it to be difficult for the students at first to assume an active and independent grip of the course and project. This expectation was based on awareness of the students’ previous experiences of university studies with relatively predefined contents and process. Yet, the students seemed to be ready to try an unfamiliar approach, as their discussion entries suggest: I am excited about this course as I like hands-on courses better and, on the other hand, I do not really know what to expect from this course. [Tomi-D] I’m looking forward to seeing what this course is like. I think the previous projects looked very interesting and I hope we all as a group can come up with something as ‘cool’, inspiring and exciting as they did for example last year. [Marja-D] Uncertainty about what was coming did not seem to cause anxiety as the students seemed to be self-confident learners already. Thus, they appeared to be on strong ground in taking charge of their learning even if there was a need to negotiate the

Language students designing for children 121 work throughout the course (Gao 2013; Lamb 2011; Murray, Gao and Lamb 2011; Nakata 2011). Concrete details were agreed upon with the participants iteratively, i.e. through continuous evaluation and reshaping of the process. The division of labour was established in the class meetings and fine-tuned according to the emerging needs. The following extract from a student’s reflection paper illustrates how the project-driven approach gradually became clearer and how the roles of teachers and learners came to be understood in a new light: At the beginning of the course I felt like a pile of puzzle pieces had been poured out on the table and I had a hard time putting the pieces together. But as the course progressed the image started to come together little by little. [Marianne-R] In the same way as Marianne, all the students seemed to cope well with uncertainty about what was coming. Such a stance could be seen to stem from Finnish students’ familiarity with digital environments and practices in connection with social media and Internet games in their free time, but also from emerging changes in the pedagogic culture (Jalkanen, Pitkänen-Huhta and Taalas 2012). Nevertheless, the lecturer’s active contribution was needed in order to provide attention structures for the students when they started to plan the coming learning project more concretely. If the students’ decision-making had not been pushed towards the direction of the course aims, content production would have started to lean more towards the traditional language teaching materials associated with textbooks. In other words, the students were encouraged to avoid replicating exercises that they knew well already. Instead, they were guided towards building a school project environment that would engender meaningfulness from the pupils’ perspective and promote interaction between the participants.

The attention space of designing a project suitable for school pupils The following attention space visible among the university students during the LLT course was related to the emergence of the learning project itself as a concrete site for the students and ‘real’ school pupils to meet. Although many of the students had felt confident that they already knew about children and school, the pupils offered new insights into the task at hand as Marja’s reflection quote implies: What I found most challenging was to be able to understand the world of fifth and sixth graders. It seems so long ago since I was that age – it was a half of my life ago. I read my old diaries and looked at some photos of me and my friends as 12-year-olds, but still it was hard to recall what made me happy, excited or interested at those times. [Marja-R] This example gives a glimpse of Marja’s perspective-switch, moving from personal experiences to the position of the tutor or teacher contemplating what to take into account when planning activities for the project when time is limited (the context of the extract). The fact that the students have personal memories as language learners

122  Leena Kuure is not directly transferable to their understanding of children’s interests. To bridge the gap, the students conducted small-scale surveys through interviews, as the following quote illustrates: I interviewed my 12-year-old cousin, and she said that she likes to play games and participate in activities which differ from the ‘ordinary’ ways of learning: ‘first we listen to the chapter, then we repeat after the cd and then we can open the exercise books’. I have no idea what it is like in the primary schools nowadays but I definitely think that we should make the environment as versatile as possible. The only problem is how to achieve that goal (: [Marja-R] The quote above highlights the double challenge that the students were facing: they needed to take charge of their own learning but also to advance the pupils’ autonomy in circumstances where traditional conceptions and methods of language learning were still prevalent. This involved a switch in perspective-taking from the learner to the teacher – looking at things as a professional rather than as a learner (Lamb 2011; Murray, Gao and Lamb 2011). Gradually, in the course of the background work, the school project began to take shape as the language students and their lecturer negotiated the diverse aspects of the pedagogic approach and activities suitable for the pupils. The students agreed on a school trip as the overall concept for the learning project. A student sketched a map to be used in the VLE interface for the pupils, which was also considered a good starting point for the narrative, as Liisa’s message exemplifies: I think the map and the dog are great! I would be interested if I were a 5th grader! :D The links and photos are interesting, too. Could it be so that the children click the pilot and then the voice message would advise them to introduce themselves in their folders etc? [Liisa-D] After a joint decision to continue the design process through this concept, the participants took an active role in working out how the work could best be accomplished. In the course VLE, a folder area was opened for planning and subfolders were created according to the needs of the working process. As mentioned above, the students designed the school trip to follow the concept of a real school trip with the destination and the route being revealed step by step. Instead of creating an exercise package in advance, detached from the context in which it might be used, the students designed activities that, throughout the trip, would take into account the pupils’ reactions to the activities completed. In this way, the pupils would be involved in more authentic problem solving and interaction instead of traditional exercises (van Lier 2000). Playfulness was an important element in the overall narrative and the individual activities, which was seen to strengthen the pupils’ personal commitment to the work done.

The attention space of becoming a language teacher The final attention space that emerged from the data was related to the language students’ perspective-switch from students to teachers. The project-based approach of the LLT course seemed to offer the students an opportunity to explore their

Language students designing for children 123 understandings of language learning and collaboration in relation to roles and responsibilities in pedagogic situations: This was one of the greatest lessons of the course for myself. In the role of a teacher we might take on too much of the responsibility and try to make all the decisions for ourselves, and this course showed me that a project/course can be a working entity even though it is put together by different people with different ideas and visions. [Marianne-R] Marianne’s reflections above show how she gradually started to see the teacher’s role in a new light and, with that, the value of collaboration. This following extract from Noora’s reflection paper further illustrates the language students’ experiences of the work done: Everyone had something to do with the project, so all participants had some responsibility concerning the flow of the project, and this was a really good thing, in my opinion. I learned a lot about organizing an online learning environment during the course, and I am sure I can use the knowledge gained from the course in the future. [Noora-R] In fact, the students commented to the lecturer that they had never had a similar opportunity to design and put into practice a web-based learning project with schools during their pedagogic studies, as the teaching practice part of teacher education tended to be focused on the classroom. Thus, the LLT course seemed to have given the students an opportunity to experiment with new kinds of learning approaches with the support of the lecturer and the other course participants.

Managing multiple attention spaces The data analysis of this study foregrounded four major attention spaces that the language students moved between. Firstly, the language students were constructing their understandings of the LLT course drawing on project-based pedagogy. Secondly, they were adopting new practices in teamwork, advancing their goal through a project-based working procedure. Thirdly, they were working to gain a stronger grasp of their understanding concerning socioculturally rooted language education, which was reflected in their view of what the pupils needed to do in the learning project. Fourthly, the students were contemplating their growth as future language teachers in a technology-rich world. The attention spaces became discernible in the students’ discussion entries and reflection papers. The interpretations were also supported by participant observation during the classroom workshops and work done through the VLE. The students were delving not only into their own experiences and accustomed practices (Scollon and Scollon 2004) as language learners and future teachers but also into traditional and current practices in the field of language education, i.e. the broad community of practice of language educators (Lave and Wenger 1991). There were conflicting discourses circulating on the LLT course that seemed to stem from the contrast between, on the one hand, the students’ experiences as competent users of technologies and social media in their personal lives, and, on the other hand, their

124  Leena Kuure experiences of formal language learning and teaching as text-oriented and teacherdriven practices. Moving between attention spaces, the students were exploring their own identities as autonomous learners as well as their understandings of how new pedagogic approaches might affect their professional path in the field of language education. The LLT course classroom functioned as an important hotspot or control room for the university students to build and manage the school project, even if much of the work took place online across a longer time span. The students were, through their reciprocal interactions with various participants, metaphorically moving across different spaces to make sense of various aspects of being students and teachers in a technology-rich world.

Implications for practice The study provides evidence of the benefits of problem-based, collaborative approaches in language teacher education to promote the participants’ (including the course lecturer’s) roles as co-designers. In the following sections, some suggestions are made for applying the findings of this study to practice:

Use a project-based approach for your course Language students need an opportunity for experimentation with new kinds of learning and teaching scenarios in order to become more autonomous as language teachers in a technology-rich world.

Consider what kind of experiences and understandings your students have of learning and communicating in foreign languages Language students are likely to be fluent users of social media and the Internet in their free time, but their experiences of language learning and teaching are typically from classrooms with little technology and a strong orientation to text-oriented practices. The students do not usually have much experience in their studies of project-based courses requiring active engagement or of assuming responsibility for how the course and the learning project are going to evolve.

Provide a context for exploring new approaches and practices for language education through a project with ‘real’ participants When designing a language project, the students can draw on their creativity and digital competence but also critically reflect on and change their perceptions of language learning and teaching in a technology-rich world. The opportunity to put their plans into practice with real learners facilitates this process.

Offer attention structures for the students in negotiating and attaining the shared goal Attention structures may be created in different ways: the pedagogic approach, the design of learning activities, the nature of the learning environment (also

Language students designing for children 125 technology-mediated) and the use of interactional means, among others. The students need support in breaking away from customary practices and finding new practices for language learning and teaching.

Support students in becoming aware of the multiple attention spaces for meaning-negotiation When the language students become aware of the multiplicity of spaces between which they need to distribute their attention during a course and a project, it will be easier for them to explore their positions as learners and professionals. Affordances for sharing ideas, engaging in teamwork, discussing the goal to ensure it is a shared one and reflecting on lessons learnt are important. For example, face-to-face meetings or synchronous, technology-mediated events online are important occasions to negotiate, make decisions and create a collaborative ethos for work.

Implications for future research For some time now, demands have been expressed concerning the need for change in the field of language education, especially in relation to the integration of technology into pedagogy. However, there is still little knowledge available about developing new practices in language education and language teacher education in technology-rich environments. It is important to gain more information from longitudinal research in particular on learning projects as illustrated in this study. For future research, video data from important phases throughout the working process would be valuable, as it would make it possible to examine in more detail how distribution of attention to multiple foci and negotiation of meanings come about in situ.

Conclusion Language students who aim at a career in language teaching in a technology-rich world are in a key position to contribute to the emergence of new kinds of scenarios for language learning as they enter the professional field after graduation. This study sheds light on the multiple attention spaces that language students need to distribute attention to and move between in order to make sense of their perspectives as learners, pedagogic designers and language teachers of the future. It seems that work on attention structures is needed to help the students detach themselves from textbook-driven practices in language teaching and from a narrow view of language learning so that they may develop new practices for language teaching in a technology-rich world. For language teacher educators, it is important to acknowledge the variety of attention spaces that may emerge for sense-making in pedagogic multitasking and the nature of potential attention structures that may support the students in becoming active pedagogic change agents in their future profession.

References Benson, P. 2008, ‘Teachers’ and learners’ perspectives on autonomy’, in T. Lamb and H. Reinders (eds.), Learner and teacher autonomy: Concepts, realities, and responses, Benjamins, Amsterdam.

126  Leena Kuure Cotterall, S. and Murray, G. 2009, ‘Enhancing metacognitive knowledge: Structure, affordances and self’, System, vol. 37, no. 1, pp. 34–45. Council of Europe. 2011, Common European framework of reference for languages: Learning, teaching, assessment, Cambridge University Press, Cambridge. Cresswell, J.W. 2014, Research design: Qualitative, quantitative, and mixed method approaches, Sage, London. European Commission. 2013, Survey of schools: ICT in education – benchmarking access, use and attitudes to technology in Europe’s schools, European Union, Belgium. Gao, X. 2013, ‘Reflexive and reflective thinking: A crucial link between agency and autonomy’, Innovation in Language Learning and Teaching, vol. 7, no. 3, pp. 226–237. Gee, J.P. 2004, Situated language and learning: A critique of traditional schooling, Routledge, New York. Häkkinen, P. and Hämäläinen, R. 2012, ‘Shared and personal learning spaces: Challenges for pedagogical design’, Internet and Higher Education, vol. 15, no. 4, pp. 231–236. Härmälä, M. and Hildén, R. 2014, ‘Kielitaitotavoitteet saavutettiin, mutta työskentelytavoissa ja asenteissa kehitettävää’ [The goals for language skills were reached but working methods and attitudes are to be developed], Kieli, koulutus ja yhteiskunta, November. www.kieliverkosto.fi/journal. Jalkanen, J., Pitkänen-Huhta, A. and Taalas, P. 2012, ‘Changing society – changing language learning and teaching practices?’ in M. Bendtsen, M. Björklund, L. Forsman and K. Sjöholm (eds.), Global trends meet local needs, Åbo Akademi, Vaasa. Jones, R.H. 2005, ‘Sites of engagement as sites of attention: Time, space and culture in electronic discourse’, in S. Norris and R. Jones (eds.), Discourse in action: Introducing mediated discourse analysis, Routledge, London. Jones, R.H. and Hafner, C. 2012, Understanding digital literacies, Routledge, London. Kuure, L., Molin-Juustila, T., Keisanen, T., Riekki, M., Iivari, N. and Kinnula, M. 2016, ‘Switching perspectives: From a language teacher to a designer of language learning with new technologies’, Computer Assisted Language Learning, vol. 29, no. 5, pp. 925–941. Lamb, T. 2011, ‘Fragile identities: Exploring learner identity, learner autonomy and motivation through young learners’ voices’, Canadian Journal of Applied Linguistics, vol. 14, no. 2, pp. 68–85. Lave, J. and Wenger, E. 1991, Situated learning: Legitimate peripheral participation, Cambridge University Press, Cambridge. Leppänen, S., Pitkänen-Huhta, A., Nikula, T., Kytölä, S., Törmäkangas, T., Nissinen, K., Kääntä, L., Räisänen, T., Laitinen, M., Pahta, P., Koskela, H., Lähdesmäki, S. and Jousimäki, H. 2011, ‘National survey of the English language in Finland: Uses, meanings and attitudes’, Varieng – Studies in Variation, Contacts and Change in English, vol. 5. www.helsinki.fi/varieng/series/ volumes/05/index.html. Meskill, C. and Anthony, N. 2014, ‘Managing synchronous polyfocality in new media/ new learning: Online language educators’ instructional strategies’, System, vol. 42, pp. 177–188. Ministry of Education. 1999, Education, training and research in the information society: A national strategy for 2000–2004, Ministry of Education, Finland. Murray, G. 2013, ‘Pedagogy of the possible: Imagination, autonomy, and space’, Studies in Second Language Learning and Teaching, vol. 3, no. 3, pp. 377–396. Murray, G., Fujishima, N. and Uzuka, M. 2014, ‘The semiotics of place: Autonomy and space’, in G. Murray (ed.), Social dimensions of autonomy in language learning, Palgrave Macmillan, Basingstoke.

Language students designing for children 127 Murray, G., Gao, X. and Lamb, T. (eds.) 2011, Identity, motivation and autonomy in language learning, Multilingual Matters, Bristol. Nakata, Y. 2011, ‘Teachers’ readiness for promoting learner autonomy: A study of Japanese EFL high school teachers’, Teaching and Teacher Education, vol. 27, no. 5, pp. 900–910. NCBE. 2004, National core curriculum for basic education, Finnish National Board of Education, Helsinki. NCBE. 2016, National core curriculum for basic education, Finnish National Board of Education, Helsinki. Niemi, H., Kynäslahti, H. and Vahtivuori-Hänninen, S. 2013, ‘Towards ICT in everyday life in Finnish schools: Seeking conditions for good practices’, Learning, Media and Technology, vol. 38, no. 1, pp. 57–71. Norris, S. 2004, Analyzing multimodal interaction: A methodological framework, Routledge, New York. Nyman, T. and Kaikkonen, P. 2013, ‘What kind of learning environment do newly qualified teachers create?’ Scandinavian Journal of Educational Research, vol. 57, no. 2, pp. 167–181. OECD. 2015, Students, computers and learning: Making the connection. PISA, OECD Publishing. http://dx.doi.org/10.1787/9789264239555-en. Ruohotie-Lyhty, M. 2011, ‘Constructing practical knowledge of teaching: Eleven newly qualified language teachers’ discursive agency’, The Language Learning Journal, vol. 39, no. 3, pp. 365–379. Scollon, R. and Scollon, S.W. 2004, Nexus analysis: Discourse and the emerging Internet, Routledge, London. Shelley, M., Murphy, L. and White, C.J. 2013, ‘Language teacher development in a narrative frame: The transition from classroom to distance and blended settings’, System, vol. 41, no. 3, pp. 560–574. Thomas, M., Reinders, H. and Warschauer, M. 2013, Contemporary computer-assisted language learning: The role of digital media and incremental change, in M. Thomas, H. Reinders and M. Warschauer (eds.), Contemporary computer-assisted language learning, Bloomsbury, London, pp. 1–13. van Lier, L. 2000, ‘From input to affordance: Social-interactive learning from an ecological perspective’, in J. Lantolf (ed.), Sociocultural theory and second language learning, Oxford University Press, Oxford. Wertsch, J.V. 1991, Voices of the mind: A sociocultural approach to mediated action, Harvard University Press, Cambridge, MA.

9 Naoko’s story One autonomous learner’s journey through time and space Beverly-Anne Carter

Introduction This chapter adopts a narrative inquiry approach to analyse the language learning history of a multilingual Japanese first language (L1) speaker, Naoko, and, to a lesser extent, that of her daughter, Mari. At the time of this account, Naoko had been the accompanying spouse of a Japanese diplomat who was on his final assignment in an English-speaking country in the Caribbean. Naoko was preparing to return home to Japan and resume a long-interrupted career as an educator. Based on her lived experience and her beliefs about the value of education for social mobility, she had decided that the focus of her post-retirement career would be on providing English language tutorial support to persons from modest socio-economic backgrounds. To this end, she enrolled on a post-graduate Diploma in TESOL at a local university. The data analysed here are drawn from the learner autobiography, which Naoko was required to produce as a course assignment. Naoko’s autobiography is a multilayered retrospective account as she tries to summarise the most salient factors and the critical events that turned her into the language learner she had become. The rich detail in her autobiographical narrative lends itself to an analysis through many lenses: through the lens of acquisition contexts, through notions of investment or motivation or from the perspective of gender in language learning. In keeping with the theme of this book, however, the focus in this chapter is on how time and place serve as both affordances and constraints in a multigenerational narrative of (English) language learning.

Autobiographical accounts Naoko was an experienced language learner whose first foreign language exposure came at age three upon entry into an English-medium nursery school in Japan. Naoko was also a qualified teacher who had practised her career only briefly, despite having pursued undergraduate and graduate degrees in education three decades earlier. At the time of writing, she was preparing for a career as a teacher of English as a Foreign Language (EFL) having been the spouse of a career diplomat for most of her adult life. Naoko was in the third of four semesters in a part-time TESOL programme. As a result of her experience and qualifications, Naoko possessed more expertise and awareness than typically found in the autobiographical account of a language learner. Yet, because it was the first time that Naoko had engaged in this kind of reflective exercise, she experienced several epiphanies as she brought a critical eye to

Naoko’s story 129 her lived experience. In one example, reflecting on her nursery and school experience in an educational institution founded and managed by expatriate nuns, the adult Naoko marvelled at how the ‘Mothers’ who spoke little or no Japanese kept their linguistic and cultural distance from mainstream Japan. She hypothesised that the role and expectations for English-speaking nuns in a conservative and homogeneous Japan in the early sixties would not have made such behaviours seem unusual. Researchers such as Cohen and Hosenfeld (1981) underscore a major limitation of retrospective accounts. In addition to memory lapses that may affect the veracity of the account, what is seen as salient several decades later may have acquired a significance not apparent at the time, maybe because subsequent events have cast new light on earlier actions, attitudes or behaviours. Naoko’s mature reflection on the behaviour of the nuns demonstrates how reflective accounts can problematise events that may have seemed neutral at the time they occurred. But reflective accounts also bring clarification; for example, as she recalls how her parents denied her permission to pursue a university education in Australia, the adult Naoko, now a parent, can put herself in their place and understand why they insisted that she pursue her higher education in Japan. Thus, despite the acknowledged limitations of retrospective accounts, their utility in narrative inquiry and other research genres in the qualitative paradigm explains their favoured status. In this instance, an autobiographical retrospective account allows us a multigenerational view on the learning of English, making room for a more complex and nuanced discussion of the role of time, space and place in learner autonomy. Exploring Naoko’s story vis-à-vis learner autonomy brings us to the concept of identity in language learning. The place of identity in acquisition studies had its genesis in the work of Norton Peirce (1995) in the late 20th century. Norton (2006; 2013) and Norton and collaborators (Norton and Early 2011; Norton and Toohey 2011; Darvin and Norton 2015) have continued to examine the socio-cultural resonance of identity, which has become a critical issue in an era of mass migration. In the early stages of Naoko’s language learning, particularly when she was an EFL learner in Japan, her profile was fairly similar to those often found in the identity literature, i.e. learners who are, if not marginalised, certainly not in positions of power. Later on, however, Naoko’s social status puts her far from the marginalised status of the typical migrant. The adult Naoko more properly can be described as a member of the global elite for whom multilingualism and intercultural competence are part of their social capital. The role of the diplomatic spouse is a complex one, for while she does not seek long-term residence in the host country, she has to be seen as willing to engage in outreach and possibly a degree of linguistic and cultural integration if she is to be successful in her role. On the other hand, she has to maintain an identity as a visible symbol of her mother tongue (hereafter L1) and her native culture (hereafter C1) in the host country. The identity discourse is different, but the identity dilemma is no less problematic.

Literature review Narrative inquiry Learner diaries and journaling are common in education programmes where reflective practice is emphasised. The teacher or learner journal is often a site for deep

130  Beverly-Anne Carter reflection on the process of second/foreign language teaching and second/foreign language (hereafter L2) learning. In the course for which the learner autobiography was a requirement, it was stressed that one’s apprenticeship of teaching (Lortie 1975), based on experience of learning in classrooms throughout one’s education, is likely to be equally, if not more powerful, than the apprenticeship of teaching in a four-semester, part-time programme. The teacher trainees were told that it was important to critically assess their formative experiences as (foreign language) learners in order to discover their hidden assumptions and biases about teaching and learning. Johnson and Golombek (2002: 2) contend that, ‘professional development emerges from a process of reshaping teachers’ existing knowledge, beliefs and practices rather than simply imposing new theories, methods, or materials on teachers’. That was the objective of journaling in the TESOL course. Narrative inquiry, which has been used extensively in language teaching and learning research (Duff and Bell 2002; Early and Norton 2012; Miyahara 2015; Murray 2009), analyses and reports the life histories – or other narrative genres – of a participant who gives accounts of events or actions. This makes it particularly apt ‘to investigate how language teachers and learners are situated in specific social, historical, and cultural contexts, in which the primary context is viewed as the teachers’ and learners’ lives’ (Barkhuizen, Benson and Chik 2014: 11). Narrative inquiry thus seems well-suited to explore this TESOL trainee’s life story.

Theories of identity Norton (2006) posits that theories of learner identity offer the applied linguistics and second language acquisition (SLA) fields a comprehensive theory of language learning. Norton situates her research in the social turn (Block 2003), which has moved the discussion beyond the unidimensional view of learners as individual cognitive beings. Norton suggests that in order to develop a fuller understanding of acquisition, we must look at learners in relational terms. We should look at ‘the complex and dynamic nature of identity, co-constructed in a wide variety of sociocultural relationships, and framed within particular relations of power’ (Norton 2006: 4). Norton grounds her identity research in the work of Bourdieu (1977), Bakhtin (1981, 1984) and Lave and Wenger (1991), among others. Bourdieu’s work emphasises the power differentials in relationships. Accordingly, Bourdieu argues that speech derives its value from the value of the speaker and the value of the speaker is derived from the value of the larger social network. To view learners’ language learning simply in terms of learners’ agency and willingness to improve their proficiency is to wilfully ignore the gatekeeper role that more powerful others might exercise in allowing or denying learners access to opportunities and contexts where their speech might be heard. Norton cites Bakhtin (1984), who underscores the relational aspect of language, that language is communication with an implied role for others in the coconstruction of speech. Anthropologists Lave and Wenger (1991), known for their theorising of the community of practice (CoP) construct, also underscore the collective dimension of language learning, which is a function of the community of practice. Access to the community, engagement in the community, and support from members of the community can be analysed and interrogated whether the

Naoko’s story 131 community in question is a speech community or a community practising craft. Like Bourdieu and Bakhtin, Lave and Wenger’s work allows us to ground the research on identity in society and collectivism, instead of focusing on individual aptitude and individual differences.

Autonomy Research on learner autonomy has also taken a social turn with collections such as Murray (2014) exploring how autonomy is socially mediated. This is, of course, not a new focus in autonomy, as interdependence, the value of others in facilitating autonomy was underscored by Little (1991: 5) who stated, ‘because we are social beings our independence is always balanced by dependence, our essential condition is one of interdependence’. The growth of a body of work (e.g., Murray 2014; Murray and Fujishima 2013; Singleton and Aronin 2007) that looks at the affordances and constraints on the autonomous learner has, however, meant a renewed focus on the relational aspects of autonomy and the web of influences that might influence learners’ actions, attitudes and behaviours. The lens of affordances and constraints will prove very useful in discussing how place and space feature in Naoko’s trajectory as an autonomous learner of English.

Space and place in autonomy Space and place, although traditionally associated with geography, now feature prominently in the work of other social scientists and in the humanities. In keeping with this spatial turn, many humanities scholars have become invested in exploring space as a social phenomenon and the role of human agency in turning space into place. Arias (2010) underscores this, pointing, for example, to the work of the philosopher Malpas (1999), who contends that it is social activity that binds, interconnects and organises ‘place’. Lamb and Murray (2012: 8) citing Parnell and Procter (2011: 79) make a similar point, ‘Spaces are also dynamic and socially constructed, as they become “places” through “placemaking”, a process in which individuals “change, appropriate and shape” space’. Although space and place are only now being theorised in relation to learner autonomy, proponents of autonomy have long been concerned with the possibilities and practice of autonomy in different spaces, initially in the classroom and outside the classroom in mother tongue or target country. The rise of self-access centres ushered in a significant period in the conceptualisation of space in autonomy as the potential of self-access centres to allow learners access to realia and, later, greater engagement with the target language and culture via technology, led to discussions on the role of physical and virtual spaces. But it is now well accepted that any space, physical or virtual, can promote interaction and community among learners once the learners appropriate it for this purpose. The autonomous learner is more likely to do this and the issue becomes how can those less inclined to be autonomous be encouraged to be more agentive and understand the affordances of a given space. Murray, Fujishima and Uzuka (2014: 82) state that ‘by talking about a space as an environment in which certain activities occur, it becomes identified and defined as

132  Beverly-Anne Carter a place where these actions or activities are carried out’. Thus, a space may or may not seem conducive to language acquisition and autonomy, but when an autonomous learner chooses to use it to that end, s/he defines it as a place where language acquisition and autonomy can occur. Indeed, in the following discussion, we will explore how Naoko is able to turn the most unlikely of spaces into a place where communication and autonomy are practised.

Naoko’s story Learning English As we explore the data in Naoko’s autobiographical account, particularly as this account begins in early childhood, what emerges is the extent to which language learning is socially mediated. But it is not only individuals and groups that determine the path of language learning; Naoko’s story also reveals how place and time can act as affordances and constraints for (autonomous) learners. Naoko’s parents decided to send her to a nursery school that was a feeder school for convent-run primary and secondary schools. Unlike the latter schools, which were staffed by a mixture of Japanese teachers and expatriate English-speaking nuns from England, Ireland, Australia, etc., the nursery school was staffed entirely by nuns. The fully immersive experience was an affordance that gave Naoko a head start in her exposure to English and an English-speaking community. The nursery school experience marks the beginning of what would become a lifelong pattern of encountering the intersection of English and education for Naoko. Naoko is aware that her affordance came from being a city girl born in Tokyo in 1957. In contrast, her husband, born in Kobe in 1948 in the immediate post-war period, would have been exposed to very different societal attitudes to English and speakers of English. But, more critically, time and location constrained his opportunity and access to English. He began learning English at his local secondary school with Japanese teachers. By the time Naoko entered secondary school, she was already on phase three of her journey as a learner of English. The first phase was at nursery school where all communication was in English with no recourse to Japanese. The young Naoko was forced to come to terms with a world far removed from her prior L1 existence. ‘When a Mother said to us, “Good morning, how are you?” we used to reply, “I am very well thank you, Mother’ ”. There was a linguistic and cultural contrast between home and school community. In this new context, she had teachers with ‘blue eyes’ and ‘wearing habits’ who were addressed as ‘Mother’. The new space and the unusual people who inhabited it created a measure of fear in the toddler. Primary school, the second phase of her journey, represented a physical and metaphorical shift of learning space and a new relationship with English, which was now a school subject. Naoko began formal instruction in English with Japanese teachers teaching in their L1. The approach was a very traditional one with the focus on accuracy, for example, and the prominence given to dictation, and it relied on a very analytical approach to the teaching of English, which was for a long time the favoured approach in Japan (see, Sato 2002). The nuns were still there, still speaking only in English, but their role was less instructional and more managerial and spiritual. By the time Naoko entered secondary school, the third space in which she

Naoko’s story 133 was exposed to English, she had fully assumed the identity of a student of English. She was ‘a good student’, with a ‘good memory’ and was pleased to be able to recite by heart ‘The Daffodils’ by Wordsworth. In her autobiography, Naoko recalled that she also began piano at age three and was soon able to reproduce a piece of music heard. She speculated whether her music and language aptitude were linked. What is clear is that by secondary school Naoko had a strong affinity for English; what is less clear is whether that affinity extended beyond school and the curriculum.

‘It was the United States. there were Americans everywhere’ A critical event in Naoko’s identity as an EFL learner occurred when she was 15. Naoko was a girl guide and in this role was invited to attend a summer camp at a US military base in Japan. As a result of this experience, English was once again no longer simply a subject and Naoko was no longer simply a student focused on her aptitude. English became real, albeit with an American accent, which she found less pleasant than the familiar accents of the nuns: ‘It was like going to a foreign country. Once inside the base, it was the United States. There were Americans everywhere and everyone was talking in English, American English’. Naoko had entered a second linguistic and cultural bubble of English within Japan. Unlike the initial fear of her childhood immersive experience, the adolescent with several years of English to her credit was drawn to this new world. ‘It was my first time to spend a week with people with different colours of skin and become friends with them’. Naoko’s introduction to a peer group on the US military base gave her access to a social network, a community of practice whose age and interest in guiding enhanced the social value of learning English. The physical space of the base had become a social and a language place – a place where one makes friends and hears American English. One would expect an American military base in a foreign country to be a hostile space (and, indeed, this is often how American military bases are viewed from Okinawa to Guantanamo) and the primary emotional response to be one of fear and mistrust. Instead, the military base functioned quite differently for the teenager and, in the memory of the adult, functioned as a friendly place where one could engage with the world in English. This was truly a case where social activity interconnected with and organised the place. Another significant point is that, whereas before, the purveyors of English (the nuns and Japanese teachers) would have been persons in positions of power and authority over her, Naoko was for the first time in a nonhierarchical relationship with an English-speaking group. The contrast with her first exposure to English was striking. Naoko recalled her first days in her nursery school thus, ‘when I first saw nuns with blue eyes, wearing habits and speaking in an unintelligible language I was frightened’. The military base became a positive social and learning place and an affordance for Naoko’s language learning autonomy. The highly motivated learner was now fuelled by a social investment in English as a result of this affordance. Norton’s definition of identity is worth reproducing here, ‘the way a person understands his or her relationship to the world, how that relationship is constructed across time and space, and how that person understands possibilities for the future’ (Norton 2013: 4). For Naoko, that experience of being ‘in the United States’ would have certainly meant a transformation of her identity as a learner. She was able to envision the imagined

134  Beverly-Anne Carter communities of English speakers in all their complexity, with different accents and ‘colours of skin’ and think about fuller participation in these communities. A second experience, once again as a girl guide, allowed her the opportunity to do just that one year later.

‘Ordinary, conservative and loving parents’ The following year Naoko was part of the Japanese delegation who travelled to an international girl guide camp in Sweden. Although the camp was based in Sweden, the girl guides visited other European as well as Asian destinations en route to the camp. Naoko therefore spent a ‘marvellous month’ visiting scouting-related places both in Europe and in Asia. In the camp in Sweden where English was no doubt the lingua franca and in her travels through Europe and Asia, she was able to inhabit a world where speaking English was an affordance to new people and to more individual and learner autonomy. The camp experience was also life changing in another way, as she met Japanese students who had participated in a Rotary Exchange Student programme that allowed them to spend a year in home stay while attending secondary school in Australia. Naoko admired these students’ attitudes and behaviours and aspired to be like them. She now had Japanese role models of successful English learners/speakers and determined what her goal should be: to obtain a Rotary fellowship and spend a year in Australia. She spent two weeks thinking about how to approach her ‘ordinary, conservative and loving parents’ who she felt would not want their daughter to be so ‘adventurous’. She was surprised when her father readily gave his permission. She discovered that ‘it was his dream to study abroad when he was young, but there was the war, so he couldn’t’. The daughter could now achieve the father’s deferred ambition. The social value, the affordance of English language learning, becomes a cross-generational gift. Once again, Naoko’s access to English was facilitated by the affordances of time and location. In Australia, the English space was no longer circumscribed as it had been at nursery school, on the US base, or on her previous travels. Naoko had an entire academic year and potentially an entire country – interestingly, a confluence of time and space – in which to live her English dream. Naoko’s dual identity as a student of (and in) English and as someone living fully in a linguistic and cultural Englishspeaking space was fully realised. She embraced her educational role as a typical Australian secondary school student, working hard and excelling in school, earning qualifications to matriculate into an Australian university. She embraced her social and familial role as a daughter in the household, doing regular household chores. She acquired the maturity and confidence that she had admired in the Japanese study abroad students she met in Sweden. Through it all, her Japanese identity, while never fully on display, was nevertheless a permanent canvas upon which the new experiences were being painted. Her Japanese identity was both an affordance and constraint in the new context. Naoko was just one of seven Japanese students selected out of the 110 applicants to the fellowship programme. Yet, because they were so few in number, they were highly sought after. There were no Japanese families in her Melbourne suburb, but there were many willing English-speaking hosts and Naoko lived with ten families, six weeks at a time. The adult Naoko was able to be philosophical about the benefits

Naoko’s story 135 of that constant change and how it helped her gain a deeper, more nuanced understanding across the full spectrum of socioeconomic and sociocultural life in Melbourne. But she could not discount how challenging the constant cycle of change had been. Ironically, it was her rootedness in her Japanese national identity which became her greatest resource, as Naoko was determined to make her family proud and be a good representative of her country and culture. She sought to excel in her studies and bring all the best of the characteristics of a Japanese young woman to the fore – to be kind, considerate, polite and respectful of her new parents. The Australian study abroad is a preview of how the diplomatic spouse would manage the challenges of her future career – draw on the resources of one’s national identity, strive to be a good representative of country and culture.

‘You are Japanese’ Naoko’s return to Japan was the last phase of her life before full adulthood. Going back home represented a return to normalcy, to a familiar space. Yet, because Naoko could not simply revert to her old self, her old life, actions and activities, that space no longer functioned as it had for her before her time in Australia. Being Naoko did not run along the familiar lines, so home became a site of ambivalence and discomfort even; it was no longer a place where the post-Australia Naoko could play the role expected of her. The physical space had not changed, but, because being Naoko post-Australia was different from being Naoko pre-Australia, the place was different. She had been figuratively displaced after having spent a year in the identity of an English-speaking Australian high school student. This was the beginning of Naoko’s identity reformation. Being Naoko, being Japanese, was starting to mean something different than it had prior to her Rotary fellowship. The sorting out of her different identities, the challenge of reconstructing the place to match her new identities, the new relational ties with her parents and her peers is expressed by Naoko thus: ‘university time was a very difficult time in my life. I had a hard time adjusting back home’. She had returned home at the behest of her parents, because while her father had been proud of her heading off to Australia, he forbade her from attending university there and insisted that she return to a Japanese university. She did this, enrolling in an undergraduate degree in education to the surprise of her Japanese friends who had assumed she would study English. The Australian experience had profoundly affected her identity both on a personal and academic level. She had changed, but the people she had left behind in Japan were initially slow to recognise this. Thus while Naoko’s friends assumed she would enrol in an English degree, Naoko’s identity was no longer that of a student of English. English had become an affordance to the world, a way of engaging the world. Similarly, on the most personal level, in her interaction with her parents, her new Australian/English self was rather problematic. Her pride in her successful Australian study abroad was soon diminished by the reaction of her parents, who regretted having sent her to Australia and expressed their chagrin at the new Naoko. ‘Naoko became so cheeky and rebellious’. Her behaviour was different from her Japanese peers, more outspoken. Indeed, in the minds of her parents and of her friends, there were normative behaviours for a good English learner and a good Japanese daughter,

136  Beverly-Anne Carter to which the post-Australia Naoko failed to conform. The tensions between space/ place and identity are encapsulated in these episodes from Naoko’s post-Australian life. As stated earlier, the physical space had not changed. It is impossible for the lay observer to know whether Naoko’s new behaviours – as seen by her parents – reflected a fleeting state or whether they indeed represented a character change. What is indisputable is that Naoko’s identity had expanded because of the new experiences, and the place that supported and buttressed the old identity could no longer as easily accommodate the new Naoko. In recalling this period, a mature Naoko is more self-aware and self-critical: ‘in Japanese society where each person is expected to behave just the same as other people, I probably looked like a black sheep copying a westerner’. There is a script of how to be Japanese, and this script allows little deviation from societal norms. Although this identity challenge is more sharply felt in a homogenous society like Japan, it is symptomatic of the larger post-modernist tension between nationality/ national borders and identity. Even in societies which are more heterogeneous or are becoming plural/multilingual/multicultural, there is a script on being, on how to behave, on what attitudes, actions and activities are acceptable as a national of country x or y. At a country level, when identity, or how you are supposed to be or act in a place, does not align with what is commonly assumed to be congruent with the space – for example, being Spanish-speaking and being a natural-born citizen of the United States – the identity problems of the individual are replicated over a larger group of persons. In this case, however, the teenage Naoko is something of an anomaly, a ‘black sheep’ in her homogenous, rule-bound society. When her father saw a picture of a host father cuddling her and kissing her on the cheek, his reaction was one of shocked horror. It was indecent that an unmarried girl from a decent family should be kissed like that in public. ‘Naoko has gone astray!’ Naoko had brought shame and dishonour to her real family. (Full three decades later in recounting this episode, Naoko was overcome with emotion at the hurt she caused and the hurt she suffered.) ‘My parents were expecting to have Naoko of one year ago. I did not have my place at home anymore’. Even her usually reserved mother was moved to express her disapproval and distress. ‘Why do you have to imitate Australians? You are Japanese’. Naoko’s new identity which leads her to practise actions and activities not congruent with her existing space (her family home in Tokyo) means that, if not physically, certainly psychologically, she has been displaced. Henceforth, Naoko will have to find the balance between stretching her identity to incorporate new linguistic and cultural experiences and conforming to the behavioural and attitudinal expectations for a Japanese wife, mother and diplomatic spouse. Naoko’s trajectory from early childhood to the beginning of adulthood as she negotiates familial and societal roles represents the experience of one Japanese learner of English in the 1960s. Naoko’s date and birthplace, her parents’ economic status, her gender and her parents’ aspirations serve as affordances and constraints on her role and identity as a learner of English. Naoko’s own agency comes to the fore in her motivation for and investment in being a good student and in her courage, her being ‘adventurous’ enough to participate in a yearlong study abroad, while still a teenager. The study abroad marks the fulfilment of her dreams as a learner of English. However, the post-study abroad period brings about an identity crisis as her parents question her affiliation to her Japanese heritage and values. Was her

Naoko’s story 137 improved linguistic and intercultural competence in English achieved at the expense of her Japanese national identity? Norton (2000: 5) describes identity as ‘multiple, non-unitary, the site of struggle and changing over time’. As Naoko embarked on adulthood and a life of language learning, that was a challenge that she would face. How do you keep your place at home? How do you engage fully in the marvellous time that language learning offers and still remain Japanese? How do you manage a dynamic, non-unitary identity? In her future role/career as a diplomatic spouse the challenge would be even greater, since she would need to be Japanese, carry the symbolic value of Japan wherever she lived and serve as a bridge between her home and host country.

Mari The final extracts of data refer to the period when Naoko accompanied her husband to the UK on his first overseas posting following their marriage. Upon the birth of their first child, Naoko had given up her career to become a fulltime mother. Their daughter, Mari, was a three-year-old L1 Japanese speaker at the time of their arrival in London. They enrolled Mari in a nursery school where many children came from international and multilingual backgrounds. Mari was the only one who spoke no English. Like her mother a generation before, Mari found herself in a full immersion experience. Naoko recalled that the three-year-old was lost and lonely. Naoko related one of the early exchanges with Mari and her nursery teacher as follows: T:   Say hello, Mari. Mari: __________ T:   Say hello, Mari. Mari:  Say hello.

Naoko hosted play dates with Mari’s classmates to increase her daughter’s social and linguistic integration. But Japanese remained Mari’s dominant spoken language as it was in the family home, until Naoko decided to employ a live-in nanny. This decision was, however, driven by professional rather than domestic demands, as Naoko had to fulfil her duties in assisting at official events as the wife of a young diplomat. With the arrival of the nanny, Kate, the family began using English as its main language of communication. With time and with Kate’s attentive presence, Mari’s English improved to the extent that when the family of four (a second child was born during the London posting) arrived in New Delhi (Mumbai) two years later, Mari was known as the little Japanese girl with the British accent. When the family returned to Japan following their two-year stint in India, Mari was temporarily sent to a local school while she waited to take the entrance exam for a private school. It was Mari’s first time in a Japanese school. She had by then become a fluent English speaker, used to speaking it in both social and school contexts. In New Delhi, her only exposure to Japanese had been via her parents, especially when they entertained Japanese-speaking guests. Mari also had some receptive competence in Hindi and Tamil, which the household staff spoke in addition to English. Compared to her parents’ very different linguistic backgrounds, seven-year old Mari was already a junior world citizen with two L1s and a very fluid linguistic

138  Beverly-Anne Carter repertoire. She had also lived more than half her life outside of Japan. Mari’s parents thus made a decision to send her to a Japanese (-medium) school rather than an international school, ‘it would be easier to continue her studies in English, but she would never learn Japanese and to (sic) be (a) Japanese child’. Returning home to Japan was even more disruptive linguistically and culturally for Mari than it had been for Naoko after her study abroad. Here was a Japanese child who needed to learn to become a Japanese child. The three-month experience in the local school was not a positive one. Not only were the teachers unfamiliar with the needs of young returnees and untrained in how to accommodate them, but also her own peer group was very hostile. She was seen as an outsider in the (speech) community (of practice) as she lacked the linguistic and cultural tools to gain access and membership. And, as suggested by Bourdieu (1977), her unequal relationship with her Japanese peers (based on her lack of fluency) no doubt further lessened her opportunities to engage with the language. Years later, Mari confided that she had been bullied by the other children, because, although she looked Japanese, she did not understand Japanese. One could conclude that identity is multifactorial, a delicate blend of being and doing. One must not only look Japanese (as Naoko or Mari), one must also act Japanese and behave in a manner congruent with a Japanese place. Academically, Mari was a strong student and, with her mother’s coaching in Japanese, she was admitted to the private school. The private school had a more international flavour, with many children being the offspring of returning Japanese. Furthermore, the teachers better understood how to integrate such children into the academic context. Nonetheless, Mari still faced challenges as she was neither a fluent Japanese speaker, nor fluent in the appropriate cultural behaviours of her age group. The dissonance between her ethnic appearance and her body gestures, e.g., shrugging her shoulders while saying she did not know, was once again an issue. Her peers sometimes mocked her. ‘Her behaviour sometimes made her look like a gaijin/foreigner . . . It took several years for Mari to adjust’.

Naoko as language coach/tutor Naoko became her daughter’s language coach helping her to achieve greater competence in the language/s she needed. In London, she had provided the child with additional access to a peer group and to an English-speaking nanny. In New Delhi, she sent Mari to an American international school. On the family’s return to Japan, Naoko coached Mari in Japanese for the entrance examination. Naoko, the learner in the earlier extracts, becomes mother-teacher, coach and scaffold, moving between these roles to support her daughter’s emergent language competence. Naoko’s educator background and her experience as an advanced language learner meant that she was very knowledgeable about the human and material resources needed to shore up Mari’s learning and literacy. Those were affordances that are not always available to young immigrant L2 learners. Naoko’s social capital also constituted an affordance in her daughter’s language learning and literacy, as she could draw on her social status and financial means to create the best conditions for her child. Naoko was well aware of her privileged position and this is why she hoped in the future to render service to those who were not as fortunate. On the question of identity, both the adolescent Naoko and the child Mari arrived at a watershed moment where their cultural identity was challenged. They both

Naoko’s story 139 looked Japanese. But in the eyes of their peers and family members, their behaviour suggested something different, something that marked them out as gaijin (foreigner). Despite their appreciation of the importance of English as a language for international communication, Naoko’s parents and Mari’s parents wanted their daughters to keep their Japanese language, culture and identity intact. In each parent-child dyad, the child had integrated English into her language repertoire and was comfortable in her English self, having had a lived experience in English. The parents, even Naoko as a parent, were more ambivalent as they naturally had to exercise the gatekeeper role for their society’s culture and values (Rivers 2010 and Miyahara 2015 provide a good discussion of this). But in a reflection of the different time and space in which these two Japanese females learn English, the challenge to the Japanese identity comes as Naoko is on the cusp of adulthood; in contrast, seven-year old Mari, born in the 80’s, already has to navigate the difficult shoals of how not to be gaijin.

Discussion Naoko’s story is a multifaceted one, and in the discussion, I shall try to draw out what I see as the main lessons for this thematic volume. Although Naoko’s autobiographical account contains references to her engagement with other Western languages, English occupies pole position as first foreign language, home language in some overseas postings and language of education and international communication. English also represents social capital in the Japanese worldview. It is a bonus that better-off parents give to their children, which families of lesser means might not be able to afford. Naoko, whose graduate school thesis was on the role of education in social mobility in the US, is keenly aware of how English boosts employability and this is why she wants to create opportunities for the less well-off to be tutored in TOEIC (Test of English for International Communication), etc. However, what distinguishes Naoko is her interest in learning English beyond a solely utilitarian objective. By the time she returns from Australia, English is synonymous with adventure, cross-cultural communication, a deeper understanding of people and society and the practice of a more global citizenship. English is a key to greater personal autonomy and freedom. Other foreign languages may serve one or other of the functions of English, but no other language carries as much social capital for Naoko as English does. The delicate balancing act comes when it seems that too deep an engagement in English might represent a threat to one’s Japanese national identity. On the other hand, as we have seen, speaking and behaving Japanese is necessary for admission and membership in the Japanese community. The homogeneity of the Japanese people and their strong sense of national identity no doubt reinforce this. One cannot be Japanese and act like gaijin (foreigner). What also emerges in Naoko’s story, then, is the importance of education for cultural preservation. Both family and school are expected to transmit Japanese cultural values. The identity literature makes a compelling case for the non-unitary nature of identity, for identity as a site of struggle, and changing over time. In this account we have seen Naoko’s English language learner identity change over time and place. We have seen her assume multiple and at times conflicting identities as a Japanese daughter and an Australian daughter, as a stay-at-home mother and as a spouse needing to

140  Beverly-Anne Carter fulfil professional responsibilities linked to her husband’s career. Naoko had noted earlier in her autobiography that the nuns ‘didn’t step out and learn the language’. I think she rejected that kind of resident visitor identity and was determined in all her overseas postings to turn those foreign spaces – even those that at first appearance might not seem to have that potential, such as the military base – into places of engagement and friendship. She fully invests in real communities, in speaking the language and understanding the cultures during her postings abroad. This is something that I can attest to, having seen her as a student on the course. However, there is a sense in which her one fixed identity, her one unchanging identity was her national identity. Her imagined community of Japan, her Japan-ness, where her deepest values and beliefs reside, is that home away from home that keeps her firmly rooted as she navigates the world. Just as she responded to the challenges of Australia by trying to be a good representative of her country and culture, that is the same positioning that served her in good stead in her role as a diplomatic spouse. Naoko’s learner autobiography showcases her prodigious talent as a language learner who, over the course of her travels, deepens her proficiency in English and develops some proficiency in the languages of her host countries including Italian, Spanish and Hindi. But her proficiency cannot simply be explained by living in those countries. It is quite possible to be in a target language country, to be physically in a space, and yet remain marginal and displaced if one does not engage actively in the work of language learning. To the classroom learner who might aspire to simply be in the target country and to grow their proficiency almost by osmosis, Naoko offers an interesting counterpoint through the active engagement she demonstrates and the effort she expends in being a language learner. As an autonomous learner, she has a finely tuned awareness of the affordances and constraints of the spaces in which she finds herself and is a self-reliant language learner even from a very young age. Nevertheless, she understands the importance of seeking assistance, in her own case, or giving assistance, in her daughter’s case, in order to improve language learning. With her deep commitment to the marvellous adventure of language learning, Naoko uses all the tools that she can command to make the journey a rewarding and fulfilling one.

Conclusion In conclusion, I would like to highlight three salient points that can be drawn from Naoko’s story. Firstly, this chapter shows the development of learner autonomy over time and space for our protagonist, Naoko. The adult Naoko is an exceptional, autonomous language learner, who has mastered the ‘what’ and ‘how’ of language learning. Yet this apparent mastery is not treated as an endpoint. Instead Naoko willingly devotes herself to engaging in the hard work of introspection, confirming once again her own agency in improving her language learning – a demonstration of autonomy which builds on the many episodes of autonomy at earlier stages of her life. Central to Naoko’s story and to this thematic volume has been the treatment of space and place. When Naoko entered the space of the military base, one might have expected a prevailing emotion of fear and anxiety; yet Naoko’s memories of the camp are overwhelmingly positive. She found, within the foreign space, an opportunity to develop social bonds and friendships. This is a metaphor for how Naoko

Naoko’s story 141 will live as a diplomatic spouse – turning foreign spaces into places of friendship and engagement. From an autonomy perspective, it is clear that not all spaces are equally conducive to autonomy, but an autonomous learner can try to transform a ‘foreign’ space, however defined, into a social place where autonomy can be practised. Finally, Naoko’s autobiographical account reveals the constant tensions between space, place and identity. We have seen that an identity that shifts and enlarges to accommodate new experiences might not be so easily contained in a familiar space, giving rise to a certain displacement of the individual. On the one hand, space is a physical construct that carries with it notions of stability and boundedness; on the other hand, both place and identity are dynamic notions and socially constructed and thus both have a degree of fluidity as a core feature. It is this creative tension between what is fixed and what is fluid that helps make Naoko’s autobiographical account so compelling.

Acknowledgements I would like to thank Naoko who consented to having her story shared for the educational value that it might serve. My thanks to the editors for their advice and guidance, which helped to clarify and improve the chapter. Finally, my thanks go to my colleague, Diego Mideros, for his comments and suggestions.

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142  Beverly-Anne Carter Lave, J. and Wenger, E. 1991, Situated learning: Legitimate peripheral participation, Cambridge University Press, Cambridge. Little, D. 1991, Learner autonomy 1: Definitions, issues, problems, Authentik, Dublin. Lortie, D. 1975, School teacher: A sociological study, University of Chicago Press, London. Malpas, J.E. 1999, Place and experience: A philosophical topography, Cambridge University Press, Cambridge. Miyahara, M. 2015, Emerging self-identities and emotion in Foreign language learning: A narrative-oriented approach, Multilingual Matters, Bristol. Murray, G. 2009, ‘Narrative Inquiry’, in J. Heigham and R. Croker (eds.), Qualitative research in applied linguistics: A practical introduction, Palgrave Macmillan, Basingstoke. Murray, G. (ed.) 2014, Social dimensions of autonomy in language learning, Palgrave Macmillan, Basingstoke. Murray, G. & Fujishima, N. 2013, ‘Social language learning spaces: Affordances in a community of learners’, Chinese Journal of Applied Linguistics, vol. 36, no. 1, pp. 141–157. Murray, G., Fujishima, N. and Uzuka, M. 2014, ‘The semiotics of place: Autonomy and space’, in G. Murray (ed.), Social dimensions of autonomy in language learning, Palgrave Macmillan, Basingstoke. Norton, B. 2000, Identity and language learning: Gender, ethnicity and educational change, Pearson Education, Harlow. Norton, B. 2006, ‘Identity as a sociocultural construct in second language education’, in K. Cadman and K. O’Regan (eds.), TESOL in context [Special Issue], pp. 22–33. Norton, B. 2013, Identity and language learning: Extending the conversation, 2nd edn, Multilingual Matters, Bristol. Norton, B. and Early, M. 2011, ‘Researcher identity, narrative inquiry, and language teaching research’, TESOL Quarterly, vol. 45, no. 3, pp. 415–439. Norton, B. and Toohey, K. 2011, ‘Identity, language learning, and social change’, Language Teaching, vol. 44, no. 4, pp. 412–446. Norton Peirce, B. 1995, ‘Social identity, investment, and language learning’, TESOL Quarterly, vol. 29, pp. 9–31. Parnell, R. and Procter, L. 2011, ‘Flexibility and placemaking for autonomy in learning’, Educational and Child Psychology. Special Issue: Optimal Environments for Learning: The Interface of Psychology, Architectural Design and Educational Practice, vol. 28, no. 1, pp. 77–88. Rivers, D.J. 2010, ‘National identification and intercultural relations in foreign language learning’, Language and Intercultural Communication, vol. 10, no. 4, pp. 318–336. Sato, K. 2002, ‘Seeking satisfaction’, in K.E. Johnson and P.R. Golombek (eds.), Teachers’ narrative inquiry as professional development, Cambridge University Press, Cambridge. Singleton, D. and Aronin, L. 2007, ‘Multiple language learning in the light of the theory of affordances’, Innovation in Language Learning and Teaching, vol. 1, no. 1, pp. 83–96.

Part 3

Classroom spaces and beyond

10 Ownership of learning spaces through humour Mehtap Kocatepe

Introduction The aim of this chapter is to provide snapshots of autonomous learning as it occurred in an EFL classroom in a Gulf Arab university. Drawing on a conception of autonomy as a socially situated, politically invested capacity, I describe the ways in which a cohort of Emirati students used humour to transform ongoing classroom discourse into one in which they claimed voice and took ownership of their learning. Data are presented from a 50-minute, non-participant observation of a class of 14 male EFL students. The theoretical framework underpinning the study is that language is a social practice with language learning involving the improvised practice of meanings and identities, which are constructed in the processes of social participation in communities of practice (Wenger 1998). A community of practice exemplifies how a space – physical or metaphorical – is socially constructed as a place that is meaningful and relevant to the members of the community and to the social practices and identities in which they are invested. The cohort of students who were observed in this study demonstrated characteristics of a community of practice as they re-shaped the learning spaces within the classroom into a place that sanctioned the meanings and experiences they personally endorsed. The chapter begins with a discussion of the concept of autonomy and the role of humour in pedagogy, followed by a description of the research context and research methodology in which the study is situated. Excerpts from classroom discourse are provided to discuss the ways students incorporated humourous utterances in their interactions in order to negotiate and co-construct meanings and pedagogical practices in which they were personally invested. The chapter ends with a discussion of the implications of the research for autonomous language learning.

Autonomy in language learning Interest in the concept of autonomy in language education was stimulated in the 1980s by Henri Holec, who defined autonomy as the ability to take charge of one’s learning (Holec 1981). Early definitions centred on autonomy as both an ability and a willingness to engage in ‘detachment, critical reflection, decision making and independent action’ (Little 1991: 4; Littlewood 1996). More recent discussions have centred on ways in which autonomy is socially situated (Gao 2013; Murray 2014).

146  Mehtap Kocatepe Drawing on Situated Learning theory, where learning is assumed to occur through participating in ‘the practices of social communities and constructing identities in relation to these communities’ (Wenger 1998: 4), learner autonomy is believed to develop through participation in various, overlapping social communities (Lamb 2013; Murray 2014). The idea that autonomy involves individualised actions and independence from others has been abandoned by many researchers in favour of the view that a learner’s capacity to self-govern their learning develops through interdependence between an individual and the available social and material resources in one’s context (Benson and Cooker 2013; Palfreyman 2003). The notion that autonomy is socioculturally mediated and situated in context suggests that autonomy is a universal and pre-existing construct. It is universal, however, not in terms of the various components that constitute autonomy, as these can vary from one person to another as well as within the same person at different times. Rather, the capacity to exercise autonomy is universal. An autonomous learner draws on a repertoire of socially available and relevant meanings and practices to selfgovern their world of learning. In addition to cognitive, affective and social dimensions, autonomy also involves a political dimension (Murray 2014). It involves engaging in power struggles to govern one’s world of learning. Being autonomous involves establishing a relationship with what is to be learned and recognising potential possibilities and constraints imposed by the particular contexts in which learning occurs (Schmenk 2005). Pennycook (1997: 39) captures this view in his definition of autonomy as ‘the struggle to become the author of one’s world, to be able to create one’s own meanings’. This struggle involves negotiating, appropriating and contesting discourses and identities in order to create and act on one’s world of learning. Murray, Fujishima and Uzuka (2014) add that autonomous learners also demonstrate a capacity to govern the spaces in which their learning occurs. The classroom is a physical space in which individuals come together to engage in teaching and learning. This particular space is typically composed of walls and windows, particular seating arrangements and visual/audio equipment that are believed to aid the teaching and learning process. The larger space of the classroom is fractioned into smaller spaces allocated to the teacher and to learners.The classroom is also a conceptual space for teaching and learning: individuals enter this space expecting to participate in particular practices and to take on particular identities associated with teaching and learning. The wealth of knowledge and experience each learner brings to this space is initially hidden to others, waiting to be unearthed and shared in time as relationships are formed. ‘What begins as undifferentiated space [as one classroom among many others] becomes place as [teachers and learners] get to know it better and endow it with value’ (Tuan 1977, p. 6, italics added). The classroom becomes a place as meaning is ascribed to it through the construction of ‘social relations, social processes, experiences and understandings, in a situation of co-presence’ (Massey 1993: 66). Autonomous language learners exercise the capacity to transform a classroom into a place for learning by evaluating and shaping social practices and classroom identities in ways that create effective participation in meaning making processes. They recognise that the classroom as a ‘complex, dynamic ecosocial system offers them opportunities to generate a diverse range of affordances for learning’ (Murray and Fujishima 2016: 146). In addition, autonomous language learners realign power

Ownership of learning spaces through humour 147 relationships within the classroom, resisting and subverting potential constraints on their exercise of agency. Knowledge and power are removed from the teacher’s domain and redistributed among class participants, who thereby position themselves and others in shifting and multiple relations of power. In this way, the classroom becomes a site of struggle to voice one’s meanings. As learners claim ownership of learning spaces, they transform the classroom into a personally significant place for learning.

Identifying learners’ exercise of autonomy While much has been written on ways of fostering autonomy, there is a need for more research on the identification of autonomous behaviours as they occur within the classroom. Benson (2010) reviews five studies that assessed learners’ levels of autonomy in language learning by examining learners’ decision-making processes, their levels of awareness and use of learning strategies, and their engagement with self-directed learning activities. Dam and Legenhausen (2010) drew on learners’ reflective reports on learning processes and practices, and Tassinari (2012) developed a list of descriptors that evaluated learners’ competencies, attitudes and behaviours in language learning. All of these studies make valid attempts at identifying levels of autonomy in learning. However, the autonomous behaviours under scrutiny are removed from the contexts in which they occur. The surveys and tools of self-assessment used in these studies do not demonstrate how learners exercise autonomy in naturally occurring classroom discourse. A second limitation in these studies is that there is an attempt to trace autonomous behaviour only in serious, academic work, such as doing homework, planning a learning agenda, reflecting on learning outcomes or suggesting changes to course design (Benson 2011). It is assumed that autonomy will be exercised solely in formal, academic practices. Another gap in the literature on identifying autonomy in practice is that, as Holliday (2003) argues, autonomy is often treated as the domain of an English-speaking Western world. Students from non-Western cultural groups are described as lacking autonomy because they do not fit into ‘preconceived models of an “idealized autonomous learner”’ (Smith 2008: 396). For example, language learners in Hong Kong (Chan, Spratt and Humphreys 2002; Pierson 1996), Malaysia (Ming and Alias 2007) and Iran (Afshar, Rahimi and Rahimi 2014) are described as passive and lacking in initiative. Arab students, too, are described as dependent and lacking in autonomy (Al Asmari 2013; Al-Khasawneh 2010; Richardson 2004; Tamer 2013). The social and cultural contexts in which these learners and their learning are situated are seen as oppressive and debilitating to the development of autonomous processes and practices. These studies fail to acknowledge that autonomy can manifest itself in many different ways, some of which might not be recognisable to a teacher/ researcher (Holliday 2005). The various ways in which learners negotiate identities and engage in power struggles to create, resist and/or adapt social and cultural structures to create opportunities for learning are overlooked. In response to this gap in the literature, this chapter explores the autonomous learning practices of a group of Arab male language learners in a tertiary level EFL classroom. In it, I describe how these students used humour to author their worlds of learning. Through the incorporation of humour into classroom discourse, these

148  Mehtap Kocatepe students negotiated power relations and re-created the classroom as a place that allowed them to voice their own meanings and pursue personalised learning agendas.

Humour There are convincing arguments in the literature that the use of humour has pedagogic benefits. Humour has been found to aid the learning process by helping learners relax, easing tension and enhancing motivation (Bell 2009; Kher, Molstad and Donahue 1999; Wagner and Urios-Aparisi 2011). A number of physiological benefits have also been identified, such as lowering blood pressure, improving respiration and releasing endorphins into the bloodstream (Berk 2003; Martin 2007), all of which contribute to the creation of comfortable learning environments. In the second/foreign language classroom, research shows that teachers’ use of humour raises learner self-confidence and creativity (Popescu 2010), increases learner participation in class and enhances interpersonal relationships (Ziyaeemehr, Kumar and Abdullah 2011). Humourous content also has pedagogic value in facilitating foreign language acquisition (Bell 2009; Lucas 2005; Schmitz 2002) and contributing to the development of cross-cultural competence (Davies 2003, 2015). Identity construction is central to the use of humour. Language learners use humour to create a particular position for themselves from which they participate in the classroom community and at the same time position other learners in a particular relationship to that position. Hillman (2011) describes how the Arab tertiary level learners in her study used humour to mitigate tensions and alleviate face-threatening situations by creating identities that expressed allegiance to the classroom community. Pomerantz and Bell (2011) argue that humour acts as a ‘safe house’, providing learners with opportunities to question and resist institutionally imposed identities and meanings and to negotiate more desirable ones. In this way, humour encourages the creation of a broader range of learner identities. There are strong links between humour and autonomy. At the heart of humour lies an incongruity in the sequence of a conversation (Sedova 2013). Humour disrupts the conversation, leading to joy and laughter or indeed to anger and resentment. A language learner’s use of humour in the classroom is an attempt at claiming ‘the authorship of one’s actions, having the voice that speaks one’s words, and being emotionally connected to one’s actions and speech’ (van Lier 2004: 8) within the discourses made available in that particular classroom. Being able to disrupt classroom discourse through humour involves the learner in evaluating the power relations that exist in class at that time, and finding effective ways of engaging in learning within those networks of power. The humourous speech or action allows the learner to define their own meanings and to act on their worlds of learning. Some research has been done on the relationship between humour and autonomy. In studies in clinical psychology, autonomous behaviour is associated with disinterest in society and hence is an undesirable attribute (Frewen et al. 2008; Kirsh and Kuiper 2003). There have also been studies in social psychology (Weinstein, Hodgins and Ostvik-White 2011), medicine (Heath and Blonder 2003) and workplace culture (Schaefer 2013) on the relationship between humour and autonomy. In these studies, autonomy has been conceived of as independence in movement and the ability to make one’s decisions. There is currently no research that explores foreign/

Ownership of learning spaces through humour 149 second language learners’ use of humour as a struggle to create and maintain learning spaces within the classroom. The present study will attempt to fill this gap.

Research context An inductive approach was taken in this particular research. I started the research with the broad goal of exploring learners’ exercise of autonomy in the classroom. I did not initially have a predetermined set of research questions to answer; instead, I narrowed my research objectives as I observed the natural narrative of the class unfolding. Data were collected through non-participant observation. I observed a total of four lessons across four days taught by one particular teacher, each lesson lasting 50 minutes. Multiple observations, I hoped, would reduce the impact of having an outsider in class. Each class was audio recorded and transcribed using a coding scheme adapted from Coates (2003), which is outlined in Table 10.1 in Appendix A. I also took detailed notes of aspects of the classroom that the audio machine would not have recorded, such as seating arrangements, facial expressions of students and the teacher and movements around the class. The observations took place in an intensive English foundation programme in one of the federal universities in the United Arab Emirates (UAE), where the medium of instruction is English. The university is gender segregated, and the class I chose to observe consisted of 14 pre-intermediate level male students of 18 to 24 years of age. All students were Emirati nationals and spoke Arabic as their home language. The UAE is a unique country in many ways. The local Emirati population constitutes a minority, comprising approximately one million of the 8.2 million population (UAE National Bureau of Statistics 2011). While Arabic is the official language, English is used widely in everyday life. Media, education and business almost exclusively use English (Gallagher 2011).

Analytical framework A discourse analysis approach was employed in the analysis of classroom conversations. I worked with the assumption that language is a mediational tool for making sense of the world and that individuals construct relationships, identities, activities and connections through language (Gee 1999). Hence, in my analyses of classroom interactions, I analysed students’ choices of words and phrases and their use of concepts and explanations to identify the social worlds and identities they constructed. An analysis of students’ interactions within the classroom was situated in a view of classrooms as constituting communities of practice. Communities of practice refer to social groups that have become meaningful units through the mutual engagement of their participants in a social practice. Members pursue a joint enterprise by drawing on a shared set of repertoires (Wenger 1998). The particular language class in this study had developed into a community of practice as the students and the teacher were actively engaged in the practice of learning a language in a tertiary institution. The joint goal of both the students and the teacher was to accomplish and demonstrate mastery of this language in order to exit the programme and move

150  Mehtap Kocatepe on to enrol in university courses. The class drew on a shared repertoire of resources for engaging in the practice of language learning. For example, they followed a set of routines regarding class times, attendance, exams, seating arrangements and turn-taking procedures in class, and they utilised learning resources provided by the teacher. Through a mutual interest in co-participating in the practices and processes of language learning, the students transformed the classroom into a place in which they created and maintained opportunities for collective learning. Wenger (1998) identifies three modes of constructing identities in communities of practice. He argues that individuals construct identities by active engagement in the negotiation of meanings. Engagement entails managing boundaries, establishing interpersonal relationships and accumulating shared histories of learning. Secondly, identities are constructed through imagination as individuals create images of the world and themselves. Through imagination, members of a community envision new developments and explore alternatives, thereby contributing to negotiation and change in the community. The third mode of identity formation occurs though alignment to broader structures and systems. This involves coordinating perspectives and actions, connecting local efforts to broader styles and discourses, and negotiating power and authority. I recognised humour as being enacted when an utterance was accompanied by audible laughter. Each humourous utterance was analysed in terms of its production, the reaction it created and its function (Hay 2000; Wagner and Urios-Aparisi 2011). Production of humour refers to the type of humour used (such as teasing, joking, wordplay, pun or sarcasm) and whether the humourous utterance targeted oneself, another person or no one in particular. Reaction refers to how the humourous action is interpreted or received by others: reactions can be in the form of understanding and appreciation, thereby leading to audible laughter, or reactions can be produced as aggression and anger when the humour is not shared. Participants can choose to ignore the humour or fail to recognise it. Function refers to the effects the humourous utterance has on the audience and the purpose it serves. The purpose of humour can be to enhance solidarity, to meet psychological needs and/or to exercise power. It is within the function of exercising power that I locate autonomous learning behaviour. Taking ownership of learning spaces involves negotiating, appropriating and contesting identities, discourses and meanings. Humour is used as a tool to exercise power within the complex network of relations inherent in any class. Benson (2010, 2011) highlights the difficulty of locating autonomy in practice as autonomy denotes a capacity, which is not directly observable. He suggests that, rather than trying to identify the capacity itself, researchers should observe the exercise of this capacity. This involves making inferences about autonomy based on corresponding actions and behaviours. The actions and behaviours that I perceived as indicating that students were authoring their worlds of learning in the classroom were related to the negotiation of power relations and identities, and to being critically aware of possibilities and constraints in learning spaces. I drew on definitions of autonomy put forward in the literature (Gao 2013; Murray 2014; Pennycook 1997; Schmenk 2005) to compile a list of behaviours and actions that are associated with autonomous behaviour. These are: • •

Recognising and using available learning opportunities, Demonstrating interest and investment in learning,

Ownership of learning spaces through humour 151 • •

Questioning and resisting identities/discourses that are potentially constraining, Recognising constraints to learning and transforming constraints into opportunities to learn.

This list provided a useful starting point in making sense of students’ meanings and behaviours and tracing examples of autonomous behaviour.

Findings The data presented here were derived from an observation of one 50-minute lesson that took place in a morning class on the second day of observations. I will use the pseudonym Jill to refer to the class teacher. Jill was of British nationality and had been living in the UAE for over ten years. She had a lively and friendly demeanour and appeared to have developed a close rapport with the students in class. In this analysis, I present excerpts from classroom interactions that exemplify the ways students used humour to create places of collective learning, in which they voiced meanings and engaged in practices that they personally endorsed and valued. I discuss specifically how a latecomer used humour to gain entry to the classroom after the attendance register had been taken, how students proposed alternative meanings and legitimised these through humourous interactions and the incorporation of humour into teacher-student interactions in an attempt to reverse expertnovice identities. Table 10.1 in Appendix A details the transcription code that I used to decipher the spoken interactions that occurred in class.

Easing tension in being late The conversation in the excerpt below took place at 8:18. The time is significant in that class starts at 8:00, and, only for morning classes, students are given a 10-minute late allowance. Attendance is taken promptly at 8:10, at which time students are recorded as either present or absent. When a student’s rate of absence exceeds 10% of a course, they receive a fail grade for that course. In this excerpt, all the students present in class are quietly reading a short story of their choice on their iPads, which is a routine they engage in during the first 20 minutes of class time every morning. Students are startled as the door abruptly opens and Hamad comes in.

1 Hamad 2 LL 3 Fahad 4 Saif 5 Abdulla 6 Fahad

ASSALAMUALAIKUM

Waalaikumsalam **Waalaikumsalam **WAALAIKUMSALAM YOUR FATHER CLASS? You LATE.

You ARE late

152  Mehtap Kocatepe Hamad greets the class with a conventional Arabic greeting of ‘assalamualaikum’, which translates to ‘peace be with you’. His voice is loud and he has a broad grin; he appears confident and eager to join class. His greeting is reciprocated with ‘waalaikumsalam’, which means ‘and with you’. As Hamad walks over to an empty seat, Abdulla puts on an exaggerated frown and shouts out ‘Your father class’, which puts the class in hysterical laughter. What Abdulla is trying to point out is that the classroom is not the private property of Hamad (i.e. it doesn’t belong to his father), and, therefore, Hamad has no right to do whatever he wants when he wants to. With this comment, Abdulla is drawing attention to Hamad’s lack of punctuality, which he emphasises more explicitly with the comment ‘You late’. Immediately, Fahad notices the grammatical error in Abdulla’s sentence and corrects it, inserting the missing auxiliary verb in the sentence. There is then more laughter. This short exchange illustrates the way students use humour to negotiate power relations and gain entry to spaces of participation. Hamad is probably aware of the risks involved in arriving late to class and being marked absent. His exaggerated entrance and loud voice helps to save face in this potentially embarrassing situation and to ease the tension involved in being marked absent. Here, humour serves to create a pleasant atmosphere, which can facilitate his entrance into the learning practices occurring in class. In this extract, Fahad also demonstrates recognition and utilisation of potential learning opportunities. He recognises that Abdulla has made a grammatical error and corrects him by teasingly stressing the correction. The remaining members of class find this utterance humourous as it is an unexpected display of an expert identity, one that is typically assigned to the teacher. With this positioning, Fahad actually undermines the authoritative identity that Abdulla had taken on as he reprimanded Hamad for being late. The shifting of identities and the positioning of oneself as more expert than others exemplify the ways in which these learners are actively involved in creating and utilising opportunities for learning in class. Their recognition of the humour involved in the way they are positioned by classmates serves to further strengthen bonds in class and encourage the co-construction of meanings.

Providing alternative meanings Another example of the negotiation of meanings and identities in order to create meaningful learning places occurs during a pre-reading activity. In this extract, Jill is trying to elicit places where students study while on campus. Students provide her with expected answers until turn 7, where Sultan provides an answer that does not fit in with the expected development of discourse.

 1 Jill  2 Saif  3 Saeed  4 Khalid  5 Saif  6 Hamad  7 Sultan

So what are some places to study on campus? Where do you study on campus? Library Restaurant= =Cafeteria cafeteria **Classroom? **Coffee shop miss At home

Ownership of learning spaces through humour 153  8 Jill  9 Sultan 10 Jill 11 Hamad 12 Jill 13 Sultan 14 Saif 15 Hamad

But that’s not on campus. Right? But campus is not quiet. Where I study? OK. Well think about the campus. WHERE else on campus= =In kitchen I have coffee= Come on boys= Miss really we don’t study at campus. Many students. Miss. Too **difficult Yes miss really it’s true

The incongruity in Sultan’s response is perceived as humourous by students and is taken as an opportunity to extend the proposed new set of meanings about places to study. Despite the teacher’s efforts to get the students back on to the pedagogic agenda that she believes is relevant and significant for learning (turns 8, 10 and 12), the students continue to pursue an alternative agenda. The students here demonstrate autonomous behaviour in recognising that the meanings the teacher made available were not relevant to their academic lives; therefore, they propose and insist on discussing a set of practices that are indeed meaningful to them. The students author and take ownership of a jointly co-constructed learning agenda and resist the one imposed on them by the teacher. Another example of the negotiation of power relations between the teacher and students and students’ creation of alternative meanings occurred during grammar revision. In this phase of the lesson, Jill gave students a worksheet that asked them to distinguish between the modal verbs ‘have to’ and ‘should’. In the excerpt below, the teacher is eliciting students’ answers to the scenarios given on the worksheet.

 1 Jill

OK everyone. How about attending 90% of this course. Is that necessary or is it a good idea?  2 Ahmed Not a good idea  3 Jill Why?  4 Ahmed because you should attend 100%  5 Jill Yes that’s actually correct. That would be good advice right?  6 Hamad ((xx)) < speaks in Arabic. Class laughs>  7 Jill What about having a nice car? What would you say to your friend? You HAVE TO have a nice car or you SHOULD have a nice car=  8 Saif =you should you should have nice car  9 Abdulla NO NO NO nice car necessary. Everyone HAVE to buy nice car= 10 Jill =really? Why? 11 Fahad because we go to mall, and everyone looks when we have nice car.

The teacher’s question in turn 1 expects students to draw on their awareness of institutional rules and respond by saying that attending 90% of the course is compulsory, hence requiring a ‘have to’ modal structure. Ahmed initially appears to provide the expected response, implying that 90% attendance is not simply a good idea but is a requirement. However, instead, in turn 4, he proposes an alternative interpretation. The class respond with laughter as they are aware that this response is not the one the teacher expected. The teacher acknowledges this response as valid

154  Mehtap Kocatepe and moves on to initiate another response, one that requires the use of ‘should’. Saif provides the expected answer but is immediately refuted by Abdulla who suggests that having a nice car is in fact a requirement. Fahad recognises the social implication implied in Abdulla’s response and extends it by explaining that cars help to draw attention. The class respond with laughter as they acknowledge the shared understanding of the role of cars in attaining symbolic and material capital. Ahmed, Abdulla and Fahad use humour as a way of negotiating their interpretation of a grammatical structure. They recognise and utilise an opportunity to transform the current discourse into one that is personally and socially relevant to them. They adopt the identity of a learner who can evaluate and integrate grammatical knowledge into real-life situations.

Reversal of roles Another example in which students used humour in their struggles to create learning opportunities is in their negotiation of teacher-learner roles. The conversation in the excerpt below occurred after the teacher had completed checking students’ answers on the worksheet on modal structures. Eissa and Khalid initiate the conversation by complaining that modal structures are difficult:

 1 Eissa  2 Khalid  3 Jill  4 Abdulla  5 Sultan  6 Abdulla  7 Khalid  8 Jill  9 Khalid 10 Abdulla

Miss difficult. This difficult. Same meaning. Should could must could all same= **Yes miss **Yes I can see. Well it IS difficult but= =YOU study Arabic miss= =Come on Abdulla You SHOULD study Arabic ((xx)) You will learn it is difficult. Grammar is difficult I teach you miss That’s very kind of you Khalid. Sure. You can teach me during the breaks. No miss nooo. I teach you now. In class. Miss. Khalid is stupid I CAN teach you

In turn 4, Abdulla suggests that the teacher should learn Arabic, assigning her a language learner identity with which she would be able to empathise with the learning difficulties the students are experiencing. In turn 7, Khalid expands on this suggestion and offers to teach her. Teaching the teacher Arabic, a language she does not know, positions her as a novice language learner, thereby giving Khalid a more powerful position from which he can redefine positions of authority. The teacher expresses appreciation of the offer. Drawing on the more powerful identity Khalid has created for himself, he offers to teach the teacher at that very moment, knowing that this would result in an obvious disruption to classroom teaching and learning. The class recognise the absurdity of this offer and respond in laughter. Parallel to this conversation, Sultan and Abdulla negotiate positions of power, too. Sultan (turn 5) identifies a structural error in Abdulla’s comment in turn 4,

Ownership of learning spaces through humour 155 and, mimicking an exaggerated North American accent, he corrects the error. With the native speaker-like accent and the error correction, Sultan assigns himself an authoritative position from which to participate in the conversation. Abdulla ignores this comment and continues to explain to the teacher that learning grammatical structures is difficult. Echoing Sultan’s take up of a powerful identity, Abdulla jokingly insults Khalid (turn 10) and corrects the grammatical error in Khalid’s utterance. The class recognises this power struggle between Khalid and Abdulla as humourous. Sultan and Abdulla both complain about the difficulty of comprehending and using modal structures; however, both of them recognise errors in the use of modals made by their peers and successfully correct these errors. They shift between being novice learners who require assistance to taking up the identity of competent and confident language users. They both utilise a non-pedagogic exchange between teacher and students as an opportunity to display knowledge of language. Students exemplify instances of autonomous behaviour as they move in and out of different identities, which allows them to shape their learning environment into one that is personally relevant and in which they can voice their goals and desires.

Discussion The excerpts above described how a group of male tertiary level EFL learners took ownership of their learning in one particular 50-minute class. In contrast to existing literature in which autonomous behaviour is associated with formal aspects of academic study, such as students’ engagement in planning, monitoring and evaluating their own learning processes, this study highlights that autonomy does not necessarily reside in rigid, academically oriented classroom work. Autonomous learning behaviour can also be demonstrated in seemingly unimportant and mundane aspects of learning, as learners participate in the intricacies of classroom life. Murray, Fujishima and Uzuka (2014: 81) argue that: How learners imagine a space to be, perceive it, define it, and articulate their understandings transforms a space into a place, determines what they do there, and influences their autonomy. The language learners in this study demonstrated ownership of learning in the classroom by transforming the classroom into a place where their own meanings, values and experiences are voiced and legitimised. They used humourous utterances and behaviours as ‘a strategic response’ (Lamb 2013: 41) to engage effectively in the intricate webs of meaning making processes and power relations specific to the classroom context. For example, Hamad attempted to ease the tension involved in potentially being marked absent for his lack of punctuality through a comical entrance to class and an exaggeratedly loud greeting; Fahad and Abdulla corrected grammatical errors in their peers’ utterances as a way to undermine the competent identity which the peer had created for himself; Khalid assigned himself a teacher identity by offering to teach Arabic to the teacher during class time, which his class members recognised as impractical and, therefore, humourous. By teasing and joking with each other and the teacher, these students manipulated pedagogic activities

156  Mehtap Kocatepe and interactions, negotiated identities and meanings and transformed the physical space of the classroom into one that had personal significance. Within any social system, ‘a large number of influences are present in a partially chaotic . . . unpredictable and uncontrolled way, and somehow among all the movement and interaction . . . a complex order emerges’ (van Lier 2004: 8). Indeed, in this particular classroom, as each student struggled to author their world of learning, they digressed from the expected sequence of classroom interaction. A student’s use of humour created incongruity in the classroom discourse that was occurring, often surprising the teacher and/or other students. Nevertheless, collectively these students restored a dynamic, complex order as they participated in this particular community of practice. Their recognition and appreciation of humourous comments and actions led them to play along and maintain the humourous mood or to propose alternative humourous frames. The autonomy they exercised was dynamic and relational as they re-negotiated and co-constructed meanings and identities. Insights gained from this study also suggest that autonomy is exercised through embodied practices. The language learners in this study authored their worlds of learning through their display of emotions. For example, they laughed out loud when a peer provided a response that was unexpected; they put on an exaggerated frown when a grammatical error they had made was publically corrected. They vocalised their emotions and meanings as they imitated a different accent, added emphasis to a particular word or changed their tone of voice. Their movements also suggested confidence in shaping and acting on their own worlds of learning. They playfully hit and pushed each other and moved around in their seats to face a peer directly in the face as they were teasing or mimicking him. These bodily enactments demonstrated a mutual engagement in taking ownership of their learning within the classroom. Through their actions and words, these students transformed the classroom learning space into a different kind of place than that potentially intended by their teacher. For example, as the teacher tried to elicit contexts where students studied on campus or the use of modal verbs, students provided alternative meanings to those expected by the teacher. The students resisted thinking only within the categories of meanings the teacher had presented. Holliday (2005) criticises mainstream TESOL culture where teachers come to classrooms with a fixed teaching and learning agenda and presupposed assumptions of what constitutes effective pedagogy. In this particular classroom, humour served as a means by which these students challenged the world of learning made available by their teacher, classmates or by the institution. Some might argue that these students’ digressions from the teacher’s intended pedagogic plan constituted unruly, disruptive behaviour. Indeed, it might have put strain on the teacher to re-evaluate her existing pedagogic plan and produce a different one that would help in reaching learning outcomes. However, by stepping outside her assumed identity as sole authority in class and by participating in the alternative practices students adopted, this particular teacher encouraged students to create and pursue meaningful personal learning agendas.

Conclusion With an underlying conception of autonomy as authoring one’s world of learning, as a critical awareness of constraints and possibilities inherent in one’s learning

Ownership of learning spaces through humour 157 environment (Pennycook 1997), the present research demonstrated how a group of Arab EFL learners used humour to author their worlds of learning and voice their meanings. By drawing on data observed in a 50-minute lesson, it provided a glimpse into how learners negotiated power relations and carved out personal, meaningful learning spaces. I recognise that the data collected in this study was limited to the interactions of a cohort of only 14 language learners that took place in only one episode of teaching and learning and that my findings, therefore, cannot be generalised to the learning experiences of all language learners. Nevertheless, the learning experiences of this particular group of learners have the potential to provide teachers/researchers with understandings into how the capacity to be autonomous can be manifested in real-life classrooms. The present study captured the complex web of power relations inherent in the exercise of autonomy in naturally occurring classroom discourse and the ways students moved in and out of multiple identities. More research is needed that describe the complexity involved in learners’ struggles to author their worlds of learning and that document the various ways learners display autonomy. One contribution this study makes is to add to a growing body of literature which argues that learners in various cultures can and do demonstrate autonomous behaviour. Indeed, any individual of any ethnic background has the capacity to be autonomous, and this capacity can be displayed in a myriad of ways. For some learners, silence might assist in their struggles to become authors of their own worlds of learning, while for others, rearranging seating arrangements or distributing lecture notes might serve the same function (Holliday 2003). For this particular group of language learners, humour was used as a strategy to co-construct meanings with class members and engage in jointly created learning opportunities while at the same time competing for meanings and positions of power. As teachers/researchers with an interest in autonomous learning, we need to acknowledge that autonomy is a shifting, complex, dynamic and multifaceted capacity. If a learner chooses to overtly display autonomous behaviour, the practices the learner adopts to make this capacity explicit depends on the learner’s perception of what constitutes effective learning. Our goal, therefore, is to co-create with learners teaching/learning places that are fluid and flexible in enabling multiple meanings to be voiced, places that encourage learners to negotiate power relations, identities and pedagogic practices as they take ownership of their learning.

Appendix A Transcription code

Table 10.1  Transcription code (adapted from Coates 2003) Code

Meaning

CAPITAL =

Used for syllables or words uttered with emphasis Is used at the end of an utterance and the start of the next utterance to indicate that there is no gap between speakers Used on adjacent lines to indicate words or utterances spoken at the same time Gives additional information about what is happening during time of speech Indicates speech is unclear Indicates a question intonation Indicates a falling intonation Indicates utterance is spoken by an unidentified learner Indicates utterance is spoken by unidentified learners

**

((xx)) ? . L LL

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Ownership of learning spaces through humour 161 Tassinari, M.G. 2012, ‘Evaluating learner autonomy: A dynamic model with descriptors’, Studies in Self-Access Learning Journal, vol. 3, no. 1, pp. 24–40, viewed 29 November 2015. http://sisaljournal.org/archives/march12/tassinari/. Tuan, Y-F. 1977, Space and place: The perspective of experience, University of Minnesota Press, Minneapolis. UAE National Bureau of Statistics. 2011, ‘Population estimates 2006–2010’, viewed 2 September 2014. www.uaestatistics.gov.ae/ReportPDF/Population Estimates 2006– 2010.pdf. van Lier, L. 2004, The ecology and semiotics of language learning: A sociocultural perspective, Springer Science & Business Media, Boston. Wagner, M. and Urios-Aparisi, E. 2011, ‘The use of humor in the foreign language classroom: Funny and effective?’ Humor, vol. 24, no. 4, pp. 399–434. Weinstein, N., Hodgins, H.S. and Ostvik-White, E. 2011, ‘Humor as aggression: Effects of motivation on hostility expressed in humor appreciation’, Journal of Personality and Social Psychology, vol. 100, no. 6, pp. 1043–1055. Wenger, E. 1998, Communities of practice: Learning, meaning and identity, Cambridge University Press, Cambridge. Ziyaeemehr, A., Kumar, V. and Abdullah, M.S.F. 2011, ‘Use and non-use of humor in academic ESL classrooms’, English Language Teaching, vol. 4, no. 3, pp. 111–119.

11 Creating spaces for learning Structure and agency in EST course design Christoph A. Hafner and Lindsay Miller

Course design in English for science and technology has evolved over time to take into account the changing needs of language learners in the digital age. Learners now have access to digital communication tools, which make new kinds of learning spaces available to them. For example, language learners may now find themselves using the second/ foreign language as they interact in online spaces that provide a new context for informal learning. Similarly, formal learning has also become more distributed, with teachers and learners adopting technological tools in order to blend interactions in physical spaces like the classroom with online interactions such as those that occur in discussion forums and blogs. As such, the boundaries between in-class and out-of-class activities have inevitably become blurred. In this chapter, we explore the range of learning spaces that were observed on a project-based English for science course at a university in Hong Kong. We show how novel spaces for learning arose as a result of the interplay between structured elements of the course and learners’ own individual agency. Our aim is to consider how the design of the course worked to foster learner autonomy and promote learning in diverse contexts that extended beyond the classroom. Miller (2014) shows that the development of learner autonomy is becoming increasingly important as a goal on courses in English for science and technology. In conceptualising learner autonomy and its relationship to the learning context, we have found Norton’s (2000, 2013) theory of identity and investment to be especially useful. Norton’s concept of investment was introduced as an alternative to the predominant construct of motivation in second language acquisition theory. The construct emphasises the social aspects of language learning, seeing the learner as part of a social environment and language learning as a social practice. Norton argues that this perspective permits a more nuanced understanding of the actions of language learners. She uses the term investment ‘to signal the socially and historically constructed relationship of learners to the target language and their sometimes ambivalent desire to learn and practise it’ (Norton 1997: 411). Drawing on the concept of investment, researchers ask not only whether learners are motivated to learn a language, but also whether and to what extent teachers and learners are ‘invested in the language and literacy practices of a given classroom and community’ (Darvin and Norton 2015: 37). Furthermore, Norton maintains that when language learners invest in their learning, it is usually in order to acquire perceived economic and symbolic capital and because ‘there is something that they want for themselves’ (Darvin and Norton 2015: 46). For example, they may want to achieve financial security or become part of the imagined community of a cultural group.

Creating spaces for learning 163 Learners who have invested in their language learning in this way frequently need to exercise their individual agency in order to claim the ‘right to speak’ and find opportunities to interact with target language users. For the purposes of this chapter, exercising individual agency in this way means taking control over, and responsibility for, opportunities for interaction and learning. As such, we see Norton’s concepts of investment and agency as a useful framework within which to view the way that learners realise aspects of autonomy, i.e. their ‘capacity’ to create spaces for self-directed learning. Norton’s study of immigrant English language learners in Canada shows how such individual agency is often constrained by social forces, especially inequitable power relations. One of Norton’s participants, Eva, describes how she felt humiliated and was ‘silenced’ in an interaction with her workmate, Gail, who used her familiarity with the local culture to position Eva as ‘strange’. Gail asked, ‘How come you don’t know him. Don’t you watch TV. That’s Bart Simpson’. According to Norton’s (1995: 13) analysis: It was Gail and not Eva who could determine the grounds on which interaction could proceed; it was Gail and not Eva who had the power to bring closure to the conversation. This illustrates the kind of tension which exists between relations of power reproduced in social structures and the exercise of individual agency. In educational settings, power relations frequently serve to reproduce existing social structures. This is particularly problematic for disadvantaged groups in society, who may systematically lack access to educational resources. However, this need not always be the case. According to Cummins (as cited in Baker and Hornberger 2001: 322), power relations can be either coercive (and so detrimental to the subordinated group) or collaborative (and serve as a basis for empowerment). In collaborative power relations: The power relationship is additive rather than subtractive. Power is created with others rather than being imposed on or exercised over others. Within this framework, empowerment can be defined as the collaborative creation of power. One issue would seem to be the extent to which curriculum, course design and the actors in a given educational context can foster collaborative power relations that are conducive to the exercise of individual agency. The interplay between social structure and individual agency can be seen in some recent studies of English language learning in the university context. For example, Flowerdew and Miller (2008: 219) describe the life histories of three engineering graduates who had attended the same university in Hong Kong and who participated in a longitudinal, narrative study that spanned their academic and workplace experience. The effect of social structures on their life trajectories can be seen, with one participant, ‘whose family background is relatively better than that of his two peers’, achieving greater economic and cultural capital, at least in the short term. However, Flowerdew and Miller go on to illustrate that in spite of the effect of social structure, all three young men invested in their language learning and exercised agency in a variety of ways over and above the structured learning opportunities of the classroom:

164  Christoph A. Hafner and Lindsay Miller reading the football news in English language newspapers, working part-time in a department store and interacting with English-speaking customers, emailing siblings and friends in English, speaking English with ‘foreign’ teachers and participating in American summer camps. The individual agency demonstrated by these learners was an important aspect of their learning, one which was most likely overlooked by teachers. As a result, Flowerdew and Miller call for the development of more student-centred language teaching pedagogies to foster such agency in formal learning contexts. In our previous work (e.g., Hafner and Miller 2011; Miller, Hafner and Ng 2012), we have argued that the use of a project-based learning pedagogy in formal language teaching promotes such a student-centred approach. Students tasked with the completion of a digital video project as part of an English for science course have reported: learning English pronunciation by repeatedly practising scripts before recording; learning English vocabulary from teammates in the scripting and editing of the video; interacting with exchange students who became participants in the video; sharing the video with friends online and receiving feedback from them. In other words, a range of opportunities for autonomous learning arose as students went about completing the project, in part, because of the way that various stages of the project were structured as part of the course. Again, we see a relationship between structure – albeit a different kind of structure relating to the design of the course – and individual agency. However, our existing studies of the learning processes on this course have been based primarily on interview data and have not involved direct observation of those processes. In this chapter, we will expand on this earlier work by drawing not just on student accounts, but also on records of outof-class learning processes obtained from students’ self-directed use of computermediated communication (CMC) platforms. This will allow us to provide a rich description of the kind of spaces for learning that students participate in as they work their way through the digital video project. The spaces for learning that we observe are not limited to physical places, though this is certainly one kind of space for learning. In a world of networked digital devices, spaces for learning are frequently mediated by technology and distributed across time and space. They are also collaboratively constructed, negotiated by teachers and students or students and students. As we will see from our study, thanks in part to the affordances of digital media, the power to create and control spaces for learning rests as much in the hands of the students as it does in the hands of their teachers. Keeping all of these points in mind, this chapter has two main aims: first, to explore some of the collaboratively constructed spaces for learning that we have observed on the project-based course in English for science that forms the focus of our investigation. Second, to consider the factors that course designers must take into account when designing such spaces for learning; namely, how a course can be structured to provide the maximum opportunity for learner agency.

The course In this chapter, we draw on observations of student learning processes on a course in English for science at a university in Hong Kong. The course is 13 weeks long (i.e. one semester), with one three-hour session each week. It aims to enhance students’ understanding of specific scientific genres and develop the English language skills that they need for communication in a range of scientific contexts, including

Creating spaces for learning 165 speaking and writing to both specialist and non-specialist audiences. Drawing on a range of authentic texts in the domain of science, the course introduces students to common rhetorical structures in scientific communication as well as the typical vocabulary and grammar needed to express these structures. The course targets students from a diverse range of scientific disciplines, including Biology, Chemistry, Physics, Architectural Studies, Computing Mathematics, Environmental Science and Management, and Surveying. It is taken by about 250 students per semester, the majority of whom are in their first year. The course is project-based, with material organised around an ‘English for science project’. In completing this project, students carry out a simple scientific study and document their findings in two main ways: first, they work in a group to compose a multimodal digital video scientific documentary, which is uploaded to YouTube and shared with a popular audience; second, they work individually to compose a written scientific report. These two genres are designed for different audiences, nonspecialist and specialist, and use different media, video and print. At the same time, both the group video and the individual scientific report draw upon the same data set for their subject matter. As a result, students learn to present the same material using different genres, media and modes, and, in the process, they learn a range of different rhetorical techniques to get the attention of their audience. In-class activities are designed to sensitise learners to the use of language in these different genres by engaging them in the analysis of authentic examples before they draft their own versions as part of the project process. The specific focus of this chapter is on the learning processes involved in the composition of the video documentary. The video project involves a number of distinct stages: students work in groups first to research a given topic, then to collect data, design a storyboard and script, film, edit and, finally, share their work via YouTube. In-class work provides structure for the different stages in the project process. Students are given input on diverse issues of language use (e.g., appropriate grammar and word choice for the documentary genre) as well as language skill (e.g., critical reading skills needed for researching a topic; presentation skills, including pronunciation and intonation, needed for narrating the documentary). Supported in this way, students then work cooperatively out of class to complete tasks for the video project. This arrangement of tutor support and learner autonomy combines the properties of structure and agency in the course (Table 11.1). In particular, structured elements of the course, such as input on critical reading, input on the linguistic aspects of the documentary genre, and input on the creative and multimodal aspects of that genre, provide students with knowledge and skills that they need in order to take control of their learning beyond the classroom. A final point that needs to be addressed is how students choose their topic. At the time of the study, students could choose from a total of seven different investigations (generally, one per disciplinary area was offered in each semester), which had been designed by disciplinary specialists in consultation with the English for science course leader. There was therefore a wide range of topics represented in the groups that participated in our study, as follows (note that not every topic offered was taken up by participating groups): • ‘Science or Art’ (Architectural Studies): an investigation of the structural elements of religious buildings (groups 1, 3, 5, 7, 8, 10);

166  Christoph A. Hafner and Lindsay Miller Table 11.1  Mapping the course structure with aspects of learner agency STRUCTURE (tutor supported)

AGENCY (learner controlled)

1. Present the project guidelines

1. Make decisions about roles and approaches to the project 2. Arrange schedule to fit the time requirement 3. Practice critical reading skills in order to effectively research the topic

2. Give a timeline 3. Provide the learners with skills development, e.g., critical reading on the internet 4. Provide the learners with technical assistance 5. Provide the learners with linguistic assistance 6. Highlight aspects of creativity and multimodality 7. Assess the product

4. Master the technical aspect of producing a digital video 5. Practice the linguistic aspects in order to present the digital video 6. Showcase multimedia aspects of the project in creative ways 7. Present the project by way of a digital video

•

‘Shopping’ (Surveying): an investigation of crowd behaviour in shopping malls (groups 6, 9); • ‘Where have all the flowers gone?’ (Environmental Science and Management): an investigation of the properties of soil samples taken from around Hong Kong (group 2); • ‘Rubbish!’ (Environmental Science and Management): an investigation into the amount of rubbish produced in Hong Kong homes (group 4); • ‘What a noisy world!’ (Environmental Science and Management), an investigation of people’s perceptions of noise compared to actual noise level readings (group 11); • ‘Determination of Vitamin C’ (Chemistry): an investigation of the vitamin C content of vegetables and fruits (group 12).

The study The study involved 48 volunteer students: 12 project groups with three to five students each. Most of the students were in their 1st year and aged from 18–23. In this study the majority of students were Hong Kong Chinese (43), with four Mainland Chinese and one Korean student. Nine of the 12 groups were linguistically and culturally homogenous (Hong Kong Chinese with Cantonese as their shared first language), while the remaining three groups were mixed with one or more Mainland (Mandarin-speaking) students or a Korean student in each of those three groups. The students’ English language proficiency levels ranged from low- to high-intermediate. In the study, we adopted a participant observation method, engaging the 12 teams of students to act as researchers of their own out-of-class learning processes, going beyond normal student activities by collecting data on and reflecting on those processes for us. Five student researchers, i.e. paid assistants who were not students in the course, helped to track the groups’ communications and archive and store

Creating spaces for learning 167 the artefacts that participants were generating. We met regularly with these student researchers in order to discuss the progress of participating groups, but, apart from the focus group interviews described below, we did not meet regularly with the participating students themselves. While one of the authors was involved in teaching the course during the data collection phase, none of the volunteer participants were from his class. Through this method, we were able to limit our own intervention in the process, and as a result a lot of the data collected are ‘naturally occurring’, what students would normally create in the course of completing the project. The participating students were asked to keep a record of: 1) resources collected for the project, which might include images, footage, audio files and notes on readings; 2) drafts of the project at various stages, e.g., initial brainstorming notes, outlines, script, storyboard, videos at different stages including the final video, and 3) project communications, including in-class and out-of-class discussions. Table 11.2 shows the range of artefacts that were collected for each group, as well as their preferred communication modes. These data were collected over a nine-month period covering two semesters – with a pilot study (two groups) followed by a full study (10 groups). Table 11.2 shows that all of the student groups employed some form of computermediated communication, some combination of email, the social networking site Facebook and the mobile messaging app WhatsApp. Note that students were not given any instructions regarding this out-of-class communication: each group decided what worked best for them in terms of the type of information they shared and the channel for sharing. Table 11.2 also shows that a variety of different artefacts were collected from participating teams, including videos, images, audio and written text. Videos included footage (shot by students or found on the internet) and the final video. Images included charts/graphs and other visuals to serve as footage (shot by the students themselves or found on the internet). Audio included soundtrack, narration or sound effects. Written text included handwritten notes, drafts of scripts/narration, storyboards and typed notes (including cut-and-pasted text from the internet). In addition to these data sources, we also did focus group interviews with each project team, in order to provide participants with the opportunity to reflect on

Table 11.2  Artefacts collected and preferred communication modes

Group 1 Group 2 Group 3 Group 4 Group 5 Group 6 Group 7 Group 8 Group 9 Group 10 Group 11 Group 12

Video

Images

Audio

Written text

Communication

16 38 1 19 7 32 1 1 10 44 3 1

102 17 76 7 1 38 9 6 38 29 17 18

8 2 52 1 0 22 13 1 13 11 31 0

17 10 8 28 7 12 14 6 3 18 11 9

EM, FB, WA EM, WA FB, WA FB, WA FB, WA WA FB, WA WA FB, WA FB EM, FB, WA WA

Key: EM = Email, FB =Facebook, WA = WhatsApp

168  Christoph A. Hafner and Lindsay Miller practices and gain their perspectives on the project process. The data were analysed using a qualitative approach that involved repeated readings of the data set and thematic coding to identify sources and types of interactions, particularly as these related to opportunities for language learning. Data for this paper were selected in order to exemplify the range of student interactions that were observed. All of the participating students gave their informed consent to the research procedures described here. In order to protect the privacy of individual participants, pseudonyms are used in the presentation of findings below.

Spaces for language learning Two main kinds of ‘spaces’ for language learning were observed: ‘mediated learning spaces’, frequently supported by computer-mediated communication tools; and ‘non-mediated learning spaces’, i.e. face-to-face contexts. In both cases, the spaces for learning that emerged were sometimes negotiated with the teacher, in which case the teacher was a participant, and sometimes negotiated just between the students themselves, with no teacher involvement. In addition, the spaces created were plurilingual spaces (Hafner, Li and Miller 2015): they involved not only use of the target language, but also use of the students’ L1, often in a strategic way.

Mediated learning spaces Table 11.3 shows the range of mediated learning spaces observed. Some of these spaces are structured by the course designer to support teaching and learning. For example, the course blog was designed as a public, online space, with the teacher writing posts and students responding (both to the teacher and to each other). The students’ YouTube videos were shared in a post to this blog and students used the comment function to provide one another with peer feedback. Other spaces are not structured by the course designer, but have emerged as students exercise their agency in response to challenges of the project. For example, some students took the initiative to create Facebook groups and WhatsApp groups: these online spaces allowed students to interact with their groupmates and manage the project process. We analyse some of these student-generated spaces in more detail below, focusing on 1) email; 2) WhatsApp and 3) Facebook, because these are spaces that were generated by students themselves, without input from teachers, and so more likely to shed light on issues of agency.

Emails Only two of the 12 groups used email, and they did so for different purposes. Firstly, group 2 used email to contact three ‘outsiders’ (ten emails), experts who could be interviewed on film for the video documentary. These included the founder of a local environmental NGO and two of the students’ professors, experts in biology and environmental science. The email interaction between the students and outside experts allowed students to introduce themselves and their project, negotiate access, and manage practical aspects of their interview plan. Extract 11.1 is taken from the interaction with the founder of the local NGO.

Creating spaces for learning 169 Table 11.3  Students’ mediated learning spaces #

Learning Space

Purpose

Language used

1

Email

English

2

WhatsApp

3

Facebook

4

Online databases

5

Course blog

6

Blackboard LMS

Interact with group members, set up interviews with ‘outsiders’, share files Interact with group members, share files, manage the team, discuss the project Interact with group members, share files, manage the team, discuss the project Search for background information, scholarly references Read teachers’ posts, view classmates’ video projects, comment and respond to classmates’ comments Download project guidelines, course materials and in-class PowerPoint slides

English/Chinese English/Chinese English/Chinese English English

Extract 11.1  Email interaction between student and outside expert (Group 2) DATE: Feb 19 SUBJECT: Visit on Sat Hi, this is Lisa from CityU. I made a call to [NGO name] this morning. I am doing a school project to analyse soil in HK. I would like to come to [NGO name] this Sat to do field study and interview the people here. Viv and Noelle are my group mates. Three of us will come on this Sat and join your programme. We will take the 0910 ferry from Central. My contact number is [number]. Please contact me if there’s any further details. Thank you and see you there:) Lisa Tsui DATE: Feb 20 Hi Lisa See you Sat. We will have time to do this in the afternoon! Thanks for coming out this Sat! Jessica

Here we see how the student, Lisa, has followed up a phone call to the NGO with a written email, confirming arrangements for an interview. When we asked students how they came upon this idea, it transpired that Lisa had previously done volunteer work for the organisation. The ‘deal’ that Lisa negotiated was to re-join the volunteer programme in the morning and follow this up with an interview with Jessica,

170  Christoph A. Hafner and Lindsay Miller the founder of the NGO. The response indicates obvious enthusiasm for Lisa’s proposal. A further four emails were exchanged, dealing with practical issues like directions and what to have for lunch. Considering the whole exchange, we can see that Lisa exercised agency in order to open up a temporary space for learning. The email correspondence, while brief, provided an authentic language practice opportunity (Jessica is a native English speaker, with little Cantonese). The interaction also led to further language practice opportunities offline, i.e. the volunteer work and the interview itself. While we do not have any data on this point, it is possible that the relationship was sustained beyond this one event. A second use of email was that of group 11, who used email to communicate with one another (a total of 17 messages). Interestingly, this group used English almost exclusively in their email correspondence. This again provided a space for target language practice. Asked about their choice of language, students commented that they perceived email as a ‘formal’ channel, implying that English was required:

Lindsay: Gina: Lindsay: Teddy: Billy:

Teddy: (Focus Group: G11)

In your email communication was it in English or Chinese? English for the whole group? yeah the difference between WhatsApp and email is that this one is more close to our life so its more close to spoken language so we feel so relax to type in Chinese . . . but in email we feel so official. more formal way

WhatsApp Every group except group 10 made use of WhatsApp, an instant messaging app that allows users to establish broadcast groups, with messages appearing on group members’ smartphones. WhatsApp was perceived by students as a convenient way to manage the project process, for example, arranging meeting times. It could also be used to share files, e.g., images, discuss the distribution of work and discuss the project. In the extract below, two students from group 9 are negotiating the scriptwriting task. Note that, as is sometimes the case in WhatsApp, the usernames are eight-digit phone numbers. The Chinese text is translated in square brackets.

Extract 11.2  WhatsApp interaction to discuss the project (group 9) 09:59:06: XXXX6709: Patrick話intro quote野會更好 [Patrick said it would be better if we quote something in the intro.] 09:59:06: XXXX6709: 有無資料可以?? [Any info we can use??]

Creating spaces for learning 171 12:09:06: XXXX7638: Which kind of quetes do u want? 12:09:26: XXXX7638: I can help u find in my books 12:11:51: XXXX6709: Just suitable for intro about flow of people is ok 12:11:57: XXXX6709: Short one is fine 12:12:00: XXXX6709: Thx 12:15:09: XXXX7638: Ok ill try [graphic emoticon]

Extract 11.2 is typical in that it is plurilingual, mixing Chinese and English. The extract shows how the second student in turn three switches the interaction into English. At this point, the online interaction is transformed into a space for learning as students exercise their individual agency to engage each other in target language practice. This space for learning went beyond the project to encompass other areas of the students’ lives, as in Extract 11.3, where the students are talking about a book for another class.

Extract 11.3  WhatsApp interaction beyond the project work (group 1) 1:27:13 PM: Ron: 有冇人有friend 讀psy for young pro? [Do you know any friends who studied psychology for young professional?] 1:33:08 PM: Hal: 做乜 [Why asking?] 1:33:44 PM: Pinky: Ho chi yau [Seems yes] 1:34:03 PM: Ron: 分今日quiz但我未買course pack,想借 [I have quiz today but I haven’t bought the course pack yet. I want to borrow it.] 1:34:25 PM: Ron: [graphic emoticon] Can you ask for me!!!really thxxxxx 1:38:03 PM: Ron: I can go any where to get that book [graphic emoticon] 1:38:45 PM: Pinky: I am asking 1:38:59 PM: Pinky: But no one reply 1:39:13 PM: Ron: Nvm [graphic emoticon] [Never mind] 1:43:51 PM: Pinky: When do u need it?

Students gave various reasons for using English in their WhatsApp interactions. Some suggested that it is the ‘right’ thing to do for an English class. Vip said, ‘Because this is an English project so we use English’ (Focus Group: G5). Others held the perception that it is faster/more convenient to type in English sometimes. As Erin pointed out, ‘I seldom type Chinese on the computer. It’s complicated’ (Focus Group: G9). Sometimes, students explained that their communications may be read by someone who does not read Chinese, demonstrating an awareness for their audience, as below.

172  Christoph A. Hafner and Lindsay Miller Lindsay: Alice: Sam: Lindsay: All: (Focus Group: G6)

All your WhatsApp chat here is in English. There’s no Chinese. Because Sam can’t read Chinese. They did ask I think in the beginning whether or not I can read. So is that the main reason that you decided to do all the WhatsApp in English, because Sam was reading it? Yes.

Facebook Students often set up Facebook groups to support their project work: eight out of the 12 groups did so. The interactions were frequently similar to interactions on WhatsApp: they were plurilingual in nature, engaged students in discussion of their project work and went beyond the project to include discussions of a more social nature. However, compared to WhatsApp, students tended to exchange more files, including drafts of their scripts and cuts of video, and comment on them through their Facebook group. Indeed, we also saw students cutting and pasting extracts of their script into their Facebook posts. Other students were then able to provide feedback by commenting on the posts, for example adding to the script. The focus of students’ comments was on aspects of content, organisation and visual design, rather than on specific aspects of language. Extract 11.4 is an example of peer feedback as found in the data.

Extract 11.4  Facebook interaction with peer feedback (Group 4) Nellie Chen Ann (teaser) [Posted a video of a bar chart] March 12 at 7:54pm Yoyo Tong ok wor~gd=] March 12 at 9:07pm Ann Wong good ar will there be a title? March 12 at 9:44pm 我會另外加呀[I’ll add it separately.] Nellie Chen March 12 at 10:16pm Nellie Chen 同埋應該整佢播慢d @@” 而家播得勁快== [I think we should slow it down, it plays very fast right now.] March 12 at 10:17pm

Creating spaces for learning 173 Here, the initial post by Nellie provides a link to an animated bar chart, which she describes as a ‘teaser’. Yoyo provides encouragement, as does Ann. In her comment, Ann also makes a suggestion about content (adding a title) and Nellie responds. Finally, Nellie reflects on her own video, considering that it should be slowed down. The interaction is again a plurilingual one, mixing standard written Chinese with spoken Cantonese (sentence-final particles represented as wor, ar) and English. Again, the online interaction provides students with a space for practising the target language, as well as a space to collaboratively co-create their English documentary scripts and videos. And again, it seems possible that the online interactions extended to other, offline spaces, such as face-to-face meetings to discuss the project products.

Non-mediated spaces for learning There were many examples in the student-generated digital video documentaries where we observed the use of non-mediated learning spaces. By this, we mean spaces for learning that were created in out-of-class locations as students went about filming, narrating and editing their video documentaries. A particularly good example of this is when students engage other students or members of the public in interviews for their documentaries. Table 11.4 shows the range of locations that student groups made use of when preparing their video documentaries. The data comes from a content analysis of the 12 videos and of the locations represented in them. Most groups made use of the university campus when interviewing other students and staff or when presenting directly to the camera themselves. However, apart from group 12, who did the topic on vitamin C, all the students also took the initiative to go off campus to collect data and shoot film footage. For example, group 11, who did the topic on noise pollution, went out into a public park to interview people about their perceptions of sound levels. They asked Philippine domestic workers, foreign tourists and local people who were willing to speak in English about noise Table 11.4  Non-mediated learning spaces Video Topic

Learning Spaces

Science or art? Shopping

•  Churches (interiors and exteriors) •  Campus: general environment, student canteen •  Shopping Centre •  Campus: laboratory, professor’s office • Beach •  Shopping Centre •  Farm at a local NGO site •  Campus: general environment •  Urban street scenes •  Campus: outside library, student canteen •  Food court in shopping centre • Park •  Campus: entrance, stairways, classrooms, laboratory

Where have all the flowers gone? Rubbish! What a noisy world! Determination of vitamin C

174  Christoph A. Hafner and Lindsay Miller levels in the park. As another example, group 2 travelled to a nearby outlying island to meet a native-English-speaking founder of a local NGO and interview her about soil quality (see above – Email). All of these student-led activities came about as a response to the structured challenges created by the course project. Also, they all involved students in the exercise of individual agency to create opportunities to practise the target language. In the learning spaces that emerged, students engaged with local and international students on campus and a range of other English speakers off campus. These non-mediated spaces allowed students to engage in authentic, face-to-face interaction, using the target language. With respect to interviews that they undertook, students had some control over the interaction: they approached each interview with a planned set of questions, which they would have been able to rehearse. However, they also had to respond to unpredictable contributions from their interviewees. Students commented on the benefits of these spaces for their language learning. Below, Viv points out how interaction with interviewees led to ‘noticing’ errors in their language use, an important aspect of language learning.

Christoph: Viv:

(Focus Group: G2)

I was wondering whether the project is useful for your English learning? Yes because we need to interview people, and we go to find general public and ask them some questions, and some of them are foreigner, and we need to use English to communicate with them, and sometimes because we have the rough question, and they [interviewees] remind us some grammatical mistakes.

Not only did the students gain practice in using English while conducting their interviews, they also acquired content knowledge. As Lisa pointed out, ‘because of the interview we ask the professors and some experts in the soil stuff so we learned a lot about the soil by doing interview with them’ (Focus Group: G2). Once again, the spaces described here are plurilingual, involving the use of both English and Chinese. Some of the activities demand use of the target language, whereas for other activities, students can negotiate which language to use. Rita commented, ‘Out of the class . . . sometimes our meeting we will use English and then for the interview we must use English’ (Focus group: G2). In general, students tended to see English as an appropriate choice for activities related to the creation of the video product: writing the script, practising and performing the narration, doing interviews. Some students perceived that English was a more convenient choice for researching the topic, as the final product would have to be rendered in English. At the same time, the students might use their L1 in discussions about their project, brainstorming ideas and so on, when they felt that accurate communication was important. As Yoyo pointed out, ‘Maybe during discussion we use Chinese because it is more understandable’ (Focus Group: G4). In the non-mediated spaces described here, it is easy to see how different codes would mix as students switch between: 1) discussions about visuals or camera angles, potentially in the L1; and 2) presenting on camera and shooting footage of interviews in the L2.

Creating spaces for learning 175 Another kind of learning space was formed when students created and revised video narrations. Having filmed footage, they recorded their scripted voice-overs and edited them into the documentary soundtrack. In this process, they often paid careful attention to the recordings that they made, reflecting on their language performances, for example, pronunciation and use of English.

Christoph: Erin:

(Focus Group: Group 9)

How do you think the project is useful for your English learning? Usually we don’t used to hear how to pronounce when we are [speaking] orally. But when we are doing voice over in the video, we have to hear clearly what we are saying and ensure that the words we pronounce are correct and have no grammar mistakes. For oral English I think it’s quite a good tool for us.

Several of the students commented on the amount of time they spent practising their narrations, practice which is not commonly found in structured classroom lessons.

Lindsay: Billy: Gina: Lindsay: Gina: (Focus Group: Group 11)

What happened when you were doing the narration, the story? Did you do that once? No, recording my voice at least one half day in my room and then they did their own later on. Yes I did my own again at home, because I thought my voice was maybe too nervous . . . not good enough, so I need to do it again. Do you know how many times you recorded it before you were happy? Oh . . . more than 10 times! (laugh)

Discussion The data show that the project-based learning approach adopted in the course empowered our students to take control of their learning, making use of a variety of emerging mediated and non-mediated learning spaces. By using a pedagogy of learning (where agency and power are exercised by both tutor and students), rather than a pedagogy of teaching (where course structure and tutor control predominate), we created a situation in which our learners invested their own time and energy in their learning – and discovered new spaces for learning. In fact, many of our students went beyond what was expected of them and took their learning into spaces we could not have predicted they would use. The data presented here reveal several interesting features of our students’ use of learning spaces. The following observations seem especially relevant: 1

Out-of-class learning spaces are often temporary and ephemeral in nature. Students create interactive spaces as a response to challenges of the project but

176  Christoph A. Hafner and Lindsay Miller

2

3

4

these spaces do not necessarily persist after challenges have been met. The email communications between group 2 and their native-English-speaking interviewee demonstrate this. Students made use of email communication in English for the specific purpose of arranging the interview; once their purpose had been achieved, it seems possible that the learning space would have closed unless effort to maintain the relationship was made. Online and offline learning spaces often overlap. The data show that students often used Facebook groups to share drafts of their collaborative projects. Students sometimes responded to these drafts through the Facebook interface, but upon closer analysis of the CMC data, it appears that they may also have been using other overlapping spaces that were not open for analysis: for example, face-to-face group discussions or comments left on Word files or in collaborative Google documents. Formal and informal learning spaces often overlap. The integration of classroom instruction and the English for science project means that spaces for learning often overlap. Students transferred their structured learning in class to their unstructured learning spaces out of class. An example of this is seen in Extract 2, where students chat on Facebook about the feedback given by their class tutor, Patrick. Out-of-class learning spaces are under student control. The data show that students chose which out-of-class learning spaces, mediated or non-mediated, worked best for them. They established these spaces by themselves and engaged in learning practices autonomously. The sheer variety of informal learning spaces that students created suggests that such spaces cannot be mandated by the teacher: instead, they must come into being as a result of students’ individual agency.

Our observations suggest that the learning practices of students in the 21st century have become more sophisticated and include making use of physical and virtual spaces for learning. Course design ought to take these more sophisticated practices into account. We would suggest that it is helpful to think of the course design process as one which considers not only structured elements of the course, but also issues of power and agency of the learners, e.g., when students take control of their team project work and make decisions among themselves about who will do what for the project. We need to view learning as not only the acquisition of linguistic knowledge but also as social interaction between students, who jointly negotiate their needs, collaboratively establishing and taking control of their own learning environments. When designing a language course using out-of-class projects we need to take into account the three dimensions of structure, power and agency. Structure here refers to the basic elements of course design. Here, we need to take account of language learning objectives, skills and strategies, which the tutor wishes to present in class. These may be language functions and associated lexico-grammatical structures needed by the learners in order to complete their project: for instance, presenting facts and figures; comparing and contrasting data; summarising; and concluding. In addition, a university ESP course may also introduce students to a variety of useful skills, for instance, designing multimodal texts using video editing software, and

Creating spaces for learning 177 appropriate learning strategies, such as how to interact collaboratively with teammates. These structured features of a course can all be planned. Power refers to who controls the access to information and roles and responsibilities of group members in a project. As soon as groups have been formed the students can make their own decisions about what, where and when to collect data and then how to present this data. The transfer of responsibility to the students means that decision-making power rests with them. They take control of the management of their learning. Agency relates to the way that students engage with their learning. As defined above, agency means taking control over, and responsibility for, opportunities for interaction and learning, seen in the spaces for learning, the theme of this chapter. In the context of the course in focus, students exercise agency as they respond to the challenges posed by the English for science project and invest in the project outcome. In particular, students can decide which mediated and non-mediated communication channels are the most appropriate for them to use in order to reach the project objectives. This type of decision making is varied and complex (see Tables 11.3 and 11.4), and it is an area where collaborative group work is important and learner autonomy promoted.

Conclusion In this chapter, we have argued that structured elements of course design can provide learners with a necessary spark to exercise their individual agency, as they invest in particular learning outcomes (here, the completion of a significant piece of academic work). We saw how the use of an English for science project and associated structured input led students to establish a range of mediated and non-mediated learning spaces out of class, an exercise of their individual agency, which leads them to become more autonomous as language learners. All of this suggests that optimum course design takes into account elements of structure, power and agency. Designing a course structure which shares power with learners provides an environment that is conducive to learners exercising their agency in learning. We see how learners invest time and effort beyond what would be expected in a wholly structured learning environment, and exhibit ownership and creativity in the final product – a digital video scientific documentary. In this process, learners discover, and indeed, create ‘spaces for learning’: spaces which are not available to them in the classroom environment.

References Baker, C. and Hornberger, N. 2001, An introductory reader to the writings of Jim Cummins, Multilingual Matters, Clevedon. Darvin, R. and Norton, B. 2015, ‘Representing the margins: Multimodal performance as a tool for critical reflection and pedagogy’, TESOL Quarterly, vol. 49, no. 3, pp. 590–600. Flowerdew, J. and Miller, L. 2008, ‘Social structure and individual agency in second language learning: Evidence from three life histories’, Critical Inquiry in Language Studies, vol. 5, no. 4, pp. 201–224.

178  Christoph A. Hafner and Lindsay Miller Hafner, C.A., Li, D.C.S. and Miller, L. 2015, ‘Language choice between peers in projectbased learning: A Hong Kong case study of English language learners’ plurilingual practices in out-of-class computer-mediated communication’, Canadian Journal of Modern Languages, vol. 71, no. 4, pp. 441–470. Hafner, C.A. and Miller, L. 2011, ‘Fostering learner autonomy in English for science: A collaborative digital video project in a technological learning environment’, Language Learning & Technology, vol. 15, no. 3, pp. 201–223. Li, D.C.S. 2011, ‘Lexical gap, semantic incongruence, and medium-of-instructioninduced code-switching: Evidence from Hong Kong and Taiwan’, in E.A. Anchimbe and S.A. Mforteh (eds.), Postcolonial linguistic voices: Identity choices and representations, de Gruyter Mouton, Berlin. Miller, L. 2014, ‘English for science and technology’, in V.K. Bhatia and S. Bremner (eds.), The Routledge handbook of language and professional communication, Routledge, Abingdon, Oxon. Miller, L., Hafner, C.A. and Ng, C. 2012, ‘Digital video projects in English for academic purposes: Students’ and lecturers’ perceptions and issues raised’, in C. Berkenkotter, V.K. Bhatia and M. Gotti (eds.), Insights into academic genres, Peter Lang, Bern. Norton, B. 1997, ‘Language, identity and ownership of English’, TESOL Quarterly, vol. 31, no. 3, pp. 409–429. Norton, B. 2000, Identity and language learning: Gender, ethnicity and educational change, Longman and Pearson Education Limited, Harlow. Norton, B. 2013, Identity and language learning: Extending the conversation, Multilingual Matters, Bristol. Norton Pierce, B. 1995, ‘Social identity, investment, and language’, TESOL Quarterly, vol. 28, no. 1, pp. 9–31.

12 Time, space and memory in the teaching and learning of English within a Brazilian juvenile detention centre The effect of suspension in a confused space Valdeni da Silva Reis Introduction Over 600,000 people are incarcerated in Brazil and are serving time in adult prisons (if they are over 18 years old) or juvenile detention centres (if they are under 18 years old). It should be acknowledged that as an essential human right, education plays a fundamental role in changing one’s life, and this is especially the case in relation to the incarcerated population. Nonetheless, these particular educational spaces, as well as their actors, i.e. teachers and students, have been neglected in the field of applied linguistics. As a result, very little is known about the teaching (of English) in such spaces and its impact on the inmates’ lives. The current study sheds light on this particular setting and its actors in order to generate some discussion in the field of applied linguistics, as well as to foster the development of new research and approaches to the teaching and learning of English that are specially designed to meet the specific needs of this educational context. It has to be noted that the space for teaching and learning English in an incarcerated context is constituted by its inhabitants over a period of time and is surrounded by memory, which is brought to the surface through the use of language. In this chapter, I explore this notion by reporting on a study that analyses how space is constructed in an English class situated within a juvenile detention centre in Minas Gerais, southeast Brazil. The notion of memory is related to the notion of time and space and is central to an understanding of the particularities of this educational setting. Specifically, this paper examines how institutional and discursive spaces are negotiated by the participants in the English class. More than simply analysing the way the teacher and the students organise their turns to talk, I analyse the positions taken by the participants in the discursive game played in the classroom. Discursive game is here understood as the network of interactions that establishes how roles are played and how positions are negotiated through the use of language within the classroom. Although teachers and students are in the same physical space of the classroom, they take their turns differently, playing different roles in the discursive game of the classroom. Their understanding of the words and

180  Valdeni da Silva Reis positions being negotiated in the classroom and their roles in that discursive space are thus derived from distinct historical and ideological positions. Hence, students speak from their discursive position according to the images (re-)built within the relationships between themselves and the teacher (Reis 2010). Considering that meanings are discursively constructed (Foucault 1980) and that speakers are constituted through the use of language, discourse is understood as ‘meaning effects’ (Pêcheux 1997), which refers to the possibility that one message can be interpreted differently by different interlocutors during an interaction. Hence, the meaning-making process cannot be totally linear, pre-established or unmistakable. Understanding is then made and negotiated among the interlocutors as they use the words to position themselves during the discourse production. Therefore, by examining the nature of discourse, or the way the ongoing interactions are established, we can understand how the participants in a classroom constitute themselves in this social practice, negotiating the discursive space and the positions that regulate their relationship and the teaching-learning they are involved with. In this sense, how can the physical and discursive space of an English classroom located within an incarcerated context shed light on the roles, rules and production of meaning established in this particular educational setting? This chapter addresses this question by examining the ongoing interactions between a teacher and students during an English class. To do this, I first provide an overview of the relevant literature that supports the current study. Then I briefly describe the research site and the methodology employed in the data collection and analysis phases. Presented in two subsections, the findings first indicate how the turns are allocated in the interactions between teacher and students and then they draw on a phenomenon called Effect of Suspension, which helps explain the stagnation of action and relationships in this particular context. After that, I conclude by reflecting on the role English learning can play in the lives of the young offenders. Finally, it has to be emphasised that in Brazil, there is neither specific training for teachers who work in this context, nor material specially developed to meet the needs of the very large incarcerated population, who are predominantly young, black and poorly educated people. The current study is thus important to foster some understanding about how the teaching and learning (of English) is dealt with in this place and how the relationship between its actors is established. Therefore, the ultimate goal of this chapter is to generate some new debate and actions in language teacher education programs.

Theoretical framing The discourse performed daily in a classroom is able to enlighten us as to how teaching and learning occur in any space, incarcerated or not. It can also shed some light on the way in which teacher and students position themselves in the classroom discursive game, building relationships between themselves and the teachinglearning events. Therefore, in this section of the chapter, I draw on theories around (classroom) discourse, and relate them to the notions of space, time and memory as crucial issues to be addressed if we are to understand the roles, rules and events that formulate the teaching and learning of English within places of incarceration. It is not possible to develop a detailed understanding of how meanings are constructed in a particular setting without carefully considering who is involved and

Brazilian juvenile detention centre 181 under which circumstances in the meaning-making phenomena. By asking those questions, one can comprehend the connections among people, the roles they play and the discourse they produce, as well as the events that are constituted in the space where they interact. Leander (2002) points out that boundaries are broken down and rebuilt not by physical space and time but rather by the practices and social relationships that occur across space and time among participants. Therefore, practices themselves generate locations (Leander 2002: 3). Conversely, we can equally explore how spaces generate or change the practices and the participants’ roles. In this sense, it has to be acknowledged that the space of reclusion can then influence the ways in which events are created and people are treated there. At the same time, spaces are transformed by the events and people’s action. Space is therefore neither static nor neutral. It can be modified by its participants’ actions, discourse and relationships. As De Certeau (2012) argues, the notion of space is intrinsically connected to the notion of movement, which refers to the effects of human action on a place. Consequently, space can be understood as a practiced place (De Certeau 2012). With this in mind, space is constituted from the action of the subject1 at a given time over a given place, i.e. the action of the subject over a place during some period of time (re)defines a certain space (De Certeau 2012). Ultimately, spaces can also be (trans)formed as the subjects interrelate past, present and future in their discourse. Memory is thus activated in this movement. A practiced place incorporates memory and ‘meaning effects’ are created when subjects’ memory and the memory that has been circulating in this space over time are activated. This means that memory comes from somewhere else, moving events around and negotiating the spatial transformations and the creation of everyday occasions (De Certeau 2012). All things considered, I understand memory as a complex element, which, via language, brings past occasions to the present time, influencing the way in which words and actions are established and comprehended in a specific space. It should therefore be noted that discourses and situations are then affected by the way in which memory operates and occasions are created. Nevertheless, as De Certeau (2012) reminds us, the way in which memory is organised within occasions and is embedded in dynamic movements that generate a disorder transported to the place where the subjects act can give rise to a sort of confused space. The term ‘confused space’ was briefly established by Foucault (2005) in his articulation of ‘The Great Confinement’. Foucault (2005) argues that all the mechanisms of exclusion and all the socially established disciplinary projects have their origin in the advent of leprosy and plague in the 19th century and the consequent responses intended to protect the healthy population from the proliferation of those diseases. The author contends that the presence of leprosy led the healthy population to create rituals of exclusion by separating, qualifying and classifying the healthy people from the sick ones. Likewise, the plague provoked segmentation by creating disciplinary methods to allocate the sick subjects into spaces of reclusion. According to Foucault (2005), a confused space is then constituted from the establishment of strict methods of analytical power repartition that constitutes and makes evident not only the exclusion of the individuals – the sick people – but also the strict disciplinary methods applied to the subjects confined into this space. Analytical power repartition and disciplinary methods refer to the treatment that

182  Valdeni da Silva Reis confined individuals receive, that is, the way they are controlled, the rules they have to follow and how they are distributed, individualised and excluded within confinement. Nonetheless, ‘The Great Confinement’ is also classified as a confused space, because all sorts of unwanted people in society, such as people with psychological issues, beggars and criminals, were treated as sick people and thrown into the spaces of exclusion. Accordingly, both the plague and leprosy guided humanity to the creation and the maintenance of models of exclusion and disciplinary techniques (Foucault 2005), which are still in vogue nowadays. As a result, Foucault (2005) argues that institutions, such as the psychiatric asylum, the penitentiary, the reformatory and even schools, are settings structured under those analytical power distribution techniques, especially designed to control individuals’ behaviour. Indeed, the disciplinary methods – such as the treatment the individuals receive, the power division that controls them or the way they are individualised and excluded within ‘The Great Confinement’ – can be found in all the above-mentioned institutions. Therefore, the way in which individuals are perceived and treated within spaces of confinement where discourse is continuously produced, generates particular social interactions. It is then right to argue that the production of discourses is constrained by the conditions of production and reception where the messages are formulated. Surrounded by the conditions of production, the subjects negotiate meanings within interactions that constitute a discursive space. Within the discursive spaces, the participants act according to the place and position they take and negotiate throughout a discursive event. According to Orlandi (1999), place can be understood as an empirical denomination. In other words, in discursive production, place can be socially described since it is related to the way the participant in a discursive practice is placed in society, e.g., in a family, there are both the mother’s place and the children’s place; in the classroom, there are both the teacher’s and the students’ place; and so forth. On the other hand, Orlandi (1999) argues that position refers to how a participant negotiates ‘meaning effects’ by using language as he/she takes the floor. People take on their discursive position according to what they say and how they say it. In this case, a mother will only take on her position if she positions herself discursively in agreement with the historical image mothers have built for themselves. As an illustration, mothers are not supposed to ask for their children’s permission to have dessert instead of lunch. In light of this, discourse cannot be considered as separate from space, situation and the participants’ place and positions as they take turns. In the classroom, teachers are expected to speak from their historical and ideological position. In general, during the lesson, the teacher is the one responsible for managing or at least facilitating the ongoing events and the interactions between the participants in a discursive space. Likewise, in the classroom, the interactions are basically formed by units that are related and connected to a teacher’s question followed by a student’s response, which is then followed by a teacher’s evaluation of the student response, or vice versa (Green and Wallat 1981). Erickson and Shultz (1981) thus point out that interaction is a social accomplishment. This means all participants in an interaction work collectively to create and sustain the conversation. In the 1980s, Mehan (1985) identified particular features of classroom discourse that were assembled in the interaction between teachers and students mainly occurring in the instructional phases of lessons. The phases were sequentially divided into

Brazilian juvenile detention centre 183 three interconnected parts, i.e. initiation, replay and evaluation. Moreover, instructions can be seen as a set of directions, mixed with explanations, questions, comments, that work together to lead students to accomplish something (Watson Todd 1997). Undoubtedly, the classroom space within the space of incarceration reflects some aspects of law, order, punishment and the image of re-education. This space can be classified as confused when the phenomenon that I label the Effect of Suspension stagnates actions and challenges discursive positions. Therefore, the Effect of Suspension refers to the present time and space being suspended, or being dependent on what happened before in a previous space or on what will hopefully come true someday. Consequently, the actions also reveal themselves as suspended and influence the way the participants take or give up their discursive positions. All things considered, it can be argued that the subjects of this hybrid and complex institution – as well as the relationships between them and the ways in which classroom management is established – should be taken into account in order to understand how the space is particularly constituted. In the next sections, I will outline the design of the current study, as well as discuss some findings and implications that emerge from the data analysis.

The study and the research site This study is a very small part of a larger research project that involves building a detailed understanding of the teaching and learning of English in a juvenile detention centre. The focus in this chapter will be on the constitution of what was identified as the Effect of Suspension in the confused space of internment. The juvenile detention centre where the English teaching events were investigated is physically similar to adult prisons in Brazil, with bars and cells that are shared by two or three youths. During the school year observations, there were from 32 to 35 juvenile offenders in the centre, aged 15–18 years old, and their main offences were drug distribution, armed robberies and murders. Students have regular junior high and high school classes comprising the same regular curriculum taught in public schools in Minas Gerais. Therefore, the youth inmates must have English classes twice a week in class groups of two to six students. At the time of the data collection, the teacher, Manuela,2 stated that she had been teaching English for five years, with two of them in that particular context. Each lesson was supposed to last 50 minutes, but the particular rules of the incarcerated space usually prevented the lesson from lasting longer than 30 minutes. I became interested in investigating this educational context when an English teacher I knew, who worked in a juvenile detention centre, talked to me about the challenges she faced in this context. She then introduced me to the principal of the school, who invited me to observe the English classes in one of the juvenile detention centres where she worked. As this education setting has always been neglected by research and scholarship, my goal was simply to offer to the field of applied linguistics a broad understanding of the nature of the teaching and learning of English within this space as well as the roles teachers and students play in this unique educational practice. Therefore, I positioned myself in the research as an observer who wanted to understand this intriguing context. In order to achieve this, the study was presented to and approved in advance by the research ethics

184  Valdeni da Silva Reis committee of my institution and appropriate steps were taken to protect the participants in the investigation.

Methodology This study drew on ethnographic discourse analysis methods of observation, data collection and analysis in the context of a classroom lesson to generate a detailed description of the nature, use and implications of physical and discursive spaces in a classroom located in a juvenile detention centre. Discourse analysis in the present investigation serves as a ‘set of ways of “seeing” language and literacy events in classrooms’ (Bloome et al. 2008: 2). Thus, I seek to shed light on how space might influence and be influenced by the participants’ actions in such a teaching and learning scenario. Excerpts from a sixth grade English lesson as well as fragments of two interviews with the teacher and one of her students will be analysed. In order to do so, a careful process of exploring context, participants and space through a multistep microanalysis of the evolving interactions in the audio-recorded lesson was designed. Following Green and Wallat’s (1981) constructs, I first developed a map of the interactions in the classroom while making and revising the transcription. In the transcription, the interactions were identified according to the speaker and the Message Units (MU’s) i.e. the minimum unit coded in the system. After that, a descriptive coding system was designed for the occurrences identified through prosodic cues in the structural map. I then worked on identifying the contexts – i.e. the circumstances in which the occurrences were generated – as well as the participants’ position-taking (PosT). Finally, I identified the ways in which physical space is designed in the interactions and how the discursive space is established during the process. Through this mapping process, the ongoing interactions in the classroom were described. Furthermore, for each line of the MU, I identified the linguistic form (Fm), the function (F) and the strategy (St) in use. I also described the speaker (Sp) (i.e. teacher or students; researcher or guard) and the strategies the speaker used to maintain his/her position-taking. At the same time, the discursive space was identified according to how words were used in the lesson, by whom and why. In order to identify the constitution of the physical space in the classroom, I focused on the spatial deictics (Benveniste 1976, 1992; Maingueneau 2001), i.e. linguistic units referencing expressions that work as references to space (Spc) or an adverb of space, such as here and there. Moreover, I also focused the analysis on elements that indicated exclusion or inclusion, as some sort of division in the classroom, such as ‘only this or that student has to do this activity’. After establishing the map of the interactions, I analysed it along with the interviews carried out with the teacher and student.

Data analysis: findings and implications The nature of the classroom interactions in the discursive space of a detention centre The classroom interaction reveals that students have a much more active role than the teacher in proposing questions and topics. In consequence, the teacher is led to

Brazilian juvenile detention centre 185 follow the rhythm established by the students, e.g., she answers the questions posed by the students or makes comments on the topics raised by them. The number of linguistic forms used by the teacher and the students are given in Table 12.1. The way the participants take on or decline their discursive space and negotiate their positions in the classroom is confusing. It can be noted that the linguistic forms Table 12.1  Analysis of the frequency of the linguistic formsi Frequency of the Linguistic Forms and Strategies – Mapping Speaker (Sp)

Sp Fm

F/St

TT PosT SPc

Teacher (T) Student (S) Guard/Researcher (G/R) Statement Question Response/Answer Exclamation Other Instruction Asking for Instruction Asking for Clarification Explanation Formal Instruction Agreeing Disagreeing Arguing Expressing Doubt Expressing Opinion Evaluation Ignoring Informing Checking Confirming Justifying Complaining Indignation Bidding for the Floor Other Interaction Topic Kept Not Kept Exclusion/Inclusion Space Description/Indication

Total

S

T

G/R

  243 5 82 96 43 31 5 3 12 39 71 70 5 16 8   16 13 2 22 41 23 17 25 33 1 27 81 80 58 2   8 16

266

    1 1                                 1     1         1 1          

  116 50 70 14 23 7   15 49 57   8 2 12 5 7 20 24 14 29 25 2 5 19 42 32 36 21 14 3 12 32

266 243 6 199 146 113 45 28 10 12 54 120 127 5 24 10 12 21 20 22 47 55 52 43 27 38 20 69 114 117 79 16 3 20 48

From the analysis of the linguistic occurrences during the English lesson. i Abbreviations used in the mapping and its descriptive table: Speaker (Sp); Form (Fm); Function/ Strategy (F/St); Turn Taking (TT); Position Taking (PosT); Space (Spc); Speaker: S – Student; T – Teacher; G/R – Guard/Researcher.

186  Valdeni da Silva Reis related to Statements and Response/Answers – predominantly used by the students in other contexts – are massively used by the teacher. At the same time, it is also interesting to note that the linguistic forms related to the production of Questions and on Evaluation – normally controlled by the teacher – are here controlled by students. Students’ questions are primarily developed to: a) build some formal instruction, i.e. actions developed inside the classroom to foster learning: explanation, practice, etc.; b) request some clarification; c) clarify a question regarding the content of the lesson; and d) clarify a doubt around an extracurricular fact. Students curiously dominate the occurrences of formulating some elements of instruction during the lesson, that is, the actions, steps or procedures that configure a lesson. Students ask, for example, whether they are or are not supposed to copy something that was being written on the chalkboard, suggesting that instruction was not effective. Clarification is requested, on the other hand, when students are not able, for example, to understand the teacher’s handwriting on the board. Students also make an effort to clarify a question regarding the content of the lesson by asking how some words or expressions are said in English. Finally, questions are sometimes raised to clarify some facts that characterise education behind bars, such as those pertaining to students who have been admitted to the centre or who have been released or have escaped from the centre. Some occurrences are presented in the excerpts3 below:

Line (L)

Speaker (Sp)

Message Units (MU)

51 60 80 88 351 423

S1 S2 S1 S3 S2 S3

And cat? How can I say it? Are we supposed to write that? What do I say in the early hours of the? // What/what is it written here? / Does it have to be written in English? Was he released?

On the other hand, the questions raised by the teacher, Manuela, refer mostly to: a) a circular attempt to teach the same greetings in English (i.e. good morning, good afternoon, good evening): ‘What is the greeting that I have to say in the morning?’; b) extracurricular matters related to another time and another space, mainly linked to the escape (e.g., during the lesson, she wants to know if a certain student escaped from the detention centre while he was attending a course: ‘Hasn’t he gone to the course?’) or release of other students: ‘Edward was released, wasn’t he? Edward from 700’; or c) verification of something that was not understood by her or her students, by simply using a question such as ‘what?’, for instance. As will be shown in detail in the next section, the formal instruction that occurred in the lesson revolved almost exclusively around the explanation of the use of greetings, interrupted by the action of the students who introduced a new topic, such as the request to be taught some vocabulary. Explanation given during the lesson is directly connected to the constitution of classroom management. According to Johnson and Johnson (1998), explanation is an essential part of teacher talk, along with the presentation and distribution of tasks. The analysis reveals that the linguistic

Brazilian juvenile detention centre 187 function related to Explanation, in addition to being dominated by students, is not related only to the explanation of the contents of the lesson, but also to events connected to the reality of this specific space, such as youths being admitted or released or having escaped from the centre. The analysis shows that there is a lack of instruction or explanation of the content of the lesson. Therefore, students build their interactions by basically asking questions, demanding instructions, requesting clarifications and complaining about something related to the English class. On the other hand, the teacher tries to establish her position by taking her turn – usually by the use of the word look – but most of the time, she does not sustain her position. In other words, she bids for the floor, takes the turn, but the silence or the way students take back the discursive space indicate that she does not support the turn in her discursive position. Students are aware of the lack of the ‘teacher’s sustained position’ and, hence, take control of the rhythm and direction of the lesson. The teacher’s discursive space is, then, constructed mainly by justification or by explanations offered in response to the students’ questions or complaints, as can be seen in the excerpt below:

L

Sp

MU

50 51 52 53 54 55 56 57 58 59 60

T S1 T

Look // // What about cat/how do I say it? Cat? Cat/ Look // // Oh/this blackboard is horrible/ What about dog? Dog // // Dog? Look? // // Good morning // Are we supposed to write that?

S1 T S2 T S2

Finally, it can be stated that the absence of clear classroom management generates a sort of confusion as students somehow direct and give rhythm to the events of the lesson, confronting the image of the teacher and the historically constructed students’ positions. In other words, as the students seem to determine, control and guide the classroom events, an autonomous and new student position is established; it is autonomous, since this new student position seems to be liberated from the images of the places and positions historically assigned to teachers and students, as discussed in the next section. However, it is worth mentioning that the students’ autonomy or autonomous position does not imply the elimination of the teacher’s position, initiative or intervention in the classroom. In this section, I analysed the nature of the interactions in the investigated classroom by briefly discussing some of the linguistic forms commonly used during the lesson and presented in Table 12.1. In the next section, I will discuss in more detail how the discursive positions are established and how the Effect of Suspension is then built.

188  Valdeni da Silva Reis

The analysis of the discursive positions in a confused space and the Effect of Suspension The analysis of this class sheds light on an intriguing fact, illuminating the teaching and learning of English in this specific space. Namely, from the actions, positions and activities that seemed to stagnate or be suspended in the investigated classroom, it was possible to envision a phenomenon that I refer to as Effect of Suspension, which constrains actions, discursive positions and relationships. In this instance, actions are suspended and influence the way participants take on or deny their discursive positions. The distribution of the speaking rights and obligations in this classroom constitute the first evidence of this phenomenon. As we have seen, the classroom under investigation points to an unexpected distribution of speaking rights and obligations among the participants of this discursive space. Nevertheless, in general, teachers’ roles and discursive positions in the classroom are characterised by an asymmetrical right to speak, as well as the right to distribute the turns. Cameron (2001) argues that there will always be an unequal distribution of speaking rights and obligations in many different social settings, such as the courts and the classrooms. Usually, in classrooms, the teachers ask questions, evaluate the answers and also decide the topics that will be discussed and even how the turns will be allocated among the participants. By asking a question, for example, the questioner controls the discourse, since he/she dominates the right to speak after the response and, consequently, can guide the topic and the conversation (Sacks 1992). Cazden (1988: 54) claims that ‘in typical classrooms, the most important asymmetry in the rights and obligations of teacher and students is over control of the right to speak’. Teachers have the right to speak at any time to any person; they can fill any silence or interrupt any speaker; they can speak to a student anywhere in the room and in any volume or tone of voice. Nonetheless, speaking rights are not fixed or uncontroversial. Rather, the right to speak in the classroom has to be constantly challenged. As Norton (2013: 190) argues, teachers need to be able to ‘structure classroom activities and develop classroom materials that will help learners claim the right to speak in the wider community’. In the discursive space, both teachers and students only take their positions if they take the floor while acting and interacting in the discursive game. It is through their language use that the subjects take their positions socially, historically and ideologically. Neves (2004) states that the subject is an enunciative position, that is, the speaker is only constituted while using the language. Besides, the teacher’s place is empirically achieved by a university certificate, but it is only by taking the floor in the co-construction of knowledge with his/her students, that a teacher will effectively take his/her teaching-position. Discussing instructional conversation, Morris (2006: 46) claims that the management of classroom turn-taking ‘is often a very explicit process conducted by the teacher’. In this sense, teachers are often responsible for developing the lesson by taking turns, in which they present some topic or foster students’ participation through their questions on the topic or their answers to the proposed questions. However, the analysis of the data here shows us an interesting way in which the discursive space is negotiated within this particular class. As stated in the previous

Brazilian juvenile detention centre 189 section, students play a very active role in this discursive space, posing questions related to the constitution of the lesson. As an illustration, during the lesson one of the students defends what he believes must comprise an English class. The learner strongly takes and keeps his discursive position to defend his perspective on the sort of activity that should be included in an English lesson. He uses the statement ‘of course it does’, for instance, to emphasise that Jenifer Lopez’s songs should be included in the English class. With falling intonation, Manuela interacts with him but shows she is not sure whether the student’s request may be taken into account or not by asking: ‘Does it?’ The student maintains his position and justifies it by arguing that ‘it’s related to English’. After his strong defence of what the English class must comprise, there is a long silence and, with an uncomfortable laugh and falling intonation, the teacher draws the students’ attention by saying, ‘Look, people’. However, she does not sustain the turn-taking, as she next tries, with some hesitation, to propose some solution for the problem brought up by the student: ‘so/who knows/maybe I will teach here someday/only/the /’. After that, another student expresses his personal opinion about the class; there is a falling intonation with a complaining tone, while he argues that they did not do anything interesting in the class. The student’s statement is interrupted by the teacher, who immediately proposes to give them something to work on and goes to the board, saying, ‘I will write for you to copy, then’. Manuela immediately interpreted what the student intended to express and introduced a response connected to the student’s statement by the use of the conjunctive adverb then.

L

Sp

MU

01 02 03 04

S1 T S1 T

Of course it does // ↓ Does it? It is related to English /// ↓ [Uncomfortable laugh] Look people/so/who knows / Maybe I’ll teach here someday/only/the / ↓ (xxx) I think that in this lesson here ↓ / we there’s no work (xxx) nothing (xxx) Ξ I will write for you to copy/then / [goes to the board and writes]

05 06

S1

07

T

In addition, the lack of instruction moves students to build it themselves by asking for clarification or explicitly demanding some guidance on the tasks. For example, at one point in the lesson, Manuela gives students a vague idea about an activity they should accomplish but does not offer them detailed instructions regarding its execution. In effect, students try to build the instruction by raising some questions, followed by the teacher’s negative response ‘no’. After that, a student again demands direction by asking for clarification, as can be seen in the lines below:

190  Valdeni da Silva Reis L

Sp

MU

09 10 11 12 13 14 15 17 18

T S2 T S3 T

Look / Two sheets of paper right? ↑ NO (xxx) are we supposed to write in English? (xxx) a little/only for those who do not have it/ this/a few things/well one sheet of paper is enough/isn’t it? Yes/yes it is And ::: good evening/in English

S3 T T

The teacher’s response in line 13 gives us an important clue about the constitution of the physical space in this classroom, which is the second element that constitutes the Effect of Suspension. Manuela answers: ‘only for those of you who do not have it’. By doing so, she indirectly divides the class into two groups: the ones who have some content and the ones who do not have any content. It seems that the latter must copy, but she is not explicit in what the former should do in the meantime. Nevertheless, through this division we can also identify one of the most difficult aspects of teaching in a juvenile detention centre, that is, that the constant admission and release of inmates jeopardizes their continuity in learning. Consequently, some content or activity tends to be repeated in the classroom each time a new student is admitted to the centre. The adverbs of place, such as ‘here’ and ‘there’, or the word ‘outside’ are then used to show that the current classroom is formulated from an external reference placed outside of the present centre; that is, another centre or another place, as can be seen in Manuela’s question to a new student just admitted to her class, in line 29 bellow:

L

Sp

MU

24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31 32

T S2. T. A1 T.

What about::: good evening/in English? Good night Good night or Lucky guess/man! Good night/or? /// You had English classes there You must have had / No, I didn’t What?

S2 T

Accordingly, what happens in this classroom is somehow connected to what has happened to students in some other place before their admission to the current centre. This connection influences the way the lesson is formed. In addition to that, present time is put on hold or connected to the possibility of developing some action in future rather than in the current time. To put it differently, the present event and time are suspended when Manuela states, for example, ‘Maybe I’ll teach

Brazilian juvenile detention centre 191 here someday’ in line 05 above. The analysis identified that students ask the same question many times (such as ‘are we supposed to write it?’ in line 12 above), and the teacher spends the whole class trying to teach the same greetings, the third and most relevant aspect and consequence of the Effect of Suspension. Johnson and Johnson (1998) state that a well-planned lesson generates a clear progression of interrelated activities developed over a specific amount of time. Generally, time is made present within classrooms by content progression and established tasks, which are intended to help students to learn and practice linguistic aspects of the foreign language, as they also connect the new content to that previously learned. Memory is then activated. In contrast to this, this study points out the stagnation that occurred in the analysed lesson and its activities. Although time passes by, the activities do not progress, contributing to the emergence of the Effect of Suspension. The stagnation of the content can be observed in the lines below taken from the mapped lesson: L

Sp

MU

18 44 45 46 66 112 113 114 115 116 290 291 436

T. T.

And::: good evening/in English? What is the other structure/that I was talking about in English? Good Evening / When do we say good evening? Good morning The good morning/is? Good morning // Good afternoon? // // Good/afternoon // Good Evening // // // (xxx) ↑ LOOK / What is the greeting that I say in the morning/in the morning? So if you have here good evening/the other is?

T. T S2. T. T. T

It was possible to identify stagnation in the formal instruction of the English lesson, as well as the resulting Effect of Suspension, first by mapping line-by-line a lesson given in this space and then combining it with learning and field journals and interviews conducted with the teacher and students about the English classes. This stagnation could thus be identified not only in the analysis of the lesson itself, but also in the analysis of the interviews with the teacher and students. In the interview, for example, Manuela states: 28 // // Uh [disappointed] // // I TRY/to teach them for them to be able AT LEAST/to know a LITTLE/of the foreign language 29 So/I do not teach only English (laugh) 30 I do many things (xxx) from my mind / 31 (xxx) difficulties / 32 / and/and putting on things on my lesson 33 But I teach/I teach them/as they are, right? // 34 Say good morning good afternoon good evening 35 I do/I repeat /

INTERVIEW MANUELA

192  Valdeni da Silva Reis Manuela’s statement ‘as they are’ (line 33) is here understood as a slip, i.e. a surprising element that brings up to the surface the person’s hidden truths, which are something he or she did not want to share or even to feel. The slip interrupts the subject’s intention, revealing something other than she intended to show. The relationships established within the incarcerated space are related to a sort of memory that multiplies and actualises the subject’s incarcerated condition. That is to say that inmates’ previous criminal lives are not deleted when they are admitted to the centre. The centre represents punishment for an unaccepted behaviour, as well as discipline and re-education to enable the inmates to undertake social reintegration. However, the Brazilian recidivism rates indicate that young offenders are likely to relapse into crime and consequently be sent to adult prisons or even die at an early age. In the detention centre, this fact is brought into the relationships and the inmates’ incarcerated condition continuously determines the way they are treated in this space, i.e., as an inmate who has to have classes and who is not just a regular student. As can be seen in the interview above, Manuela confesses that she teaches them as they are, pointing to the existence of an incarcerated teaching to incarcerated students, that constantly revolves around the same contents (‘I do/I repeat’). This fact can also be acknowledged in an interview with a student, as can be seen below (lines 48; 53; 54): 48 49 50 51 52 53 54 55

I learned/many things/only the basic indeed/that is The most interesting things/still I didn’t/I didn’t learn yet [what sort of basic things/and what would you like to learn?] Uhm/I would like to learn/more things / Well // well I have learned only / Good morning // good afternoon/and/goodbye Things like that /

INTERVIEW Robert

Finally, the awkward end of the lesson also reveals the Effect of Suspension and elements of a confused space. Notice the last lines in the excerpt below: L

Sp

MU

501 502 503 504 505 506 507 508 509 510 511 512 513

S2 T S5

Can we put our notebook away/teacher? Yes you can/please Has it already finished? /are we free to leave? What?/the class has already finished Yes William And Adriano has also escaped too The one who was in Robert classroom God be with you / Have a good workday Amen/And also with you Is it over? It’s over/isn’t it?

S4 T S5 T S1 S3

Brazilian juvenile detention centre 193 514 515 516 517 518 519 520 521 522

S2 T S3 S2 T G

It’s finished (xxx) It’s right here Thank you/teacher See you Here The class has finished here I can bring my material with me/can’t I? [talks to the guard] Sorry?

As there is no clear and efficient progression in the management of instruction, the activities and interactions engaged in the classroom, including the completion of the lesson, are also established in a completely confused manner. Furthermore, the end of the lesson was determined by the students and not by the teacher. A student’s question about the possibility of putting his notebook away is interpreted as the end of the lesson. After that, students start asking questions in order to bring the lesson to a close (‘Has it already finished?’; ‘it’s over, isn’t it?’; ‘are we free to leave?’). Nevertheless, at the end of the class there is also evidence of elements related to the reality of a detention centre, such as transfers, escapes, new internments or releases. This can be seen, for example, when a student makes the following comment: ‘And Adriano has escaped too’, in line 507. Ultimately, the teacher addresses the guard to know whether or not she could take her own teaching material, such as books, notebook, pen and chalk with her, notifying him, the person who represents the law in that space, that the class is over. Briefly summarising the aspects that originate the Effect of Suspension phenomenon, it is right to state that confusion is created as the teacher’s position is not well defined in the classroom events. As a result, the participants are not really sure about what to do; however, they play the discursive game between acceptance and subtle resistance, making believe that the teaching and learning of English within the incarcerated setting is taking place the way it should. Under those circumstances, the interactions in this particular setting point to a sort of make believe around the teaching and learning, which is created by the participants and further made evident by the stagnation in the development of the topics in the lesson; that is, the lesson – as well as the whole school year – revolves exhaustively around the teaching of some greetings. In other words, although time passes by, there is no progression in terms of the content assigned for this particular class, which prevents learning opportunities from taking place. Finally, the spatial division present in the participants’ discourse, through the use of the spatial deictics or expressions that refer to space, such as here, there and outside, establishes a ‘place nowhere’ in which the present space is suspended or dependent on what has happened before in another space. Given all these points, Effect of Suspension is defined as the stagnation of content, events, relationships and discursive positions in a certain space, despite the fact that time continues to pass uncontrollably. The Effect of Suspension is then created from a subject’s struggle over time – not always purposeful, never successful and constantly challenged by memory. Time always triumphs and the intriguing relationship among subjects, memory and the lesson content is found to be controversial, stagnated or suspended. What is learned in this English class is something fragmented that does not meet students’ needs. Consequently, time passes by, content stagnates

194  Valdeni da Silva Reis and all that remains is the confusion that makes evident that the English lesson is in a confused space, going nowhere. In sum, the Effect of Suspension emerges from fragments of actions, sayings and relationships that, via memory, play incessantly around an event that happened in the past or something that may come true someday. The actions and sayings are then always connected to things that insist on remaining confusedly suspended. In the next section, the implications of the Effect of Suspension for the classroom will be presented more systematically.

Implications for the classroom A very intriguing and particular discursive space is created within the incarcerated setting under investigation. As has been pointed out, students build their discursive position from the way the teacher takes on or denies hers. Furthermore, most of the time the teacher is driven to take her discursive position in response to students’ questions. As a result, the social and historical position of the teacher is challenged and redefined in this classroom. In addition, students’ requests or actions build elements of the English lesson’s instruction and classroom management. Another point to be mentioned is that, despite the stagnation of actions and content, a very friendly relationship between the participants can always be observed. Although it has not been explored in the present chapter in detail, lines 509 (‘God be with you’), 510 (‘Have a good work-day’), 517 (‘Thank you/teacher’) and 518 (‘See you’) subtly indicate the existence of a very cordial atmosphere in the classroom. This is to say that students are aware of the rules of living under perpetual vigilant eyes and gradually learn how to develop and exhibit their docile sides or, in Foucault’s terms, docile bodies (Foucault 2005) in this special teaching and learning setting. To put it differently, it is historically known that students’ ways of living in an incarcerated space require a continuous demonstration of appropriate behaviour in order to increase the possibilities of being released earlier or to gain some privileges from the institution, such as an outing to a club or to attend a course, etc. Therefore, students tend to behave accordingly, by being polite and stating during the interviews or informal conversations what they believe is expected from them, such as that they enjoy studying, the classes are good or that they really want to change their lives. By doing so, they demonstrate their disciplined behaviour, their ‘docile bodies’ (Foucault 2005). Furthermore, as presented earlier, the present time and place of the teaching and learning are always connected to or dependent on a different time, a different place, which suspends meaningful learning opportunities or prevents them from taking place. The incarcerated space in which the teaching and learning of English is formulated is then confused due to the Effect of Suspension that resists and persists. Knowing this, for future pedagogical endeavours and further inquiry, educators and researchers need to formulate pedagogical interventions to break down this suspension by the creation of an approach to teaching and learning based on the provision of learning opportunities that foster students’ engagement in an effective and meaningful learning experience, especially developed to make a difference within such a challenging space. Since one aspect of such stagnation is, for example,

Brazilian juvenile detention centre 195 the impossibility of progressing content due to new arrivals and dismissals in the centre, short but complete, independent and contextualised linguistic units could be created and taught in each class. Besides this, the incarcerated learners could also benefit from the creation of self-directed modules, which would empower them as they would become much more independent and aware of learning strategies as well as of their own abilities and needs. Autonomy needs then to be pursued in this context, with autonomous learners being engaged in their own learning process and encouraged to take responsibility for the changes they need to make in their (educational) lives outside the juvenile detention centre classroom. Furthermore, it is important to prepare teachers to deal with this reality. As a starting point, it would be important to investigate who the teacher is in these contexts; that is to say, what are his or her teaching experiences, beliefs and identity? After developing a detailed survey of the teachers’ background and their teaching practice in these spaces, teacher preparation courses and continuing education programmes could be designed to meet their specific needs.

Conclusions As this study indicates, the analysis of the physical and discursive space of an English classroom within the context of incarceration sheds light on how ‘meaning effects’, discursive positions and events are established in this particular setting. Accordingly, the actions of the participants in this place turn it into an intriguing space where positions are challenged and the students show an autonomous way of placing themselves into the discursive space. Surprisingly, students take control over the classroom space and events, imposing their autonomy despite the student-inmates’ historically constructed positions. Nevertheless, although we understand that autonomy demands a complete reconstruction ‘of language pedagogy that involves the rejection of the traditional classroom and the introduction of wholly new ways of working’ (Allwright 1988: 35), when students take control over turns and events in this special educational context, the teacher’s position is challenged and appropriate learning opportunities fail to take place. Discursive positions are challenged and what remains is confusion. Moreover, this investigation reveals the existence of the Effect of Suspension, which prevents more effective learning from taking place. As was pointed out, the Effect of Suspension stagnates actions and the relationships that occur in this particular context. Finally, it is essential to give visibility to this context and its subjects, and thus to develop strategies that aim at the destabilisation of this Effect of Suspension. Material and pedagogical approaches should be specially designed for this context, taking into account the particularities of this special environment. By doing so, much more effective teaching practices can finally be proposed, enabling the students and the teacher to work together to create a meaningful and transformative teaching and learning approach for this special space. After all, the teaching and learning (of English) in the incarcerated space should present the young people who inhabit it with new possibilities to find a voice, enabling them to position themselves differently in the world.

196  Valdeni da Silva Reis

Notes 1 The term ‘subject’ used in this study refers to the notion that human beings are constituted through the use of language and affected by the unconscious, the subject-effect of language, i.e. subject of discourse (Pêcheux 1995, 1997). 2 Fictional name chosen by the participant. 3 The excerpts were translated from Portuguese to English, since the classes are given in Portuguese. The words said in English during the lesson are highlighted in italics.

References Allwright, D. 1988, ‘Autonomy and individualization in whole-class instruction’, in A. Brookes and P. Grundy (eds.), Individualization and autonomy in language learning, Modern English Publications and the British Council, London, pp. 35–44. Benveniste, É. 1976, Problemas de linguística geral (Trans Novak, M.G. and Néri, L.), Companhia Editora Nacional, São Paulo. Benveniste, É. 1992, O Homem na linguagem (Trans. IML Pascoal), Vega, Lisboa. Bloome, D., Carter, S.P., Christian, B.M., Madrid, S., Otto, S., Shuart-Faris, N., Smith, M., Goldman, S.R. and Macbeth, D. 2008, On discourse analysis in classrooms: Approaches to language and literacy research, Teachers College Press, New York. Cameron, D. 2001, ‘Identity, difference and Power: locating social relation in talk’, in D. Cameron (ed.), Working with spoken discourse, Sage, London. Cazden, C. 1988, Classroom discourse: The language of teaching and learning, Heinemann, Portsmouth, NH. De Certeau, M. 2012, A Invenção do cotidiano: Artes do Fazer (Trans. Alves, E.F.18th edn.), Vozes, Petrópolis, RJ, original work published 1980. Erickson, F. and Shultz, J. 1981, ‘When is a context? Some issues methods in the analysis of social competence’, in J.L. Green and C. Wallat (eds.), Ethnography and language in educational settings, Ablex, Norwood, NJ, pp. 147–160. Foucault, M. 1980, Power knowledge: Selected interviews and other writings 1972–1977 (Trans Gordon, C., Marschall, L., Mepham, J. and Soper, K.), Harverster Press, New York. Foucault, M. 2005, Vigiar e punir: nascimento da prisão (Trans. Ramalhete, R. 30th edn.), Vozes, Petrópolis, RJ, original work published 1975. Green, J. and Wallat, C. 1981, ‘Mapping instructional conversations’, in J. Green and C. Wallat (eds.), Ethnography and language in education contexts, Ablex, Norwood, MA, pp. 162–195. Johnson, K. and Johnson, H. 1998, Encyclopedic dictionary of applied linguistics: A Handbook for language teaching, Blackwell, Oxford. Leander, K. 2002, ‘Situated literacies, digital practices, and the constitution of spacetime’, Paper presented at the National Reading Conference, Miami, FL. Viewed 21 January, 2016. www.vanderbilt.edu/litspace/nrc2002.pdf. Maingueneau, D. 2001, Elementos linguísticos para o texto literário, Martins Fontes, São Paulo, original work published 1986. Mehan, H 1985, ‘The structure of classroom discourse’, in T.A. van Dijk (ed.), Handbook of discourse analysis, volume III: Discourse and dialogue, London, Academic Press, pp. 119–131. Morris, K.A. 2006, ‘Considering discourse analysis as a method for researching professional development’, in L.A. Rex (ed.), How talk in learning situations creates and constrains interactional ethnographic studies in teaching and learning (Discourse and social processes series), Hampton Press, Cresskill, NJ, pp. 37–68.

Brazilian juvenile detention centre 197 Neves, M.S. 2004, ‘Processo discursivo e subjetividade na avaliação em LE (inglês) no ensino universitário’, Trabalhos em Linguística Aplicada, Campinas, vol. 43, no. 2, pp. 249–264. Norton, B. 2013, Identity and language learning: Extending the conversation, 2nd edn, Multilingual Matters, Bristol. Orlandi, E.P. 1999, Análise de Discurso: princípios e procedimento, Pontes, Campinas. Pêcheux, M. 1995, Semântica e discurso: uma critica à afirmação do óbvio, 2nd edn, Unicamp, Campinas. Pêcheux, M.A. 1997, ‘Análise de Discurso: Três épocas (1983)’, in F. Gadet and T. Hak (eds.), Por uma análise automática do discurso: uma introdução à obra de Michel Pêcheux, 3rd edn, Unicamp, Campinas, pp. 311–318. Reis, V.S. 2010, ‘Representações e deslocamentos no diário de aprendizagem de língua estrangeira: uma escrita de si para o outro’, in B.M. Eckert-Hoff and M.J.R.F. Coracini (eds.), Escritura de Si e Alteridade no Espaço Papel-Tela, Mercado de Letras, Campinas, pp. 137–163. Sacks, H. 1992, ‘On questions’, in G. Jefferson, (ed.), Lectures on conversation. Vol I, Blackwell, Oxford. Watson Todd, R. 1997, ‘Classroom teaching strategies: Topic-based analysis of classroom discourse’, System, vol. 26, no. 3, pp. 303–318.

Appendix

Transcription Conventions Prosodic Marks / // /// // // ↑ ↓ (xxx) [] Ξ ::: T S/Ss CAPITAL LETTER

Pause Longer Pause Very Long Pause More than 20 Seconds of Silence Rising Intonation Falling Intonation Undecipherable Utterance Contextualisation Cues Abrupt Interruption Longer Vowel/Consonant/Word Teacher Student(s) stressed words

Part 4

Institutional spaces

13 Spaced out or zoned in? An exploratory study of spaces enabling autonomous learning in two New Zealand tertiary learning institutions Moira Hobbs and Kerstin Dofs Introduction As with many other tertiary institutions around the world, the authors’ senior management teams are currently leading large-scale transformation projects to “re-look, re-think, re-design” what, how and where education is delivered. This includes establishing new strategic frameworks, and introducing new pedagogies to accommodate the learning and living styles of today’s students within the current financial environment. It may also involve considerable downsizing of staff and spaces as well as technological up-skilling of staff. Inevitably, it also rationalises the availability and type of physical spaces for various activities, such as face-to-face classes, conducting research, student-facing services (administrative, web etc.) and study. The projects are intended to ensure survival in today’s competitive market, to minimise high property maintenance costs, to keep up with the demands and possibilities of advanced technologies and to ensure the institutes are world class. ‘Flexible learning’ and ‘student centeredness’ are two of the key phrases, and a student learning hub is considered to be the centre of the support structure. Amidst the changes, learning centre managers strive to maintain the best possible standards and outcomes for their users. The following chapter discusses the impact of these transformations with respect to self-access language learning in two of the largest technical institutes in New Zealand. Even if the self-access centres are far apart, at opposite ends of the country, their context, management structure and modus operandi are very close. Students at both institutions are a mixture of permanent residents and international students, mostly ‘pathwaying’ into a range of further tertiary study areas, such as healthcare, education, engineering, nursing, trades, communication, sports, veterinary medicine etc. The authors contend that self-access spaces take on an extra level of significance for learners within the context of campus developments which may lead to fewer opportunities for learners to have and take ownership of classroom space. They also suggest that new blended teaching and learning pedagogies increasingly contain elements of collaborative learning and independent learning, which will make increasing demands on students to behave autonomously. Paradoxically, this could necessitate more autonomous learning support and face-to-face advising than previous teaching and learning models. Also, educational institutes are in the business of preparing students for the requirements of work in the 21st century and the

202  Moira Hobbs and Kerstin Dofs concomitant virtual, online requirements that may be attached to this. Interpersonal communication is still very important, perhaps even more so in this digital world, as people may prefer to talk to a real person rather than to a machine. Therefore, there appears to be an inherent need to promote personal support structures in self-access centres and autonomous learning contexts. Therefore, merely providing appropriate facilities (resources and study space) within social, learning and spatial developments in institutions does not automatically lead to student-centred learning or autonomy (Benson and Voller 1997), that is, the development of self-motivation, knowledge about how to learn and increased student responsibility for their own learning. For this, advice and information about metacognition is also important, as is good-quality language learner advising. Institutions and their self-access centres need to provide support for learners to help them establish useful strategies for needs-analysis, goal-setting and decision-making about what and how to learn. They also need to assist students with choosing appropriate content, managing learning methods and strategies, and they need to enable self-assessment of achievements. This chapter will discuss a range of learning spaces and explain why it is important to successfully encourage a sense of belonging and autonomous development within students. A pertinent question in this context is also: where does learning really take place? The chapter explores autonomy in relation to six spaces, then examines the (changing) spaces for self-access language learning in the authors’ institutions, including some implications for educators and learners. While self-acess centre spaces have up until now been considered as the most suitable and appropriate places for autonomous learning development for students, these now seem to be in the process of being re-evaluated for usefulness. In this context, being mindful of how to execute a successful change seems very important. As Jiménez Raya and Vieira (2015: xiii) say, ‘pedagogy for autonomy requires skilful action and excellent training’. It is hoped that the thoughts and ideas put forward in this chapter will help inform practitioners in other institutions where redevelopment projects are currently being undertaken.

Literature review Although the revered Chinese scholar and philosopher Zhu Xi urged people in about 1200 AD to study and learn on their own (Pierson 1996), Holec (1981: 3) is regarded as the first to describe autonomy in language learning as the ‘ability to take charge of one’s own learning’. A surge in interest in language learner autonomy arose during the 1960s when individuals were studying independently after work, using specially developed language resources. To be successful, learners were expected to be responsible for their own motivation, needs-analysis, goalsetting, material-selection and self-evaluation. Gradually, awareness of and interest in the dimension of autonomy arising from collaborative effort grew, and there was an increased focus on ways in which autonomy manifested itself in classrooms. Little (1991) added social considerations – merely by being physically together, people are part of an interdependent social situation. This concurred with Vygotsky’s (1978) thought that social interaction was the most common medium for the development

Spaced out or zoned in? 203 of knowledge and skills, and his advancing of the construct of the ‘zone of proximal development’, the ‘space’ between what learners can do with, and without, the help of a more knowledgeable other. Students who take responsibility to close this gap independently, with or without input from informed others, are demonstrating one of the important attributes of an autonomous learner. Nowadays, in New Zealand, it is increasingly common for autonomy to be embedded within courses, sometimes as a specific outcome. Jiménez Raya and Vieira (2015: xi) strongly support this drive for autonomy and teacher endorsement of it. They draw on research showing that the lack of autonomy is highly demotivating for humans and goes against the educative grain . . . Deep learning is only possible with some form of autonomy . . . Therefore the whole concept of teacher effectiveness must be reviewed in the light of the need for autonomy. In the current educational environment of more flexible, blended/online teaching and learning models, it appears that all educators should be more cognisant of the requirements, needs and benefits of learner autonomy. Kolb and Kolb (2005: 209) prophetically advocated a holistic program of institutional development that includes curriculum development, faculty development, student development, administrative and staff development, and resource development . . . coordinated around an institutional vision and mission to promote learning. Such programs are now becoming reality in many New Zealand tertiary institutions. Kolb and Kolb also promote self-authorship, self-direction and development of students’ metacognitive skills to foster learning and responsibility for learning, attributes which are also inherent in the new social, learning and spatial developments in New Zealand institutions. Other authors (Ellis and Sinclair 1989; Willing 1988 & 1989; Oxford 1990, 2008 & 2011) encourage educators to make ‘thinking/mental space’ for learner autonomy, through ensuring students’ understanding of how they learn best (learning style) and how to use the necessary skills (strategy inventory and self-regulation). Wherever learning takes place, it is necessary to understand where and how it happens and how to maximise it, as Thomas (2010: 502) explains: Our difficulty in understanding and articulating the nature of learning is partly brought about by our inability to articulate where learning takes place – in a world characterised by virtual space and electronic selves. If we are to articulate the nature of learning in our age, then we need to articulate the nature of the real and virtual spaces and bodies that we inhabit. These spaces can be categorised as social, emotional, political, philosophical, digital and physical. The following sections will now focus on the autonomous learning features within these categories.

204  Moira Hobbs and Kerstin Dofs

Social space There appears to be growing recognition worldwide of learning as a social process, with an increased focus on learner-centred pedagogy, and consideration of both individual and group factors as important contributors to autonomy. Kolb and Kolb (2005: 194) describe learning as a ‘process of creating knowledge, and relearning, resulting from synergetic transactions between the person and the environment . . . through the transformation of experience’. Later, Kolb and Kolb (2005: 199–200) claim that physical environment is not the sole most important factor situations in situated learning theory such as life space and learning space are not necessarily physical places but constructs of the person’s experience in the social environment . . . learning spaces extend beyond the teacher and the classroom . . . and require norms of psychological safety, serious purpose, and respect to promote learning. Murray (2011: 17) takes it further and notes specifically that older learners can benefit from the creation of social learning spaces which offer them the possibility of participation in a community of learners, opportunities for metacognitive development, and the freedom to exercise their autonomy and self-direction. Murray (2013) subsequently explores teaching methods encouraging learners to imagine a future self in the language classroom (one form of social learning space). The underlying principle is that this creates ‘an action-based learning situation that holds the potential for affordances to emerge’ (Murray 2013: 391), which could include contexts, skills, strategies and social factors conducive to the development of autonomy. As acknowledged earlier by Little (1991), Murray (2014) stresses that development of learner autonomy involves the concomitant social aspects of individual-cognitive and social-interactive dimensions. This concept of being able to act and interact both independently and socially has led Newton (2009) to propose intercultural communicative language teaching (ICLT). This approach is explained by Byram, Gribkova and Starkey (2002: 5), as follows: the ‘intercultural dimension’ in language teaching aims to develop learners as intercultural speakers or mediators who are able to engage with complexity and multiple identities and to avoid the stereotyping which accompanies perceiving someone through a single identity. This is important in the light of increased globalisation which means language learners often face language and cultural differences in their host countries and amongst peers, which positions them in a ‘third space’ (Darvin and Norton 2014) where they need to negotiate and re-create knowledge and identities with and within their new contexts. Also, it can be argued that students can learn from peers

Spaced out or zoned in? 205 less competent than themselves, because by helping lower-level language users, peer tutors need to fully understand the language and be able to articulate learning in ways that extend their own knowledge. Jiménez Raya and Vieira (2015: xv) confirm that autonomy is a conquest that requires personal and community involvement and engagement over a long period of time, and they explore the need for learning to have a social context, particularly for English as an Additional Language (EAL) users: competencies cannot be reduced to . . . units taught in isolation. Learning tasks make sense when integrated in social acts of expression that contribute to identity building. They give access to a world of bi-understanding, in which the hybrid Janus faces two languages and cultures, a dual perspective that instrumentations have much difficulty to represent. Other language learning theorists similarly view autonomy as a social construct (Benson and Cooker 2013), and Murray and Fujishima (2013: 155) conclude that social learning spaces ultimately create learning opportunities beyond the classroom, as well as fulfilling important socialising needs, as a community of practice is formed. The English Cafe which they studied, becomes a place for students to learn freely and autonomously during the course of their studies. This includes learning with and from each other via hosted events, facilitated social networking opportunities and encouragement of finding ways to share information, with autonomy ‘doubling as an affordance for both community building and language learning’. Elsewhere, Murray (2014: 5) claims that there are other spaces or ‘dimensions intertwined with the social: the emotional, the spatial and the political’, which also need to be accounted for.

Emotional space Spaces intended to support students’ autonomous learning also need to cater for students’ emotional lives. Personal choices arising from students’ learner beliefs and identities are frequently linked to their desires or aspirations for autonomy development, and to their emotional lives. White (2016; White and Bown: this volume) undertook a longitudinal research project which followed online distance students across several semesters, with the aim of discovering how emotions related to the process of learning changed over time, and how students regulated them. She found that almost everyone in the project was using strategies for regulating emotions, thereby becoming aware of their feelings and how to deal with them. Moreover, White (2016: 1) emphasised the importance of personal emotion and motivation in language learning: People can be highly motivated to succeed, but may find that learning the language or trying to speak with other people is so stressful that they actually don’t want to carry on . . . If people generate more positive emotions, however, they want to come back to it and keep going. Emotion is important for persistence.

206  Moira Hobbs and Kerstin Dofs This is also true for offline learning, as pointed out by Dewaele (2011), who underlines the influence of language learning motivation on emotional and psychological aspects of language acquisition and use, arguing that crucial precursors are attitudes as well as direct or indirect intercultural contact. He implies that naturalistic classroom learning combined with authentic interaction is beneficial for learning a second language (L2) and suggests that teachers should introduce various types of emotional discourse vocabulary. This would vary between languages and cultures. As Dewaele states (2011: 35), knowledge of verbal cues and body language is ‘crucial for successful communication’ and it is ‘important for teachers to focus on the differences and similarities’ and that this cognition will also ‘add to the sense of competence’. The desire and need for places to make use of this competence, and to learn safely and openly together in a non-threatening environment can be important, as noted by managers of learning centres in New Zealand (Dofs and Hobbs 2011). Yashima (2014) adds that an increasing sense of proficiency as well as relatedness to trusted others also aids the internalisation of self-regulation and autonomous development within learners. Likewise, O’Leary (2014) emphasises the role of emotions in relation to autonomy in formal tertiary contexts, while Lewis (2014) stresses the need to show empathy and respect for the autonomy of others. All these authorities contribute to a better understanding of the importance of personal emotion and motivation in language learning, both the language learning itself and the metacognitive skills to understand this acquisition process. Institutions will need to take these emotional facets into consideration.

Political/philosophical space Institutions are a product of past political and philosophical environments and a reflection of current thinking and financial positions. Indeed, Holec’s (1981) Languages Project at CRAPEL, which started in the late 1960s, arose from the growth of individualism and post-WWII redevelopment and was partly a reaction against the ideals and organisation of institutionalised learning. Holec considered that social progress should no longer be measured by material well-being and consumerism, but by improvements in the quality of life, based on the development of respect for the individual in society. The project aimed to provide adults with opportunities for lifelong learning, incorporating ideas of self-directed learning and autonomy. Later self-access centres were provided at CRAPEL to help realise this vision, and now it is evident that Holec’s work has led to the growth of self-access centres all around the world. However, as Smith (2003: 255) highlights, there are different emphases available regarding what ‘ability to take charge’ entails, and different views, also, of what an individual’s ‘own’ learning might mean when learning is viewed as inevitably occurring within the constraints and with the resources of particular sociocultural contexts. He continues that it is vital to be aware of different approaches to autonomous learning, for example, ‘the way “political” versions (of autonomy) can underestimate learners’ needs for authoritative information and guidance’.

Spaced out or zoned in? 207 Attitudes and beliefs within a community can also motivate students, and legitimise the learning of a language (Palfreyman 2014), as can governmental willingness to support language development amongst its resident, migrant and refugee populations. On the other hand, the physical and economic resources available within a country can also be used to create a barrier to equality, equity and access to the education necessary for learner autonomy; therefore, language learning support (and the associated cultural support) may also be subject to political influence (Castillo Zaragosa 2014). It is sobering to reflect that, while freely available self-access materials, and the personal responsibility, knowledge and freedom to use these effectively within appropriate learning spaces are well established in many countries, this may not be the case for all societies. So, although educators in these contexts may be keen to foster autonomy, providing a range of suitable learning facilities still has to be mediated through a broader societal lens.

Digital space Murphy (2014) argues that blended learning and learning situations can cross physical boundaries via the web and afford L2 communities of practice, which can offer a new range of language learning opportunities. Furthermore, Mercado (2015: 199) describes how millennials view autonomous learning projects as a bridge between their world and the worlds of study, employment and entertainment. They look forward to working in teams, want empowerment and freedom of choice, depict and understand the world in their terms . . . seek opportunities for learning and entertainment that are authentic reflections of their own lives. This characteristic of combining work and leisure also involves the familiarity of working digitally and autonomously, often within a group. As education embraces more collaborative internet-based interaction and blended learning (Skype, Moodle, webinars, Blackboard Collaborate, Google Docs, Echo360 etc.), students may be challenged to re-define and re-conceptualise their own notion of the classroom, the spaces (and places) they choose to study and their own autonomy. Reinders and White (2011: 1) comment that ‘recognizing autonomous learning when we see it is one thing, understanding how we can better encourage it, and the role of technology in this, is another’. They address the issue of technology offering a facility for supporting the learning process as new developments progress in the educational sphere: Technology has the potential to not only provide access to resources for learning in a superficial sense, but also to offer increased affordances for autonomous learning. Opportunities for interaction, situated learning, and support for learning outside formal contexts, have greatly improved because of technology. These affordances are not yet always capitalized on.

208  Moira Hobbs and Kerstin Dofs Silburn et al. (2012) support both online distance learning and face-to-face learning in a physical space, while Bates (2015) describes the greater need for the teaching of skills development and for student support alongside technology, with more open and freely available academic content. However, Thomas (2010: 502) warns that if the conceptual ‘slippage’ that characterises the disappearing differences between ‘learning spaces’ and ‘learning environments’, coupled with the further ‘displacement’ of the learner (turned avatar) on virtual spaces . . . serves to ‘displace’ learning itself . . . we have failed to recognise the primacy of ‘physical situatedness’. In other words, while virtual and digital spaces may be accessed from a wide range of actual physical spaces, such as home, library/learning hub, community library or, in fact, anywhere else outside the classroom, it may still be necessary to tie these spaces to a physical home base for physical interaction and face-to-face communication.

Physical space The spatial and/or physical dimension of learner autonomy is another important concept. Hunley and Schaller (2009) believe that students engage more deeply in spaces where they hold ownership. Whether physical or technological, the Georgia Institute of Technology (2013: 42–43) notes that spaces need to be ‘Authorable, responsive, flexible’, to ‘support changing, responsive, collective leadership’ and to facilitate ‘rebounding from impasses and failure’ in order to enable learners to become ‘Agents of their own learning’, ‘Integrative thinkers and problem solvers’ and ‘Empowered communicators and leaders’. Ribeiro et al. (2013: 1) point to the particular need for providing useful multi-purpose areas for today’s students: spatial configuration of learning spaces and the facilities and initiatives they accommodate are rather important to provide effective environments for learning where diverse studying and cultural activities combine, motivating students to become more knowledgeable and equipped with the interdisciplinary and high level skills the 21st century society requires. Historically, self-access learning centres have been spaces constructed around pedagogical visions which successfully balance formal and informal learning. They are places where students choose to undertake a vital part of their language learning outside class hours and where they are encouraged to learn autonomously. Murray, Fujishima and Uzuka (2014) turn this around somewhat when they propose that it is how learners imagine, perceive and define a physical space that help them decide what they do there, and this impacts on their autonomy in that space. When considering upgrades to technological and virtual environments involving space constraints, there is a need to fully investigate and understand the value of the specific physical spaces already forged – spaces which currently help students develop the

Spaced out or zoned in? 209 characteristics necessary for autonomy and further study. As Lamb (2014: 1) reinforces, it was a specific type of space, namely the self-access centre, which in the 1970s stimulated the current interest in learner autonomy. It is time then to explore further the meaning of space and its relationship to learner autonomy. He describes how self-access centres may have many affordances – physical, formal, informal, public, private, shared and/or virtual – for reflection or for communication. Cotterall and Murray (2009) suggest that affordances, which appear to emerge in the learning environment as students engage in self-directed learning, can enable them to develop metacognition. Besides this, Holderness (2014) states that informal spaces can encourage interaction and are well established in newer institutional developments. While institutions nowadays do not have much choice in undertaking rapid, major developments (McCray 2013), it is clear that, as many language learning providers around the world are undergoing transformation, it is important to accommodate/consider students’ ownership of the spaces being created so as to allow them to choose from a range of affordances and give them agency to use the areas to best suit their own purposes. The above discussions about the six different types of space show that they are all important dimensions to consider when wanting to successfully encourage a sense of belonging and autonomous development. The spaces identified above will now be discussed with respect to the ongoing restructuring, renewal and reconstruction of self-access centres in the authors’ institutions.

The New Zealand context Social space Both polytechnics featured in this chapter appear to be catering increasingly to both young and older learners, the latter of whom may be upskilling or studying for new occupations. Advisors work with these students with the aim of enhancing student outcomes and improving institutional success and retention rates in a comfortable relaxed atmosphere, where students feel confident to meet others, to try to communicate, to feel comfortable making mistakes, and to maximise their learning. Simultaneously, the intention is that learners can develop the self-efficacy needed to proficiently use the target language as well as to maintain certain belief systems about being a successful language learner and user. One of the main drivers of the major rebuild and renovation projects at the two institutions seems to be the desire and need for effective and efficient use of all learning and teaching spaces, including language learning spaces. There are also plans for ‘makerspaces’, dedicated communal workspaces for curriculum specialists and learning advisors, where teachers or learners can work on campus-wide, classroomspecific or self-directed projects, perhaps sharing tools that are otherwise not readily available: for example, video equipment or 3D printers. At one of the institutions, nearly all the formal teaching spaces are open for use by anyone at any time, but this

210  Moira Hobbs and Kerstin Dofs flexible learning space model does not seem conducive to staff and students being able to make a place within the space, as it is always fluid, cannot be fixed and cannot take on any personal touches such as wall posters, photos, bookshelves, gifts, flowers etc. Nevertheless, the concept of advisors and teachers no longer having individual office space, but rather having shared space, has been adopted as the model for future work and study space. Within the student services and learning hub area, human factors are integral to learning space design, so there are informal social spaces with food outlets and comfortable furnishing, which help support varied learning activities and socialisation. These informal spaces can encourage interaction and are becoming more common in institutional developments; however, learning may still need to be supported, as some students may be unfamiliar with this style of working and learning. From observation and personal advising experience, the writers suggest that opportunities for scaffolded social interaction amongst students is particularly valuable for shy and/or lower level students who may be reticent to practise in public or with a more critical audience. Currently, our language schools and learning centres advocate and support communicative language teaching (CLT), a form of social, interactive, learner-centred and collaborative learning where social beings learn from their environment and others who are more knowledgeable or competent, through active dialogue and other social activities. Online and distance learning are of course becoming more common, which limits opportunities for physical groupings. This could impact on the ability of self-access centres to be places where students, and particularly English as an additional language (EAL) students, can build up a physical community of practice or a social network, in a language-focused, relaxed, friendly environment. As shown earlier, it is important for student socialisation and peer contact that the students’ needs for social interaction spaces are satisfied and that there also are opportunities for one-to-one contact with peers and staff. Advisors can enable students to develop or change their self-belief, their sense of identity and belonging and help form effective and enjoyable peer networks.

Emotional space At the two institutes, language learning advisor support is seen as a trusted bridge affording students a personal connection with the institute and leading to enhanced student accomplishments and outputs. Both of the language self-access centres have also established themselves as safe and welcoming spaces where learners can talk about their feelings. They are places where students can meet objective support people and where they can also use the emotional discourse vocabulary they may have learnt in the classroom. To enhance this experience, learning centre managers and their staff should acknowledge the need for the emotional well-being of their students so they can maximise effective learning and address issues as they arise. Through the mutual interaction of both learner and advisor, trusting relationships can be formed and learners assisted to develop autonomy in a timely and empathetic way. While emotion-related strategy use by online students is a promising finding in White’s (2016) project discussed earlier, understanding, awareness and practice of

Spaced out or zoned in? 211 emotional care and security may be more easily and effectively accomplished when students meet each other and their advisors face-to-face, rather than through social media or other computing platforms. Therefore, it could be that social and emotional space considerations will need to be addressed more in the future as institutes move to more blended teaching and learning models. If no such spaces are created in the current transformational process of rapid pedagogical modernisation coupled with the associated increase of online delivery, there is a risk of overlooking important emotional and supportive aspects relating to interpersonal contacts and other affective factors, which could create barriers to learning.

Political/philosophical space Over the past few decades, New Zealand has become considerably more culturally diverse and has experienced a rapid growth within the international education industry sector, and teachers are becoming accustomed to embracing the political stance that learners should be free to have their own outlook on life, their own lifestyle and beliefs etc. and that they should be able to openly experience, talk about and have their viewpoints heard. Students are more likely to be encouraged to bring their own social identities, histories, values and cultural contexts to the content and to the classroom (Sade 2014). Government migrant and literacy funding initiatives enable some potentially language-disempowered or disenfranchised minority group members to learn English. This could well enhance their opportunities for productive work, as well as their sense of engagement and their ability to lead satisfying, happy lives within the host society. However, some disparities in language access are still apparent because funding for migrant and refugee support groups is limited. This applies to both paid and voluntary networks and has implications for resettlement and language programmes, as well as for refugee learners’ future work opportunities and, in some cases, access to academic literacies and further education. Both polytechnics being discussed in this chapter receive funding to cater for refugee and migrant language learners, some of which goes towards learner advising and autonomous learning. Both institutions, have self-access centres based on ‘best practice’ research (Dofs and Hobbs 2011), centred around an autonomous learning philosophy, with financial and philosophical support from the government via central funding. As noted previously, autonomous learning might not necessarily develop purely as a result of offering suitable resources and environments. Therefore, students who choose to use the self-access centres are also supported with personalised programmes both in the classroom (by teachers) and in the centre (by learning advisors, learning facilitators or tutorial assistants), and these interventions reinforce the transition to autonomy and/or independence. Dofs and Hornby (2006) established that learners benefit from autonomous learning awareness-raising activities and strategy training in the classroom in combination with supported self-study time within the curriculum. This encourages teachers and students to share responsibility for the autonomous learning progress – students learn transferable language learning strategies in the classroom, and they are guided to set up personalised self-study programmes for further independent learning beyond the classroom, for example, in the self-access centre.

212  Moira Hobbs and Kerstin Dofs While a building plan might state that goals include creating effective and studentcentred delivery, accessible training for all types of learners, a ‘students’ needs first’ approach and flexible learning environments that facilitate dynamic, innovative learning, there is still a need for political/philosophical decisions around a more detailed plan outlining the pedagogical and financial implications for this to be realised equitably, while also supporting autonomous learning.

Digital space Satisfying a need to move and/or expand physically in the 2000s, both centres were upgraded, which resulted in more modern technology and equipment as well as a more efficient organisation of resources. Recent changes now aim to meet the everchanging digital requirements of students and the increasing expectation of selfdirected learning, such as more bring-your-own devices, full Wi-Fi access, increased range of accessibility of tuition, more blended and online study components etc. Some support mechanisms have also moved to digital formats – for example, information literacy/library support, tutorials, language learning centre resources, academic learning support etc. – which helps save physical space. However, advising conversations with students and student evaluations suggest that students still want face-to-face time with teachers, and physical support networks. Students are being prepared for ever-changing employment opportunities and requirements in the 21st century and the digital online demands attached to these. Generally, institutes appear to be introducing more active learning (AL) and team based learning (TBL). These approaches involve structured small-group learning, where students prepare knowledge during out of class time, then apply that knowledge during teacher-contact and group-work sessions on campus or collaboratively online. This naturally requires certain levels of digital literacy, digital competence and autonomy. As technology and digital space is being more widely used in New Zealand, students are having to navigate a developing and increasing range of platforms and virtual environments. New learning tools, such as Mahara, e-portfolios, Moodle, Turnitin, a range of Google Doc applications etc., dictate that teachers deliver more online content to larger classes and utilise more mixed-use spaces, so there may be increasing difficulties with rapport and personal communication. More advising and emphasis on fostering and facilitating autonomy may be required as, increasingly, flexible learning arrangements may be difficult for learners who are accustomed to more conventional teacher-directed pedagogies, such as for older learners and for learners not used to the Western traditions of academia and academic literacies. It seems clear that institutional digitalisation strategies need to include successful implementation of autonomous learning development and support for this. For example, learning centres could be valuable points of contact for developing knowledge and gaining familiarity with digital equipment, tools and appropriate approaches to learning, especially for students struggling in this era.

Physical space Self-access centres are specifically designed to provide opportunities for students to take more responsibility for their own learning and to cater for varieties of individual

Spaced out or zoned in? 213 learning styles. This is the case at the two New Zealand self-access centres which were originally developed and informed by worldwide research and self-access practice (e.g., Benson 2001; Benson and Voller 1997; Gardner and Miller 1999; MozzonMcPherson and Vismans 2001). There are spaces available for a variety of private or group study facilities, such as relaxed and conventional seating, areas for both modern and conservative study methods, for both quiet or noisy work, and space for displaying resources. With the aim of efficient and enjoyable learning, materials are organised for easy access, having a helpful graphic and linguistic landscape, that is, clear, colour-coded signage for language levels and study areas. Materials are grouped according to language skills areas (reading, writing, listening and speaking) and other learning resources, such as vocabulary, grammar, English for specific purposes and New Zealand spoken English, which are all carefully scaffolded. This allows straightforward, intuitive access to materials and resources, so that students can control, select, adapt and develop their own study pathways and thereby also their own autonomy. Another intended outcome is to make it easier for students to take ownership of the space and turn it into their favoured place for studying. A new transition process involving these self-access centres is currently evident within the current institution-wide changes. In keeping with the increased focus on learner-centred and blended learning pedagogies mentioned earlier, the rebuild strategies strive to intentionally interweave learner-centeredness and flexibility into the design of the new learning spaces, as well as support of learners. This includes a more integrated approach to support for a range of learners and learning activities and provision of high-quality experiences as well as service. Other aims include fostering emotional and cultural safety and enabling easier access for all, while merging physical and virtual spaces. These new spaces are now fit-for-purpose and specifically designed to promote more technology-enhanced learning by embedding a range of appropriate, reliable and effective technologies. There are also major new programmes for upskilling advisors and teachers, so they can make more efficient and effective use of the new teaching spaces and pedagogies. Space for individualised usage, created according to the learning situation or context, comes in a range of forms, sizes and settings. The development also shows a growing interest and knowledge around the benefits of informal learning spaces which are thought to be essential for successful learning. All in all, this enables the institution to deliver services that allow individual students to follow their unique, personally designed and controlled learning and life paths which is all part of being autonomous. Once again, the intention is to foster connectedness, mobility, flexibility and a sense of global citizenship. It incorporates, and is informed by, the needs and desires of proposed occupants and covers a range of spaces at the institute, physical and virtual, for both formal and informal learning.

Implications As shown above, autonomous learning is a factor in modernisation projects at both institutions, even if not explicitly articulated in the planning. Implicitly, there are some clear indications of the need to enable autonomy generally, within flexible arrangements which allow for learner-centred independent group work as well as peer learning. Responses to this need are being manifested in the provision of areas for informal learning through student interaction; in pushing for alignment

214  Moira Hobbs and Kerstin Dofs between learning spaces and methodology; in utilising blended learning models which require students to take more control over their learning; and in incorporating workplace initiatives which increase application and authenticity of the learning. These represent important issues for autonomous learning, as they encourage ‘learning for real life’ and ‘life-long learning’ for this century and beyond. The challenge, then, in the world of increasing digital/blended learning and decreasing availability of physical space, is to maximise, ensure and maintain student-centred learning and achievement. When institutions make significant changes, they obviously need to take the users of space into account. The design should therefore be linked to a human-centred outcome, that is, people and learning activities should be more important considerations than simply resources and management of capital investments. Thus, new physical spaces should be developed as an array of social and study spaces, which also cater to students’ emotional needs of comfort, relaxation, identity and belonging. All of these are necessary for students to become engaged and motivated, with the self-belief and confidence to enable them to succeed and be in control of all aspects of their own learning, that is, successful autonomous learners. Such human-centred design would enable learners to feel at home in the new environment and, therefore, be more sociable with their peers. The two institutions described in this chapter currently appear to be making great efforts to develop strategies and structures for meeting the needs of their students, socially, emotionally, physically and digitally. Another major priority is to maintain a self-access centre space within the general learning hub space and to encourage and allow learners to claim it, embody it and impose their identity on it, as they make it their place for study and/or social purposes. Advisors already knowledgeable about and affected by the changes can then maintain the quality of the self-access centres within the institutional transformation processes. As previously stated, there is little option but to upgrade significantly in the current global environment. However, senior managers should check if the developments are conducive to maintaining the student needs listed above and if they meet the abilities and aspirations of their students. The redevelopment aims to maximise student success and employability, while also optimising institutional retention and sustainability statistics, but, at the same time, it should also foster students’ (sometimes lengthy) journey of autonomy. Autonomy is a demanding undertaking, needing participation from both individuals and their community over an extended period of time. Advisors, facilitators of learning, educators, architects and planners can all be important agents of change for students preparing for work in today’s world. Anyone involved in scaffolding and supporting students on this journey should be mindful of the following issues and implications for all the various types of space discussed above: •

how the physical and social landscapes relate to autonomy; that is, how students are able to take ownership of spaces and thereby create their own places for learning autonomously, how the self-access centre spaces enable self-direction; • how learners from a range of ages, cultures and academic backgrounds form and consolidate their learner beliefs and identity and develop their autonomous learning competences and behaviours;

Spaced out or zoned in? 215 • how students, particularly new students, can find and negotiate a permanent safe area to which they can have a sense of belonging, within the vast array of physical and digital changes currently around them; • how the learning centre space can assist students’ emotional well-being and ability to freely and confidently engage in learning. Bearing in mind all these considerations, further research is warranted as campuses continue to change and the impacts of flexible learning environments to facilitate such learning become more evident. Along with an expectation of dynamic innovative learning, the best possible experience for students and the most effective student-centred delivery are required, involving embedded technology and training. Hence, pertinent questions for future research would be: • • • • •

Where do language self-access centres sit within these new contexts, visions and future intentions? How can self-access centres be maintained as a place to feel at home and supported, with resources easily accessible and appropriate, both online and in a specific physical space? How can self-access centres broaden their services for all students, not only those studying a language? How can this be done effectively and efficiently, keeping within sound pedagogical principles? How can the understanding and associated support of senior management be maintained in the current economic climate and with current space considerations?

Conclusion This chapter has discussed six major categories of space related to autonomous learning within the changing educational and institutional landscapes of two tertiary polytechnics in New Zealand today. It illustrates that promoting self-authorship, self-direction and development of metacognitive skills (which are necessary aspects for autonomous learning, i.e. taking responsibility for one’s own learning), should all be inherent in any new social, learning and spatial developments. It also demonstrates how institutes need to carefully consider the provision and use of self-access centre space. One of the overriding issues to be addressed is how, within all the business cases and educational imperatives evident at academic institutions today, learners are also being encouraged to be independent and autonomous, to be flexible thinkers and valued employees. Well-resourced learning centres with appropriate qualified staff and a range of self-access materials, which are accompanied by learner advising services, have an important role to play in current learning pedagogies, alongside the newer, more digital and blended modes of content delivery. In the midst of all the changes to campus space and online learning around the world, we must not lose sight of the importance of social, physical spaces for learning and face-to-face interaction and advising.

216  Moira Hobbs and Kerstin Dofs Although the most suitable and apposite places for students’ autonomous learning have up until now been self-acess centre spaces, these now seem to be undergoing a process of re-evaluation for their effectiveness. The authors strongly believe that there is a place for self-access centre space within future student support structures. This will require drawing on all of the knowledge which authorities in the field of autonomous learning have gathered over the years and creating a centre in accordance with institutional visions and missions.

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14 Autonomous learning support base Enhancing autonomy in a TEFL undergraduate program Walkyria Magno e Silva Introduction In an educational context like the Brazilian one, which traditionally privileges teacher-centred approaches, it is not easy to promote autonomy among TEFL undergraduate students. Most first-year university students feel they have to be told what to do in order to learn English as a foreign language (Barcelos 2008). On the other hand, some autodidactic learners become fluent speakers exclusively by using resources that are alternative to regular foreign language classes (Menezes 2005; Paiva 2014). The two situations are common in freshmen groups at the tertiary level and programmes have to cope with this uneven foreign language competence amongst students. Recent understanding of language learning as a complex adaptive system (CAS) accommodates both types of learners in the sense that intermingled contexts and in-class and out-of-class experiences can be used to provide opportunities for adaptation and transformation. The emergence of autonomous behaviours is also facilitated by the acceptance of the multifaceted identities of students. This chapter aims at showing how autonomy can be enhanced by helping students use other spaces for learning, assuming and developing their own personal interests. A group of teachers and students at the Federal University of Pará in Belém, Brazil, has been working to modify the idea that classrooms are the only viable learning spaces. To expand the horizons of language learning, this group created a self-access center with a social learning orientation called Autonomous Learning Support Base (BA3).1 In the last ten years, the professionals and students involved in BA3 have been developing strategies aimed at using alternative spaces in the university to learn foreign languages as well as extending these spaces to the virtual world. BA3 is a place for becoming acquainted with and inspired by transformative learning experiences which result in more opportunities for developing linguistic skills in English. Since the context of this initiative is one in which students are preparing to become future teachers of the very language they are studying, I feel that if these students are encouraged to take steps towards autonomisation,2 they will be autonomy enhancers in their own right as teachers. After having experienced negotiation and choice as students, there is a probability they will feel more empowered to recreate similar circumstances in their future classes. This chapter describes how nested systems – students, BA3 and the TEFL program – interact in this particular context, causing an expansion of the students’ learning geography. Firstly, I will briefly outline the main conceptions of language learning

220  Walkyria Magno e Silva as a CAS, including the construct of autonomy from this perspective. This first part also includes a brief discussion of learners as subsystems themselves, with the emergence of several identities in each context. Subsequently, a description of BA3 and of some of the activities in this space is provided. A discussion will follow, with excerpts from responses from participants to an email sent in order to investigate their perceptions about how BA3 activities contributed to their learning and how they might affect their future actions as teachers.

Language learning as a CAS, autonomy and fractalised identities In this section, I will briefly explain language learning seen as a CAS, provide a definition of what autonomy is in this line of thought, explore how each student carries with him/her a fractalised identity and, finally, discuss how learning spaces can be expanded in light of these concepts.

Language learning as a CAS A new paradigm in the understanding of science, known as chaos or complexity theory, has been employed to analyse phenomena in the applied linguistics field in the last 20 years (Beckner et al. 2009; De Bot 2008; Kramsch 2012; Larsen-Freeman 1997; Larsen-Freeman and Cameron 2008; Menezes 2005; Menezes 2013, among others). Theorists have pointed out how language shares the characteristics of a CAS, such as ‘heterogeneity of elements or agents, dynamicity, non-linearity, openness, and adaptation’ (Larsen-Freeman and Cameron 2008: 36). The elements in a language learning system are the teachers, the students, the materials used, its higher-order systems, like the school, the city, the state, the national educational systems, and its lower subsystems, like each student’s or teacher’s various roles in society (a family member, a religious person, a friend etc.), their biological system, their mental substructures etc. Everything is connected, and one system is influenced by and influences others in a process called adaptation. All this interconnectedness is dynamic with systems changing in a non-linear way. Non-linearity translates into the fact that sometimes a considerable effort results in almost no change, whereas, on the other hand, sometimes, a small modification in one aspect of the system will trigger an enormous alteration. A CAS is open to new energy which can come from external sources or emerge from within the system. The elements in a system move from one state to another developing what is called, in CAS theory, a trajectory. Analyses of trajectories are done retrodictively, since one cannot be certain of the path they will follow. Retrodiction refers to tracking back from a current state in order to determine how it developed or how it arrived at this point on its trajectory (Dörnyei 2014). In CAS, an attractor is a space that the system prefers and will not move from unless a strong internal or external force appears.

Autonomy Since first becoming academically interested in the topic of autonomy in 2004, I have been drawn to Phil Benson’s definition of the concept. He states: ‘Autonomy

Autonomous learning support base 221 is a multidimensional capacity that will take different forms for different individuals, and even for the same individual in different contexts or at different times’ (Benson 2001: 47). If the principles of CAS are taken into consideration, one can easily see that this concept offers the potential to explain the variation and adaptability that takes place in each individual’s trajectory as an autonomous learner. Two pertinent ideas are brought into play in Benson’s definition: the context as an important variable to accommodate autonomous behaviours, and each individual´s multiple identities. Therefore, in order to expand students’ possibilities of becoming autonomous, language learning contexts should offer different sorts of experiences. Furthermore, these opportunities need to cater for different students’ identities by providing them with a wide variety of activities, from which they will choose the ones that they feel attracted to and that will give them a sense of language as it is used in the real world. Each student is composed of various interconnected identities. Sade (2009) calls these selves fractalised identities. Being a student does not mean that one can leave aside one’s identities as a husband, a worker, a son or a church member. S/he is made up of all these selves together, influencing one another all the time. Ushioda (2011) also stresses the importance of letting students bring their other portable selves into learning experiences in order to make these practices more meaningful. This means letting the lives they carry and the interests they have intermingle with the academic selves they assume as university students. I later came to appreciate Jiménez Raya, Lamb and Vieira’s definition of autonomy (2007). They see autonomy as a ‘competence to develop as a self-determined, socially responsible, and critically aware participant in (and beyond) educational environments within a vision of education as (inter) personal empowerment and social transformation’ (Jiménez Raya, Lamb and Vieira 2007:1). In the complex dynamic paradigm, autonomy is seen as a new self-organisation of the individual in a novel emerging state (Larsen-Freeman and Cameron 2008). Therefore, I believe that providing opportunities for students to expand their learning systems is a way to enhance their autonomy.

Spaces for learning from a dynamic perspective In the last few years, language learning narratives have shown that opportunities for practice are not so common, mainly because students are constrained by the belief that learning has to take place in a classroom and because they often do not perceive opportunities for practice available in their communities (Barcelos 2008; Sena and Paiva 2009). For instance, my own language learning narrative includes the difficulty of locating conversation partners.3 As a student in Curitiba, I used to frequent the post office and travel agencies in my hometown in order to find English-speaking foreigners with whom to practice under the guise of helping them run errands. At the risk of being impolite, I would occasionally interrupt and say, ‘May I help you?’ By doing this, in my view, I would both help the foreigner with mailing a letter or deciding what to do in the city and, more importantly for me, create authentic English speaking experiences. However, it was not so easy to find such foreigners at the time, as the city did not attract many tourists then. Nonetheless, I managed. This practice, in addition to listening to rock music and writing down song lyrics, soon made me an operational user of English. In school I learned through the grammartranslation method, but it was the experiences I had in my community at large that

222  Walkyria Magno e Silva taught me to use the language. By comparison, with the opportunities we have at present – a higher influx of travelers and native English speakers as well as access to technology that can instantly connect people across the globe – students, in theory, have all the tools they need to use their knowledge and speak the language. Spaces for learning have been largely expanded through the virtual world in the last ten to 20 years. Our classrooms are now populated by digital natives (Prensky 2001), and one is hard-pressed to find a student who does not own a cell phone with an internet connection, even if it is not the fastest one. Published work has been extensive on the subject, and it is not my intention to explore the uses of technology for learning in this text, but only to acknowledge its ubiquitous presence. For example, Tassinari’s (2015) tentative model for assessing autonomy in language learning makes no distinction at all between virtual and physical contexts and between people you accidentally meet in person or through the Internet. More and more frequently, teachers and learners will take advantage of the possibilities that technology offers and incorporate them into their multileveled learning processes. Language learning understood as a CAS (Larsen-Freeman 1997; Larsen-Freeman and Cameron 2008; Menezes 2005) has proposed a productive way to put into action an array of learning possibilities in one’s trajectory. Each individual learner moves in time and space, creating his/her own unique learning system. A self-access centre can be another component of this ecosystem, providing a space for more nested subsystems to interact. Another important concept in the complexity paradigm that is often seen in language learning processes is the one of attractor, that is, the preferred state in which a system seems to rest. Students are often locked into situations from which they either simply do not attempt to escape or in which they feel too comfortable to do so. Disruptive events, such as unconventional opportunities to use the language, might provide the necessary energy to drive them out of these attractor states. In CAS, the context is seen as part of the system and not only as its background. When the context changes for one reason or another, the students will necessarily adapt to it. A self-access centre provides a change in the learning context which provokes new means of interaction. Such an alternative space for learning engenders the provision of opportunities for students to experiment with language without the assessment pressures of a traditional class. This allows students to feel at ease and see the occasion more as a fluid situation in which they may develop their natural social and linguistic abilities. In explaining his concept of ‘flow’, Csikszentmihalyi (2008: 185) mentions that: when a family has a common purpose and open channels of communication, when it provides gradually expanding opportunities for action in a setting of trust, then life in it becomes an enjoyable flow activity. Its members will spontaneously focus their attention on the group relationship, and to a certain extent forget their individual selves, their divergent goals, for the sake of experiencing the joy of belonging to a more complex system that joins separate consciousnesses in a unified goal. Spaces other than classrooms share this potential, where instead of family members, students are interacting with other members of the learning communities. This movement avoids entropy and loss of purpose in an activity and might stimulate the

Autonomous learning support base 223 energy to move people out of attractor states. I believe that self-access centres can provide alternative ways to find this force. The learning strategies that students employ do not exist in a vacuum. They are structured and shaped by opportunities, by types of activities, by people, and by participants’ shared identities in a group. Social resources are essentially dynamic, for they evolve across time and space. The social practices of the group must be taken into consideration when establishing self-access centres. Gardner and Miller (1999: 42) stated that ‘if culture does influence learners’ beliefs and attitudes, the provision of self-access learning opportunities should cater to these beliefs and attitudes’. Definitely, there are two issues to consider when implementing such centers in Brazil4: first, this implementation has to fight the aforementioned preconceptions that lead students to expect to be told what to do; and second, these centres need to be culturally sensitive. Expanding on the subject of cultural sensitivity, Sturtridge (1997) analyses some of the reasons why self-access centres might fail. Failure may come from overlooking the cultural strengths of learners, for example. One of the central considerations when planning centers in Brazil is the outgoing and group-gathering aspect of Brazilian culture. Activities should prevail over materials, and most of the ideas offered to students have to be centred in communal practices. In this respect, Sturtridge (1997: 72) states, ‘a good center must be able to use the strengths of learners who will use the facility’. Ignoring this fact will cause the centre to wither and eventually close down. BA3, the self-access centre that is the locus of this study, is attentive to this principle, offering a wide variety of activities that respond to the cultural needs of its public. As a result, it has been up and running for over a dozen years. A condensed story of its development is told in the next section.

BA3: brief history and present situation BA3 traces its origins back to a research project I conducted in 2004.5 The actions taken in this early phase, although aiming at students’ autonomy, were mostly framed by learning contracts signed between the students who came to the space and the teachers and voluntary students who acted as tutors. A more detailed description of these actions is found in Magno e Silva (2008). In only a few years’ time, BA3 would blossom into a language-learning laboratory, a facility that encourages learners to experiment creatively with language learning, which is officially cited in the curriculum of the university’s Foreign Languages Program. Having started as a weekly three-hour session held at a single table in the teachers’ lounge, BA3 was eventually allocated the 40m2 well-lit room where it is today. The university provided the furniture: one large meeting table, computer desks, comfortable chairs, cupboards and bookstands. With a grant from the American Embassy in Brasilia in 2011, equipment such as computers, printers, a camera and office supplies were purchased. Materials offered at the self-access centre are mostly authentic, and they are organised by language and by function on the bookshelves. There are also language games and computers with lists of suggested sites to practice and to learn languages. In the new location, fresh energy seemed to circulate in the running of the laboratory. Rooted in studies on motivation seen under a complex dynamic systems lens (Dörnyei, MacIntyre and Henry 2015), BA3 started to function in a more decentralised way, not only physically but also in terms of management. BA3 provides a

224  Walkyria Magno e Silva structure that offers diverse projects conducted by professors, outside collaborators, and even the students themselves. It is operated by a staff of volunteers composed of a dozen students from the different languages (Brazilian Sign Language, English, French, German and Spanish) and coordinated by me. We meet for an hour and a half once a week to decide on matters related to the management of the laboratory. Anyone – whether they belong or not to the university community – who has an idea for how to enhance language learning may propose an activity by filling in a form and providing an overview of the activity. Once an activity is approved by the staff, a volunteer is assigned to follow all the steps the activity goes through. This format for BA3 administration has been in place for three years and has proven to be efficient. Decentralised management seems to work better, especially when volunteer students feel responsible for the organisation and provision of language activities for their peers. BA3 has a blog6 and uses Facebook pages and other social media to continuously advertise what is being offered.

Expansion of places for learning BA3 evolved from a room with books and physical resources into a dynamic tentacular structure that reaches out to other spaces in the university and beyond in order to provide opportunities for students to practice and use the language they are learning. For the purposes of this chapter, I will describe four of the 24 different activities run by the laboratory in 2015. These activities, successful in improving students’ language competences, were chosen because they are exemplars of the diversity of forms of learning experiences BA3 can accommodate. Although they are not necessarily new to the language-learning scene, I could attest through parallel observation of students’ class work that they effectively enhanced their learning. I could also see ‘flow’ (Csikszentmihalyi 2008) while they were talking, singing, performing and acting – and all this in English. Although BA3 hosts activities in the five languages offered by the Modern Foreign Languages Program, the ones described in this chapter are English ones. From 2011 to 2014, the TEFL undergraduate program at the university hosted American English Teaching Assistants (ETAs) provided by the Brazilian Ministry of Education and the Fulbright Program in a project designed to reinforce the preparation of English teachers to work in elementary education in Brazil. These ETAs were, from 2015 on, replaced by others who have come yearly to help with the implementation of classes in the English Without Borders program. They undoubtedly are enthusiastic providers of some of the activities offered by BA3. The arrangement is definitely a two-way road: whilst the laboratory relies heavily on their help, they at the same time find it the perfect facility in which to implement their creative ideas on how to help learners learn English. The ETAs are usually eager to help conduct or to propose activities in English. One of the ETAs, for example, had a passion for African-American gospel music and had musical skills as well. She proposed an activity called Gospel Choir, which was run with the support of BA3. The choir consisted of a group of about 15 students who met every Friday after morning classes to rehearse. Little by little, they became acquainted with gospel singing and its history and role in American culture. The group worked towards three performances at the end of the year: one in the university auditorium, another at a language school theater and, finally, one in a

Autonomous learning support base 225 church attended by one of the choir members. Benefits were huge concerning cultural values awareness, language rhythm, vocabulary expansion and ease of speaking in English. Another activity, the Icone Project – Intercultural Communication On Line – was started in 2013 by Magda Silva, a professor of Portuguese as a Foreign Language at Duke University in the USA, and Cintia Costa, a professor of EFL at UFPA. When Cintia went to Canada on leave, the project was transferred to BA3 under my supervision with the help of two student assistants. The Icone Project connects through Skype a group of American university students learning Portuguese and a group of TEFL program students learning English at our university. The focus of the sessions is to practice language through a discussion of the Brazilian Amazonian and American cultural contexts. Differences and similarities identified by both groups emerge through these weekly exchanges over an extended period of ten weeks per semester. Using the language in authentic situations has enhanced motivation in both groups, as I will show in the discussion section of this chapter. A third activity is Sit In, which was inspired by a similar practice, which also bears this name, carried out in the self-access center of the University of Hull, UK.7 It has no relation with the form of non-violent protests common all over the world, but metaphorically, one can understand that ‘sitting in’ this activity is a way of taking control over some competences in the foreign language. Sit In consists of an unstructured activity that takes place at BA3 for an hour every week for each of the languages offered. BA3 arranges for a fluent speaker of each language (preferably a native speaker) to come to the space and lead an hour-long conversation with students of his or her language. The rule is that the meeting is fully improvised, that is, nobody knows which subjects will emerge and which direction the conversation is going to take. It is common for students to ‘sit in’ and just listen, even for a few sessions, until they feel confident enough to speak up. No one pressures them to participate. They just come, and eventually, when the topic of conversation reaches a point where they can contribute, they talk. Sit In sessions have evolved to be rich cultural encounters where foreigners that come to provide speaking opportunities for language learners also have the chance to learn about aspects of Brazilian daily life. As the fourth and last activity to be taken into consideration for this chapter, I will give a brief description of a theater group. Pacataca8 was created in 2014 by a visiting professor of Spanish as an amateur theater group composed of university Spanish students. An American ETA with a background in Spanish and Theater took over the group the following year and expanded it to accommodate English students. The Spanish students deferred little by little to the English students, but the group kept the original name. Under the ETA’s direction, the ensemble’s 13 studentactors adapted and rehearsed a contemporary American play throughout the year culminating in three public performances in November and December. Since there were more student-actors in Pacataca than characters in the play, the ETA took the measure of double casting each role, which simultaneously took some of the pressure off memorising a large text. The three presentations were a resounding success. These activities support the idea that taking the gregarious character of Brazilian culture into consideration is essential for the success of a self-access learning centre like BA3. The most popular activities are the ones created in order to gather people towards the realisation of a common goal in the target language.

226  Walkyria Magno e Silva After all four activities had been completed, participants responded in Portuguese to an email prompt asking them to reflect on the influence of these experiences on a) their learning of English and b) their present or future teaching practice. Their responses provided data for the analysis in the next section.

Discussion Criticism towards self-access centres often mentions that such places are innocuous, as what they provide would have been reached by interested students in other ways. Also, it is believed that the self-access centre attendees in different projects are always the same. By looking into who the participants in the four activities were, I could dispel the myth that it is always the same students who attend BA3. Of the 49 participants in the four activities discussed in this chapter, only seven took part in two activities, and just one student was involved in three of them. This suggests that self-access centres need to offer a wide variety of activities, for students will ultimately attend the ones that interest them in accordance with their identities and/or their preferences. The student who participated in three activities did so because her language advisor suggested that she should get involved in as many opportunities to learn as she could. Thus, she joined the Gospel Choir, the Sit In and Pacataca in order to overcome the feeling that she knew less English than her classmates. Commenting on the last activity, she said that belonging to this drama club ‘was different because we practiced the foreign language orally more than a student practices it in regular classrooms, where the student is more passive and submissive to the teacher’. Another culturally sensitive point in Brazil is the mania for certificates. These sheets of paper play an important role in job and scholarship applications. In accordance with the issue of cultural sensitivity mentioned by Sturtridge (1997), BA3 complied to that parameter. Therefore, all students who achieve 75% attendance in BA3 activities are provided with a certificate (sent by email), which they can save and/or print. They can also use their certificates to fulfill the extracurricular credits required by the TEFL program. In the next subsections, I will discuss the students’ expanding learning systems enhanced by the four aforementioned activities offered by BA3. First, I will demonstrate the impact of the intervention on students’ learning, and then I will share their perceptions of how this experience will inform their present and future practice as foreign language teachers.

Impact on learning The Gospel Choir was a pleasant experience for all students who participated in it. They mentioned that the weekly rehearsals were a relaxing period of their day. Instead of sitting at desks in a classroom, it was a time to stand and even try out dance steps, which, needless to say, is very different from the constraints imposed by a traditional classroom environment. Most of them reported that learning about the cultural aspects of gospel music was very motivating and that it expanded their vocabulary, both because there were new lexical items being used and because all the questions and explanations were communicated in English. In the words of one student, the rehearsals were physically and mentally motivating and she felt ‘excited about the new songs that were introduced, involved with the lyrics and the music,

Autonomous learning support base 227 not conscious that we were learning English’. The same student reported: ‘I learned new words, enhancing my active vocabulary, I learned word pronunciation, I paid attention to word order, eventually, I was happy to see what I learned without having to think about learning’. This is exactly what Csikszentmihalyi (2008) means by a ‘flow activity’. One joins the situation and feels so much a part of it that it seems that this is the natural habitat for participants. Besides the pleasurable moments, the choir also added the feeling of belonging to a group which was focused on a specific project. The choir faced the challenge of being well prepared in order to deliver excellent performances at the end of the year. This fact contributed to the group being tightly knit. As a student said: ‘After the chorus performance, I felt more confident and determined to learn English’. One student said that she joined the chorus just to have fun, but during the rehearsals she experienced various other feelings, like confidence and pride in the achievement of group goals. In her words: ‘Each one of us has our own monsters; singing made them go away’. Finally, one student reported that the choir was not just a fun group to be with in which students sang. It was a determined group that prepared the performances with attention, dedication and concentration. There was a circulating flow of knowledge and experience and our voices were not restrained inside the walls of a classroom. They reached beyond, they went to what we call the real world when we performed in a church and theaters. Analysing these students’ reflections, one can easily notice the involvement stimulated by such activities, which shows that learning is flowing, that is, learning is taking place without people even noticing it is happening. Activities carried out during the rehearsals have enhanced their practice of aspects of the language such as pronunciation and vocabulary as well as affective aspects like motivation and self-assurance. As for the Icone project, students unanimously mentioned the contribution of informal language use to their conversational abilities, which usually does not take place in traditional classrooms. They also enjoyed the opportunity to choose the themes they wanted to talk about, exercising control over content. Benson (2001) states that becoming autonomous means taking control over learning behaviours, which are understood to encompass learning management, cognitive processes and learning content. These three aspects are interdependent, and when one is underway, it helps the others to develop as well. One of the students also mentioned she was happy to be able to teach Brazilian culture and Portuguese to American students, which made this a sharing experience. The absolute lack of judgmental attitudes was the main point made by students with regard to the Sit In. One of the students complained that in class, she often feels judged by the teachers and her classmates and this attitude certainly hinders learning. Themes approached at the Sit In sessions encompassed taboos that would hardly be discussed in a class or with larger groups, like hygiene habits and use of bad words. The objective of the activity – to expand linguistic and sociocultural skills – was largely achieved because students felt keen to give their opinions about themes they decided on in the spur of the moment. Almost all students mentioned that they enjoyed the conversation opportunities provided.

228  Walkyria Magno e Silva The Pacataca project had a great impact on students’ learning. Most participants mentioned the ‘esprit de corps’ created in the group. They learned to help each other with vocabulary and ways of expressing the lines of the play. One student mentioned that he felt the need to ‘read the same text several times in order to understand it’. The activity taught students the value of discipline and of reworking the same text until it achieved an ideal expression. Another student said she discovered another identity; she saw herself as an actress. All language skills were involved in this activity, since decisions on adapting, writing, rewriting, directing, dressmaking etc. were made in English. The same student who discovered the actress in herself gave this moving testimonial: Participating in Pacataca was quite a challenge, not only because it was drama, but because it was something new in my routine and also because there was this final show we had to present. When I say ‘final show’, I am not talking about a written paper or a narrative, I am talking about ‘stage and audience’. This was quite a job for this small grand team which depended on time, organization, responsibility, and commitment. Even with all the unexpected difficulties, we had lots of fun and it was a very enriching experience. I am proud of telling my friends that I did this. Not only were the identities of students revealed in these activities, but also new ones emerged as the learning contexts changed. They found their own ways to expand their opportunities to practice the language and at the same time assumed more control over their learning process. In some cases, the non-linear characteristic of CAS emerged, when one small contribution, like a small part in the play, resulted in huge progress in the command of English.

Impact on learning how to teach It is widely known that pre-service experiences largely shape the way in which new professionals act when they start teaching their own classes (Vieira et al. 2008; Martinez 2008, among others). Some may conform to traditional practices since they feel more comfortable accommodating themselves to the school´s culture. Others, though, will remember situations in which they felt motivated to learn and try to recreate the situation with their own students. This second kind of experience is the one BA3 tries to promote. Some of the students participating in these four activities are already teaching English as a practicum component of the TEFL program. Others, if they are fluent, already work in language schools; in Brazil, this sort of working arrangement is legally permissible. A third group has never entered a classroom as a teacher but will do so in the near future. I wanted to know how these experiences impacted or how students expected them to impact their future careers. In the paragraphs below are some of the emerging themes. Of the four activities discussed in this chapter, the one that seemed least likely to transfer to their future classes was the Icone project, which demands contacts in a foreign country with people who share the same goals as the national students, as well as reliable technological support. Nonetheless, one of the students mentioned that he had already used videoconferences between his students and a foreign friend.

Autonomous learning support base 229 He stated that the result was amazing and that learners exceeded his own expectations when talking to someone in the country where the language is spoken. The other three activities were mentioned as possible ways to teach their students and bring the real world into the classroom. The Gospel Choir showed students the importance of bringing cultural awareness into language classrooms. By learning about other cultures, students can become more conscious and critical of their own cultural traits, establishing a connection to the portable cultural identities (Ushioda 2011) they brought to the university. Off-campus performances were mentioned by one student as of paramount importance because she was ‘sure that classroom production can have an enormous effect in the outside, touching people. However, this is a consequence of hard work and it needs to be meaningful’. Music was frequently mentioned in narratives as a way of enhancing language learning. This intervention went one step further, associating singing in English with religious and cultural experiences lived by the students’ multiple identities, making the experience a meaningful one. The themes discussed in the Sit In sessions made students aware that learners talk when they are interested in the subject. They also became aware that the main purpose for learning a language is to be able to communicate with people from other nationalities. Several of them mentioned that they will make sure their students know this from the beginning. One reported that she will try to select more carefully the topics of her classes and said, ‘Grammar was approached in the context of someone’s speech. We never heard something like, “today it’s a past tense class”‘. Experiencing this in pre-service situations will make it easier for them to provide similar experiences to future students, as I mentioned in the preliminary sections of this chapter. Besides, being exposed to different accents and different uses of informal language helps students to expand the boundaries of their span of language understanding. Finally, for the purpose of recreating experiences or parts of them, Pacataca was the one intervention of the four that had the largest number of replies concerning its potential for inclusion in future classes. One participant mentioned that the studentactors did not memorise their lines through rote learning, but they learned how to use synonyms or alternative ways of saying the same things. In order to do so, they had to really understand what was going on in the play and use the words accordingly. Another student mentioned the conflict he had with a classroom teacher who demanded immediate performance without any rehearsing. This student is a reflective student and needs time to think about what he is going to say and practices several times until he achieves a level that he is happy with. In Pacataca his needs were completely met, because he attested that sometimes exhausting repetitive trials had to be done before arriving at a good result. The importance of role-plays in the classrooms was clearly understood by students who intend to use them in the future. One of them said, ‘I will frequently employ role plays in my classes, so students can practice, make themselves at ease and have fun while they are learning’. Another student who is already teaching said, ‘The experience helped me improve my classes and conduct new activities with my students. Pacataca served as an inspiration so that I could develop small projects with my students’. This student-teacher used role-plays as the oral test for the semester. The class loved the idea. Some of the activities used in Pacataca rehearsals were eventually adapted as warmups for regular classes, serving as relaxing moments to motivate tired learners.

230  Walkyria Magno e Silva

Conclusion The purpose of BA3 is to enhance autonomy by helping students use spaces out of the classroom to learn English, assuming and developing their own personal interests. Unfortunately, the number of students who profit from BA3 activities could be larger. Resistant non-participants report lack of time, but I feel that they are permanently under the influence of strong attractors that have their roots in traditional schooling systems in the country. However, for the ones that participate in the activities, the results are impressive. The dynamics of the language learning system become evident in the experiences mentioned in this chapter. The way one subsystem influences others through coadaptation (Larsen-Freeman and Cameron 2008) shows that, by participating in one of BA3 activities, not only social but also linguistic skills are expanded. As for the actual re-creation of these types of interventions in their classes when they become teachers, only the future will tell. At this point, I can affirm that the energy brought by these unexpected ways of learning a language is sometimes the necessary force to drive students out of attractor states, such as the belief students have that learning takes place only in classrooms. From these and other activities that were omitted because of space constraints, one can clearly conclude that BA3 is, indeed, a provider of spaces and possibilities for learning. Students’ responses to the prompt sent by email support the idea that these other spaces for learning are enhancers of autonomous actions, not only for language students but also for future language teachers. Emerging identities frequently appeared in students’ reports; for example, they did not know that they could sing or act. One student mentioned: ‘I can say that during the Pacataca rehearsals I discovered a new identity, I am almost an actress. My personal discovery surprised me and the results achieved were unbelievable’. This expansion of students’ learning geography – from the classroom to other spaces of the university and beyond – is what BA3 aims at. The BA3 experience demonstrates that educators can help students become more autonomous by providing opportunities in learning spaces outside of traditional language classrooms.

Notes 1 In Portuguese, it translates into Base de Apoio à Aprendizagem Autônoma. The acronym BA3 represents the initial B followed by the triple As of the name in the original language. 2 The term autonomisation is preferred to emphasise the process and not the product. The word, though a probable neologism in English, has been used by the author and has appeared in Little (2003) quoted by Murphy (2015). 3 The complete narrative is available in Portuguese at the AMFALE page www.verame nezes.com/amfale/nar_pesq_wal.html. AMFALE collects narratives from language learners in Brazil, Finland and Japan, available at www.veramenezes.com/amfale.htm 4 In an ongoing study of self-access centres in Brazilian universities, a virtual questionnaire was sent to more than 50 institutions. Only ten responded. The research project entitled Foreign Language Advising in Self-access Centers in Brazilian Universities is scheduled to run from 2014 to 2017, has received funding from the CNPQ, process 454058/2014–4, and joins Brazilian and British researchers. 5 The project was called ‘Ways to autonomy in foreign languages learning’. It ran from 2004 to 2006, and then, in a re-edited version until 2008. 6 ‘Base de apoio à aprendizagem autonôma’, http://ba3falemufpa.webnode.com

Autonomous learning support base 231 7 I thank my fellow researcher Marina Mozzon-McPherson for hosting me at the Language Center for a week, in 2013, when I could see their self-access centre practices. 8 Pacataca was the name used by the original group of Spanish students who met at UFPA to act. The person in charge would say ‘pacataca’, an onomatopoeic form for the sound of the clapperboard when it signals action. Xoana Gaicoa, the Spanish visiting professor and creator of the group, also explained that it was meant to be an encouragement for the student to speak, an idea derived from ‘Paca (a common Spanish name) ataca (attacks)’. The English group, which met under the supervision of the American TA decided to keep the original name. The end-of-the-year presentation was advertised in social media and in posters at the university. The virtual one can be seen at http://heyevent.com/event/ewntmim6jjbvya/the-clean-houseperformed-by-pacataca. At the moment of the preparation of this chapter, the group is comprised of students majoring in English who actually presented a play at the end of 2016.

References Barcelos, A.M.F. 2008, ‘Learning English: Students´ beliefs and experiences in Brazil’, in P. Kalaja, V. Menezes and A.M.F. Barcelos (eds.), Narratives of learning and teaching EFL, Palgrave Macmillan, London. Beckner, C., Blythe, R., Bybee, R., Bybee, J., Christiansen, M.H., Croft, W., Ellis, N.C., Holland, J., Ke, J., Larsen-Freeman, D. and Shoenemann, T. 2009, ‘Language is a complex adaptive system: Position paper’, Language Learning, vol. 59, Suppl 1, pp. 1–26. Benson, P. 2001, Teaching and researching autonomy in language learning, Pearson, Harlow. Csikszentmihalyi, M. 2008, Flow: The psychology of optimal experience, Harper Perennial Modern Classics, New York. De Bot, K. 2008, ‘Introduction: Second language development as a dynamic process’, The Modern Language Journal, vol. 92, no. ii, pp. 166–178. Dörnyei, Z. 2014, ‘Researching complex dynamic systems: Retrodictive qualitative modeling in the language classroom’, Language Teaching, vol. 47, pp. 80–91. Dörnyei, Z., MacIntyre, P.D. and Henry, A (eds.) 2015, Motivational dynamics in language learning, Multilingual Matters, Bristol. Gardner, D. and Miller, L. 1999, Establishing self-access: From theory to practice, Cambridge University Press, Cambridge. Jiménez Raya, M.J., Lamb, T. and Vieira, F. 2007, Pedagogy for autonomy in language education in Europe, Authentik, Dublin. Kramsch, C. 2012, ‘Why is everyone so excited about complexity theory in applied linguistics?’ Mélanges CRAPEL, vol. 33, pp. 9–24. Larsen-Freeman, D. 1997, ‘Chaos/complexity science and second language acquisition’, Applied Linguistics, vol. 18, no. 2, pp. 141–165. Larsen-Freeman, D. and Cameron, L. 2008, Complex systems and applied linguistics, Oxford University Press, Oxford. Little, D. 2003, ‘Learner autonomy and second/foreign language learning’ in The guide to good practice for learning and teaching languages, linguistics and area studies. Retrieved from http://www.lang.ltsn.ac.uk/resources/goodpractice.aspx?resourceid=1409 Magno e Silva, W. 2008, ‘A model for the enhancement of autonomy’, Delta, vol. 24, no. esp., pp. 469–492. www.scielo.br/pdf/delta/v24nspe/05.pdf. Martinez, H. 2008, ‘The subjective theories of student teachers: Implications for teacher education and research on learner autonomy’, in T. Lamb and H. Reinders (eds.),

232  Walkyria Magno e Silva Learner and teacher autonomy: Concepts, realities, and responses, John Benjamins, Amsterdam. Menezes, V. 2005, ‘Modelo fractal de aquisição de línguas’, in F.C. Bruno (org.), EnsinoAprendizagem de Línguas Estrangeiras: Reflexão e Prática, Claraluz, São Carlos. Menezes, V. 2013, ‘Second language acquisition: Reconciling theories’, Open Journal of Applied Sciences, vol. 3, no. 7, pp. 404–412. Murphy, L. 2015, ‘Autonomy in assessment: Bridging the gap between rhetoric and reality in a distance language learning context’, in C.J. Everhard and L. Murphy (eds.), Assessment and autonomy in language learning, Palgrave MacMillan, New York. Paiva, V.L.M.O. 2014, Aquisição de Segunda Língua, Campinas, Parábola. Prensky, M. 2001, ‘Digital natives, digital immigrants’, On the Horizon, vol. 9 no. 5. Retrieved from www.marcprensky.com/writing/Prensky%20-%20Digital%20Natives, %20Digital%20Immigrants%20-%20Part1.pdf. Sade, L.A. 2009, ‘Complexity and identity reconstruction in second language acquisition’, RBLA, vol. 9, no. 2, pp. 515–537. Sena, A.E.L.L. and Paiva, V.L.O.M. 2009, ‘O ensino de língua estrangeira e a questão da autonomia’, in D.C. Lima (org.), Ensino e Aprendizagem de Língua Inglesa, Parábola, Campinas. Sturtridge, G. 1997, ‘Teaching and language learning in self-access centres: Changing roles?’ in P. Benson and P. Voller (eds.), Autonomy & independence in language learning, Longman, Harlow, Essex. Tassinari, M.G. 2015, ‘Assessing learner autonomy: A dynamic model’, in C. Everhard and L. Murphy (eds.), Assessment and autonomy in language learning, Palgrave Mac Millan, New York. Ushioda, E. 2011, ‘Motivating learners to speak as themselves’, in G. Murray, X. Gao and T. Lamb (eds.), Identity, motivation and autonomy in language learning, Multilingual Matters, Bristol. Vieira, F., Barbosa, I., Paiva, M. and Fernandes, I.S. 2008, ‘Teacher education towards teacher (and learner) autonomy: What can be learnt from teacher development practices?’ in T. Lamb and H. Reinders (eds.), Learner and teacher autonomy: Concepts, realities, and responses, John Benjamins, Amsterdam.

15 Social learning spaces and the invisible fence Garold Murray, Naomi Fujishima and Mariko Uzuka

Introduction For young people in Japan, university life is very much about ‘entry’. First of all, they must work very hard to enter the university. Students spend long, gruelling hours, if not years, preparing for university entrance examinations. The last two years of their university life are focused on gaining entry into the work force by obtaining a job at a good company. In between these two periods of their lives, they may spend time gaining entry into student clubs or circles, possibly other interest groups in the urban community and potential groups of friends. For some of these students, a distant goal is to gain entry into the world of speakers of English. For those particular students who attend our university, a point of entry into the English-speaking world is a facility we call the LC. In this paper, we will address the issue of gaining entry into this space and the social groups that transform it into a place for learning. Social learning spaces have been created at universities around the world as places where students can come together in order to learn with and from each other. These facilities provide spaces for the emergence of communities of practice. However, this construct has been criticised on the grounds that it raises concerns about boundaries and membership, problematising the issues of access and entry. Indeed, in the case of social language learning spaces, how do linguistically challenged learners gain access to these communities? This chapter addresses this question by reporting on an ecologically oriented, ethnographic inquiry into how learners experience the LC, a social learning space dedicated to language learning at a large Japanese university. We begin by describing the facility and outlining the study. Then, we provide an overview of the relevant literature drawn from the areas of community of practice, human geography and mediated discourse analysis. Basing our discussion on a thematic analysis of the data, we then address the question of gaining entry to the social learning space and access to the social groups on the inside. We conclude by reflecting on the implications for practice and further inquiry.

The social learning space The social learning space at our university had a modest beginning in 2009 as a narrow, one-room facility. Its purpose was to provide a space where Japanese students could practice their English. Perhaps because the room was created by partitioning off a corner of a large café, it was named the English Café (EC). A full-time manager

234  Garold Murray, Naomi Fujishima and Mariko Uzuka was hired to set up and operate the new facility. Recognising that, if Japanese students were to practice their English, it would be good to have English speakers to practice with, the manager encouraged international students to come to the EC. Before long, it was a popular meeting place for students who wanted not only to practice their English and Japanese language skills but also to make new friends. An interesting physical feature of the EC was that the two doors and most of the walls were glass. Not only did the glass walls let in a lot of light, but they gave the illusion of openness to a space that was crammed with tables, chairs, bookshelves, a big screen TV, a small sofa and a work area for the manager and her student helpers. The glass doors and walls made it possible for passersby to look inside, where they could see students sitting around tables chatting, eating lunch, doing homework or even playing a game of cards. They might also have seen students participating in one of the small-sized, non-credit language classes offered in the late afternoon or early evening. These popular classes, which focused on basic conversation and test preparation, were taught by both Japanese and international students, many of whom hoped to become teachers. At various times throughout the academic year, the students on the inside might have been planning or participating in one of the special events (e.g., a welcome party for international students, a field trip to Kyoto or a Halloween party) often organised by students under the guidance of the manager. Despite the fact that the EC was often a busy and noisy place, some students even came there to study. Due to its popularity, three years after it opened, the university made funding available to move the EC to a much larger location. The new venue, which offers about eight times more surface area, is an open-design, split-level space. On the lower level, there is the main entrance and reception area, an administrative area and a kitchen area. The upper level provides places for the students to gather informally or to participate in the small classes. There is also a separate large room, which is used for more formal gatherings such as university classes and meetings. With the move to the larger location came a change in name, the EC became the LC1 (LC) and a change in ambience; the LC took on a more multilingual character. (For access to photographs of both facilities, refer to the endnotes.2)

The study Interested in how the students would use this space, from the time the EC opened, we carried out several months of participant observation, which eventually led us to design a study investigating the learning opportunities it offered. Because our focus was the environment rather than individual learners, we adopted an ecological approach. According to van Lier (2004), ecologically orientated research should examine relationships within the environment, take space and different time scales into account, and adopt an emic perspective. Ethnography is recommended as a suitable methodology, enabling researchers to take these guidelines into account. We implemented our study, which was ethnographic in design, at the beginning of the academic year approximately twelve months after the original facility, the EC, opened. With the help of the manager, we selected nine participants, a mix of male, female, Japanese and international students from a variety of faculties. Because affordances for learning (a concept we will discuss in the next section) result from learners’ engagement with the environment and, therefore, depend in large measure

Social learning spaces 235 on their identities, we asked the participants to write their language learning history at the outset. Later, at the end of the first and second semesters, they sat for interviews in which we encouraged them to talk about their experiences at the EC. We also interviewed the manager and the assistant director of the Language Education Center who had played a key role in establishing the facility. Although we were unaware of it at the time, this project was to serve as a pilot study for the longitudinal inquiry that began the following academic year. At the end of the first year of our project, we received a grant, which enabled us to extend our study of the EC for an additional four years. In order to understand the impact the EC might have on students’ English language learning across various timescales, we decided to document the EC participation and L2 learning trajectories of ten Japanese students from the time of their entry into the university until the end of their fourth year, which for most students would mean their graduation. Once again with the help of the manager, we selected participants, both male and female, from a range of faculties. They wrote language learning histories at the outset and we interviewed them at the end of each semester. To document the anticipated development of their language proficiency, we asked them to take the TOEIC once a year. Because we now had funding, we were able to hire three senior students as research assistants (RAs) to do participant observation. The RAs wrote up their field notes and submitted them to us each week in the form of observation reports. We also interviewed them at the end of each semester. In this chapter, we draw on the interview and observation data from both the pilot and longitudinal studies in order to explore the issue of gaining entry into the social space and access to potential affordances for language learning.

Theoretical background While the initial general aim of our study – to understand the learning opportunities available in the social learning space – has not changed, over the five years that we carried out the ethnography, our theoretical orientation has expanded from a community of practice perspective to encompass constructs from ecology and mediated discourse analysis as well as theories on space and place from the field of human geography. Taking an ecological perspective enabled us to focus on affordances for language learning as emergent phenomena (Murray and Fujishima 2013). Affordances, it needs to be noted, are not properties of the environment, but rather, they emerge as learners interact with the environment (Gibson 1986; Menezes 2011; van Lier 2004). Emergence occurs when elements in an environment self-organize to create something new – in this case, affordances which open up opportunities for language learning. The notion of emergence also gave us a way to examine the development of a community of learners at the EC. From our early observations, it seemed clear to us that a community of practice had developed. Wenger, McDermott and Snyder (2002: 4) define communities of practice as ‘groups of people who share a concern, a set of problems, or a passion about a topic, and who deepen their knowledge and expertise in this area by interacting on an ongoing basis’. At the EC there was a group of people who shared the common concern of learning a foreign language and who deepened their knowledge and expertise as they interacted on a regular basis, exchanging information about the local community or study abroad, helping each other with assignments and engaging in a variety of social activities. Viewing

236  Garold Murray, Naomi Fujishima and Mariko Uzuka the community of practice as an emergent phenomenon and employing a technique called retrodiction – recognising an outcome and then working back through the data to determine how it came about (cf. Dornyei 2014) – we were able to analyse the data in order to understand in retrospect which elements in the learning environment had contributed to the emergence of a community of practice at the EC (Murray and Fujishima 2013). However, the construct, community of practice, has been found to be problematic. Gee (2005) takes issue with the connotations of belongingness and membership that are associated with the notion of community. He contends that when educators apply the term ‘community of practice’ or ‘community of learners’, they are labelling a group of people. They are then faced with ‘vexatious issues over which people are in and which people are out of the group, how far they are in or out and when they are in or out’ (Gee 2005: 215). Here, Gee identifies the very issues surrounding entry and access that we are grappling with in our study. As a means of dealing with these concerns, Gee (2005: 214) urges educators to shift their attention from groups to spaces and proposes the construct ‘affinity space’ which ‘focuses on the idea of a space in which people interact, rather than on membership in a community’ (Gee’s italics). Scollon (2001), in proposing mediated discourse analysis as a mode of inquiry, also expressed his concern about the issues of membership and belonging that surround the notion of ‘community of practice’. Like Gee, he too suggests that attention should be shifted away from the group to the social spaces in which people act, or ‘sites of engagement’. Scollon (2001: 16) argues that whereas the community of practice construct places emphasis on a group of people ‘within a bounded entity of membership, of inclusion and exclusion’, a more appropriate alternative would be to focus on the analysis of activity systems, or what he labels ‘nexus of practice’. Practices develop out of actions that are repeated over time in a setting, acquire a history and become linked to other actions. Nexus of practice are best understood as networks of practices that are carried out at a particular point in time and space, or a ‘site of engagement’. These networks of practices that come together at a site of engagement serve as ‘the basis of the identities we produce and claim through our social practices’ (Scollon 2001: 142). According to Scollon (2001: 5), the advantage that the construct ‘nexus of practice’ has over ‘community of practice’ is that the former is ‘unbounded’ and recognises that most practices ‘can be linked variably to different practices in different sites of engagement and among different participants’. While people largely remain unconscious of the existence of these networks, Scollon notes that nexus of practice made explicit or objectified through discourse have the potential to become communities of practice, raising the issues of access and membership (Lave and Wenger 1991; Wenger 1998). Despite the distinction made by Scollon, there can be a very fine line between nexus of practice and communities of practice. The suggestion that nexus of practice and communities of practice are the product of action and discourse resonates with theories of space and place in the field of human geography. Places are viewed as social constructions (Harvey 1996; Massey 2005), created through action, ‘by people doing things’ in a particular space (Cresswell 2004: 37). By talking about a space as an environment in which certain activities occur, it becomes identified or defined as a place where these actions or activities are carried out. In other words, ‘place is space to which meaning has been ascribed’ (Carter, Donald and Squires 1993: ix), and it is through discourse that

Social learning spaces 237 places are made meaningful. Prior analysis of the data from this study has led us to argue that ‘how learners imagine a space to be, perceive it, define it, and articulate their understandings transforms a space into a place, determines what they do there, and influences their autonomy’ (Murray, Fujishima and Uzuka 2014: 81). We view autonomy as a key element of the social space we are studying – regardless of whether it be conceptualised as an affinity space, nexus of practice or community of practice. From an ecological perspective, these phenomena emerge from the interaction and self-organisation of elements within the environment. Applying complex dynamic systems theory to the field of education, Davis and Sumara (2006: 144) note that for complex emergence to occur control must be decentralised; in other words, ‘one must give up control if complexity is going to happen’. If control is tightly exercised, there is no or limited possibility for self-organisation. Therefore, autonomy is an essential element in the self-organisation process that leads to the emergence of a particular place, no matter whether we conceive of that place as an affinity space, nexus of practice or community of practice. As it pertains to language learning, autonomy has been defined as ‘the capacity to take control of one’s own learning’ (Benson 2011a: 58). In the area of language learning beyond the classroom, Benson (2011b) proposes focusing on the locus of control, which shifts towards the learner in these contexts in as much as they assume responsibility for decisions related to their learning. In the context of the social learning space we are studying, the locus of control resides primarily with the learner. What we are seeing is students who are accepting responsibility for their learning, or to use Holec’s (1981) words, taking charge of their learning, in that they are making decisions concerning actions oriented towards reaching their language learning goals. These learners make a series of crucial decisions: they decide to come to the facility in the first place, to come back again and to persist in coming until they gain access to the potential affordances for language learning. We contend that regardless of whether one chooses to conceptualize the social learning space as an affinity space, site of engagement or community of practice, the learners in our study face serious challenges in gaining entry and access to the opportunities for language learning.

Phases of access In this section of the chapter, we address issues related to gaining entry to the social learning space and access to the potential opportunities for language learning. We do this by drawing on a thematic analysis of the interview data supported by the RAs’ observations as well as our own. The data suggest that gaining access is a nonlinear process that can involve several phases. We have identified five: entering the physical space, gaining access to the social groups on the inside, making a place for oneself, maintaining one’s place and possibly losing one’s place, in other words, finding oneself on the ‘outside’ again.

Entering the physical space From the early days of the EC, we have observed students standing outside the door, looking in, but not entering. At one point, the manager remarked, ‘It’s as though there were an invisible fence’. The manager’s metaphor aptly illustrates comments

238  Garold Murray, Naomi Fujishima and Mariko Uzuka made in the interviews that suggest there is an imaginary barrier preventing students from entering. When asked why students hesitate outside the door, interviewees gave answers similar to this one from Nana, a peer teacher at the EC, who said, ‘I think most of the students think that they have to speak in perfect English if they come to English Café’. In other words, the students imagine the EC and the current LC to be a place where they have to be able to speak English, despite its increasingly multilingual character. One of the international student workers, Lena, explained that she hesitated to go to the EC because she imagined it would be a formal, classroom-type place. It didn’t sound so fun . . . I had doubts whether I should do it or not. If it’s too formal, it kind of loses its magic, the language loses its charm . . . But . . . it was a really pleasant looking room with a lot of different colours . . . I just liked the atmosphere, it was relaxing . . . So I thought, this doesn’t have to be so boring at all, as I imagined. While how people imagine a place to be can prevent them from going there, Lena’s comments suggest that the use of colour and artefacts, such as furniture, can speak to their imagination and change their perceptions. At the LC, the larger space has made it possible to have more colour and different types of furniture. When we asked the RAs if students’ perceptions had changed as a result of the move, Shinpei replied, ‘They can see pictures and colourfulness from outside. It looks fun . . . fashionable, even like furnitures and chairs, couch is fashionable, colourful, of course, it is attractive for students’. Shinpei’s comments point to the influence design and colour can have on learners’ perceptions. Another element of the décor that played a role in changing perceptions of the LC was the linguistic landscape. Landry and Bourhis (1997: 23) use the term linguistic landscape to refer to the ‘visibility and salience of languages on public and commercial signs in a given territory or region’. In a micro-environment like the LC, a linguistic landscape has been created by the colourful posters which cover the walls, especially at the main entrance. One of the RAs, Yasuka, noted that these multilingual posters and announcements of meetings of different language groups conveyed the message that the LC was a multilingual space in which students could speak the language of their choice. Posters and signs can convey powerful messages in addition to what is actually written on them. While changing perceptions encouraged students to come to the LC, the manager took more direct measures to ensure that students standing outside the door of the EC and the LC actually entered. She hired student workers to act as greeters. Their job was to approach students standing at the door, engage them in conversation in Japanese, invite them in, explain how the EC/LC operated and introduce them to students on the inside. The students we interviewed all reported that this strategy made it much easier for newcomers to enter both venues. Perhaps the most important element facilitating the entry of newcomers into the social learning space were the small-sized, peer-taught classes. To begin with, the classes attracted students into the environment. The classes were advertised as free, informal and non-credit bearing, which signalled little pressure. Students came to the LC to get more information and to sign up. In this way, the classes provided the students with a reason to enter – many of the students we talked to stressed

Social learning spaces 239 the importance of having a specific purpose for being in the LC. Once they started attending, the classes helped generate a sense of belonging. In other words, the classes legitimised their peripheral participation (Lave and Wenger 1991) and offered them the possibility of making friends and becoming part of the social network.

Gaining access to social groups Becoming a part of the social network meant gaining access to the various social groups that formed inside the social learning space. At the EC, students tended to gather with their friends and acquaintances at a couple of tables just inside the main entrance. For newcomers, it was very hard to join the students at these tables. At the LC, the larger space made it possible for people to spread out and various groups to form. Commenting on the change in atmosphere after the move, Yu, one of the RAs, said, ‘We have like small communities in LC’. Shinpei provided some insight into these ‘small communities’ when we asked him if the atmosphere at the LC was different from that at the EC. He said, The last place was small, then, there was only like one atmosphere, but now each space has different atmosphere . . . There’s like French table, French atmosphere . . . And there’s Japanese space, Japanese student only speaks Japanese and there’s exchange student space speaking English and it can be like separated. Six months later, when we asked the same question again, he replied, ‘Depends on the place – the atmosphere is different and many things are going on so students can choose which place they want to join’. Shinpei suggests these places, occupied by the various social groups, are characterised by 1) the language spoken, 2) the activities the members engage in which implies shared interests and 3) the atmosphere they generate. Shinpei’s use of the words space and place reflects the tendency of the students to gather in their usual or preferred locations. However, more importantly, his comments resonate with the idea that rather than think of places as physically bound entities, we should instead view them as ‘networks of social relations and understandings’ (Massey 1997, as cited in Cresswell 2004: 69). While it may be stretching the point to label these groups ‘communities’ – as Yu does – Shinpei’s comments suggest it might be better to think in terms of affinity spaces or sites of engagement. However, regardless of the theoretical perspective one might apply, for the students it comes down to the question of how to gain access to what they see as groups of people. Students wishing to join these groups do not have a lot of options. Shinpei said that his strategy was to make friends with a Japanese student who was friends with a group of American exchange students. He also reported on another strategy commonly used by Japanese students: they focus on one student who is a member of a group and talk to that student each time they come to the LC. Other strategies used to initiate social contact include asking a language-related question, requesting help with a homework assignment or even paying a compliment. While these strategies can help students approach a group member and ‘break the ice’, actually fitting in is another matter.

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Fitting in Students, who were regular visitors to the EC and LC, commented on the challenges they faced as newcomers trying to fit in. For them, to fit in meant to make friends. Yasuka noted that ‘it is very difficult for the newcomers to fit in without the help or assistance from regular participants or assistant managers [student workers who assume management duties]’. Talking about her experience, she said, ‘When I was a freshman, when I went to LC, sometimes nobody talked to me, I was very lonely and sad, but I’d like to improve my English skill so – I didn’t have friends, but I could borrow some books at LC’. Borrowing books gave Yasuka a purpose for being in the LC and, thus, served to legitimise her peripheral participation (Lave and Wenger 1991). Through her persistence, she was eventually able to make friends. Shinpei’s experience also highlights the importance of persistence: I was going to English Café since I was a freshman, but did not really talk to an exchange student. But, what changed me is I at least kept studying English even though it was very hard and I kept going to LC even though I couldn’t talk to exchange students. Reflecting on his experience and observations at both the EC and the LC, Shinpei concluded that students who are outgoing and self-confident can find it easier to fit into the various social groups. In addition to learners’ personality traits, our data suggest time and time scales play a role in making it easier to gain access and fit in. There are certain times during the academic year when new groups are forming and existing groups are being transformed. An example would be in October, when new exchange students arrive, eager to learn about their new environment and to make friends. Another time period is in April, when the academic year starts, and many first-year students come to the LC. In addition, events organised around cultural festivities such as Halloween, Christmas, cherry blossom viewing (Ohanami) and the summer Star Festival provide opportunities to get to know new people. These times provide openings during which it is easier to make friends and be accepted into a group. Irrespective of the timing, the events, as well as the classes, have a special feature that supports students in their efforts to fit in: they provide for multiple levels of engagement. Wenger, McDermott and Snyder (2002) note that not all members engage in a community to the same extent. Therefore, in cultivating communities of practice, it is important to make provisions for multiple levels of engagement. Students can come to the classes or events, and their participation can end there. Or, they can use these as opportunities to make acquaintances. As for the classes, they can come to the LC for the class and leave immediately after; or, they can stay, talk to other people and, over time, make friends. For students who deliver the lessons and organise the events, these multifaceted activities provide possibilities for engagement and subsequent learning on a variety of levels. Ultimately, working together on these activities provide opportunities to maintain existing relationships, make new friends and become a part of a group.

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Maintaining one’s place However, once students become a part of the social fabric, the process does not end there: they need to maintain their place. To do this, they have to come to the LC regularly and participate in the activities and special events. They also have to make time to go to dinner, attend parties or just ‘hang out’ with their friends outside of the LC. While this might not seem to be too much to ask, it can be a challenge. At Japanese universities, students are unbelievably busy. After their first year, coursework for their majors becomes increasingly demanding. In addition, club activities are an important feature of student life on Japanese university campuses. Through these clubs, students are able to make friends and lay the groundwork for future professional networks. While club activities offer affordances for social networking and the development of leadership skills, they make huge demands on students’ time. Besides their courses and clubs, most students have part-time jobs. In their efforts to raise money to fulfil their dream of studying abroad, some students may have more than one. Over the years, we have seen so many students stop coming regularly to the EC and LC in their second year. These students are unable to maintain their place.

Losing one’s place When students are too busy to come regularly to the LC and to spend time with their friends engaging in outside activities, they lose their place in the social group. Should these students come back to the LC later, they can find themselves on the periphery again. We became aware of this phenomenon during the pilot study. A Korean exchange student, Dongik, lost his place when he stayed away from the EC for a few months in order to prepare for graduate school entrance examinations. He had been a very active member of the EC community and was the peer teacher of a highly popular TOEFL preparation class. When he came back to the EC after successfully passing his examinations, for him it was a different place. His international exchange student friends had returned to their home countries, other exchange students had arrived, and they had formed new social networks, in some cases, with Japanese students who had also started coming to the EC whilst Dongik was away. In the time that remained before he left to begin graduate work at his new university, he was not able to fit in again at the EC. In our last interview with him, he expressed sadness and disappointment at finding himself an outsider to a community and a place that had played such an important role in his undergraduate life. More recently, we documented a similar story, but this time with a Japanese student. Mutsuo was special in that he had attained a high degree of oral proficiency through his participation in online gaming during his high school years. He started coming to the EC during his freshman year and became friends with international and Japanese students with whom he socialised outside of the EC. In his second year, Mutsuo, an avid tennis player, became busy with the tennis club, where he took on a leadership role. In addition, he had more than one part-time job. As a result, he did not have much time to go to the LC or meet with the friends he made there. When he did go to the LC, he found himself becoming more and more of an outsider. Speaking about people who were his friends, he told us in an interview,

242  Garold Murray, Naomi Fujishima and Mariko Uzuka ‘Sometimes I feel a little bit lonely because they are talking with only each other . . . They are kind of residents at LC, but I’m a visitor’. Mutsuo explained that these students were participating in LC events and outside activities that he had no time to take part in; therefore, they no longer had much in common to talk about. When we interviewed Mutsuo six months later, he told us that he had stopped going to the LC. He said, ‘I could make some time, but I just don’t want to – I feel very sorry for that’. Like Dongik, Mutsuo seemed sad and disappointed to have found himself on the outside again. Like many others who slipped away, Mutsuo would probably not work his way back inside.

Understanding entry and access What can be done to help students like Dongik and Mutsuo who find themselves on the periphery again or to help newcomers who want to enter and integrate into the social learning space? The answer to this question is complicated by a number of factors. As Dongik’s and Mutsuo’s stories illustrate, becoming an insider is not an irreversible, linear process. Furthermore, the challenges learners face are compounded by an inherent characteristic of social learning spaces: they are always changing and becoming different places. In fact, Igarashi (2016) suggests that it is the basic characteristics of the space itself that might offer insights into the issues of entry and access. Igarashi (2016) observes that the LC is not the usual kind of place that students encounter, but rather it is a heterotopia. Foucault (1986: 25) defines a heterotopia as a place that ‘is capable of juxtaposing in a single real place several spaces, several sites that are in themselves incompatible’. Seeming to have features of these other spaces, a heterotopia can create an illusion of being a place it is not, or of not being the place that it is. For example, Igarashi explains that at the LC, one might get the sense of being in a facility at an American university. Or conversely, one might think that the LC does not resemble an establishment at a Japanese university, but that is what it is. In interviews, when asked to describe the LC, students made comments such as it is ‘a totally different world’, it is ‘a globalized site’ or ‘it’s very hard to describe it in short sentence’. The mix of familiar and unfamiliar makes the space hard to define, and, as a consequence, people are not sure how to behave. Igarashi further notes that the LC disturbs the regular social positioning, an understanding of which is fundamental to being at ease in social contexts in Japanese society. As a result, students entering the space are uncomfortable and experience what Igarashi terms a sense of displacement. Moreover, while heterotopias may appear to be ‘freely accessible like a public space’, they ‘hide curious exclusions’ (Foucault 1986: 26). In other words, people can enter these sites, but, when they do, they find they are excluded. Foucault goes on to explain that in these cases people usually have to submit to some form of initiation rites. We see a clear parallel between Foucault’s depiction of gaining entry to a heterotopia and the situation at the LC. Students are encouraged to enter and are warmly greeted, but after that find, they are excluded. In order to integrate into the social space, they have to pass through the early phases we have identified, which could be viewed as initiation rites. Understanding and researching social learning

Social learning spaces 243 spaces as heterotopias may potentially provide insights helping educators to further address the issue of accessibility.

Implications for practice In the meantime, the data from the current study point to several steps educators can take to facilitate the process of gaining entry to social learning spaces and access to the network of groups on the inside. These include the following: 1

Have insiders welcome and support newcomers. While at the LC students are employed to greet people, it is important to encourage all regular users to make newcomers feel at home and to remind them of the importance of maintaining an inclusive atmosphere.

2

Provide newcomers with a purpose for being in the space. For example, at the LC, classes and events give newcomers a reason for coming to this space for the first time and, on subsequent visits, serve to legitimise their peripheral participation.

3

Incorporate opportunities for multiple levels of engagement. Again at the LC, the possibility to attend classes and events or to deliver the lessons and organise the events provided a variety of opportunities for learning and engagement on various levels.

4

Make a space for newcomers and insiders to mingle. The various groups can have their favourite locations or places within the LC. It is difficult for newcomers to approach these groups in these places. However, there is a central area, where Japanese and international students tend to sit together and converse in both Japanese and English. This place to mingle can serve as an entry point to the various groups and facilitate the process of fitting in.

5

Be mindful of the messages conveyed by signage, names and labels. Students imagined the EC and LC as places where they had to speak English. However, the change of name from English to LC and multilingual posters informing students of the meetings of different language groups helped to change their perceptions.

6

Ensure that the décor is attractive and welcoming. Interview comments suggest that colour, layout and furniture can speak to learners’ imaginations and help them envisage the possibility of making a place for themselves.

7

Pay attention to points in time and time scales. It is important for newcomers to be present when groups form or reconfigure. These times can provide entry points.

244  Garold Murray, Naomi Fujishima and Mariko Uzuka 8

Encourage networking through information sharing. We noted that students use information sharing as a strategy for breaking the ice and fitting in. For example, Japanese students often ask a language-related question or for help with an assignment. An international student might ask a question about the local area or for help with a domestic issue. When students ask for help, educators should refer them to other students who could provide information or assistance.

9

Distribute control. Distributed control fosters complex emergence (Davis and Sumara 2006). In order to support the emergence of affordances for language learning and social engagement, educators should distribute control. At the EC and LC, the manager distributed control by encouraging students to assume leadership roles as peer teachers or ‘assistant managers’.

Ultimately, individual students have to take responsibility for their learning and muster the personal strength to take on the challenges of a new environment. As educators, we cannot do this for them; however, the steps suggested here are things we can do to support them without imposing conditions that might impede the emergence of affordances for learning and social engagement.

Implications for future research Establishing social spaces for language learning in institutional settings is a relatively new endeavour. Given varying cultural norms as well as historical, political and economic contexts, each social learning space will bring together elements that will lead to the emergence of different kinds of places. Therefore, ethnography, case studies and narrative inquiry would seem to be suitable methods to document these environments and to provide insights into how they might support language learning. We found it helpful to employ an ethnographic design within an ecological framework informed by mediated discourse analysis and theories on space and place. Our study points to several areas for further inquiry. First of all, there is a need for studies that report on the development and operation of social learning spaces in a variety of cultural contexts (for an example, see Murray and Fujishima 2016). To what extent do these other sites display the attributes of heterotopias and problematise accessibility? Second, future inquiries might seek to enhance our understanding of the nature of affordances and how we might set in place optimal conditions for their emergence. Third, social learning spaces offer unprecedented opportunities to study the various manifestations and roles of learner autonomy in contexts beyond the language classroom. Fourth, studies will need to focus on learners’ emotional engagement and well-being, and the impact this can have on their perception of affordances within the environment. Fifth, our study focused on students who gained entry and access to the social learning space, but what about the students who did not? In order to further the optimal development of these facilities, future research will have to find ways to document the experiences of learners who were unsuccessful in their attempts and who may have been marginalised and alienated.

Social learning spaces 245

Conclusion The experiences of the learners in this study indicate that gaining entry to a social learning space and access to potential affordances can be a challenging process. The difficulties learners face can be compounded by the circumstance that the places are emergent phenomena, prone to more or less constant change. From a theoretical perspective, at different points in time over the five years of our study, we have seen social contexts develop which might be aptly described as affinity spaces (Gee 2005), sites of engagement (Scollon 2001) and communities of practice (Wenger, McDermott and Snyder 2002). We contend that, regardless of the theoretical stance one takes, entry and access as well as membership and belonging become key concerns. When we are dealing with space and place, boundaries – often invisible – can become an issue. As Cresswell (2004) points out, places are as much defined by what lies on the outside as on the inside. In this study students on the outside, wanting in, have to deal with emotions and feelings that can have repercussions for their sense of self and future identities. Membership is a two-sided coin with a sense of belongingness on one face and rejection or alienation on the other. Given human nature and the socially constructed nature of places, educators and researchers will need to pay close attention to issues of entry, access and belonging in relation to social learning spaces.

Notes 1 Many people have asked the question: what does the ‘L’ stand for in LC? Language? Learning? The shape of the space? The students who designed the facility and settled on the name in collaboration with the manager decided not to specify but rather let ‘L’ be whatever people wanted it to be. 2 For photographs of the LC, people and events, visit the LC homepage: http://lcafe.ccsv.okayama-u.ac.jp/english/activities.html; and, on Facebook, please type ‘LC Okayama University’ into Facebook’s search window, or type the following address into your search engine: www.facebook.com/lcafeokayamauniversity/

References Benson, P. 2011a, Teaching and researching autonomy, 2nd edn, Pearson, Harlow. Benson, P. 2011b, ‘Language learning and teaching beyond the classroom: An introduction to the field’, in P. Benson and H. Reinders (eds.), Beyond the language classroom, Palgrave Macmillan, Basingstoke. Carter, E., Donald, J. and Squires, J. 1993, Space and place: Theories of identity and location, Lawrence and Wishart, London. Cresswell, T. 2004, Place: A short introduction, Blackwell, Malden, MA. Davis, B. and Sumara, D. 2006, Complexity and education: Inquiries into learning, teaching, and research, Routledge, New York. Dörnyei, Z. 2014, ‘Researching complex dynamic systems: “Retrodictive qualitative modelling” in the language classroom’, Language Teaching, vol. 47, pp. 80–91. Foucault, M. 1986, ‘Of other spaces’, trans. J Miskowiec, Diacritics, vol. 16, no. 1, pp. 22–27, original work published 1984. Gee, J.P. 2005, ‘Semiotic social spaces and affinity spaces: From The Age of Mythology to today’s schools’, in D. Barton and K. Tusting (eds.), Beyond communities of practice: Language, power and social context, Cambridge University Press, Cambridge.

246  Garold Murray, Naomi Fujishima and Mariko Uzuka Gibson, J.J. 1986, The ecological approach to visual perception, Psychology Press, New York. Harvey, D. 1996, Justice, nature and the geography of difference, Blackwell, Cambridge, MA. Holec, H. 1981, Autonomy and foreign language learning, Pergamon, Oxford. Igarashi, M. 2016, ‘Writing tutorials at the LC’, in G. Murray and N. Fujishima (eds.), Social spaces for language learning: Stories from the LC, Palgrave Macmillan, London, doi:10.1057/9781137530103.0011 Landry, R. and Bourhis, R.Y. 1997, ‘Linguistic landscape and ethnolinguistic vitality: An empirical study’, Journal of Language and Social Psychology, vol. 16, no. 1, pp. 23–49. Lave, J. and Wenger, E. 1991, Situated learning: Legitimate peripheral participation, Cambridge University Press, Cambridge. Massey, D. 1997 ‘A global sense of place’ in T. Barnes and T. Gregory (eds.), Reading human geography, London, Arnold. Massey, D. 2005, For space, Sage, London. Menezes, V. 2011, ‘Affordances for language learning beyond the classroom’, in P. Benson and H. Reinders (eds.), Beyond the language classroom, Palgrave Macmillan, Basingstoke. Murray, G. and Fujishima, N. 2013, ‘Social language learning spaces: Affordances in a community of learners’, Chinese Journal of Applied Linguistics, vol. 36, no. 1, pp. 141–157. Murray, G. and Fujishima, N. 2016, Social spaces for language learning: Stories from the LC, Palgrave Macmillan, Basingstoke. doi:10.1057/978113730103 Murray, G., Fujushima, N. and Uzuka, M. 2014, ‘Semiotics of place: Autonomy and space’, in G. Murray (ed.), Social dimensions of autonomy in language learning, Palgrave Macmillan, Basingstoke. Scollon, R. 2001, Mediated discourse: The nexus of practice, Routledge, London. van Lier, L. 2004, The ecology and semiotics of language learning: A sociocultural perspective, Kluwer, Boston. Wenger, E. 1998, Communities of practice: Learning, meaning, and identity. Cambridge University Press, Cambridge. Wenger, E., McDermott, R. and Snyder, W.M. 2002, Cultivating communities of practice: A guide to managing knowledge, Harvard Business School Press, Boston.

Conclusion

16 Space, place, autonomy and the road not yet taken Garold Murray and Terry Lamb

In this final chapter, we take a step back in order to get a view of this diverse collection of papers as a whole and to reflect on what they might tell us about space, place and autonomy in language learning. The contributing authors investigate a wide range of spaces and places encompassing the physical, virtual and metaphorical. In doing so, they bring to the fore themes that revolve around the central notion of learners appropriating and transforming spaces into places for language learning. They cover an array of topics, including multilingualism, feelings, emotions, personal and professional development, inclusion, exclusion and creativity, amongst others. Yet, perhaps more revealing and poignant are the themes that are only hinted at, but not explicitly treated or developed. These themes raise issues for future inquiries, such as the meaning of autonomy in view of a global shift in focus from classroom-based to out-of-class learning and the complexity that permeates the interaction of the three central constructs – space, place and autonomy – in relation to language learning both within and beyond the classroom. The papers in this volume provide examples of research methodologies that might be suitable for these explorations. In this concluding chapter, we examine the implications these theoretical and methodological leanings have first for theory development, then for possible future inquiries and, finally, for pedagogical practice.

Implications for theory The theme not discussed A salient feature of these chapters is a theme that is not discussed, a leitmotif, which threads its way through of most of them – a stream of references and allusions running just beneath the surface. This theme is complexity. Massey (2005: 73) cautions that in the study of space and place ‘there is a need to be wary about the current fascination with complexity theory’ because in the final analysis, as time progresses and ways of seeing the world change, this body of theory may ‘fade or become just a part of the story’. Nonetheless, what is intriguing in this collection of studies is the inescapable suggestion that complexity thinking has already become a part of the story. The one paper that directly addresses complexity thinking is Magno e Silva’s contribution (Chapter 14), in which she draws on complex adaptive systems theory to examine the experiences of teacher education students improving their English skills through engagement in extracurricular activities made available through a university

250  Garold Murray and Terry Lamb self-access centre. Informed by the work of Larsen-Freeman and Cameron (2008), among others, she summarises some of the key characteristics of complex dynamic systems in relation to language learning. Perhaps the most important thing to know about these systems is that they are comprised of many elements which interact. Systems, in turn, are connected to other systems – they encompass other systems and are at the same time part of larger systems. Due to their interconnectedness and ongoing interaction, change is more or less constant. Systems adapt to the changes in other systems with which they are connected. Sometimes a small change can dramatically alter a system, and, conversely, a big change might have a minimal effect. This phenomenon is referred to as non-linearity. Non-linearity makes it practically impossible to predict outcomes or a system’s path of development, referred to as its trajectory. To understand systems and their trajectories, researchers rely on retrodiction (see Dörnyei 2014), an analytical process in which they work back from a current state in order to determine how the system developed and arrived at this point. Emergence plays a central role in the development of complex dynamic systems and the course their trajectories will take. This phenomenon is reliant upon a key characteristic of complex systems: they are comprised of different levels of organisation. The elements on one level can self-organise – that is to say, they can reconfigure without outside direction – to create something new on another level. For emergence to occur, autonomy has to be present (Morin 2008). While autonomy might be interpreted as freedom enabling the elements to reorganise, we suggest that autonomy could be viewed as providing a metaphorical space in which the various elements can move around and realign. In other words, autonomy opens up what Lamb (2000) has referred to elsewhere as ‘spaces for manoeuvre’. What we find compelling in our analysis of this collection of studies is that constructs and notions from complexity thinking seem to have made a space for themselves in this body of literature. Without fully embracing complexity thinking as a theoretical orientation to guide the interpretation of the data in their studies, the authors frequently incorporate constructs and notions prevalent in this approach. For example, in their exploration of the role of emotions in the construction of learning spaces, White and Bown (Chapter 3) state that their paper is based on the ‘view of the individual and context as one system’. This notion of various elements integrated into a whole, which is often greater than the sum of its parts, is evident in several other chapters. Kocatepe (Chapter 10), for example, illustrates how students in her study use humour ‘to exercise power within the complex network of relations inherent in any class’. Drawing on Bourdieu’s (1985) construct of habitus, which refers to the physical embodiment of cultural and social features, Lamb and Vodicka (Chapter 2) contend that it emerges from ‘the dynamic webs of dispositions that have been shaped by past and present experiences and practices’. Clearly, the influences of complexity thinking are present in the work of these researchers. We suggest that the time has come for researchers investigating the interrelationships of space, place and autonomy in language learning to engage more directly with complex dynamic systems theory, apply it more explicitly to their work and explore the potential it has to offer insights into some of the theoretical issues that arise from this line of enquiry. By way of example, one such issue that complexity thinking might serve as a conduit to address is the perplexing, and perhaps even vexatious, relationship between learner autonomy and agency in various learning spaces as well as the role these

The road not yet taken 251 constructs might play in the creation of such spaces. Educators making reference to autonomy in language learning often cite Benson (2011: 58) who defines the construct as ‘the capacity to take control of one’s own learning’, which he sees as encompassing three dimensions: control over learning management (cf. Holec 1981), control over cognitive processing (cf. Little 1991), and control over content. More recently, Murray, Fujishima and Uzuka (2014) proposed that a fourth dimension be added, that of space. However, based on their out-of-class research in a social learning space, they contend that ‘autonomy is not about having control over the learning space; rather, autonomy is about having the possibility to exercise one’s agency within the space’ (Murray, Fujishima and Uzuka 2014: 99). In order to illustrate the potential of complexity thinking to offer insights to researchers exploring autonomy and agency in relation to space and place, in what follows, we employ complex dynamic systems theory in our analysis of issues surrounding control, as they arise in three of the papers in this volume. Although we do not claim to be able to make a clear distinction between autonomy and agency, our example of how the adoption of a complexity approach can illuminate the issue of control, which is central to both, demonstrates the potential of this body of theory to shed some light on these two constructs and their mutual manifestation within learning spaces. Despite evidence that educators investigating learner autonomy seem to be increasingly drawn to the construct of agency, no one has succeeded in elucidating the relationship between the two (Benson 2017; Gao 2010; Gao and Zhang 2011; Huang 2011; Huang and Benson 2013). Van Lier (2010: ix), who has considered both agency and learner autonomy from the perspective of sociocultural theory, writes, ‘I would be hard put to give a precise delineation of the similarities, and especially the differences, between agency and autonomy’. Later, in the same article, he says ‘agency refers to the ways in which, and the extents to which, the person (self, identities and all) is compelled to, motivated to, allowed to and coerced to, act’ (van Lier 2010: x). Noting that he was writing about agency in the passive voice, van Lier adds that ‘agency refers equally to the person deciding to, wanting to, insisting to, agreeing to, and negotiating to, act’ (ibid. x). For van Lier (2008: 163), ‘agency is always a social event that does not take place in a void’, but rather, it is mediated by sociocultural forces which support or constrain an individual’s capacity to act. In regard to agency, control becomes an issue in as much as societal constraints, that is to say controls, which may inhibit action, are imposed on the individual; whereas with autonomy, the emphasis is on the individual taking control – or rather, taking on responsibility for himself or herself in a particular time and space in view of the societal constraints and other factors – and acting and interacting with the environment as an outward manifestation of that decision. Reflecting on the relationship between autonomy and agency, Huang (2011: 230) contends that agency ‘entails action . . . that arises from deliberation and choice’ and cites Benson (2007: 30), who proposes that ‘agency can perhaps be viewed as a point of origin for the development of autonomy’. In this volume, the relationship between autonomy and agency becomes a matter for concern in Hafner and Miller’s (Chapter 11) exploration of elements that course designers should take into account in order to ensure the optimal exercise of learners’ agency. Their study offers compelling support for the argument that, in order to enable learners to exercise their agency, educators need to offer learning environments that encourage collaborative power relations. According to Hafner

252  Garold Murray and Terry Lamb and Miller, in their study, the sharing of power between the teacher and the students led to the proliferation of various types of learning spaces that the teachers could not have anticipated at the outset. Because of the students’ investment in learning and their discovery of learning spaces and opportunities, Hafner and Miller conclude that teachers should not stipulate learning spaces, but rather let them emerge as learners exercise their agency. Like the learners in Hafner and Miller’s enquiry, those in Kocatepe’s study (Chapter 10) also exercise their agency in order to generate meaningful personal learning spaces. However, in this case, they use humour not only to create these spaces within a classroom environment, but also as a tool to engender shared power relations. Kocatepe’s study illustrates how students used humour as a means to exercise control in their learning space and in doing so engage in meaning-making that contributed to their learning. Rather than feel threatened and retreat behind her position of authority, the teacher engaged the learners as they exercised their agency and pursued their personal learning agendas. Readers get the impression of an experienced, confident teacher who is comfortable with having control decentralised in her classroom and who is skilful at recognising the potential of impromptu exchanges as emergent teaching/learning opportunities. In contrast to the situation presented in Kocapete’s study, in which the learners’ exercise of agency leads to a distribution of control contributing to the emergence of constructive learning opportunities, Reis’s enquiry (Chapter 12) provides an example of a case in which the learners through their discursive positioning take control of the classroom. Although, as Reis notes, the students are polite and friendly, the teacher’s position is challenged to the extent that learning does not take place. The situation seems to be exacerbated by the teacher’s apparent lack of classroom management skills. In addition, perhaps because she feels intimidated and threatened by this group of young men, the teacher repeats the content, stagnation sets in and the lesson does not progress. In this class, rather than have decentralised or distributed control, we have an example of a context in which the students have taken control to the detriment of potential learning opportunities. These three formal learning contexts provide insights into the construct of control by illustrating the advantages of distributed or decentralised control; that is to say, control that is shared amongst the learners and teacher. In their book, in which they apply complexity thinking to education in general, Davis and Sumara (2006) identify decentralised control as one of the conditions contributing to complex emergence in learning environments. As we explained earlier, in order to understand the notion of emergence, it is important to recognise that in any complex system, there are various levels of organisation; emergence occurs when elements on one level self-organise to create something new on another level. In order for the elements to self-organise, they require a degree of autonomy. Davis and Sumara argue that for learning opportunities to emerge in a classroom or other space, control must be decentralised. While decentralised control is evident in the classroom depicted in Kocapete’s study, its potential outcomes are more clearly illustrated in Hafner and Miller’s enquiry. They report that the students in their study surpassed expectations and took advantage of learning spaces teachers could not have predicted their students would explore. However, as Hafner and Miller’s study demonstrates, other elements necessary for complex emergence were at work in tandem with decentralised control. These

The road not yet taken 253 other elements, identified by Davis and Sumara (2006: 135–136), are neighbour interactions, internal diversity, internal redundancy, coherence and randomness. In any classroom context, the students provide diversity by bringing their multiple, or fractal, identities (Sade 2014) to the learning environment. They also provide for redundancy, seen as commonalities, such as a shared language, goals, meeting place and responsibilities. These shared features support coherence. In Hafner and Miller’s study, the clearly delineated task and the bringing together of the various groups in the classroom setting also served to reinforce coherence. In Kocatepe’s study, the classroom teacher with her adept classroom management skills and commitment to moving the curriculum forward was a source of stability and, hence, coherence. This teacher also provides a good example of randomness at work in the classroom. Randomness refers to an openness to the unstructured, unplanned for and unanticipated occurrences or possibilities that might present themselves. The teacher in this study went with the flow of the students’ interventions and transformed them into teachable moments. Similarly, in Hafner and Miller’s study, the teachers embraced the unexpected and marvelled at the range of learning spaces the participants were able to co-create. Finally, in both studies, there was one other element, which supported the emergence of spaces for learning, namely neighbour interactions. On an obvious level, there was the interaction of the students. In Hafner and Miller’s study, learners were required to work in groups. In Kocatepe’s study, we see the friendly exchanges and even camaraderie of the classmates. However, while these personal and group interactions are important, Davis and Sumara (2006: 142) stress that ‘the neighbors that must interact with one another are ideas, hunches, queries, and other manners of representation’ (italics in original). Although these types of interactions are more readily identifiable in the group work context of Hafner and Miller’s study, we can nonetheless see examples in Kocatepe’s study, in which the students correct each other’s grammar or make allusions to shared features of Middle Eastern cultures. It is noteworthy that while there are abundant examples of neighbour interactions in the classroom described in Reis’s study, and although it could be argued that these learners were also exercising their agency, learning opportunities did not emerge. We contend this was due in large measure to the absence of decentralised or distributed control. In other words, for learning opportunities to emerge in these spaces, autonomy in the form of distributed control had to be present. In our thematic analysis of these studies, adopting a complexity approach has provided insight into the element of control, which has been deemed central to the exercise of both autonomy and agency. Moreover, the language of complexity thinking – including references to emergence, dynamic networks and the word complexity itself – appears with enough frequency to be a motif uniting these chapters, which draw on diverse contexts, spaces and geographical places. We suggest this is further evidence that the time has come for researchers in this area to consider adopting complex dynamic systems theory to guide the interpretation of their data. White and Bown (Chapter 3) call for theoretical approaches that do not treat the learner and the learning context as separate entities. We believe that complex dynamic systems theory offers great promise as a means of exploring these two as one and as a way of looking beyond the binary opposites – such as, control versus freedom, independence versus dependence and the individual versus the social – which have plagued learner autonomy as an area of enquiry. In the following section, we look

254  Garold Murray and Terry Lamb more closely at autonomy as a construct and the role it plays in the transformation of spaces into places for learning.

Autonomy and the creation of places for learning The central theme of this book has been the role of autonomy in relation to spaces and places for learning. Exploring this relationship has led the authors to identify various facets of autonomy as well as traits of autonomous learners. For example, Chik (Chapter 4) notes in relation to virtual learning spaces that autonomous learners have to be able to identify digital sources and practices suitable to meet their needs. Envisaging autonomy across a broad urban landscape and drawing on research and scholarship across a wide range of disciplines, Lamb and Vodicka (Chapter 2) look beyond the individual and consider autonomy on other levels of organisation as ‘a political, collectivist construct, interwoven with space/place and with communities and networks’. Similarly, White and Bown (Chapter 3), in their exploration of emotion and the creation of places for learning, argue that researchers need to consider different scales or levels of organisation both spatial and temporal. They call for theoretical approaches that view learners and learning contexts as one, account for constant change and shift attention to ‘the interplay between language, individuals and space, place and opportunity moment by moment’. Kocatepe (Chapter 10) points to one such theoretical option when she characterises autonomy as ‘a shifting, complex, dynamic and multifaceted capacity’. Actually, the suggestion that autonomy is a complex phenomenon, inextricably linked to space and place, is not new (Paiva and Braga 2008). Over a decade ago, Paiva (2006: 88–89) defined autonomy as a complex socio-cognitive system, subject to internal and external constraints, which manifests itself in different degrees of independence and control of one’s own learning process. It involves capacities, abilities, attitudes, willingness, decision making, choices, planning, actions, and assessment either as a language learner or as a communicator inside or outside the classroom. As a complex system it is dynamic, chaotic, unpredictable, non-linear, adaptive, open, selforganizing, and sensitive to initial conditions and feedback. As a complex dynamic system, autonomy interacts with and melds with other systems enabling the emergence of places for learning. The distributed control dimension of autonomy, discussed in the previous section, facilitates neighbour interaction, supports the openness of the system that enables it to draw on outside resources and makes it possible for the various elements to reorganize. Autonomy assists in the self-organisation process by opening up ‘spaces for manoeuvre’ (Lamb 2000), thereby playing a vital role in the emergence of places for learning.

Possibility and change Autonomy opens up a space for possibilities. Possibilities are harbingers of change – another theme running through these chapters. Since places are always in a state of becoming (Cresswell 2004), any theory attempting to provide insights into space

The road not yet taken 255 and place will need to be able to account for change. Larsen-Freeman (2015: 11) notes that complex dynamic systems theory ‘makes the study of change central’ (italics in original). Viewed from this theoretical perspective, autonomy opens up a space for possibilities by encouraging randomness, an important element in the process of emergence. It enables learners to benefit from the unexpected, an unanticipated event or a serendipitous discovery and to draw on resources outside the system. In other words, autonomy supports the elements essential for complex emergence. Through the reconfiguration of elements within the system and/or the addition of new ones, learning spaces are opened up which have the potential to offer unanticipated affordances for language development, as was the case in Hafner and Miller’s study (Chapter 11). Autonomy facilitates the opening of a space for a pedagogy of possibility (Murray 2013). By way of example, three of the papers in this collection that focus on teacher education programmes stress the need for a change in the way these programmes are organised and examine the potential of various possibilities to effect the desired changes – a pedagogy centred on teacher generated case studies (Jiménez Raya and Vieira, Chapter 7), an experiential approach in which pre-service teachers create online programs for language learners (Kuure, Chapter 8) and an immersion approach in which participants engage in a variety of extracurricular activities in the target language (Magno e Silva, Chapter 14). Each of these projects draws on the confluence of teacher and learner autonomy. Jiménez Raya and Vieira (Chapter 7) argue that, in order for teacher education programmes to change, an interspace needs to be opened up between the reality of work and the ideals of academia – a space in which teachers can reflect on their experience and construct their own professional knowledge. Autonomy as a key player in the emergence process can serve to open up these metaphorical spaces.

Emotions, feelings and autonomy Other elements that play a role in the creation of learning spaces and places are feelings and emotions. A growing body of evidence suggests that the relationship between autonomy and our emotional, psychological and physical well-being must not be underestimated. In a book summarising his research into the connection between stress and disease, an internationally known physician writes, With an increased capacity for self-regulation in adulthood comes also a heightened need for autonomy – for the freedom to make genuine choices. Whatever undermines autonomy will be experienced as a source of stress. Stress is magnified whenever the power to respond effectively to the social or physical environment is lacking or when the tested animal or human being feels helpless, without meaningful choices – in other words, when autonomy is undermined. (Maté 2003: 179) Note that the author contends that a lack of well-being can stem from feelings, in this case those of helplessness, which he equates with the lack of meaningful choices. Maté (2003: 206) goes on to say that ‘emotions interpret the world for us’, informing us about ‘our internal states as they are affected by input from the outside’.

256  Garold Murray and Terry Lamb Addressing the distinction between emotions and internal states, or feelings, Damasio (2003: 3), who has explored these constructs in relation to neurological functioning, defines a feeling as ‘some variant of pain or pleasure as it occurs in emotions and related phenomena’. He explains that emotions are related to the body and expressed through actions, body language and voice, whereas, on the other hand, feelings are a form of thought. Damasio (2003: 86) hypothesises that ‘a feeling is the perception of a certain state of the body along with the perception of a certain mode of thinking and of thoughts with certain themes’ (italics in original). While some work has examined emotions in relation to autonomy in language learning (Hurd 2008, 2011), an exploration of feelings has only just begun (Tassinari 2016; Tassinari and Ciekanski 2013). In this volume, Kocapete (Chapter 10) concludes that ‘autonomy is exercised through embodied practices’, noting that the learners in her study ‘authored their worlds of learning through their display of emotions’. White and Bown (Chapter 3) advance this line of enquiry, arguing that not only are emotions a feature of spaces but that they play a key role in the construction of places for learning. While these chapters explicitly address learners’ emotions, they also point to the need to explore feelings. White and Bown and Kocapete are not the only contributors to this collection who draw attention to the role of feelings in relation to space and place. Tracking the learning trajectory of a Japanese woman, Carter (Chapter 9) discusses the potentially devastating feelings of displacement she experienced upon returning to Tokyo after a year of schooling in Australia. Reporting on out-of-class learning in an institutional setting, Magno e Silva (Chapter 14) draws attention to the feelings of pleasure and ‘esprit de corps’ the learners experienced as they participated in a variety of extracurricular activities offered by a self-access centre on the campus of a Brazilian university. In another out-of-class setting, Murray, Fujishima and Uzuka (Chapter 15) discuss the feelings learners experienced as they tried to make a place for themselves in a social learning space located on the campus of a large national university in Japan. Clearly, how learners feel in a space is important and has an impact on their engagement within that context and their learning. How we experience autonomy and the role our emotions and feelings have in the creation of spaces and places for learning opens up a number of lines of enquiry to be pursued in the future.

Implications for future inquiries In this section, we examine some of the areas for further enquiry suggested by studies in this volume. We commence with the theme just discussed: the role of feelings and emotions in the emergence of spaces, places and their accompanying affordances for learning. Researchers have only begun to explore the relationship of emotions, feelings and autonomy in language learning. As we come to understand more deeply the relevance of considering learners, comprised of their biological, cognitive and affective systems, as integral elements of the learning spaces under study, researchers will need to pursue this line of enquiry. Investigating feeling and emotions in relation to space, place and autonomy raises any number of research questions. Taking into account the experiences of learners depicted in this volume, one possible example arises from Damasio’s (2003) work examining the distinction between feelings and emotions. Clearly, autonomy cannot be classified as an emotion, but can

The road not yet taken 257 it transform into a feeling? Is it possible to feel autonomous? If so, then how does feeling autonomous in a particular space affect our learning? For example, do people who feel autonomous experience a more enhanced sense of engagement with learning tasks and processes? Are people who feel autonomous more likely to engage with the space and actively participate in the emergence of affordances for learning? And, over the long term, what impact might these engrained feelings of autonomy have on their emergent identity as target language speakers and accepted participants in target culture places? This represents just one of many lines of enquiry that might be pursued as researchers consider feelings, emotions and autonomy in relation to the construction of places for learning. While in this volume ‘construction’ has been used as a metaphor for the development of places for language learning, we propose that future research will also have to focus on the construction of actual physical spaces. In pursuing this line of enquiry, it may be helpful to view physical spaces as entities. Murray, Fujishima and Uzuka (Chapter 15) provide an example of this approach in their longitudinal ethnography examining the potential of the LC, a social space, as a place for learning. Universities around the world are currently investing huge sums of money into not only the creation of various types of formal learning centres but also informal spaces in which learners can come together in order to learn with and from each other. In their case study of two institutions of higher learning in New Zealand, Hobbs and Dofs (Chapter 13) examine how changing financial circumstances are prompting the refurbishment of existing spaces into multipurpose, polymorphous places for learning. Lamb and Vodicka (Chapter 2) explore the ways in which, in a demonstration of a collective and critical autonomy, language communities persist in their struggle to ensure that their languages continue to be learned and used by their children; this is being achieved to some extent by the construction of semi-formal learning spaces, such as complementary schools run by the community, or the transformation of informal local urban spaces into linguistically superdiverse, even interlingual, places. Carter (Chapter 9) concludes her analysis of one learner’s trajectory as it moves across time and numerous places by noting that while not all spaces are equally conducive to autonomy, autonomous learners have the potential to transform spaces into places for learning. One means of exploring these spaces and places would be to employ retrodiction as a research strategy (see Dörnyei 2014; Murray 2017) by working backwards from a context in which learning is occurring in order to examine the elements comprising the space that are conducive to the emergence of places for learning. As institutions and indeed language communities continue to acknowledge the importance of out-of-class learning and invest in the creation of alternative learning venues, there will be a need to examine the affordances for learning that emerge in these spaces and how all of the various elements work together to produce them. We propose that in pursuing this line of enquiry, it will be helpful to view these physical spaces as entities and even as agents for change (Oblinger 2006). Spaces and the places for learning that emerge within them are subject to constant change; therefore, researchers will need to employ methodologies that make it possible to document change by taking into account time as well as space. We contend that this will mean adopting an ecological or a complex dynamic systems approach. While neither approach comes with prescribed research methodologies for work in the area of applied linguistics, the literature does provide some broad guidelines. For example, writing from an ecological perspective, van Lier (2004: 193) maintains

258  Garold Murray and Terry Lamb that such studies will need to focus on the networks of relationships within the environment, take space and various time scales into account, adopt an emic perspective and be interventionist in orientation. Similarly, outlining principles to guide research from a complex dynamic systems perspective, Larsen-Freeman and Cameron (2008: 241–242) offer the following recommendations: view the context as part of the system being studied, examine dynamic processes and changing relationships, look for reciprocal relationships rather than cause and effect sequences and move beyond thinking in terms of binary opposites, such as ‘language acquisition versus language use’, ‘space versus place’ or, in the case of autonomy, ‘dependent versus independent’ or ‘individual versus social or collective’. These theorists suggest researchers might consider case study methodology, action research, ethnography or narrative enquiry. In this volume, researchers have relied primarily on ethnographic methods and various types of narrative enquiry including case studies to document teachers’ professional experience (Jiménez Raya and Vieira, Chapter 7), longitudinal journals to examine students’ study abroad experiences (White and Bown, Chapter 3), diaries and public access blogs to record learners’ use of creativity in the development of virtual and other out-of-class learning places (Chik, Chapter 4) and life history to trace the lifelong learning trajectory of a Japanese woman (Carter, Chapter 9). In three instances, the researchers relied on surveys comprised of questions that delved into the learners’ experiences over time (Magno e Silva, Chapter 14; Wilton and Ludwig, Chapter 6); in one of these cases, the questionnaire data was supported by interviews as well as observation (Hafner and Miller, Chapter 11). A number of other studies relied on methods associated with ethnography (Balçıkanlı, Chapter 5; Kocatepe, Chapter 10; Murray et al., Chapter 15), while Kuure (Chapter 8) employed a specific type called nexus analysis (Scollon and Scollon 2004). Kuure suggests that for future studies, video ethnography (Goldman 2014) could be a helpful means of recording the various phases of project work being carried out in institutional settings. As researchers delve more deeply into the practices of educators and learners that lead to the transformation of spaces into places for learning, they will need to rely on established methods as well be innovative in their quest for others conducive to documenting change over time.

Implications for practice Today, with the profileration of language learning beyond the classroom, teachers can no longer focus uniquely on the learning that is taking place in their classroom. In addition to theoretical perspectives that enable educators to look beyond learners and contexts as discrete entities, we need practical approaches that acknowledge, value and encompass multiple learning spaces and places. Magno e Silva (Chapter 14) suggests one way forward when she proposes that learners and their learning be viewed as language learning systems (also see Paiva and Braga 2008; Murray and Fujishima 2016; Murray 2017). The language learning system would encompass the learners comprised of their various nested systems (cognitive, biological, affective, etc.), their teachers, the materials, the spaces they move across and the places for learning that emerge as they interact with and within these spaces. Viewing learners and their learning as learning systems would have a number of advantages (Murray 2017). In the first place, it would enable teachers to see how the

The road not yet taken 259 work that learners do for their classes is a part of a larger picture or mosaic. Adopting a learning system perspective would help teachers see that what happens in their classroom comprises one level of organisation nested within learners’ personal learning systems. This perspective provides an avenue for integrating individual learners’ out-of-class learning into what teachers are trying to achieve in the classroom. On the other hand, it provides learners with a means of seeing how what teachers are trying to achieve in the classroom might fit into their language learning as a whole – teachers, of course, would have a role to play in raising this awareness. Moreover, a learning system approach provides a metaphor for helping learners see how any number of materials, strategies and spaces can come together and self-organise into a set of learning opportunities that works best for who they are as language learners. Ultimately, viewing learners and their learning as learning systems opens up a space of possibilities. Creating a pedagogy of possibility has been a recurrent theme throughout this collection of papers. This has been particularly evident in the papers that call for change in teacher education programmes. Jiménez Raya and Vieira (Chapter 7) argue for a pedagogy of experience in which teachers construct their own case studies as resources, while Kuure (Chapter 8) and Magno e Silva (Chapter 14) propose offering would-be teachers a range of learning opportunities designed to promote autonomy and help them develop resources they can draw on once they are in the profession. Regardless of the tactics educators employ, it is important to keep in mind that learning opportunities are reliant upon the environment or space – be it physical, virtual or metaphorical – and, more importantly, how learners interact with that space. Affordances and opportunities for learning emerge as learners interact with the environment (Cotterall and Murray 2009; Murray and Fujishima 2016; Paiva 2011; Singleton and Aronin 2007). The challenge for educators is to incorporate into the learning space elements which support complex emergence. As Hafner and Miller (Chapter 11) discovered when they promoted collaborative power relations – or what we refer to as distributed or decentralised control – in their course design, learning spaces opened up, making it possible for their students to have affordances for learning that the teachers could not have predicted. This points to another element of emergence: randomness. Teachers need to be open to the unanticipated and embrace the unexpected learning and teaching opportunities that emerge. This will mean keeping an open mind in regards to the diversity learners bring to the learning environment. Randomness will be fed by the diversity of background, knowledge, skills and interests of the learners. Teachers will need to incorporate pedagogical activities and strategies that facilitate sharing knowledge, skills and interests; in other words, they will need to encourage neighbour interactions. Teachers will also have to support redundancy by building on what the learners have in common and encouraging students to work with and learn from each other. A primary role of the teacher will be to provide coherence – the glue that holds it all together – through pedagogical strategies, classroom management techniques and interpersonal skills. As Davis and Sumara (2006) point out, complex emergence cannot be planned, but it can be occasioned. To do this, teachers need to incorporate elements which support complex emergence into their practice: distributed control, neighbour interactions, randomness, diversity and coherence (Davis and Sumara 2006).

260  Garold Murray and Terry Lamb

Conclusion The educators contributing to this volume have explored the ways in which language learners, teachers and communities transform spaces into places for learning. In doing so, they have demonstrated the central role that autonomy plays in this transformation. They have also shown learners’ identities, including their emotions and feelings, to be key elements in the process of shaping spaces into places with affordances for learning. This body of work points to the need for theoretical and research approaches that do not only consider learners’ identities, spaces and places but view them as being mutually constitutive. Learners with their cognitive, affective and physical systems form and are formed by the learning environment. Because learners and the environments they constitute are constantly changing, being shaped and reshaped through their ongoing interaction, the field of language education needs theoretical and research approaches that take embodied experience, space and time into account. This collection of studies provides ample evidence that future research projects must not ignore the role played by autonomy in these processes. Through the constructs they draw on, including those from a range of disciplines, and the language they use to express their findings, the inquiries collected in this volume suggest that the time has come to explore in a more forthright manner the potential of complex dynamic systems as an approach to guide further study into the interplay of space, place and autonomy in language learning.

References Benson, P. 2007, ‘Autonomy in language teaching and learning’, Language Teaching, vol. 40, no. 1, pp. 21–40. Benson, P. 2011, Teaching and Researching Autonomy, 2nd edn, Pearson, Harlow. Benson, P. 2017, ‘Teacher autonomy and teacher agency’, in G. Barkhuizen (ed.), Reflections on language teacher identity research, Routledge, New York. Bourdieu, P. 1985, ‘The social space and the genesis of groups’, Theory and Society, vol. 14, no. 6, pp. 723–744. Cotterall, S. and Murray, G. 2009, ‘Enhancing metacognitive knowledge: Structure, affordances and self’, System, vol. 37, no. 1, pp. 34–45. doi:10.1016/j.system.2008.08.003 Cresswell, T. 2004, Place: A short introduction, Blackwell, Malden, MA. Damasio, A. 2003, Looking for Spinoza: Joy, sorrow and the feeling brain, Vintage, London. Davis, B. and Sumara, D. 2006, Complexity and education: Inquiries into learning, teaching, and research, Routledge, New York. Dörnyei, Z. 2014, ‘Researching complex dynamic systems: “Retrodictive qualitative modelling” in the language classroom’, Language Teaching, vol. 47, pp. 80–91. Gao, X. 2010, Strategic language learning: The roles of agency and context, Multilingual Matters, Bristol. Gao, X. and Zhang, L.J. 2011, ‘Joining forces for synergy: Agency and metacognition as interrelated theoretical perspectives on autonomy’, in G. Murray, X. Gao and T. Lamb (eds.), Identity, motivation and autonomy in language learning, Multilingual Matters, Bristol. Goldman, R. 2014, ‘Frontiers of digital video research in the learning sciences: Mapping the Terrain’, in R.K. Sawyer (ed.), The Cambridge handbook of the learning sciences, 2nd edn, Cambridge Press, Cambridge. doi:10.1017/CBO9781139519526.014

The road not yet taken 261 Holec, H. 1981, Autonomy and foreign language learning, Pergamon, Oxford. Huang, J. 2011, ‘A dynamic account of autonomy, agency and identity in (T)EFL learning’, in G. Murray, X. Gao and T. Lamb (eds.), Identity, motivation and autonomy in language learning, Multilingual Matters, Bristol. Huang, J. and Benson, P. 2013, ‘Autonomy, agency and identity in foreign and second language education’, Chinese Journal of Applied Linguistics, vol. 36, no. 1, pp. 7–28. Hurd, S. 2008, ‘Affect and strategy use in independent language learning’, in S Hurd & T Lewis (eds.), Language Learning Strategies in Independent Settings, Multilingual Matters, Bristol. Hurd, S. 2011, ‘Research methods to investigate emotions in independent language learning: A focus on think-aloud verbal protocols’, in B. Morrison (ed.), Independent language learning: Building on experience, seeking new perspectives, Hong Kong University Press, Hong Kong. Lamb, T. 2000, ‘Finding a voice – Learner autonomy and teacher education in an urban context’, in B. Sinclair, I. McGrath and T. Lamb (eds.), Learner autonomy, teacher autonomy: Future directions, Longman, Harlow. Larsen-Freeman, D. 2015, ‘Ten “lessons” from complex dynamic systems theory: What is on offer’, in Z. Dörnyei, P.D. MacIntyre and A. Henry (eds.), Motivational dynamics in language learning, Multilingual Matters, Bristol. Larsen-Freeman, D. and Cameron, L. 2008, Complex systems and applied linguistics, Oxford University Press, Oxford. Little, D. 1991, Learner autonomy 1: Definitions, issues and problems, Authentik, Dublin. Massey, D. 2005, For space, Sage, London. Maté, G. 2003, When the body says NO: Exploring the stress-disease connection, Wiley, Hoboken, NJ. Morin, E. 2008, On complexity, Hampton Press, Cresskill, NJ. Murray, G. 2013, ‘Pedagogy of the possible: Imagination, autonomy, and space’, Studies in Second Language Learning and Teaching, vol. 3, no. 3, pp. 377–396. Murray, G. 2017, ‘Autonomy in the time of complexity: Lessons from beyond the classroom’, SiSAL Journal, vol. 8, no. 2, pp. 116–134. Murray, G. and Fujishima, N. 2016, ‘Understanding a social space for language learning’, in G. Murray and N. Fujishima (eds.), Social spaces for language learning: Stories from the LC, Palgrave Macmillan, Basingstoke. doi:10.1057/978113730 103.0023 Murray, G., Fujushima, N. and Uzuka, M. 2014, ‘Semiotics of place: Autonomy and space’, in G. Murray (ed.), Social dimensions of autonomy in language learning, Palgrave Macmillan, Basingstoke. Oblinger, D.G. (ed.) 2006, Learning Spaces, Educause, Washington, DC, viewed 1 May 2012. www.educause.edu/LearningSpaces. Paiva, V.L.M de O 2006, ‘Autonomia e complexidade’, Linguagem e Ensino, vol. 9, no. 1, pp. 77–127. Paiva, V.L.M de O. 2011, ‘Affordances for language learning beyond the classroom’, in P. Benson and H. Reinders (eds.), Beyond the language classroom, Palgrave Macmillan, Basingstoke. Paiva, V.L.M de O and Braga, J.C.F. 2008, ‘The complex nature of autonomy’, Revista D.E.L.T.A., vol. 24 (especial), pp. 441–468. Sade, L.A. 2014, ‘Autonomy, complexity, and networks of learning’, in G. Murray (ed.), Social dimensions of autonomy in language learning, Palgrave Macmillan, Basingstoke. Scollon, R. and Wong Scollon, S. 2004, Nexus analysis: Discourse and the emerging Internet, Routledge, New York.

262  Garold Murray and Terry Lamb Singleton, D. and Aronin, L. 2007, ‘Multiple language learning in the light of the theory of affordances’, Innovation in language learning and teaching, vol. 1, no. 1, pp. 83–96. doi:10.2167/illt44.0 Tassinari, M.G. 2016, ‘Emotions and feelings in language advising discourse’, in C. Gkonou, D. Tatzl and S. Mercer (eds.), New directions in language learning psychology, Springer, Switzerland. Tassinari, M.G. and Ciekanski, M. 2013, ‘Accessing the self in self-access learning: Emotions and feelings in language advising’, Studies in Self-Access Learning Journal, vol. 4, no. 4, pp. 262–280, viewed 16 April 2015. http://sisaljournal.org/archives/dec13/. van Lier, L. 2004, The ecology and semiotics of language learning: A sociocultural perspective, Kluwer, Boston. van Lier, L. 2008, ‘Agency in the classroom’, in J. Lantolf and M Poehner (eds.), Sociocultural theory and the teaching of second languages, Equinox, London. van Lier, L. 2010, ‘Foreword: Agency, self and identity in language learning’, in B. O’Rourke and L. Carson (eds.), Language learner autonomy: Policy, curriculum, classroom, Peter Lang, Oxford.

Index

action research 258 activism/activist 10, 19, 23 activities 220 – 221, 223 – 230 adult foreign language learning: creativity in 46, 57; literature review 44 – 47; participants of 47 – 48; person dimension 46, 48 – 50; press dimension 46, 53 – 55; process dimension 46, 50 – 52; product dimension 46, 55 – 56; study of 47 – 48; taking charge of learning 46 – 47 Affinity space (Gee 2005) 236 – 237, 239, 245 affordance 128, 131 – 136, 138, 140, 146, 234 – 235, 237, 241, 244 – 245, 255 – 257, 259 – 260 agency 162 – 177, 250 – 253; autonomy and, in language learning 250 – 252; concept of 163, 164; student engagement in learning 177 agonistic urbanism, concept of 23 Arab students 147 Asian languages 45 attention spaces 4, 113 – 125; of becoming a language teacher 122 – 123; of being a student in LLT course 118 – 119; of designing project for children 121 – 122; identifying and examining 117 – 118; managing multiple 123 – 124, 125; of working as project team member 120 – 121 attention structures 113 – 114, 117 – 121, 124 – 125 authentic 78 – 79, 87 – 89 authoring one’s world of learning 156; See also governing one’s world of learning autonomisation, term 219, 230n2 autonomous language learning 39 – 40; emotion, space and place in 29 – 32;

learner-context interface of 32 – 33; in Russian study abroad 29, 33 – 37; spaces for 201 – 202, 213 – 215; theorizing 32 – 33 autonomous learner: autobiographical account of 128 – 129; autonomy of 131; literature review 129 – 132; narrative inquiry 129 – 130; space and place in autonomy 131 – 132; theories of identity 130 – 131; See also Naoko’s story autonomous learning 201 – 216 autonomous learning opportunities 29, 32, 40 Autonomous Learning Support Base (BA) 230n1; current status of 223 – 224; enhancing autonomy 219 – 220, 230; expansion of places for learning 224 – 226; history of 223; impact of involvement on learning 226 – 228; impact on learning to teach 228 – 229; social learning orientation 219 autonomy 2, 129, 131 – 134, 139 – 141; approaches to understanding local 18 – 19; Chatterton defining 19; as collectivist construct 13 – 15; definition of 14, 220 – 221, 254; ecological 2; as element of social space 237; humour and 148 – 149; identifying learners’ exercise of 147 – 148; in language learning 145 – 148; as political capacity 15, 146, 206 – 207, 211 – 212; possibility and change in learning space 254 – 255; research on 131; role of emotions and feelings in learning spaces 255 – 256; as situated in context 146; sociocultural 2; space and place in 131 – 132 awareness raising 76 – 77, 79 – 82, 84, 86 – 87,  89

264 Index becoming-in-the-world, Deleuzian notion of 16 being-in-the-world, Heideggerian ontology of 16 Benson, Phil 220 bilingualism 12 Brazilian juvenile detention centre: analysis of discursive positions 188 – 194; classroom implications 194 – 195; confused space in 181 – 182, 188, 192, 194; framing teaching and learning in 180 – 183; frequency of linguistic forms and strategies 185; The Great Confinement 181 – 182; memory in learning 179 – 181, 191 – 194; methodology 184; nature of classroom interactions in 184 – 187; practiced place in 181; study and research site 183 – 184 Bridge, The (Danish TV series) 44 capitalism, globalisation driver 11 case 97 – 109 case analysis 101 – 102 case construction 101 – 102, 107 case pedagogy 4; in language teacher education 99 – 101 case pedagogy (in teacher education) 97 – 109 case story see Naoko’s story Castoriadis, Cornelius 15 change 249 – 250, 254 – 255, 257 – 259 chora (space) 15 – 16 classroom: collaborative learning 103, 106 – 108; humour and autonomy in 148 – 149; in-class 2, 4, 162, 165, 167; as physical space 146 – 147; spaces 4; see also Brazilian juvenile detention centre; humour in classroom coherence 253, 259 collaboration 4, 14, 24, 30; Language Learning and Technology (LLT) 115 – 123; peers 14, 62 collaborative learning, promoting 103, 106 – 108 collective autonomy, in urban spaces 20 – 23 communicative language training (CLT) 204, 210 communities of practice: analytical framework 149 – 151; defining 235 – 236 community 233, 235 – 237, 240 – 241 community languages 20 community of practice 130, 133, 233, 235 – 237

complementary schools 20 – 21 complex adaptive system (CAS), language learning as a 219, 220 – 223 Complex dynamic systems 250 – 251, 253, 255, 257 – 258,  260 Complexity theory [thinking] 249 complexity thinking, theme of 249 – 254 computer-assisted language learning 50, 51 computer-mediated communication (CMC) 164, 176; emails 168 – 170; Facebook 172 – 173, 176; WhatsApp 170 – 172 constraint 128, 131 – 132, 134, 136, 140 control 237, 244, 251 – 254, 259; collaborative power relations 251, 259; decentralized control 252 – 253, 259; Distributed control 244, 252 – 254, 259 Corriere della Sera (newspaper) 55 Costa, Cintia 225 Council of Europe 12, 79 course design see English for science and technology (EST) course creativity 3; adult language learning 46, 57; four P’s 46; person dimension 46, 48 – 50; press dimension 46, 53 – 55; process dimension 46, 50 – 52; product dimension 46, 55 – 56 curriculum 9, 12 – 13, 20, 24 Dae Jang Geum (Jewel in the Palace) (Korean drama) 44 Dasein (being there) 16 De Certeau’s Practice of Everyday Life 18 deep learning 33, 36 – 37, 203 design 3 – 4 diaries 258 digital space: literature review 207 – 208; New Zealand context 212; places for language learning 37 – 39 digital video 164 – 165, 166 discourses in place 115, 117 ecology 235 EFL (English as a foreign language) 62, 63, 65, 128, 133; Arab learners 145, 147, 155, 157 embodied practices 256 emergence 233, 235 – 237, 244, 250, 252 – 257,  259 Emirati students 145 emotion 249 – 250, 255 – 257, 260; language learning 38, 40 – 41; role in learning spaces 255 – 256; in Russian study abroad 33 – 36; space, place and, in language learning 29 – 32

Index  265 emotional space: literature review 205 – 206; New Zealand context 210 – 211 empowerment: autonomy 2, 99, 207; (inter)personal 14, 99, 221; power relations 163; self- 22 – 23; teacher education 98, 100, 108 English as an Additional Language (EAL) 205, 210 English Café (EC) 205, 233 – 234; aspects of social learning space 66 – 70; context 64; exchanging knowledge and life experiences 68; future research 71 – 72; for language practice 66 – 67; learning in less-threatening atmosphere 69 – 70; participants in study 64, 70; phases of access 237 – 242; practice implications for 70 – 71, 243 – 244; for socializing 67 – 68; study of 65 – 66, 70, 234 – 235; supporting peers 68 – 69; theoretical background 62 – 63, 235 – 237; Turkey 61 – 62; zones of proximal development (ZPD) 62, 70; see also social learning spaces English Corner 61 English for science and technology (EST) course: course design 162, 164 – 166; emails 168 – 170; Facebook 172 – 173; mapping course structure 166; mediated learning spaces 168; non-mediated spaces for learning 173 – 175; project-based learning approach to 175 – 177; spaces for language learning 168 – 175; study of 166 – 168; WhatsApp interactions 170 – 172 English language learning 45, 128, 134; in Hong Kong 57n5; see also Brazilian juvenile detention centre English Language Teaching Program (ELT) 61 entry/access 233, 235 – 238, 242 – 245 essentialism 16 EST course see English for science and technology (EST) course ethnography 234 – 235,  244 everyday: experiences 10, 20; life 17 – 20, 22; practices 2, 3, 23; space 11 exclusion 9, 18, 63, 181 – 182, 184 – 185, 236, 242, 249 experiential growth, concept of 100 extracurricular 5, 186, 226, 249, 255 – 256 Facebook 49; advertising 224; language learning 37, 39; social networking 167, 168, 169; student project work 172 – 173,  176 feelings 249, 255 – 256, 260

Finland: English language in Finnish society 115 – 117; language teacher education in 113; see also Language Learning and Technology (LLT) Flickr, language learning 46 flow: activity 227; concept of 222 foreign language learning, linguistic landscapes as a tool for 78 – 79 fractal identities 253 Gaicoa, Xoana 231n8 Gaijin 138 – 139 Georgia Institute of Technology 208 German language learning 45 globalisation, multilingual city and 11 – 13 Google: Doc 176, 207, 212; Earth 79 Gospel Choir 224, 226, 229 governing one’s world of learning 146; See also authoring one’s world of learning group autonomy 15 habitus 250 habitus, Bourdieu’s concept of 17 Hangul (Korean alphabet) 51 Harvey, David 17 hegemony 9, 12 – 13, 15, 21, 23 – 24, 99 Heterotopia 242 – 244 historical body 117 Holec, Henri 79, 98, 145, 206 homework, teachers redefining 103, 104 – 105 Hong Kong, English learning in 57n5 human geography, space-place dualism 15 – 17 Humour 250, 252 humour in classroom: autonomous learning behaviour 155 – 156; easing tension in being late 151 – 152; providing alternative meanings 152 – 154; relationship with autonomy and 148 – 149; research findings 151 – 155; reversal of teacher-learner roles 154 – 155 Hungarian learning 45 IATEFL (International Association of Teachers of English as a Foreign Language) 61 Icone Project (Intercultural Communication On Line) 225, 227 – 228 identity 76, 89, 129 – 131, 133 – 141, 162, 219 – 221, 223, 226, 228 – 230; Naoko’s

266 Index story 134 – 137, 139 – 140; theories of learning 130 – 131 identity construction 148 immersion 137 institutional spaces  5 interaction order 115, 117, 120 intercultural communicative language training (ICLT) 204 interdisciplinary 17, 22, 208 interlinguality 10, 23 interlingual space 3, 10 – 11, 15, 20, 23, 257 internal diversity 253 internal redundancy 253 interspace 4, 97; creating between reality and ideals 101 – 103, 255; of possibility 99; travelling in the 103 interspace of possibility 99 investment 162 – 163 investment, concept of 162 – 163 Italian Steps (BBC series) 51, 57n2 Izzard, Eddie 53 Japanese 128 – 129, 132 – 139 Japanese language learners 45; see also social learning spaces juvenile detention centre see Brazilian juvenile detention centre kenon (space or void) 16 Kilburn, Massey’s 17, 22 Killing The (Danish TV miniseries) 44 Korean TV drama, language learning 44, 49, 55 language education: concept of autonomy 145 – 146; field of 1 – 2; future research 125; multilingualism and plurilingualism 13 LanguageGuide.org 49 language learners: classroom and informal learning 45 – 46; humour and ownership of 155 – 156 language learning 1 – 5; autonomy and agency 250 – 252; autonomy in 145 – 148, 220 – 221, 254; as complex adaptive system (CAS) 219, 220 – 223; complexity theme 249 – 254; construct of control in 252 – 253; digital spaces as dwelling places for 37 – 39; emotion, space and place 29 – 32; emotions, feelings and autonomy 255 – 256; future research in 256 – 258; going beyond

the classroom 258 – 259; histories 47, 65, 68 – 69, 72; implications for theory 249 – 256; personal autonomy in 13 – 15; possibility and change in 254 – 255; practice implications 258 – 259; spaces for from dynamic perspective 221 – 223; see also autonomous language learning Language Learning and Technology (LLT): attention space of being student in 118 – 119; context of study of 115 – 117; format of 116, 117; language students designing for children 118 – 123; study of 117 – 118; university course 115 language learning systems 249 – 251, 256 – 260; personal learning systems 259 Languages Project at CRAPEL 206 Languages Sheffield 21 language students: designing learning project for children 118 – 123; managing multiple attention spaces 123 – 124; see also Language Learning and Technology (LLT) language teacher education: context of study in Finland 113, 115 – 117; future research 125; implications for practice 124 – 125; students designing project for children 118 – 123; in technology-rich world 113 – 115 language teaching in technology-rich world 113 – 115 LASIG (Learner Autonomy Special Interest Group) 61 learner autonomy 46, 76 – 90; analytical framework 149 – 151; identifying 147 – 148; language education and 98 – 99; linguistic landscapes and 79 – 80, 82, 88 – 89; research context 149 learner-context interface theory 32 – 33 learner diary 129 – 130 learning spaces: autonomy and creating 254; classroom as 146 – 147; computer-mediated communication tools 168 – 173; digital, for language learning 37 – 39; emails 168 – 170; expansions of places 224 – 226; Facebook 172 – 173; findings for humour in 151 – 155; going beyond the classroom 249, 258 – 259; humour in 148 – 149; mediated 168; non-mediated 173 – 175;

Index  267 possibilities for change in 254 – 255; reversal of teacher-learner roles in 154 – 155; WhatsApp 170 – 172; see also Brazilian juvenile detention centre learning systems 220 – 222, 226, 230, 258 – 259 learning trajectory 256, 258 ‘le droit à la ville’ (right to the city) 17 – 18 Lefebvre, Henri 16, 17, 80 leisure: combining work and 115; language learning as 54, 56 – 57; serious 44 – 45, 49 – 50,  53 levels of organization 250, 252, 254, 259 linguistic communities 9 – 11, 13, 18 – 19, 23 – 24 linguistic diversity 9, 79, 88 linguistic landscapes 76 – 90, 238; definition of 77; implications for practice 88 – 90; learner autonomy and 79 – 80, 82, 88 – 89; methodology of 81 – 82; multilingual, as learning resource 76 – 77; results of post-questionnaire 85 – 87; results of pre-questionnaire 82 – 84; of social learning space 238; student project on 85; students’ ideas about 82 – 84; study of 76, 81 – 87; as tool for foreign language learning 78 – 79 Li Wei 12 London, multilingualism of 11 – 12 mediated action 114 Mediated Discourse Analysis 72, 233, 235 – 236,  244 metaphorical: language 108; space 2, 4, 62, 132, 145, 249 – 260, 255, 259 metrolingualism 12, 22 migration, multilingual city and 11 – 12 minority linguistic groups 10 mobile-assisted language learning (MALL) 52 monolingual habitus 9, 24; collective autonomy in urban spaces 20 – 23 monolingual ideology 12 motivation 223, 225, 227 multilingual city, globalisation drivers of 11 – 13 Multilingual City Project 21 multilingualism (multilingual) 10, 24, 76, 79; of entanglement 12; linguistic landscape as learning resource, 76 – 77 multitasking 115, 125

Naoko’s story 128 – 129, 132 – 141; autobiographical accounts 128 – 129, 139 – 140; daughter Mari 137 – 138; Japanese identity 135 – 137; as language coach/tutor 138 – 139; learning English 132 – 133; seeking parental permission 134 – 135; on US military base in Japan 133 – 134 narrative 244 neighbour interactions 253, 259 neo-liberal ideologies, globalisation driver 11 New Zealand: aligning learning spaces and methodology 213 – 215; digital space 212; emotional space 210 – 211; learning spaces in tertiary institutions 201 – 202, 209 – 213; physical space 212 – 213; political/philosophical space 211 – 212; social space 209 – 210; telecollaborative project with Germany 3, 37 – 39 nexus of practice 66, 70, 236 – 237 nonlinearity 250, 254 Nuffield Foundation 12 online language learning 37 – 40 out of-class: activities 162, 165 – 167; experiences 219; foreign language learning 44; group meetings 102; homework 103; learning 2 – 4, 30, 62, 65, 72 – 73, 212, 249, 256 – 259; learning spaces 173, 175 – 177, 251 ownership of learning 150, 155 Pacataca 231n8; creation of 225; project 226, 228 – 229; rehearsals 229 – 230 pedagogical inquiry 101 – 103, 108 pedagogy for autonomy 99, 102, 106, 108 pedagogy of experience (in teacher education) 98 pedagogy of possibility 255, 259 photography, language learning 46 physical space: literature review 208 – 209; New Zealand context 212 – 213 place 128 – 129, 131 – 138, 140 – 141, 249, 253 – 258, 260; interlingual 257; polymorphous 257 Plato 15 plurilingual; habitus 10; term 12 plurilingualism 12 – 13, 15, 18, 20 – 21, 23 – 24 political activism 19

268 Index political/philosophical space: literature review 206 – 207; New Zealand context 211 – 212 politics of hope 14 polyfocal attention 115 power 10 – 11, 13 – 14, 17 – 19, 21; sharing of 252 power relations 148, 150, 150 – 153, 155, 157 Practice of Everyday Life (De Certeau) 18 project-based learning 164, 175 project work 258 public access blogs 258 public space 9 – 10, 21 – 23, 49, 76 – 84, 86 – 89,  242 Radio and Television Hong Kong (RTHK) 51, 52, 57n3 randomness 253, 255, 259 reading strategies, understanding and enhancing 103, 105 – 106 re(ide)alistic practice 99 reciprocal relationships 258 reflective teacher education 98 resistance 10, 13, 19, 21 retrodiction 236, 250, 257 returnee 138 right to the city (‘le droit à la ville’) 17 – 18 Russian study abroad, space and place in 29, 33 – 37 science and technology see English for science and technology (EST) course second language acquisition (SLA) 130 self-access centres 1, 5, 80, 131, 201 – 202, 206 – 216, 219, 222 – 223, 225 – 226 self-organization 235 sites of engagement 236, 239, 245 Sit in 225, 226 – 227, 229 social 202 – 206, 209 – 210, 211, 214 – 215 social capital 129, 138 – 139 social learning spaces 1, 3, 233 – 245; aspects of 66 – 70; communities of practice 235 – 237; entering the physical space 237 – 239; exchanging knowledge and life experiences 68; fitting in 240; future research for 244; gaining access to social groups 239; language practice at 66 – 67; ‘LC’ space 234, 245n1 – 2; learning atmosphere 69 – 70; losing one’s place in 241 – 242; maintaining

one’s place in 241; phases of access 237 – 242; practice implications 243 – 244; socializing at 67 – 68; study of university 234 – 235; supporting peers 68 – 69; theoretical background 235 – 237; understanding entry and access 242 – 243; see also English Café (EC) social movements, autonomy of 19 social space: literature review 204 – 205; New Zealand context 209 – 210 space 1, 76 – 90, 128 – 141, 249 – 260; autonomous 15, 19; digital 207 – 208, 212; emotional 205 – 206, 210 – 211; formal 10, 23, 80, 176; informal 10 – 11, 22 – 23, 72, 80, 176; interlingual 3, 10 – 11, 15, 20, 23, 257; literature review of 202 – 209; mediated learning spaces 251; metaphorical 249 – 250, 255; multilingual 10, 11 – 13, 17, 21, 238; New Zealand context 209 – 213; non-mediated learning spaces 251; physical 208 – 209, 212 – 213, 257 (as agents 257); political/philosophical 206 – 207, 211 – 212; public 9 – 10, 21 – 23, 49, 76 – 84, 86 – 89, 242; social 204 – 205, 209 – 210, 251, 256 – 257; spaces for manoeuvre 10, 17, 90, 97 – 98, 101, 250, 254; spaces of hope 18, 22, 24; types for students today 214 – 215; virtual 254, 258 – 259 space and place 235 – 236, 239, 244 – 245 space-place dualism, in field of human geography 15 – 17 spatiality and sociality 16 – 17 structure 162 – 177 study abroad 31, 134 – 136, 138, 235, 258; Naoko’s story 134 – 136, 138; in Russia 3, 29, 33 – 37 super-diversity 11 – 12,  23 Tamkang University in Taiwan 51, 57n4 teacher education: case-based approach in postgraduate 102; case construction 102; case for case pedagogy in 99 – 101, 108 – 109; creating interspaces between reality and ideals 101 – 103; needing to surpass theory-to-practice approach 97 – 99; notion of reflective 98; professionalism in 101; promoting collaborative learning 103, 106 – 108; reading strategies 103, 105 – 106;

Index  269 redefining homework 103, 104 – 105; spaces 3 – 4; summary of projects 103, 104 – 108; teacher agency in 100 – 101, 109; travelling in interspace 103 technology 4, 32, 207 – 208, 212 – 213, 215; developments in 113; language teaching and teacher education in 113 – 115; See also English for science and technology (EST) course TEFL (Teaching English as a foreign language): American English Teaching Assistants (ETAs) 224; autonomy in undergraduate program 219 – 220; certificates for 226; Icone Project 225; learning to teach 228 telecollaboration, language learning 3, 37 – 39 TESOL (teaching English to speakers of other languages), Naoko’s story 128, 130 theory-to-practice approach, needing to surpass in teacher education 97 – 99 third space: constructing 37, 108; exposure to English in 132; notion of 33; positioning in 204; reality and ideals 99 ‘throwntogetherness’ 16, 22 time 128 – 141 TOEFL (Test of English as a foreign language) 241 TOEIC (Test of English for International Communication) 139, 235 Tokat Provincial Directorate of National Education 71

topos (place) 15 TPC (Trabalho Para Casa) homework 104 – 105 transcription code 151, 158, 184, 198 transformation 201, 204, 209, 211, 214 Turkey 61 – 62; educational system 70 – 71; language 86; students learning English 61, 64; See also English Café (EC) urban contexts: autonomy, space and place 9 – 11; space, place and autonomy in 17 – 20 urbanism, agonistic 23 urban spaces 3, 257; collective autonomy in 20 – 23 video ethnography 258 virtual learning environment (VLE), Language Learning and Technology (LLT) course 117 – 118, 119, 120, 122 vision of teacher education 99 WhatsApp 167, 168, 169, 170 – 172 World Languages Project 24 YouTube 44; language learning 37, 39; as learning space 46; self-directed learning 50, 51, 53, 55 – 56; sharing project work 165, 168 Zhu Xi 202 zones of proximal development (ZPD), social learning 62, 70