The Meaning of Criticality in Education Research: Reflecting on Critical Pedagogy [1st ed.] 9783030560089, 9783030560096

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PALGRAVE STUDIES IN EDUCATION RESEARCH METHODS

The Meaning of Criticality in Education Research Reflecting on Critical Pedagogy Edited by Ashley Simpson Fred Dervin

Palgrave Studies in Education Research Methods

Series Editors Patrick Alan Danaher University of Southern Queensland Toowoomba, QLD, Australia Fred Dervin Faculty of Educational Sciences University of Helsinki Helsinki, Finland Caroline Dyer School of Politics and International Studies University of Leeds Leeds, UK Máirín Kenny Independent researcher Wexford, Ireland Bobby Harreveld School of Education and the Arts Central Queensland University Rockhampton, Australia Michael Singh Centre for Educational Research Western Sydney University Penrith, NSW, Australia

This series explores contemporary manifestations of the fundamental paradox that lies at the heart of education: that education contributes to the creation of economic and social divisions and the perpetuation of sociocultural marginalisation, while also providing opportunities for individual empowerment and social transformation. In exploring this paradox, the series investigates potential alternatives to current ­educational provision and speculates on more enabling and inclusive educational futures for individuals, communities, nations and the planet. Specific developments and innovation in teaching and learning, educational ­policy-making and education research are analysed against the backdrop of these broader developments and issues. More information about this series at http://www.palgrave.com/gp/series/15092

Ashley Simpson  •  Fred Dervin Editors

The Meaning of Criticality in Education Research Reflecting on Critical Pedagogy

Editors Ashley Simpson Faculty of Educational Sciences University of Helsinki Helsinki, Finland

Fred Dervin Faculty of Educational Sciences University of Helsinki Helsinki, Finland

ISSN 2662-7345     ISSN 2662-7353 (electronic) Palgrave Studies in Education Research Methods ISBN 978-3-030-56008-9    ISBN 978-3-030-56009-6 (eBook) https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-56009-6 © The Editor(s) (if applicable) and The Author(s) 2020 This work is subject to copyright. All rights are solely and exclusively licensed by the Publisher, whether the whole or part of the material is concerned, specifically the rights of translation, reprinting, reuse of illustrations, recitation, broadcasting, reproduction on microfilms or in any other physical way, and transmission or information storage and retrieval, electronic adaptation, computer software, or by similar or dissimilar methodology now known or hereafter developed. The use of general descriptive names, registered names, trademarks, service marks, etc. in this publication does not imply, even in the absence of a specific statement, that such names are exempt from the relevant protective laws and regulations and therefore free for general use. The publisher, the authors and the editors are safe to assume that the advice and information in this book are believed to be true and accurate at the date of publication. Neither the publisher nor the authors or the editors give a warranty, expressed or implied, with respect to the material contained herein or for any errors or omissions that may have been made. The publisher remains neutral with regard to jurisdictional claims in published maps and institutional affiliations. This Palgrave Macmillan imprint is published by the registered company Springer Nature Switzerland AG. The registered company address is: Gewerbestrasse 11, 6330 Cham, Switzerland

Contents

1 Introduction: Beyond Impotent Criticality in Education Research?  1 Ashley Simpson Part I Reflecting on and Defining Criticality in Education  21 2 Developing Anglo-centred Academic Literacy: Problematizing Understandings of Criticality 23 Mira Bekar and Richard Fay 3 Criticality Within the “École de la République”: A Study of a French Educational Programme Based on Scientific Research 47 Filippo Pirone 4 Reflections on Narratives of Others’ Lives in Critical Educational Research 71 Iulia Mancila

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Part II  Beyond Just Criticality?  99 5 Critical Online Learning Networks of Teachers: Communality and Collegiality as Contingent Elements101 Nick Kelly, Marc Clarà, Benjamin A. Kehrwald, and P. A. Danaher 6 Moving Forward with Poetry Lessons: Exploring How Poetry Can Stimulate Creativity and Criticality in English Secondary Schools127 Martina Diehl Part III Different Ways of ‘Doing’ Criticality in Education (Research) 151 7 Historical Bodies and Spaces in Criticality Practices: Revisiting Interview Data from Upper Secondary History Classrooms in Sweden, Russia and Australia153 Sergej Ivanov 8 A Practitioner-Research Study of Criticality Development in an Academic English Language Programme181 Ana Inés Salvi 9 Afterword: Beyond the Naïve Mantra of Criticality in Education (Research)?215 Ning Chen and Fred Dervin Index223

Notes on Contributors

Mira Bekar  is Assistant Professor of Applied Linguistics at the Ss. Cyril and Methodius University, Republic of North Macedonia. She has been teaching applied linguistics and academic writing. Her research interests include (critical) discourse analysis, academic L1/L2 writing, online communication and qualitative research methods. She is also an eco-activist. Ning Chen  is a lecturer at Tianjin Academy of Fine Arts, China, and a Visiting Scholar in Educational Sciences at the University of Helsinki, Finland. He graduated in Chinese language and culture education from Minzu University of China. He is researching conceptions and perceptions of well-being in Chinese higher education. Marc Clarà  holds a PhD in Psychology and is a Serra Húnter Fellow at the University of Lleida, Spain. His research interests include teachers’ reflection, teachers’ emotion and decision-making, and dialogic educational interaction, especially collective inquiry. He is the Principal Investigator of a project (funded by the Ministry of Economy and Business of Spain), which investigates the narrative mediation of teachers’ emotion.

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Notes on Contributors

P.  A.  Danaher  is Professor of Educational Research in the School of Education at the Toowoomba campus, University of Southern Queensland, Australia. His research interests include academics’, educators’ and researchers’ work and identities, and education research ethics, methods, politics and theories. Fred Dervin  is Professor of Multicultural Education at the Faculty of Educational Sciences, University of Helsinki, Finland. Dervin also holds honorary and visiting professorships in Australia, Canada, China, Luxembourg, Malaysia and Sweden. Dervin specialises in intercultural communication education, the sociology of multiculturalism and student and academic mobility. Martina  Diehl  is a PhD student at Durham University, UK, with a background in English Literature and Language as well as an MA in Education. She has a particular interest in poetry and the arts in education, which has led her to do a PhD in engaging secondary school students with learning poetry. Richard Fay  is a senior lecturer at the University of Manchester, UK, specialising in TESOL and intercultural communication/education. With a disciplinary home in critical applied linguistics, he researches the languaging of research, appropriate methodology (including TESOL paradigms) and ecological perspectives on researcher education. He also teaches World Music Ensemble Performance (klezmer). Sergej Ivanov  holds a PhD in Pedagogy from St Petersburg University, Russia, and a PhD in Language Teaching and Learning from Umeå University, Sweden. He is a Senior Lecturer in Swedish Teaching and Learning at Linnaeus University, Sweden. Benjamin  A.  Kehrwald is head of the Auckland University of Technology Learning Transformations Laboratory. His work centres on the design and teaching practice in online learning. Nick Kelly  is Lecturer in Interaction Design in the School of Design at Queensland University of Technology, Australia. His applied research focuses on the support needs of teachers and ways that design can be used to make pragmatic interventions in the teaching profession. This has

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involved research into online communities of teachers and facilitation of co-design as a method for professional development. His foundational research focuses on understanding the cognitive processes of human creativity in the context of design. Iulia  Mancila  is a lecturer at the University of Malaga, Spain. Her research interests include inclusion and immigration issues, interculturality, social justice and ethnic studies, on which she has written extensively. She was involved in several national and international R&D projects, which brought together scholars, policymakers, teachers and stakeholders on issues of diversity, inclusion and equity in vulnerable communities. Filippo  Pirone  is Associate Professor of Educational Sciences at the University of Bordeaux—INSPE d’Aquitaine, Laces, France. He coordinates the Sociology of Education and Training Network of the French Sociology Association. His researches aim at understanding the evolution of French educational system, in a comparative approach. More precisely, their main goal is the study of contemporary educational programmes and their effects on social inequalities. Ana Inés Salvi  is Lecturer in Education (TESOL) at the University of East Anglia, UK.  Previously, she contributed to MA TESOL, English Language Teaching (ELT) and academic English programmes at several higher education institutions in the UK and in China. She also taught English as a Foreign Language (EFL) in Argentina. Ashley  Simpson is currently a Visiting Scholar at the Faculty of Educational Sciences, University of Helsinki, Finland.

List of Figures

Fig. 7.1 Fig. 8.1 Fig. 8.2 Fig. 8.3

Analysis model of criticality practices 161 An example of the individual dimension of criticality 192 An example of the interpersonal dimension of criticality 194 First example of the sociological and cultural dimension of criticality197 Fig. 8.4 Second example of the sociological and cultural dimension of criticality 198 Fig. 8.5 Third example of the sociological and cultural dimension of criticality 200

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List of Tables

Table 3.1 The schools, classes and types of project observed Table 7.1 Background information about the participating schools, interviews and respondents

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1 Introduction: Beyond Impotent Criticality in Education Research? Ashley Simpson

Criticality appears to be everywhere. The urge to be critical is also omnipresent in education and in, for example discussions of (social) media around the world. But calls to be critical tend to result in a cacophony of rhetoric and ideologies. In this volume, the authors discuss different ways of problematizing critical thinking in education, arguing for multipolar versions that acknowledge different contexts, beyond dominant hegemonies and impositions of (symbolic) power relations. This introduction provides some preliminary answers to the following questions: what is meant by the notion ‘critical’, especially in education? What are the uses, abuses, and misuses of this polysemic notion? The final section of the introduction problematizes theoretical and practical means to break with the anaesthesia and impotence surrounding criticality.

A. Simpson (*) Faculty of Educational Sciences, University of Helsinki, Helsinki, Finland e-mail: [email protected] © The Author(s) 2020 A. Simpson, F. Dervin (eds.), The Meaning of Criticality in Education Research, Palgrave Studies in Education Research Methods, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-56009-6_1

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What Is Meant by ‘Critical’? The term ‘critical theory’ has a long history: Traditionally—often in the singular and upper case—it refers to the thinkers of the Frankfurt School, the generations of philosophers and sociologists who have succeeded one another at the Institut fur Sozialforschung (including Theodor Adorno, Walter Benjamin, Enrich Fromm, Jurgen Habermas, Max Horkheimer, Leo Lowenthal, Herbert Marcuse, and Fredrich Pollock) (Keucheyan, 2013). However, today the term critical theory is used in a much broader sense and always in the plural to encompass different theoretical, methodological, and practical strands of research. Today critical theory can relate theoretical strands of research such as Queer and Gender studies, Existentialism, Postmodernism, Poststructuralism, Psychoanalysis, and Postcolonialism (ibid.). In his (1972) book Traditional and Critical Theory Max Horkheimer opened with a discussion about ‘what is theory?’ Horkheimer went onto map the methodological and analytical basis of what should be constituted as Critical Theory. This included rejecting positivism, rejecting objectivity, and rejecting the separation of theory from social praxis (Horkheimer, 1972). Keucheyan (2013) asserts that Critical theories reject the epistemological axiom of ‘value neutrality’ posited by Max Weber in the early twentieth century in his essays on the methodology of the social sciences. (Keucheyan, 2013, p. 2)

In this sense, researchers and research which fell within the realm of Critical Theory were understood as a form of social criticism, thus ‘the “critical” dimension of the new critical theories consists in the general character of their challenge to the contemporary “social world”. This generality is itself variable’ (Keucheyan, 2013, pp. 2–3). Critical theories more or less challenge the existing social order (Keucheyan, 2013). It is not the purpose of this book to propose one form of criticality; in fact I would be against suggesting there is one universal form of criticality, instead, one must always ask: Criticality for whom? Criticality by whom? Criticality for what purpose? Despite the fact that some have heralded previous decades as ‘The defeat of Critical Thinking 1977–1993’

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(Keucheyan, 2013), perhaps ironically, critical thinking and criticality in its various guises are now somewhat omnipresent in education (and many aspects of society). At the end of his book Keucheyan asserts that since the 1970s onwards forms of critical thought have been disseminated throughout the world (ibid.). Keucheyan strongly argues that critical thinking is inseparable from the Americanization of the notion (including knowledge production and the financialization of higher education), meaning it is difficult for scholars from India, South America, China, and Africa to resist dominant hegemonies about how critical thinking is thought about (ibid.). Thus, ‘the Americanization of critical thinking contains the seeds of its political neutralization’ (Keucheyan, 2013, p. 255). In order to deconstruct (my word) the knowledge production of Anglo-centric and Americanized forms of critical thinking, echoing Chantal Mouffe (2013), Keucheyan argues that critical thinking should reflect a multipolar world order (Keucheyan, 2013). Multipolarity is grounded in rejecting liberal universalism and cosmopolitanism as ideologies in terms of how supranational institutions impose rational and legitimate arguments upon countries and/or contexts (Mouffe, 2013). By imposing states of being, whether it is about how society should be organized, what forms of democracy and human rights countries should adopt, or concerning the social values that citizens should abide by and adhere to, such impositions deny the very power relations which constitute the political (Mouffe, 2008). Such imposed forms of homogenization mean that some societies around the world are deemed illegitimate in terms of how they are incompatible with certain ways of thought or behaving. One example of this from my own teaching and research would be that I often hear discourses such as Chinese students lack critical thinking skills (and criticality in general sense) in higher education, which is often used as a biased and prejudiced argument relating to the country’s political system. Instead, Mouffe (2013) calls for a multipolar world order (different units which coexist and inhibit different values and identities) to reject universalist thinking about how notions (e.g. liberal democracy, human rights, justice, and so on) should be practiced and understood (ibid.). A multipolar vision for criticality is important in terms of breaking away from universalist logics and practices that exacerbate the notion

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that one country’s form of criticality can be ‘better’ than the other. Such power relations can be used to stigmatize, marginalize, and potentially discriminate against the other as they become susceptible to the process of othering (Simpson, 2018, 2019). Othering means ‘turning self and other into an ‘other’ by using stereotypes, representations, and prejudices. Othering often leads to hierarchizing the world’ (Dervin, 2016, p. 115). In this sense, when criticality is assumed as being present it can be manipulated for different political and/or ideological means (Keucheyan, 2013). One way of problematizing criticality can be through the work of Nathan Ross (2017): (1) To think critically means to resist making the object of critique into a means to an external end, and to resist making thought itself into a means to an end. (2) To think critically means to discern the pernicious role of mythology in modern life in such a way as to immunize oneself against it. (Ross, 2017, p. 351)

Criticality, understood as an adjective rather than a noun—through the suffix ality means that the condition of being critical (i.e. Criticality) should be understood as a process in the making, a continuous process of becoming. Criticality cannot be a normative fixed or static state nor can the notion be an ‘end’ in itself. Thus, being critical involves contesting normative (mythological and ideological) values, concepts, principles, and the ways knowledge is produced and reproduced. Myths are not defined by the object of the message ‘but in the way in which it utters its message’ (Barthes, 1972, p. 107). A myth therefore cannot be classed as neither misinformation nor disinformation, neither a truth nor an untruth, a myth is a form of communication (ibid.). In The Rustle of Language (1989) Roland Barthes argues the science of the signifier (i.e. the physical form of a sign versus its meaning) is not merely to ‘de-myth’ mythologies in the guise of de-mystification or de-mythification through ‘unmasking’ and or ‘revealing’ myths; rather, the science of the signifier must ‘contest the symbolic’ (Barthes, 1989, p. 66). Barthes (1989) argues that one must enter into a dialogue in terms of questioning the very essence of things and our being in relation to myths—in this sense, with regard to criticality, this involves me questioning how my criticality is

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constituted and whether I am imposing my version of criticality onto others. Perhaps when it comes to criticality it is (im)possible not to make judgements (whether they are moral judgements, ethical judgements, political judgements, etc.) but the focus instead should be on questioning our own judgements and our own sense of criticality. With this in mind, Keucheyan’s (2013) multipolar vision for critical theories and criticality, in a general sense, should be aspired towards. It is important for inspiration to be sought interdisciplinary from outside traditionally Anglo-centric and Americanized scholarship in revitalizing the notion.

 hat Do We Mean by Criticality W in Education Research? There are many criticisms of some forms of critical theory and of criticality itself. One example can be found in Thompson’s (2017) Marxist critique of postmodern critical theories, Thompson argues To be sure, much of this aberrant use of the term [Critical Theory] stems from the destructive impulse of postmodernism and its project of destroying reason as a privileged position from which to judge and to understand power, domination, freedom, and human progress as well as the pseudo-­ political radicalism of academics alienated from real politics. (Thompson, 2017, p. 2)

What should resonate from this quote is that criticality is never an uncontested notion either. It should always be deconstructed and be understood as a continuous process in the making. Criticality just like critical theory is inherently polysemic meaning it has different meanings from person to person, from context to context. There are many ways of doing criticality in (education) research, not all of which are consistent from theoretical positioning to research application and implementation. Discussions on critical theories, being critical, critical thinking, and other forms of acting or behaving critically in education research are synonymous with the scholarly field of critical

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pedagogy. The term critical pedagogy usually always makes reference to the work of Henry Giroux (2020), Paulo Freire (1970), Joe Kincheloe (2008), Peter McLaren (1995), Sherry Shapiro (2005), and Joan Wink (2005), amongst others. For Kincheloe critical pedagogy is not ‘learning a few pedagogical techniques and the knowledge required by the curriculum, the standards or the textbook’ (Kincheloe, 2008, p.  8). Kincheloe (2008) articulates that it is difficult to pin down a definition as critical pedagogy involves questioning bodies of knowledge and political structures. Peter McLaren argues that there are many different articulations of critical pedagogy (i.e. Freirean pedagogy, feminist pedagogies, ludic and resistance postmodernist pedagogies) (McLaren, 1995). Kincheloe asserts that even though there are different theoretical strands of critical pedagogy on the whole the approaches adhere to the following principles (Kincheloe, 2008, p. 10): • • • • •

• • • •

Grounded on a social and educational vision of justice and equality. Constructed on the belief that education is inherently political. Dedicated to the alleviation of human suffering. Concerned that schools don’t hurt students—good schools don’t blame students for their failures or strip students of the knowledges they bring to the classroom. Enacted through the use of generative themes to read the word and the world and the process of problem posing—generative themes involve the educational use of issues that are central to students’ lives as a grounding for the curriculum. Centred on the notion that teachers should be researchers—here teachers learn to produce and teach students to produce their own knowledges. Grounded on the notion that teachers become researchers of their students—as researchers, teachers study their students, their backgrounds, and the forces that shape them. Interested in maintaining a delicate balance between social change and cultivating the intellect—this requires a rigorous pedagogy that accomplishes both goals. Concerned with ‘the margins’ of society, the experiences and needs of individuals faced with oppression and subjugation.

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• Constructed on the awareness that science can be used as a force to regulate and control. • Dedicated to understanding the context in which educational activity takes place. • Committed to resisting the harmful effects of dominant power. • Attuned to the importance of complexity—understands complexity theory—in constructing a rigorous and transformative education. • Focused on understanding the profound impact of neo-colonial structures in shaping education and knowledge. Critical pedagogy is concerned with the circulation of power, privilege, and oppression which constitutes individual and group subjectivities whilst simultaneously reproducing regimes and bodies of truth (knowledge) (McLaren, 1995; Giroux, 2020). Sherry Shapiro (2005) argues Critical pedagogy refers to this process as giving voice to one’s own experiences by articulating the “reality” of one’s life; coming to critical understanding of the sociocultural mapping of consciousness; and using individual voices collectively to struggle in the retelling and remaking of life stories. (Shapiro, 2005, p. 12)

Within educational contexts ‘critical pedagogy works to help teacher educators and teachers reconstruct their work so it facilitates the empowerment to all students’ (Kincheloe, 2008, p. 9). Despite its relative popularity, it is also important to pay attention to the limitations and criticisms of critical pedagogy as an approach which extends from theoretical conceptualization to questions surrounding the practicalities of implementing critical pedagogies.

 riticality in Education (Research) Today: Uses, C Abuses, and Misuses Aspects of criticality in education are everywhere and nowhere. Yes, criticality is inherently polysemic as a notion. Yet, continually there are inconsistencies and misapplications in terms of how the notion is

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theorized or applied. By asserting that criticality can be incoherent then I leave myself open to the question of whether my own criticality is confused. I argue that criticality should not be understood as an objective ‘end’, my point here is to ask the question what makes your criticality better than mine? As critical theories and their approaches are still widely American-centric (Keucheyan, 2013), to what extent am I imposing my form (worldviews, ideologies, and so forth) of criticality onto others? This has implications for the language and grammar that criticality uses to articulate the types of oppression it claims to resist. Research and researchers on critical pedagogy have been criticized as being ‘traditional, white, western [and] male’ (Shapiro, 2005, p. 19). The implication here is whose voice is really being heard. Is it that predominantly white, ‘western’ males are deciding what criticality is and what the notion means? The danger here would be that impositions about criticality speak over rather than for people meaning that their agency and subjectivities can be negated. To put this in another way, when we assume and generalize what criticality may mean—critically can become essentialized meaning that individual and group identities are negated because they have an imposed schema imposed upon them; thus there is little space for negotiation and dialogue. In my own research I have also argued about the importance of going beyond identity as self-identity (Simpson & Dervin, 2019a). This means going beyond the formula that ‘A is A’. Thus, acts of being and becoming do not correspond as self-­ identity but the opening of dialogue, an opening which always implies the simultaneous inter-animation of more than one voice (Sidorkin, 1999). In this sense, s/he may say they are gay, lesbian, bisexual, or transsexual, speak multiple languages, have multiple cultures (all of which may or may not be true), but whether these things are true or not is not the point, a critical perspective means—these aspects of our being, and becoming, are constantly co-constructed, negotiated, and performed as acts of co-being as they are always produced by and with others (Simpson & Dervin, 2019a). The response to such criticisms by some researchers was to call for non-essentialism; this can be characterized by the following quote by Peter McLaren about critical pedagogy, that critical pedagogies

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are ‘practices that are non-racist, non-sexist, non-homophobic and contribute to the transformation of the wider social order’ (McLaren, 1995, p. 232). Of course, non-essentialism is worth paying attention to (and perhaps aspiring to in an ideal sense) but one must also recognize ‘non-essentialism is an ideal that cannot be reached’ (Dervin, 2016, p.  80). That is because non-essentialism is in itself an ideological imposition that can negate the identities of the people it may be claiming to speak for in the sense that the people and notions are often unstable, as they are negotiated in interaction with ‘complex’ people and in specific contexts (ibid.). This issue at hand is articulated by Dervin (2016, p. 81) who argues The fact is that as human beings we often end up contradicting ourselves, not being sure about what we think, adapting our discourses to specific situations and interlocutors, using ‘white lies’ to please the other, and so on. Sometimes what we say shows some level of complexity (e.g. ‘I believe that everybody has multiple identities’/‘I don’t believe in stereotypes’), which can quickly dive back into the simple (‘but I think that Finnish people are this or that’).

The danger is when criticality gets caught between promising (idealistically) what and how things ought to change or how people ought to be which in turn essentializes the subject of who criticality is aiming to speak for. Saying people ought to be (e.g. non-racist and nonsexist might be something one supports) yet it can be limiting in some instances as it can prevent a dialogue about what can and cannot be problematized. On the one hand, this can lead to the sematic shifting of how meaning is represented; an example of this is race without racism discourses whereby ‘non-hierarchical’ forms of racial discourse reproduce racism as they are based on essentializing cultural difference (Balibar, 2005). On the other hand, such discourses suffocate the antagonisms necessary for political agency (Mouffe, 2013); instead a politics of sanitized speech is reproduced where antagonism and debate are nullified (Simpson & Dervin, 2019c).

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In illustrating this argument further, both editors of this book have written extensively about how supranational organizations like the Organization for Economic Cooperation and Development (OECD) and The Council of Europe impose global and intercultural competencies as ideologies upon education systems (Simpson & Dervin, 2019a, 2019b, 2019c). Often the competencies and assessment criteria included in these documents contain discussions and competencies about aspects of criticality. For example, the OECD Programme for International Student Assessment (PISA) 2018 Global Competence Framework states The cognitive assessment is designed to elicit students’ capacities to critically examine global issues; recognise outside influences on perspectives and world views; understand how to communicate with others in intercultural contexts; and identify and compare different courses of action to address global and intercultural issues. (OECD, 2019, pp. 167–168)

The word ‘critical’ appears 60 times in the OECD PISA 2018 assessment and analytical framework for PISA 2018. Words like critical awareness, critical skills, critically analyse, critical reasoning, and critical stance are common in the document. The document also contains ‘measurement instruments of critical thinking’ (OECD, 2019, p. 200) which includes a number of differing statistically based assessments on critical thinking—seemingly the OECD is more interested in assessing critical thinking rather than problematizing what the ‘critical’ means in critical thinking as not one definition about criticality is problematized in the whole document. The danger here is when criticality is assumed as being present it totalizes everything in its path thus essentializing the essence of everyone before it. This totalization can also be used to impose political and ideological doctrines; for example with reference to the OECD PISA assessment in terms of how students and educational systems are assessed as having ‘better’ forms of criticality than others. Criticality in this sense can serve as an ethico-political judgement criterion to generalize and essentialize the entire population of a given country and its educational system in differing contexts throughout the world.

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Impotent Criticality in Education Research: A Way Forward? That brings me to the problematization of criticality and power. In the autumn of 2019, I ran a PhD course for doctoral students about criticality in education research at a higher education institution in Finland. During one of the sessions, one of the participants reflected on their own criticality and how it had come-into-being. Specifically, they were reflecting upon the different intersections of how they understood their identity as being (in their words) a female, a Muslim, a migrant in Finland researching about the role of Islam in religious education. The person then went on to articulate two positions: The first is about their own position as a researcher as they said they would not be critical of practices that did not necessarily fit with their own worldview in their research context. The second was that if they were to witness or be a victim of discrimination in Finland they would choose not to exercise their criticality. Both positions were justified through the lens that they did not want to get a reputation of being too critical about Finland as this may harm their career mobility/ prospects in Finland and whether they will be able to stay in the country after completing their PhD.  After the session, when reflecting on the discussions in the class two questions resonated with me: How does power shape one’s ability to be critical? To what extent is the exercise of our criticality impotent? In The Coming Community (1993) Giorgio Agamben argues Of the two modes in which, according to Aristotle, every potentiality is articulated, the decisive one is that which the philosopher calls “the potentiality to not-be” (dynamis me einai) or also impotence (adynamia). For if it is true that whatever being always has a potential character, it is equally certain that it is not capable of only this or that specific act, nor is it therefore simply incapable, lacking in power, nor even less is it indifferently capable of everything, all-powerful: The being that is properly whatever is able to not-be; it is capable of its own impotence. (Agamben, 1993, p. 34)

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With Agamben’s work in mind, going back to the doctoral researcher who said they would not exercise their criticality, I am still left with the problematique of whether they are in fact reflecting on their ‘potentiality to not-be’, or whether in fact their position illustrates their impotence in how they think about their own criticality? Remarking on the Pianist Glenn Gould, Agamben goes on to articulate that impotence here means the power to play and not to play, ‘while his ability simply negates and abandons his potential to not-play, his mastery conserves and exercises in the act not his potential to play (this is the position of irony that affirms the superiority of the positive potentiality over the act), but rather his potential to not-play’ (Agamben, 1993, p.  35). Elaborating further Agamben argues that pure potentiality is when thought turns back on itself (Agamben, 1993). In this sense, ‘the potentiality that thinks itself, action and passion coincide and the writing tablet writes by itself or, rather, writes its own passivity’ (Agamben, 1993, p. 36). In Potentialities (1999) Agamben sketches out the relationship between (im)potentiality and being as to be potential means: to be one’s own lack, to be in relation to one’s own incapacity. Beings that exist in the mode of potentiality are capable of their own impotentiality; and only in this way do they become potential. They can be because they are in relation to their own non-Being. In potentiality, sensation is in relation to anesthesia, knowledge to ignorance, vision to darkness. (Agamben, 1999, p. 182)

Agamben goes on to argue that every human power is impotentiality as every relation is to its own privation (Agamben, 1999). Agamben calls this the origin and abyss of human power ‘which is so violent and limitless with respect to other living beings’ (Agamben, 1999, p. 182). However, found in the abyss of potentiality is freedom (Agamben, 1999). Thus, To be free is not simply to have the power to do this or that thing, nor is it simply to have the power to refuse to do this or that thing. To be free is, in the sense we have seen, to be capable of one’s own impotentiality, to be in relation to one’s own privation. This is why freedom is freedom for both good and evil. (Agamben, 1999, p. 183)

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On reflection, I do not feel the doctoral researcher was positioning themselves through recognizing the impotence of their own criticality. Neither are they reflecting upon the limits to their own criticality and their wider implications. Rather than a stumbling block that must be continually denied, repressed, or overcome (Lewis, 2011) Joanne Faulkner argues that Agamben’s theory of (im)potential ‘refers not simply to incapacity but rather to a being-able that abstains from doing’ (Faulkner, 2010, p. 205). In this sense, the example I gave from the doctoral student does not mark the person being aware of the impotence of their criticality because their exercise of criticality is not simply repressed. In fact, the doctoral student mistook the extent to which they thought they can shape and actualize their own criticality. By stating they will not speak out against discrimination or certain practices all this does is reproduce binary, and perhaps totalized dynamics, between the critical and the uncritical. In such instances, criticality becomes anaesthetized as it negates wider dialogues with others. Researchers who use criticality in education research need to recognize the impotence of the notion, rather than espousing how it will change the world or how it will change beings in the world, how it can capture or assess someone’s capabilities or competencies, or how it can be a skill that can be obtained (or not), criticality can only start to think about being some of these things when it has ‘exhausted all of its impotentiality in bringing it wholly into the act as such’ (Agamben, 1999, p.  183). Criticality and researchers who use the notion need to recognize the impotence of the notion and our own as human beings. Acknowledging our own limitations as researchers about our criticality means moving away from positions of superiority over others, whereby the researcher is seen or positioned as an all-encompassing truth-bearer. As researchers we do not have complete knowledge about everything. Instead we need to engender dialogues between the self and others in order to challenge, question, and problematize our own criticality. Ultimately, these endeavours are continuous and never-ending; instead of seeing this as a futile or meaningless impasse, new sources of inspiration and knowledge can be found by engaging with one’s own limitations through dialogues with others. This movement involves questioning, negotiating, and

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recognizing the impotence of our own being (and that of the other too) and how these movements shape our understanding of notions like criticality. Thus we understand one’s own lack so that one is to be in relation to one’s own incapacity (Agamben, 1999). For too long criticality has been assumed as being present in education research. The omnipresence of criticality in education research thus functions as a form of anaesthesia when its essence becomes generalized in form or action. When used in this way criticality fails to take into consideration its lack in terms of how the notion is constituted; thus, it concurrently functions as an all-­ encompassing and passive notion that simultaneously can mean everything and nothing. Thus it is necessary, and important, to break criticality in education research and free it from its own anaesthesia. This involves moving criticality in education research beyond logics and practices that use the notion to essentialize beings and their identities. To put this in another way, discourses about criticality are used as a form politics to other the other whereby some parts of the world are placed as having ‘better’ forms of criticality than the other should be rejected. These discourses can reproduce discriminatory logics and practices that can marginalize and stigmatize the other. It is thus important to find inspiration from differing multipolar perspectives about criticality (Keucheyan, 2013) in order to break dominant hegemonies (linguistically, politically, economically) surrounding the Anglo-centrism of theories and approaches about criticality in education research. Finally, and perhaps most importantly, criticality must be understood as a process in the making, a movement towards its own potentiality, rather than an objectified or totalized ‘end’ whereby the notion can be transfigured as an ideological imposition or a state of being that can (or cannot) be acquired. Criticality in education research, and the researchers who use criticality in education research, must be continually problematized in relation to the impotentiality of criticality and in relation to one’s own privation.

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About This Volume This volume brings together a number of papers that were presented at a conference at the University of Helsinki, Finland, in the summer of 2017 called ‘Criticality in Education (Research): Definitions, Discourses and Controversies’. The conference was co-organized by the authors of this edited volume. One of the main aims of the conference, and of this edited volume, is to open up dialogues on what criticality may mean in education research. The authors of the edited volume have become tired and weary of the ideological ways the notion has been used by supranational organizations and researchers whereby the notion seemingly means everything and nothing. The aim of this volume is not to argue for one objective definition about criticality or to provide the reader with ready-­ made solutions in how to do criticality in education research; rather, our aim is to contest the very essence of what criticality may or may not mean in education research. This task is not necessarily an easy one; thus the editors of the volume must also stress that they do not necessarily align themselves with all of the authors’ arguments made within the chapters found in this edited volume. Nonetheless, the book aims to stimulate discussions about criticality in education research around the following subsections of: Part I—Reflecting on and Defining Criticality in Education, Part II—Beyond Just Criticality?, and Part III—Different Ways of ‘Doing’ Criticality in Education (Research). In agreement with our approach to critical thinking, beyond hegemony towards multipolar versions, the authors were given the liberty to construct their own protocol for chapter structure and for example discussion of methods. We believe that freedom was the right approach for this publication. As such, the different structures and protocols between the chapters are meant to disrupt a false sense of coherence that goes hand in hand with critical thinking. Chapter 2 ‘Developing Anglo-centred Academic Literacy: Problematizing Understandings of Criticality’ by Mira Bekar and Richard Fay problematizes the concept of criticality in educational thinking by questioning the role of the notion in English-medium academic literacy. Bekar and Fay propose an ecological approach that questions the notion

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as an accepted given in academic literacy. The authors argue that it is important to question the status of such understandings of critical thinking skills and whether criticality is appropriate for particular contexts. Chapter 3 ‘Criticality Within the “École de la République”: A Study of a French Educational Programme Based on Scientific Research’ by Filippo Pirone uses a socio-historical perspective to question the scope of criticality in the French educational system. Specifically, Pirone focuses on analysing a programme taking place in primary and secondary French classes which has been influenced by the OECD’s recommendations on critical thinking. Through this lens, Pirone is able to problematize issues of criticality currently found in the French educational system. Chapter 4 ‘Reflections on Narratives of Others’ Lives in Critical Educational Research’ by Iulia Mancila explores the potential and limitation of narrative-based and biographical research in critical educational research underlying the value of both the research process and the narrative as resistance to power structures. Based on a biographical study of a young Spanish girl of Chinese origin and her family in Spain Mancila problematizes the social relations of this type of research production, in terms of power, voice, and agency. Chapter 5 ‘Critical Online Learning Networks of Teachers: Communality and Collegiality as Contingent Elements’ by Nick Kelly, Marc Clarà, Benjamin Kehrwald, and P.  A. Danaher addresses the increasingly well-documented problem of teacher stress and attrition, focusing upon the need for critical conversations about this problem. The authors argue the case in favour of online learning networks of teachers focusing on three features of productive learning networks. They assert that criticality can drive innovative learning opportunities for neophyte teachers, while acknowledging the ongoing deprofessionalization and politicization of teachers’ work and identities that render a reimagined and reinvigorated criticality ever more timely and urgent. Chapter 6 ‘Moving Forward with Poetry Lessons: Exploring How Poetry Can Stimulate Creativity and Criticality in English Secondary Schools’ by Martina Diehl problematizes the relationship between criticality, creativity, and poetry. Diehl argues that school pressures of passing exams constrain student creativity and criticality with regard to learning about poetry. Diehl goes to assert that creativity and criticality

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are the heart of teaching and learning poetry; therefore, it is important to look at poetry as a ‘vehicle for understanding’ rather than a puzzle to unpick. Chapter 7 ‘Historical Bodies and Spaces in Criticality Practices: Revisiting Interview Data from Upper Secondary History Classrooms in Sweden, Russia and Australia’ by Sergej Ivanov shows a transnational study of criticality in history learning environment in Sweden, Russia, and Australia. Ivanov argues that the importance of criticality as a concept in educational systems means one must pay attention to the specific historical and social contexts of how criticality is understood and practiced in a given locality. Understanding the social and historical basis of criticality within a context can help equip policymakers with an adequate basis for conscious revisions of the curriculum. Chapter 8 ‘A Practitioner-Research Study of Criticality Development in an Academic English Language Programme’ by Ana Inés Salvi presents a practitioner-research study of criticality development in a five-week Pre-sessional academic English course, involving eight students and the lecturer at a UK partner university in Mainland China. The study contributes to understanding of the nature of criticality and of how to develop it in English for Academic Purposes contexts. The study problematizes the students’ enquiries into their own epistemic doubts; dialogues for understanding and joint enquiry; and developing awareness of the constructed nature of knowledge and socio-cultural discourses and practices, and of struggles in the performance of difference. Salvi argues that the study shows the value of English for Academic Purposes of a broader understanding of criticality. In the ‘Afterword: Beyond the Naïve Mantra of Criticality in Education (Research)?’ which serves as a summary of the most salient points made in the different chapters, and as a way forward, Ning Chen and Fred Dervin suggest moving beyond a simplistic mantra of criticality, explaining that claiming and performing criticality do not mean one is really critical in (education) research. The authors start by referring to a group of Finnish students’ reflections about interculturality, for whom criticality meant: asking questions, questioning, reconsidering one’s assumptions, and unthinking. Chen and Dervin claim that, for other students, anywhere else in the world or from a different major at the same

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university, criticality might mean the same or something different. They also suggest an open-ended perspective whereby educators and researchers must accept contradictions, debates, and the symbolic violence of being questioned, of having their criticality critiqued. For the authors, this also means thinking for oneself to avoid being enslaved by pet theories, gurus, and analytical stereotypes (amongst others) and to stop thinking that ‘one’s criticality is better than others’.

References Agamben, G. (1993). The coming community (M. Hardt, Trans.). Minneapolis, MN: University of Minnesota Press. Agamben, G. (1999). Potentialities: Collected essays in philosophy. Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press. Balibar, E. (2005). Difference, otherness, exclusion. Parallax, 11(1), 19–34. Barthes, R. (1972). Mythologies (A. Lavers, Trans.). New York, NY: Hill and Wang. Barthes, R. (1989). The rustle of language (R. Howard, Trans.). Berkeley, CA: University of California Press. Dervin, F. (2016). Interculturality in education: A theoretical and methodological toolbox. London: Palgrave Macmillan. Faulkner, J. (2010). Innocence, evil, and human frailty: Potentiality and the child in the writings of Giorgio Agamben. Angelaki, 15(2), 203–219. Freire, P. (1970). Pedagogy of the oppressed (M. B. Ramos, Trans.). New York: Herder. Giroux, H. A. (2020). On critical pedagogy. London: Bloomsbury Publishing. Horkheimer, M. (1972). Critical theory: Selected essays. London: A&C Black. Keucheyan, R. (2013). Left hemisphere: Mapping contemporary theory. London: Verso Books. Kincheloe, J. L. (2008). Critical pedagogy primer. New York, NY: Peter Lang. Lewis, T.  E. (2011). Rethinking the learning society: Giorgio Agamben on studying, stupidity, and impotence. Studies in Philosophy and Education, 30(6), 585–599. McLaren, P. (1995). Critical pedagogy and predatory culture: Oppositional politics in a postmodern era. New York, NY: Routledge. Mouffe, C. (2008). Which world order: cosmopolitan or multipolar? Ethical Perspectives, 15(4), 453–467.

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Mouffe, C. (2013). Agonistics: Thinking the world politically. London: Verso Books. OECD. (2019). PISA 2018 assessment and analytical framework. Paris: OECD Publishing. https://doi.org/10.1787/b25efab8-en. Ross, N. (2017). What does it mean to be critical? On literary and social critique in Walter Benjamin. In M.  J. Thompson (Ed.), The Palgrave handbook of critical theory (pp. 349–365). New York, NY: Springer. Shapiro, S. (2005). Pedagogy and the politics of the body: A critical praxis. London: Routledge. Sidorkin, A.  M. (1999). Beyond discourse: Education, the self, and dialogue. New York: NY. SUNY Press. Simpson, A. (2018). Democracy as othering within Finnish education. International Journal of Bias, Identity and Diversities in Education, 3(2), 77–93. Simpson, A. (2019). ‘Democracy’ as ideology in education: Tracing indexicality through conflict, place and communication. In P.  Collins, V.  Igreja, & P. A. Danaher (Eds.), The nexus among place, conflict and communication in a globalising world (pp. 167–185). Singapore: Palgrave Macmillan. Simpson, A., & Dervin, F. (2019a). Forms of dialogism in the Council of Europe Reference Framework on Competences for Democratic Culture. Journal of Multilingual and Multicultural Development. https://doi.org/1 0.1080/01434632.2019.1618317. Simpson, A., & Dervin, F. (2019b). Global and intercultural competences for whom? By whom? For what purpose?: An example from the Asia Society and the OECD. Compare: A Journal of Comparative and International Education, 49(4), 672–677. Simpson, A., & Dervin, F. (2019c). The Council of Europe Reference Framework of Competences for Democratic Culture. Intercultural Communication Education, 2(3), 102–119. Thompson, M.  J. (2017). Introduction: What is critical theory? In M. J. Thompson (Ed.), The Palgrave handbook of critical theory (pp. 1–14). New York, NY: Springer. Wink, J. (2005). Critical pedagogy: Notes from the real world. New  York, NY: Pearson/Allyn & Bacon.

Part I Reflecting on and Defining Criticality in Education

2 Developing Anglo-centred Academic Literacy: Problematizing Understandings of Criticality Mira Bekar and Richard Fay

Introduction In this chapter, we begin with a dual-focus on ‘the critical’ and, as the chapter progresses, add a further understanding drawn from ecological thinking. The first focus is on our separate experience of acquiring and teaching others about Anglo-centred academic literacy, by which we mean English-medium academic practice governed by Anglophone preferences and parameters. For this focus, we are mostly concerned with Mira’s (the first author’s) experiences, as a scholar from the Periphery

M. Bekar (*) Ss. Cyril and Methodius University, Skopje, Republic of North Macedonia e-mail: [email protected] R. Fay The University of Manchester, Manchester, UK © The Author(s) 2020 A. Simpson, F. Dervin (eds.), The Meaning of Criticality in Education Research, Palgrave Studies in Education Research Methods, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-56009-6_2

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Macedonian context,1 of developing critical thinking skills (CTS) in her Anglo-centred academic practices. However, as part of our collegial exploration of this area, Mira’s experiences are set alongside those of Richard (the second author), a scholar from the Centre (UK). The interface of our separate experiences provides an opportunity to jointly explore this area. Our linguistic, cultural, and educational backgrounds, our contexts of academic performance, and our relationship with English differ in many respects but, as will be discussed below, we have both felt unease regarding Anglo-centred understandings of academic literacy including CTS. Thus, behind the first focus on ‘the critical’, we have a broader concern which can seem to be an unquestioning acceptance of ideas (e.g. about academic literacy and criticality) from dominant contexts (e.g. the Centre) as articulated in languages such as English, which are so dominant in international academic publishing and scholarship. The flows of ideas often seem largely one way, with an epistemic gradient (Heritage, 2010; Raymond, 2014) in play which privileges certain ideas, understandings, contexts, and languages. As our separately felt unease illustrates, the epistemic inequity accompanying Anglo-centred academic literacy poses a challenge for all contexts—be that Mira’s departmental context in Macedonia or Richard’s one in a UK university. Underpinning this second focus is our desire for understandings of academic literacy which are more open to review in terms of their contextual appropriacy, which question the relevance of ideas and practices from one context for other contexts, and which aspire towards a more purposeful adoption of flexibly applied, multi-faceted understandings and practices. Thus, through this second focus, we are attempting to bring a critical stance to our processes of developing English-centred academic literacy in a globalized and interconnected academic enterprise in which core contexts (e.g. the US) and associated language resources (e.g. English) tend to dominate at the expense of perspectives from elsewhere.

 Whilst acknowledging the controversies about the naming of this country since its emergence from the former Yugoslavia, our practice here is to refer to it following Mira’s everyday practice as a citizen of this country. 1

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In educational debates regarding ‘the critical’, we have come to recognize that these two foci, that is, critical thinking skills and a critical stance towards practice, can be used confusingly. Our decision to use this dual-­ focus framing springs from our first-hand experience of this confusion. As we jointly discussed criticality, we sometimes found ourselves using the same words but were not sure if we were using shared meanings also. At other points, we spoke at cross-purposes about which focus (on the critical) was in play. And until we had individually and jointly accepted that a distinction could usefully be made between these two foci, our exchanges were sometimes akin to parallel monologues. For this chapter, therefore, it seemed appropriate to retain the dual-focus and to use the chapter to share our progress to date with untangling what might be invoked by ‘the critical’ in educational debates. It is through the process of untangling that we came to value the added ecological understanding which we introduce below. In order to flesh out where our sense of unease arose, the chapter begins with an extended account of Mira’s experiences of developing academic literacy, a process largely mediated through English, as followed by a briefer account of Richard’s developing critical perspectives. We then outline how we have worked together exploring ‘the critical’ and introduce our main conceptual lens—the ecological and, in particular, the notion of critical action intentionality. We then use this theoretical perspective to make sense, by way of an example, of Mira’s experiences of developing academic literacy. We conclude with some observations on how we operationalized the dual-focus of ‘the critical’; how theoretical knowledge and educational practice can be used as a source to understand better how criticality develops in academic writers and encouraged the awareness of sensitivity of international students while adapting to/in Anglo-centred academic contexts.

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Mira’s Developing Academic Literacy Macedonian Starting Points My primary and secondary education, as well as my BA degree and MA courses, was all undertaken in Macedonia. My L1 is Macedonian and I started learning English in private language schools from the age of 10. Since Grade 5, English was a compulsory subject in my public school. Whereas my primary and secondary education—apart from foreign language classes in English—was conducted in Macedonian, my first degree in English language and literature was taught in English. Thus, English, for me, was not just a foreign language (i.e. EFL) or my L2 (to classify it in literacy terms); nor was it just a language of academic study (i.e. EAP); it was also my area of subject and professional specialism. For the research part for my MA thesis, I went to the US to explore the written discourse and the rhetorical choices international students make when writing in English as their L2. This process, as I realized subsequently, involved what has been termed researching multilingually (Holmes, Fay, Andrews, & Attia, 2013, 2016)—thus, I was reading and undertaking the research in English but writing in my L1. Although my research was geographically based in the US, the research reporting was written for my Macedonian university as supervised by my Macedonian professors. In these Macedonian-centred educational experiences, if and when criticality did feature, it was limited to a focus on developing CTS as part of academic practice. During the main English language and literature components of my BA university studies, I did not formally receive any instruction or other support regarding such skills. But, in the specialist English language teaching methodology options, there were some segments concerned with the CTS we would need as future teachers of English. Thus, we were encouraged to believe that: when we are thinking critically we are using our knowledge effectively to arrive at the most reasonable and justifiable position; and when we are not thinking critically, no matter how educated and knowledgeable we are, we will make unreasonable decisions and we will arrive at unreasonable beliefs. The

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value of such CTS, nor their source, was not questioned; nor was the notion of reasonableness open for discussion—it was simply understood to be the unquestioned outcome of critical thinking. The academic writing courses that formed part of my first degree were another venue where the CTS could have been addressed. However, in these classes I was required to write narratives and short prose (i.e. some creative writing or description of a character) but was not trained to produce argumentative or research-based writing. The skills foregrounded in these classes were mostly based on compare-and-contrast essay and five-­ paragraph essay structures. Here, there was no explicit development of CTS, nor any questioning of how critical thinking might be made evident in such writing tasks.

Teaching Writing Skills Overall, my Macedonian university education, to the limited extent that it included any focus on criticality as embodied in CTS, trained me to accumulate information and to use it in ways reflecting this understanding of critical thinking. When I joined the university as a member of staff teaching on the same programme on which I had previously studied, I slotted into the familiar curriculum. Thus, my own teaching did not, at that time, include any greater focus on CTS (or criticality more broadly) than had been evident in the classes in which I had been a student. The first, hands-on, explicit focus on, and opportunity to develop, CTS (and the sense of criticality that these embodied) came through a British Council sponsored University Writing Project, the objective of which was to develop a four-year syllabus for academic writing courses at the English Department where I worked. This project was led by an English language teaching specialist in writing from the UK.  She was both Richard’s colleague (from same university) and his doctoral supervisor, and was an influence on his own developing understandings of academic literacy. It was this shared experience of working with her and of having our developing academic literacy shaped by her that encouraged us to begin discussing ideas together outside of any formal academic or project structure.

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Through the five seminars of this University Writing Project, while developing course activities and materials, I was encouraged to grapple with concepts related to criticality, and to do so practically through hands-on activities rather than intuitively. Tasks that helped the development of criticality were needs analysis and thinking through the types of writing required of first year undergraduates. Our students were now asked to write and argue positions, something not required of them previously, and we explicitly engaged with their need to produce paragraph answers for examinations in literature, use of English, linguistics, translation, and American/British history subjects. Even though this hands-on encounter with developing a more structured academic writing course took place in, and for, a Macedonian university context, the main influence on the course design was Anglocentred. In other words, it was sponsored by an ‘Anglo’ organization (i.e. the British Council) and was led by an academic trained in, and working in an ‘Anglo’ university. In this sense, my development through this University Writing Project was, I would argue, Anglo-centred. For my colleagues and myself, this was the first real contact with the Anglo-­ centred writing development materials and the thinking underpinning them. We came to realize that as we (i.e. the trained junior teachers in the department) asked our students to write and argue positions, we were asking them to follow an approach to writing which we, as a result of our previous educational experiences, did not feel competent ourselves in doing, neither in English nor in Macedonian.

US-Based Doctoral Studies After the above, largely Macedonian-based experiences with few Anglo-­ oriented experiences, it was my enrolment as a PhD student2 at a US university that exposed me fully to an Anglo-centred understanding of academic literacy, and, in particular, to the way in which academic writing is taught at US universities. That these doctoral studies were undertaken  This study (Bekar, 2015) explored online text-based chatting practices in participants’ L1 (Macedonian) and L2 (English). 2

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within a Second Language Studies Program is not coincidental—this departmental anchor was an influence on my development and, to a large extent, it was coherent with the ideas inculcated through the earlier UK-underpinned University Writing Project. Thus, I received explicit direction regarding thesis writing, argumentation, incorporating sources, and challenging other scholars’ views. I was taught to believe that better CTS meant better writing and that a better academic writer has better CTS. From my education and professional practice as a teacher, I understood CTS to be the ability to analyse, synthesize, interpret, and also evaluate ideas, information, situations, and texts. This US-based doctoral experience was a long one (involving both studies and graduate teaching in the US itself ) and then study (i.e. thesis writing) at a distance once I returned to Macedonia. My academic literacy and CTS development in the US can be illustrated through the supervisory exchanges accompanying my thesis drafting. In what follows,3 I have focused on three illustrative exchanges: defining concepts; assumptions versus facts; and citation conventions. These extracts reveal not only what understandings about criticality were being argued for (and sometimes contested) but also how this shaping of my thinking took place.

Defining Concepts As a first example, my supervisor and I worked intensively on defining the concepts and conceptual frameworks I was operating with because the ways I handled such concepts and frameworks in my early thesis drafts were not as clear as he thought they could and should be. For example, in a draft of my methodology chapter I described the group which my research participants belonged to as ‘an intact group’. This is a term used in the research literature to refer to a group that is already formed naturally (in my case, a group of friends who communicate on a daily basis), and selection process is not used for the purposes of a particular study. My supervisor then wrote:  With approval from the supervisor in question.

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YOU SAY, HOWEVER, THAT THEY ARE MEMBERS OF “AN INTACT GROUP”, WHICH SOUNDS A LOT LIKE RHEINGOLD’S “VIRTUAL COMMUNITY”. OR WAS HE TALKING ABOUT SOMETHING ELSE?4

As I understood the comment, my supervisor seemed to think that the terms ‘intact group’ and ‘virtual community’ referred to the same type of group I was observing for the purposes of the study. In response, I retained the use of the term ‘intact group’ but added the following text to address his feedback: Rheingold (1993) defined such communities as “social aggregations that emerge from the Net when enough people carry on those public discussions long enough, with sufficient human feeling, to form webs of personal relationships in cyberspace” (p. 5).

Further, I emphasized that the concepts (i.e. intact groups and virtual communities) are not referring exactly to the same thing: this definition does not fully apply to my research context, because all TBCs analyzed are two-party conversations, not multi-party dense clusters or aggregations. However, the idea of affiliation and belonging—mentioned by Rheingold—is of my interest since the belonging is demonstrated through the choice of specific chat topics of my participants.

As I reflected on this supervisory feedback process, I recognized that this comment and other similar ones had encouraged me to challenge the given definitions available to me in the literature. My supervisor’s comment pushed me to make it clear, to myself and to my readers, that the notion of ‘virtual community’ had limitations and could not be used to refer to any group communicating online. My participants were not ‘social aggregations’ in dense clusters, but formations of just two individuals. My supervisor accepted this revised draft from me and I

 The use of capital letters was in the original but without any sense of emphasis, irritation, annoyance, and so on, associations which capital letters in (online) text dialoguing can sometimes carry. 4

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learned that as long as my justification for the choice of a definition or concept was persuasive, as he perceives persuasive writing, he would accept my decision.

Assumptions Versus Facts The second example refers to the need to develop shared understandings of the difference between assumptions and facts. From the moment when I decided upon my thesis topic (namely, an analysis of online text-based chats in Macedonian and English) and formulated my research questions, my supervisor and I had opposite views on a key aspect of my work. My view was that when people initiate an online text-based chat they always have a purpose (even if that purpose is just small talk or to ‘waste time’). My supervisor pointed out the need for me to show (through my discourse on the topic) that I understood the difference between testing a hypothesis though argumentation and/or presenting a general assumption which in a way is an a priori view. His comments were inserted in capital letters within my draft text paragraph: This study explores the issues, first, of whether interactants have a specific purpose in mind when initiating the TBC5 [I THINK THAT YOU HAVE ALREADY INDICATED THAT THIS IS A GENERAL ASSUMPTION—YOU’RE NOT REALLY TESTING WHETHER THEY HAVE A PURPOSE, ACCORDING TO WHAT YOU WROTE ABOVE, AS YOU’RE ASSUMING THAT THEY DO], and second, how and if that purpose controls the interaction.

For me, at the time, the problem in understanding this comment arose from my desire to make sense of it alongside my supervisor’s repeated instruction that I should be as precise and as concise as possible when distinguishing facts and assumptions. Distinguishing assumptions from facts, for a developing doctoral researcher like me, requires that negotiation between our own views and material from: (1) other sources, that is  TBC = text-based chat.

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literature we are using; (2) from the individual observations; and (3) from the views or comments from supervisors we feel are important to be documented. In fields such as humanities (language studies), facts are not as clear as in hard sciences; therefore, beliefs can be based on intuitive assumptions mixed with individual experiences. For this example, I, based on the complex research methods and triangulation of results, concluded that participants have a specific purpose in mind when they start chatting, but their ability to rationalize their communicative actions (seen in interview transcripts) led my supervisor—and may have led readers—to believe that they do not have a specific purpose for communication. I was asked by my supervisor to provide more examples of chats with clear purpose. I did, but my claim seemed still not persuasive enough for him. Even when the discourse analysis and the conversation analysis of the chat revealed a clear purpose, the participant would say he/she did not have a particular purpose on mind for that chat. This contributed to the complexity of the matter and supported my view that in qualitative studies fuzziness should be tolerated even though it is required to be as precise and as concise as possible when distinguishing facts and assumptions. There were instances when my supervisor challenged me to adopt a single position throughout the dissertation. But I found this impossible, caught between what I read in literature and what I had experienced while observing the phenomenon I was researching. Specifically, the relevant literature would highlight one issue (e.g. the tendency for online communication to take over from face-to-face communication) but my participants would highlight another (e.g. that they more often engage in face-to-face communication than in online communication). Thus, I experienced a conflict between the insights contained in the literature, which I was being encouraged to respect, and the insights I was drawing from my empirical work. It seemed to me that I was qualified as being unable to present opposing views without sounding contradictory in my own argumentation. The impression came for the requirement to switch from challenging critically what I read to adopting a single position.

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Citation Conventions The final example concerns my supervisor’ directives to me regarding my use of the required citation style and mechanics (e.g. use of punctuation). His position can be seen in the following comments from him on a draft of my thesis: (1) Your chapters should be proofread and edited for formal accuracy (i.e., accurate syntax, word choice, spelling, capitalization, and punctuation). If your chapter includes an accumulation of surface/mechanical errors that prevent smooth reading, I will return it to you unread. and (2) NEITHER OF THE PUNCTUATIONS HERE ACCORD WITH APA, AS I BELIEVE I HAVE POINTED OUT TO YOU IN YOUR PAST WRITING. PLEASE LEARN APA, AS I DON’T WANT TO BE YOUR APA EDITOR ANYMORE.

Such comments sounded strict to me, because I was an L2 writer of English drafting my first complex and long work in academic English and doing so to meet requirements of a US university. My relationship with my supervisor was affected by this apparent strictness. I understood that my English language usage must be at a suitably doctoral level, but the immediate warning about not reading further draft chapters if they did not meet this threshold of accurate usage of American-based citation and punctuation style (i.e. knowing APA) affected my self-confidence as an aspiring young scholar. My sense, originating from being part of an international student community in the US, is that international students like me can often find comments such as these discouraging while writing their theses. Further, I sensed something ethnocentric in this part of the supervision process. Supervisor’s preference that the style and conventions I used should conform to the expectations he was directing me to use, as coupled with my partial success in doing so, seemed to me to position me as someone who is an inadequate academic writer, because of not knowing the US university conventions. Underlying this positioning, there was, I

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felt, a linkage between me being unable to do this, me being far away from academic writer, and me being an international student. To ensure that my drafts were read by my supervisor, I needed to remove the problematic lack of conformity with the expected conventions. I gained support from the Writing Center at the university and tried my best to become fully familiar with the APA reference style which differed in some respects (e.g. treatment of paraphrasing, using commas, paragraph structure) from Macedonian conventions. Ultimately, I was given additional support by one of my former American professors with experience in both academic contexts. He checked my drafts against the expected conventions. Whilst my supervisor was satisfied with the more polished drafts, I had the feeling that some authenticity had been lost and he was no longer encouraging my authentic academic voice.

Richard’s Developing Critical Perspectives UK Starting Points All stages of my formal education were completed in the UK.  As an undergraduate, I specialized in English language and literature, and, as I remember it, criticality and CTS were not foregrounded in this formative experience of Anglo-centred academic life. I then trained to be a teacher of English as a foreign language. The training was informed by a native-­ English-­speaking paradigm: thus, as a teacher, my objective was to support students in an aspiration to use English in as native-like a manner as possible. In this professional role, I gained experience within and beyond the UK. In one teaching role in Poland, I taught a US-devised writing module to undergraduate students of English Philology. Here, I first experienced unease with what I had to teach, an adverse reaction to what I perceived as the sense of universal applicability that seemed to accompany the US-devised prescriptions of how to write logically, argumentatively, and persuasively in English, prescriptions based on a national native-speaker model. Implicitly, and sometimes explicitly, Polish norms of academic argumentation were seen as less effective than English ones;

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and US-framed understandings of academic literacy were seen as the best ones. Some of my students were also uneasy about this, drawing my attention to Wierzbicka’s (1985) article highlighting the Anglo-centricity evident in English-medium textbook discussions of pragmatics. This was a revelatory moment for me. Back in the UK, I then took a Master’s in TESOL (Teaching English to Speakers of Other Languages) through which I was socialized as a student (rather than as a teacher) into a world of Anglo-centric academic literacy relevant for such a professionally oriented area. The approach to academic literacy being promoted here contrasted in some ways with the US-devised approach to academic literacy that I had only recently been teaching. For example, my MA studies highly valued a reflective practitioner stance and the authority of transparently presented, context-­ framed insights regarding educational practices. Then, for a short period, I taught English for Academic Purposes (EAP) in the UK, supporting international students for whom English was not a language they were as yet fluent in using for study purposes. I was frustrated by the EAP materials we used but was still not able to fully diagnose why I felt uneasy—I just knew that the focus of these materials seemed crude, under-nuanced, dogmatic, inflexible, and creativity-smothering.

A Developing Critical Stance I then became a UK university-based language teacher educator working with English language teachers from many parts of the world. It was as part of this TESOL tradition that I developed an interest in critical stances regarding the TESOL phenomenon as distributed globally. For example, my teaching and research increasingly focused on the need for appropriate methodology rather than the promotion of an ethnocentric sense of a best method. Increasingly, I became concerned with the politics of TESOL, with what Holliday terms ‘appropriate methodology’ (1994) and discusses in terms of the ‘struggle to teach English internationally’ (2005). More broadly, I was influenced by the attention critical applied linguistics (e.g. Pennycook, 2010, p. 10) paid to: problematizing the givens, being constantly reflexive regarding one’s own shaping influence on

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the matter in hand, making social responsibility and social transformation central to one’s work. This critical stance influenced my approach to supporting students’ developing Anglo-medium academic literacy. For example, rather than stating how argumentation should work, or insisting on particular citation practices, through courses in developing academic competence and developing researcher competence, I encouraged students to think about their own preferences for, and previous experiences of, academic practice, and to negotiate approaches to UK-based academic practice which recognized possibly divergent demands and expectations. More recently, my critical stance has become increasingly framed in ecological terms over the years, and, as will be seen, it has been underpinned by a sense of critical intentional action (Fay & Stelma, 2016; Stelma & Fay, 2019). Thus, my preoccupations as a UK-based university-­ based language teacher educator specializing in the area of TESOL are much less with the micro-level of developing CTS and more with the macro-level of critically exploring why we do what we do in the way that we choose to do it.

Our Joint Ways of Working Through our separate personal reflections above, we have tried to account for our shared but differently felt and expressed sense of unease with Anglo-centred understandings of academic literacy and CTS, and to foreground the distinctively felt and voiced concerns with ‘the critical’ that we brought to our discussions. We have also explained our different starting points with ‘the critical’. Over nearly twenty years, as distant colleagues and friends (rather than as part of a more formal academic or project relationship), we have interacted variously in email message exchanges, Skype sessions, Facebook chats, and occasionally face to face. In this process, we have talked about our separate experiences but shared unease, and our discussions have sometimes focused more on the first of our current focal areas (e.g. CTS) and sometimes more on the second (the dangers of privileged flows regarding Anglo-centred understandings of academic literacy).

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These discussions did not have the features of supervisor-supervisee dynamic, nor did they have any implicit or explicit socialization function regarding our developing academic literacy and confident fluency in playing the Anglo-centred academic game. Nevertheless, it would be naïve to think that the issues mentioned earlier—including dominant flows of ideas from centre to periphery and the primary status accorded to Anglo-centred understandings—were not also shaping influences on our discussion. We were engaged in a mutually challenging pursuit of understanding ‘criticality’ though the sharing and discussion of our reflections on our own experiences. Our focus has shifted many times over the years as we discussed ‘the critical’ as driven by a particular incident in our professional lives, or by the framing of a particular conference call. We did not have a specific, delineated research agenda, and accordingly our discussions were not focused by a research question as such. But the central thrust of our more recent discussions was with these questions: What has shaped Mira’s (and Richard’s to a lesser extent) developing understandings of Anglo-centred academic literacy? What has shaped their problematization of ‘the critical’? The phraseology here—and in particular the use of the metaphor of ‘shaping’—builds upon the ecological thinking with which we increasingly tried to make sense of ‘the critical’ in educational thinking.

An Ecological Perspective on Criticality In recent years, with colleagues, Richard has made increasing use of an ecological conceptual frame for considering the developing thinking, and indeed competence, of individuals and their particular areas of practice for particular contexts. This is something he brought to our shared discussions. Thus, with colleagues, he has used parts of the ecological theory-­ set to explore: the developing research competence of MA TESOL students (Stelma & Fay, 2014); the developing practice of researchers working multilingually (Stelma, Fay, & Zhou, 2013); the developing language-oriented mindset of researchers and the implications for researcher education (Andrews, Fay, & White, 2018a, 2018b; Andrews & Fay, 2019); and the critical dimension of such ecological thinking as

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applied to professional practice (Fay & Stelma, 2016; Stelma & Fay, 2019). The parts of the ecological theory which have been key in this line of work and which have proved to be influential in our collegial discussions are as follows: shaping influences; intentionality (or purposefulness), sometimes usefully seen in the plural, that is intentionalities; the possibilities for action perceived in the person-environment relationship (i.e. affordances); and critical action intentionality. These are now briefly introduced in turn. Ecological psychology is concerned with the mutual and dynamic relationships that exist between an individual and the environment (i.e. individual-­environment mutuality) and between groups of individuals and the environment (i.e. social-environment mutuality). Inherent in this notion of mutuality is the recognition that the individual (or group of individuals) is both shaped by, and is shaping, the environment. Thus, in this bilateral mutuality process, shaping influences are in play. For example, Mira’s Anglo-centred academic literacy has been shaped, in large part, by the conventions expected in the various academic contexts in which she has participated. And, conversely, in her role as a university lecturer in Macedonia, she has the possibility to shape the English-­ medium academic practices of her department and her students’ experiences of them. Such shaping influences may be an unnoticed part of Mira’s work and her relationship with context, but our focus is on both her and Richard’s informed understandings and purposeful practice of academic literacy and criticality. In ecological terms, such informed, purposeful action is captured in through the term intentionality. Both individuals, and groups of individuals, have some agency in their interaction with the environment and this can lead them to act purposefully in order to pursue a goal or goals—this is when their actions demonstrate intentionality, or, more simply purposefulness. Multiple intentions may be pursued simultaneously and thus we can also use intentionalities for this agentive pursuit of goals. These intentionalities derive from the deliberate and purposeful perception by the individual (or group) of action possibilities—or what can be termed affordances—in the environment. Individuals will, in most situations, have a set of possible affordances. Fay and Stelma (2016) further suggest that a person’s perceptions of

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action possibilities may be shaped by any number of different individual or social factors. For instance, affordances for action may be conventionalized through frequent and repeated action; or they may be preferred and/or advocated by sources of authority and by particular ideologies. Both of these shaping influences might be at work, for example, in Mira’s developing understandings and practice of academic literacy. For these affordances to be a first step towards critical action—understood, at its simplest, to be action which results from the questioning of the givens involved in a situation and which seeks to be transformative (see Freire, 1970, 1973; Pennycook, 2010), there also needs to be an exploration of the genesis of those different affordances. Through such exploration, the individual seeks to problematize the genesis and the givens of the action possibilities they perceive in the context in question. For this extension of ecological thinking, Fay and Stelma (2016) coin the term critical action intentionality/ies.

Mira’s Intentionalities As we now return directly to Mira’s case and, as informed by a more explicit ecological perspective, reformulate the questions focusing our collegial discussions: what influences were significant in her developing intentionality as an academic writer working mostly in English? For convenience, we can divide Mira’s experiences into these phases: her main educational experiences in Macedonia—the UK-led University Writing Project; the US-based supervisory exchanges as part of her experience of doctoral studies; and our discussions happening concurrently with Macedonian and international performances of academic literacy. The mutuality at play in these Mira-environment relationships manifested itself partly through Mira’s perceptions of action possibilities (or affordances) in the environments concerned, and in her decisions about which affordances to pursue. These decisions can be understood through the lens of intentionality or her purposefulness in acting in a particular way vis-à-vis her academic writing. Since her exposure to English language started, Mira has been operating in two different linguistic environments (Macedonian and English), each

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with particular contextual anchors and linguistic features. At its simplest, she became increasingly used to working in one language with a small reach (in terms of users and locations) and another with a very wide reach (i.e. English as a global phenomenon). So, although she was exposed to numerous shaping influences through her educational experiences—such as British, American, and Macedonian teachers; diverse curricula; diverse educational systems, and diverse teaching ideologies/philosophies—at a macro level, her developing sense of academic literacy was shaped by the periphery/core distinction between these languages. This may explain why the influx of Anglo-centred ideas about writing (through the University Writing Project) was seen as a positive overhaul of the writing curriculum. Anglo-centred ideas about writing had value not just for English-specialist academic literacy but more widely. The understandings of genre, argumentation, logic, and so on that were promoted through this Anglo-centred set of understandings were privileged—its Anglocentred genesis and prominent globally valued status and utility gave it a powerful endorsement. There was a much less obvious body of Macedonian-centred understandings of the mentioned concepts available to Mira and her colleagues. This absence served to reinforce the privilege afforded to the Anglo-centred understandings. This recognition of the privilege was, in many ways, subconscious, and thus, Mira and her colleagues simply began developing the new writing curriculum using the ideas to which they were being introduced without questioning the givens contained in these ideas. But at a more personal, micro-level, while Mira was learning the English language and learning how to express herself in this, her L2, she encountered different rhetorical traditions. As an undergraduate student, she wrote English-medium exam texts and seminar papers within her Macedonian context, but at that stage in her developing academic literacy she was not required to challenge views of respected scholars in the literature. Was it something arising from a local culture of academic writing that did not expect such engagement with accepted views, for example, an expectation perhaps more associated with Anglo-centred writing traditions arising in the US? When Mira became a member of staff rather than a student in the department, which meant teaching and creating syllabi for writing

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courses, she began questioning the givens of her own academic writing habits as acquired through undergraduate study in English in Macedonia. She became aware of the importance that some writing courses attached to writing with a clear sense of the readers/audience. To do likewise, was an option for her, that is an affordance, and her decision to embrace this option reveals her intentionality. Mira’s intentionality became more evident to her as she progressed through her academic studies. As she undertook research in the US (as part of her Macedonian MA degree) and then her US-based PhD, she started acquiring what she called ‘survival skills for the academic world’, that is learning how to adapt to the expectations of readers of a thesis according to the standards of her Macedonian supervisors and of her US supervisor. More particularly, for her MA studies, Mira chose to read scholarly literature in English, do her fieldwork at a US-based institution, undertake her research in English (i.e. she analysed texts written in English, and communicated with her participants in English), and write the thesis in Macedonian using the guidelines for thesis writing taught at US-based university. Underpinning these choices were regulatory matters—for example the expectations of the English department about which language(s) could and should be used in reporting the research through the thesis. During her doctoral studies, as indicated earlier, Mira felt she was under significant pressure to conform to her supervisor’s expectations of academic writing at doctoral level at a US institution. She decided to do her best to adopt strategies such as getting help from the Writing Center, as well as from a friend and former teacher while simultaneously feeling unsettled by this course of action since her own voice was being lost amid injunctions to write in a certain way and display her CTS appropriately for these writing expectations. She sensed a certain ethnocentrism at work—the assumption that these conventions were being seen as the norms rather than a set of guidelines—but her intentionality was to complete her doctorate without losing her voice and to be allowed to bring in some specificities from her L1 academic culture. Back then she fulfilled most of the expectations of her supervisor and returned to these unresolved matters after her doctorate. She did this through lines of more critically edged action as discussed next.

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 ira’s Criticality and Critical M Action Intentionality As our discussions progressed, the dual-focus on ‘the critical’ became more apparent. We problematized the privileged status of Anglo-centred understandings of criticality in academic practice. Here, the extra ecological element of critical action intentionality came to the fore. Thus, Mira began to problematize the genesis and the givens of the action possibilities she perceived in that doctoral context and what other action possibilities could she perceive as a consequence of problematizing the Anglo-centred origins of the academic literacy influences working back in her country? One of those possibilities/affordances was the experience of co-editing a set of conference Proceedings while agreeing on the guidelines for the papers with her Macedonian colleagues. She proposed APA citations style for the guidelines, typical of the applied linguistics field. However, the other editors came from different educational and disciplinary backgrounds and had become academically literate in different citation systems, a similar situation with the colleagues submitting papers for publication. The editors agreed to accept various citation styles in the manuscripts (as long as they were internally consistent in application) instead of insisting on a preferred style. Mira decided to negotiate by not accepting APA as a universally accepted given but rather saw it as a contextually appropriate choice. The outcome was a set of Proceedings with different citation styles used in the various papers. One message this volume would hopefully give to contributors and readers was of the need for local cultures of academic practice to be respected. Another would be that dominant flows of expectations from privileged languages and academic contexts could be challenged. By problematizing the unthinking acceptance of ideas from the Anglo-centred core this is a significant example of critical action intentionality, one which could be then applied to other areas of academic practice. At this point, we can return to our first focus on ‘the critical’. Mira and her colleagues—and indeed Richard and his colleagues—can, in a spirit of critical action intentionality—reflect on the genesis and givens of their

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assumptions regarding students’ demonstration of critical thinking skills in their academic writing. They can reflect on where their beliefs and practices about the very nature of ‘the critical’ have come from, and review the action possibilities available to them if they pause to challenge the given status of the beliefs and practices with which they have become familiar and to which they may be attached. Might other ways of performing academic literacy vis-à-vis ‘the critical’ be possible and desirable in a given context and/or with particular players? We can now see that questioning the status of an expected citation style, questioning the approach of challenging important scholars’ views when presenting major concepts, also the methods of differentiating between assumptions and facts in qualitative research studies, and strategies of ordering ideas in a certain way that is expected in one educational context, but not encouraged in other, are all useful exercises to undertake given the powerful privileges underpinning this status. Faced by such privilege, and faced by the need to survive in US-based doctoral context, Mira felt that while acquiring new academic skills she was losing her voice.

Conclusion In this chapter we have problematized the notion and practice of criticality as operationalized in Anglo-centred academic literacy. As informed by our collegial discussions of our separate, contrasting experiences of developing Anglo-centred academic literacy, we have explained our starting points with ‘the critical’, namely: the focus on developing an Anglo-­ centred understanding of critical thinking skills (CTS); and the adoption of a critical stance to help us identify the source of our unease with the seemingly unquestioned epistemic authority accompanying such Anglo-­ centred understandings of academic literacy (including CTS). Our experiences, as situated respectively largely in the Periphery (Mira) and the Centre (Richard), highlight the epistemic gradient in play as ideas (about academic literacy and criticality) flow from privileged voices, in privileged languages, from privileged contexts and are then taken up in Periphery contexts with much less epistemic authority regarding such scholarly practices.

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To problematize the often unquestioned status of Anglo-centred academic literacy practices, we adopted an ecological lens in which critical action intentionality was foreground. This enabled us not only to identify what may have shaped Mira’s purposeful actions regarding Anglo-centred academic literacy but also to see where such purposeful questioned the givens, and questions the origins of the academic practice options she could see for her in her context. Underlying this endeavour is our educators’ desire to not only problematize the givens—and do so reflexively recognizing the shaping influences in play between us as academic practitioners and the contexts in which we perform—but to also begin the process of transforming our contexts and practice in the interests of a more equitable epistemic environment for scholarly activity. If international scholarship is to benefit from all those who participate in it and seek to contribute to it, then the loss of an international voice seems undesirable, especially if the voices lost are, as so often, those from the periphery, and if those voices which set the stage for everyone else are ones from the core.

References Andrews, J., & Fay, R. (forthcoming, 2019). Valuing a translingual mindset in researcher education in Anglophone higher education settings: Supervision perspectives. Language, Culture & Curriculum (Special Issue on Plurilingualism in Anglophone higher education). https://doi.org/10.1080/0790831 8.2019.1677701 Andrews, J., Fay, R., & White, R. (2018a). From linguistic preparation to developing a translingual orientation—possible implications for researcher education. In J. Choi & S. Ollerhead (Eds.), Plurilingualism in learning and teaching: Complexities across contexts (pp. 220–233). London: Routledge. Andrews, J., Fay, R., & White, R. (2018b). What shapes everyday translanguaging? Insights from a global mental health project in northern Uganda. In G.  Mazzaferro (Ed.), Translanguaging as everyday practice (pp.  257–273). Cham., Switzerland: Springer. Bekar, M. (2015). Language, writing, and social (inter)action: An analysis of text-­ based chats in Macedonian and English (Unpublished doctoral dissertation). Purdue University, West Lafayette, IN.

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Fay, R., & Stelma, J. (2016). Criticality, intentionality and intercultural action. In M. Dasli & A. Diaz (Eds.), The critical turn in language and intercultural communication pedagogy: Theory, research and practice (pp. 126–140). London: Routledge. Freire, P. (1970). Pedagogy of the oppressed. New York: Seabury Press. Freire, P. (1973). Education for critical consciousness. New York: Seabury. Heritage, J. (2010). Questioning in medicine. In A. F. Freed & S. Ehrlich (Eds.), “Why do you ask?”: The function of questions in institutional discourse (pp. 42–68). New York, NY: Oxford University Press. Holliday, A. R. (1994). Appropriate methodology and social context. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Holliday, A. R. (2005). The struggle to teach English as an international language. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Holmes, P., Fay, R., Andrews, J., & Attia, M. (2013). Researching multilingually: New theoretical and methodological directions. International Journal of Applied Linguistics, 23(3), 285–299. Holmes, P., Fay, R., Andrews, J., & Attia, M. (2016). How to research multilingually: Possibilities and complexities. In Z.  Hua (Ed.), Research methods in intercultural communication (pp. 88–102). London: Wiley. Pennycook, A. (2010). Critical applied linguistics: A critical introduction. London: Routledge. Raymond, C.  W. (2014). Epistemic brokering in the interpreter-mediated medical visit: Negotiating ‘patient’s side’ and ‘doctor’s side’ knowledge. Research on Language and Interaction, 47(4), 426–446. Stelma, J., & Fay, R. (2014). Intentionality and developing researcher competence on a UK master’s course: An ecological perspective on research education. Studies in Higher Education, 39(4), 517–533. Stelma, J., & Fay, R. (2019). An ecological perspective on critical action in Applied Linguistics. In A.  Kostoulas (Ed.), Challenging boundaries in language education (pp. 51–70). London: Springer. Stelma, J., Fay, R., & Zhou, X. (2013). Developing intentionality and researching multilingually: An ecological and methodological perspective. International Journal of Applied Linguistics, 23(3), 300–315. Wierzbicka, A. (1985). Different cultures, different languages, different speech acts: Polish vs. English. Journal of Pragmatics, 9(2–3), 145–178.

3 Criticality Within the “École de la République”: A Study of a French Educational Programme Based on Scientific Research Filippo Pirone

Introduction In the age of “glocalization” (Novoa, 2001), the French educational system, as many others, lives a double process: the globalization of educational policies and the fragmentation of local practices. One of the clearest signs of this globalization of education is the rise of supranational organizations influencing the orientations of contemporary national policies. One of the most important of them is the Organisation for Economic Co-operation and Development (OECD), which widely proposes pedagogical recommendations after publishing the outcomes of its international evaluations and surveys (Fraser & Smith, 2017). In a

F. Pirone (*) University of Bordeaux—INSPE, LaCES, Bordeaux, France e-mail: [email protected] © The Author(s) 2020 A. Simpson, F. Dervin (eds.), The Meaning of Criticality in Education Research, Palgrave Studies in Education Research Methods, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-56009-6_3

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well-known OECD paper, criticality1 appears as one of the most essential “21st century skills and competences for new millennium learners” (Ananiadou & Claro, 2009). This document marks the accomplishment of processes already started in several national educational systems, where formal knowledge is no longer the principal aim in teaching (Bernstein, 1967), but rather an instrument to achieve “transversal skills” (Rey, 1996), such as criticality. Theoretically, criticality can be defined as a transversal skill based on rationality which allows subjects to assess their beliefs and others’ through rational tools, norms and procedures (Rudinow & Barry, 1994). Thus, this type of skill appears as close to the fundamental features of “scientific thinking” according to Gaston Bachelard (1934), especially as he describes the necessary processes of constitution of evidence.2 Within the contemporary sociohistorical configuration, criticality can thus be considered as the transversal skill which could allow students to achieve their intellectual emancipation. In French curricula, this capacity seems necessary to pupils to build their citizenship, which is deemed to be a very important aim.3 As I will show further, contemporary French curricula translate this educational goal into the student’s capacity to express themselves and to manage “argued debates” (Tozzi, 2004).4 Indeed, the rise of critical and rational approaches in the evolution of curricula (Bourdieu & Gros, 1989) went hand in hand with the emergence of the care of subjects, of their wellness and of their expression in education. In this chapter, I chose to analyse the place of criticality in the French educational system as a specific example a context where this changing process in the evolution of curricula faces some tensions with everyday

 Actually, the authors talk about “critical thinking”. To simplify matters, we will use “criticality” and “critical thinking” as synonyms. 2  According to Bachelard (ibid.), both realism (based on experimental research) and rationalism (based on theoretical knowledge) are necessary to the constitution of the evidence. 3  The French Republican School is the institution which educates and trains future citizens according to the “universal” principles of “liberty, equality and fraternity”. This aim, concomitant to the struggle against “communitarianism”, became once again crucial after terrorist attacks in Paris in 2015. 4  Since the early 1990s French curricula have given much space to argued debates, especially within “moral and civic education” classes (Bozec, 2016). 1

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practices. As I will show, these tensions are not only linked to their sociohistorical features and traditions, but, for the case of criticality, also to a major paradox in education: in order to achieve criticality, pupils must simultaneously incorporate school’s codes (academic subjects and discipline) and learn to take some distance from them. If criticality is rarely explicitly defined, it is also omnipresent in recent educational discourses and texts. But what about its place in the French educational system? In order to explore this question, this chapter is divided into two parts both discussing the meaning and the place of criticality within French schools through a sociohistorical (first part) and an ethnographic approach (second part). More specifically, in the first part, I will discuss the institutional and theoretical place and definition of criticality through the analysis of the evolution of curricula and the ways schools are in France. In the second part, I will focus on the ways teachers think about criticality, especially when the work on this skill is linked to the work on pupils’ abilities to express themselves, and on how this work concretely takes place in some French classes in an educational programme called Ecole de la Recherche (ER)5 which aims at developing criticality as a social skill: “Relying on research approaches and issues, this program aims to build within pupils a will to explore the unknown and a sense of cooperation, developing their criticality” (excerpt from the ER’s website).6

 he “Ecole de la Recherche”: Criticality T at the “age of educational programs” The second part of the process of glocalization in education that I have previously talked about is characterized by a gradual devolution of school governance form central authorities to local actors. As such, it is mostly  This can be translated as “School of Research”. All translations from French are mine. I want to thank Ange Ansour, the co-founder of ER, for her help with translation and, more generally, for her precious advices. 6  https://les-savanturiers.cri-paris.org/a-propos/presentation/ (visited on 29/06/2018). It is important to precise that this educational programme’s frame is very flexible. As there is not a guide prescribing what must be done, it is up to teachers and scientific mentors to choose the principles to follow and the activities to work on. 5

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up to them to reinvent normativity through their everyday activities, proposing innovations that could be extended to the rest of the education system. Within this recent historical configuration, educational programmes seem to gradually replace centralized educational policies which look now more and more fragmented (Barrère, 2013). In fact, educational programmes appear today as the focus point of public action in order to prevent or solve social and school problems considered as the most urgent. Moreover, long-term collaboration between the French Ministry of Education and other institutions creates a third type of educational programmes aiming at compensating what traditional schools usually do not provide. I call them “empowering educational programs”, that is their main goal is to offer pupils some specific skills or to reinforce them if they are already partially acquired. Most of these programmes tackle culture or art issues, but ER is about strengthening pupils’ “scientific skills”, that is to initiate and train them to scientific thinking and research approaches. Since 2013, every year, ER issues a call for projects allowing hundreds of teachers to work with volunteer researchers (“scientific mentors” assigned to classes by ER) on the conception and the realization of a research project within one of several scientific fields proposed by the programme. My choice to focus on this programme is not only related to its pertinence with school work on criticality, but it is also related to the fact that an educational programme can be studied as an “apparatus” (Foucault, 1976), that is, a heterogeneous configuration where historical permanencies and discontinuities are crystallized in the same space-time; a “governing machine” producing “subjectifications” (Agamben, 2009).7 Thus, the ER programme is a privileged context to observe the concretization of a part of contemporary educational policies and to see what could emerge in a more and more visible way within classes working on “classic subjects”. Within this context, it is particularly interesting to observe if criticality is present in educational policies, and at the same time, if concrete activities around this skill can cause some difficulties to the actors involved.

 The French language uses the same word for both “program” and “apparatus” (“dispositif”: “dispositive”, Bussolini, 2010). 7

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Criticality Within the French “forme scolaire” According to Emile Durkheim, who had a strong influence on the curricula of the Ecole de la République, school’s main function is to transmit and inculcate knowledge, in order to emancipate subjects from non-­universal powers’ influences (localisms, religions)8 and their identities (their ways of thinking, acting, being according to Durkheim, 1922). Thus, we could argue that criticality in education is the transversal skill that allows pupils to achieve this emancipation. Nevertheless, as I said before, the acquisition of criticality in school might present a major paradox: its achievement requires that pupils manage to take some distance from school subjects and, more generally, from the influence of “school form” on them. In this section, I discuss the theory of school form in order to propose a functional definition of criticality within the Ecole de la République; then, I show how criticality, which traditionally had little space in this context, has progressively acquired a major status.

A Definition Through the Theory of “school form” In order to understand the function of criticality and the paradox about its acquisition and its place within the French education system from a sociohistorical point of view, I would like to discuss the concept of “forme scolaire”—literally the “school form”. Inspired by the “Gestalt theory”, this concept was developed by the French sociologist Guy Vincent in the early 1980s and had big repercussions on education research in French-­ speaking countries and in several Latin American countries. According to its paradigms, in the same way as other ancient spatial-temporal configurations of all societies based on scriptural cultures like State or Church (Rockwell, 1999),9 school is characterized by a core of invariable elements

 One hundred years before, this was also Condorcet’s idea of education, from which Durkheim took a cue. 9  The Mexican educational anthropologist Elsie Rockwell, as other researchers working on these paradigms, uses the concept of “school culture”, which is very close to “school form”. 8

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comprising the school form (Vincent, 1980).10 Between these “constitutive elements”, as Vincent (ibid.) called them, school form socialization is based on vertical and impersonal pedagogical relationships and on external rules and the authority of literacy; school knowledge has to be learned through a non-spontaneous training based on efforts, taking place in dedicated spaces and times concretely and symbolically separated from the outside world.11 This separation is supposed to provide good conditions for school learning, a complex process where pupils must take some distance from their everyday life’s action, or even temporarily suspend it. Confronted with these school invariants, criticality could be defined as a social and intellectual skill potentially facilitating pupils’ access to personal ways of appropriating knowledge. Through a phase of critical detachment, this process may be a way for pupils to operate cognitive transfers to other contexts and activities. Finally, criticality could be defined as an essential transversal skill which can potentially allow pupils to solve any kind of problems. Nevertheless, as explained previously, this acquisition requires pupils to take some distance with the codes of school form and school knowledge, which of course can be possible only after pupils have incorporated and learned them. The theories of school form can help find a functional definition of criticality and are also interesting since they can help studying school in its double dimension: “universal”, as a social configuration (Elias, 2012) whose constitutive elements endure through centuries and societies; and “contextual”, declining these elements in particular ways depending on sociohistorical contexts and local actors’ specificities. Influenced by the Annales (Braudel, 1958) and in order to study the properties of school form, Rockwell distinguishes for instance three temporal measures: “long-term” (school form’s constitutive elements); “relative continuity” (periodical variations of these elements); and, “everyday co-construction”

 According to Guy Vincent, the “invention” of school form in France dates back to the end of the seventeenth century with the creation of the Jean-Baptiste de Lasalle’s educational institutes in several French cities. 11  Historically, school form pedagogy is mostly based on scriptural culture and distinguishes itself from the traditional transmission of oral culture based on imitation. 10

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(the synthesis of the two first temporal measures taking place in everyday classroom activities, where we can see how school form endures and evolves on a daily basis).

Little Space for Criticality This chapter deals with the second aforementioned temporal measure, which is a more appropriate temporal measure to define criticality in the French educational system and to describe how it influenced the historical evolution of the Ecole de la République, that is French public, compulsory, secular and free of charge school created at the beginning of the 1880s, and that remains as a reference template in the French educational universe. In fact, since the end of the nineteenth century, the Ecole de la République has managed to create a large consensus in society, by fighting against traditional religious powers in education and gradually unifying the whole country around its objectives. According to Bourdieu (1966), one of its main characteristics was the “indifference to differences”, giving the illusion of a school with sealed borders, impervious to society’s particularisms, variety or even inequalities: in every public school, every teacher and pupil are supposed to teach and learn the same knowledge in the same way. In fact, as Vincent and other researchers showed, the school form during the first period of the Ecole de la République had as its principal goal the creation of a “disciplined and silent pupil”, able to incorporate external social rules and to submit to them, through vertical and frontal inculcation and rote learning of school knowledge (Lahire, 2008).

The Rising Role of Criticality The features and evolution of educational systems depend on the type of surrounding society and on their relationships with it, which specifically determine the functions of school (Durkheim, 1938). Further, the success of school form is connected to its historical capacity to absorb some new external elements from the sociohistorical context where it operates (Vincent, Lahire, & Thin, 1994). So, if criticality has had very little space during the first decades of the Ecole de la République, it was mainly because

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criticality was not an essential skill to achieve for future French citizens. With the rise of critical societies’ template (Boltanski, 1990) and the gradual widening of schools and curricula towards external society (Bernstein, 1967), the role of criticality increased in schools progressively. Thanks to the influence of Durkheim’s theories on curricula and with the increasing need of skilled labour capable to raise the level of the French productive system on the international scene, experimental sciences gained a central role in French educational system’s curricula, as they changed their features and functions. In fact, during the twentieth century, the teaching of experimental sciences moved away from positivist approaches to become school subjects aimed at improving scientific thinking, that is curiosity, open-mindedness, criticality towards dogmas (Berthou, 1996). Thus, in order to engender a “reasonable pupil” (Vincent, op. cit.), critical approaches are widely present in contemporary curricula, even in those related to the earliest stages of schooling (Bourdieu & Gros, 1989). In 1978 the term “critical attitude” was introduced for the first time in the formal French curricula. It concerned pupils from 3rd grade who must own the “attitude” to choose the right sources of information for their learning. Since then, French curricula have included criticality as a progressively formalized skill to acquire. In fact, if we analyse for instance the latest version of the “Common core of knowledge, skills and culture”,12 criticality is quoted in four different parts of the text (and within three of its five components), including the common core’s general definition: “Common core must be well-balanced in its contents and approaches: it opens on knowledge, train the judgement and criticality” (Extract from the French “Common core of Knowledge, Skills and Culture” 2015).13  The first version of this text was published in 2005, the latest is from 2015: it identifies all the knowledge and skills that every French pupil must have acquired at the end of his or her compulsory schooling and it provides guidelines for implementing French school curricula. 13  Even though, criticality is not directly assessed in the French official assessment system, as it is never quoted in the “livret scolaire”, the French standard school transcript by which skills and knowledge achievement are evaluated from the 1st to the 9th grade. However, two skills that we can consider as “corollaries” of criticality are explicitly evaluated: “questioning the world” and “person’s and citizen’s training”. This second aspect is explained as follows: “knowing how to formulate his opinions and to respect others, being aware of Justice and Low, knowing the Republic’s values”. Furthermore, in the livret scolaire other correlated skills, as the capacity of researching and analysing information, are quoted. 12

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Several historical changes in French curricula went along this rising process of the role of criticality. Amongst them, the increasing importance of skills at school, the democratization of digital technologies and their introduction in teaching and the success of pedagogical constructivism. • Skills at School Helping pupils to develop their criticality, to distinguish between knowledge, opinions or beliefs, to be able to argue and to respect the thinking of others. (Extract from the professional skills common core for French teachers, 2013) Training pupils to decipher reality and the progressive construction of an enlightened, autonomous and critical mind is a major ambition for School. (…) The habit of searching for information, (…) to acquire knowledge is the first step to intellectual autonomy. (Excerpt from an official online document of the French Minister of Public Education entitled “Training pupils for criticality”)14

For both pupils and teachers, learning or teaching knowledge is no longer enough. Pupils must now show that they are able to appropriate it personally and autonomously and that they are able to use it critically. This is why they need to learn new knowledge and to solve complex problems. In this particular configuration, educational goals and necessary procedures to succeed in teaching and learning are not so clear to school actors. Moreover, these may overlap with one another: working autonomously, being able to argue, achieving criticality and so on. This could make teachers’ and pupils’ work even more complicated. • Digital technologies in education With the process of democratization of technologies, which makes the borders between legitimized knowledge and non-legitimized knowledge  https://eduscol.education.fr/cid107295/former-l-esprit-critique-des-eleves.html 30/09/2019). 14

(visited

on

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more invisible than in the past (Beck, 1992), the capacity to research the right information and to treat it critically becomes a major skill in education.15 • Pedagogical constructivism With the rise of pedagogical constructivism as a new paradigm in education (Bautier & Rayou, 2009) and of the process of knowledge personalization (Bernstein, 2000), pupils must now be self-governed (Elias, 1994): they do not “passively receive” knowledge anymore, instead they must “build” it actively and critically with their teachers, drawing on their previous knowledge and experiences. This is particularly evident when we analyse the place of “debate lessons” in school teaching (Deauvieau, 2007), or more generally increasing importance of orality in contemporary school form.

Using Criticality in Everyday Classes Beyond the shift and changes in curricula, how can criticality be perceived and concretely mobilized in everyday activities in school? What are the functions and the uses of criticality by teachers? What can be the input and the difficulties in working around criticality? In this second part of the chapter, I will try to answer these questions. To do so, I will discuss the outcomes of a qualitative survey conducted from 2015 to 2017.

 Thus, recent debates around “fake news” have penetrated school and are taking now an important place in the “medias and information education”, another transversal subject like the moral and civic education introduced in 2013 in French curricula. 15

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Methodology In this survey, I have observed and interviewed individuals from eight classes (1st Grade to 12th Grade) participating in ER in different scientific areas: five groups had worked on a sociological research project, two on a digital technology project and one on a glaciology project.16 Half of these classes are located in the Parisian region, and the other half respectively in Britany (one class), in the East of France (two classes) and one in the North (one class). Almost all the schools are frequented by pupils from working-­ class families, besides one school located in a privileged area, as shown in Table 3.1. For each class, I linked my observations of class activities to interviews with pupils and teachers, in order to understand, beyond prescriptions and definitions, how school actors concretely mobilize criticality. More precisely, I analysed the contents of the activities, the instructions given, the ways the tasks were divided, the ways pupils worked in (semi) self-governed groups and the ways teachers (re-)framed the activities. Interviews aimed at understanding the actors’ relation to criticality (particularly teachers, as the main authors of the “screenwriting” of the ER programme) and the way pupils received the proposed activities: To what extent do pupils understand the explicit and implicit issues during the activities? What were their difficulties?17

Criticality Through Concrete School Activities If I had to define criticality, I would say that it is about arguing, debating, researching to make our own opinion. (…) I think that criticality is very useful in schooling and to become a future good citizen. (Mario, teacher of the 4th grade class working on a digital technology project)

The outcomes of my ethnographical survey show a sort of interiorization by the teachers of the increasingly important place of criticality within  I want to thank Barbara Dussous and Hugo Najberg for participating in the survey. Together, we took part in a larger survey on criticality and creativity in education led by Stéphan VincentLancrin (CERI–OECD). 17  As this chapter focuses on the ER program as a “dispositive”, I chose to focus more on the observed continuities than the particularities (due to the differences in ages of pupils, in class projects, etc.). 16

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Table 3.1  The schools, classes and types of project observed Grade

Type of project

School’s features

4th grade 5th grade 4th grade 1st grade 3rd grade 5th grade 10th grade 11th grade

Digital technologies Digital technologies Glaciology

Primary school located in an underprivileged area of the Parisian region Primary school located in an underprivileged area of Northern France Primary school located in a privileged area of the Parisian region Primary school located in an underprivileged area of Eastern France Primary school located in an underprivileged area of the Parisian region Primary school located in an underprivileged area of Brittany Agricultural high school located in a rural area of Eastern France Technological high school located in an underprivileged area of the Parisian region

Sociology Sociology Sociology Sociology Sociology

the curricula of the Ecole de la République. In fact, all the teachers who I observed and interviewed seemed to give an important space to criticality in their teaching.18 Moreover, even if this was not an explicit part of their lesson plans, teachers took advantage of their participation in ER to make their pupils work on criticality more than usual. In fact, most of the work was about collective discussions, debates or demonstrations. More precisely, most of the teachers preferred making their pupils work together in small groups (composed by 4 or 5 pupils each) for the conception of research protocols or for working on data analyses: pupils had to debate between them to find the right “solutions” to propose to the rest of the class. That was made during the plenary sessions, when each group (the full group, or a few group representatives) had to explain why they

 Teachers’ attention to criticality has of course been solicited by the survey’s questions, too. Therefore, as all of these teachers voluntarily participated in the ER program, they showed that they had a sort of appetite for pedagogical innovation. Thus, even if they can be considered as “average French teachers”, they could potentially be more focused on criticality than others. This is certainly the case of Anne-Marie, the teacher of a 5th grade class who participated with her pupils in a digital technology project and whose discourses and type of pedagogy showed that she focused particularly on criticality as a major school skill. 18

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thought that their proposals were the right ones. They also had to answer to requests for clarification from other pupils (who were told to do so) or by the teacher. This work around criticality has had some common features for all the teachers and within all the observed classes: self-government, critics, mistakes, feedback, research and questions. • Self-government With the recent evolution of school form, pupils must now work autonomously much more than in the past: a substantial part of the learning activities is indeed conducted in small self-governed groups of pupils working together, dialoguing and correcting each other. In fact, in several classes, I observed some pupils asking about the aims of the activities to other classmates who seemed to be confused about the objectives. In this working configuration, pupils can more easily express their criticism of their classmates’ work. • Critics Being capable of appropriately and constructively criticizing classmates’ work and proposals is an important capacity according to the majority of the teachers I interviewed. Some of them even decided to regularly organize some groups specifically for this task. • Mistakes With this type of schoolwork, making mistakes changes meanings: if, traditionally, it was one of the things to avoid for every French pupil trying not to be negatively sanctioned or even stigmatized, mistakes can now be mobilized as a pedagogical element to generate constructive discussions and to show everyone the “right solutions” in a more explicit way. Thus, most of the pupils who I have interviewed seemed “not afraid of making mistakes”, showing a more relaxed relation to knowledge than in other classes.

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• Feedback In every class that we observed, pupils were often asked to explain and justify to the rest of the class the precise tasks they had done and how and why they had done them. According to the teachers this exercise is not only supposed to develop criticality in their pupils, but also to allow everyone to have a good understanding of what they learn. Also, during the interviews with pupils, we noticed that most of them were good at self-assessment. • Research As a form of incorporation of the prescriptions of contemporary curricula, most of the teachers seemed to value the capacity of pupils to look for good information, to analyse it, in order to solve complex problems. Even for teachers who seemed the most familiar with scientific reasoning (or who have learned it thanks to their collaboration with a researcher within the ER programme), it has been about trying to transpose research approaches, critical and rational approaches to common school learning beyond the ER programme. This is particularly true for Anne-Marie (a teacher of the 5th grade class working on a technological project) who once or twice a day proposes a “challenge” to her pupils: it is an enigma that pupils have to elucidate, with the support of some clues which they have to use correctly. One such enigma was about the calculation of the real size of a teddy bear: in order to resolve this problem, pupils had to create a scale of the picture with the support of the other objects. • Questions Asking questions, like dealing with mistakes, also seemed to have been perceived differently. In fact, most of the teachers encouraged their pupils to ask questions (and to ask themselves questions) “every time they feel the need to”. In their point of view, questioning not only can help pupils to have a better understanding of knowledge, but it is also an attitude that everyone should develop to empower learning abilities. Thus, this

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“questioning pedagogy” seems far from the traditional frontal transmission within the “first” Ecole de la République.

Functions and Uses of Criticality Sometimes school prevents pupils from asking questions. (Anne-Marie, teacher of the 5th grade class working on a digital technology project)

Another common point observed among these teachers is the perception that criticality has not enough space in contemporary formal curricula and that French teachers are not sufficiently trained to teach it. There is a real lack of support that to set up teaching expressly centered on criticality. (Adèle, teacher of the 4th grade class working on glaciology)

Yet, for these teachers, acquiring criticality is never an aim in itself, neither in their discourses nor in the activities they propose. In this sense, we noticed that that criticality is mainly important for its functions to potentially empower pupils’ “civility” and school skills. Thus, as a parallelism with the place of criticality indicated in French curricula since 1978, criticality remains, for teachers too, a sort of skill “serving” other skills considered as primary, such as “ethical skills” (learning school discipline) and “methodological skills” (those necessary to better learn school subjects). It seems to me that it’s very important to know our strengths and weaknesses, both for school work and to know how to behave. (Christelle, teacher of the 5th grade class working on a sociological project)

Thus, by analysing teachers’ discourses, two main types of “uses” of criticality emerge in a non-exclusive way: criticality for “collective socialization” and criticality for “personal achievement”.

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• Criticality for collective socialization The first one seems connected to Durkheim’s teaching tradition according to which education and sciences (and sciences as school subjects) must be the principal assets for collective socialization. In fact, several teachers insisted on the fact that criticality can be used as a tool to make pupils actively participate in class activities and school life. Besides, criticality seemed to teachers an important resource to train pupils to become responsible citizens and, more generally, to empower their awareness about the “world around them”. One of the teachers working on a sociological project seemed to use criticality to make the pupils see that “diversity is not a handicap, but rather a quality” (Emilie, 1st grade teacher of the class working on a sociological project). • Criticality for personal achievement The second recurring type of use of criticality relates to the recent evolution of curricula where personal achievement and fulfilment have an important value. In fact, several teachers not only believe that criticality is a useful skill to succeed in schooling, but they also believe that it is a potential tool to increase self-esteem and to go beyond what they call “self-censorship”. In fact, to the majority of teachers, self-censorship, which would most likely affect pupils from working-class backgrounds, is connected to a feeling of indignity due to their socio-cultural origins and, occasionally, to a school which partially perpetuates the tradition of the Ecole de la République whereby pupils’ words are poorly accepted. Even if teachers did not talk in these sociohistorical terms, they all agreed with the fact that self-censorship is one of the main phenomena that prevents pupils from actively learning and one of the main causes of their difficulties at school. I noticed that the pupils in my class often prevent themselves form intervening in class. (…) They don’t dare. Samantha (teacher of the 3rd grade class working on a sociological project)

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Input and Difficulties in Working on Criticality The observations led in classes enabled to perceive some “input”, as well as some “difficulties” linked to activities about criticality. I especially observed three kinds of input: the first is about pupils’ participation in activities, the second is about living together and the third one is about pupils’ “relation to knowledge”. • Active participation Beside the quite astonishing feedback capacity which I described earlier, one of the clearest elements that I could observe in class involved in the ER project was the general active participation of almost every pupil. The project makes me want to become a teacher, so that I can teach my pupils how to work in class, in the same way that I work here. Kevin (pupil of the 4th grade class working on a digital technology project)

This unusual mobilization within school activities seemed certainly linked to the attractiveness of the ER programme, but also probably to the fact that it gave pupils an additional opportunity to participate actively in class, as it often happens within contemporary school form where active pedagogies and “discussion lessons” play an important role (Deauvieau, ibid.). • Living-together Above all, we learned to work in groups, to share our ideas. (Amel, pupil of the 4th grade class working on a digital technology project)

Another clear input about these activities around criticality is the fact that pupils seemed to have, for most of them, made the habit of working in groups, and more generally, to have understood the rules of the living-­ together in a contemporary school form, where they must often learn

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“horizontally”. In fact, as most of the teachers chose to create heterogeneous groups where those who are considered as “good pupils” worked with “pupils in difficulty”, they were put in a condition where they had to be as explicit, self-governed and collaborative as they could. • Relation to knowledge They want us to find several solutions, so that a solution is not the same as the others’. (Marie, pupil of the 4th grade class working on a glaciology project)

Another type of input concerns pupils’ “relation to knowledge” (Charlot, 1997), which in most cases seemed more “detached” than usual. Actually, some pupils seem to acknowledge that passive learning (i.e. learning by heart) can’t be the sole type of learning. They tend to think that any knowledge can be approached in multiple ways and that different paths exist to master it. It’s not because you are going to have the best grade that you are the smartest (…). A pupil can, for instance, learn something by heart without understanding a thing. (Jules, pupil of the 5th grade class working on a digital technology project)

Furthermore, it looks like work around criticality created for some pupils a more detached relation to assessment, lessening its importance compared to the learning process per se, whereas, traditionally, the power of assessment (both in its “symbolic” and “real” meaning) is very strong in the French educational system (Merle, 2018). Among the types of difficulties observed in the school, I shall discuss the followings: the work on criticality can be considered as “cumbersome”, might need constant reframing and refocusing by teachers, can make knowledge less visible and does not necessarily “empower” pupils, leading them instead to misunderstandings. • A “cumbersome” pedagogy

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The first type of difficulty that some teachers pointed out is that the work around criticality at school is quite “cumbersome” and, consequently, it cannot be done all the time. In fact, this would require pupils to be constantly cognitively active and to invest their learning with a critical approach that seems hard to maintain in a sustainable pace. • Reframing and refocusing Criticality was particularly worked upon in the group sessions. Nevertheless, I noticed in some groups, some trouble about the capacity of group work. In fact, some groups did not manage to work collectively: it was especially the case for those composed in a more “homogenous” way by pupils who had not acquired the “dialogic” skills which can allow making “pertinent” and “constructive” questions and giving the “right answers”, arguing and agreeing. But even within the most heterogeneous groups, everything did not go the right way every time: in fact, in many cases, a few pupils monopolized the floor, at the expense of others who did not participate actively in the activities. In such cases, teachers had to intervene personally, interrupting these self-governed working configurations, to reframe and rectify groups’ “operations”. Even during some plenary sessions, as the debates that teachers wanted to create did not “take over” or did not sound as pertinent as they would have liked, they felt they had to take the floor back. In other words, as a sign of continuity with the traditional frontal pedagogy of the first Ecole de la République, teachers had to refocus the class to the formal knowledge around which the discussion should have (often implicitly) been about. • Invisible knowledge Even if the roles and tasks were often well explained by teachers and seemed clear to pupils, the research and questioning approach as well as self-governance (which seemed more often a prerequisite than a skill to be transmitted) around which the work was configurated led some teachers to “hide” more than usual the formal knowledge and the issues that the pupils were supposed to “discover” or co-construct. Maybe, this

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is the reason why, even with a good level of feedback, some pupils had trouble explaining why they did accomplish the tasks that they were told to accomplish. This was particularly visible within classes where it was more about working on transdisciplinary projects than on traditional subjects and where the links between a project and another, and between a project and school knowledge were the most implicit. • Missed empowerment and misunderstandings Does working on criticality lead pupils to achieve criticality as a skill? Does it empower those already “doing” it? That’s what most of the teachers believed, even if I have observed that it was not the case for many pupils. In fact, the teachers I observed, as many contemporary teachers, often experienced the following dilemma. As they have to make their pupils actively “involved” and “interested” in the activities of discovering or co-constructing knowledge, they must find pedagogical and media contents sufficiently familiar to pupils so that they can be able to rely on their previous knowledge and skills or, at least, so that they do not lose their interests. On the other hand, too much familiarity can prevent pupils having the necessary distance to decontextualize and to achieve conceptualization. In fact, this can create in the pupils’ eyes a major misunderstanding: despite their perceptions (due to their social and cultural backgrounds, but also due to the recent evolution of school form), it is never only about mastering contextual or personal knowledge, skills or tasks, but it is rather about reaching a larger, objective, universal reality (getting a concept or acquiring a transversal skill). That is what happened, for instance, in the 10th grade class that worked on a sociological project, where the teacher and the sociologist mentor decided to work on a study about the role of “gender” in school inequalities. They thought that with a subject that “pupils already knew” (gender at school), they could have more opportunities to learn how to analyse it in a scientific way and to understand at the same time notions such as “inequalities” and “intersectionality”. Nevertheless, most of the pupils did not manage to take enough distance from their own feelings or experiences about the subject to do it. In this specific case, the debates that were supposed to be “critical” turned out to be opportunities for

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boys to express their frustrations and their feeling of injustice about the better grades that girls generally obtain.

Conclusion If the sociohistorical approach we discussed allows seeing how little space was formally devoted to criticality during the first decades of the Ecole de la République, since the early 1960s, French critical sociology showed nevertheless that a certain form of criticality has always been an implicit criterion to assess and to classify pupils. In fact, the French republican meritocracy hides an unequal ideology that it was actually based on a “gift ideology” (Bourdieu & Passeron, 1970), according to which the pupils considered as the “best” are not those who necessarily work harder, but rather those who are the most “gifted”. Thus, being “too school like” was and still is nowadays considered as a bad characteristic for pupils. This means that to be a “good pupil” the simple incorporation of school knowledge and rules cannot be enough. In this sense, criticality as a sign of relative detachment from school normativity (that requires previous intellectual appropriation of it), as well as aristocratic precocity in acculturation, brio and intellectual audacity (Bourdieu & Saint-Martin, 1970) were and sometimes still are the implicitly desired dispositions. On the other hand, criticality seems far from being the most important skill. Even in formal school exams such as the “dissertation” (essay writing), where the capacity of defending their personal point of view seems to many pupils one of the main skills to deploy, it is actually always about mobilizing (in a personal way) the “right” and “legitimate” type of criticality. Thus, pupils who do not understand it are those who school penalizes the most (Rayou, 2002). Implicitly, in order to succeed in schooling and to integrate the republican elite, pupils have always had to and still have to mobilize other resources than those school transmits (provided that they are the right ones), and to show a sort of detachment from school form. Thus, Bourdieu’s famous expression according to which French school “requires what it does not teach” (Bourdieu, ibid.) could seem still valid today.

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In this sense, could the teaching of criticality give the possibility to contemporary pupils to empower their intellectual skills and therefore influence the production of educational inequalities created by the Ecole de la République19? As showed in this chapter, this does not seem that simple: even within the contemporary school form where new educational programmes as ER give criticality a central role, this skill remains more often an implicit requirement. Moreover, criticality seems more mobilized as a skill supporting other primary goals such as the improvement of school order (learning to live in school) and school climate (having the opportunity to actively participate in lessons) than as a skill per se. The contemporary Ecole de la République seems thus incapable of equipping all its pupils with criticality (particularly those who are less familiar with form school and its old and new implicit norms).

Bibliography Agamben, G. (2009). What is an apparatus and other essays. Stanford: Stanford University Press. Ananiadou, K., & Claro, M. (2009). 21st century skills and competences for new millennium learners in OECD countries. OECD Education Working Papers, 15, Paris: OECD Publishing Bachelard, G. (1934). Le nouvel esprit scientifique, Paris: Presses Universitaires de France. Barrère, A. (2013). La montée des dispositifs: un nouvel âge de l’organisation scolaire. Carrefours de l’éducation, 36(2), 95–116. Bautier, E., & Rayou, P. (2009). Les inégalités d’apprentissage. Programmes, pratiques et malentendus scolaires. Paris: PUF. Beck, U. (1992). Risk society, towards a new modernity. London: Sage Publications. Bernstein, B. (1967). Open schools, open society? New Society, 10, 351–353. Bernstein, B. (2000). Pedagogy, symbolic control and identity. Lanham: Rowman & Littlefield.

 The French educational system still remains one of the world’s educational systems where the correlations between school failure and pupils’ social backgrounds are the strongest (OECD, 2018). 19

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4 Reflections on Narratives of Others’ Lives in Critical Educational Research Iulia Mancila

Introduction Any methodological choice always implies an ideological, epistemological, theoretical (and of course ontological) position that places us in a form of specific interaction with the reality under study. Recently, numerous scholars have been claiming that researchers must, in some way, express their voice and make a clear statement on where they stand regarding big problems confronting our societies, in other words, decide on which side they are in their research endeavour (Denzin & Lincoln, 2011). That is, we should not only know what we want to investigate and how to do it, but we must also answer fundamental questions such as: why and for what, or for whom the investigation is carried out (He & Phillion, 2008). In today’s world, the worldwide expansion of the economy and international migratory movements have transformed the social map of

I. Mancila (*) University of Malaga, Malaga, Spain e-mail: [email protected] © The Author(s) 2020 A. Simpson, F. Dervin (eds.), The Meaning of Criticality in Education Research, Palgrave Studies in Education Research Methods, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-56009-6_4

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western societies and have questioned the foundations and structures of the modern state and the idea of identity, citizenship and national cohesion. These migratory movements have added to the already controversial issues of minority rights, cultural recognition or identity politics of different groups, accentuating the crisis of an increasingly fragmented society. In addition, the processes of globalization have increased injustices and created new forms of inequality and social exclusion. As a consequence, phenomena such as racism, xenophobia, prejudice, segregation and discrimination are increasingly widespread and exhibit alarming levels of violence. We live in a “dangerous time” that has generated controversial debates about the validity of the welfare state and a general disregard, discouragement or cynicism about the possibilities of our democracy, freedom or human rights. Therefore, a wider concern is evolving in the international community of scholars committed to the struggle for social justice on the urgency of how to contribute to and to pursue a critical research agenda in our time. Whilst acknowledging this concern, Kemmis (1991) claims “It is legitimate, proper and necessary to develop models and approaches for kinds of educational research which can and will have an accumulating and accelerating impact on the world’s educational problems; but it is equally necessary to be sober and cautious in evaluating the quality of one’s work” (p. 96). Scholars from different traditions in educational and social studies have challenged the hegemonic production of a certain type of knowledge (namely Eurocentric, colonialist, nationalist, patriarchal, ableist and so on) over others and have called for multiple counter-hegemonic, alternative epistemologies and methodologies in understanding the lived experiences of the Other and the construction of otherness (Denzin & Lincoln, 2011). Common to all of these schools and scholars (myself included) is a critical stance in educational research (Kemmis, 1991) which stands for a pluralistic, dialogic, collaborative action in order to deconstruct the social imaginary on the Other, to question the status quo, to learn to be cautions with generalizing processes and to bring new possibilities into being through our research endeavour and daily practice (Kincheloe, McLaren, & Steinberg, 2011).

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In particular, in this chapter I will explore the potentials and limitations of narrative-based and biographical research in critical educational research underlying the value of both the research process and the narrative as resistance to power structures (Denzin & Lincoln, 2011). Following Kincheloe (2008), this study draws specifically on critical pedagogy and epistemology understood as “a perspective towards education that is concern with question of justice, democracy and ethical claims. My notion of critical pedagogy combines these concerns with the effort to produce the most mind expanding, life changing education possible” (p. 7). This chapter deals with the ways in which I have used critical pedagogy and narrative research to explore the lives of young people of migrant background, as people situated on the margins of education and society. Two themes are central to the chapter. First, it shows how biographies in forms of counter-stories enable the voices of others to be heard, relocate them at the centre of the research process and “challenge the stories of those in power and whose story is a natural part of the dominant discourse—the majoritarian story” (Solorzano & Yosso, 2001, p.  475). Secondly, it will provide some insights into the process of critical narrative research based on my experience. I will thus present a biographical study of a young Spanish girl of Chinese heritage and her family in Spain to reflect on this form of inquiry and its potential for understanding “second generation” migrants lived experiences from their own point of view. Dilemmas and concerns associated with social relations of this type of research production (in terms of power, “voice” and agency) are also addressed.

 Social Critical Positioning and a Commitment A to Social Justice Denzin and Lincoln (2011) indicate that in qualitative research, today more than ever, the epistemology and the positioning of the researcher are very important.

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Each of these two aspects—one philosophical, another concrete and sociocultural—gives meaning and articulates the entire process of any inquiry, from the beginning (from the research questions) to the end (the findings). To deny its influences means to lose (ignore) most of the debates of the last quarter of the century in qualitative research and certainly in social sciences in the general. (Denzin & Lincoln, 2011, p. 716)

Whether dealing with lived experiences of “second generation” immigrant students, disabled people, women or other marginalized people, such matters are not simply individual, local or isolated concerns but they are invariably related to deep-rooted and systemic social and economic inequalities. Thus, following Kemmis (1991), I acknowledge that our perceptions of the social world are socially constructed very open to distortion (cognitively) and substantive forms of life can sustain irrationality, unjust social relationships (culturally). Based on these premises it is understood that the construction of knowledge implies taking a certain epistemological position (Schwandt, 2007) that focuses on personal relationships, subjectivities, ethics, as well as political action to be able to expose and highlight injustices and inequalities that affect people in today’s society (Charmaz, 2011; Denzin & Lincoln, 2011). In other words, we speak of critical pedagogy informing qualitative research committed to social justice, where knowledge is constructed from the lived experiences and their meanings attributed by the social actors themselves, as opposed to the objective, impartial knowledge promoted in positivist scientific research, as well as interpretivism (it rejects the dualisms, e.g. subject- object, individual-society, theory-practice). Researchers interested in education and social justice work together with and for the participants to advance towards an improvement and change in the spheres of private and public daily life of the involved people and communities (Charmaz, 2011). Politically, this type of research engages the world through social and cultural action—to enable change and to bring new possibilities into being (Kemmis, 1991). However, we must bear in mind that criticality embodies many bodies of knowledge which encompasses differing meanings, differing ideologies, differing definitions and a plethora of research. The criticality in educational research is thus conceived as a bricolage (Kincheloe et  al.,

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2011) an interdisciplinary, eclectic, evolving process which is embracing the domain of social complexity and multidimensionality of our object of inquiry and refuses the naïve realism represented by an imposed, standardized way of research and knowledge production. Such conceptualization of criticality recognizes there is no categorical truth, no singular, final solution or blueprint of social and education science to the challenges of inequalities of a particular society. Moreover, researchers as bricoleurs “eagerly learn from labor struggles, women’s marginalization, the ‘double consciousness’ of the racially oppressed, and insurrections against colonialism (Kincheloe & Steinberg, 1993; Kincheloe, Steinberg, & Hinchey, 1999; Kincheloe & Berry, 2004). In this way, the bricolage hopes to contribute to an evolving criticality” (Kincheloe et  al., 2011, p. 169). Nevertheless, this dynamic, elastic and fluid notion of criticality is not escaping problematic issues and dilemmas of rigour and theoretical coherence. For example, transformation, resistance or empowerment should not be understood as abstract, universal terms and be aware of other critical views such as the emerging perspectives of indigenous research or the so-called southern epistemology (Boaventura de Sousa, 2009). In this sense, critical theory and critical pedagogical research, located within the criticality, cannot perpetuate Western colonizing power, that is, understanding these ideals as “universal, regardless of history, context and agency” (Smith, 2000 cited in Denzin & Lincoln, 2011, p. 6) of the people involved, because precisely this way, they are being denied their own vision, identity and voice. Subsequently, we, as critical educators, have to be alert to issues of social justice, to stay aware of the risk of unwittingly normalizing or perpetuating certain oppression and to put under scrutiny the complex knowledge production, access and use of it, in order to avoid “failures of the past and present” (Kincheloe, 2008).

Biographical and Life History Research Biographical and life history research comes hand in hand with the study of migration phenomena in the American society in the 1920s. The starting point is a study by Thomas and Znaniecki (1958) titled: The Polish

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Peasant in Europe and America. The autobiographies of Polish immigrants and the correspondences with their relatives about their migration experiences were considered to be the perfect sociological material to analyse the social changes in a society. These authors were committed to the analysis of social phenomena by exploring the interaction between the social and the individual by using these personal documents. We can safely say that personal documents, as complete as possible, constitute the perfect type of sociological material. (…) If we are forced to use mass phenomena as material, or any kind of events, without taking personal histories of the individuals who participate in them into account, this is a defect, and not an advantage, of our current sociological method. (Thomas and Znaniecki, 1958 cited in Plummer, 1989, p. 73)

Likewise, the “Chicago School” was created, characterized by a large amount of research with personal histories and case studies on immigration, the evolution of the family and the analysis of marginalization. At that time, studies of sociology and anthropology were oriented towards the individuals who were in marginalized situations such as delinquents, immigrants, members of ethnic or racial groups, indigent, poor and prostitutes, among others. This is due, as Criado (2001) explains, to the fact that: They are border individuals between two cultures, they experience a deep internal division, straddling two different ways of understanding the world. Being subject to conflicting expectations about the way of life, makes them more aware of the artificial nature of social life, as well as the fragility of reality made by people. For all these reasons, they shed more light on the cultural order accepted as “normal”. (p. 135)

Later on, biographical methodologies were widely used in social sciences in general (Marinas & Santamaria, 1993; De Miguel, 1996; Bertaux, 1993) and in education in particular. There are well-known biographical studies in feminist research, social/class history, holocaust research and reminiscence/testimony work, or race and ethnic studies (Cole & Knowles, 2001). In education, biographical methodologies were

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used to address issues related to teachers’ lives and work (Goodson, 1992), the effects of educational reforms (Bolívar, Domingo, & Fernández, 2001) or the educational and social experience of students from migrant background (Clandinin & Connelly, 2000; He & Phillion, 2008). Biographical perspective varies in its forms, its epistemological and methodological assumptions; however, we can highlight a series of common characteristics. Booth and Booth (1998) synthesize them as follows: • The participant subject is considered “expert of his own life” and his life story can generate the possibility of accessing the life of Others through the imagination of the reader. • Biographies are a response to the “disappearance of the individual” from “the sociological theory” in which generalization and abstraction reduce people to pure numbers and lead scientists to lose sight of the human being as the main active and creative agent in the development of its own life. • Beyond a concrete biography, one can perceived echoes and similarities in the lived experiences of other people. These common lines that connect the stories of people provide us with an understanding of the networks of social relationships in which they live and belong. As Ferrarotti (1991) said, “the effort to understand a biography in all its uniqueness … is transformed into the effort to understand a social system” (pp. 5–6).

 ocial and Cultural Differences S and Biographical Perspective Cultural differences (race, ethnicity, religion, language), together with gender and class interfere in the understanding of the Other (Nussbaum, 1997). These differences shape and determine our decisions, our thoughts, our languages, our way of feeling and acting in relation to other people. The biographical accounts give us the possibility to understand elusive concepts such as immigration or inclusion, not as abstract terms, but from the participants themselves as they experienced it in the first person.

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Moreover, biographical perspective represents an ideal methodology to approach the world of human differences whether cultural, social, economic or otherwise, since it makes us understand culture, diversity, identity not as static concepts, from a museum-like perspective (looking only at the culture as traditions, customs etc.), but as poly-semantic, fluid concepts, in continuous transformation and changing (Clandinin & Connelly, 2000; Cole & Knowles, 2001). Biographical research and narrative on the other can help us delve into complex I—other relationships. Following Bakhtin (1990, cited in Brandist, 2002) I and the other are fundamental categories of values; they are different, yet interrelated with each other, as both contribute at the same event from its own unique position and value. The potentiality for access and expansion of meaning of the self can only be known in relation to other. Therefore, we can grasp the meaning of an event, taking place in a specific context, simultaneously from inside and outside. We, also, have to bear in mind, that our understanding is changing and adapting to changing circumstances and, thus, open to new conceptions. Nevertheless, consistent with Brandist (2002) the relationship between the I and the other is a complex and it can entails various kinds of asymmetries (self-erases the other, other supresses the self, I identify with and absorb the other and so on) or a danger of an illusory universal unity, truth, or consciousness (where the I is seen more important than the other in a monological, oppressive way of thinking). The solution to this danger is, according to Bakhtin, a horizontal polyphonic dialogue, and a contested interplay where all voices are equally distinctive, “unconfused” and yet related, “inseparable” and interdependent. The idea of diversity and coexistence is present as a challenge to the one-dimensional view with regard to culture and being (Brandist, 2002).

Socio-critical Approaches in Biographical Research Narratives, located in what Denzin and Lincoln (2011) would call “the seventh moment in qualitative research”, are specifically oriented to analysing “various aspects of sociocultural diversity in education, the complex lived experiences of those individuals, families and communities that

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are often absent … in the academic discourse … questioning the validity of official knowledge or raising issues on how the experience should be interpreted, theorized and represented so that it can promote change and transformation” (He & Phillion, 2008, p. 11). This type of research combines the critical perspective and narrative inquiry based on human experience, in an attempt to “humanize research” (He & Phillion, 2008, p. 15); it is a kind of research that differs from the more traditional perspectives of biographical research, since the implication and passion and commitment to social justice of researchers is openly expressed. Similarly, Andrews, Squirre, and Tamboukou (2008) affirm that the “humanistic, poststructuralist traditions of narrative research come together in their common tendency to see narrative as a form of resistance to the structures of power” (p. 4) as they provide the space of common effort to close the gap between the “personal and the political”. From the socio-critical tradition (feminist theories, critical theory of race, critical studies of disability, emerging indigenous methodology, critical pedagogy and other perspectives) biographical research enhances the value of individual experiences and subjectivities without losing sight of the dominant structural frameworks that lead to de-construct the social imaginary about the Other and to re-create and re-define these social constructs in our daily practice. Equally, Bakhtin’s notion of outsideness, defined as the ability to see things from an outside perspective, to think beyond status quo, to transcend the own self limits, provides us a new perspective for looking at our existing assumptions. The concept of outsideness, where I (the researcher) and the other (the participant in the research) occupy outside positions to each other, is argued to be a radical prerequisite for understanding to happen. According to Bakhtin, understanding required a moral effort, a willingness to participate and listen to the other, since it can never occur from the point of view of the self and it requires the outside perspective of the other. Therefore, the other is necessary in a co-participating event of creative understanding (Brandist, 2002). The narratives from the socio-critical tradition have an added value since they not only help us to know better and understand diverse people, but represent alternative forms of expression that break the silence, provoke, reveal and raise awareness about discrimination, dehumanization,

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prejudice, racism or intolerance and its dangerous consequences both for the integrity of the human being, and for healthy democratic coexistence in our society. In this case the narratives are transformed into the so-­ called counter-narratives (Yosso, 2006) or critical narratives. Counter-story is “a method to tell the experiences of those people located at the margins of society and who are not usually the protagonists or the dominant voices” (Solorzano & Yosso, 2001, p.  475). Besides, Kincheloe et al. (2011) explain that “critical researchers try to understand on the one hand how the different axes of domination are manifested in the life of minority people because of race, class, gender, sex, ethnicity or religious beliefs and on the other, to delve into the subjectivities and the worlds of meaning proper to these people” (p. 169). The value of counter-narratives had already been mentioned by Ferrarotti in 1991, although he does not use the term “counter-­narrative”, when he suggested that narratives serve to: Approaching the life of a totally different person and thus fight against preconceived ideas about others. In this sense, the value of life history is to bring various positions in a dialogue and reflection among different collectives. It is about the many worlds that surround us. It is also necessary that the everyday become history so that history is everyone’s stories. (Ferrarotti, 1991, p. 13)

 fficial Social and Educational O Science Storytelling Over the last three decades, Spain has become a country that receives immigrants and, despite the declining trends of the immigrant population due to the strong economic crisis of recent years, its presence has brought about a change in all areas of the country, modifying the socio-­ demographic and cultural composition of its members and the structures and functions of the institutions. This phenomenon has profusely opened debate about relations and norms of coexistence, sociocultural diversity and social cohesion, immigration policies and immigration management or schooling of immigrant children, among other issues. Likewise, the

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so-called second-generation immigrants are becoming more and more visible in Spain. Thus, we can observe an emergence of studies and reports that have analysed and documented their strategies and aspirations of social mobility and inclusion into the Spanish society (Portes, Aparicio, & Haller, 2009; Portes, Aparicio, Haller, & Vickstrom, 2011; Portes & Aparicio, 2013).

What Do “second generation” Immigrants Mean? The term “second generation” immigrants has begun to be used in numerous international studies in social sciences and education, especially in countries with a recognized migratory tradition such as the United States, Canada, Australia and in recent years also in Europe and refers to those children of immigrants born in the host country. Another related concept also appears: the “generation 1.5” to define those children who were born in the country of origin of their parents and arrived in the host country at an early age. This term was coined by Portes and Rumbaut (2001) in their classical study: Legacies: The Story of the Immigrant Second Generation. Over time, they have become commonly accepted terms and used not only by scientists, but also by the general population, the media and even by the own children of immigrants. As Gualda Caballero (2007) tells us, there are more than a hundred scientific works about second-generation people that appear in the international databases available online (Google Scholar, Google Scholar, Emerald Insight, Social Science Citation Index) as well as books, or news entries of newspapers, blogs and so on. The definitions of these populations have been used with the intention of differentiating the specific situations and problems of the so-called second-generation migrants with respect to their parents, who make up “the first generation” in terms of acculturation, inclusion/exclusion in society, mobility or social ancestry. In addition, we can mention that they are also used in differential, comparative analyses with respect to the experiences, and situations in which the “third, fourth or fifth” generations of the same community or group with common descent are found (e.g. third generation of Chinese-Americans (American Chinese).

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As can be seen, there are two defining analytical axes that organize these denominations: that of “the generation” as a vertical differential organization between different population cohorts and that of “the relationship with society”, as a horizontal axis that intersects with each one of the generations. The empirical studies that have given rise to the creation of social theories about “the second generation” and their different forms of interrelation with the American society throughout the history of the migratory flows to this country vary from the linear assimilation to the current theory of segmented assimilation. In this sense, García Borrego (2008) argues for a careful historical analysis of this literature. The underlying ideology of the “American dream” (anyone who strives, can succeed and if not, it is its own fault) of this scientific knowledge renders invisible the structural inequalities between the majority population and the minority groups (e.g. the “colour blind” issue, as well as the theory of cultural deficit). On the other hand, the theory of segmented assimilation emphasizes the ethnic networks but it does not clearly specify the social structure and the process of acculturation. However, the term “second generation immigrants” although used profusely presents an obvious incongruity since it refers to a category of population that has never emigrated. In addition, regarding the term “generation 1.5” immigrants, the following reflection is required: How long is the 1.5 generation considered as immigrant? When does this condition disappear?—since those children who arrive as children, then grow, develop and build their life path in the host country. What’s more, if we think of adults as “immigrants” who have settled and have been living in a country for a long time (such as members of the Chinese community in Spain): When do they stop being seen as immigrants? The uncritical use of this terminology in the professional literature in Spain has stripped away any real meaning from the actual political, social and educational implications. When people are clustered together in this way, there is a construction of a specific group as distinct from the rest, as problematic, who need to be “socially included”. In other words, are identified as deficient, “deviant” from the norm. These definitions, based on a single criteria and simplistic dual categories (us/them) mask the complexity of living in a market-based neoliberal society and have significant implications for social sciences, policies and practices.

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Moreover, the immigrant status being seen as the other, different from the “normal” citizens, has its negative connotation for people who have immigrated (at a certain time in their lives) and also for their children who have been born in the host country, or not. The resulting pernicious effects on the identity, self-esteem and inclusion process of these people are not only given by how their “extraneousness, their difference” is perceived by society, but also determined by the prolonged time dimension of the immigrant condition that makes it indefinite in time (it implies both the erased past of the person who has immigrated—as well as the future). Much of the scientific knowledge in international and national studies, statistical data, analysis of policies and proposals of “good” socio-­ educational practices, based on these assumptions, speak of “second generation” migrants, as if they were abstract entities, considering them pure numbers or categories of analysis built and defined according to the interest of third parties, including those categories that render them invisible or classify them as a “problem” because they lack the necessary (symbolic or material) elements to “integrate” into society. Another part of this official narrative is in relation to immigrants of Chinese origin and their children as represented in the national and regional statistical data. Most of these statistics preferred to use more generic indicators such as “the continent”, “Geopolitical groups of nationality”, “EU community/general regime”, “EU community/non-­ community”, “community/foreigners”, “belong or not to countries of the EU-27”, “foreigners/minorities”, “foreigners/immigrants” and “foreign and immigrant students”. Spanish-born children of Chinese heritage are more difficult to discern, let alone their intergroup diversity. Beside this reductionist data collection, statistics corresponding to a specific year are published with an average of two years of delay. This is due to the fact that in relation to the immigrant population, there are no unified criteria, since the condition of “foreigners”, as Other involves contradictory discourse and confusing meanings. Therefore, the official statistical data, rather than being an exact reflection of reality based on the supposed neutrality of numbers, instead show us, in the best case, some trends and as such, they must be interpreted.

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Narrative as Resistance In Spain, several critical voices have already been raised, which question these imprecise and homogenizing concepts (García Borrego, 2008; Carrasco, 2003; Gualda Caballero, 2007). Like these authors, I believe that we have to redefine the power/knowledge relationship, so these terms should be reconceptualized in order not to fall into the same epistemological error and perpetuate the injustice we want to counter. The pedagogical value of biographical research lies in the opportunity to be able to say who the one is, without anyone defining it in advance. This is precisely where one of the great virtues of narrative resides, as a pedagogical space for humanization, to reveal the people behind the labels, the theoretical or statistical data. It emphasizes peoples’ right and ability to have a voice in definitions and decisions that affect their livelihoods and which claim to generate knowledge about them (Tierney & Colyar, 2009). It employs the interpretative categories of the participants (Kemmis, 1991) Further evidence to support the narrative as resistance emerged from my research: a biographical inquiry focused on a clearer understanding of sociocultural difference represented by migrants and their descendants in our western society and the multifaceted social interactions and experiences that influenced their sense of identity, belonging or affiliation. The overall objective of the research was to explore the lived experiences, problems and challenges faced by a Spanish Chinese youth and her family in various social, local and transnational contexts: school, family, community and society in general. Based on biographical interviews, extensive fieldwork (observation, informal conversation with different members of educational communities and migrant NGOs) archival research and document analysis, this study was planned as a critical exploration on how a Spanish-born Chinese youth experienced, negotiated and expressed her sense of identity and social location across life course in different settings and moments of time. While there is insufficient space to elaborate on the findings here, and these (especially the lived experiences of schooling process) have been reported elsewhere (Mancila, 2017), it might be helpful to share some excerpts from the biography of the main participant,

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Mei Ling, to illustrate how she described herself and responded to dominant social discourses and the normative order of how to be, think, speak or act and reclaimed this way a sense of power and agency in her life (Down, Smyth, & Robinson, 2017). In her narrative, to be different from the rest was a very early lesson and a leitmotif through her life trajectory. Therefore, she displayed various types of identification and different dynamics of social location in terms of identity, values and (dis) affiliation both with the Chinese and Spanish communities. This process involved the subversion of concepts that were inadequate for her lived experiences, at a time when a transnational citizenship of the people who have immigrated and their descendants is necessary, as a concretion of an inclusive and plural democracy (de Lucas, 2003). She felt in between, at the margins, in the liminal zone of the social structure (Turner, 1988). Sometimes she felt part of the Spanish community and at other times she rejected it. The same ambivalence existed in relation to the Chinese community. Being an insider she manifested a critical position toward rigid, essentialist, nationalist views of both Chinese/Spanish culture (attitudes and values) and identity. She was exemplifying this critical stance in numerous situations. Here is one example, when she is speaking about Mainland China. On her trip to China, she was the Other, when the population there did not consider her “an authentic Chinese”. I did not identify with that place … it is something different, you know. … People there sees me as a stranger. They treat me like a stranger, you know; I was like something rare/strange to everybody, because I looked like a Chinese, but I couldn’t speak Chinese Mandarin, or I couldn’t speak it fluently. Besides, I was with my boyfriend, Joaquin, can you imagine! (Interview 4 ML)

She also felt different in the Spanish context and she wanted to be treated as a Spanish citizen. We always were different, so we suffered because we wanted to be integrated, to be like the others. (Interview 6 ML)

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Actually, daily life in Spanish society at large was full of challenges for the protagonist. Mel Ling and her family had to face discriminatory practices, prejudices and stereotypes within local/national educational and health services, the labour market, mass media or local coexistence. She spoke of situations in which it was generalized and taken for granted that “Chinese people” cannot speak Spanish, they do not understand, there is a doubt about their ability to communicate fluently in the local language, even if they were born here. “Chinese people are closed, unworthy, they only think of money.” … What I have heard especially when Spanish people think that we do not understand them. … There are people that think they are superior to us. (Interview 5 ML)

Moreover, she did not acquire a full sense of belonging to the mainstream society, or the Chinese community either; she felt she did not fit into any of these two social frameworks entirely. Being different and living between two cultures was difficult with lots of challenges and conflicts, as well. Each time you are on one side, is as if you have to adapt to this side. Long time ago, it was a continuous suffering. (Interview 6 ML)

She felt pressure to conform and assimilate, both from a frame of reference, and from the other. Her lived experience shows us a negation of the cultural difference from both sides and the fracture as a human being, since she was required to be in one way or the other according to the norms and social conventions imposed arbitrarily in each reference framework. Although my roots are Chinese, part of my heritage, my outward appearance and part of my thinking is Chinese. … I’m not 100% Chinese. … I do not see myself as a Chinese or as a Spanish either. … If I had to choose one country, I would say Spain, but, as I told you, I am not identifying with this country completely. (Interview 5 ML)

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Mei Ling broke “symbolically” both with the social imaginary of the Spanish society about the Chinese people, the immigrants, the children of immigrants, as well as ideas, values and beliefs of the Chinese community in relation to the host country. When reflecting on labels such as “second generation immigrants” she was making a clear statement against such terms, as she said that there was a narrow, static view of her complex lived experiences and there was no respect or legitimation either for who she was as a person, or for her family of Chinese origin. Once again, she struggled and reaffirmed her desire to be recognized as she is, without being tied to any label. In her testimony she was very critical and fully aware of the labelling process and dominant stereotypes. Far from passively accepting an ascribed identity or belonging she maintained a critical attitude and rejected the reifying labels. I am proud of being the way I am, and I do not identify myself with one group or another. I do not identify perfectly with one country or another, I think I am the way I am, maybe a mixture of both. I do not like being part of any group, or being pressured to identify with one or the other. My experiences make up most of me. It is always a mix, there is never a given answer, you know. (Interview 6 ML)

 otentials and Limits of the Critical P Biographical Research Process Certainly, the socio-critical approaches in biographical research have their followers and their critics. There are a series of aspects and dilemmas (the subjective, personal nature of the narratives, “voice”, the authorship of the stories, the representativeness and the emancipatory character) that do not find unanimity of accepted positions or solutions and the dialogue is always open. In this sense, Bornat and Walmsley (2008), well-known for the use of oral histories and biographical methods in the field of medicine and social work, in their article entitled: Biography as Empowerment or Appropriation: Research and Practice Issues, propose a matrix that serves to analyse and locate biographical research and practice (that can be extrapolated to other fields, such as education) in two axes: one that has

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at one end “from above” and at another “from below”, and the second axis, which crosses the first, and has at one end “biographical research” and at the other “practice”. A biographical research project from above, is usually a research study in the most traditional term, that is, the researcher is the expert who records the subject’s life and analyses it, emphasizing the interest in the subject to be investigated and less so the participants. In this case, researchers use biographical material and life histories to generate hypotheses, to check, illuminate theories or build typologies. The researchers usually start the investigation, control the process, write the report and are the owners of the information. A biographical study from below represents the opposite, since the interest lies in the subjectivity and experience of the participants, in an open and democratic relationship between the participants and the researchers. The participants, who have a greater involvement and control in the process, as well as in the results, usually initiate the research. However, authors acknowledge that these locations at one extreme or another are relative, since in many projects these conditions are not fully met and the specificity of the context and the interests of those involved in it determine the evolution of the process and the findings. To understand the potential or limitations of biographical research and its aims to promote the emancipation of those involved, the authors offer us three ideas: 1. The performance of biographical research can determine different degrees of emancipation or empowerment over time. 2. The control of the process changes, throughout the project, as the perceptions of those involved change about the biographical dimension in their life or in that of others. 3. The aspirations to “give voice”, to return the report and to promote participation and empowerment, sometimes come into contradiction with people who have other interests, situations and constraints that limit, block, hinder the realization of the emancipatory potential and awareness and improvement.

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Specifically, following these authors, I will reflect on the research process based on my personal research practice. In my biographical research, both the protagonist and the other participants agreed to participate voluntarily in this project, which responded to the demands of the realization of a doctoral thesis, therefore there could not be more than one author. In fact, a doctoral thesis, just for that reason, cannot be a co-­investigation from the beginning to the end, and in this sense, my research cannot be considered a co-investigation in the purest form of critical research either. However, this condition did not prevent the research process from having a very intense participatory feature and that the same process would lead to an authentic relationship and genuine changes (as can be seen below). I initiated the research, although it was negotiated especially with the protagonist and with each of the other participants in the most convenient way for each to partake. Our collaboration was very close, with an alteration of the conventional power relations that usually occurs between the researcher and the participants, since in this investigation the protagonist has had the freedom to act and decide on every important procedure and stage from the first moment until she wanted to withdraw from them. However, the involvement and responsibilities of each one of us have varied in different moments of the research. During the fieldwork, Mel Ling was very actively involved in the process providing all the necessary information, facilitating contacts with members of her family and of the Chinese community, participating in the reflection that arose in each conversation. The process was fluid and it continued beyond our face-to-­ face encounters. During the analysis of the information and the construction of the biographical account, her participation was less intense; however she contributed with her vision, checking, confirming, clarifying and emphasizing key points in her biography. My role in this stage was to systematize and categorize the information, to expand the information, prepare the documents, write the story and take care of the narrative aspects, as well as to locate the story in context and to look for the connections with more general social and structural factors, to see it in perspective and in relation to other cases.

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A second report was written to deepen the analysis and reflection of the biography, as well as to relate it with the existing theoretical trends in the literature. The interpretation of the information in this stage is the exclusive result of my work as a researcher, since Mei Ling expressed her desire not to participate in this phase. In this stage the rigor and systematic analysis of information was performed in conjunction with a permanent attitude of openness and critical reflection on one’s own preconceived images and representations (Thomas, 2010). From my commitment and my values, my theoretical option has been to try to capture and reveal the meanings honestly, in line with the general sense making that Mei Ling had conveyed to me. Nevertheless, the lived experience of the protagonist contains a multiplicity of meanings, so I must recognize that the biographical narrative and its interpretation is only one possible version of it and therefore, limited. It is not my intention to generalize this case study since a common characteristic of the narrative research is the fact that “the singularity and specificity of the subject is linked to the idea of narrative that is always under construction, which gives rise to multiple interpretations” (Andrews et al., 2008, p. 4). The main objective of life history and narrative is the individuality and complexity of the experience of human beings in their everyday contexts. In addition, I must highlight the act of courage of Mel Ling in deciding to expose herself to the public and to make visible her personal history, her emotions, the positive and negative aspects of her lived experience. My big challenge was to represent her in the text without falling into the stereotyping myself, without seeing her in a single dimension, isolated, but within the whole picture, in its context. If in qualitative research in general, the researcher has a great responsibility towards the participants, in biographical research, the commitment is even greater, since the implication is much more intense and personal and it represents a challenge from before the start of the process, as well as during and after (since special care must be taken to protect the participants in possible publications derived from the research work). As Hedge and Mackenzie (2012) say, “a complex and nuanced evaluation of the discernment and assimilation of all the contextual and personal factors that define who we are and those for whom we care” is required (p. 202).

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 hanges in the Main Participant, the Researcher C and the Audience An added value of the critical biographical research is the possibility of recovering the agency of the individual and the power to decide on one’s own life, since in narrating the experiences of one’s life, one re-discovers oneself and others, giving meaning to one’s life renegotiating its identity. When we relate our life experiences in the unfolding of past events, we tend to re-structure them in a new meaning from the present time with a view to the future. We reflect and re-construct new identities with each new story told, while the story of our life advances and in this movement, we try to re-make ourselves and give meaning to our life, to what happens to us. In this regard, the main participant engaged in “active understanding”, (Bakhtin, 1990, cited in Demenchonok, 2014) critically evaluated and challenged the oppressive discourses of others by using subversive power relations and resistance strategies to claim her own voice, subjectivity and agency in the narrative. As Larrosa (1996) states, “what we are is nothing else than the way in which we understand ourselves and the way in which we understand ourselves is analogous to the way in which we construct texts about ourselves” (p. 464). Mel Ling highlights a process of change and expresses it spontaneously in one of our personal conversations. Before you finish the story I would like to make a comment. I think I told you that I felt totally integrated and well in Spanish society (the Chinese, did not feel like being discriminate like blacks or gypsies, for example) at the beginning of our conversations. It has been a long time since we spoke, and the truth is that I do not see it that way anymore. Before, whenever I went everywhere, I was with my boyfriend, and that’s why I did not notice it. But this year I go out more by myself and with my sister, and, the truth is that the simple fact of being on the street is a continuous tension. Every time I go out there is almost certainly going to be someone who is going to make a comment like: “Chinita …”, or while I was walking my puppy: “Feed the dog a good meal, which you will then toss into the pot”. When I go out with my boyfriend these things do not happen. I’ve thought a lot

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about all that, in our interviews and conversations, the truth is that I can not say that I think the same anymore. (Research journal, p. 20)

I could say that, among other factors, the participation in the research has encouraged and facilitated an awareness of the social situation (around the discourses, interactions and attitudes of others) in which the protagonist and her family were immersed. In this sense, an open, sincere, dialogical collaboration has led to change and learning that has occurred both in the protagonist, as in myself as the researcher, as I have learnt much about the main participant and about myself as researcher. In addition, respect, trust and care were, in my view, the principles on which bonds of affection and security have been created, and made the research an authentic, and enriching conversation. These principles lead us to understand the research “within a critical, collaborative, dialogical space. In these practices, researchers and participants are immersed in a democratic space where resistance, criticism and empowerment can occur” (Denzin & Lincoln, 2011, p.  5). In other words, transformation, rather than a result, is a dialectical process in order to understand the cognitive, social, cultural, economical and political framework of the Other (neither assimilationist, nor relativist) (Kemmis, 1991). In this methodology, interpretive practice, pedagogy and action (representation) are interconnected. The research process and the same stories/life stories are transformed into intervention practices, into a counter-narrative (Denzin & Lincoln, 2011). These changes may not have occurred in all aspects of the life of the protagonist or may not determine a big change in social and educational policies and practice, but I can certainly affirm that both on a personal level for each of us, as in the closest surroundings (e.g. her family, or collaborating colleagues and teachers in my case) there has been an awareness, a questioning of the current state of affairs and a willingness to do things differently. That is, a social responsibility for improvement has been generated beyond the research itself. Obviously, the interpretation of the biography depends on each person with their own experiences and knowledge and consequently the readings

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and learning that the reader can draw from the life of the protagonist can be very varied. However, they represent an open door to the “narrative imagination”, to the possibility and hope that things can be different (Nussbaum, 1997). From the beginning of the research I kept in mind Zambrano (1983) questioning: For what or for whom we write? … For someone, one or many, to know it, to live knowing it, so that they live differently after having known it; to free someone from jail of lies, or from the mists of tedium, which is the vital lie. (Zambrano, 1983, cited by Jover, 1983, p. 222)

Conclusion This chapter has sought in a small way to join the on-going debate on the potential and limitations of critical narrative research to fight against social oppression and inequality of diverse people. I (following Thomas, 2010) advocate in this chapter for the use of narratives of other´s lives as a form of criticism and struggle against the prevailing social discourses that have marginalized or excluded knowledge, experience, identity and interests of diverse people. Perhaps the most important point is that, without the counter-narrative of the others, who question social norms, we, as isolated individuals, are caught between the lines of the predominant narratives. If we rewrite our identities, then we strengthen the counter-narrative, and the oppressive and dominant narratives begin to collapse. (Thomas, 1999, p. 55)

Like Thomas (2010), I argue that social actors are immersed in social structures and at the same time they rebuild them through their own actions. In this sense, Thomas (2010) explains that biographical narratives are “socially constructed stories that express the meaning that events and real social circumstances have for the actors themselves. From this point of view, any claim of neutrality, or naive objectivity, would be clearly false and dishonest” (p. 656). Therefore, from an epistemological

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point of view, narratives have significant value as scientific knowledge; as well as expert knowledge obtained and validated through other research methods. From an ethical and political view, I cannot be neutral and I believe that the biographical methodology and the narratives provide an ethical framework where critical pedagogy could be promoted, alongside with the pedagogy of human care to address cultural diversity. Critical personal narratives, by showing the pain of the injustices suffered by others, can foster a more accurate, situated and informed worldview. This perspective advocates a change from the pure rhetoric of the discourse of cultural diversity to the practice of it. Hence, I believe that the biographical methodology was a wise decision since the realization of the biographical account led to an attentive, close and at the same time reflective look at the concrete realities of the life of Mei Ling and her family, the negotiation of identity, their expectations, dreams and struggles. Thus, perhaps, it could broaden our consciousness and we can contribute to the improvement of social policies and practices. In this sense, biographical research could foster historical testimony, social intervention and identity construction and help participants to: “elaborate their own conception of the world consciously and critically (…), actively participate in the production of history of the world, to be a guide to oneself and not to accept passively and supinately that our personality is formed from the outside” (Gramsci, 1978, cited in González Monteagudo, 2009, p. 226).

References Andrews, M., Squirre, S., & Tamboukou, M. (Eds.). (2008). Doing narrative research. London: Sage. Bertaux, D. (1993). La perspectiva biográfica: validez metodológica y potencialidades En Marinas. In J.  Marinas & C.  Santamaria (Eds.), La historia oral: métodos y experiencias (pp. 19–34). Debate: Madrid. Boaventura de Sousa, S. (2009). Una epistemología del Sur. La reinvención del conocimiento y la emancipación social. México: CLACSO—Siglo XXI.

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Bolívar, A., Domingo, J., & Fernández, M. (2001). La investigación biográfica en educación: enfoques y metodología. Madrid: La Muralla. Booth, T., & Booth, W. (1998). Growing up with parents who have learning difficulties. London: Routledge. Bornat, J., & Walmsley, J. (2008). Biography as empowerment or appropriation: Research and practice issues. The Innovation Journal: The Public Sector Innovation Journal, 13(1), 6. Brandist, C. (2002). The Bakhtin circle. philosophy, culture and politics. London: Pluto Press. Carrasco, S. (2003). La escolarización de hijos e hijas de inmigrantes extranjeros y minorías étnico-culturales. Revista de Educación, 330, 99–136. Charmaz, K. (2011). Grounded theory methods in social justice research. In N. K. Denzin & Y. E. Lincoln (Eds.), The Sage handbook of qualitative research (4th ed., pp. 359–380). Thousand Oaks, CA: Sage. Clandinin, D. J., & Connelly, F. M. (2000). Narrative inquiry: Experience and story in qualitative research. San Francisco: Jossey-Bass. Cole, A., & Knowles, J. G. (Eds.). (2001). Lives in context. the art of life history research. Walnut Creek: AltaMira Press. Criado, M. J. (2001). La línea quebrada: Historias de vida de migrantes. Madrid: Consejo Económico y Social. De Lucas, J. (2003). Sobre las políticas de inmigración en un mundo globalizado. Anuario de la Facultad de Derecho de la Universidad Autónoma de Madrid, (7), 23–52. De Miguel, J.  M. (1996). Auto/biografías. Madrid: Centro de Investigaciones Sociológicas. Demenchonok, E. (Ed.). (2014). Intercultural dialogue. In search of harmony in diversity. Cambridge: Cambridge Scholars Publishing. Denzin, N. K., & Lincoln, Y. S. (Eds.). (2011). The Sage handbook of qualitative research (4th ed.). Thousand Oaks, CA: Sage. Down, B., Smyth, J., & Robinson, J. (2017). Problematising vocational education and training in schools: Using student narratives to interrupt neoliberal ideology. Critical Studies in Education, 0(0), 1–19. https://doi. org/10.1080/17508487.2017.1289474. Ferrarotti, F. (1991). La historia y lo cotidiano. Barcelona: Ediciones Península. García Borrego, I. (2008). Herederos de la condición inmigrante: adolescentes y jóvenes en familias madrileñas de origen extranjero. Madrid: UNED.

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González Monteagudo, J. (2008–2009). Historias de vida y teorías de la educación: tendiendo puentes. Cuestiones pedagógicas: Revista de ciencias de la educación, 19, 207–232. Goodson, I.  F. (Ed.). (1992). Studying teachers’ lives. Nueva York: Teachers College Press, y Londres: Routledge. Gualda Caballero, E. (2007). Segunda generación y adolescentes y jóvenes inmigrantes: el caso de Huelva. En Gualda, E. y Rodríguez, I. (Dirs.), Infancia y juventud en las migraciones internacionales (pp. 51–70). Madrid: Exlitris. He, M. F., & Phillion, J. (2008). Personal-passionate-participatory inquiry into social justice in education. Charlotte, NC: Information Age Publishing. Hedge, N., & Mackenzie, A. (2012). Beyond care? Journal of Philosophy of Education, 46(2), 192–206. Jover, J.  L. (1983). Maria Zambrano: Imitacion y Glosa. Litoral (124/126), 159–161. Retrieved from http://www.jstor.org/stable/43356459 Kemmis, S. (1991). Critical education research. Canadian Journal for the Study of Adult Education, V, 94–119. Kincheloe, J. and Steinberg, S. R. (1993). A tentative description of post-formal thinking: the critical confrontation with cognitive theory. Harvard Educational Review, 63(3), 296–320. Kincheloe, J., Steinberg, S., & Hinchey, P. (Eds.). (1999). The Post-Formal Reader: Cognition and Education. New York: Falmer. Kincheloe, J., McLaren, P., & Steinberg, S. (2011). Critical pedagogy and qualitative research. Moving to the bricolage. In N. K. Denzin & Y. S. Lincoln (Eds.), The Sage handbook of qualitative research (pp.  163–179). Thousand Oaks: Sage. Kincheloe, J. L., & Berry, K. S. (2004). Rigour and complexity in educational research: Conceptualizing the bricolage. Maidenhead: Open University Press. Kincheloe, J. (2008). Knowledge and critical pedagogy. Dordrecht, the Netherlands: Springer. Larrosa, J. (1996). La experiencia de la lectura. Estudios sobre literatura y formación. Barcelona: Laertes. Mancila, I. (2017). A second generation Chinese student´s education in Spain. Challenges and opportunities. In G. Li & W. Ma (Eds.), Educating Chinese-­ heritage students in the global-local nexus: Identities, challenges, and opportunities (pp. 123–140). New York: Routledge. Marinas, J.  M., & Santamaria, C. (Eds.). (1993). La historia oral: métodos y experiencias (pp. 19–34). Madrid: Debate.

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Part II Beyond Just Criticality?

5 Critical Online Learning Networks of Teachers: Communality and Collegiality as Contingent Elements Nick Kelly, Marc Clarà, Benjamin A. Kehrwald, and P. A. Danaher

Introduction Throughout its long history the role of the teacher has been shaped by social and material conditions. In the early twenty-first century, teachers’ work is influenced by business-centric approaches to the management of

N. Kelly (*) Queensland University of Technology, Brisbane, QLD, Australia e-mail: [email protected] M. Clarà University of Lleida, Lleida, Spain B. A. Kehrwald Auckland University of Technology, Auckland, New Zealand P. A. Danaher University of Southern Queensland, Toowoomba, QLD, Australia e-mail: [email protected] © The Author(s) 2020 A. Simpson, F. Dervin (eds.), The Meaning of Criticality in Education Research, Palgrave Studies in Education Research Methods, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-56009-6_5

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public institutions and the associated focus on accountability, loss of autonomy and increased stress in the profession. In this chapter we describe criticality within networks of teachers as a form of counter-narrative to this situation, and we theorise the conditions through which this counter-narrative comes to be brought into reality. A commonality across many nations is the introduction of ideas that have become known as New Public Management (NPM), referring to ways in which notions from the business sector have been imported into the public sector (Schimank, 2015; Verger & Curran, 2014). This transfer of approaches has ambiguous motivations, but it has been enabled by technology and has led to a focus upon management, accountability and efficiency (Hood, 1991; Vigoda, 2003). The introduction of NPM has doubly impacted upon the work of teachers: firstly, through the ways in which their own professional lives are managed, made accountable and governed by technology; and secondly, through the ways in which they are made responsible for ensuring such accountability from students. Teachers in many nations are accountable to regimes of standardised testing at both national and international levels. In Australia, for example, such tests (e.g., the National Assessment Program—Literacy and Numeracy [NAPLAN] tests) have led to the publication of league tables of school outcomes and the introduction of performance targets, with results from standardised tests forming the basis for far-reaching changes to education policy (Lingard, Sellar, & Lewis, 2017). This is what Ball (2003) refers to as performative accountability, in which: Performativity is a technology, a culture and a mode of regulation that employs judgements, comparisons and displays as means of incentive, control, attrition and change based on rewards and sanctions (both material and symbolic). The performances (of individual subjects or organizations) serve as measures of productivity or output, or displays of “quality”, or “moments” of promotion or inspection. (p. 216)

Teachers (and indeed whole school systems) are placed in situations where their own notions of quality teaching are subordinated to a measure of output—in this case, results on standardised tests. The consequence is that teaching becomes a performative, rather than an authentic,

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act, with associated impacts upon teachers’ professionalism. This has been linked with several teacher-related problems in educational systems: (a) large numbers of teachers leave the profession within the first five years; (b) high rates of burnout have been reported in different countries; and (c) many teachers who remain in the profession lose their intrinsic motivation for quality teaching. The negative impact of accountability on teaching can be explained theoretically by the Self-Determination Theory (Ryan & Deci, 2000), which has proposed that the basic human requirements for intrinsic workplace motivation are competence (having the skills to do the job required), autonomy (having the freedom to do a job in a way that is in harmony with one’s beliefs) and relatedness (connecting with other humans through a job). Accountability especially undermines the teachers’ sense of autonomy in their work. In this chapter we propose that, in light of the accountability pressures on, and the loss of autonomy of, teachers, the notion of criticality is important in understanding how teachers can come to transform the profession. Teachers are a part of many different systems. They teach within a classroom, and they are a part of a department within a school, which is itself within a school system that is contained within a sociocultural context. All of these systems have both explicit and implicit expectations, such as the aforementioned standardised tests and in-school accountability measures (explicit) as well as social norms both inside and outside the profession (implicit). Often there are contradictions not only between teachers’ own internal worldviews and these systems, but also within the different layers of the systems of which they are a part. We argue that criticality is a way of talking about the ways of facing and resolving these contradictions through dialogue. Furthermore, we contend that through criticality, conceived as a relational activity, teachers can be supported in seeing and questioning these contradictions, as well as in working to reconcile them through the development of shared understanding, points of view, orientations to practice and practical activity. This view emphasises teacher agency, not only as an individual construct but also as a social one—agentic teachers determining their own practice in response to careful (critical) consideration of the complex contradictions that affect their work. Thus, criticality is proposed here as a social phenomenon, something that happens within a community. However, we posit also

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that criticality can be enhanced in a community only when there are collegial relationships between the members—hence the focus of this chapter on criticality, communality and collegiality. The chapter is organised in five sections. In the next section, we elaborate the notion of criticality as a social phenomenon. In the following three sections, we distil connections between teacher communities and types of voice, we relate the notions of communality and collegiality to criticality and we articulate a conceptual framework among these three notions. Finally, we explore some principles and related difficulties for the design of online teacher networks aimed to enhance criticality, collegiality and communality.

Criticality A definition of what it means to be critical—for what it means to develop the quality of criticality—is contested territory within educational theory. Here we attempt to articulate a definition of criticality as it relates to teacher education and respond to the question: “How do teachers come to develop their criticality?” Firstly, we look to historical notions of criticality in educational theory as a basis for synthesising a response to this question. We then turn a critical gaze upon our proposed response, in an attempt to avoid the pitfall of an “uncritical criticality” as described in the introduction to this volume. Two primary ways that criticality has been conceived (historically) are as critical thinking (Ennis, 1987) and as critical pedagogy (Freire, 1970/2007), and there has been significant debate about the role of these two notions as they relate to the work of teachers (Burbules & Berk, 1999). The term critical thinking had its origins in the traditions of Western rationalism as a set of mindsets and abilities that facilitate the interrogation of knowledge and of beliefs (Siegel, 1989). In contrast to this, critical pedagogy had its origins in Horkheimer’s distinction between theories that are “critical” and those that are “traditional”, whereby a critical theory is one that aids in reflection upon the material structures of society and the way in which those structures shape the questions being asked (Berendzen, 2017; Horkheimer, 1972). In this latter tradition,

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critical theories are those that help society to move towards the emancipation of human beings,1 and it is in this context that Freire frames critical pedagogy as a way of teaching that moves towards the liberation of learners from oppression. In this same tradition, Habermas (1984) suggests that criticality does not rely upon any absolute notions of emancipation or of a future state of material relations (e.g., as in neo-Marxian thinking), but rather is to be found in productive dialogue between human actors. The aim of Habermas is to go beyond existing accounts of emancipation and grounding in order to “[yield] a critical account of the possibility of unconstrained communication that would make the self-­ constitution of modern subjects as social and moral agents possible” (Shabani, 2003, p.  26). This is consistent with Freire’s synthesis that “through dialogue, reflecting together on what we know and don’t know, we can then act critically to transform reality” (Shor & Freire, 1987, p. 99). A concise summary of the debate between these two traditions is articulated by Burbules and Berk (1999) as follows: From the perspective of Critical Thinking, Critical Pedagogy crosses a threshold between teaching criticality and indoctrinating. Teaching students to think critically must include allowing them to come to their own conclusions; yet Critical Pedagogy seems to come dangerously close to prejudging what those conclusions must be. Critical Pedagogy sees this threshold problem conversely: indoctrination is the case already; students must be brought to criticality, and this can only be done by alerting them to the social conditions that have brought this about. In short, we can restate the problem as follows: Critical Thinking’s claim is, at heart, to teach how to think critically, not how to think politically; for Critical Pedagogy, this is a false distinction. (p. 57)

This dichotomy between the two traditions had its origins, we suggest, in how each conceives of what it means to think and to reflect. The critical thinking tradition has an implicit assumption that thinking or  It remains outside the scope of this chapter to enter into questions such as: Who constitute the subjects of oppression? What are the forms that oppression takes? What does it mean to be emancipated? And, crucially, what are the roles of educators in supporting the transformation of society? Shor and Freire (1987) describe how the critical pedagogy tradition approaches these questions. 1

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reflecting is an individual pursuit; it occurs within a subject, in isolation from society (e.g., Abrami et al., 2015; Pithers & Soden, 2000). By contrast, the tradition of critical pedagogy has a social constructivist foundation in which critical thinking is considered a dialogical activity. This can take the formulation of a belief that social transformation occurs through dialogue, in which “liberation is a social act” (Shor & Freire, 1987, p.  107); it also takes on deeper meaning by considering the argument that, even when such thinking is occurring internally, it involves multiple voices, whereby “individual consciousness not only cannot be used to explain anything, but[,] on the contrary, is itself in need of explanation” (Volosinov, 1973, p. 12). This Bakhtinian notion is expanded in the following section. In teaching scholarship, both views of criticality have been indistinctly subsumed under the term reflection. Partly because of the convergence of different theoretical approaches in one and the same concept, “reflection” as used in the field of teaching is a somewhat vague notion (Beauchamp, 2015; Collin, Karsenti, & Komis, 2013). However, the influence of Dewey (1933/1986) and Schön (1983/1991) is explicit in the great majority of approaches to teacher reflection (Clarà, 2015). Thus, in teacher reflection, criticality means, on the one hand, questioning takenfor-granted events and ideas, and allowing teachers to identify confusing aspects of professional situations and to examine carefully the hypotheses or proposals that can clarify or solve these situations. On the other hand, in some cases, criticality in teacher reflection also means that these hypotheses or proposals of solutions are aligned with political emancipation. In the field of teaching, these two forms of criticality encapsulated in reflection have been approached for a long time as an individual phenomenon. Moreover, perhaps because of the influence of Dewey (1933/1986) and Schön (1983/1991), reflection has mostly been seen as an individual process (Gelfuso & Dennis, 2014; Jornet, 2016). However, views that understand teacher reflection as a social phenomenon are gaining increasing strength. From these perspectives, teacher reflection must be understood in terms of dialogue, of the contraposition of ideas and views.

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At this point, prior to describing aspects of community that, we argue, can serve to support the development of teacher criticality, a brief interpolation serves to provide some reflection upon our own definition of criticality. Our propositions have been that criticality is needed by teachers in education; that criticality is developed through dialogue; and, following Bakhtin (1981), that this distinction between intra- and intersubjective dialogue is more blurred than it is often made out to be. A limitation of our treatment of these ideas is that the discussion has remained at a level of abstraction that precludes meaningful identification of the domains of criticality. Themes that are often discussed in relation to the teaching profession (e.g., power, inequality, knowledge, diversity, discrimination, interculturality, identity), and that would ground this discussion, are absent. In the literature we can find concrete claims about the domains of criticality that are held to be important for teachers. For example, Gay and Kirkland (2003) claim that teachers need to develop culturally responsive teaching, and Apple (2004) describes the need for attention to the relationship between curriculum and cultural (and economic) reproduction. We note that the level of abstraction at which we have chosen to discuss criticality avoids the messiness of any such real-world social relationships. While this has its advantages of aiding the general applicability of the ideas, it renders the text somewhat removed from the very contradictions that make these ideas relevant to teachers.

Teacher Communities and Types of Voice Teacher criticality is, as we have suggested, developed through dialogue and through the contraposition of ideas and views. An influential perspective in this line of reasoning is the one presented by Cochran-Smith and Lytle (1999). These authors propose that teaching—and teacher education—must be practised from an “inquiry stance”, in which teachers are permanently involved in collective processes of inquiry, conducted in community, to generate local knowledge. The idea of “community” is crucial in this approach:

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[T]he point of action research groups or inquiry communities or teacher networks is to provide the social and intellectual contexts in which teachers at all points along the professional life span can take critical perspectives on their own assumptions as well as the theory and research of others and also jointly construct local knowledge that connects their work in schools to larger social and political issues. (Cochran-Smith & Lytle, 1999, p. 283)

The authors argue that, in inquiry communities, criticality can be achieved only if the distinction between novices and experts is blurred, and if participants become equal peers in search of new understanding: These communities often involve joint participation by teachers and researchers who are differently positioned from one another and who bring different kinds of knowledge and experience to bear on the collective enterprise. The key, however, is that all participants in these groups—whether beginning teachers, experienced teachers, teacher educators, or facilitators—function as fellow learners and researchers rather than experts. (Cochran-Smith & Lytle, 1999, p. 278)

The importance of symmetry for enabling criticality in dialogue is supported, in our reading, in the work of Bakhtin (1981). According to this author, we live in a world of heteroglossia, in which multiple worldviews (or voices) always coexist and interact. Two aspects can be considered for a given voice: the degree of authoritativeness; and the degree of internal persuasiveness. An utterance could be, at the same time, authoritative and internally persuasive; however, according to Bakhtin (1981, p. 342), this is rare. Authoritative (which is not the same as authoritarian) voice is a voice imbued with moral or intellectual authority—for example, a voice coming from a well-respected expert in a field. This usually introduces asymmetry in dialogue, and it becomes more difficult to approach critically this authoritative voice than the voices that are not imbued with the same degree of authoritativeness. When an authoritative utterance enters into the dialogue, there is a certain tendency of assuming this utterance as it is given, without critically scrutinising it, without carefully considering it internally. Thus, although an authoritative utterance can be, at the same time, internally persuasive, authoritativeness tends to reduce

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criticality in dialogue, because the utterance is often accepted just because of its authoritativeness and not via its internal persuasiveness. When a voice has a high degree of internal persuasiveness, together with low authoritativeness, this voice is open to transformation and evolution in a symmetrical dialogue with other voices, and criticality can more easily be enhanced in dialogue: the utterance can be more easily interrogated, problematised and reformulated in a process that, when it is interpsychological, Mercer (2000) has called “exploratory talk”. In this kind of dialogical—symmetrical—relationship between voices, “the internally persuasive word is half-ours and half-someone else’s” (Bakhtin, 1981, p. 346). Thus, according to this approach to criticality in teaching, two additional concepts arise. The first is the idea of multivoicedness, or heteroglossia in Bakhtin’s (1981) terms, which can be facilitated by communities of teachers in which this diversity of voices can be expressed. We refer to this as communality. The second is the idea of symmetry among the multiple voices, so that one can penetrate into the other and transform each other in a critical and constructive dialogue. We refer to this as collegiality.

Communality and Collegiality in Networks The reality of much of teachers’ professional lives—administrative obligations, preparation for lessons, development of reports, time in the classroom—is quite removed from these theoretical definitions of what it means to be critical. Yet it is with these theoretical notions that we can begin to interrogate the ways in which teachers work within the many systems of which they are a part—how they come together into groups, both inside and between schools and wider communities—and the qualities of those groups that allow criticality to occur. The first section of this chapter articulated a social definition of criticality and its importance for teachers, followed by the posited link between teacher communities and types of voice; in this section we explain how it is through the notions of communality and collegiality within networks of teachers that criticality comes to be grounded in the realities of the teaching profession.

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Networks of Teachers A group of teachers that comes together for some reason is referred to here as a network of teachers. A network of teachers is defined as occurring when a group of teachers is connected by a set of social relationships of a specified type (following Laumann, Galaskiewicz, & Marsden, 1978), and the use of the term network is useful for providing a way of referring to the multiple, diverse social systems of which a teacher is a part, and which can be hugely varied in nature, from casual friendships in a staffroom through to weak ties within online social networks or the strong bonds of close friends. Networks can be situated in a vast range of places, from online networks through to the school staffroom; they can be situated along a whole spectrum from a formal, in-school community of practice (CoP), to a Twitter hashtag, through to a regular meeting of local teachers in the pub on the first Friday afternoon of every month. The social nature of criticality comes to be played out within networks of teachers. Yet there is no basis for assuming that simply connecting teachers with one another is sufficient for any kind of productive result. A productive network is more than the sum of its parts—mere connection is not sufficient (Carvalho & Goodyear, 2014).

Communality Within Networks of Teachers The notion of communities of teachers is one that has been widely applied, to the point where the very meaning of the word community has become somewhat obscured, to the extent that, as Grossman, Wineburg, and Woolworth (2001) quip, it has become “an obligatory appendage to every educational innovation” (Grossman et al., 2001, pp. 942–943). We suggest that in large part this problem has come about because the word as it is wielded requires categorical definition: either a network of teachers is a community, or else it is not a community. In contrast to this, we suggest that the term communality is useful for defining a quality that is possessed by any network of teachers to varying degrees.

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Communality can be understood through the theoretical construct of the community of practice (CoP) (Wenger, 1998). In a CoP, a network of individuals—in our case, teachers—is situated within a domain of knowledge (i.e., knowledge of teaching, schools, the profession), and is focused upon developing the practices of teaching. It is this focus upon practice that distinguishes a CoP from, say, a community of inquiry or a social peer group. Here we suggest that every network can be described in part by the degree to which it satisfies this idea of being a CoP—and that the word communality should be used to describe this degree. Consider, for example, an online network of teachers that connects through a social media platform, and that frequently shares “memes” about the teaching profession—graphical, annotated jokes about their shared experiences as teachers, where often the main point of the joke is that it highlights terrible teaching practices, rather than quality practices. Rather than asking, “Is this a CoP?”, we suggest that it is more productive to question, “What are the traits of this group that lead to the shared development of practice?”, and perhaps to conclude that such a group has some degree of communality, although not a great deal. On what basis has this judgement been made? There is a significant quantity of literature describing the qualities that lead to successful CoPs. Here we suggest simply that the characteristics of interdependence, trust, sustained relationships over time and a medium that permits open expression (the social design of the network as it would be called by Goodyear and Carvalho [2013]) seem to be commonly discussed characteristics of CoPs in the literature. We thus propose these as preliminary characteristics that signify a high degree of communality—something that we argue is necessary for criticality. We use the term communality to refer to the quality of a network that emphasises sharedness in orientation, commitment, understanding and action as they relate to professional practice. Communality implies shared ways of seeing, talking about and enacting professional practice that go beyond mere cooperation towards interdependent activity. In this sense, we use the term also to refer to the social and professional norms within a group of teachers (be that within a subject area, school or school system). Teachers within a group have a sense of shared responsibilities (e.g., keeping a school running, keeping students learning) and shared

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accountabilities (e.g., producing reports, students’ performance on standardised tests, elevating the status of the profession). They have expectations of one another, and ideas about the endeavour in which they are engaged. They are mutually dependent upon and accountable to one another in the context of their shared commitment to professional practice.

Collegiality Within Networks of Teachers The term collegiality is similarly ill-defined for the teaching profession (Bennett, Crawford, & Riches, 1992). Colloquially, a collegial teacher is perhaps one who makes time to help other teachers with any issues with which they may present, who seeks to create opportunities for collaboration and who will happily convene or address a group when problems or conflict present. A collegial teacher is one who “plays nicely with others” in a professional sense. Yet the term is confused by the fact that—as with many terms within education—the word collegiality has a history of first becoming fashionable as a successful way of promoting “school improvement” through teacher collaboration; and then becoming unfashionable owing to administrators mandating forms of groupwork amongst teachers that did not have the desired outcomes. Hargreaves (2000) problematises collegiality by first taking the affirmative side and referring to collegiality as the practice of teachers within schools working on problems together: Collegiality, it is argued, takes teachers’ development beyond personal, idiosyncratic reflection, and beyond dependence on outside ‘experts,’ to a point where teachers can learn from each another, sharing and developing their expertise together (Lieberman & Miller, 1984). There are also claims, as well as some research evidence, that suggests that the confidence that comes with collegial sharing and support leads to greater readiness to experiment and take risks, and with it a continuous improvement among teachers as a recognized part of their professional obligation. (p. 1480)

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This is precisely the kind of relationship between teachers that we are suggesting is fertile ground for criticality. However, Hargreaves (2000) then juxtaposes this with the widespread phenomenon of “contrived collegiality” in which administrators and school leaders influence teachers (through structure, policy or compulsion) to “perform” collegiality rather than to experience it, such as through forced weekly meetings to promote certain pedagogical practice (Datnow, 2011). Here we wish to suggest a much more precise definition of the word collegiality as referring to the quality of communicative relationships within networks of teachers. We have described the importance of symmetry within a dialogic relationship, and the importance of the internally persuasive word rather than the authoritative word (Bakhtin, 1981) for dialogue in which there is space for criticality. Also we have described the need for participants in a network to be capable of expressing their thoughts and of organising them in a way that can be understood (Habermas, 1984) so that conversations of truth validation—what can also be referred to as “joint reflection”—can take place. There is a challenge for any network to maintain this kind of symmetricity in relationships, given a natural tendency for “thought leaders” to develop and for the subtle fomenting of power dynamics within a group. This is described somewhat poetically by Grossman et al. (2001) as a “tension” within a group, whereby: As the group began to coalesce, individuals who saw themselves and were seen by the group as deviating from the mainstream were pushed to the margins. This process of defining both a center and a periphery is a natural process in any collective dedicated to maintaining a diverse membership. But our experience refutes idealistic notions of the community’s desire for diversity. Community and diversity are in constant tension. As individuals forge a common vision, the centripetal forces of community pose a constant threat to the centrifugal force of diversity. By its very nature, community presses for consensus and suppresses dissent. Without constant vigilance, diversities of many kinds may not survive the formation of community. Left on their own, participants retreat from the public space and begin to congregate into smaller groups based on perceived or actual similarity. Given this constant threat to diversity, much care has to be given to fostering experiences that bring—and keep—a group together. (p. 992)

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This is precisely the challenge of maintaining a network with a high degree of collegiality: having some means for keeping these tensions in balance. Within schools, a lack of time owing to responsibilities and accountabilities is a challenge to developing networks with communality and collegiality. This is due to what Bennett et al. (1992) refer to as a “lack of slack” (p. 63) where the time pressure “effectively means teachers cannot meet during teaching periods nor easily observe one another at work” (p. 63). These pragmatic conditions that militate materially against the promotion of communality and collegiality also restrict significantly the capacity for critical dialogue among teaching professionals. From a systems point of view, both communality and collegiality represent forms of emergence in the system(s) in which teachers operate. Emergence is described by Boardman and Sauser (2006) as a kind of synergy in which a system shifts from lower level, rule-based operation to higher levels of sophisticated operation and production. It is what makes the whole “greater than a sum of its parts”.

 Conceptual Framework for Criticality, A Communality and Collegiality We have argued for a conception of criticality as occurring through dialogue between teachers, in which individual processes for critical reflection first find their foothold in shared, intersubjective dialogue. This makes criticality contingent upon teachers coming together in situations where meaningful communication can occur—where the interlocutors have the competency to communicate, where power relationships do not constrain expression and where there is trust that allows the kind of critically reflexive dialogue that is required. We have defined two qualities of a network of teachers—be it two teachers in a staffroom or 200 teachers within a large school—as communality and collegiality, where the former refers generally to the quality of social relationships between the members, and the latter to the quality of the discourse within the network, and where each of these qualities can be present in the network to a

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greater or a lesser extent. Accordingly, within a network of teachers, we suggest that criticality is contingent upon a certain level of communality and collegiality. Regarding communality, there is no capacity for criticality if the social relationships are trivial in nature. Whilst there are many online networks of teachers (Macià & García, 2016), the question has been raised as to why, given the size of the teaching profession and the ease of connectivity, the Internet is not abuzz with critical communities of teachers. One potential reason for this is that many (and perhaps most) online networks are focused upon relationships of superficial social exchange, where interactions are limited to discussions around pragmatic advice to help with the day-to-day needs of teaching, such as resources for a particular subject (Kelly & Antonio, 2016). Without the trust and interdependence developed through a sustained relationship over time, a teacher faces significant challenges introducing questions or notions of a critical nature into the community. Similarly, regarding collegiality, criticality is contingent upon a symmetricity of relationships and a certain set of communicative competencies held within the community in order for the discourse to develop to a point where criticality is possible. There is a body of research concerned with attempts by practitioners/researchers to convene formal networks of teachers through facilitation. An example of such a network is a network of teachers convened by one of the authors in which facilitators posed “critical” questions to stimulate discussion amongst members (Kelly et al., 2018). Yet there is a clear lack of symmetry in this relationship, in which teachers feel that there is an authoritative voice poised to tell them how to think about the topics that arise. A similar example is an email-­ based discussion forum for teachers that is maintained by a government body; the same body is responsible for employing teachers. There is significant discussion within this network, but there are very few critical conversations, likely owing to this power imbalance. Contrast this with the “TeachMeet” phenomenon—an idea that has spread internationally—in which a group of practising teachers gather informally in a café/ pub to talk about their practices (Allison, 2014). Teachers describe these meetings as leading to engaging, reflective conversations in which they feel exposed to new practices in an authentic way. Within a TeachMeet,

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there is a symmetry in the relationships, with all participants knowing that the others in the group are also practitioners and where the power relationships are equal. The second quality that is needed for collegiality is communicative competency amongst members, who are able to organise their thoughts and to present them in a way that can be understood. Formal initial teacher education presents one example of how these skills come to be developed and of how such skills can lead to critical conversations. Consider, for instance, a course in a teaching degree that sets a reading for its students from Becoming Critical (Carr & Kemmis, 2003), a book that describes the way that theory and practice have become separated for teachers, as well as the ways that teachers can bring the two together through action research. Members of the class then have a discussion (facilitated by the lecturer) in which they can use this language (of theory, practice and criticality) for talking to one another about the challenges faced during practical experience. In this example, there might be limited symmetricity in the relationships that prevents certain forms of criticality from developing, but there is a form of communicative competence in the group that has been developed through this process of arriving at shared concepts. We suggest in this way that criticality is contingent upon a certain level of collegiality within a network of teachers. Having explicated a conceptual framework that links the three notions of criticality, communality and collegiality, we turn now to apply that framework to an analysis of online learning networks of teachers. In particular, we ponder the possibilities for, and the constraints on, these networks as sites of criticality.

 nline Learning Networks of Teachers as Sites O of Criticality At this juncture in the chapter, it is timely to restate the intended distinctive contribution of this chapter to the wider agenda of the volume in which it is included. That wider agenda seeks to problematise the multiple meanings of criticality in education research, in order to interrogate

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its current relevance and its contemporary utility. From that perspective, we have asserted the particular value of evaluating criticality through the lens of its relationships with communality and collegiality as they pertain to potentially helping to empower, and thereby reducing the attrition of, early career teachers. In doing so, we have sought to re-accentuate criticality through education by applying the learnings about criticality of key theorists from the past—including Bakhtin (1981), Dewey (1933/1986), Freire (1970/2007) and Habermas (1984)—with a view to feeding into future applications and implications of such a reaccentuation. Accordingly, it is helpful to examine this reaccentuated criticality from the perspective of online networks of teachers. This is because we consider that such networks present a distinctive opportunity to create the conditions that support teachers’ work. As we have described in the introduction to this chapter, the forms of accountability that are currently being demanded of teachers have led to a diminished sense of autonomy within the profession. We have argued that criticality occurs within networks of teachers that have a high degree of communality and collegiality, and we have suggested that being a part of networks with a high degree of criticality is valuable for teachers to gain a sense of autonomy, as well as to find or create situations within the profession that permit autonomy. We have mentioned that there are within-school obstacles to the development of critical networks of teachers. Here we attempt to become specific about how online networks of teachers might fill this valuable role within the profession. We wish to make use of the theoretical constructs developed in this chapter to turn to the question of how online networks of teachers might be designed to support teachers more productively. This is a topic that the authors have addressed previously, first theoretically (Clarà, Kelly, Mauri, & Danaher, 2017; Kelly, Clarà, Kehrwald, & Danaher, 2016) and then in practice (Kelly et al., 2018); this chapter represents a return to theory in order to find new ways of thinking about the development of online networks of teachers that are genuinely and manifestly focused on those teachers’ learning. Building on the argument presented so far in this chapter, we contend that such online learning networks of teachers provide venues for teachers to enact criticality as a regular part of their professional practice; to exercise communality as a feature of wider “wholes” that are more than a

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sum of their constituent members; and to establish and cultivate collegiality as a feature of being part of multiple systems of education professionals and other stakeholders. Networked teachers practise autonomously, but not in isolation; they participate actively in  local and distributed communities whilst maintaining the integrity of their professional practices; they operate within the constraints of multiple systems but continually exercise agency to maintain the integrity of their personal professional practices; and they maintain a critical orientation towards their professional practice, using the network continually to interrogate and refine the knowledge, skills, attitudes and beliefs that underpin their practice. A key question is the “how” of forming online learning networks of teachers. Specifically: “How do independent teachers develop into cohesive groups? What ‘glues’ the group together? Are cohesive groups so homogenous they are cosy, self-referencing clubs? How might teachers learn from one another’s differences?” (Grossman et al., 2001). A crucial response to this key question lies in the interplay between social presence and engagement (Clarà et al., 2017), which are separately and in combination powerful signifiers of vibrant online communities. Social presence denotes experiences of shared identity, trust and reciprocal interpersonal relationships among community members (Garrison, Anderson, & Archer, 2010). While engagement in technology-mediated learning environments eludes easy definition (Hennie, Halverson, & Graham, 2015), we find persuasive the following distillation of posited indispensable elements of student engagement that we argue can be extrapolated in certain respects to online learning networks of teachers: Engagement is seen to comprise active and collaborative learning, participation in challenging academic activities, formative communication with academic staff, involvement in enriching educational experiences, and feeling legitimated and supported by university learning communities. … This definition suggests that engagement is the amalgamation of a number of distinct elements[,], including active learning, collaborative learning, participation, communication among teachers and students[,] and students feeling legitimated and supported. At a fundamental level, these elements are dependent on a range of interactions such as interactions between

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teachers, students and content. It could be said that the online learning environment facilitates the interactions required for learning and therefore have an influence on student engagement. (Beer, Clark, & Jones, 2010, p. 76)

It is instructive to consider the aspects of this definition that we assert are applicable to online learning networks of teachers, as well as those aspects that differ between university students’ online courses and teachers’ online networks. On the one hand, the similarities include the fostering of agency, participants’ active involvement, the contingent dependence on certain kinds of interactions and the posited distinctive affordances of online environments for facilitating particular forms of learning actions and outcomes. On the other hand, a key difference is the greater focus in teachers’ online networks on critical dialogue and criticality. This is not to contend that university students’ online courses cannot promote learners’ dialogue with fellow students, but rather that such dialogue is not generally a necessary element of those courses. Similarly, teachers’ online networks that are effective and productive exhibit higher degrees of communality, including shared ways of discussing and understanding professional practice, and also of collegiality, including highly developed communicative relationships among network members, that are not necessarily exhibited in university online courses. This difference relates in turn to the online teachers networks’ heightened emphasis on members’ equality of power relationships and capacity for articulating members’ diverse and multiple voices. There is thus no clear recipe for how a critical online network of teachers can be intentionally formed or designed; yet these theoretical constructs and attempts in recent decades to form such networks have revealed some valuable heuristics. We have proposed criticality as being contingent upon collegiality and communality; and we have observed that these two qualities are observed to arise within networks in which there are trust, security and relationships that are sustained over time Clarà, Kelly, Mauri & Danaher, 2017. Networks of teachers require both communality and collegiality to succeed and be sustained; criticality alone is insufficient. Rather, we suggest that a network needs a clear focus with which to begin, a motivation for membership and for conversation,

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through which communality and collegiality can develop. We suggest that it is from these foundations—with some kind of shared focus—that the group then becomes critical when one or more members in the group champions critical discourse. Perhaps by way of a metaphor, the seed of critical discourse can take root only in fertile conditions. There is a wide range of examples of networks of teachers that show the diversity of foci that can serve this purpose: from discussion of shared political beliefs about education (Naison, 2014), to teachers sharing food and drink (e.g., TeachMeet), to teachers working together for a sustained period of time on common objectives such as curriculum planning or professional development. A second key question attending a consideration of maximising these asserted benefits of online learning networks of teachers is as follows: “How can teachers’ online networks be designed in ways that build on the affordances of online learning environments and that are sustainable in generating potentially massive memberships?” Our response to this question is synthesised in the concept of fractal design (Clarà et  al., 2017), which entails the use of multiple layers within an online platform in order to generate massive online communities as aggregates of fractal resolutions without diluting members’ sense of belonging to and identification with particular communities. From this perspective: engagement may be fostered and strengthened in small fractal resolutions that allow joint activity and close relationships among relatively small numbers of people, but this fractal resolution may articulate with bigger fractal resolutions that foster alignment or imagination, thus allowing dynamics, fluxes of people, sharing, and interactional possibilities that are possible only because of the massiveness of the community. (Clarà et al., 2017, p. 93)

These attributes of fractal design are useful also in demonstrating that we do not hold to a celebrationist view either of criticality by and for teachers or of the critical affordances of teachers’ online networks. Certainly we do not assert that simply creating opportunities for interactions among teachers, whether those opportunities are face-to-face or online, will automatically and always generate enhanced critical understandings

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and practices among teachers that will in turn help to transform their professional agency and ameliorate their stress and attrition. At the same time, we do contend that criticality, when allied with the contingent elements of communality and collegiality and when building effectively on the principles of social presence, engagement and fractal design (Clarà et  al., 2017), can contribute indispensably to constructing highly productive online learning networks of teachers that can constitute a viable and scalable counter-narrative to the continuing deprofessionalisation and politicisation of teachers’ work and identities.

Conclusion This chapter, and the volume to which it contributes, build on the clarion call sounded by Lemesianou and Grinberg (2006): “We as scholars and practitioners of educational research have to be alert and problematize even research approaches that seemingly are humane and progressive, and incorporate voice and meaning, including the researchers’ standpoint and positionality” (p. 230). We have conducted this building by highlighting our awareness of the limits of and the limitations on proposing criticality as a possible counter-narrative to the forces that constrain teachers’ voices and that restrict their meaning-making, even as we have argued the urgent necessity of naming and contesting those forces. At the same time, we contend that it is possible to think of criticality being reimagined and reinvigorated by means of the ideas propounded in this book, including the potentially productive interplay among criticality, communality and collegiality (while acknowledging that interplay as being both contextualised and contingent) that we have explicated in this chapter. We assert that such an interplay, whose possibilities we have exemplified in the design principles of online learning networks for teachers, contributes in laying the groundwork for the continuing project of building and sustaining a confident, knowledgeable and strengthened teaching profession, animated by contingent concepts such as criticality, communality and collegiality. The ideal underpinning this assertion is neatly distilled as follows: “We conclude that, though the processes cannot be reified, criticality and

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praxis in cultural context are efficacious for transformative teacher education” (Greenman & Dieckmann, 2004, p. 240). A variation on this distillation is provided by Martin and Pirbhai-Illich’s (2016) insistence that teacher education that is truly transformative needs to contribute to the project of the decolonisation of knowledge by linking criticality with relationality and intercultural understanding. Framing both these propositions is the conviction, to which we also subscribe, that criticality, when aligned with such powerful allies as communality and collegiality, can help to render teachers’ work and identities more productive and sustainable, and can even transform them, and furthermore that online learning networks for teachers can and should operate as sites of such reimagined and reinvigorated criticality. Acknowledgements  The authors are grateful to the editors of this volume for being such exemplary facilitators of scholarly writing, and to the two anonymous reviewers of an earlier version of this chapter for enhancing its clarity and coherence.

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6 Moving Forward with Poetry Lessons: Exploring How Poetry Can Stimulate Creativity and Criticality in English Secondary Schools Martina Diehl

Introduction Throughout history, poetry has often been seen as a subject for the gifted and talented. Creativity, of which poetry was once said to be the purest form, still plays an important role in the teaching, learning and understanding of poetry in the classroom (Dressmann, 2015; Newton, 2012). However, the focus has shifted from poetry as a form of creativity (Newton, 2012) and as an art, to poetry as a text to unpick and repeatedly analyse in the same way (Heaney, 1981; McGuinn, 2014). Although teachers try to allow time for students to interpret poems, there is little or no time to explore poems critically through dialogue in the years leading up to the General Certificate of Secondary Education (GCSE) exams (Snapper, 2015). With poetry being creative in essence, as it is constantly creating something new, whether these are new interpretations, new ways

M. Diehl (*) Durham University, Durham, UK e-mail: [email protected] © The Author(s) 2020 A. Simpson, F. Dervin (eds.), The Meaning of Criticality in Education Research, Palgrave Studies in Education Research Methods, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-56009-6_6

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of seeing or innovative approaches to reading poetry in various contexts, it becomes clear that these creative approaches invite criticality in and beyond the classroom. Year 7 marks the beginning of English children’s secondary school career. By exploring how criticality and poetry education complement each other, and through observations on poetry learning between a year 7 and a year 10 group in one school, this study aims to add an argument to existing literature and previous observations of poetry teaching and learning in the secondary school classroom. The outcome of the observations shows how creativity and criticality are present in the classroom within the confines of the secondary curriculum constraints. Observing how these concepts exist in the classroom offers a small scale, yet in-depth perception of the prevalence and value of creativity and criticality in secondary schools, as well as an analysis on how these key concepts are interpreted by teachers and learners. Creativity is often seen as the making of something new, whereas the meaning of criticality is found more difficult to define. By establishing working definitions of creativity and criticality in the context of poetry education, and by connecting creativity to criticality, we can look further into the effects this has for poetry teaching and learning in secondary schools and how poetry can benefit the creation and re-creation of knowledge and encourage discourse between learners and between learners and teachers (Gee, 2015). There are many arguments for using creativity, and on how creative thought processes can benefit learning. However, there is another side to creativity too. With an absence of critical thought, creativity can lead to many ‘creative’ ideas, but without an overview of the bigger picture, and without purpose this could lead to a negative effect, as learners do not necessarily learn to be creative in their thoughts on poetry, but could get creative in finding answers that get them ‘passmarks’ instead (Gino & Ariely, 2012). Subsequently, if criticality is not understood, and therefore not applied, the learner might not be able to grasp the purpose of the thought process. Furthermore, they will not question the information they are given, and will not evaluate and re-evaluate their own views in detail (Teo, 2019). Hence, facilitated dialogue is necessary to help achieve criticality of creative thoughts. By engaging in dialogue, whether this is verbal or written, it is expected that the learner will be able to improve

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their ability to interpret poems in various ways and become more understanding of the thoughts of those around them through listening to a variety of opinions. A learner who only has the skills to creatively unpick a poem for meanings will not be able to take a step back and look at the bigger picture of the poem (McGuinn, 2014). Criticality, in this sense, involves a purpose and a grasp of the bigger picture (Newton, 2012). Unpicking the poem is what often happens in poetry lessons as learners find the language features of the text and try to unscramble their meaning (McGuinn, 2014). However, if poetry is unscrambled, a poem becomes more of a puzzle than a ‘vehicle for understanding’ the self and the world around us (Abbs, 2003, p.  61). When poetry is turned into a puzzle, many meanings are lost, as only one way truly fits (Sullivan, 2007). Furthermore, this would confine the learners’ analyses to a small, controlled space. Moreover, learners will not engage with each other to find meaning as the focus lies with finding the correct meaning. Poetry can be used in the secondary classroom to allow the learner to express their experiences in the world, which allows poetry to play a part in the deconstruction of the neoliberal notion that people are disconnected and separate from the world (Kress & Lake, 2018). Perhaps, for a democratic society, it is then important to bring poetry to the present and to invite learners to connect with the world of poetry. Thus, actively exploring their own and others’ experiences of a poem while engaging in dialogue to discover that different interpretations are possible from various perspectives.

Creativity Poetry was once seen as the essence of creativity (Newton, 2012). Poetry was the purest form of creativity as it always implies something novel and a new way of reading the word and the world through language (Stevens & McGuinn, 2004). Nowadays, creativity is often referred to as something that primarily happens in arts subjects: making something novel (Newton, 2013). Moreover, it can be argued that people constantly make innovations in various ways. Whether in writing, discussion or in our presentation of thoughts and utterances, creativity happens constantly

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for ourselves, our surroundings or even for the world. Nevertheless, this depends on how creativity is defined. Kress (2009) defines the act of creativity as everything that we do. This includes every sign, gesture, utterance and every idea, as these are all innovations (Newton, 2012; Kress, 2009). ‘The on-going, unceasing process of transformative engagement, of integration in “inner” transformation, with a constantly new resultant state, constitutes learning. This turns the still largely taken-for-granted power relations (in communication as much as in learning-as-­ communication)’ (Kress, 2015, p. 160). It is the learner who guarantees that there has been learning, not the teacher. Kress (2013) continues to argue that when a sign is acted upon, meaning is being created. Therefore, to create meaning, signs need to be interpreted. Interpreting signs based on existing experiences and an understanding of the world leads to creative thought. Questioning what we know can be seen as one of the primary parts of criticality, and this often happens through participation with those around us (Lin et  al., 2013). This links to Wittgenstein’s notion that the language that we know limits our world. Consequently, this shows that when poetry allows the learner to learn beyond what they know, it will increase not only their literacy but also their understanding of the world they live in. If students are constantly spoon-fed language devices and their effects within a poem, there is no room for innovation or questioning, and this too leads to the ‘dull’ and ‘boring’ poetry lessons students often experience (McGuinn, 2014). Consequently, poetry becomes increasingly difficult to teach, as too much freedom of interpretation will cause students to fear it, and with too much spoon-fed knowledge, they are not internalising through a re-creative process and therefore not recontextualising existing work and making it relevant to their own experience (Van Leeuwen, 2009). Rather, they are learning poetry by rote and are required to see the poem in a certain way, rather than, as Roger Fry argues, to see it in a new way each time (Goodwin, 1998). Further to the lack of creativity and criticality in the classroom, it is intriguing and distressing to see that in English, a subject so closely related to the arts, creativity is not mentioned a single time in the 2014 English curriculum (DfEE, 2014). However, there is mention of discussion, critical thought and love of reading. Dymoke (2017) argues that

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there is a stronger disengagement with poetry in Key Stage Four than in the lower key stages as most students need to learn high analytical skills for reading poetry, but often do not write poetry or engage with it at a level of craftsmanship. The distance between the learner and the poem can cause poetry to become a pedantic exercise that is not dissimilar to solving a puzzle (Dymoke, 2017). Without understanding the purpose of poetry, learners and most teachers will primarily focus on the necessary tools to pass the exam, rather than questions they may ask themselves. This leaves little room for creativity and criticality to happen.

Criticality in Poetry Education Criticality might be difficult to define and may seem like an empty word in the National Curriculum as there is no definition given. However, the components that elicit criticality can be explored and considered. An understanding of these components is an aspect that may lead to an increase in value of critical understanding. Criticality can be viewed as a step closer to understanding than creativity (Newton, 2012). If creativity is seen as the initial thought process of innovative ideas (Kress, 2013), criticality offers purpose and questioning of these innovations. Consequently, in poetry lessons, for creative ideas to gain meaning criticality is necessary, as this allows for room to understand contextual views beyond what we know, and allows for recontextualisation (van Leeuwen, 2009). The creative thoughts need structure and guidance to convert them to purposeful ideas (Abbs, 2003). A component of criticality is that it always involves structuring (Dymoke, 2001). Another component of criticality is interrogation or questioning, which, similar to creativity, makes it a social process, rather than an individual task (Harris & de Bruin, 2018). Rather than assuming our creative thoughts are all plausible, it is necessary to question our thoughts to give thoughts meaning. The most effective way of interrogation is through critical discussion (Teo, 2019). When learners engage critically with their own knowledge, the information shared by others and form new understanding through communication, learners make meaning from creative thoughts through dialogue (Yandell, 2014). This is what Kress (2009) describes as social

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semiotics. As learners engage in dialogue and aim to explain their thoughts, these thoughts often become more structured. This directly links in with poetry, as poetry is open to interpretation and thus allows for dialogue and critical thoughts on how poems are experienced in the present context, as well as in a historical or other context. The teacher can facilitate this by allowing for the learners to read poems in different contexts, leaving room for discussion, and thereby stimulating creative and critical thought using their knowledge and experience (Gibson, 2006). By experiencing poetry analysis from a variety of perspectives, learners will start to see our place in and with the world with respect to poetry and its values. Furthermore, by monitoring and questioning our own and other’s creative thoughts, the learner is able to become adaptable to an ever-changing environment (Abbs, 2003). In poetry reading and writing, criticality is essential as it helps the reader understand their experience of a poem in line with other readers’ experiences of a poem. This is argued by Gibson (2006) with regard to inclusive and exclusive learning. With inclusive learning, learning happens through communication of experiences. Through dialogue and discussion ideas can be broadened and new views within the discussion can be questioned until there is a mutual understanding (Gibson, 2006). Besides questioning, structuring and meaning-making, another component of criticality in the context of education is purpose. Thousands of creative thoughts enter the mind every day, but only a few are developed, these thoughts often have a purpose (Eisner, 2004). Learners need to understand why they are reading comprehensively in order to understand the value of it and how a depth to understanding language enables liberatory thought through learning to play with words and learning to increase the ability to listen and talk to others. Similarly, the purpose of poetry learning is more than passing the exams. Learning about poetry and learning to understand poetry leaves room for discussion and can expand the learners’ vocabulary as they are becoming more precise in their discussion, to convey the meaning they have in mind. Discussion and multiple contexts provide the learner with information of a variety of cultures on a subjective level. Additionally, it can show a variety of interpretations, which in its turn shows that poetry is subjective and that there are various and legitimate ways of seeing a poem, depending

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on which context it is read in and what the experiences of the reader are. This leads to the idea of democratic thought, as the learner listens to their environment as well as voicing their own views and opinions. This allows us to see ourselves in and with the world and the word (Stevens & McGuinn, 2004).

The Purpose of Poetry in Secondary Schools In an education system where the focus lies mainly with the final assessment, poetry often loses its value. Particularly when exam boards are reluctant to change their poetry anthology to replace it with more contemporary poetry. This often leads to underappreciation and less value of poetry, as it is primarily taught to the test, rather than explored and experienced for connections to the world around us (McGuinn, 2014). Some English teachers may also fear poetry teaching, as they realise the disengagement students have with it from the start. Although all children learn poetry in the form of nursery rhymes in primary school, a big gap is often left between primary school and the GCSE exam. Students feel as though they are learning something completely new in a short time and not long before their exams, which is one of the main causes of the fear and disengagement with poetry. One example of this is one of my year eight tutees (14), who has never been taught poetry. One school I approached for observations does not teach poetry in the upper levels of secondary school. Other schools I have approached in North East England only teach poetry in years 8, 10 and 11, which leaves a gap after primary school and at the start of Key Stage Four (the stage leading up to the exams). It could be argued that this gap causes students to become disconnected with reading poetry, which causes them to fear it and find it tedious and difficult in the last two years before their exams. With poetry being as much of a valuable part of the exam as literature and drama, should there not be more focus on poetry throughout the school years? These gaps in time as well as in personal development and engagement through poetry show that poetry, like music and the arts, does not live up to its full potential in the English national curriculum (Eisner, 2004).

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Presently, the lack of enthusiasm for poetry is, just as with most subjects, transferred to learners, and they too will often not understand the value of poetry in their education. When asked what children think of poetry, the answer is often ‘dull’ (Snapper, 2015). Teachers find poetry one of the most difficult parts of English to teach, as it is open to interpretation, and understanding poetry is not as structured as understanding grammatical rules or analysing a text for language and structural features. However, poetry does lend itself to finding connections, playing with language, and engaging with words creatively and critically (Yandell, 2014). Poetry finds its creativity in the constraints of a particular verse, such as sonnets, or in the lack of any constraints as in free verse. Poetry is bound by rhythm, but not by grammatical rules and punctuation. This makes poetry ever the more valuable, but also more difficult to assess in our current assessment-based education system, which focuses primarily on distinguishing language devices and analysing their effects within a poem (Dymoke, 2003).

Assessing with Creativity and Criticality The current assessment mode, which seeks to find measurable scores, is based on the nineteenth-century and early twentieth-century ideas (Kress, 2013). However, since then, society and technology have changed significantly, but the pedagogical methods have stayed within the ideals of an educational system in the industrial age. This calls for a change in the form of teaching, as well as assessment. Kress argues for the development of ‘reliable means of recognition of pedagogic-semiotic work of learners and of learning, with outlines of plausible pedagogic goals’ (Kress, 2013, p. 121). Kress further mentions that the design of assessment, which is based on success and failure, does not apply in the current social system, and therefore this form of assessment is in need of ‘recalibration of pedagogic relations congruent with contemporary social givens’ (2013, p. 121). Currently, poetry is primarily taught for assessment, in particular in the three years leading up to the GCSE (General Certificate of Secondary Education) exam. This leads to little joy amongst learners in the learning

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of poetry (Csikszentmihalyi, 1996) as well as often the fear of learning a subject that is difficult to grasp and is open to interpretation Poetry analyses are seen as ‘dull’ and ‘dry’ and the learners are disengaged as they find it difficult to relate to classics such as Shakespeare, Wordsworth and Blake (McGuinn, 2014; Snapper, 2015). Another issue is that learners find it difficult to relate to most poems in the current curriculum as the poets are predominantly white males from the sixteenth to early twentieth century (Steele, 2014). The learners struggle to relate to the historical context and to engage with the language. A solution might be for students to become the authors of their own texts, in which they explore and play with the language of their generation (Kress & Bezemer, 2009). This is not to say that the classics should be forgotten, merely that there should be a balanced variation between contemporary work that the students can relate to, and finding commonalities between classical poetry and the present. Learning about poetry through discussion will lead to a deeper understanding of cultures, history and the present (Lambirth, 2014). Creativity and criticality are finding less and less space in the curriculum. Criticality is not defined in the English curriculum (AQA, 2017), and a practical description is only found in the subject ‘Citizenship’, which most schools do not teach (DfeE, 2014). This shows the lack of value placed on criticality in the curriculum, as well as how difficult it is to include it in a curriculum based on an assessment system that focuses on whether the student can copy what they learn in the classroom (Dymoke, 2010). Although criticality is difficult to assess in the current system, albeit impossible, it is still an incredibly valuable part of education. If students and teachers do not have a working definition of criticality that they can both understand, poetry becomes prone to the pedantic search for language devices and their effects, rather than the personal interpretations and context-related interpretations poetry can have. Although poetry is difficult to assess when we look beyond the poetic devices, and it is much better used as a vehicle for stimulating a democratic mind and language play, it does not necessarily mean that assessment for poetry is out of fashion; it merely implies that the attitude to what is being assessed in poetry needs to change. Assessment seems to relate only to what is measurable: an objective observation of what the pupil has learnt (Fleming, 2012; Kress, 2013; Craft, Jeffrey, & Leibling,

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2001). In poetry, there are two components. There are the poetry anthology questions, in which the learner compares two poems. One of these poems is given, and the other needs to be remembered. Students need to know a wide range of the ‘power and conflict’ poetry to be able to answer this question. The answer should show plenty of language devices and their effects, should relate to the historical context and potentially the author’s assumed purpose of writing the poem (Snapper, 2015). Furthermore, it should include information on the structure, form and tone of the poem. These are all regulated terms that can be rote learned by the learner and practised in advance. The second component of the GCSE poetry exam is the ‘Unseen Poetry’, in which the learner often receives a contemporary poem that they have not yet discussed before. The unseen part provides space for some interpretation, although this is often numbed by the pressure on including the correct language devices and unpicking the poem further on form, structure and tone (McGuinn, 2014). The learners are then given another unseen poem and are asked again to compare these two poems. This is often the task students find most tedious and that they fear. In my experience as a tutor, this is the question students want to practise with a wide variety of poems in order to grasp the idea of comparing two poems they have not seen before. During the unseen poetry, poems are often unpicked carefully by the students but rarely brought together to see the poem in its entirety. The line lengths, the verse, the rhythm and the rhyme are discussed in detail, but the development of the effects to show ‘critical understanding’ is often not understood or feared to the extent that students only answer the part of the question they know is right. This is where the issue lies with these poetry questions, as it can be argued that there is no right and wrong answer. What could be assessed, instead of the quality of writing about the unpicked poem, is the strength of arguments about the meaning of the poem. This would mean learners have more freedom to write and should feel less afraid of this question, as with practise in dialogue and discussion around poetry, the learner should have created a strong voice to answer this question. Kress and Lake (2018) argue that we need to allow learners to create their own stories, as this allows students to create their own voice, rather than blindly taking in what other people say, which allows students to move

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away from the ‘oppressive’ and ‘neoliberal hyperreality’ that is visible in the National Curriculum (p. 948). Although the marking scheme invites arguments, students often stick to what they know they have to do, which includes the language devices. This is what they know how to do, and are comfortable doing, as this is often what the lessons are geared to. Consequently, learners are becoming more and more drilled towards assessment, as they find themselves being tested and assessed continuously, while teachers find themselves spending more time on testing and accounting for students’ progress than they might want to (Cremin, 2015). In this process, the components for criticality are often lost, even though they prove to be so valuable in people’s life-long learning (Gibson, 2006). Hattie (2008) argues that pupils often do their best to study and learn in as much depth as is necessary for examinations, but no more as there is little time to do so and little engagement with the assessed materials. Learners become practised in avoiding what they do not need to learn for educational purposes. However, this draws the learner away from their life-long learning experience (Rowe & Humphries, 2001) and the satisfaction of ‘discovering’ knowledge. Even in unseen poetry, the learner is using what they have seen to answer the questions, rather than discovering innovative thoughts during the writing of their answer. In the long run, it does not suffice to be able to do well in measured tests. More businesses are requiring creative and innovative people to work with them, as our world is so rapidly changing (Teo, 2019). To be able to function in this society, it is important for the learner to be able to use, recycle and build on the knowledge and skills learnt in school creatively (Seltzer & Bentley, 1999), by way of which they can adapt to changing in society (Freire & Macedo, 1987). It seems that in assessing poetry, it is not enough to assess the learner’s ability to analyse of a poem, as the interpretation of the learner, the teacher and the examiner cannot exist on their own islands, they must be encouraged to discuss ideas, even if it is through written dialogue, to be able to understand each other better and to improve their writing skills. The learning experience that derives from poetry reading does not necessarily only take place in its written form, but also takes place in each conversation about poetry and language (Fleming, 2012).

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Dialogue to Engage the Learner In a learning model that concerns creativity and criticality in the classroom, dialogue is one of the main tools to engage students in an interactive discussion. By creating space for students to interact with each other, space becomes available for the exploring, sharing and discussing the experiences of the learners (Lambirth, 2014). The current model allows little time for exploration and for the creation of new knowledge (Steele, 2014). This new knowledge builds on the existing information the learner already has (Teo, 2019). Currently, learners are often afraid to be wrong and find it difficult to engage in dialogue on the subject-topics on poetry. Furthermore, teachers can find it difficult to allow time for dialogue due to the pressure on giving the learners all the information they need. However, dialogue is valuable as it has the potential to foster creative and critical citizens. Here lies a challenge for a dialogic approach to teaching and learning, for poetry in particular (Lambirth, 2014; Stevens 2010). Learning through dialogue can allow space for learners to increase their own deep understanding and build on existing information gives learners a purpose for learning. Furthermore, this aims to provide learners with a valuable basis on which to be illuminated by the subjects within education (Stevens & McGuinn, 2004). Learners and teachers alike may find lessons with less structure chaotic to begin with, which was noticed in both classroom observations, as it took some time to focus the learners’ attention to the topic of the lesson. Nevertheless, all learners focused on the subject content after five to ten minutes of disengagement. By inviting learners to use their imagination, experiences and previously gained knowledge to create a narrative, their ideas of the self and the world around them are constantly on the move (Freire & Macedo, 1987; Nussbaum, 2010). In addition to this, Egan (1992) argues that an increase in conscious imagination in the classroom provides the learners with a wide variety of their own experiences, which contribute to arguments for increased dialogue in the poetry classroom. In the authoritarian setting of classroom communication, the interaction between learner and teacher works out as a prescriptive

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construction where the sender encodes a message for the receiver to decode it in the same way as it was constructed (Kress, 2013). The more liberal, dialogical way of teaching makes a change to authoritarian teaching, which may confuse learners (Teo, 2019). However, when the teacher can find a balance between the language of the learner in combination with the language of the teacher, it is likely that learners will be able to uptake the information better, that is, at a deeper, experiential level. Hattie (2008) argues that engagement of learners increases when activities are given to learners while building on the learners’ existing understanding of the subject, rather than offering them new, unfamiliar knowledge. It can then be argued that poetry should be taught throughout secondary school, rather than be broken up into a block of poetry teaching. Many schools do not teach poetry in year nine, and even in years seven and eight poetry is not always taught as part of the curriculum. This leads to a very big gap between poetry in year six (primary school) and poetry in year ten (GCSE level). If poetry were to be taught throughout the secondary school years, it would be thought provoking to see whether this provides a stronger and more critical basis for understanding poetry than what can be seen in secondary schools now.

Dialogue in the Year 7 Classroom An observation undertaken in 2015  in a Year 7 class showed that discussion can happen successfully in the classroom. However, the head of English mentioned this did certainly not happen everywhere, and they made a strong effort to maintain the space for discussion in the English classroom. These children were including their own views in their analyses because they were asked to do so. When asked what they thought of this lesson, they mentioned it was ‘mint’ and they would like most lessons to have such a structure. In a Year 10 observation the students remarked that they enjoyed the discussion, but when it concerned written analysis they did prefer to work individually. These observations were only based in one school. Nevertheless, it did show that there are comprehensive schools that pay attention to the dialogical aspect in the classroom.

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To find evidence, I have recently begun collecting data for an exploratory search into learners’ understanding of creativity and criticality and how these concepts are perceived by learners and experienced in the classroom. The study included a survey, as well as observations and focus group interviews, to get a holistic view of how these concepts present themselves in the classroom in four schools in North East England and one school in Amsterdam. The survey responses from the Dutch school have shown varied interpretations of creativity and critical thinking. Creativity is most commonly seen as ‘to think outside the box’, but also ‘to be inspired to create something unique and original’ and ‘to come up with your own original ideas’. When asking when creativity does not happen in the classroom, one of the responses was, ‘when we are bored and confused’, and another stated that it does not happen when they are told a storyline or given several points they must include in poetry analysis. This shows that creativity is seen by some students as something original and therefore it can liberate them from the confinement of existing knowledge. In the Key Stage Three Curriculum (DfEE, 2014, p.  2) discussion plays an important role. Pupils are encouraged to use discussion ‘in order to learn’ and to articulate their understanding and ideas. The observed lesson in Year 7 was filled with discussions, to which the classroom was designed. The table set-up was cafeteria style (in groups of four) (Kress et al., 2005). The groups were encouraged to start discussions on their tables. However, this classroom set-up is not always applied in English schools (Dymoke, 2003). By shying away from dialogue, and by the pressure on the measurable outcomes of the assessment system, students become less confident in speaking their own thoughts, and find more comfort in sharing already existing knowledge. This shows Shor & Freire’s (1987) notion of the ‘culture of silence’ is still relevant (Kress & Lake, 2018), where students are less confident in producing their own thoughts, and rely on existing information to be true (Gibson, 2006). When dialogue topics are facilitated by the teacher, but primarily involved the students, the variety in views was thought provoking and led to ideas that were novel to the students.

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The Drive Towards Assessment in Year 10 Year 10 is the second year of the GCSE key stage (KS 4). Although KS 4 used to start in Year 10, in the last 5 years the exam preparation has started to enter the curriculum in Year 9. Learners are already familiar with the exam-style questions they will get in Year 11, and will be driven further towards this in Year 10, with mock exams and the literature they will be tested on in Year 11. Due to the strain on the assessment, there is little time for helping each other by voicing creative and critical thoughts and ideas. Poetry in these last years often lack in dialogue, discussion and therefore you could argue that there is not much space for critical thought. The learner is made to move towards their exam in order to pass it, and the learner often wants to pass so will obligingly learn what they are told, rather than what they find. In the past, there was coursework, in which the learner was able to explore and build on their knowledge. However, the coursework no longer exists as an assessed part of the GCSE. Although there is a trend of individual learning focused on the assessment of year ten group I observed had a teacher who was interested in engaging the learner as much as possible and the learners worked in groups to find the meanings of words they did not fully understand and to find a collective meaning to the poem they were reading. The poem discussed in Year 10 group is ‘Porphylia’s Lover’ by Robert Browning (1836). The poem is analysed in groups, followed by an individual analytic exercise, and then the students discuss their findings in the classroom. The lesson is meant to be interactive in the sense that learners are building their own ideas not only individually but with help from peers. The aim is to interpret the poem in light of the cultural background it was written in. It is thought provoking to observe how engaged the pupils were, and what they focused on throughout the lesson. They were on occasion disengaged, and the teacher acted upon this in various ways, including joining in with the disengagement as well as trying to retain the attention of the pupils in order to move on to a deeper understanding of the poem. It is perhaps useful to reflect on how these pupils are coached into their exams, more so than the Year 7 learners. Although the pupils are given

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some room for interpretation, it is very clear that the teacher is asking them to apply particular skills: skills they may need during their next exam, such as language devices, definitions and word classes. The exercise given has a group focus, but there is clearly only one right answer: the answer that the pupils are expected to give in their exam. Although the teacher encourages a certain amount of freedom of interpretation, in reality, it is a faulty sense of freedom that paves the way to the ‘correct’ answer. The teacher makes it very clear throughout the lesson that some points the pupils make are what is expected in exams, and rewards these with more attention than the interpretations of others. The patterns of the observed behaviour seem to confirm Kress and Bezemer’s (2015, p. 161) observation that learning happens when there is an engagement with the rest of the world, and when there is ‘recognition of the agency’. The agency, in this case the teacher’s role, needs to acknowledge the pupils’ learning process as part of their engagement with their wider world, or context. During this classroom observation, it seemed that the teacher was aware of the engagement and disengagement of pupils in the classroom, and acted upon this by interrupting the pupils’ chatting when they were talking about things outside of the topic of the lesson while encouraging when they talked about the poem. The pupils engaged in discussion throughout the lesson, with some minor distractions in between. The teacher functioned mostly as a facilitator and guide, although sometimes stood in front of the class to re-­ group to see how much the pupils had learnt up till that point and to trace their development. Within the constraints of the curriculum (time and learning requirements), this class did work on creative learning and criticality and therefore encouraged deeper understanding. However, the teacher mentioned that there was no time to explore the writing of poetry as an art; rather, most time was spent on reading poetry by nineteenthand twentieth-century poetry by predominantly white men, without looking at how the poem may be relevant in present day. In a western European society where women are empowered and there is a steep rise in multicultural spaces, it is odd that there is so little variety in poetry, and the British classics still dominate the poetry anthology. This leaves a large gap for learners in time, as well as cultural relevance.

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 iscussion and Conclusion: Reinterpreting D in and with the World Going back to the ‘classics’ in critical pedagogy, such as Freire and Macedo (1987), who argues that we are constantly reinterpreting the space around us, and Giroux (2011), who adds to this that we base this on our constantly changing experiences, it seems as though we are still struggling to weave this into the secondary curriculum. As our knowledge grows, we see the world differently. You could compare this to a child who begins to go to school, and spends time learning new things and sees the world differently as a consequence. Without interpreting and reinterpreting the world, learners are left to see the world as it is shown to us, without reflecting upon this, and therefore with little critical thought on the world and society we find ourselves in (Dymoke, 2001; Kress & Lake, 2018). Learners who live within the limits of their existing knowledge a circumstance would base their understanding only on what they are told, which leads to what Newton (2012) calls surface understanding. They are no longer reinterpreting their surroundings as there is limited time to understand how, in this instance, poetry works. Therefore, learners focus primarily on what is known to work and copy this to be sure of a pass during exams, allowing less space for critical thought (Dymoke, 2010). Although surface learning allows us to learn a little about many things, it does not allow for deep understanding (Newton, 2012). Newton (2012) argues that deep understanding is a necessary part of productive learning, as we make the gathered information our own, and interpret this new information as such. By engaging in deep learning, the learner becomes more critical of what they know and can question their existing knowledge. Ideally, this would be done through dialogue, which is why dialogue plays such an important role for thinking critically about interpretations of poems. Furthermore, learning for deep understanding allows the learner to see in more detail, and allows for learners to become skilled in a subject. Additionally, the learning of poetry allows for enhanced literacy due to the interpretative nature of poetry. Deep understanding will allow the learner to find value in subjects they are not

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necessarily fascinated by and will give space for appreciation of others who are good at this (Dressmann, 2015; Newton, 2012). Based on the understanding that society is constantly changing, it seems odd that poetry is still taught in ‘the same narrow categories’ (McGuinn, 2014, p. 10), which prevent the learner from fully engaging with the poem by neglecting learners’ own interpretations. Furthermore, McGuinn (2014) comments that poetry in schools often has similar themes, such as power, love, death and relationships, and is more often than not from the British Isles (p. 10). In this sense, the teachers and learners are moving forward in a progressive society, yet poetry in education seems to have stopped in space and time. It is necessary to be critical on our existing knowledge, and poetry lessons can provide opportunities to challenge the hegemony and deepen the language skills which are beneficial for finding a place in and with society (Laclau & Mouffe, 1985). To make poetry relevant, dialogue is a necessary aspect to explore both the ‘constancy and change’ of poetry over the years (Steele, 2014, p. 24). As we look back at the variety of contexts that poetry can be read in, it can be argued that poetry travels through themes, the self as an individual and through cultures and societies. This leads to the idea that poetry should move as well. Even if the primary poets that are discussed are from the British Isles, it may show the readers what has changed and what remains the same over a period (Stevens & McGuinn, 2004; McGuinn, 2014). Contemporary poets, such as the current Poet Laureate, Luke Wright, allow for poetry to be taken to the present day. Using more contemporary poetry allows for discussion and debate on relevant topics to the learners. Learners may have different views of the current society through their own experiences. Moreover, the discussion becomes critical as learners engage in a range of understandings of a poem. By reading poetry out loud, and taking into consideration the rhythm and syllable sounds, it is noticeable that each person will read a poem in a different way (Egan, 2006). Through the discussion of the various interpretations, poetry can move and be moved through space and time as learners become more comfortable with language play and the wide variety of narratives that show when

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reading and discussing a poem. In the current education system, there seems to be a strong movement in favour of control, as control leads to divisions in power that can carry out the collection of data on how learners are progressing in their schooling. However, this idea of schooling (as opposed to education), leads to existing information that is spoon-fed to the learners (Stevens, 2010; Nussbaum, 2010). Hence, engagement through discovering learners’ own thoughts and allowing time for them to be critical on their thoughts should increase the students’ motivation as they are contributing new ways of reading in their classroom environment. When teachers and learners stray away from the uniformity that is often required for formal assessment, there is space for personal growth (Gale & Densmore, 2000; Nussbaum, 2010). However, teachers who try to include this facilitated learning in their poetry lessons are often constricted by the curriculum. Although dialogue is promoted and supported in lessons, teachers are pushed for the learners to pass the assessment. This means that the learners are still guided towards one way of reading a poem, as a more controlled way of teaching will increase their chances at passing their assessments. Due to the strict guidelines for assessment, a high percentage of teacher talk will be present in most poetry lessons, even if dialogue is encouraged (Xerri, 2015). With the inclusion of dialogue in the classroom to hear the many voices, rather than the few, poetry learning becomes democratic in its ways as students no longer fulfil the primary role of audience. They are adding their own views and opinions to the poem, showing that the poem is still relevant (or if not, can they say why that is). This continuous questioning of existing information allows the learner to become engaged more deeply with the material and therefore it is hoped that learners become critically and creatively stimulated as they are constantly interpreting and re-interpreting the text through dialogue. In conclusion, the way poetry is taught should be interrogated and restructured, to provide space for creativity and criticality, which will encourage dialogue in the classroom.

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References Abbs, P. (2003). Against the flow. London: RoutledgeFalmer. AQA. (2017). Paper 2 marking scheme. Retrieved June 15, 2018, from http:// filestore.aqa.org.uk/sample-papers-and-mark-schemes/2017/june/ AQA-87022-W-MS-JUN17.PDF. Browning, Robert (1836). Porphyria’s Lover. https://www.poetryfoundation.org/ poems/46313/porphyrias-lover, accessed 17th of September 2020. Craft, A., Jeffrey, B., & Leibling, M. (2001). Creativity in education. London: Continuum. Cremin, T. (2015). Exploring teachers’ positions and practices. In S. Dymoke, A. Lambirth, & A. Wilson (Eds.), Making poetry matter: International research on poetry pedagogy (pp. 31–41). London: Bloomsbury. Csikszentmihalyi, M. (1996). The flow of creativity. In M.  Csikszentmihalyi (Ed.), Creativity: Flow and the psychology of discovery and invention (pp. 107–126). New York: Harper Collins. DfEE. (2014). National curriculum in England. Department for Education. Dressmann, M. (2015). The paradox of poetry education. In M.  Fleming, L. Bresler, & J. O’Toole (Eds.), The Routledge international handbook of the arts and education (pp. 203–211). Oxon: Routledge. Dymoke, S. (2001). Taking poetry off its pedestal: The place of poetry writing in an assessment-driven curriculum. English in Education, 35(3), 32–41. Dymoke, S. (2003). Drafting and assessing poetry. London: Paul Chapman Publishing. Dymoke, S. (2010). The dead hand of the exam: The impact of the NEAB anthology on poetry teaching at GCSE. Changing English: Studies in Culture and Education, 9(1), 85–93. Dymoke, S. (2017). ‘Poetry is not a special club’: How has an introduction to the secondary Discourse of Spoken Word made poetry a memorable learning experience for young people? Oxford Review of Education, 43(2), 225–241. Egan, K. (1992). Imagination in teaching and learning: Ages 8–15. London: Routledge. Egan, K. (2006). Teaching literacy: Engaging the imagination of new readers and writers. California: Corwin Press. Eisner, E. W. (2004). What can education learn from the arts about the practice of education. International Journal of Education & the Arts, 5(4), 1–13. Fleming, M. (2012). The Arts in education: An introduction to aesthetics, theory and pedagogy. Oxon: Routledge.

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Kress, T., & Lake, R. (2018). The strong poetry of place: A co/auto/ethnographic journey of connoisseurship, criticality and learning. In Cultural s­tudies of science education (Vol. 13, pp. 945–956). Dordrecht, The Netherlands: Springer. Laclau, E., & Mouffe, C. (1985). Hegemony and socialist strategy: Towards a radical democratic politics. London: Verso. Lambirth, A. (2014). Commentary and practical implications: Righting the ‘Wrong Kind of Orientation’. In S.  Dymoke, M.  Barrs, A.  Lambirth, & A. Wilson (Eds.), Making Poetry Happen: Transforming the poetry classroom (pp. 43–58). London: Bloomsbury. Lin, T.-B & Li, J.-Y & Deng, Feng & Lee, Ling. (2013). Understanding New Media Literacy: An Explorative Theoretical Framework. Educational Technology and Society. 16. 160–170. McGuinn, N. (2014). The challenges and opportunities for engaging with poetry. In S. Dymoke, M. Barrs, A. Lambirth, & A. Wilson (Eds.), Making Poetry Happen: Transforming the poetry classroom (pp.  7–16). London: Bloomsbury. Newton, D. P. (2012). Teaching for understanding: What is it and how to do it (2nd ed.). Oxon: Routledge. Newton, L.  D. (2013). From teaching for creative thinking to teaching for productive thought: An approach for elementary school teachers. Durham: ICIE. Nussbaum, M. (2010). Not for profit: Why democracy needs the humanities. Princeton: Princeton University Press. Rowe, S., & Humphries, S. (2001). Creating a climate for learning at Coombes infant and nursery school. In A.  Craft, B.  Jeffrey, & M.  Leibling (Eds.), Creativity in education (pp. 159–174). London: Continuum. Seltzer, T., & Bentley, T. (1999). The creative age: Knowledge and skills for the new economy. London: Demos. Shor, I., & Freire, P. (1987). A pedagogy for liberation: Dialogues on transforming education. Greenwood Publishing Group. Snapper, G. (2015). Exploring resistance to poetry in advanced English studies. In S.  Dymoke, A.  Lambirth, & A.  Wilson (Eds.), Making poetry matter: International research on poetry pedagogy (pp. 31–41). London: Bloomsbury. Steele, S. (2014). Lifting poetry off the PageIn. In S.  Dymoke, M.  Barrs, A. Lambirth, & A. Wilson (Eds.), Making Poetry Happen: Transforming the poetry classroom (pp. 17–28). London: Bloomsbury. Stevens, D. (2010) Radical romantic pedagogy: An exploration of the tradition and viability of a synthesis of romantic and radical visions of education, focusing on the teaching of English at secondary level in England, Durham theses, Durham

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Part III Different Ways of ‘Doing’ Criticality in Education (Research)

7 Historical Bodies and Spaces in Criticality Practices: Revisiting Interview Data from Upper Secondary History Classrooms in Sweden, Russia and Australia Sergej Ivanov

Introduction Preparing students who are questioning, equipped for self-reflection and leading the change has been, to use Barnett’s (1997) term, a “critical business” for higher education for several centuries. Different epochs and cultural contexts have coloured what is conceivable for students to have doubts about, to ponder over in themselves and to transform in the society (see Johnston, Mitchell, Myles, & Ford, 2011, pp. 3–8 for a comprehensive overview of various approaches to criticality). However, due to the emergence of affordable fast digital channels to spread and consume information, policymakers around the globe have become concerned about how students at lower stages of education should deal with the

S. Ivanov (*) Linnaeus University, Växjö, Sweden e-mail: [email protected] © The Author(s) 2020 A. Simpson, F. Dervin (eds.), The Meaning of Criticality in Education Research, Palgrave Studies in Education Research Methods, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-56009-6_7

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increased load of information. Alternative facts and fake news are some of the recent labels for this challenge that have been ferociously debated in various interest groups and wider society. As a result, criticality has started to find its ways in school curricula in various countries so students learn to navigate the digital as well as analogue information landscape from an early age. In this chapter, the focus is on the upper secondary stage of education that lies between higher education and previous school education. Criticality itself is regarded as a literacy, which is “best understood as a set of social practices [… that] can be inferred from events which are mediated by […]1 texts” (Barton & Hamilton, 2000, p. 8). This conception of literacy has its roots in the New Literacy Studies (hereinafter NLS, see e.g., Barton, 2007; Street, 1995) that “draw upon a broader range of social theory than just critical theory” (Barton, 2001, p. 98). This allows to embrace different forms of meaning-making and, consequently, opens up various conceptions of criticality.

Theoretical Framework The understanding of criticality as a literacy practice entails a number of presuppositions. With Barton and Hamilton’s (2000, pp. 8–14) conceptualisation of literacy as the underlying concept, criticality is viewed as (1) domain-specific, that is criticality practices in the History classroom may differ from those in another subject, or outside the school; (2) patterned by the school as a social institution, that is educational policymakers and teachers regulate acceptable forms of criticality; (3) purposeful and embedded in the process of educating for citizenship, that is criticality is a desirable characteristic of a well-educated citizen2; and (4) historically situated, that is criticality practices are influenced by the particular history of a society as well as a person’s own history. In this chapter, criticality practices in the classroom context were examined as self-defined  The original reads “mediated by written texts”. The word “written” is omitted intentionally since this limitation is clearly abandoned elsewhere in the same publication as well as in later works, see for example, Barton (2001, 2007). 2  This is reflected in the educational policy documents for upper-secondary school, see, for example, Ivanov (2016, pp. 43–60). 1

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Table 7.1  Background information about the participating schools, interviews and respondents Russia School size (in Approx. 2400 students) 60/60 Interview duration (T/S in munutes) Teachers female (age: ≈50 yrs) Teacher’s Equivalent of MA education in Education (Majors: History and English) >20 years (since Teacher’s 1985) working experience Students 2 female & 4 male (age: 17 yrs) Likelihood of Highly likely tertiary education

Sweden

Australia

Approx. 2000

Approx. 1800

60/40

40/35

female (age: ≈60 yrs) female (age: 20 years (since >20 years (since 1992) 1993) Taught at tertiary level 4 female & 2 male 1 female (age: 17 (age: 17 yrs) yrs) Less likely Likely

and reported in six interviews with upper secondary History teachers and students in Russia, Sweden and Australia (see Table 7.1 for an overview). Since the data originated from a transnational study of criticality in these countries (see Ivanov, 2016), the conception of practices within NLS as “culturally recognisable patterns of behaviour, which can be generalised from the observation of specifics” (Tusting, Ivanič, & Wilson, 2000, p. 213) was commensurate with the material. To reveal how criticality practices “fit into the fabric of people’s experience and the cultures in which they live” (Jones, 2014, p. 42), some tools of mediated discourse analysis (hereinafter MDA) offer an opportunity. Adapted to the interview data, these include discourses in place and interaction order as verbalised in and reconstructed from the interviews with a special focus on illuminating the historical bodies of the respondents (cf. Scollon, 2001; Jones, 2014). Together these tools highlight how actions are mediated, which is the prime analytical unit in MDA (Scollon & Scollon, 2007; Jones, 2014).

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In this study, discourses in place are understood as “instance of language use, either written or spoken that mark the environment in which the social action takes place” (Jones, 2014, p. 54). In contrast to other types of discourse analysis, the focus in MDA is shifted away from discourse itself towards “the actions people use discourse to take” (Jones, 2014, p. 39). In the case of interview data, these mediated actions are inevitably self-reported. Thus, to determine what discourses in place are worth analysing, the focus is on reported actions, and also on how these actions fit in the respondents’ experiences, goals and ways of behaving and thinking (Scollon & Scollon, 2004, p. 46), in other words their historical bodies, a term originally coined by Kitaroo Nishida. This resonates with the NLS interest of investigating how practices are embedded in broader social processes (Street, 2000, p. 21) and is reminiscent of the idea in the Bakhtin circle that social aspects of time and space are integral to understanding why human interaction is structured the way it is (Vološinov,3 1993/1929, pp. 83–98). For the purposes of this study, only those reported actions were highlighted that were accompanied by the respondents’ own commentary on parts of their historical bodies relevant to criticality practices (cf. Scollon & Scollon, 2004, pp. 160–161) and where it was possible to reconstruct the interaction order of the actions, a term attributed to Erving Goffman and rethought in MDA as social arrangements and roles of the participants in these actions (Pan, 2014, p. 54). For further analytical procedures see Sampling and Analysis tools in this chapter.

Previous Research The originators of MDA, Ron and Suzanne Scollon, demonstrated in their study of the changes that practices of computer-mediated communication brought about in teaching and learning a university course at the University of Alaska in early 1980s (Scollon & Scollon, 2004) that the  The authorship of Marxism and the philosophy of language, among other publications of the Bakhtin circle, is questioned, and some researchers ascribe the work to Bakhtin, while other maintain Vološinov’s authorship (see Zenkin, 2013 for an insightful analysis of the debate). 3

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method was feasible to examine educational settings. At the time when the data were collected, the use of electronic communication was not commonplace in university education, and the Scollons were eager to alter that (see Scollon & Scollon, 2007 for other aspects of change), as they believed it to benefit Alaska Native students who underperformed in comparison to other groups of students. By comparing the discourses in place, interaction order and historical bodies in what they called “a traditional university class” and “a technology-mediated class”, Scollon and Scollon (2004) were able to reveal the power of communication media in accommodating for the needs of rural students with various communicative styles and strategies thus reducing the discriminatory effects. In another study, Tapio (2018) examined whether a university lecture hall enabled Finnish Sign Language students to participate in academic discourses and was particularly interested in academic spaces and the students’ historical bodies. The results showed that the restrictions to furniture rearrangements in the examined lecture hall displayed oral-­ language-­ oriented expectations in an academic environment (Tapio, 2018, p. 78), that is, in plain language, academic spaces were discriminating against Finnish Sign Language students. Tapio’s (2018) conclusion was that the students were accustomed to that since it was evident in their habitual embodied practices of choosing their seat in the classroom which she described “as visual manifestations of discourses sedimented in a historical body” (p. 78). The above two studies suggest that examining historical bodies in classroom contexts may shed light on acute issues in education and propose changes to the dominant practices that might discriminate against some groups of students. Historical body as a concept is often mentioned in educational research using MDA but scarcely operationalised in the actual analysis or discussion of the results (see e.g., Dooly, 2017; Dressler, 2018). In her approach to MDA in early childhood literacy research, Wohlwend (2009, 2014) prefers simply to avoid using the term. However, there are some exceptions, for example Palviainen (2012). In her questionnaire study about learning of Swedish as a second language in Finland, she used the concept of historical body both as a theoretical construct, as a justification for the data collection method and as a tool to analyse the collected data (ibid.). Eighty-three university Finnish L1 students who pursued a degree in

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Swedish and had on average a six-year-long experience of learning Swedish in school were surveyed. Palviainen (2012, pp. 11–12) regarded the process of completing the questionnaire about students’ personal experiences of language learning (i.e. historical body) as a mediated action, considered students’ written answers about their historical bodies as discourses in place and treated the conventions of filling in a research questionnaire as the interaction order. This approach yielded important results and drew insightful pedagogical implications (see ibid., pp. 31–32) but was compromised in the meaning that the historical bodies and discourses in place were focused on the declared object of research (learning of Swedish as an L2 in Finland), while the action and interaction order were related to the method of data collection (questionnaire). Ideally, all these elements should be clearly interrelated since a mediated action takes place as a nexus of the discourses in place, interaction order and historical body (Scollon & Scollon, 2004, p. 19). The next two sections will be thus devoted to clarifying the methodological issues concerning data collection and analysis in the present MDA study of reported criticality practices.

Data Collection Schools and Participants The interviews were conducted in 2013 as the final stage of data collection in the transnational study of criticality in the History learning environment in three schools in the middle-sized cities in Russia, Sweden and Australia with comparable status in terms of political, economic, educational and cultural capital (see Ivanov, 2016, pp. 19–39 for the overall study design). The Russian data were collected in a municipal comprehensive school that offers education from Year 1 to Year 11, covering the compulsory schooling in Russia (typically students aged 7–17). Both the Swedish and Australian data were collected in the schools that provide non-compulsory education. The study school in Sweden was a municipal comprehensive upper secondary school, which covers Year 10–12 (typically students aged 16–19), while the Australian participating school was state-funded and provided education for Year 11–12 students (typically students aged 17–18). In this chapter, the data from six interviews, one History teacher

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interview and one student interview per each national context, were included (see Table 7.1 for more details about the participating schools, interviews and respondents). As the interviews involved collecting primary data from people, all necessary ethics procedures were followed to protect the participants’ anonymity, guarantee their voluntary participation and ensure their well-­ being while and after the study. Initially, these procedures included seeking clearances from the University Research Ethics Review Panel in Umeå, Sweden and from the Department of Education and Early Childhood Development in Victoria, Australia. As there was no similar review panel in Russia at the point of data collection, it was sufficient to obtain consent from the participants and the school principal. In Sweden the consent was then obtained from the actual participants only, while in Australia, the consent was also sought and obtained from the students’ parents/guardians.

Sampling and Analysis Tools To revisit the interview data from a new angle requires a new sampling procedure to identify the parts of the interviews that might contribute to understanding the examined issue. In the present study the first stage of sampling was to identify the reported criticality practices (mediated actions) in the classroom context,4 since practices in MDA are understood as actions that “have become submerged into” the participants’ historical bodies (Jones, 2014, p. 42). This also meant that the interviewees had full control of the definition of what criticality was. The next step was to determine what part of the participants’ historical bodies was of relevance to examining how criticality practices fit into their experiences and cultures. Since historical bodies could potentially require immense resources to study in detail, following Hammersley’s advice (2006, pp.  6–8, see discussion of the breadth of context that needs to be investigated). I solved this pragmatically and selected those descriptions  The original interview data contained also reported criticality practices in other contexts, which were excluded from the present study (cf. Ivanov, 2016). 4

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of the practices that bore explicit information about the participants’ historical bodies in terms of historical situatedness of criticality practices and also permitted to reconstruct the interaction order for the reported actions. In other words, the selected descriptions revealed the interplay between the historical body and historical space, “the normative expectations we attach to spaces” (Blommaert & Huang, 2009, p. 276), which set boundaries for what criticality practices might have taken place (cf. Vološinov, 1993/1929). As such those descriptions represented embodied cultural knowledge, which according to Blommaert and Huang (2009) has “a measure of immediate recognizability” and “induce[s] particular frames of action and understanding for all the participants” (p.  275). In the case of the interview data, the embodied cultural knowledge was thus discerned in the discourses in place in which it was verbalised. Figure 7.1 summarises the adopted analysis model that merges Scollon and Scollon’s (2004, p. 20) nexus analysis model with Blommaert and Huang’s (2009) semiotic model of ethnographic inquiry. The theoretical constructs of historical body and historical space that are in focus in this chapter are highlighted by the use of a thicker line in the graphical representation of the analysis model. To illustrate and support the analysis, the excerpts of the interviews were presented in the original language, followed by a translation to English (if applicable) with minor syntactical changes. This was done to let the translations be transparent for the speakers of the languages to make judgements on as well as to allow the participants’ original voices to be heard and visible in the “Englishisationed” research (Phillipson, 2006).

Results The collected interview data contained a number of descriptions of criticality practices in the upper secondary History classrooms in Russia, Sweden and Australia (see Ivanov, 2016, pp. 61–111 for a comprehensive overview). Given the model outlined in the previous section (see Fig. 7.1), the analysis identified three areas of verbalised embodied cultural knowledge, one per each national context, that were recurrent in both teacher

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Fig. 7.1  Analysis model of criticality practices

and student interviews and provided insights into how criticality practices fitted into the respondents’ historical bodies. These areas were the Soviet past for Russia, trust in educational institutions for Sweden and the colonial legacy for Australia. Russian case. The Russian interview data indicated that the Soviet past had a direct bearing on what expectations the respondents attached to the History classroom, which conditioned and constrained what criticality practices were to be found. The following extracts from the Russian student and teacher interviews, in which the student argues for teaching and learning history through facts and the teacher recollects an instance from a school placement during her teaching training, reflect these expectations.

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Также навязывание со стороны педагога какой-то определенной точки зрения каких-то историков, […] в Советском Союзе […] такое очень часто практиковалось, когда подавались […] исторические события так, как будто это против СССР, или это СССР правильно поступал, делая так. Надо преподавать историю так, чтобы были четко факты, а не определенные точки зрения. Student: Also, imposing a certain point of view of some historians by the teacher, […] which was practised in the Soviet Union […] when […] historical events were presented like it was against the USSR, or the USSR did it all right in a certain situation. History should be taught through hard facts instead of the particular points of view. Учитель: […] у меня такой яркий пример, который сохранился с далекой молодости. […] раньше […] мы называли одной из причин отступления Красной Армии внезапность нападения […] А мы с ними [с учениками] рассматривали с ними различные документы, вот всего такого много было, и они тогда вот действительно сказали: А разве было внезапным нападение? […] А тогда это в общем-то было первая причина, которую выставляли, […] нас помню тогда еще преподаватель очень ругала за это, что вот мы на уроке, у вас вот дети смогли вот это высказать, вот как вы довели до этого, что они вам такое сказали? […] Это было яркое такое идеологическое, что: “Как вот вы допустили, что дети сказали? О какой внезапности можно говорить?” Teacher: […] I have a memory from my distant youth. […] earlier […] we used to believe that the surprise attack [of the Wehrmacht] was one of reasons for the retreat of the Red Army […] And [my students] and I examined different primary sources, lots of them, and they [the students] actually said: Was the attack really a surprise? […] At that time, it was presented as the main reason […] I remember that the teacher reprimanded us for letting the

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students say this during the lesson and for preparing the ground for them saying this. […] This was a vivid memory of ideologisation: “How did you allow that the children said this? How dare you talk about the surprise?” As evidenced in the extracts, the interviews indicate that the participants were aware of the constraints that ideologisation of the history education in the Soviet Union had on criticality practices. The interviewees’ responses hint thus at the historical situatedness of criticality practices and the teacher’s anecdote in particular demonstrates how the students’ bodies “fall out of shape” (Blommaert & Huang, 2009, p.  277) when falling short of the normative expectations tied to the historical place. Interestingly, the discourse of ideologisation was in place not only in the teacher’s interview, who reported to experience that first hand, but also in the interview with the students, none of whom had ever lived in the USSR. This suggests that this discourse in place is immediately recognisable for the participants thus manifesting the embodied cultural knowledge, arguably shared by the wider Russian population. The first-hand experiences perhaps led the teacher to be also concerned about the developments that she sensed at the time of the interview as illustrated in the following. Учитель: […] Какая наша страна будет? Какими они будут? В какой они стране будут жить? В свободной или же с той тенденцией, которая опять у нас идет? Конечно же, того, что было, и не будет [общество, которое как у нас было в период до 90-х годов, таким вот идеологизированным]. Но все-таки хотелось бы, чтобы они выросли совсем другими, не такими, каким выросло мое поколение. … Может, это им поможет в жизни […] остаться, ну так сказать, свободными людьми. Teacher: […] What kind of country will we become? What kind of people will they become? What kind of country will they live in? In a free country or with the current trend? Of course, what it used to be will not repeat [the society that we had before the 90-s, the ideology-driven one]. But still, it is desirable that they grow up

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as completely different people, not like my generation. … It may help them in life […] to remain, so to say, being free people. With the interviewees’ historical bodies in mind, the following reported criticality practice in the Russian upper secondary History classroom perhaps comes as no surprise. Ученик: […] учитель рассказывает, например, про ту же самую Вторую мировую войну, про Великую Отечественную войну. Мы знаем факты, мы знаем, что произошло, и при этом нам никто не говорит, что СССР поступил правильно или Германия. У нас у самих спрашивают нашу точку зрения, то есть, у каждого ученика, более-­менее интересующегося […] есть своя точка зрения. И ее никто не подавляет, никто не навязывает свою точку зрения. Мы можем соглашаться, не соглашаться друг с другом, но в результате каждый останется при своем мнении […] что очень важно. Student: […] the teacher talks, for example, about the Second World War, the Great Patriotic War. We know the facts, we know what happened, and nobody tells us whether it was the USSR or Germany that did right. We are asked about our point of view, that is every student, who is more or less interested […] has his/her own point of view. And no one suppresses it, no one tries to impose the point of view. We may or may not agree with each other, but in the end, everyone will have his/her own opinion […], which is very important. The above description provides a nexus of reported criticality practice with all three elements (historical body, interaction order and discourses in place) interacting in the Russian upper secondary History classroom. The class is an institutionally conditioned space where the participants are to play particular roles—the teacher is expected to teach and the students are expected to learn. Thus, as soon as the teacher and students enter the space, their historical bodies adjust to establish this particular interaction order (cf. literacy as patterned by institutions in Barton & Hamilton, 2000). Given this, the expected discourses to circulate the

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space could have been the general teaching and learning discourses. However, in this particular historical space these discourses are in the background, whereas the participants’ historical bodies push the discourse of individual opinions into the foreground. It might be anticipated that leaving this historical space would lead to students’ historical bodies to fall out of shape, which is in a different space, for example, the Math classroom, criticality practices would take another shape as evidenced in the following extract. Ученик: Факты, в основном, обсуждению не подлежат, например, на математике, […] не выведешь […] собственной точки зрения [на факты]. Можно лишь только на основе какойлибо решенной задачи или способа ее решения выводить собственную точку зрения […] На истории же каждый факт можно рассматривать по-разному, с разных сторон. Для одной стороны этот факт хорош, для другой—нет, третья вообще отношения к этому факту не имеет, и, следовательно, совершено разные точки зрения у тех людей, которые представляют первую, вторую, третью стороны. Student: Facts, in general, are not to be discussed, for example, in Math, […] you cannot have […] your own point of view [on facts]. You may only form your point of view on the basis of a solved [mathematical] problem or the approach to its solution […] In History, every single fact might be viewed differently, from different sides. For one party, the fact is good, for the other—it is not, the third one has nothing to do with the fact, and consequently there are completely different points of view among the people, who represent the first, second and third party. The student’s response suggests that in a different historical space, the constraints that the historical body exercises in the History classroom on how the action is mediated are not actualised. In other words, the Soviet past, which arguably has a bearing on criticality practices in the History classrooms, appears not to engage with the Math classroom in a similar way (cf. literacy as domain-specific in Barton & Hamilton, 2000).

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Assuming that criticality practices are purposeful and embedded in the process of educating for citizenship (cf. Barton & Hamilton, 2000), the following reported practice is indicative of the teacher’s conscious effort to counter the relapse into ideologisation of History education. Ученик: [Учитель представляет] факты о том, которые могут поменять наше мнение о ситуации. Ну, вот после революции 17-года […] началась гражданская война, были репрессии против несогласных […] тогда был главным Владимир Ильич Ленин или Ульянов, ну и вообще после революции ему везде возводились памятники, […] дети писали с радостью письма, пионеры, октябристы и подобные организации. Ну в наше время сейчас уже доказано, что […] было очень большое количество военных преступлений, но тем не менее памятники ему до сих пор стоят, улицы названные в его честь до сих пор существуют. И вот неизвестно почему так происходит, почему люди, ответственные за гибель многих […] почему такие люди, как, например, Владимир Ильич Ленин до сих пор чтятся в народе. Student: [The teacher introduces] facts about something that can change our opinion about a situation. So, for example, after the revolution in 1917 the civil war broke out, there were repressions of dissenters […] Vladimir Ilyich Lenin or Ulyanov was in charge, so after the revolution lots of monuments were erected in his honour, […] children, pioneers, little Octobrists and the like wrote [commemorative] letters. But nowadays it has been already proven that […] there were a great number of war crimes committed, but nevertheless the statues in his honour are still there, the streets named after him still exist. And it is obscure why it is like that, why people who are responsible for many deaths […] why these people like, for example, Vladimir Ilyich Lenin are still revered by the public. In the above-reported criticality practice in the upper secondary History classroom, the teacher appears to have purposefully introduced a

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discourse on the key figure in the Russian revolution that the student perceived to be contradictory to that of the general public. This extract indicates thus how the use of discourse contributes to performing the mediated action, in this particular case criticality practice in the Russian History classroom, as well as how the space and participants’ historical bodies condition this process. In the next section, the focus shifts towards the nexus of criticality practices in the second country of the present study. Swedish case. The analysis of the Swedish interview data identified trust in educational institutions as a recurrent area of verbalised embodied cultural knowledge in criticality practices, which dominated the student interview. Although the teacher interview contained a number of cross-­ references, the discourses in place suggested that the respondents assigned differing weights to this. In the Swedish students’ descriptions of criticality practices, there was a pattern that emerged at several occasions and that appeared to delineate the boundaries for criticality in the Swedish upper secondary History classroom. The pattern read “Trust in educational institutions” and belonged to the students’ historical bodies as evidenced in one of the numerous exchanges. Elev 1:

[…] Eftersom man har lärare så tror man att de lär ut rätt, kände jag i alla fall. Men det här ju … Elev 2: Det är det som man förväntar sig. Elev 1: … ja precis, för de […] ska lära oss alltså måste ju de vara lite pålästa eller så. 5 Student 1 : Since we have teachers, we trust that they teach right, I think so anyway. But this … Student 2: This is something that one expects. Student 1: … Yes, exactly, since they […] should teach us, they have to be very well-read or something.

 The numbering of students is only valid within one extract and does not suggest that, for example, student 1 in two different extracts is the same person. 5

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At first sight, the experiences that the students brought to the classroom were mundane but in relation to criticality practices, these could be problematic. The following extract illustrates this contention. Elev 1:

Alltså typ på lektionerna tänker du verkligen kritiskt? Det gör man inte—man lyssnar ju på. Elev 2: Jag tror på det [lärarens namn] säger. (SKRATT) Elev 1: Precis, jag med liksom, känns som att man inte är så kritisk man kanske borde vara. Student 1: Well, do you really think critically during the sessions? We don’t do that—we just listen. Student 2: I believe in what [the teacher’s name] says. (LAUGHTER) Student 1: Exactly, me too. It feels like we are not as critical as we perhaps should be. The above extract suggests that criticality practices in the Swedish upper secondary History classroom were constrained by the students’ historical bodies that included absolute trust in educational institutions. Later in the student interview, this assumption was further confirmed when the students reported that they would also be reluctant to question a researcher. As soon as the students stepped into a space of the classroom, their historical bodies engaged with the space to form a particular interaction order of not questioning the teacher but only each other as evidenced in the discourses in place in the following. Elev 1: Elev 2: Intervjuare: Elev 3:

Vi brukar som inte ifrågasätta henne men varandra tycker jag. Jo, det är sant. Så man ska ifrågasätta varandra …. Jo, men för att läraren är ju där för att lära. Och eftersom den har ju liksom gått en utbildning för att bli lärare måste den vara liksom vettig […] Student 1: We don’t usually question her [the teacher] but each other. Student 2: Yeah, it’s true. Interviewer: So, you should question each other …. Student 3: Yeah, because the teacher is there to teach. And since they have received a teacher education, they should be sensible […]

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The students’ responses are a further indicator that the reported criticality practices were institutionally patterned (cf. Barton & Hamilton, 2000) and that the normative expectations inscribed in the space of the classroom might have some explanatory power for the reported criticality practices. Although the teacher interview data clearly suggested that the teacher did not share the same expectations and reportedly encouraged the students to question the teaching discourse, there was also a trace of trust in educational institutions compared to other institutions, for example, the mass media. Lärare:

Jag brukar säga till eleverna att […] allt som står i en lärobok är ju inte sant därför att det är ju de som har skrivit en lärobok har ju också gjort ett urval av historien […] för mig betyder det [kritiskt tänkande] att man egentligen inte kan vara säker, hundraprocentigt säker på någonting bara för att det står nerskrivet i en lärobok eller för att det är en lärare säger det. Och definitivt inte för att det står i en tidning. Intervjuare: Finns det någon skillnad mellan en lärobok och en tidning? Lärare: Ja, jo, det tycker att det gör. […] Man får väl ändå ha mer tilltro till en person som har arbetat med att skriva upp en lärobok och som förhoppningsvis också är läst av andra innan den går i tryck och att den har en, får en kritisk bedömning. Teacher: I often tell my students that […] everything that is written in the textbook is not true because those who had written the textbook made also a selection of history […] for me, it [critical thinking] means that you cannot really be sure, one hundred percent sure in anything just because it is written in a textbook or because the teacher says so. And definitely not because it is written in a newspaper. Interviewer: Is there any difference between a textbook and a newspaper? Teacher: Yes, I think there is. […] You have still more confidence in a person who has worked with writing a textbook, which is hopefully read by other people before it is sent to the printer and which is critically reviewed.

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At the same time, it was evident in the following teacher’s response that criticality practices in the History classroom were domain-specific and that this very classroom constituted a particular historical space, where the interactional order of not questioning the teaching discourse formed as the historical bodies fell into shape. Lärare:

[…] Jag upplever i alla fall som att det är mer i ämnets natur att olika synsätt ska stötas och blötas i samhällskunskap. Historia [är] mycket mer […] ett ämne som så här har det varit, lär dig det och kom ihåg det för framtiden. Så att jag tror att det är lättare att historia blir ett konserverande ämne. Teacher: […] I feel anyway that it is in the nature of the subject that different approaches are thrashed out in Social Studies. History [is] much more […] a subject like: it has been that way, learn it and remember for future. So, I think it is easier for History to become a conservative6 subject. The conservative nature of this historical space in combination with the students’ historical bodies might have conditioned criticality practices, which was frustrating for the teacher as indicated in the following. Lärare:

[…] och jag kallar det okritiskt därför att […] man har kopierat min undervisning eller det jag har pratat om på lektioner eller en text i en lärobok. Att man inte gjort det till sin egen kunskap och då kan jag … tänka asch då, här har jag misslyckats. Teacher: […] and I call it uncritical because […] they [students] have copied my teaching or something I have talked about in the sessions or a text in the textbook. When they haven’t internalised the knowledge I might think oh, I have failed here […] There were arguably other constraints on criticality practices in the Swedish upper secondary History classroom (see, e.g., policy analysis in Ivanov, 2016, pp.  45–48, 56–60), but these parts of the respondents’ historical bodies were not explicitly mentioned in the interviews and thus  In the sense of preserving from change and acting to maintain the status quo.

6

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were out of scope in the present study. Nevertheless, the analysis of the discourses in place that suggested a shared trust in educational institutions verbalised in the interviews provided a viable framework for the interpretation of how the Swedish teacher and students reportedly practised criticality in the History classroom. Australian case. The Australian interview data indicated that the colonial legacy constituted a part of the respondents’ historical bodies that in combination with the space of the History upper secondary classroom laid the ground for criticality practices. The following extracts from the student and teacher interviews illustrate this embodied cultural knowledge. Student: […] I don’t like hearing about what happened with the aboriginal people. I’m kind of disgusted in that it actually happened and I feel so much responsible so for me learning about that what’s occurred—I feel quite negatively about it, I don’t like learning about it as much but I think we have to. Teacher: […] it was very important for students not just to say when the contact between white people and indigenous people had negative consequences. There were times that indigenous people and white people were able to work together. So having an understanding that sometimes students had bring a stereotypical sort of opinion about what has happened in the past. So I think when students are challenged with saying that, in fact, experiences are multifaceted that’s when their critical thinking, you know, comes into play. But students have to be taught particularly when responding using their critical thinking, they have to be given a scaffold about how to respond to something ensuring that they do think of the, you know, both sides not just one side, or one point of view. Although the student apparently was not pleased to deal with the aboriginal history, her body fell into shape—I have to—as soon as she entered the space of the upper secondary classroom (cf. literacy as patterned by institutions in Barton & Hamilton, 2000). Whereas the colonial legacy was apparently also a part of the teacher’s historical body brought to the classroom, the discourse in place in her interview indicated

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that her historical body differed and conditioned how criticality was reportedly taught. As seen in the teacher’s response, the colonial legacy had a bearing on criticality practices in a sense that she scaffolded the inclusion of the two sides of the historical process to challenge students’ stereotypes. This inclusion was achieved through the engagement of the teachers’ and students’ historical bodies with the space of the History classroom, which formed a particular interaction order of questioning sessions as evidenced in the following descriptions of criticality practices. Teacher: I think by questioning, asking students questions about what they are saying and reading, and as I said before by designing scaffolding answers so that they are sort of forced to be a little critical in their thinking. […] So, asking questions and scaffolding answers, it’s probably two main things that I do. Student: […] I think in setting up questions and putting questions in place for us students to think critically. In other words, the interaction order manifested itself in the sessions where the teacher would ask students questions that were meant to trigger their critical thinking (cf. literacy as purposeful and embedded in Barton & Hamilton, 2000). The teacher’s historical body conditioned that such questioning sessions would lead to the inclusion of the two perspectives as corroborated in the following discourse of compassion that describes the student’s own criticality practice in the Australian upper secondary History classroom. Student: Well, from a white person’s perspective from that time, it could be seen as uninhabited so it was almost a positive thing for them that they […] were gaining a lot from taking over the land. But having seen, learned about the white people and the natives I feel more for the natives than I do for the white even being a white person. I, having heard both of the sides, I’ve developed a different view for them. As evidenced in the above extract, the discourse of shame and evasion that might potentially have emerged in a space different from the History

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classroom was substituted by the discourse of compassion in this historical space. Thus, the student’s historical body appeared to adjust to the space of the upper secondary History classroom resulting, as a consequence, in a specific discourse in place that accompanied this criticality practice. In her interview, the teacher implied that leaving the space of the History classroom would result in a different kind of criticality practice, since the historical body would shift out of the codes inscribed in this historical space. Teacher: Aha. So a lot of similarities, I think because especially in the humanities, and I’ve taught English, Sociology, especially in the Humanities I think being able to read, critically read text is very, very similar. You certainly bring similar skills. Um, but critical thinking, say in English, is more about the why the language is being used, you do that to an extent in History. In English it’s about the construction of that language, and yes there is a place for that in History but we wouldn’t focus on that. We would focus much more on the impact of that document, on what is has to say about a particular event or a particular idea or that’s much more we are interested in rather than sort of deconstructing the language and to find how it’s been written in a persuasive manner or in a certain manner, it’s more about deconstructing the language whereas in history it’s about drawing on other things that help that paste to make sense. Despite the similarities between the criticality practices in the Humanities, the teacher highlighted some distinctive normative expectations associated with the historical space of the English classroom in comparison with that of the History classroom (cf. literacy as domain-­specific in Barton & Hamilton, 2000). She summarised her vision of criticality practices in the History classroom in the following extract. Teacher: So critical thinking is about what you read or see or hear, not taking what you are seeing on face value, thinking about the context of the time that it comes from, thinking about the

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background of the person who’s created the document or the people. It’s about drawing conclusions about the changes that’ve occurred over time and why they have occurred. And the complexities that this involves. According to the student interview data, the teacher’s vision was implemented in the classroom as indicated by the following discourse in place illustrating that the student acquired the expected codes of behaviour (e.g., analysis of context and perspectives) and her historical body fell into shape in the space of the History classroom. Student: So when I was reading […] the profile that we have on him [John Batman7], being able to then think back to that time and think about his circumstances, what he was experiencing, to put ourselves in his shoes, just visualise what he was going through I guess and what was to come out of that, and to see the progression and the outcomes of what he was doing at the time. I think that was thinking critically […] The nexus analysis of the reported criticality practices in the Australian upper secondary History classroom suggests that the colonial legacy, being a part of the interviewees’ historical bodies and verbalised in the discourses in place, outlined which teaching and learning actions were mandatory or desired, and which were transgressive (cf. Blommaert & Huang, 2009, p. 279). The students were, for example, expected to consider the perspectives of both the indigenous people and the settlers and perhaps not to view the contact between them as exclusively positive or negative in the History classroom. Knowing that the student’s historical body adapted and reportedly engaged in criticality practices that were expected in this historical space.

 John Batman was an Australian settler who emigrated to Van Diemen’s Land in 1821 and became a grazier (Brown, 1966). 7

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Conclusion and Implications In the present study, the interview data from the three national contexts were analysed with the tools of mediated discourse analysis to find out whether the theoretical constructs of historical body and historical space would provide a viable framework for the interpretation of criticality practices in the upper secondary History classroom. The results of the analysis suggested that these theoretical constructs had some explanatory power for the rationale behind why criticality practices were performed in the History classroom in certain ways and in other ways elsewhere. In particular, the analysis demonstrated that criticality practices were shaped by the baggage of experiences, goals and ways of behaving and thinking that the students and teachers brought to the classroom, but only by those that were considered valid in the space of the History classroom. These were the Soviet past for the Russian teacher and students that made individual opinions foregrounded in the discourses in place; trust in educational institutions for their Swedish counterparts that was evident in the discourses in place and made the students reluctant to question the history presented by their teacher; and the colonial legacy for the Australian interviewees that made the inclusion of the two perspectives on a historical event foregrounded in the discourses in place. The MDA of the interview data allowed, in other words, to discern the embodied cultural knowledge that shed light on how the selected criticality practices were historically situated in the ideology, traditions and history on which these practices were based (cf. Barton & Hamilton, 2000, p. 13). There should be, however, some caution in what conclusions might be drawn from the analysis. Since the data collection was not originally designed for the purposes of the MDA, a more detailed picture of the participants’ historical bodies might potentially have emerged in the case of a different study design, for example, an interview guide specifically targeting the interviewees’ historical bodies. Nevertheless, this limitation might also be interpreted as a strength since none of the interviewees’ comments concerning their historical bodies was prompted by the interviewer. The spontaneous comments provided evidence that within each national context the sampled teachers and students tended to circulate

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similar discourses that could be then traced back to the nature and performance of reported criticality practices. As Palviainen (2012) notes, the discourses in place that the respondents share in a study are “a mirror of the discourses and society at large” (p.  32, my translation) and consequently might inform political and pedagogical decisions that educational policymakers take and that teachers implement in their respective national contexts. Critical practices, as this analysis made abundantly clear, are patterned by the school as an institution, and thus by the normative expectations that are attached to the historical space in which these practices occur. In such institutional setting as the History classroom, the policymakers delegate the power to the teachers so the latter have the authority to define the space. As students move from one nexus of practice to another, their historical bodies adjust to each new historical space swiftly and without difficulty (cf. Blommaert & Huang, 2009, pp. 277, 279) as was evidenced in, for instance, the Russian student’s response which captured such adjustment when shifting from the History classroom to the Math classroom resulting in a different kind of criticality practices. This is, however, not to say that the students’ historical bodies do not matter. On the contrary, their ways of behaving and thinking might go against the teacher’s encouragement to, for instance, question the teaching discourse, which was seen in the case of the Swedish students. By highlighting these itineraries of the historical bodies (cf. Jones, 2014, p.  50), the present MDA might offer some basis for conscious revisions of curriculum and might provide insights into criticality practices so informed pedagogical choices are made in the classroom. The possibility for teachers to relate their decision making to the practices described in this study is “more important that its generalisability” (Bassey, 1981, p. 85), although practices “rarely occur alone, but usually form part of larger social practices” (Jones, 2014, p. 42). Given the trust in educational institutions, a purposeful undermining of the conservative nature of History that the Swedish teacher pinpointed masterfully (“it has been that way, learn it and remember for future”) might benefit criticality practices on condition that a diversity of historical narratives is instead promoted in the curriculum. Continued efforts to keep such topics as the aboriginal history in Australia and the human

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losses during the communist regime in Russia, which otherwise are willingly evaded, in the respective national curricula might be another step that provides the conditions for criticality to thrive. Finally, careful pedagogical design that includes sustained conscious effort to scaffold questioning of the teaching discourse might be desirable, in particular with groups of students who are not planning any further studies. Such design might mean that a “how-dare-you-say” attitude will be less likely to be encountered in the space of the upper secondary History classroom, and the students are believed to be capable of critical thinking and are empowered to be critical beings.

References Barnett, R. (1997). Higher education: A critical business. Buckingham: Society for Research into Higher Education and Open University Press. Barton, D. (2001). Directions for literacy research: Analysing language and social practices in a textually mediated world. Language and Education, 15(2–3), 92–104. Barton, D. (2007). Literacy: An introduction to the ecology of written language. Malden: Blackwell. Barton, D., & Hamilton, M. (2000). Literacy practices. In D.  Barton, M. Hamilton, & R. Ivanič (Eds.), Situated literacies: Reading and writing in context (pp. 7–15). London & New York: Routledge. Bassey, M. (1981). On the relative merits of search for generalisation and study of single events. Oxford Review of Education, 7(1), 73–94. Blommaert, J., & Huang, A. (2009). Historical bodies and historical space. Journal of Applied Linguistics, 6(3), 267–282. Brown, P. L. (1966). Batman, John (1801–1839). In D. Pike (Ed.), Australian dictionary of biography (Vol. 1). Melbourne: Melbourne University Press. Dooly, M. (2017). A Mediated Discourse Analysis (MDA) approach to multimodal data. In E. Moore & M. Dooly (Eds.), Qualitative approaches to research on plurilingual education (pp.  189–211). Research-publishing.net). https://doi.org/10.14705/rpnet.2017.emmd2016.628. Dressler, R. (2018). Canadian bilingual program teachers’ understanding of immersion pedagogy: A nexus analysis of an early years classroom. The Canadian Modern Language Review, 74(1), 176–195.

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Hammersley, M. (2006). Ethnography: Problems and prospects. Ethnography and Education, 1(1), 3–14. Ivanov, S. (2016). A transnational study of criticality in the history learning environment. Umeå: Umeå University. Johnston, B., Mitchell, R., Myles, F., & Ford, P. (2011). Developing student criticality in higher education: Undergraduate learning in the Arts and Social Sciences. London: Bloomsbury. Jones, R. H. (2014). Mediated discourse analysis. In S. Norris & C. D. Maier (Eds.), Interactions, images and texts: A reader in multimodality (pp. 39–51). Boston: De Gruyter. Palviainen, Å. (2012). Lärande som diskursnexus: Finska studenters uppfattningar om skoltid, fritid och universitetsstudier som lärokontexter för svenska. Nordisk Tidsskrift for Andrespråksforksning, 7(1), 7–35. Pan, Y. (2014). Nexus analysis. In S. Norris & C. D. Maier (Eds.), Interactions, images and texts: A reader in multimodality (pp. 53–62). Boston: De Gruyter. Phillipson, R. (2006). Figuring out the Englishisation of Europe. In C. Leung & J. Jenkins (Eds.), Reconfiguring Europe: The contribution of applied linguistics (pp. 65–85). London: Equinox Publishing Ltd.. Scollon, R. (2001). Mediated discourse: The nexus of practice. London & New York: Routledge. Scollon, R., & Scollon, S. W. (2004). Nexus analysis: Discourse and the emerging Internet. London & New York: Routledge. Scollon, R., & Scollon, S. W. (2007). Nexus analysis: Refocusing ethnography on action. Journal of Sociolinguistics, 11(5), 608–625. Street, B. (1995). Social literacies: Critical approaches to literacy development, ethnography, and education. London: Longman. Street, B. (2000). Literacy events and literacy practices: Theory and practice in the New Literacy Studies. In M. Martin-Jones & K. Jones (Eds.), Multilingual literacies: Reading and writing different worlds (pp. 17–29). Amsterdam: John Benjamins Publishing Company. Tapio, E. (2018). Focal social actions through which space is configured and reconfigured when orienting to a Finnish Sign Language class. Linguistics and Education, 44, 69–79. Tusting, K., Ivanič, R., & Wilson, A. (2000). New literacy studies at the interchange. In D.  Barton, M.  Hamilton, & R.  Ivanič (Eds.), Situated literacies: Reading and writing in context (pp. 210–218). London & New York: Routledge.

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Vološinov, V.  N. (1993/1929). Marxism and the philosophy of language. Cambridge: Harvard University Press. Wohlwend, K.  E. (2009). Mediated discourse analysis: Researching young children’s non-verbal interactions as social practice. Journal of Early Childhood Research, 7(3), 228–243. Wohlwend, K.  E. (2014). Mediated discourse analysis: Tracking discourse in action. In P. Albers, T. Holbrook, & A. S. Flint (Eds.), New methods of literacy research (pp. 56–69). London & New York: Routledge. Zenkin, S. (2013). Nekompetentnye razoblachiteli. New Literary Observer, 1(119), 358–365.

8 A Practitioner-Research Study of Criticality Development in an Academic English Language Programme Ana Inés Salvi

Introduction This paper reports on a doctoral study of criticality in my own English for Academic Purposes (EAP) teaching practice. I will focus on one of the teaching contexts I explored, which is a pre-Pre-sessional English language course delivered by a British university in the students’ country of origin, Mainland China. The two research questions this study will respond to are: (1) what signs of criticality there are in what my students and I did in this course, and (2) to what extent pedagogy for autonomy, exploratory practice, and arts-informed research methods can contribute to developing criticality. Contrary to claims that Chinese international students have a fundamental problem with critical thinking due to cultural or political A. I. Salvi (*) University of East Anglia, Norwich, UK e-mail: [email protected] © The Author(s) 2020 A. Simpson, F. Dervin (eds.), The Meaning of Criticality in Education Research, Palgrave Studies in Education Research Methods, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-56009-6_8

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differences between the East and the West (Zhang, 2017), in this study I sought to understand signs of criticality in what my Chinese students and I did in an academic English language course. Critiquing a narrow view of critical thinking as mere rationality, I propose a broader view of critical thinking which I refer to as criticality, which brings together conceptualisations of ‘the critical’ from different currents of critical thought, including critical thinking, critical pedagogy, critical theory, and Critical English for Academic Purposes (CEAP). My teaching practice was informed by pedagogy for autonomy, exploratory practice, and arts-informed research methods. Suspecting that the pedagogy I was deploying was conducive to criticality, I collected data and analysed it for signs of criticality after the course had finished. This paper starts with a review of the four currents of thought that informed this study. It continues with a presentation of the three methodological frameworks that informed this study, followed by an explanation of the data collection and analysis methods. Thirdly, signs of criticality in the educative experience are presented with examples from different data types. Fourthly, a discussion of the signs of criticality found in my practice in relation to both the theoretical and methodological frameworks used is presented. The paper ends with conclusions including implications and contributions.

Literature Review The critical currents of thought explored in this study include critical thinking, critical pedagogy, critical theory, and Critical English for Academic Purposes (CEAP). Next, I will give a brief explanation of each of them.

Critical Thinking Within the field of English for Academic Purposes (EAP), critical thinking to my mind is often narrowly understood and taught as the ability to respond to a given statement by providing arguments in favour and against it. Less emphasis is put on providing students with opportunities

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to develop their own questions and their own voices. Based on this ‘narrow view’ of critical thinking, I have selected studies on critical thinking that somehow challenge this view by showing a broader and more holistic view of critical thinking. One such study is Brown’s (1998), which presents critical thinking as enquiry of one’s own doubts and epistemic questions in an environment of joint enquiry. This study is also telling in adding a cultural dimension to critical thinking, as a tradition that must be nourished by those societies which have developed it. Those societies which have developed a critical tradition are more developed than those which have not. In the context of international students learning academic English, this implies that teachers should be aware that critical thinking might not be a common practice in the students’ own culture. Flexibility, time, and sustainability are all important conditions to this practice. Another study that was significant for me was McPeck’s (1981) due to its engagement with the role of knowledge in critical thinking. This was an aspect that puzzled me at the time, how much knowledge is enough, what kind of knowledge is involved in developing criticality. He defines critical thinking as involving both a sceptical attitude towards ideas that are presented as facts, and knowledge of the epistemological foundations of the discipline one is discussing. In other words, he claims that having a questioning, reflective and sceptical attitude is not enough to be critical. Having knowledge of the field one is discussing is equally necessary to be critical. While this contribution is helpful, the contributions of Benesch and Chun within the literature on CEAP, which derives from Critical Theory, to understanding the role of knowledge is more radical and significant. They stress an often neglected aspect of educative practices, namely, the students’ construction of knowledge by engaging their own knowledge and experience in the process of making sense and meaning of new information. This will be discussed more in depth in the CEAP section.

Critical Pedagogy Within the literature on critical pedagogy, Freire (2011) argues that a critical pedagogy involves both educators and students’ continuous

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enquiry and reflection on practice, which gradually transforms their ingenious curiosity into a more critical curiosity. Here it is both the continuity and the togetherness of the practice that I highlight as adding to my understanding of criticality. Secondly, a critical pedagogy involves developing self-awareness and awareness of the other, that is, becoming more self-assured and autonomous by making decisions and evaluating the truthfulness of one’s beliefs in dialogue with others. Thirdly, critical pedagogy involves both being hopeful that there are alternative ways of doing things for the well-being of human kind, and denouncing or making visible ideologies which go against the well-being of people. In this sense, critical pedagogy is creative, emancipatory, transformative, and democratic (Dewey, 1916; Giroux, 2011). All in all, critical pedagogy’s contribution to understanding of criticality includes consistent enquiry and reflection on practice by learners and educators; a focus on understanding oneself and others; and a focus on human beings’ well-being including speaking up if this is violated and developing a hopeful attitude to life.

Critical Theory In order to understand criticality better I also consulted the literature on critical theory, in particular the Frankfurt School, some of whose representatives include Horkheimer, Marcuse, and Adorno, and later studies such as those by Judith Butler from the US, and their influence on more recent studies. Theoreticians within this movement seek to understand the relationship between discourse and the subject, and claim that the subject is constructed by the discourse they are part of and that, at the same time, subjects construct reality/discourse to some extent. Critiquing discourse is at the heart of critical theory. Uncovering injustice and social practices which are against the well-being of humanity and cause suffering (Herzog, 2016), and striving for tolerance and diversity are pivotal aims of critical theory. The construction of the subject is the central concern of critical theory; and the main contribution of critical theory has been the acknowledgement of the struggle for the subject of performing differently from the status quo, from the discourse that constitutes them. Today, within multicultural and multilingual contexts around the world,

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subjects are faced with different discourses, which constitute opportunities to question and interact with them and become aware of different ways of being (Grey, 2009). In the construction of its identity, the subject is immersed in a consistent struggle to fight against aspects of the dominant discourse they do not sympathise with, and to construct discourses or possible ways of being that constitute them. It is in the repetitive performance of difference that the subject constitutes itself (Butler, 1990). It is in that struggle that the subject triumphs over the norm. Critical theory’s contribution to understanding criticality and how to use it in the classroom is significant, as the data from this study will show. It provides a tool to ease anxiety and to deal with issues that arise out of both learners’ and teachers’ struggles in the construction of their identities, and in dealing with difference and disruption, a among others.

Critical English for Academic Purposes Given that the context of this study is teaching and learning academic English, it was appropriate to explore Critical English for Academic Purposes (CEAP) too, a movement which has been shaped and influenced by both critical theory and critical pedagogy (Macallister, 2016). Its main proponent is Sarah Benesch (2001, 2009) and more recently Christian Chun (2015) has prolifically published within CEAP, both in the US. CEAP has also been explored in the Australian context and less so in the UK. Its main contributions include stressing the importance of how the language is taught over who chooses what to teach or what is being taught, that is to say, creating opportunities for learners to make meaning by themselves in the classroom, to engage their common sense knowledge and experience of the world in this process, and in so doing, to become aware of the constructive nature of the curriculum, to see how discourses are constructed, to question them and be hopeful they too can construct their own realities. Dialogue with students and making these decisions visible are constitutive of CEAP. In the Australian context, Grey (2009) created spaces in the EAP classroom for her students to explore and live different identities. The topic in the curriculum was diversity in business; acknowledging the importance of performing differently, she

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developed tasks for her students to perform different identities in a non-­ judgemental environment. She claimed that her students might not have learned how to write an essay in the conventional way, but will have become aware of the constructive nature of their identities.

Methodology The aim of this study is to understand criticality and to find signs of it in what my students and I did in an English for Academic Purposes (EAP) classroom, which was informed by pedagogy for autonomy and exploratory practice (EP). Arts-informed research methods were also deployed as a tool to collect the students’ perspectives on the learning experience. The context is a pre-Pre-sessional Academic English Language Course delivered by a British university in the country of origin of the student participants, Mainland China. The aim of this course was to introduce students to life in the UK and to develop their academic English skills, before they started their year abroad within their undergraduate course, or a one-year Master’s course, in the UK. There were eight students and I was the lecturer-researcher. The programme consisted of twenty hours of teaching per week for four weeks. The syllabus was both topic- and skills-­ based, and was specifically designed by the course leaders at the British university, following the structure of a traditional language course book. Each week was dedicated to a specific topic and all the material was provided. This was problematic to me because my teacher autonomy, and in turn the learners’ autonomy, was compromised. Even though it was expected that the teacher would complement the syllabus with extra material or tasks based on the students’ needs, having a prescriptive syllabus of this kind is challenging and restrictive for autonomous teachers, and students. Conversely, a functions-based syllabus would have allowed for teachers’ and students’ choice of topic, materials, and tasks. The programme also included weekly projects aimed at developing the students’ speaking, writing, presentation, and argumentative skills; and tutorials twice a week in the afternoon to give the learners an opportunity to talk about their learning in a one-to-one session with the tutor.

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Data Collection Methods The data collection tools that were used were semi-structured interviews to each participant during a tutorial session; weekly students’ reflections on learning via email; weekly students’ reflective paintings; and video-­ recorded student talk about each other’s artwork. This practitioner research study has been informed by the three frameworks, namely pedagogy for autonomy, exploratory practice, and arts-­ informed research methods, which from the outset of the project seemed conducive to criticality, as I understood it at the time.

Pedagogy for Autonomy A pedagogy for autonomy (Smith, 2003; Holec, 1981; Dam & Lentz, 1998; Dam, 1995; Benson, 2001) is a learner-centred approach to teaching and learning by which the teacher lets go of control over classroom decisions to give learners space to take charge of their own learning. Learners are encouraged to reflect on their learning needs and development, plan their work, do it, evaluate it, and, whenever possible, contribute to planning assessment, depending on the affordances and constraints of the programme of study. Reflective logbooks (Dam, 2009; Wenden, 1991) are tools for reflection on learning that contribute to developing student autonomy, self-awareness, and a better rapport with the lecturer. Informed by this pedagogy for autonomy, I asked students to reflect on their learning needs and choose tasks accordingly, to share and evaluate the work done orally with the rest of the class, and to reflect on their learning experience both in writing via email and through painting weekly, records of which constitute data for analysis of criticality. It is worth stressing that autonomy is sometimes mistaken with working individually. This understanding is opposite to how it is meant in this work. Here autonomy is tightly linked with collegiality, dialogue, and collaboration. Having said this, autonomy is a highly contested concept which can suggest that an autonomous subject is free to choose, without acknowledging the struggle involved in this process. In this study,

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autonomy contributes to understanding the importance of providing learners with space to develop their criticality (individual, mutual, and socio-­cultural understanding).

Exploratory Practice Exploratory Practice (Allwright, 2003; Allwright & Hanks, 2009; Hanks, 2017) is a framework for learning, teaching, and research, which is guided by seven principles, which are put together under three main categories: ‘what’ is the focus of the work (working for understanding and for quality of life), ‘who’ is involved (everyone is involved in working for both individual and mutual understanding), and ‘how’ this practice is done (continuously and sustainably; that is using normal pedagogic tools as research tools, to avoid burnout). Exploratory Practice is in itself radical, against the grain, and on the margins. This is so because it was born in reaction to an almost exclusive focus in the field of Applied Linguistics and English Language Teaching on academic research. This framework validates and argues for research by and for learners and teachers. Thus it seemed to link together well with my understanding of criticality at the outset of this project. Informed by this practitioner research framework, I asked students to enquire into their own questions related to the syllabus content, to work together, and share their work and understanding with everyone at the end of each session. Meanwhile, I kept records of the pedagogic practice which I analysed for signs of criticality at the end of the course. One of the tutorials was used to enquire into my students’ perceptions of the pedagogic and research practice, more specifically, of (1) reflecting on their learning in writing, (2) doing drawings, (3) the meaning of criticality, (4) the role of the university, and (5) being autonomous. Using what was already available as part of the normal pedagogic practice to enquire into my own research questions was also in line with this framework.

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Arts-Informed Research Methods Arts-informed research methods (Knowles & Cole, 2008; Eisner, 1981, 2008; Leavy, 2009) in this study refer to drawings and paintings my students did to reflect on their learning experience and share it with their classmates and the lecturer-researcher (see Salvi et al., 2016). These methods were deployed in an attempt to capture the ineffable or what is hard to put into words (Weber, 2008). Specifically, I asked my students to reflect on their learning via drawing/painting weekly. I provided them with all the material, and this was usually done on the last day of the week, so that they could look back on what they had done and learned, how they had felt, and what they felt they needed to work on next. Using these methods in a language programme was in itself disruptive because it deviates from the norm. I suspected that through art my students might be able to express what is in their subconscious and what is hard to articulate. Bagnoli (2009) argues that arts-based methods allow participants to go beyond a verbal mode of thinking. Exploring participants’ perceptions through art resonated with what I understood criticality to be then and thus seemed to be an appropriate methodology to explore criticality. Eisner (2008) argues that it is with Aristotle that there is recognition of the arts as a source of knowing. Aristotle distinguishes three kinds of knowledge: theoretical, practical, and productive, the last of which refers to the arts. The power of images lies in its ever-lasting potential to evoke memories and for meaning making. What makes arts-informed methods so powerful is their direct accessibility and their being a source of meaning making, creativity, criticality, resonance, and imagination. Artful research tools (Back & Puwar, 2012) facilitate accessing thoughts and memories that are either hard to articulate (Knowles & Cole, 2008, p. 44) or in one’s subconscious, working for mutual development, and expanding opportunities for knowledge production to key actors in the educative enterprise. There are studies (Song, 2016) which rightly make the case for embracing different knowledge domains, not just critical thinking, in international educative contexts. Song (ibid.) understands critical thinking in a

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narrow sense as a ‘monolingually-framed form of reasoning’. Meanwhile, in this study, I critique this narrow understanding of critical thinking and show that criticality is broader in meaning including various ways of knowing, such as knowing through the arts. Both Song and I critique the same concept but we do it differently. While she critiques the Western university’s almost exclusive focus on one way of knowing, represented by critical thinking understood as one way of reasoning, and argues for the need to broaden the focus of Western universities to other ways of knowing, which I agree with, I highlight the narrowness of the concept of critical thinking and make the case for a broader understanding of criticality that includes other critical ways of knowing.

Data Analysis The data was first analysed via conventional content analysis. All the different data types were analysed for emergent themes, trying not to impose any theoretical framework onto the data (Hsieh & Shannon, 2005; Braun & Clarke, 2006 in Mann, 2016). Three overarching themes were identified: being in charge; collaboration and working with others; and sociological and cultural awareness. Subsequently, the emergent themes were discussed and re-read in the light of the literature on criticality explored for this study, namely critical thinking, critical pedagogy, critical theory, and Critical English for Academic Purposes (CEAP). After this process the three overarching themes were re-named as individual criticality, interpersonal criticality, and sociological and cultural (dimensions of ) criticality.

Results Next, each of the three main aspects of criticality (individual, interpersonal, and socio-cultural) that emerged in the data will be explained with examples: two examples of individual and interpersonal criticality and three examples of sociological and cultural criticality are provided.

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Individual Criticality Individual criticality encompasses all the emerging themes from the educative practice which are related to ‘being in charge’ of one’s own learning. During a tutorial session, I asked my students five questions. One of them was whether they thought that being reflective about their own learning was helpful, and if so, how. The excerpt below is an example of the students’ positive perspectives on reflecting on their learning either in writing or via drawings. Reflecting is ‘doing things by ourselves: in our context the classes are shorter and the teacher speaks all the time; I think it’s useful and better to do projects, find questions by ourselves’.

The excerpt above highlights several aspects of this overarching theme ‘being in charge or individual criticality’: reflecting on one’s learning, doing things by oneself, doing projects, and finding questions by oneself. Freire (2011) argues that in the process of reflecting, one develops one’s autonomy. This resonates with the student’s words ‘reflecting is doing things by ourselves’. The participant also highlights the usefulness of investigating one’s own epistemic needs in an environment of joint enquiry, which constitutes critical thinking according to Brown (1998). The student’s words ‘doing things by ourselves’ resonate with Freire’s (2011) reference to critical pedagogy as involving making and evaluating one’s decisions and in so doing developing an enhanced sense of assertiveness and authority. The drawing below (Fig. 8.1) is another example of individual criticality, that is, of personal engagement in meaning making (Benesch, 2001; Chun, 2015) and of developing the quality of one’s own curiosity (Freire, 2011). This participant’s drawing depicts her change of perception of the educative experience, from expecting boredom to discovering joy when learning is in her own hands. This change from a negative expectation to a positive attitude towards her classroom learning experience is due to her having now the opportunity to be in charge of, and choose out of options, and with the guidance of the lecturer, what aspect of her written work to focus on, based on her interests and needs, and on the lecturer’s feedback.

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Fig. 8.1  An example of the individual dimension of criticality

According to Benesch (2001), critical EAP involves providing learners with opportunities to engage with syllabus content in personal ways, bringing their own lived experiences in the process of making meaning. Within the context of critical pedagogy, Freire (2011) argues that a critical pedagogy promotes the development and transformation of the quality of one’s curiosity in a continuum from commonsensical to critical curiosity. By engaging in exploring that which one is curious about more deeply, one gets closer to developing a more critical attitude to one’s queries. This participant was happy to choose what aspect of her writing she wanted to explore and understand more deeply. This drawing (Fig. 8.1) also reflects other aspects of individual criticality, namely disruption and difference. Xiaolin is depicting an experience of change and disruption; she is highlighting the differences between this and her previous educative experiences; the encounter with ‘difference’ creates disruption, which opens up other possibilities and ways of seeing

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the world (Grey, 2009). This constitutes criticality, which, in this case, I referred to as individual, because it was experienced by herself and she expressed this personal experience in her drawing. All in all, individual criticality encompasses reflection on one’s own learning, metacognition, self-awareness, experiencing disruption in the face of difference and discovering new ways of seeing the world, exploring one’s own questions, and asserting one’s authority by developing one’s autonomy and critical curiosity.

Interpersonal Criticality The interpersonal dimension of criticality refers to the role of dialogue and interaction in exercising and developing criticality. Like the individual aspects of criticality, dialogue is another key aspect of criticality as expressed in all the currents of critical thought explored in this study, as well as in the results of this study. Liu’s reflective drawing below (Fig. 8.2) highlights, among others, the interpersonal aspect of criticality. This is indicated by the drawings of each classmate and the lecturer, and by referring to everyone as a family. She also mentions doing presentations, which was an opportunity for presenters to share and discuss their work with their classmates and for the audience to learn about and discuss the presenters’ work. Regarding students’ oral presentations and criticality, another student, in response to an interview question regarding what is criticality, gave an example of when they were critical in class. He said that they ‘were critical when they asked questions after their classmates’ presentations, helping the presenters be specific about their work’. In other words, he is referring to the dialogic nature of criticality, so typical of the philosophical critical tradition and all the other critical currents of thought that followed. Freire (2011) argues that it is in dialogue with others when one is confronted with one’s own views and has a chance to evaluate the truthfulness of one’s views and in so doing ascertain one’s authority and autonomy. Liu’s drawing also highlights the intrinsic relationship between individual and communal development. On the one hand, she highlights the communal by referring to everyone in class as ‘a family’, and by drawing

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Fig. 8.2  An example of the interpersonal dimension of criticality

students presenting their work and the whole class twice, at the top and the bottom, of the drawing. At the same time, she refers to the individual with the image of one person riding a bicycle, and the phrases ‘each people’ and ‘everyone has own ideas’. This imagery as a whole resonates with Brown’s (1998) definition of criticality as exploring one’s own epistemic doubts in an environment of joint enquiry. As expressed in Liu’s drawing, the individual and the social aspects of criticality are intrinsically related and Brown’s (1998) words reflect this clearly: ‘from the beginning, the critical traditions have been about the transformations of consciousness which are wrought when social relationships assume some of the characteristics of a democratic community of enquiry’ (Brown, 1998, p. 154). The interpersonal aspect of criticality involves understanding a multitude of voices. Koczanowicz’s (2014, 2017) work on social democracy sheds light into this aspect of criticality. He argues that the fundamental principle of a social democracy and hence of dialogue is to develop

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understanding rather than to reach consensus or agreement. Even though politically speaking China is not a democracy, this concept sheds light into understanding the aim and role of dialogue in the context of teaching and learning and in developing criticality. In the same light, the participants in this study, all Chinese students, explained their understanding of the concept of criticality as dialogue and understanding, rather than consensus. Below five participants express what criticality is in their own words: ‘It’s not about showing disagreement but rather listening to each other and understanding each other’s point of view and learning from each other. […] In discussions I would always agree with others because I see that as an opportunity to open up possibilities and considering views I have not thought of.’ ‘Different people have different ideas. We can adapt a part of a different idea and invite your own idea, give up the part you don’t agree with, to enlarge your brain, I think.’ ‘It’s not a quarrel of views […] it’s seeing something we don’t know […] it’s about trusting different views.’ ‘It’s a good way of communicating with others; […] learning to deal with disagreement is a good communication skill.’ ‘Sharing my own opinions and views with others was good regardless of whether they agreed or not with my thinking.’

Criticality is dialogue aimed at understanding rather than reaching agreement. This is why in critical practices it is so important to consider differing views. When discussions, syllabi, or curriculums are univocal, being critical involves including or acknowledging marginalised views of the world (Benesch, 2001; Said, 2004). In this programme, in one occasion, when a discussion on the topic of ‘security was univocal’, I added an opposing argument for students to consider.

Sociological and Cultural Criticality The sociological and cultural dimension of criticality refers to socio-­ cultural practices, discourses, and ways of being in and seeing the world.

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It involves becoming aware of different possibilities, questioning and resisting certain possibilities, and adapting to new possibilities. Critical theory’s main contribution has been to acknowledge the struggle involved in performing difference (Grey, 2009; Butler, 1990, 2001). Critical theory argues that the construction of the subject is a complex process, which involves both the subject constructing discourse and discourse constructing the subject. The subject is never entirely free to construct discourse, as it is always strongly influenced by the discourse which has constructed it in the first place. The subject undergoes a struggle in the process of deviating from the dominant discourse and of performing differently from what is expected. In the data collected for the purposes of this study there is evidence of the lecturer and the students’ struggle of, and suffering from (Herzog, 2016), dealing with difference, and, in the face of the struggle, of opportunities to raise everyone’s awareness of this struggle through dialogue. Using art proved to be a key tool to initiate and develop criticality. Within critical pedagogy, Freire (2011) argues that a critical pedagogy involves developing a suspicious or sceptical attitude to totalising discourse, to generalisations and in particular to the neoliberal discourse and ideology that focuses more on the market and material benefits than on the well-being of people. Likewise, within the critical thinking tradition (McPeck, 1981), a defining characteristic of critical thinking is to develop a sceptical attitude towards discourse that is presented as the only truth. McPeck (1981) argues that in order to be critical one needs to have knowledge of the epistemological foundations of the discipline one is discoursing on. Within the literature on humanism and specifically with reference to the curriculum on literary studies, Said (2004) also highlights the importance of challenging traditions and the status quo by including other neglected traditions. Benesch (2001) does the same within the framework of Critical English for Academic Purposes, as has been mentioned earlier in this chapter. There are several examples, especially in students’ reflective artworks, of the sociological and cultural aspect of criticality. I will present three examples. The first drawing below (Fig.  8.3) shows a personified cat asking a question: ‘Why are you so serious?’ Firstly, this shows the students’ curiosity about someone’s attitude or way of being. The question

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Fig. 8.3  First example of the sociological and cultural dimension of criticality

implies that the personified cat finds the attitude of their interlocutor different, unexpected, or surprising and thus wants to understand the reasons why. When a fellow classmate asked Kuan: ‘Is this cat a symbol of you?’, he replied: ‘No. The cat includes people.’ Since Kuan, the student who did this drawing, had asked the lecturer/me the question he attributed to the cat during an informal conversation in class, it is not inappropriate to assume that perhaps the cat represents people in one society and culture and the implicit audience, another society and culture. This encounter with ‘difference’, represented by the personified

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cat’s expectation and the addressee’s attitude or way of being, opens up an opportunity to develop criticality. Understanding, becoming aware of, and tolerating difference are all part of the process of developing criticality. Such difference could generate frustration or suffering (Herzog, 2016), which could be minimised if both parties strive to understand each other and become aware of the power that discourse exerts on its members to the point of creating who they are, and of the struggle of understanding that which is different. Another drawing that shows its potential to develop sociological and cultural criticality is the one below (Fig. 8.4). It is the drawing of a boy sitting at a computer desk and playing computer games. This drawing was done at the end of the second week of the course, which was devoted to the topic of ‘IT and Social Media’. Cong explained his drawing in his own words:

Fig. 8.4  Second example of the sociological and cultural dimension of criticality

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Ok, it’s a kid sitting at the computer. On the screen, [he] communicates with strangers. He’s just interested in playing computer games. This is his smart phone (pointing at the drawing). He doesn’t want to play any sports, just to stay at home. I think this is true in China.

Cong’s words express what he sees as a societal trait or way of being of youngsters in his context. This could be regarded as the dominant discourse, which nonetheless not everyone will follow. This discourse and practice might cause suffering and it is important to become aware of the constructive nature of discourse, that is, the fact that it is possible to change discourses and practices that are detrimental to society, despite it being extremely hard to perform differently. By his reflecting on this societal practice via art, and by talking about it with his classmates and the lecturer, opportunities to become aware of the constructive nature of reality, of the struggle of performing difference, of stereotypes, and of the existence of different realities arise. Becoming aware of all of this constitutes criticality, and using art as a pedagogical and methodological tool for reflection has proved instrumental in developing criticality. The third example of sociological and cultural criticality is a drawing by Duan (Fig. 8.5). His drawing seems to express resistance to a perceived imposition of foreign sociological, cultural, and educational values. I have characterised this drawing as an example of sociological and cultural criticality because his resistance is born of the encounter of difference and of a perceived threat to his own well-established socio-cultural values. If it had not been for his drawing and my subsequent study of it, his perspective and experience would not have been known. Below is an excerpt of the conversation the students and I had with Duan about his drawing: Duan:

This is the arrows and this is the ground and the red for blood. These bodies, maybe it’s us … it’s full of arrows, someone shoots at us, Chinese. That’s me who never speaks Chinese but English. Can you see that? Benjamin: How many people?

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Fig. 8.5  Third example of the sociological and cultural dimension of criticality

Duan:

Just one or two but it represents all the students … because sometimes in art 1 does not really mean 4 or 6—it can be 8, 7 or maybe more. Alice: What is the big red thing? Duan: Maybe the devil—I am not good at drawing […] Benjamin: Not bad. That’s a bat. Duan: Yes. I: Who is the bat? Duan: Guess I: Am I the bat? (Duan’s facial expression indicates that that is the case) I: Ok, more? I: Can I ask? Is this like a joke? Duan: Yes, like a joke.

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I: Do you think it’s good, if in class we are learning English, any language, to speak your own language? Do you think that might be helpful? Duan: Maybe, sometimes I: Interesting, thank you. Duan’s drawing and words are very powerful. He seems to refer to the foreign lecturer as the devil who shoots arrows to her Chinese students. His words also seem to indicate that the lecturer is imposing the English language over the Chinese language. His drawing and his explanation of it seem to indicate a perceived attack of the Chinese sociological, cultural, and educational discourse and practices by the foreign lecturer of English language in China. In the face of the foreign learner-centred pedagogy that I was encouraging and deploying, Duan expressed resistance to it a few times in class. During lessons, he would indicate that he would prefer to continue with the way lessons are imparted in China. He expected a more authoritative lecturer who makes most of the decisions and tells students what they should do. He seemed confused about the autonomy-­driven pedagogy I was developing, and expressed his feelings powerfully via his artwork. I must say that I also resented and found it difficult to deploy aspects of a teacher-centred pedagogy at times in response to Duan’s expressed needs. Dialogue for understanding between the two parties would have helped tremendously and would have constituted criticality. However, I can see this clearly now after looking back and as a result of this study. Whether his resistance was an initial quick and uncritical rejection of whatever was different and unknown, or an unwillingness to understand a different sociological practice, or, on the contrary, a conscious and critical act of provocation to draw everyone’s attention to what he perceived as an imposition of a foreign practice and of the English language, by expressing his views in this compelling way, he was opening up an opportunity for dialogue, which is a defining characteristic of criticality, as was indicated earlier. Unfortunately, this opportunity was not exploited fully. There were different reasons why this happened. One of the reasons was the lecturer’s subconscious blockage of Duan’s criticism. I never remembered this drawing or moment until much later when I revisited all my students’ artworks for the purpose of a doctoral study. This is very

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unfortunate, but at the same time, it is evidence of the difficulty of opening up to criticism, opposing views and dialogue. Another reason why this and all my students’ drawings were not fully exploited was the lecturer’s conscientiousness that using artwork in an academic English language course constituted an innovation and a disruptive practice, which was counter to a more traditional pedagogy. This meant that even though this addition was an innovation in itself and constituted criticality in itself, its actual exploitation and potential power to develop criticality was limited.

Discussion Three main aspects of criticality emerged in what my students and I did as part of an academic English language course: what I called the individual, the interpersonal, and the sociological aspects of criticality. Firstly, I will discuss how these aspects of criticality relate to the critical currents of thought explored in this study; and secondly, I will discuss the relationship between these aspects of criticality and the methodological frameworks that informed my practice, namely pedagogy for autonomy, exploratory practice, and arts-informed research methods.

 ritical Thinking and the Three Aspects of Criticality C Identified in My Practice Within the critical thinking tradition, Brown (1998) emphasises the importance of both the individual and the interpersonal aspects of criticality. He argues that it is paramount to provide learners with space to develop themselves and to enquire into their own epistemic needs. He refers to the work of John Stuart Mill (2001) who was a strong advocate of an education that caters for the individual. At the same time, he highlights the significance of doing this in an environment of joint enquiry by which everyone is investigating their own questions. Brown (1998) also refers to the sociological and cultural aspect of criticality by arguing that criticality flourishes in communities that show the characteristics of a

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‘social democracy’ (Koczanowicz, 2014, 2017). Brown (ibid.) argues that societies that have not developed a strong critical tradition do not show the characteristics of critical thinking. In other words, Brown (1998) states that some societies are more critical than others because they have kept and developed the critical tradition through education and its institutions. However, this argument can be contested, as the present study shows examples of student criticality, socio-cultural in nature, in the context of Mainland China, a unitary one-party socialist republic. Even though the power of societal discourses over societal practices cannot be denied, Brown seems to have failed to acknowledge that individuals can still perform critically and differently from the norm in societies which have not developed a critical tradition through its institutions and education systems, as has been acknowledged by critical theory. Within the same critical thinking tradition, McPeck (1981) argues that the defining characteristic of critical thinking is both having a sceptical attitude not only towards ideas one would tend to disagree with but especially towards beliefs one holds, and having knowledge of the epistemic foundations of the discipline one is discoursing on. Having a sceptical attitude and having knowledge both seem to refer to the individual aspect of criticality. At the same time, both entail dialogue with other views and perspectives, which constitutes the interpersonal aspect of criticality. Having a sceptical disposition to ideas and beliefs one holds or conversely one disagrees with seems to entail awareness of the power and influence that tradition, context, society and culture exert on one’s beliefs and of the constructive nature of discourse and ideology, which strongly resonates with the sociological and cultural aspect of criticality, too.

 ritical Pedagogy and the Three Aspects of Criticality C Identified in My Practice The three aspects of criticality that emerged in my practice resonate with critical pedagogy in peculiar ways too. Critical pedagogy involves reflecting on one’s own learning and actions, asserting one’s own autonomy and authority by making one’s own decisions, and evaluating the truthfulness of one’s own beliefs and ideas (Freire, 2011). Freire (ibid.) also argues that

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the more evidence one has for one’s beliefs and ideas, the more certain of one’s beliefs one becomes. Establishing dialogue about one’s ideas with others is an opportunity to test the validity of one’s opinions, and in so doing, asserting one’s autonomy and authority and slightly transforming the quality of one’s curiosity from ingenious into critical. These are the individual and interpersonal aspects of criticality within critical pedagogy. The sociological and cultural aspect of criticality within critical pedagogy is as important. In this respect, critical pedagogy highlights the importance of raising awareness that there is hope (Dewey, 1916; Giroux 2011) for a better world and that there are other possible ways of living and being in the world. Critical pedagogy focuses on warning learners of ideologies which are against the well-being of people. In this sense it is very ideological, showing the negative side of that ideology, and showing alternative options to lead one’s life happily and with the same opportunities for everyone. Critical pedagogy aims at making marginal voices heard, and social injustice visible. It seeks to bring about change through collective action, and to create awareness of the value of using one’s imagination and creativity when thinking of and developing alternatives to a fairer and more equal world (Breault & Breault, 2013; Benesch, 2001).

 ritical Theory and the Three Aspects of Criticality C Identified in My Practice Critical theory has provided a solid basis to understand the three aspects of criticality that emerged in my teaching practice and my students’ learning experiences. Grey (2009) has used critical theory in the study of her own Academic English teaching practice. She aimed to provide her students with opportunities to perform difference. Promoting an environment of respect to difference in terms of gender, race, sex, and class constituted a disruptive and critical practice informed by critical theory. By being exposed to images of different and hybrid beings, her students were offered opportunities to perform difference. Butler (1990) argues that it is in the repetitive performance of difference that one creates a new discourse and every small repetitive step constitutes a triumph over the norm. This reference to the norm and the counterpart subversive

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performance of difference seem to constitute what I have referred to as the sociological and cultural aspect of criticality in my own educative practice. At the same time, the self-exploration and identity assertion in an environment of respect towards difference alluded to seem to make reference to the individual and interpersonal aspects of criticality being discussed in here. Critical theory acknowledges the struggle of performing differently within any established tradition, which has implications for pedagogy, learners, and educators. Becoming aware that performing differently is a struggle can bring about comfort and reduce negative feelings.

 ritical EAP and the Three Aspects of Criticality C Identified in My Practice Critical English for Academic Purposes has been influenced by critical pedagogy and critical theory. The individual dimension of criticality resonates within CEAP with involving learners in making meaning of discourses and content from their own lived experiences and previous knowledge (Benesch, 2001; Chun, 2015); the interpersonal dimension of criticality identified in the classroom examples mentioned above is also central in CEAP which stresses the centrality of working together and developing understanding with peers. The socio-cultural dimension of criticality identified in the classroom examples presented in this study, in particular Duan’s painting, resonates with CEAP’s commitment to making tacit curriculum decisions visible, in this case making his discontent with the deployed pedagogy visible, and involving students in challenging unfair practices which affect them directly (Morgan, 2009). Having discussed how the three aspects of criticality that emerged in the academic English language educative practice relate to each of the currents of thought explored in this study, I will now move to discussing to what extent the three methodological frameworks that informed my teaching and research practice, namely pedagogy for autonomy, exploratory practice, and arts-informed research methods, were conducive to criticality.

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Criticality and Pedagogy for Autonomy As has been mentioned in the methodology section of this chapter, pedagogy for autonomy has informed my practice, thus, influencing criticality development. In general, it can be argued that to some extent pedagogy for autonomy has mostly been conducive to criticality development. Some of the defining characteristics of this pedagogy, such as reflecting about one’s learning, developing metacognitive awareness, and making decisions about one’s own learning, all seem to contribute to developing individual criticality. Another key feature of a pedagogy for autonomy is the important role of working with others, interaction, sharing one’s ideas, views, and opinions with others. This feature seems to be conducive to interpersonal criticality. In a recent publication, Little, Dam, and Legenhausen (2017) acknowledge the importance of linguistic, educational, and social inclusion for autonomous learning in the face of an increasing movement of people in contemporary societies. Referring to two specific language programmes in Ireland, they argue that ‘like an autonomous classroom, these programmes both embedded language learning in more general processes of socialisation and inclusion that were designed to enhance learners’ self-esteem and give them a sense of security and belonging’ (2017, p. 186). This characteristic of pedagogy for autonomy resonates with the sociological and cultural aspect of criticality in my practice. At the same time, the relationship between autonomy and the sociological and cultural aspect of criticality raises some questions in the context of my own practice. If we look back at Duan’s case, via his drawing, he seems to express resistance to the lecturer’s focus on encouraging the use of the target language, English, in the classroom. My intention was not to impose the English language as the only language but rather to promote opportunities for everyone to use the target language in the classroom. His drawing has so much potential to exploit, discuss, and understand all of these tensions. As was mentioned earlier, unfortunately, at the time, this was not as well exploited as it could have been. Inadvertently, I might have not promoted the inclusion of my students’ first language and discussion about this, which seem to go counter to both an autonomous, linguistically inclusive classroom, and to the

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socio-cultural aspect of criticality. On the other hand, promoting the use of the target language as much as possible contributes to autonomy too. Secondly, Duan also shows resistance to an autonomous learning in general. He seemed to resist either difference or what he perceived as an imposition. Resisting difference is part of the struggle of performing difference that Butler (1990) refers to. Resisting an imposition of one value over another is opening up options and condemning focusing only on one way of doing things. His drawing raises many interesting questions, which can open up dialogue, critique, and develop criticality.

 riticality and Exploratory Practice/ C Practitioner Research As it was mentioned in the methodology section, my own teaching practice was also informed by Exploratory Practice’s seven principles. These principles have been grouped together in three main categories which refer to ‘what’ EP is about, ‘who’ EP is for, and ‘how’ EP is realised. Regarding ‘what’ EP is about, Allwright and Hanks (2009) argue that EP’s aim is to develop understanding and to prioritise quality of life. They highlight developing both individual and mutual understanding. The former is tightly linked to the individual aspect of criticality, while the latter resonates with interpersonal criticality. Having said this, individual and mutual understanding in my practice was also closely linked with the sociological and cultural aspect of criticality, which involves both understanding one’s own identity construction as a struggle between the subject and discourse, and understanding the other. Individual and mutual understanding regarding the sociological and cultural aspect of criticality proved to be one of the most challenging aspects of my practice, and the greatest lesson from this study. Since both types of understanding (individual and mutual) are key elements of the three aspects of criticality, it can be argued that this EP principle (working for individual and mutual understanding) was not only conducive to criticality development, but also contributed to better understanding of the important role that understanding plays within criticality, as it permeated all three aspects of criticality in my teaching practice.

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Prioritising quality of life broadly includes promoting student enquiry of their own epistemic questions and interests, and knowing and understanding oneself and others. In other words, enquiring one’s own questions, as opposed to for example doing imposed tasks, contributes to good quality of life in the classroom. Understanding oneself and others also contributes to generating a positive atmosphere in the classroom and thus good quality of life. These, in turn, are all embedded within the individual, interpersonal, and sociological and cultural aspects of criticality. Thus it can be argued that this EP principle (prioritise quality of life) was also conducive to developing all aspects of criticality. As has been mentioned earlier, there were issues in the class which threatened the quality of life and criticality development. Now looking back, I can say with more confidence that those difficulties could have been dealt with better through more and deeper dialogue for understanding and quality of life, which constitutes criticality. Regarding ‘who’ is involved in doing EP, it is argued that everyone (the students, the teacher, other educative authorities, friends and family around those who are part of the educative experience) is involved, working together for individual and mutual understanding. These EP principles informed my practice in that my students were encouraged to work in this manner at all times. This resonates with the three aspects of criticality in my practice. Brown (1998) makes this clear by stressing that critical thinking is individual enquiry of one’s own epistemic questions, in an environment of joint enquiry. These two characteristics constitute the individual and interpersonal aspects of criticality. He also refers to the socio-cultural aspect of criticality by stressing the responsibility of any society and their institutions as a whole in maintaining the characteristics of a democratic society, through dialogue for understanding, typical of the critical tradition. These EP principles have been conducive to developing criticality in my teaching practice. Perhaps the socio-cultural dimension of criticality can contribute to EP with insights into how to deal with intercultural and identity issues and resistance that might arise in the classroom. Finally, the EP principles that respond to ‘how’ EP is done refer to doing EP continuously in order to make it sustainable, and using the normal pedagogic activities as research tools in order to avoid any extra

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research burden that can generate burnout. These principles also seem to conduce to criticality. Like Brown (1998) argues, the critical tradition needs to be kept alive by the effort of everyone working for understanding via joint enquiry. EP has seen the need to emphasise that learners could use normal pedagogic activities as tools to carry out their enquiries in the classroom. On the other hand, criticality has acknowledged the difficulty of doing this work in educational systems which aim at homogeneity. In this sense, EP proposes that even in constrained classroom contexts where a strict syllabus must be followed, learners can investigate their own questions related to the syllabus, for personal and mutual understanding and quality of life. Despite this, instances from my teaching practice have shown that in a constrained context with a fixed syllabus to follow, it is very challenging to exercise and exploit opportunities for criticality fully and effectively. All in all, EP has in general been conducive to criticality, but, above all, a dialogue between EP and criticality has contributed to a more comprehensive understanding of both EP and criticality, and of how each of them contributes best to understanding each other.

Criticality and Arts-Informed Research Methods In this study I asked my students to reflect on their learning and educative experience via drawing or painting. This could reveal the ineffable and hard to put into words (Weber, 2008); create a friendly, collaborative, dialogic, and rich atmosphere; and create new possibilities by being disruptive, that is to say, completely unexpected of an academic English language course. Because of all these reasons, I suspected that art in the classroom would be conducive to criticality. My findings proved that my suspicions were right, and above all, that art is an extremely powerful tool to develop criticality. The analysis of my students’ drawings in the light of the literature on criticality shows that art is not only a highly effective tool for reflection, but also for enquiry, dialogue, and individual and mutual understanding.

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Conclusion In this chapter I presented part of a doctoral study of criticality in a pre-­ Pre-­sessional course I taught in Mainland China for prospective students in a UK university. Two research questions guided this study: (1) what signs of criticality there are in what my students and I did in this course; and (2) to what extent pedagogy for autonomy, exploratory practice, and arts-informed research methods can contribute to developing criticality. After a thematic analysis of data from interviews, students’ reflective writing, students’ reflective drawings and video-recorded talk about their drawings, three overarching themes emerged, namely being in charge, collaboration with others, and socio-cultural awareness. After re-reading these themes in the light of the literature on criticality, I renamed the themes as: individual; interpersonal; and sociological and cultural aspects of criticality. In other words, these dimensions of criticality featured strongly in the educative experience. I showed examples of each dimension from the students’ drawings, their talk about each other’s drawings, and interviews. Finally, I discussed (1) what place each of these dimensions of criticality has in each current of thought explored in this study, namely critical thinking, critical pedagogy, critical theory, and critical EAP; and (2) to what extent pedagogy for autonomy, exploratory practice, and arts-informed research methods contributed to developing criticality. This study has contributed to understanding three dimensions of criticality in action, that is, in the teaching and learning of academic English language in a pre-sessional course. More specifically, it has brought about insights into how to develop criticality, especially with contributions from pedagogy for autonomy, exploratory practice, and arts-informed research methods; and what the challenges of developing criticality are. This study also highlights the value of practitioner enquiry and insights into their own practice and how these can contribute to better understanding of their own practices. This is an example of criticality performance in a real classroom practice, which can resonate with other practitioners’ experiences and serve as the basis for further enquiry.

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References Allwright, D. (2003). Exploratory practice: Rethinking practitioner research in language teaching. Language Teaching Research, 7(2), 113–141. Allwright, D., & Hanks, J. (2009). The developing language learner: An introduction to exploratory practice. Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan. Back, L., & Puwar, N. (2012). A manifesto for live methods: Provocations and capacities. The Sociological Review, 60 (S1), 6–17. Oxford, UK and Malden, MA, USA: Wiley-Blackwell Publishing Ltd Bagnoli, A. 2009. ‘Beyond the standard interview: The use of graphic elicitation and arts-based methods’, Qualitative Research, 9(5), 547–570. Benesch, S. (2001). Critical English for academic purposes: Theory, politics, and practice. New Jersey and London: Lawrence Erlbaum Associates. Benesch, S. 2009. ‘Theorizing and practising critical English for academic purposes’. Journal of English for Academic Purposes, 8: 81–85. Benson, P. (2001). Teaching and researching autonomy in language learning. Harlow: Pearson Education. Braun, V., & Clarke, V. (2006). Using thematic analysis in psychology. Qualitative Research in Psychology, 3(2), 77–101. Breault, D.  A., & Breault, R. (Eds.). (2013). Experiencing: Insights for today’s classrooms (2nd ed.). Florence, KY: Routledge. Brown, K. (1998). Education, culture and critical thinking. Aldershot: Ashgate Publishing Limited. Butler, J. (1990). Gender trouble: Feminism and the subversion of identity. New York: Routledge. Butler, J. (2001). What is critique? An essay on Foucault’s Virtue. [Online]. Retrieved from http://eipcp.net/transversal/0806/butler/en Chun, C. (2015). Power and meaning making in an EAP classroom: Engaging with the everyday. Bristol, Buffalo, Toronto: Multilingual Matters. Dam, L. (1995). Learner autonomy: From theory to classroom practice. Ireland: Authentik. Dam, L. (2009). The use of logbooks—a tool for developing learner autonomy. In R.  Pemberton, S.  Toogood, & A.  Barfield (Eds.), Maintaining control: Autonomy and language learning. Hong Kong: Hong Kong University Press. Dam, L., & Lentz, J. (1998). “It’s up to yourself if you want to learn”— Autonomous language learning at intermediate level. Copenhagen: DLH (video)

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Dewey, J. (1916). Democracy and education: An introduction to the philosophy of education. New York: The Macmillan Company. Eisner, E. W. (1981). On the difference between scientific and artistic approaches to qualitative research. Educational Research, 10(4), 5–9. Eisner, E. W. (2008). Art and knowledge. In J. G. Knowles & A. L. Cole (Eds.), Handbook of the ARTS in qualitative research: Perspectives, methodologies, examples and issues (pp. 3–12). Los Angeles, CA: SAGE Publications. Freire, P. (2011). Pedagogia de la Autonomia: Saberes Necesarios para la Practica Educativa (2nd ed.). Buenos Aires: Siglo Veintiuno Editores (Original work published in 1996) Giroux, H. A. (2011). On critical pedagogy. New York and London: Continuum. Grey, M. (2009). Ethnographers of difference in a critical EAP community-­ becoming. Journal of English for Academic Purposes, 8, 121–133. Hanks, J. (2017). Exploratory practice in language teaching: Puzzling about principles and practices. Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan. Herzog, B. (2016). Discourse analysis as immanent critique: Possibilities and limits of normative critique in empirical discourse studies. Discourse & Society, 27 (3), 278–292. Sage Holec, H. (1981). Autonomy and foreign language learning. Oxford: Pergamon (First published 1979, Strasbourg: Council of Europe) Hsieh, H. F., & Shannon, E. S. (2005). Three approaches to qualitative content analysis. Qualitative Health Research, 15 (9), 1277–1288. SAGE Journals. Knowles, J. G., & Cole, A. L. (Eds.). (2008). Handbook of the ARTS in qualitative research: Perspectives, methodologies, examples and issues. America: SAGE Publications. Koczanowicz, L. (2014). Politics of dialogue: Non-consensual democracy and critical community. Edinburgh University Press. Koczanowicz, L. (2017). Nd. Leszek Koczanowicz’s webpage [Online]. Retrieved August 2017, from http://www.2018–2019.eurias-fp.eu/fellows/ leszek-koczanowicz Leavy, P. (2009). Method meets art: Arts-based research practice. New York and London: The Guildford Press. Little, D., Dam, L., & Legenhausen, L. (2017). Language learner autonomy: Theory, practice and research. Bristol, UK: Multilingual Matters. Macallister, C.  J. (2016). Chapter 22: Critical perspectives. In K.  Hyland & P.  Shaw (Eds.), The Routledge handbook of English for academic purposes. Abingdon, Oxon and New York, NY: Routledge.

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Mann, S. J. (2016). The research interview. Houndmills, Basingstoke, Hampshire; New York: Palgrave Macmillan. McPeck, J. E. (1981). Critical thinking and education. Oxford: Martin Robertson. Mill, J. S. (2001). On liberty (p. 84). London: The Electric Book Company Ltd.. Morgan, B. (2009). Fostering transformative practitioners for critical EAP: Possibilities and challenges. Journal of English for Academic Purposes, 8, 86–99. Said, E. W. (2004). Humanism and democratic criticism. New York: Columbia University Press (Written in 2001 and 2003). Salvi, A. I., Wang, C., Li, Y., Lu, C., Wu, Y., Ye, S., et al.. (2016). Involving EAP students in sharing their educative experience and development via arts-­ enriched methods. English Language Teacher Education and Development, 19. [Online] Retrieved from http://www.elted.net/latest-issue.html Smith, R. C. (2003). Pedagogy for autonomy as (becoming-) appropriate methodology. In D. Palfreyman & R. C. Smith (Eds.), Learner autonomy across cultures. London: Palgrave Macmillan. Song, X. (2016). Critical thinking and pedagogical implications for higher education. East Asia, 33(1), 25–40. Weber, S. (2008). Visual images in research. In J.  G. Knowles & A.  L. Cole (Eds.), Handbook of the ARTS in qualitative research: Perspectives, methodologies, examples and issues (pp. 41–53). America: SAGE Publications. Wenden, A. (1991). Learner strategies for learner autonomy. Hertfordshire: Prentice Hall Europe. Zhang, T. (2017). Why do Chinese postgraduates struggle with critical thinking? Some clues from the higher education curriculum in China. Journal of Further and Higher Education, 41(6), 857–871.

9 Afterword: Beyond the Naïve Mantra of Criticality in Education (Research)? Ning Chen and Fred Dervin

In a recent course on Critical Intercultural Communication Education given at a Finnish university, we helped our students identify misconceptions, empty discourses and ‘white lies’ in the way(s) the idea of interculturality is discussed in education (research) around the world. Concepts, methods, political and scholarly ideologies about the notion of the ‘intercultural’ were deconstructed for and with the students. We noted and demonstrated for and with them that most educators and scholars tend to ‘parrot’ words, phrases and models (amongst others) about the intercultural that have emerged from North America and Europe, and mostly

N. Chen (*) Tianjin Academy of Fine Arts, Tianjin, China University of Helsinki, Helsinki, Finland e-mail: [email protected] F. Dervin Faculty of Educational Sciences, University of Helsinki, Helsinki, Finland e-mail: [email protected] © The Author(s) 2020 A. Simpson, F. Dervin (eds.), The Meaning of Criticality in Education Research, Palgrave Studies in Education Research Methods, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-56009-6_9

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from white English-speaking scholars (see Dervin, 2016). We also explained that decision-makers are overly dependent on ready-made discourses and (somewhat empty) incantations to, for example, tolerate, be open-minded to and respect people from other ‘cultures.’ The students who attended the lectures were training to be teachers in Finland—a Nordic country that is often said to be the best educational system in the world, but which fairs poorly on the issue of diversity in schools. In informal discussions at the end of the lectures and in a short questionnaire they were asked to fill in, the students shared their positive surprise at the course being so openly critical about the ‘nuts and bolts’ of a notion which is used in education worldwide. One student, who was very enthusiastic about the course, even asked: “Are you afraid of backlash from what you say from time to time multiple times every lecture? Pointing at the controversial issues. I like you being open and not scared though.” Reading through the questionnaires, filled in by the students, who would soon be teachers in Finnish schools, it became clear that the ‘critical’ perspective, which consisted in making the students aware of the fact that one can never be satisfied with the way(s) such an important notion is used, misused and abused, was new to them. Many students explained that the lectures they had been following on different issues of education before had been taught in ‘objective’ ways, with ‘facts’ and long lists of pet theories and ‘gurus’ being thrown at them. When asked what the students would remember from this course, they wrote: • “Don’t assume: ask, discuss and question!” • “Question everything!” • “Critical thinking. The course made me think in a more critical manner and ponder what kind of assumptions I constantly make in everyday life. I will try to learn to question more.” • “Question things, opinions, etc. even if they seem good/best option out of everything. They might ‘suck’ and just be easy social point scoring. Nonsense. Don’t be blind. Think.” • “Rethink about your thinking?”

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For the students, criticality here means: asking questions, questioning, reconsidering one’s assumptions and unthinking. For other students, anywhere else in the world or from a different major at the same university (amongst others), it might mean the same or something different.

Beyond the Mantras? As we can see throughout the different chapters that compose this book, calls for criticality are omnipresent today in teaching-learning, like mantras. But the kinds of criticality that are expected of people and for what purposes should they be critical are not always clear. What is evident though is that there are privileged voices in this menagerie of calls for criticality. In a recent review of a research project, we noticed how scholars in the Nordic countries tended to use exclusively definitions and models of criticality developed in the US to look into the learning experiences of Asian students in European higher education. This geopolitical ‘travel’ towards the US to examine the case of people from the East in Europe sounded far-fetched and ideologically problematic. If we may venture a comparison: It is like assessing a learning objective at the end a course without having taught it. The mismatch between the expectations created by these definitions and models—wrongly accepted as ‘universal’—cannot but create a gap between their own objectives and Asian students’ beliefs about, attitudes towards and practices of criticality. The students thus get treated unfairly (from they are not critical enough! to they lack criticality!) and experience some form of social injustice in education (research). But whose criticality can assess criticality? The mantra of criticality is also all-pervading in education research, where it is both a way of doing research and an object of research itself. It is important to note that these two aspects overlap: as an object of research, criticality must be approached from critical perspectives and vice versa. This is, unfortunately, not always the case: a scholar might examine negatively the criticality of students and teachers from a one-­ sided ‘narrative’ (a definition) without taking into account the ways they were trained/educated, their context, their first language and so on. As the students summarized it above: one must be critical of one’s

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critiques—even and especially researchers. For Richard and Binker (1993, p. 39), “Critical thinking is thinking about your thinking while you’re thinking in order to make your thinking better” (NB: obviously, one can interpret ‘better’ in many different ways). From the different chapters of this book, we see that the main problem that remains for both teaching-learning and research is: what does criticality mean? Who has the right to define it in a certain way? Who is right? Who is wrong? Or both? Is my sense of criticality better than yours? Can we agree universally on an understanding of criticality? The answer to these questions is obviously negative: No one has the right to impose and think that their ways of doing criticality is the way. The Chinese idiom “ 东施效颦” means that it is unnecessary to imitate something which is not suitable for someone or else it will be counterproductive. Then, should criticality not be negotiated and renegotiated again and again to satisfy all those involved and be fair to them, instead of requiring that those in position of inferiority adapt to ‘our’ ways of thinking about criticality? The lack of acceptance of diverse views on criticality and the fact that Western definitions and models tend to ‘win’ go hand in hand with recurring calls for people to be critical. One could wonder if such calls, which tend to mean “you must be critical my way,” do not represent façade criticality: you can be critical, but it must fit into my box of criticality—Western criticality. Or by making criticality a standard—an obscurely neoliberal one—we are tricked into believing that we are/should be critical—while maybe we are not, or we can’t be. So, as we can see in the chapters, in order to ‘do’ criticality in education (research) one must discuss and (re-)negotiate the meanings that one gives to this concept, bearing in mind that one must empower those who are not privileged enough to give their views on what criticality is about. We believe that everybody is critical but some are deemed more critical than others—often wrongly. As such, the West sees the Chinese as uncritical—some Chinese teachers and scholars also repeat that their students and research participants are not critical enough, following Western ready-to-think (see for instance Zhang, 2016). The ‘Confucian Heritage’ argument is often misused as proof. Dervin (2012) has demonstrated for instance how top Western

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scholars working on international Chinese students in Australia and the UK had abused this argument to support the idea that they lack criticality and creativity. However, based on her reading of the Analects, a collection of dialogues between Confucius and his students, Tan (2017, p. 231) reminds us that “Critical thinking, interpreted broadly as skillful, reflective, and responsible thinking that facilitates judgment is an integral component of Confucian education.” Confucius himself was very critical of the norms and worldviews of his time. He advocated neither for blindfoldedly following and respecting the hierarchy nor for mere rote-­ memorization, as is often misinterpreted. What he actually preached for was active inquiry and self-examination (Tan, 2014).

 laiming and Performing Criticality Does Not C Mean One Is Really Critical We agree with Sokal (1999, p. 22) in his claim that “A mode of thought does not become ‘critical’ simply by attributing that label to itself, but by virtue of its content.” Claiming and performing criticality do not necessarily mean that one is ‘doing’ it. The context of education (research) is quite specific in this sense as it is intertwined with politics and business, nolens volens. This has an influence on what people can do, say, argue for and be critical of. Take Finland as an example. The Nordic country’s reputation about education is often blown out of proportion, based on pushes from Edu-business, media constructions of the ‘miracle’ and ‘white lies’ from some decision-makers, politicians and researchers (Dervin & Simpson, 2019). In this context, like many other contexts, researchers take part in selling educational products and services to the rest of the world, using their research as a way of proving their ‘wonders’ (e.g. Schatz, Popovic, & Dervin, 2017). Yet, when one starts selling, one must silence potential defects and problems with what one sells—thus criticality is often left aside, even when one claims to be doing it. If we look at more scientific issues, one can find multiple examples of what we could call ‘acritical criticality,’ whereby a scholar claims criticality for him/herself but loses its essence in what s/he does. When one reads

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publications or listens to talks at conferences it is clear that there is a lot of ‘ready-made academic thinking’ happening, in the use of concepts (e.g. community of practice, culture, translanguaging), in the use of pet theories and gurus (e.g. Pierre Bourdieu) or even in the use of cliché assertions/slogans (“travel broadens the mind”) that scholars do not necessarily criticize but swallow blindly and so on. For Nietzsche (1966, p. 56): “A great truth wants to be criticized not idolized” (NB: one can understand the word ‘truth’ as one wants here). A lack of criticality towards these can easily lead to us finding confirmations for what we want—uncritically. So, we must be critical. And to be critical must be approached from open-ended perspectives. As educators and researchers, we must accept contradictions, debates and the symbolic violence of being questioned, of having our criticality critiqued, our certainty shaken, regardless of our status in education (research). We must also help others deal with these. This means that we must think for ourselves to avoid being enslaved by pet theories, gurus and analytical stereotypes (amongst others) and to stop thinking that ‘our’ criticality is better than ‘others.’ Another vital aspect is that we must think multilingually when we do education (research) to avoid some forms of simplification related to mistranslation—simplifications that can cancel out criticality. Finally, it is our duty to be critical towards our own knowledge, ideologies and positions, towards what we take for granted and to strive for change. Change is and should be the only basis of education (research) and it is through criticality that we can do it.

References Dervin, F. (2012). A plea for change in research on intercultural discourses: A ‘liquid’ approach to the study of the acculturation of Chinese students. Journal of Multicultural Discourses, 6(1), 37–52. Dervin, F. (2016). Interculturality in education. London: Palgrave Macmillan. Dervin, F., & Simpson, A. (2019). Transnational Edu-Business in China: A case study of culturalist market-making from Finland. Frontiers of Education in China, 14(1), 33–58. https://doi.org/10.1007/s11516-019-0002-z.

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Nietzsche, F. (1966). Beyond good and evil: A prelude to a philosophy of the future. New York: Random House. Richard, P., & Binker, A. J. (1993). Critical thinking. London: Foundation for Critical Thinking. Schatz, M., Popovic, A., & Dervin, F. (2017). From PISA to national branding: Exploring Finnish education®. Discourse: Studies in the Cultural Politics of Education, 38(2), 172–184. https://doi.org/10.1080/01596306.2015. 1066311. Sokal, A. (1999). Fashionable nonsense. London: St Martin’s Press. Tan, C. (2014). Beyond rote-memorisation: Confucius’ concept of thinking. Educational Philosophy and Theory, 47(5), 428–439. Tan, C. (2017). Confucianism and education. In Oxford encyclopedia of education research. Oxford: Oxford University Press. https://doi.org/10.1093/ acrefore/9780190264093.013.226 Zhang, T. (2016). Why do Chinese postgraduates struggle with critical thinking? Some clues from the higher education curriculum in China. Journal of Further and Higher Education, 41(6), 857–871.

Index1

A

Academic, 5, 17, 23–28, 33, 34, 36–39, 41–44, 49, 79, 118, 157, 181–210, 220 Academic literacy, 15, 16, 23–44 Academic writing, 27, 28, 39–41, 43 Activities, 7, 28, 44, 49n6, 50, 52, 53, 56–63, 65, 66, 103, 106, 111, 118, 120, 139, 208, 209 Agency, 8, 9, 16, 38, 73, 75, 85, 91, 103, 118, 119, 121, 142 Americanization, 3 Anesthesia, 12 Anglo-centric, 3, 5, 35 Apparatus, 50, 50n7

Applied linguistics, 35, 42 Arts-informed research methods, 181, 182, 187, 189–190, 202, 205, 209, 210 Australia, 17, 81, 102, 153–154, 219 Authoritarian, 108, 138, 139 Authoritative, 108, 109, 113, 115, 201 Autonomy, 55, 102, 103, 117, 181, 182, 186–188, 191, 193, 202–207, 210 B

Becoming, 4, 8, 81, 112, 132, 137, 184, 196–198, 205

 Note: Page numbers followed by ‘n’ refer to notes.

1

© The Author(s) 2020 A. Simpson, F. Dervin (eds.), The Meaning of Criticality in Education Research, Palgrave Studies in Education Research Methods, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-56009-6

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224 Index

Being, 3–5, 8–14, 18, 29, 32–35, 40, 41, 51, 54n13, 55, 59, 67, 73–78, 80, 82, 83, 85–87, 90, 91, 104, 105, 111, 117–119, 121, 127, 130, 133, 135, 137, 164, 172–174, 177, 184, 185, 188–191, 195–197, 204, 205, 209, 210, 216, 220 Biographical, 16, 73, 75–80, 84, 87–91, 93, 94 Biography, 77, 84, 89, 90, 92 C

China, 3, 85, 195, 197, 201 Chinese, 3, 16, 73, 82–87, 89, 91, 181, 182, 195, 201, 218, 219 Citizenship, 48, 72, 85, 135, 154, 166 Co-being, 8 Co-constructing, 66 Co-construction, 52 Collective, 58, 61, 62, 80, 107, 108, 113, 141, 204 Collegiality, 16, 187 Colonialism, 75 Communication, 4, 32, 105, 114, 118, 130–132, 138, 156, 157, 195 Community, 30, 33, 72, 74, 78, 81–87, 89, 103, 104, 106–111, 113, 115, 118, 120, 194, 202 Complexity, 7, 9, 32, 75, 82, 90, 174 Confucian education, 219 Confucius, 219 Cosmopolitanism, 3 Counter-narrative, 80, 92, 93, 102, 121

Creativity, 16, 17, 57n16, 127–145, 189, 204, 219 Critical, 1, 23, 48, 91, 103, 128, 182, 216 Critical action, 25, 38, 39, 42–43 Critical English For Academic Purposes (CEAP), 182, 183, 185–186, 190, 196, 205 Critical Intercultural Communication Education, 215 Criticality, 1–18, 23–44, 47–68, 74, 75, 102–111, 113–122, 127–145, 153–177, 181–210, 215–220 Critical pedagogy, 5–8, 73, 74, 79, 94, 104–106, 105n1, 143, 182–185, 190–192, 196, 203–205, 210 Critical theory, 2, 5, 8, 75, 79, 104, 105, 154, 182–185, 190, 196, 203–205, 210 Critical thinking, 1, 3, 5, 10, 15, 16, 27, 48n1, 104–106, 140, 169, 171–174, 177, 181–183, 189–191, 196, 202–203, 208, 210, 216, 218, 219 Critical thinking skills (CTS), 3, 16, 24–27, 29, 34, 36, 41, 43 Critique, 4, 5, 190, 207, 217 Culture, 8, 40–42, 50, 51, 51n9, 52n11, 54, 76, 78, 86, 102, 132, 135, 140, 144, 155, 159, 183, 197, 203, 216, 220 Curriculum, 6, 17, 27, 40, 107, 120, 128, 130, 133, 135, 139, 141–143, 145, 176, 185, 195, 196, 205

 Index  D

Decontextualize, 66 Democracy, 3, 72, 73, 85, 194, 195, 203 Dialogic, 65, 72, 113, 138, 193, 209 Dialogue, 4, 8, 9, 13, 15, 17, 78, 80, 87, 103, 105–109, 113, 114, 119, 127–129, 131, 132, 136–141, 143–145, 184, 185, 187, 193–196, 201–204, 207–209, 219 Discourse, 3, 26, 49, 73, 114, 128, 155, 184, 215 Discourse analysis, 32, 155, 156 Discrimination, 11, 13, 72, 79, 107 Diversity, 62, 78, 80, 83, 94, 107, 109, 113, 120, 176, 184, 185, 216 Domination, 5, 80

225

English medium, 15, 23, 35, 38, 40 Epistemological, 2, 71, 74, 77, 84, 93, 183, 196 Existentialism, 2 Exploratory practice (EP), 181, 182, 186–188, 202, 205, 207–210 F

Finland, 11, 15, 157, 158, 216, 219 Foreign language, 26, 34 France, 49, 52n10 Frankfurt School, 2, 184 Freedom, 5, 12, 15, 72, 89, 103, 130, 136, 142 G

E

Ecological, 15, 23, 25, 36–39, 42, 44 Education, 1, 26, 47, 73, 102, 128, 153, 202, 215 Emancipation, 48, 51, 88, 105, 106 Engagement, 40, 118–121, 130, 133, 137, 139, 142, 145, 172, 183, 191 English, 16, 17, 24–26, 28, 28n2, 31, 33–35, 39–41, 127–145, 160, 173, 181–210 English For Academic Purposes (EAP), 17, 26, 35, 181, 182, 185, 186, 192 English language, 26, 27, 33–35, 39, 40, 181, 182, 201, 202, 205, 206, 209, 210

Global, 9, 10, 40 Glocalization, 47, 72 H

Hegemony, 15, 144 Higher education, 3, 11, 153, 154, 217 Historical bodies, 17, 153–177 History, 2, 17, 28, 75–77, 80, 82, 90, 101, 112, 127, 135, 153–177 History education, 163, 166 Human rights, 3, 72 I

Identity, 8, 11, 72, 75, 78, 83–85, 87, 91, 93, 94, 107, 118, 185, 205, 207, 208

226 Index

Ideology, 1, 3, 8, 9, 39, 40, 67, 74, 82, 175, 184, 196, 203, 204, 215, 220 Imaginary, 72, 79, 87 Immigrant, 74, 76, 80–83, 87 Immigration, 76, 77, 80 Impotence, 1, 11–14 Inequalities, 53, 66, 68, 74, 75, 82 Information, 27, 29, 54–56, 54n13, 56n15, 60, 88–90, 128, 131, 132, 136, 138–140, 143, 145, 153–155, 160, 183 Intentionality, 25, 38, 39, 41–44 Intercultural, 9, 10, 122, 208, 215 Interculturality, 17, 107, 215 Interdisciplinary, 5, 75 Internally persuasive, 108, 109, 113 Interpersonal, 118, 190, 193–195, 202–208, 210 Interpretive, 92 Invisible, 56, 65–66, 82, 83 K

Knowledge, 4, 25, 48, 72, 104, 128, 160, 183, 220 Knowledge-production, 3, 75, 189 L

Language learning, 158, 206 Learning, 6, 26, 52, 92, 111, 127, 156, 183, 217 Literacy, 23–44, 52, 130, 143, 154, 157, 164, 166, 171–173

M

Macedonia, 24, 26, 29, 38, 39, 41 Management, 80, 102 Mediated discourse analysis (MDA), 155–159, 175, 176 Methodology, 2, 26, 29, 35, 57, 78, 79, 92, 94, 186, 189, 206, 207 Methods, 15, 32, 35, 43, 76, 80, 87, 94, 134, 157, 158, 181, 182, 186, 187, 189–190, 202, 205, 209, 210 Migration, 75, 76 Multidimensionality, 75 Multilingual/Multilingually, 26, 37, 184, 220 Multipolar, 1, 3, 5, 14, 15 Multipolarity, 3 Mutuality, 38, 39 Mythologies, 4 N

Narrative, 16, 27, 71–94, 138, 144, 176, 217 Neoliberal, 82, 129, 137, 196, 218 New public management (NPM), 102 Normativity, 50, 67 Norms, 34, 41, 48, 68, 80, 82, 86, 93, 103, 111, 185, 189, 203, 204, 219 O

Objectivity, 2, 93 Online learning, 16, 101–122 Oppression, 6–8, 75, 93, 105, 105n1

 Index 

Organization for Economic Cooperation and Development (OECD), 9, 10, 16, 47, 48, 68n19 The Other, 72, 77, 79, 83, 85, 92 Othering, 4 P

Paradox, 49, 51 Pedagogical, 6, 47, 52, 55, 56, 58n18, 59, 66, 75, 84, 113, 134, 158, 176, 177, 198 Pedagogy, 6, 52n11, 58n18, 63, 65, 73, 74, 79, 92, 94, 104–106, 105n1, 143, 181–188, 190–192, 196, 201–207, 210 PISA, 10 Poetry, 16, 17, 127–145 Policymakers, 17, 153, 154, 176 The political, 3, 79 Politics, 5, 9, 14, 35, 72, 219 Polyphonic, 78 Polysemic, 1, 5, 7 Positivism, 2 Postcolonialism, 2 Postmodernism, 2, 5 Poststructuralism, 2 Poststructuralist, 79 Potentiality, 11, 12, 14, 78 Power, 1, 3–5, 7, 11, 12, 16, 51, 53, 64, 73, 75, 84, 85, 89, 91, 107, 113–116, 119, 130, 136, 144, 145, 157, 169, 175, 176, 189, 197, 202, 203 Privation, 12, 14 Psychoanalysis, 2

227

Q

Qualitative, 32, 43, 56, 73, 74, 78, 90 Question, 1, 24, 49, 71, 104, 128, 168, 181, 216 Questioning, 4–6, 13, 15, 17, 27, 39–41, 43, 54n13, 60, 61, 65, 79, 92, 93, 103, 106, 130–132, 145, 153, 168, 170, 172, 177, 183, 196, 217 R

Racism, 9, 72, 80 Rationalism, 48n2, 104 Rationalize, 32 Reflecting, 11–13, 15, 27, 87, 105, 143, 188, 191, 197, 203, 206 Reflection, 13, 16, 17, 36, 37, 71–94, 104, 106, 107, 112–114, 184, 187, 193, 198, 209 Resistance, 6, 16, 73, 75, 79, 84–87, 91, 92, 198, 199, 201, 206–208 Russia, 17, 153–177 S

Schools, 6, 26, 49, 72, 102, 128, 154, 216 Self-determination theory, 103 Signifier, 4, 118 Skills, 10, 13, 16, 26–28, 41, 43, 48–52, 54–56, 54n12, 54n13, 58n18, 61, 62, 65–68, 103, 116, 118, 129, 131, 137, 142, 144, 173, 186, 195 Socialization, 37, 52, 61, 62, 206

228 Index

Social justice, 72–75, 79 Sociohistorical, 48, 49, 51–53, 62, 67 Sociology, 67, 76, 173 Struggle, 7, 17, 35, 48n3, 72, 75, 93, 94, 135, 184, 185, 187, 196–198, 205, 207 Students, 3, 25, 48, 74, 102, 127, 153, 181, 215 Subjectivity, 7, 8, 74, 79, 80, 88, 91 Sweden, 17, 153–177 Symbolic violence, 18, 220 T

Teachers, 6, 26, 49, 77, 101, 127, 154, 183, 216 Teaching, 3, 23, 48, 101, 127, 156, 181 Teaching English to Speakers of Other Languages (TESOL), 35, 36

Technological, 60 Technologies, 55–56 Translanguaging, 220 U

Universal, 2, 34, 48n3, 52, 66, 75, 78, 217 Universalism, 3 V

Voice, 7, 8, 16, 34, 41, 43, 44, 71, 73, 75, 78, 80, 84, 87, 88, 91, 104, 106–109, 115, 119, 121, 136, 145, 160, 183, 194, 204, 217 W

Writing skills, 27–28, 137