Anne Hill Surprised by Children: A Call to Pedagogical Possibilities

Transcription

Anne Hill
Surprised by Children:
A Call to Pedagogical
Possibilities
Beth Young
An Other Perspective on the
Knowledge Base in Canadian
Educational Administration
Carol E. Harris
Discovering Educational Leadership
Connections: Dr. Elizabeth Murray of Tatamagouche
Nha Nguyen
Éléments d’information contribuant à la formation de l’image
d’un établissement universitaire
Alister Cumming, Ronald Mackay, & Alfred Sakyi
Learning Processes in a Canadian Exchange Program for Multicultural, Anti-Racist
Education
Earl Mansfield & John Kehoe
A Critical Examination of Anti-Racist Education
Yves Lenoir et Mario Laforest
Rapports au savoir et programme québécois de sciences humaines au primaire
Tasos Kazepides
“Assembling Reminders for a Particular Purpose”: The Nature and Dimensions of
Educational Theory
Robert Lanning
Education and Everyday Life: An Argument Against “Educational Futures”
Table de matières /
Contents
vii Un mot de remerciements / A Note of Thanks
Articles
Anne Hill 339 Surprised by Children: A Call to Pedagogical
Possibilities
Beth Young 351 An Other Perspective on the Knowledge Base
in Canadian Educational Administration
Carol E. Harris 368 Discovering Educational Leadership
Connections: Dr. Elizabeth Murray of
Tatamagouche
Nha Nguyen 386 Éléments d’information contribuant à la
formation de l’image d’un établissement
universitaire
Alister Cumming, 399 Learning Processes in a Canadian
Ronald Mackay, &
Exchange Program for Multicultural,
Alfred Sakyi
Anti-Racist Education
Earl Mansfield & 418 A Critical Examination of Anti-Racist Education
John Kehoe
Yves Lenoir et 431 Rapports au savoir et programme québecois de
Mario Laforest
sciences humaines au primaire
Tasos Kazepides 448 “Assembling Reminders for a Particular
Purpose”: The Nature and Dimensions of
Educational Theory
Robert Lanning 464 Education and Everyday Life: An Argument
Against “Educational Futures”
Débat / Discussion Note
Dan Brown 479 A Response to Larry Sackney’s Review of
Decentralization and School-Based Management
Essai Critique / Review Essay
Claude Simard 481 La didactique du français langue maternelle:
analyse d’une recherche bibliographique
fondamentale [Recherches en didactique et
acquisition du français langue maternelle
par G. Gagné, R. Lazure, L. Sprenger-Charolles
et F. Ropé]
490 Index du volume 19 / Index to volume 19
Un mot de remerciements
On trouvera ci-dessous la liste des noms des arbitres des manuscrits proposés à
la RCE, du mois d’août 1993 au mois de juillet 1994. Les rédacteurs expriment
leurs remerciements à ces arbitres pour leur précieuse et indispensable collaboration à la publication de notre revue.
A Note of Thanks
Listed below are the persons who reviewed manuscripts for the CJE from 1993
August to 1994 July. The editors thank these reviewers for performing their
important function in the publication of our journal.
Acker, S.
Adam-Moodley, K.
Amégan, S.
Anderson, B.
Anderson, J.
Andrews, J.
Baby, A.
Banks, J.
Barnabé, C.
Barrow, R.
Baudoux, C.
Behiels, M.
Bezeau, L.
Bordeleau, L.-G.
Bruneau, S.
Brunet, J.-P.
Brunet, L.
Bryce, B.
Burnaby, B. J.
Butler, D.
Butterwick, S.
Cochrane, D.
Cohen, N.
Coleman, M. R.
Coleman, P.
Comeau, M.
Crespo, M.
Croskery, B.
d’Anglejan, A.
Dagenais, D.
Daniels, L.
Dassa, C.
Dawson, A. G.
Deblois, C.
DeKoninck, Z.
Dolbec, A.
Dolmage, W. R.
Dorais, L.-J.
Doré, R.
Dufresne-Tassé, C.
Dussault, H.
Entwistle, H.
Cazabon, B.
Chevrier, J.
Clandinin, D. J.
Fisher, D.
Fleming, T.
Foster, W.
Fullan, M.
Gambell, T. J.
Garon, D.
Gaskell, J. S.
Gaudreau, J.
Germain, C.
Gill, B. A.
Giltrow, J.
Goodson, I.
Gordon, C. J.
Goupil, G.
Grimmett, P.
Guay, M.
Haggerty, S. M.
Haig-Brown, C.
Hamel, T.
Hammond, D.
Hammond, W.
Hare, W.
Harris, C. E.
Henry, A.
Hensler, H.
Holborn, P.
Horth, R.
Housego, B.
Housego, I.
Howe, N.
Hunt, G.
Josiah, M.
Kazepides, T.
Kindler, A. M.
King, C.
King, J. E.
Knowles, G.
Kysela, G.
Landry, R.
Langevin, L.
Lapointe, J.-J.
LaRocque, L.
Laurin, P.
Lavoie-Sirois, J.
Lawton, S.
Levin, B.
Lightbown, P.
Lipka, J.
Livingstone, D.
Luke, C.
Lussier, D.
MacKinnon, A.
Magsino, R.
Mallea, J. R.
Manley-Casimir, M.
Mawhinney, H.
McCarty, T.
McClaren, M.
McLaren, A.
Morin, J.
Morine-Deshimer, G.
Morval, M.
Muir, W.
Mullen, C.
Sampson, G.
Sanoui, R.
Schön, D.
Scott, J.
Selman, M.
Senyshyn, Y.
Shipiro, B.
Shore, B. M.
Smith, S.
Stewart, J. D.
Norris, S. P.
Terrrisse, B.
Théorey, M.
Thomson, K.
Tochon, F.
Tom, A.
Toussant, P.
Townsend, R.
Turner, D.
O’Dea, J.
O’Shea, T.
Oberg, A.
Palkiewicz, J.
Paquette, J.
Pearson, A. T.
Pelletier, G.
Perry, N. E.
Poisson, Y.
Potvin, B.
Pucella, P.
Randhawa, B. S.
Rasberry, G. W.
Rehorick, S.
Richmond, S.
Ricker, E.
Rodriguez, C.
Roth, M.
Ungerleider, C.
Van Grunderbeeck, N.
Walker, R.
Warsh, M.
Winne, P.
Young, B.
Zaskis, R.
Surprised by Children:
A Call to Pedagogical Possibilities
Anne Hill
university of alberta
Teaching young children is an opportunity to live within a context of paradox and
uncertainty. This paper describes a teacher-researcher’s experiences of surprise in daily
practice. I suggest that experiences of surprise, of the paradoxically expected/unexpected,
the familiar/unfamiliar, and the childlike/unchildlike are opportunities to develop and
sustain reflective teaching practice. The experience of surprise is more than a prompt to
reflection. It is itself an embodied reflection. Lived experience comes to language through
the encounter of the body/mind, and we awaken to pedagogical possibilities.
L’enseignement dispensé à de jeunes enfants est une occasion de vivre dans les paradoxes
et les incertitudes. Dans cet article, l’auteure décrit les surprises de chercheurs-enseignants
dans l’exercice de leurs fonctions au jour le jour. Elle avance que ces surprises, ces expériences du prévu/imprévu, du familier/non familier, des réactions enfantines/non enfantines, sont autant d’occasions de développer et de maintenir des pratiques pédagogiques
réflexives. L’expérience de la surprise fait plus qu’inciter à la réflexion. Elle constitue en
elle-même une réflexion incarnée. L’expérience vécue passe dans les mots à travers la
rencontre du corps et de l’esprit et nous éveille à diverses possibilités pédagogiques.
You were not there the day the painters came to paint the classroom. Had you
been, you would know I was not surprised about the painters’ presence. I knew
that we would have no classroom for two days, that our boots and coats would
be in the staff room, and that as many children as fitted would be in a small
work room. Nor was I surprised, as I stood in the hall with the arriving children,
to feel as if I were trying to put the lid on a jar of grasshoppers. When I think
about days like that, I am somehow reminded of one day a very long time ago,
a day when I tried to get one more grasshopper into a jar for my younger sister’s
grasshopper collection. I accidentally cut the head off that grasshopper as I
slammed the lid on the jar to keep the others from escaping.
The day the painters came, the children were talking, it seemed to me, all of
them, all at once. They were asking questions, each one, and the parents too,
who came with them, all had much to say. You have probably often heard teachers say to a group of children, “You need to listen! I need to see your eyes! I
need to know you can hear me.” That teacher was me. My eyes were trying to
be on 25 children all at once. During one quick visual pass down the row of
children lined up outside the classroom, Jeff’s eyes caught mine. In the instant
of that pause, he said with eyes flashing and a big smile on his face, “Mrs. Hill!
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CANADIAN JOURNAL OF EDUCATION
19:4 (1994)
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ANNE HILL
We can hear you with our hearts too!” Exasperation released its hold on my
breath. “Yes!” I could say no more. I cannot even remember just what I did next,
or what anyone did. I know that we did manage for the rest of the morning, and
that there were many more surprises during the next two days, just as there have
been since I began teaching twenty years ago.
When I say “surprise,” I do not refer to those moments when I felt shocked,
saddened, or enraged. To hear a child say that her father is “really heavy into
sex,” and then to hear what she means by that expression, is a shock. I have difficulty recognizing the words, hearing what I am hearing. This is an experience
in which I feel surprise mixed with a fear that is full of horror and denial,
repeated in split-second intervals, one barely separable from another. The unfamiliar and incomprehensible overwhelms. When I hear a child ask if he is going
to eat today, that is a shock that leaves me in a torment of tears and rage. There
is no “Yes!” of recognition. There is instead, “No!” — this can’t be so! These
experiences are very different from the moment when Jeff announced that the
children could hear me with their hearts. I had not known that, and yet when I
was told, I knew it was so. The unfamiliar is somehow familiar. I am overwhelmed, but I am overwhelmed within a paradox of the unfamiliar/familiar. The
experience of surprise is not shock or disbelief, it is not a sense of being
overwhelmed by the unfamiliar.
We do not expect a bystander, watching the children on their way to school,
to be surprised by children. Perhaps we may expect a child’s soccer coach or
dance teacher to be surprised by the child. Certainly we hear parents tell us of
their experiences of surprise. We also hear teachers talk of being surprised by
children. In conversations we share the experiences of surprise, we gesticulate,
demonstrate, and laugh at ourselves. We remind ourselves, though, that we did
not laugh at the time. We remember that sometimes we simply stood, watching,
listening, questioning, unable to know what to say or to do next. Only now, looking back, can we laugh.
I have come to expect the experience of surprise and to question the paradox
of expecting the unexpected. Again and again we experience surprise. What,
then, is this experience of surprise? Is there something about surprise that is
central to our daily pedagogical relations with young children?
CHILDHOOD RECOLLECTIONS OF SURPRISE
Meyer-Drawe (1986) suggests that “the capability to be surprised by children has
. . . to be learned” (p. 50). I do not remember learning to be surprised by
children. Perhaps I have learned this, and have forgotten the learning. Perhaps,
as Polanyi (1958) says of tacit knowing, what I have learned has disappeared
from view as sugar does in tea. Perhaps the children have only reminded me of
something that I knew as a child and had simply forgotten, or was unable to
distinguish as something learned.
SURPRISED BY CHILDREN
341
I do remember being surprised as a child. I remember that when I was a child
my family frequently travelled throughout Canada, going on long, long train
trips, as we called them. I remember, when it was dark, resting my elbows on
the chilled, shiny, black window ledge, shielding my eyes from the lights inside
the train to see what was outside. I looked into darkness that rushed by. Northern
Ontario, at night, from the tracks, was to me nothing but shifting shades of black.
Sky and stars were insignificant against this immense expanse through which we
travelled. I remember the train sometimes stopping, nowhere, I would think. The
rocking, clattering rhythm would suddenly, without warning, change. Brakes
would screech with increasing intensity, and then, ominously, there would be
only a silent stillness. I used to peer through the window, searching incredulously, and ask my father, “Why are we stopping here?” On many trips I asked
this question, and always he would reply, “Someone is getting on.”
I remember turning from the window to my father’s face, looking for explanation. How could I understand what he said? Urban dweller that I was, no lights
meant nowhere. Of course no one lived nowhere, so why would we be stopping?
How could anyone live here? It was nowhere! If I looked over my shoulder I
might be able to see this person. Maybe, accompanied by the familiar sound
releasing air brakes, the train would begin to move and I would see the person
enter into the light of the car. Then I would be able to see what had made no
sense to me.
The experience of surprise was an unexpected arrest of movement in a vast,
unknown, and dark territory. Surprise held an anticipation of encounter with the
unknown and a hoped-for clarity of vision. As the moon casts light through darkness, to create those shifting shades of black, as shadows and glimmers of dimly
lit spaces hinted at more beyond, so this train-stopping hinted at places and
people I had not imagined.
Buytendijk (1953) says that surprise, in a child’s experience, is an “intentional
attitude,” signifying “the arrest of the consciousness before the opaque and massive factuality of a perceived object” (p. 204). He suggests that the child experiences an “other,” an object or person, as distinct from him/herself. Although
distinct, the child recognizes a “certain familiarity.” Thus, “this arrest, which we
call attention, is impregnated with a presentiment of a possible translucidity” (p.
204).
As adults, do we remember surprise as intentionality disrupted, that is, as a
disturbance of our anticipated consciousness of unity (Merleau-Ponty, 1962)? Is
our experience of surprise similar to an arrest of consciousness, like the trainstopping of my childhood memory, hinting like moonlight before the dark expanse of an unknown horizon? Do we sense the possibility of cleared vision?
When we are grown up and we are teachers, do we experience an arrest of
consciousness, an unexpected stopping, as I did on the train, in anticipation of
a view opening onto possibilities of meaning not yet visible? Can we experience
a similar arrest before the unfamiliar, a disturbance within the familiar, taken-
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for-granted consciousness of our daily living in the classroom, so that our
attention is presented with possibilities of seeing an “other”? Questions lead to
other questions in a cycle anticipating yet another question. Within this cycle of
arrest and question, we experience momentary possibilities for understanding, just
a moment’s “presentiment of a possible translucidity” as Buytendijk says. With
body and mind momentarily arrested in the presence of the child, I am drawn
into a thoughtful, embodied reflection. There I experience “the encounter, the
relationship, the between — the call of being, defined as presence or co-presence,
[which] itself breaks through as the ultimate support of meaning” (Levinas, cited
in Buber, 1988, p. ix). Unlike the shock and denial of unfamilar and incomprehensible incest and hunger, the encounter occasioned by surprise draws and holds
me within the between-space of my-self and “other.” Perhaps arrested in the
time/space of between, the encounter will “support meaning” as Levinas suggests, and will offer an opportunity to understand something more about our
pedagogical relationship.
THE CLASSROOM
I have learned something of this from children. Rebecca, a child in my kindergarten class, surprised me one day this school term. For many weeks I had not
been sure of what I was seeing and hearing. I watched and listened to her, as she
spoke with me and with her friends. I knew she was concerned about her parents’ recent divorce and her move into a different home. She had mentioned to
me that she was moving, and she was always “checking up” on me to know
where I was, what I was going to do next, and asking whether I would be in the
room when she came back in from recess. In my conversations with her, I was
not always sure of her meanings. I listened and I watched, trying to understand
the language that hovers outside the words, trying to understand what I was seeing, and not seeing. I looked for meaning. I searched for that
third meaning . . . the obtuse meaning [that] is outside (articulated) language but still
within interlocution. . . . We can understand each other about it “over the shoulder” or
“on the back” of articulated language: thanks to the image . . . we do without speech yet
we continue to understand each other. (Barthes, 1985, p. 55)
Rebecca was “an Other, a sort of stranger in [my] world” (Meyer-Drawe,
1986, p. 50). And yet this stranger in my world was not unfamiliar to my world.
Her furrowed eyebrows and concentrated gaze, her anxious questioning, were
familiar, yet I could not understand why she always wanted to know where I was
and would be. I could not understand Rebecca’s difficulty engaging in teacherdirected tasks that were well within her capabilities. Her frequent and prolonged
involvement in the dramatic play area, her reluctance to engage in teacherdirected activities, and her reluctance to persevere to the completion of a task
343
were puzzling to me. She was capable and articulate, and yet she needed to know
where I was at all times. I could not understand until one morning she arrived
late and we chatted together as she hung up her coat. I commented to her, “So,
you spent some time with your dad on the weekend, and now you’ll be spending
some time with your mom.” She replied, with her head tilting sideways, back
and forth, “First with Mom, then with Dad, then with Mom, then with Dad.”
“Well,” I said, “it’s nice that you share each other.” She looked at me directly,
with one arm brought close to wrap herself around her waist, and replied, “It’s
like you’re being torn apart.” I looked at her, in silence that held thought still for
just the moment of a breath, the still sense of surprise. Through such a small
space of stillness, meaning became visible. I could say no more than “Oh.” It
was just a breath. As she turned and walked away from me I followed her with
my eyes. Now I understood. I saw her, in her fragmented space, with her arm
around herself, trying to hold the pieces of her being together with the energy of
her life.
A few words, a few gestures, fragments of meaning. An arm wrapped around
herself, her head tilting back and forth. Her eyes. That gaze. Just a moment
passed as I watched her walk away. Familiar fragments. That word, “torn.” I
know that word! I know that wrapping arm! “Torn,” the sound connected with
the image of Rebecca’s arm wrapped around herself, her head tilting. I stood
there, remembering fragments, my own and Rebecca’s. I was unable to say more.
Images overwhelmed language. For a moment, surprise offered the way to understanding. It was as if, as Levin (1985) says, “the sensori-motor field is opened
up, and there is (es gibt) a space of enchantment” (p. 129). The still silence of
surprise opened onto a space in which I could see. In this moment I glimpsed an
understanding. Listening to Rebecca’s embodied expression, spoken in metaphors
of the body and language, I began to understand what Merleau-Ponty (1962) suggests is a “whole charged with immanent meaning” (p. 58). Rebecca’s whole
being, her body, her thought, was torn, separated. Questions began to form.
When she asks if I will be there after recess, is Rebecca trying to tell me about
her sense of separation? Is this what she means by her haste to complete a
teacher-directed activity and rush off to the dramatic play area? Do her friendships with some of the other children alleviate the sense of separation?
In many and varied classroom situations I have known these moments of
arrested stillness. It was like this when Peter kissed me after I picked him up,
just awakening, from his nap. Peter, who is big for a 5-year-old boy, is described
as “severely autistic” and “incapable of communication.” His recently established
toiletting routine had been, after waking, to be prompted to walk to the bathroom
to sit on the toilet. This particular day, he had been waking slowly, stretching
and curling, like a small child waking. I stood watching and asking myself how
I could possibly force Peter to stand up and walk, when I would never do that
with my own children — I would pick them up! So, I picked Peter up. He opened
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ANNE HILL
his eyes, looked me straight in the eyes, and kissed me on the cheek. We clung
to each other, his feet banging on my shins as I carried him to the bathroom. I
could not let go! He had communicated with me! His arms around my neck felt
like the arms of other children, like the arms of my youngest son, David. I knew
this familiar grasp of a child’s arms around my neck. I did not know this responsiveness from Peter! What possibilities were immanent in the unfamiliar? What
else might Peter be able to do if only we could reach across the space between
ourselves and this “other,” this “stranger”?
I have learned to expect these possibilities. I have learned just enough to know
that I do not always know what might happen in the classroom with the children.
One day I watched Jennifer and four other girls going back and forth, back and
forth, between the writing centre, the storybook centre, and the playhouse. They
were carrying papers, pots, and spoons to the story centre. I began to feel like
commanding “Stop this!” — but — no. It may be better to check. Jennifer seemed
to be directing the others. I asked her what she was doing. “It’s Jingle Bells.”
she said. “Yes, I could tell that, but what is this all about?” I was puzzled and
the noise was beginning to bother me. She looked at me directly, and firmly said,
“It’s the Death of Harmony.” Suddenly I saw! Yes, the papers were sheet music,
five wiggly lines across the page, and notes too! Right! And I thought they were
horsing around with a bunch of pots! Good thing I checked! The noise no longer
bothered me. It was now a symphony, created by an improvisational orchestra,
and called “The Death of Harmony”!
Unexpected possibilities are paradoxically expected. I have learned enough to
know that what I plan may not happen. One morning I decided I might be able
to show Jonathan how he might use foam letters to make some words. I picked
up the letters and walked to the rug where Jonathan was sitting. He seemed to
be watching nothing in particular, so perhaps this was the moment to capture his
attention. Perhaps I could interest him in what I had seen the others doing,
spelling “Mom” and “me.” Maybe this would be a way for him to make words
without the struggle of printing. He might feel less burdened with what for him
is the difficult task of forming shapes on paper.
I knelt down and put the tray of letters in front of him. Before I could blink
he had both hands into the letters. My hands darted out to stop his, but I was not
fast enough. He already had two hands full of letters and was placing them on
the rug before I could touch anything. I tensed, my arms stiffened with the realization that I could no longer get the letters I wanted. My intentions were no
longer possible, I could not continue with my plan. But perhaps it might be
possible to continue in some other way. The children around us chattered in concentration and I thought, I can stay here with Jonathan. I am going to stay here
with Jonathan. I want him to see what can be done with these letters.
Memories of other days with Jonathan darted, fragmented and unclear. I saw
again, in disjointed images, Jonathan interrupting, reaching for my arm, pulling
on my hand, pulling me to look at his face as he spoke, pulling me to see what
345
he was making, to show me his latest creation. Now as I sit here in a knot of
tension, the scene replays itself through my memory as if it were a film clip.
This is not what I planned! I wanted Jonathan to take turns with me with the
letters! Images block language, crunch thought into an “It”! “It” becomes both
memory replayed and the moment, one indistinguishable from the other. I am
tightening into strings, all my muscles are pulling on me. I take a breath that is
full of “IT.” I need to release that tension, I cannot hold it any longer! I have no
idea what I am going to say. I do not even think about that. I just need to
breathe and I need to reform a plan that will enable me to follow through. I think
I am about to say something, but words are not formed. Before language helps
me go beyond “IT,” just when I need to release the stringy tension of arms and
legs and lungs, Jonathan shouts out the words he has made. “MOM”! and
“YOU”!
There — I am stopped, or do I stop myself? I am not sure. I had not known
he would be able to do this! Jonathan laughs as he says the sound combinations
he puts on the rug, “yooo.” He laughs and looks at me. All I do is breathe very
long and deeply, and stare at him. I am no longer aware of other children, or my
sore muscles. I just stare at Jonathan and the letters. I am no longer aware of the
presence of my body in the way I was. I am aware that others join us and that
we are all laughing. And so for me, as for the child, this arrest of consciousness
has a sense of familiarity, immanent meaning, and unfamiliar possibilities.
Now questions begin to form as I continue to watch the children. What does
this mean about assumptions I make about the teaching of sound-symbol associations? What does this mean to me about waiting for children, for listening in
silence to the embodied language of their laughter and gaze? Have I missed other
moments like this, moments when I could have learned something about the way
a child was making sense of his/her learning?
I have been pulled by the children; not drawn into, but dragged toward, just
as Jonathan has pulled me to see what he was doing. I have resisted, not been
stopped. This is not surprise. The children have pulled my body closer, but I
have not been there. I have been lingering in thoughts of my instructional plan,
or lost in a whirlwind of concern about noise in the classroom. I had difficulty
knowing Rebecca, knowing what she meant by her resistance to teacher-directed
activities. It has sometimes been necessary for the children to remind me how
to hear, as Jeff did, so that when ears fail, I can use my heart.
In brief moments, fragmented sensations and images connect with fragments
of language. Pieces of memories. Trying to contain my sister’s grasshoppers, the
pain of separations, a child’s arm around my neck, all are recalled to presence,
now, in the classroom. Entwined times and places. What is it that leads me to
question what else, and in what other way, a severely autistic child might
communicate? What is this, that enables me to hear a symphony in noise, this
paradoxical childlike yet unchildlike response that tells me a child hears my
instructions with his or her heart?
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ANNE HILL
In the language of Old French, the word surprise meant “seized.” Have my
experiences of surprise, been experiences of seizure? Was I seized in my experiences with Jeff, with Rebecca, and Jennifer, and Peter? To know that surprise
once meant seized is not enough. The meaning is more elusive than what is
suggested by the word “seized.” The elusive quality of surprise itself anticipates
something beyond, anticipates possibilities that will support meaning. Perhaps it
is helpful to look in places other than the classroom.
SURPRISE AND THE WHOLE OF OUR EXPERIENCE
For me the experience of surprise with young children has not begun or ended
in the classroom. It has been an experience continuous with the whole of my
experience. For me and for my husband, experiences of surprise with our children have been part of the whole of our experiences, of our ordinary, daily living.
From the moment of our oldest son’s birth, from the moment we first saw our
second son, David, living with the expectation of the unexpected seems to have
been part of our ordinary living with our children. When David was nearly two
years old, still toddling, he tried to lift a kitchen chair and throw it at me after
I said “No, you can’t have a peanut butter sandwich now.” A few summers ago
we were flying over France. I was gazing out the window, looking down on the
brown, hilly countryside, lost in a daydream about the medieval woodcuts I
remembered from my old French textbooks. In the midst of the blue sky and the
brown earth, seemingly out of the blue, David said to me, “There’s lots of
worlds aren’t there, Mom.” I turned away from my imagined world and looked
at David. His words, his gaze, called me from my imagined world. I was unable
to say anything but a drawn out “Yes.”
In other places and at other times David has called me to his worlds. When
he calls, his demand to listen means more than just “hear my words.” A wise old
colleague told me once about listening. He said,
You have to be there, be all there. That is the crux of it. It’s perception. You try to look
at the different things that would get in the way. The main thing is to be all there, to be
aware of your own self, but also empty. You can’t be all tied up, you’re just empty. Then
there’s more room to see, to hear, to feel. Then you’re more ready. (Phillips, journal
notes, 1992)
For David too, “listen to me” means “be here, be all here.” Since he was a
toddler, he has always called me in threes. He calls, “Mom! Mom! Mom!” It
seems to always mean “Mom, hear me; Mom, you have to see me; Mom, you
have to come.” Being close enough to hear means being close enough also to
see, and to touch in the space that he is touching. It is as if he is saying, “Listen,
Mom, know this world in which I exist.” One fall, in the late afternoon by a
mountain river, he walked along the river bank toward me. I had burrowed into
347
my old sheepskin, huddled against the wind that pushed through the trees, and
settled into the contours of a comfortable boulder. David called, “Mom, Mom,
Mom! I’m making sparks!” I knew I would no longer be left to sit upon my
rock. David pulled me by the hand, the arm, and when I would not get up myself, he levered himself into the boulders to pull me up. He pulled me toward a
place under the bridge where it was darker, and then let go of my hand. Lifting
a boulder, he heaved it at another boulder closer to the water and . . . there!
“See! Sparks! I’m making sparks!” he hollered.
See? Yes. Now I see! David has dragged and pulled me into the presence of
a moment, immanent with possibilities. I am stopped. Or do I stop myself? I do
not know. But, for a moment, that does not matter. I experience the still sense
of surprise, an unexpected stopping, an anticipation in the presence of encounter
with an “other.” Like the light of sparks, or the light in the train, the experience
is immanent with possibilities to enlighten.
Here at the river with David’s boulders, like a flash of lightning in the dark,
the sparks reveal a view of other rivers. I see this river of the rocks, but it looks
like every other river I have ever known. I see myself, in memories, with my
father at this river that is now all rivers. Memories entwine within the moment,
as they did the day the painters came to the school, and the day Rebecca told me
she was torn apart. David called again. “See? You do it, Mom.” I hesitated.
Images of memories were more immediate. He insisted, “You do it, Mom. You
do it. See!” His eyes were intent on my face, his gaze fixed. Just as he had pulled me up from the rock, his gaze pulled me back to hear the command “See!”
Suddenly, I am aware again of the mountains. Mountains and rivers become cold
and close again as the tattered little windblown memories streak through my
thoughts. In the still space of the moment, I see and hear David and his friend,
Samantha. I hear David’s call, and the river that is all rivers is gone, replaced
with this river, the one that has boulders that spark. I am no longer in the same
relation with the river. Before the sparks, this was just a river, then it became the
river-that-is-all-rivers. Now it is neither! David’s call has disturbed my vision.
I have been pulled away from huddling in my comfortable space, pulled into the
presence of this other river with David. I have been called from the time of my
memories, the places and people of other rivers, into the presence of David’s
rocks, and this river. David’s call, like a rock thrown into water, has disturbed
my reflection! In the momentary light of sparks, I now see that I see differently.
A thought, like mist, arises through the stillness. What if I had not come?
What if I had not thrown rocks? Through the foggy mist of forming thoughts and
unformed words, I see images of David and his uncle and his cousin, perched on
river banks, and planted, each with one foot worked into the stones of gravel
beds, like out-of-context baseball players, in that one-legged launch position. As
language rises into form, words and images swirl with sensations, and I wonder,
Is this how it feels for David? Is this what it is like to throw rocks in water? Is
this why David likes throwing rocks into rivers? I sense a warmth inside, a
348
ANNE HILL
warmth so pervasive it distances mountains and cold, grey air. With a long, deep
breath, I become aware of loosening tension. I feel a sense of gratitude to David
and for David. In the light of sparks I see his river, the river-that-is-all-rivers.
My relationship with the river now encompasses David’s river.
The experience of surprise swirls into already swirling words and images, and
joins with a sense of admiration, becoming wonder. No longer surprise, it is now
wonder that I sense. Is this what Merleau-Ponty (1962) hints at when he speaks
“of ‘wonder’ in the face of the world” (p. xiii)? He says,
Reflection does not withdraw from the world towards the unity of consciousness as the
world’s basis; it steps back to watch the forms of transcendence fly up like sparks from
a fire; it slackens the intentional threads which attach us to the world because it reveals
that world as strange and paradoxical. (p. xiii)
What kind of reflection does not withdraw, but only steps back to watch? Should
we ask if reflection steps toward, as well as back, to slacken those intentional
threads we wrap around ourselves the way I wrapped my old sheepskin coat
against the cold wind?
Huddled on the rock, wrapped and withdrawn in reflection like Narcissus at
the pool, I am pulled and dragged with the hands and eye-gaze of the children.
I must be called with a kiss, with the language of words and gesture, called to
step away from my huddled, self-enclosed space, toward an “other.” The children
push and pull and call me to move in a “process of transcendence towards the
world” (Merleau-Ponty, 1962, p. xiv). Arrested in the encounter occasioned by
surprise, I pause, embodied in the time/space of the child’s presence, drawn to
hear a call that
comes from me yet over me . . . [disclosed] in the factor of a jolt . . . of an abrupt
arousal. . . . Neither a who nor a what, the caller and the call occur simultaneously as a
to-and-fro movement of abrupt arousal. [I am ] pushed to the edges of thinking so that
a new thought can emerge. (Rodeheffer, 1990, p. 129)
Called to move from the familiar unity of my own consciousness, toward the
other, I find a new thought, another world. Isn’t that what David was trying to
tell me when he pulled me close enough with his words and his gaze to say that
“There are lots of worlds”? Perhaps this is what Jeff was trying to tell me, that
there is also the world of hearing with your heart, an embodied world where
“The injunction to listen . . . places above everything else the quasi-physical
contact of these subjects (by voice and ear): it creates transference: ‘listen to me’
means touch me, know that I exist” (Barthes, 1985, p. 251). A thoughtful move
with young children is a move toward listening as an embodied act, toward seeing as the revealing of the paradox of double vision, my own and the child’s. A
thoughtful move, listening with the heart, seeing lots of worlds, these are embodied acts, a reflective move toward, not a reflective distancing (van Manen, 1991).
349
Yet I am not always surprised, arrested and drawn toward a thoughtful pedagogical act, when perhaps I ought to be. I do not always hear, I do not always
see. I am not always “there,” arrested in stillness. I can be pulled and dragged
toward the possibility of a moment and yet often I cannot see or hear, to reach
and touch across the space that lies between my own being and the child’s. If I
am to hear, to see, I must be present, I must be there in the space that opens
onto possibilities, with the child, to realize meaning. Surprise, like thought, is an
experience of meaning, immanent, anticipating, and brought to visibility through
language. I must be there to realize what meanings yet “flutter between word and
thought” (Vygotsky, 1934/1986, p. 249). The children know this. Jonathan pulls
me, David insists I leave my huddle on the rock. Jeff knows, he tells me that the
children can hear me because they are “there” with their whole being. So I too
must experience this presence that supports meaning. It only takes a moment —
just the moment’s experience of surprise.
THE ELUSIVE CONTINUITY OF SURPRISE
There — arrested in the small, still, space of the moment is marked the reciprocal
beginning-end form of reflection that “suspends the faith in the world only so as
to see it” (Merleau-Ponty, 1968, p. 38). Overwhelmingly, daily, repeatedly and
without intention, I have known the paradoxical experience of expecting the
unexpected. Surprise is a paradox of beginning-ending, a recursive and recirculating expectation of the unexpected that is continually immanent. Surprise circulates through our teaching practice, as Schön’s metaphor suggests, by locating
surprise at “the heart of reflective teaching” (1988, p. 22). The experience of
surprise offers us possibilities again and again and again in an embodied,
organic, recirculating, and renewed rhythm of the paradoxical, the expected/
unexpected and the familiar/unfamiliar.
These experiences with our children slip one by one, from figure into ground,
as each takes form and place. Like wind-blown clouds, each swirls from one
form into another. Yet, like clouds, they are of one substance, which is the
familiar sensibility of being stopped-and-overwhelmingly-drawn-into. Against this
ground of the familiar, the unfamiliar becomes figure, and I become aware of a
difference in my perceptual field. I am drawn into the presence of an “other.”
My attention is drawn in a shift of awareness toward an encounter, as I was
drawn to look in the train for the person who was getting on, and as David drew
me from imagined time and place into his awareness of another world. My attention is drawn through that familiar world of the river and the river-that-is-allrivers, into the world of David’s River of Lightning Rocks, into the world of
Peter’s touch, Rebecca’s holding of herself, and Jonathan’s emerging literacy.
There I learn to recognize the image and metaphor of embodied language.
It is not that once drawn into these other worlds I suddenly know everything
I need to know about pedagogical relationships with children. There is only an
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ANNE HILL
“awakening [of] the thoughts which constitute other people, myself as individual
subject and the world as a pole of my perception” (Merleau-Ponty, 1962, p. 60).
I have touched and been touched, listened, and awakened only so much as I have
experienced “the living creature that miraculously unites sense and the senses
into one vox” and experienced the disturbance of that form, playing with
“articulations splitting up that body or reinscribing it within sequences it can no
longer control” (Caputo, 1987, p. 150, citing Mallarmé).
Still, yet not still, like a moment of conception, there is a disruption of unity
in the formation of yet another unity as I reflect upon my practice. And so I
re-enter the reciprocity and symmetry of the spiral, and I return to the children
tomorrow. Surprise, like blood, recirculates through practic/se with the organic
rhythm of paradox. With the rhythm of the familiar/unfamiliar, the expected/
unexpected, and the childlike/unchildlike holding child and teacher, surprise
sustains the pedagogical relationship.
REFERENCES
Buytendijk, F. J. J. (1953). Experienced freedom and moral freedom in the child’s consciousness.
Educational Theory, 3(1), 1–13.
Barthes, R. (1985). The responsibility of forms (R. Howard, Trans.). New York: Hill & Wang.
Buber, M. (1988). The knowledge of man: selected essays (M. Friedman, Ed.; M. Friedman & G.
Smith, Trans.). Atlantic Highlands, NJ: Humanities Press International.
Caputo, J. D. (1987). Radical hermeneutics. Bloomington: Indiana University Press.
Levin, D. M. (1985). The body’s recollection of being. London: Routledge & Kegan Paul.
Merleau-Ponty, M. (1962). The phenomenology of perception (C. Smith, Trans.). London: Routledge
& Kegan Paul.
Merleau-Ponty, M. (1968). The visible and the invisible (C. Lefort, Ed.; A. Lingis, Trans.). Evanston,
IL: Northwestern University Press.
Meyer-Drawe, K. (1986). Kaleidoscope of experiences: The capability to be surprised by children.
Phenomenology + Pedagogy, 4(3), 48–55.
Polanyi, M. (1958). Personal knowledge: Towards a post-critical philosophy. Chicago: University
of Chicago Press.
Rodeheffer, J. K. (1990). The call of conscience and the call of language: Reflections on a movement
in Heidegger’s thinking. In A. B Dallery & C. Scott (Eds.), Crisis in continental philosophy (pp.
127–134). Albany, NY: State University of New York Press.
Schön, D. (1988). Coaching reflective teaching. In P. Grimmett & G. Erickson (Eds.), Reflection in
teacher education (pp. 19–29). New York: Teachers College Press.
van Manen, M. (1991). The tact of teaching: The meaning of pedagogical thinking. London, ON: Althouse Press.
Vygotsky, L. (1986). Thought and language (A. Kozulin, Ed. & Trans.). Cambridge: MIT Press.
(Original work published 1934)
Anne Hill is a graduate student in the Department of Elementary Education, Faculty of Education,
University of Alberta, Edmonton, Alberta, T6G 2G5.
An Other Perspective on the Knowledge Base
in Canadian Educational Administration1
Beth Young
university of alberta
In this paper I offer a feminist perspective on past and present scholarship in Canadian
English-language education administration. After noting some pertinent aspects of the
historical development of “academic educational administration” in Canada, I pose the
questions “Where are the women in this world or these worlds of Canadian educational
administration? What were and are their experiences? their realities? their voices?” In
response, I review and synthesize selected, recent Canadian research pertaining to women
in educational administration. Based on that review, it seems that women’s experiences
and feminist thought are only beginning to affect our knowledge base; they are, as yet,
“other” perspectives.
Dans cet article, l’auteure offre une perspective féministe sur les universitaires au sein de
l’administration dans les milieux d’éducation anglophones. Après avoir noté certains des
aspects pertinents du développement historique de l’administration en éducation au
Canada, l’auteure pose les questions suivantes: “Où sont les femmes dans ces milieux de
l’administration en éducation au Canada?” “Quelles ont été et quelles sont leurs expériences?” “Comment ont-elles fait et font-elles entendre leur voix?” En répondant à ces
questions, l’auteure fait la synthèse des recherches récentes au Canada sur les femmes au
sein de l’administration dans les milieux d’éducation? À en juger d’après cette synthèse,
il semble que les expériences des femmes et la pensée féministe ne font que commencer
à avoir des incidences sur nos connaissances de base; il s’agit pour l’instant, de perspectives “marginales.”
For some years now, academics have assessed and discussed development of the
“knowledge base” in the relatively new field of scholarship focusing on the
organization, administration, and leadership of schools. Both critical and notso-critical perspectives on this topic have appeared. Among the critical perspectives are feminist ones, particularly in the United States (e.g., Shakeshaft, 1989a)
and Australia (e.g., Blackmore, 1993). Understandably, those writers have concentrated on the issues and scholarship of their own nations. No similar feminist2
assessment and synthesis has yet been done in Canada, by a Canadian and about
Canadian work.
We have just begun to consider Canadian women’s experiences and contributions as dimensions of our research and theorizing about Canadian educational
administration and leadership. Whereas scholarship on educational administration
in this country has for over a decade incorporated “Canadian” and “education”
351
19:4 (1994)
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BETH YOUNG
as dimensions of our knowledge base, gender is still hardly acknowledged as an
issue. Given the power of many educational administrators to define or influence
educational agendas in many settings, this is a serious omission.
After noting some pertinent aspects of the historical development of “academic
educational administration”3 in Canada, I consider research by and about Canadians presented in Canadian scholarly contexts that explicitly focus on educational
administration, usually refereed journals and the annual conference of the
Canadian Association for the Study of Educational Administration (hereafter,
CASEA; a member organization of the Canadian Society for the Study of Education). I also discuss pertinent material in readily available books or more general
refereed Canadian education journals, emphasizing work published between 1988
and 1993. I limit the scope of my review in these ways because I want to show
what is being legitimized as significant — what is defined as knowledge — by and
for Canadians in our field of study and practice. The legitimized work constitutes
a sort of “canon” for Canadian academic educational administration, as well as
a reference point for future research and practice. It is therefore important to
consider what perspectives and viewpoints are, and are not, represented in that
“canon.”
OH, CANADA
According to Allison (1991), the extensive urbanization and consolidation of
public schooling that occurred early this century in the United States began
somewhat later in Canada, and varied in its progress from province to province
and region to region. The small, rural school district was pervasive across Canada until quite recently. Levin and (J.) Young (1993) note that those districts
were controlled by “the local parents, or more particularly the fathers, since most
school trustees were men” (p. 14). Concomitantly, the provincial school inspector
was the predominant administrative figure here until the 1960s, later in some
areas. These inspectors, carefully screened by provincial bureaucrats, were almost
invariably male. Apparently, neither the inspectors nor any one else seriously
questioned their ability to supervise the many (often female) elementary schoolteachers in their purview, although their own teaching experiences were generally
limited and in secondary schools.
Both urbanization and school district consolidation gained momentum during
the 1950s and early 1960s. Whether provincially or locally appointed, school
district superintendents gained visibility and status as they faced the more
complex administrative challenges presented by larger school divisions. These
changes fostered receptiveness to the academic study of educational administration and were catalysts for “transplanting” educational administration as a field
of academic study from United States to Canadian soil (Allison, 1991, p. 32). In
1956, the first Division of Educational Administration in Canada was established
at the University of Alberta, with the assistance of a grant from the Kellogg
THE KNOWLEDGE BASE IN EDUCATIONAL ADMINISTRATION
353
Foundation and the support of the Canadian Education Association. Graduate students (male) from across the country arrived to be “educated” as school administrators.
Much existing academic knowledge about educational administration was
constructed in and for the American milieu. At the University of Alberta, and
subsequently elsewhere in Canada, it was disseminated through American textbooks and American-educated professors (Allison, 1991, p. 33; Hickcox, 1981,
p. 1; Miklos, 1992, p. 5). Awareness of the need to create a Canadian knowledge
base is evident, however, in the considerable proportion of early dissertations
describing the Canadian “context of educational administration” (Miklos, 1992,
p. 40), that is, the diverse legislative/legal, demographic, cultural, and economic
factors (Miklos, 1992, p. 55) influencing education and its administration in
Canada.
The increasing predominance of the theory movement in American academic
educational administration diminished the significance of that notion of context.
As there had been earlier in the United States, there was now an urgent need
among Canadian practitioners for the credibility of a “professionalized” (Allison,
1991, p. 3) and “scientific” approach to the administration of public education.
Little attention was paid to “the distinctive quality” of the (Canadian educational)
organizations studied (Miklos, 1992, p. 88).
The transplant “took,” then. A slender Tree of Grand Theory sprouted and
spread some branches across Canada as graduates from the University of Alberta’s new program in Educational Administration — most of them men — returned
or moved on to high-ranking administrative positions in provincial departments/
ministries of education and school systems, and university faculty appointments.
The discourse underway and the research undertaken, like that in other social
sciences of the time, consisted primarily of white middle-class men speaking to
one another and assuming that their experiences and priorities could be generalized to all inhabitants of their world(s).
Speaking from within this milieu, the late Thom Greenfield raised his voice
in the mid-1970s to challenge positivism and the theory movement. Greenfield
was by then a professor at the Ontario Institute for Studies in Education. His
own graduate studies in educational administration at the University of Alberta
during the late 1950s and early 1960s and his early work as a researcher were
entirely within the positivist paradigm from which he later so decisively turned
away. He dedicated his career from that turning point until his death in 1992 to
a critique of positivistic educational administration and an emphasis on viewing
the formal organization as a social invention of its members. He conceptualized
the organization as a “moral order” in which people with more power impose
their notions of organizational realities and their values on, and attempt to control
the interpretations and actions of, those with less power (Greenfield & Ribbins,
1993). Thus, understanding the web of (individual and group) experiences, meanings and values that, situated in a particular milieu, constitutes an organization
354
BETH YOUNG
became recognized as an important issue of organizational life and theory. Reaction to Greenfield’s challenge has ranged widely, but most commentators agree
that his influence in Canada and the Commonwealth has been substantial, stimulating “alternative approaches that have served to broaden the field” (Allison,
1991, p. 34).
Greenfield opened up whole new areas of thought and discussion about school
organizations, but the impact of gender was not one of them. Quite the opposite.
Although he stated unequivocally that “Language is power. It literally makes
reality appear and disappear” (1984, p. 154), he always chose to write in “the
inclusive language of tradition” (Greenfield & Ribbins, 1993, p. 225), using
masculine references such as “man” and “he” to “include” both women and men.
His sensitivity to issues of language, personal experience and meaning, values,
and power and control in organizational life shares common ground with feminist
critique. Indeed, he saw himself as representing an Other perspective and living
as an outsider (Greenfield & Ribbins, 1993). It is a loss that he refused to
acknowledge gender as a significant dimension of knowledge de/re/construction
and life in organizations.
Writing in a 1981 collection called What’s so Canadian about Canadian Educational Administration? Greenfield made the startling assertion that Canadian
educational administration researchers “know very little about schools as schools
in Canada and very little about the administration of them” (Greenfield, 1981,
p. 17). The very title and purpose of the collection signalled the new focus on
meaning and context, and an increasing national self-consciousness about Canadian educational administration. A similar awareness and concern was voiced at
meetings of CASEA (Bergen & Quarshie, 1987, p. 20). It constituted an acknowledgment that Canadian research in educational administration had not told
us much about Canadian schools and schooling, and certainly not in any coordinated, nation-wide fashion.
Because of constraints involving primarily population and jurisdiction, incentives and supports for meta-analysis, critique, synthesis, and dissemination of
Canadian educational administration research are few. Lacking, as we do, the incentive of a large Canadian market for textbooks (Hickox, 1981, p. 4; the current
professoriate in educational administration is about 100 people and CASEA
membership under 200), especially graduate-level ones, there have been only a
few attempts to pull together and look over Canadian research in educational
administration.4 Our small population also limits to a handful the number of
scholarly and professional journals focusing on Canadian educational administration and receiving national distribution or international attention.5 Our difficulties
are compounded by the absence of a national infrastructure for education and
research about education, due largely to provincial jurisdiction over this area. As
a result, it has always been challenging to get a sense of the “big picture,” the
mosaic of Canadian research about educational administration or the gaps in that
mosaic.
355
Nonetheless, during the 1980s, our researchers began — or perhaps continued,
but with more range and depth — to join Canadian and education with adminstration and to do so by seeking “understandings . . . from the perspective of the
[study] participant” (Miklos, 1992, p. 166). Various qualitative, interpretive, and
critical research approaches have achieved respectability and acceptance in at
least some academic educational administration circles. Particularly where newer
educational administration scholars have been hired, bringing with them different
questions and issues for research, knowledge is now being constructed as often
as truth is being discovered, and voices can be heard asking, “Whose knowledge?” or “Who benefits?” There is greater emphasis on the diverse meanings
and values individuals and groups ascribe to various policies and practices. Such
work has expanded substantially our knowledge about and ways of understanding
Canadian schools and their contexts.
Some of us, however, will continue to make problematic the knowledge base
issue in Canadian educational administration because it is not yet inclusive of the
changing demography and the diversity characterizing our nation (Levin & J.
Young, 1993), women and gender being my case in point. Naomi Hersom — one
of the first women to complete a Canadian doctorate in educational administration, and that was in 1969 — recently identified “the changing nature of the family,” “the role of women in the [paid] work force and in the professions,” and
“the ways we educate girls and women” as issues particularly significant for
Canadian education and educators (Hersom, 1992, p. 7). And, Fullan and Stiegelbauer (1990) assert that there is “a broadening of the opportunity base for women
in positions traditionally associated with men” (p. 163). To what extent are these
changes and assertions apparent in our research? Where are the women in this
world or these worlds of Canadian educational administration? What were and
are their experiences? their realities? their voices?
WHERE ARE THE WOMEN?
Despite the demanding variety of experiences and tasks encountered and endured
by pioneer women teachers in Canada during the nineteenth century (Danylewycz
& Prentice, 1986; Fleming, Smyly, & White, 1990), the view persisted that
women were not capable of teaching older children or managing schools (Nixon,
1987; B. Young, 1990). Teaching school did provide some Canadian women with
a “liberating” opportunity to find employment on the western Canadian frontiers,
and/or to make the transition to other professional, political, and domestic roles,
but the pattern of work for these women was one of increasing segregation (by
grade and lower pay) and external control (Danylewycz & Prentice, 1986). They
were virtually powerless, at the combined “mercy” of the local school trustees
who employed them and the male provincial inspectors who supervised them.
The provincially appointed inspectors were themselves engaged in taxing
work — a concerned, but very busy patriarchy of former secondary schoolteachers
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BETH YOUNG
charged with supervising and supporting a widely dispersed array of teachers,
largely female and teaching elementary school (Allison, 1991).
The hegemony of the male provincial inspectorate continued unquestioned and
unrestrained into the 1960s even when, at times, our American counterparts were
electing a number of women superintendents (Allison, 1991, p. 37; Shakeshaft,
1989b). Then, during the expansionary decades of the 1960s and the 1970s, when
inspectors gave way to school district superintendents, men continued to be treated as the logical candidates for virtually all administrative positions (Reynolds,
1987). This “logic” was reinforced and supported by policies requiring married,
and later pregnant, women teachers to resign their appointments (Reynolds,
1987). In addition to the publicly voiced rationale that married women’s main
responsibility was to care for husband, family, and home, these policies ensured
that most women teachers on staff were too young and inexperienced to compete
seriously for administrative appointments (Reynolds, 1987).
In Canada even today, men hold a wider variety of administrative positions
pertaining to schools than do women, and men occupy those positions in greater
numbers, although 60% of Canada’s elementary-secondary schoolteachers are
women (Statistics Canada, 1993, p. 207). In 1991/92, 25% of Canada’s male
teachers held school-based administration appointments, a proportion unchanged
from a decade ago. Although only 7% of our female teachers held comparable
administrative appointments in 1991/92, they did make up from one-quarter to
one-third of the country’s school-based administrators, more than double the
proportion who were women a decade ago (Statistics Canada, 1993, p. 209). The
traditional gendered division of labour in school organizations continues nationwide, but is modified by the increased proportion of administrative positions
women hold.
Given provincial jurisdiction over education, there may be considerable variation from province to province with respect to policies, practices, and proportional statistics (Rees, 1990; Smith, 1991; B. Young, 1990). A comprehensive
province-by-province demographic overview of the Canadian situation was commissioned in 1988 by the Canadian Education Association (CEA), when Naomi
Hersom was its president. One purpose of the study was to establish a statistical
baseline regarding the distribution of women and men holding various positions
other than classroom teacher in each province (Rees, 1990). Project director Ruth
Rees (1990) found “the situation of women and men in positions within education systems across Canada reflects that of tradition rather than employment
equity” (p. 91); this is particularly so in some provinces (Gill, 1993) and in
secondary schools (Dempsey, 1991; Tabin & Coleman, 1993).
There are also, however, some indicators of change requiring further exploration. Women have sought out the Ontario principalship certification course in
ever-increasing numbers since two key “filters” were removed in the early 1980s
(Rees, 1991; see also Smith, 1991). The changes were to eliminate the requirements of mandatory summer residency, and of referral (which meant only candi-
357
dates recommended by their school districts could enrol). In 1989, some time
after the policy changes, women were being hired for administrative jobs in the
same proportion as they graduated from the certification program (Rees, 1991).
As well, although the CEA survey data showed that central office positions with
direct formal authority continue to be occupied primarily by men (Ayim, 1991;
Rees, 1990), Dempsey and Reynolds’ 1992 survey of Ontario school board
supervisory officers indicated that at least half the 94 women supervisors took
up their present positions in the preceding four years. The findings both of
Dempsey and Reynolds and of Rees suggest more women may have been appointed to administrative roles in Ontario during the later 1980s and early 1990s.
The data available at this time leave many questions unanswered. We are
starting to have the sort of foundational information needed for further policy
research (Smith, 1991), but we have too little of it. As yet, the statistics tend to
support contentions that systemic discrimination, subtly reinforced and rationalized by traditional socialization, continues to be a major factor in the underrepresentation of women in Canadian school administration (Ayim, 1991; Nixon,
1987; Rees, 1990). We lack adequate information about the nature and extent of
changes in the comparative “qualifications” (however defined) and the subsequent appointment and career development of women aspiring to formal administrative roles in Canadian school systems (Smith, 1991). We need more, and
current, demographic data tracking qualification and selection patterns in different
parts of the country.
Until recently, except for a doctoral study done in the mid-1970s by Mary
Nixon, the issue of women in school administration and leadership received little
attention from Canadian educational administration scholars, most of whom were
men. Data from readily available sources (CASEA, 1993; Miklos, 1992) indicate
that only a handful of doctoral studies explored this topic. And although it is to
be hoped that feminist perspectives may have enriched the study of other topics,
there is no such indication. Not one doctoral dissertation receiving the annual
CASEA award has been based on a feminist analysis, although several recent
award-winners have been women.
Since the mid-1980s, however, women have become more visible and vocal
in Canadian departments and programs of educational administration. The
number of women graduate students in educational administration has increased
substantially (Nixon, 1985; Smith, 1991). My own calculations indicate that
approximately 50% of the faculty members who have been appointed on continuing, rather than sessional, contracts are women, which in combination with
numerous retirements of men means that women now make up about 20% of
Canada’s English-speaking professoriate in educational administration (see also
Epp, 1993). More women qualify for academic appointments each year. Concurrently, however, the number of tenure-track vacancies in our area is decreasing,
due to financial constraints in many Canadian universities.
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BETH YOUNG
The increased number of presentations at CASEA conferences on issues of
women in administration likely reflects these demographic changes. Of 315
papers presented at the 10 annual CASEA conferences between 1974 (the initial
conference in) and 1986, 6 presentations addressed the topic of women in
educational administration (Bergen & Quarshie, 1987, p. 8). There were four
times as many presentations on some popular topics. My review of CASEA
programs for the subsequent seven years through 1993 showed over two dozen
presentations on women/gender issues in educational administration, most in or
since 1990. This substantial increase in attention is almost certainly due to the
increased presence of women as graduate students and faculty members, and the
somewhat expanded range of topics on women and gender now being explored.
Given this relatively recent interest, it is unsurprising that much research and
writing undertaken since Nixon’s initial work in the mid-1970s has focused on
demographics (as I have already described), on barriers to women’s entry to
educational administration, and on career profiles or biographies of women
educators and administrators (Shakeshaft, 1989b). What have these studies
contributed to the Canadian knowledge base in educational administration?
Research on women’s careers conducted during the past decade provides some
of the stories behind the statistics that we do have available to us. These are
largely interview studies documenting women’s own stories and observations
about their career-related experiences in various parts of English-speaking
Canada. Most studies have focused on experiences of women who are school-site
administrators, in elementary schools (Tabin & Coleman, 1993), secondary
schools (Dempsey, 1991; Genge, 1993), or both (Reynolds, 1988), some also
including those few women in central office positions (Dempsey & Reynolds,
1992; Gill, 1993; Russell, 1993; Willis & Dodgson, 1986; B. Young, 1992,
1993). Only Russell reports her participants to be members of visible minority
groups.
These studies allow us to hear women’s own voices, and taken together could
provide some basis for conceptualizing Canadian women educators’ career development linked to educational administration. The experiences and perspectives
documented in this research are quite similar to one another and to the findings
of studies in other English-speaking countries, wherever women enter administrative worlds in which there are very few women in comparable roles (e.g.,
Blackmore, 1993; Shakeshaft, 1989b). To date, however, Canadian studies have
had little reference to one another; I therefore offer the following synthesis of
themes from these studies as a possible reference point for future analysis and
comparison.
With the exception of some very recent appointees (Tabin & Coleman, 1993),
women in these studies have assumed that men would be the administrators. The
women applied for administrative appointments only when superordinates, most
often men, encouraged them to do so, although some studies indicate that women
from visible minorities (Russell, 1993) and women secondary schoolteachers who
359
were viewed as having “family responsibilities” (Dempsey, 1991) received no
encouragement at all. In all cases, they were reluctant to appear “too” ambitious,
partly because it was regarded as inappropriate. Also, they were unsure of their
ability to fulfil administrative roles, given their own and other people’s (for
example, colleagues, superordinates, parents) stereotypes about the attitudes and
behaviours required of school administrators. They were also deterred by the
apparent incompatibility between the demands of administrative work and their
domestic responsibilities. Therefore, it was chance remarks, unexpected job
openings, and unsought role re-definitions or transfers that fostered changing
aspirations for these women; readiness to recognize and capitalize on unexpected
opportunities was more characteristic than career planning. The women attributed
their appointments to working hard, being “in the right place at the right time,”
and maintaining a sense of humour — succeeding in spite of, not because of,
being women.
While they were teachers, these women enjoyed the support of their female
teaching colleagues, but they did not find an equivalent support group when they
became principals, because there were so few women in administrative circles.
Consequently, these women administrators were often very isolated, lacking
access to the informal male networks that provided the men with so many forms
of opportunity — to socialize, to seek advice and information, to observe and
imitate acceptable conduct, to become known to those with more power and
influence, to participate in the informal decision making of the organization.
Additionally, these women’s initial administrative appointments were often
“marginal,” part-time, or provisional, or to specialized and especially difficult
settings. Nonetheless, the women were reluctant to acknowledge any covert
forms of discrimination against them.
Many study participants experienced career and marriage and/or childcare
responsibilities as two mutually exclusive directions in life. Some were/are single
and childless, proportionately far more of them than men in similar positions.
Except for some very recent administrative appointees (Tabin & Coleman, 1993),
women with children at home often expressed guilt about their professional/
family role conflicts. Women in all the studies repeatedly describe the “competing urgencies” of paid work, academic studies (usually done part-time), and
family responsibilities, and take pride in dealing with their complex lives. Given
these complexities, most of the women are “late bloomers” according to traditional (male) career norms of achievement. Their careers are often characterized
by part-time paid work, fulfilling lateral moves, interruptions in paid work to
carry out unpaid care-giving activities, and delayed or slower hierarchical
progression, when it occurs at all. Living with competing urgencies followed by
late blooming seems a common career path for many of today’s women school
administrators.
Women who have moved into school administration when and where there are
more women in comparable positions express somewhat different views (Rey-
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BETH YOUNG
nolds, 1988; Tabin & Coleman, 1993). These women actively sought administrative appointments, sometimes in the face of obstacles but often with widespread encouragement. They were more strategic in their career-related planning
and decisions, choosing activities and contacts with an administrative line of
career development (as well as more general professional development) in mind.
They described the existence of women’s support networks, which some of them
valued highly although others reported the demise of such groups as the number
of women increased (Genge, 1993; Reynolds, 1988; Tabin & Coleman, 1993).
These women were inclined to see their appointments as linked to a change
in societal attitudes; some were concerned that others perceived their appointments as token. Once appointed, they felt the combined pressures to be role
models for other women and to face sex-role stereotypes persisting among some
parents and community members. In Russell’s (1993) study, women articulated
an intensified sense of responsibility as role models, representatives, and
advocates for their ethnic communities.
Taken all together, these recent studies highlight various dimensions of and
issues in Canadian women educators’ career development, when they become or
aspire to become administrators. The documentation of women’s stories about
their experiences is in itself an expansion of the Canadian educational administration literature and a recognition of many women’s strengths and achievements.
We need also, however, to examine more closely some of the issues provoked
but not elaborated in research to date.
For example, it is unclear to what extent traditional gendered divisions of
labour in school organizations are actually being erased. The varying environments of the province and the school district regarding existence and implementation of employment equity policy appear to affect opportunities available to
women and men in those contexts. But, so does the “level” of schooling, whether
it is the traditionally female domain of the elementary school or the more traditionally male domain of the secondary school. Differences in context between
rural and urban settings may be another aspect of this question. Studies explicitly
attending to different aspects of context would be a welcome addition to our
literature.
Another issue that might be explored is the conventional attitudes, taken by
study participants and researchers alike, toward administrative work and careers.
Most studies take for granted the conventional definitions of career achievement
and the structure of administrative work, but the reasons for that are not elaborated. As Russell (1993) notes, although alternative definitions of opportunity and
success are proposed in the literature, the participants in her study “associate[d]
both terms with upward movement only” (p. 3). Even non-aspirants seem to take
for granted the existing construction of administrative roles (Dempsey, 1991;
Gill, 1993; Nixon, 1987), and their separation from classroom teaching (Tabin
& Coleman, 1993). Why?
361
Many women administrators in these studies appear to shape their lives to fit
the demands of administrative roles constructed by men whose wives worked
full-time in their homes providing various supports to their husbands’ paid-work
careers. That is, we know something of individual women’s strategies for adjusting their personal lives in relation to their professional lives. If women in
educational administration today are also reshaping their paid-work roles in
relation to (even equally shared) family and other domestic responsibilities, we
do not find the evidence — or their strategies — in these studies. Or, are there
organizations where such reconceptualization is not being left to individual initiative? If not, then, are we seeing — to adapt Reynolds’ (1987) phrase — a rather
limited liberation?
How do women who become administrators enact their roles and use personal
and organizational resources available to them? Some Canadian researchers have
begun to explore women’s beliefs and practices as school administrators and
educational leaders (Dempsey, 1992; Fennell, 1992; Genge, 1993; Gill, 1993;
Gougeon & Hutton, 1992; Harris, 1993; Tabin & Coleman, 1993; B. Young,
Staszenski, McIntyre, & Joly, 1993; J. H. Young, 1993). That is, researchers are
investigating not only who “gets there” and how, but what they do, why, and
how that affects school organizations once they are there (Shakeshaft, 1989a).
Parallel to the early emphasis on “exceptional women” (since by definition any
woman in educational administration was exceptional) in the literature on
women’s careers, much research to date celebrates the administrative and
leadership styles of women reputed to be exemplary practitioners. The studies
contribute to the expanding literature on “women’s ways” of administering,
managing, leading (e.g., Blackmore 1989; Shakeshaft, 1989b). Like other work
in this area, Canadian studies tend to characterize “women’s ways” as emphasizing communication and caring interpersonal relations focused on building a
community whose central concern is for the welfare of students and their learning. Frequently, this approach involves high visibility in the school, shared power
as a means of affirming teachers’ expertise and improving the quality of decision
making, and an active desire to improve professional practice in the school,
which may include structural supports for staff collaboration and development.
To many of us, this sort of approach is a welcome change from the authoritarian,
remote, or patronizing administrative styles too often rewarded and reproduced
over many years in the field of educational administration.
Documenting these women’s perspectives on their own administrative and
leadership work is an important contribution to our knowledge base, but in other
ways Canadian research to date has been rather limited. Most study participants
thus far have been school-site administrators, principals and vice-principals in
publicly funded schools. Moreover, many studies have relied heavily on selfreports by means of interviews and questionnaires, perhaps supplemented by
brief observations. It would be inappropriate to draw conclusions from those data
about the study participants’ behaviour (Shakeshaft, 1989a), and about their
362
BETH YOUNG
administrative style as experienced by other members of a school organization — especially those with less power, including students and other staff
members. Doing so could undercut the credibility of all research-based claims
about women’s administrative approaches, even those claims based on stronger
evidence.
In studies inviting teachers’ comments, there is certainly some confirmation
of the positive generalizations about practice I outlined earlier. Not surprisingly,
there is also evidence of differing perspectives on that practice (e.g., Dempsey,
1992; Gougeon & Hutton, 1992). Research that invites and examines various perspectives on women administrators’ practice would help us learn more about the
complexities and dilemmas women administrators face as they work with their
schools’ various constituent groups and try to live out their beliefs. For example,
a number of researchers report that women administrative leaders in their studies
have a clear “vision” of what they believe a school should be, or that they
develop such a vision jointly with their staff (Fennell, 1992; Genge, 1993;
Gougeon & Hutton, 1992; Tabin & Coleman, 1993). But what specific values
and convictions inform those visions? Is gender considered an issue in schools
and schooling? Where are the specific case examples or stories that would help
us understand the nature of life in those schools? And what happens when
visions differ, or fragment instead of cohering? A study of the life and work of
a woman (adult) educator renowned for building a sense of community shows
that although she enacted a notion of community inclusive of very different
individuals whose personal development is supported by membership in the collective, she invoked her own strong personality and vision to do so (Harris,
1993). That acknowledgment is helpful. We have not yet learned enough about
how our women administrators and leaders view or address tensions and contradictions arising among such concepts as collaboration, community, vision, and
control (LaRocque & Downie, 1994).
The few analytical efforts to date suggest the need for more detailed and
critical case analysis to deconstruct contemporary rhetoric about “women’s ways”
of administering and leading without devaluing women or their accomplishments.
For example, it has been argued that administrators should be guided by the
more contextualized and empathetic “feminine” ethic of caring because it is more
inclusive than the standardized and rights-oriented “masculine” ethic of justice
(Watkinson, 1991). An analysis of specific examples documenting the activities
and perspectives of some women regarded as caring educational leaders,
however, showed that the women combined care and justice in their attempts to
balance a respect for rights with a consideration of the welfare of individuals and
groups (B. Young, Staszenski, McIntyre, & Joly, 1993). Arguably, such a perspective enriches our understanding by providing a more realistic picture of the
complexities of both justice and caring in administrative practice.
On the basis of their reviews of (largely American) literature, Shabbitts (1993)
and Shantz (1993), among others, have posited that female administrators are
363
more “effective” educational leaders than male administrators. Some Canadian
researchers and/or their study participants seem to assume or endorse a similarly
essentialist viewpoint (e.g., Gougeon & Hutton, 1992; Tabin & Coleman, 1993;
J. H. Young, 1993). There is a danger that this claim is developing into a new
orthodoxy about women’s administrative style which elides differences between
women (some of which may be due to choice and some to the constraints of
circumstances) and discounts evidence that some men exhibit similar skills and
commitments (Weintraub, 1990). In addition, this new orthodoxy may be used
as a standard that works against many women. Those who do not demonstrate
this peculiarly “feminine” style may be judged deficient, and those who do may
be judged appropriate only for certain kinds of administrative work. Surely it
would be more helpful to acknowledge, document, and discuss the various realities, convictions, and practices of our women administrators and leaders than to
sentimentalize and reinforce any one too-simplistic stereotype.
STILL AN OTHER PERSPECTIVE
If we are building our knowledge base, in some respects, about women’s viewpoints and experiences, we still know very little about the links between those
experiences and the policies and politics of various legislative and organizational
contexts. For example, in a number of research reports I have cited, study participants or researchers allude briefly to the effect or perceived effect of employment equity policies in some provinces. No one, however, offers any extended
investigation or analysis of this multi-faceted and controversial subject.
One Canadian educational administration scholar, Christopher Hodgkinson, has
taken a highly critical public stance toward what he terms “affirmative action”
programs. He has described such initiatives as an organizational “pathology”
(Hodgkinson, 1992, p. 108). His commentary “The Iniquity of Equity: A Politically Incorrect Paper” is a disappointingly cavalier treatment of both gender and
equity as issues in education. He refuses to acknowledge the possibility of a
knowledge base that incorporates, let alone might be founded on, any but the
traditional academic canon created by white Anglo-Saxon males like himself.
Indeed, he conceptualizes the educational leader strictly in terms of a “Great
Man” model (Gronn, 1993).
Hodgkinson (1992) fears a swell of Political Correctness on Canadian as well
as American university campuses. Epp (1993), however, reports from her
Canada-wide survey of women graduate students in educational adminstration
that only 30% of respondents had professors who used inclusive language most
of the time. Over 60% of respondents said the theories they studied were based
on “male experience” most of the time. Respondents indicated that it was left to
women students to introduce content on women’s experiences and that those initiatives were not well received by some male professors and classmates. Appar-
364
BETH YOUNG
ently, feminist perspectives and equity issues represent at most an undercurrent
rather than a tidal wave in Canadian educational administration programs.
Feminist thought is only beginning to affect Canadian educational administration, although for years it has been a significant dimension of work in other areas
of educational theory and research, leading to “new questions, new models, and
new methods” (Gaskell & McLaren, 1991, p. 8). Other factors besides the ignorance, denial, and attachment to the status quo that persist in some quarters
constrain our feminist scholarship. Given Canada’s small population and the particularly “small worlds” of Canadian education and its administration, ethical
issues of confidentiality and the identifiability of study participants virtually
preclude some research projects, or at least limit severely how findings may be
reported. As well, feminist scholars have an activist orientation that means they
direct precious energy and effort to advocacy and administrative work, often
reducing their time available for traditional scholarly endeavours (Reynolds,
1991).
Overall, the increased number of women students and faculty members — even
though many of them disclaim any association with “feminists” — is creating a
greater demand that women’s diverse experiences and perspectives, as well as
men’s, be taken into account and legitimized as knowledge. But it has not happened yet. Our response to the Greenfield challenge has been, in part, to make
visible the Canadian schools and schooling that earlier theorizing had rendered
invisible. I hope our response to feminist challenges will be to make women and
gender more visible in our conceptualizations and organizations. We need other
perspectives.
NOTES
1
I thank Erwin Miklos, Tara Fenwick, Linda LaRocque, Carol Harris, and an anonymous reviewer
for their various forms of critical assistance during the development of this article.
2
It is generally acknowledged that there is no one “feminism” or feminist perspective. I use the
term to apply to orientations that “insist on the importance of gender” as a social and historical
construct that has been the source of many forms of inequality for women in relation to men, and
that are concerned with remedying those inequalities (Gaskell & McLaren, 1991, p. 2). Feminist
research and analysis begins with women’s experiences and perspectives.
3
I use this term as it has been defined by Allison (1991, p. 1) to refer to “research and graduate
study” in educational administration.
4
The most recent and most comprehensive attempt is Understanding Canadian Schools: An Introduction to Educational Administration (Levin & J. Young, 1993).
5
I refer, in particular, to The Canadian Administrator, the Journal of Educational Administration
and Foundations, and the Canadian School Executive. Of course, pertinent articles also appear
in more general Canadian education journals.
6
Nixon surveyed a sample of women administrators and women teachers about attitudes and beliefs
affecting their career orientations (see Nixon & Gue, 1975). Nixon herself was just the third
woman to be awarded a doctorate by the University of Alberta’s Department of Educational Administration and that was in 1975, almost two decades after the department was founded.
7
365
For example, Dempsey and Reynolds (1992) found that both men and women supervisory officers
felt their work was too all-consuming. The men more often than the women, however, had
spouses who worked exclusively in the home or held only part-time jobs outside the home. It is
not surprising, then, that women respondents were more likely to hire others to accomplish aspects
of domestic work.
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Discovering Educational Leadership in Connections:
Dr. Elizabeth Murray of Tatamagouche1
Carol E. Harris
university of victoria
In recounting the educational leadership of Elizabeth Murray, with particular focus on her
years as an adult educator at mid-century, I trace connections between her early years as
a teacher and adult educator and her current community projects. These links are
temporal, between past and present; social, between child and adult; and individual,
between excellence as personal and shared experience. In writing about this woman’s
early life, I discuss first the limitations of traditional historical sources to divulge
significant strands of leadership action, and second, the importance of Murray’s former
students and colleagues in providing essential evidence.
En faisant état du leadership d’Elizabeth Murray en éducation, surtout durant les années
qu’elle a consacrées à l’éducation des adultes au milieu du siècle, l’auteure établit des
liens entre les premières années d’enseignante d’Elizabeth Murray auprès des enfants et
des adultes et ses projets communautaires actuels: liens temporels, entre le passé et le
présent; liens sociaux, entre l’enfant et l’adulte; liens personnels, entre des gens qui
partagent l’expérience de l’excellence. Tout en présentant les débuts de la vie professionnelle de cette femme, l’auteure discute d’abord des limites des sources historiques
traditionnelles lorsqu’on cherche à dévoiler des axes significatifs de leadership en action,
puis de l’importance des anciens élèves et collègues d’Elizabeth Murray, qui ont fourni
des données essentielles.
[A] woman may write her own life in advance of living it, unconsciously, and without
recognizing or naming the process. (Heilbrun, 1989, p. 11)
[Let us] find the right balance between the potential of socialization to liberate and to
bind, so that the individual and society can grow in a manner that integrates the new with
the positive aspects of the past. (Bowers, 1987, p. 32)
In several facets of educational literature, we are called to re-examine the
significance of personally held meanings in the practice of schooling. “Meaning”
for any individual person incorporates attitudes, beliefs, and values. In the
literature of educational leadership, Hodgkinson (1982, pp. 107–109) has helped
us to differentiate between attitudes and values and, further, to distinguish among
types of values. Greenfield, since 1974, has forced the issue of value examination
upon a field almost totally caught up in its preoccupation with observable and,
supposedly, factual reality (see, for example, Greenfield, 1980/1993, pp. 92–96).
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ELIZABETH MURRAY OF TATAMAGOUCHE
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Housego (1992) and Sergiovanni (1992) have named, in very different approaches, specific values that may benefit administrative practice. Both call for a spirit
of change, a renewed attention to “school and community,” and a balanced approach to individual excellence in the context of social responsibility.2
Oakes (1992) elaborates on this spirit of change in school practice and advocates a return to “core humanistic values.” She implies that schools (and their
leaders) would do well to consider values that lead in new directions involving
participation, communication, community, reflection, experimentation, risk-taking,
and trust. Her call for increased “caritas”3 carries an implied criticism of
assumptions that have dominated school practice over the past several decades —
assumptions, for example, about the overriding value of competition and consumerism. The earlier values correspond more closely with the aims of social and
economic reproduction whereby schools are thought to reflect and to replicate the
society in which they are embedded. The newer directions would involve close
links between school and community as well but, in this case, in an environment
of critical discourse and democratic dialogue.
The genesis of this new spirit of dialogue and community cooperation has
several sources. First, the literature on women and leadership shows feminist
ways of responding to organizational challenges that involve informal networking, discussion by participants, a breakdown of hierarchical arrangements, and
a nurturing attitude on the part of the leader (Helgesen, 1990). Then too, other
postmodern writings call for a re-examination of previously held assumptions
such as those concerning progress, predictability, and the significance of the
individual (Taylor, 1991) and a re-formulation of basic premises for action
(Barth, 1990, pp. 9, 10; Housego, 1992, p. 230). Moreover, the emerging literature on holistic approaches to education discusses cooperation and dialogue in
frameworks of both unity and diversity (e.g., Burge, 1993; Doll, 1993; Miller,
1988). In truth, the new spirit arises from a variety of sources, including the
social and political pressures of an economic recession. For whatever reason, the
ways of our immediate past have been found wanting in an age of global awareness. I italicize “immediate” with an assumption of my own — that an historical
review of educational values and action may unearth “truths” that speak to our
current age and problems.
Thus I began the study of a prominent Nova Scotian educator who embodies
many values relevant today, particularly those of community cohesion and
individual excellence. Although I held little hope of clearing the murky waters
surrounding theoretical concepts of “leadership” per se (see, for example, Watkins, 1989), I wished to examine the values of this one leader and the manner
in which she continues to influence others in a long chain of leadership. Two
years into the study, I have changed the chain metaphor to one of “network” or
“web” because my data indicate radiant rather than linear processes and images.4
Underlying my approach to the study is Greenfield’s advice to us to examine the
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“character” of leaders together with that of their followers and all participants in
the social setting (1984, p. 143), as distinct from the “characteristics” of
leadership so arduously pursued in traditional studies. I assume, therefore, the
primacy of character and, further, that one’s character may be approached
through that complex of beliefs, attitudes, and values, and the actions that flow
from these (see Hodgkinson, 1983, pp. 201, 202; 1991, p. 60). A methodological
assumption is, thus, that the words and actions of people involved as leader and
followers offer the most fruitful venue for understanding the phenomenon of
leadership.
In this paper I report one phase of a larger study investigating the educational
times, and especially the leadership, of Elizabeth (Betty) Murray. I describe a
specific period of Murray’s work in which she, with a few others, designed and
developed the Division of Adult Education for the Province of Nova Scotia. I
sketch briefly three other phases of Murray’s work that help to establish the
general historical and social context of her educational life.
My first purpose is to point to emerging themes in the early days of Murray’s
career and the manner in which these are played out today. My second purpose
is to describe problems inherent in capturing the life history of a highly effective
educator who, according to my opening quotation, has “written her own life in
advance” in bold print but, in keeping with so many women, eschews the hierarchical arrangements of education in favour of enacting leadership in the context
of classrooms and communities (Blackmore, 1989, pp. 102, 109; Casey, 1992,
pp. 206, 207; Gilligan, 1982, pp. 48, 49; Helgesen, 1990, pp. 49–51). In discussing the absence in her career of traditional benchmarks of accomplishment —
the principalship and the superintendency — I explain the research methods that
had to evolve if I was to widen the allowable contexts for understanding the
significance of this woman’s educational work. Neither documents of the period
nor Murray’s own interpretation of events provided sufficient evidence to establish a clear image of leadership.5 The methodological problem became one of
re-claiming an educational life or, in a sense, of writing that life initially through
the perspectives of former students and other adult educators of the era.
METHODS AND ETHICS
This descriptive and interpretive case study of the educational leadership of Betty
Murray has both ethnographic and historical components. As an ethnographer,
I live in Betty’s6 home for a month each summer and join forces with the villagers to produce another Tatamagouche history play. For three summers now, I
have collected information about Betty’s influence and current activities through
interviews, informal conversations, observations, and news reports. I am, in this
phase, very much the participant observer, immersed in the village culture. The
multiple forms of data enable me to describe leadership in its immediacy, as
played out in Murray’s community and home life.7
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My second approach, conducted over the same period, involves more traditional forms of historical research. To reconstruct Murray’s role as a young school
teacher, community “animateur,” and adult educator, I look to such sources as
Department of Education documents, educational journals, college yearbooks,
newspaper clippings, and texts foundational to the attitudes, beliefs, and actions
of educators in post-war Nova Scotia. Most significantly, I rely on the words of
Murray, her former students, and her colleagues.
Participants in the study reviewed the first draft of each phase of the report,
corroborating and correcting my description and interpretation of events. In such
a process, the researcher can hardly be considered the sole “instrument,” as
commonly claimed in qualitative studies (Borg, Gall, & Gall, 1993, p. 208;
Eisner, 1991, pp. 33, 34; Ely et al., 1991, p. 25). More accurately, the researched
and researcher alike play a role in the interpretation, as they do in the formulation of questions and all other aspects of the study. Checking one’s work with
others, advisable for the credibility of all qualitative work, takes on particular
urgency when the identity of participants is given.
Although I do not see myself as the sole instrument, I recognize that I am part
of the methodological problem. When I was eight years old, “Miss Murray” visited my rural school. With my teacher’s blessing, Miss Murray taught us children
artsongs, folksongs, and canons, and how to read music from blackboard notation. With 10 young friends, I joined Miss Murray’s Rural Girls’ Choir, and
became both captivated by the beauty of choral singing and awe-struck by the
power of musical leadership. Today, in the company of Betty Murray, I retain
much of that childhood awe. Aware that Betty is most comfortable talking about
ideas and the accomplishments of others, I tread carefully — too carefully — in
probing for her story. Together with Betty, therefore, I am learning to talk more
freely about women and leadership and the values we share and contest. In
reporting these issues, I begin with Betty’s current project, the history plays
about her people.
FOUR ERAS OF LEADERSHIP
The History Plays
Every July 1 weekend the village of Tatamagouche,8 Betty Murray’s home and
birthplace, draws visitors from all parts of Nova Scotia. They come to see the
annual “play with music,” written by Betty and enacted by the people of Tatamagouche, depicting a year in the history of their village. To date, there have been
12 such depictions, including such topics as the original settlements of
Mi’kmaqs, Acadians, Huguenots, and, later, the Scots; the coming of the railway;
tragedies at sea; and the enlistment of local lads in World War I. Last year, as
the 65-year-old Creamery was closed, I took part in the story of its inception,
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CAROL E. HARRIS
which was concurrent with the coming of electricity to Tatamagouche. Although
the main participants in these plays are members of the 40-voice Tatamagouche
and Area Choir, which meets under Betty’s direction from September to July
each year, the July play attracts a cast of approximately 140. These “actors”
range in age from six months (there is always a baby to be presented to one and
all during the July 1 village picnic) to 89 years, and the cast of animals includes
hens, dogs, horses, and the occasional obdurate goat. In the performances, which
seem to include the basic elements of theatrical success, Betty — described by
one American visitor this year as a “Grandma Moses” of drama — and her people
entertain from 2,000 to 3,000 enthusiastic viewers from across the province and
beyond.
Yet Betty Murray, herself now 77, is no playwright. Indeed, she chuckles at
this descriptor in the local newspaper. Her purpose is an educative one: to
connect as many people as possible in text, song, and dance in an active engagement between past and present and in a manner artistically and historically
authentic. How her leadership is played out in the fine details of this setting
provides the grist for a far larger work, as do her current political activities in
the community. I outline the event here to illustrate the connections between
present and past experiences.
Tarbet, Miss Murray’s First School
From Tatamagouche today, I take you across the Waugh River to the small
one-room school of Barrachois — referred to here as Tarbet School — where Miss
Murray began her teaching career in 1940. Miss Murray’s academic training,
culminating in a B.A. from Mount Allison University, and her professional year
spent at the Provincial Normal College, Truro, gave her more preparation for
teaching than most young teachers received at that time. Most important, she had
listened with rapt attention to her Truro teachers; their Dewey-inspired lessons
fell on fertile ground.
It seemed eminently sensible to the young Miss Murray to “learn by doing”
and especially appropriate in a situation where she was teaching 40 students,
from kindergarten level to Grade 9. Although she did not ignore the contents of
the “big brown book” (i.e., the curriculum guide), she concentrated on activities
that would serve students in their daily lives. The “big boys and girls,” some of
whom were already grades behind in academic prowess, began to experience success in other areas. For one thing, Betty recalls, “they all learned to drive, in the
field behind the school, in my old car.” Then
it just so happened that the school over there had never been really finished. It wasn’t
even painted. As it was just sitting, doing nothing for several years, we did the finishing
touches. The big kids painted and people in the community joined in. We used to go there
all summer, doing things.
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From an old storeroom, “the kids fixed up a small kitchen,”9 and they constructed cement steps and a walkway. Naturally, all such construction involved mathematical calculation and the skills of house-painting, carpentry, and masonry.
What Murray did not know about such skills, she asked of neighbours and parents of the school. In retrospect, she considers this an idyllic teaching situation:
“I had so much freedom and I could do anything. And everything I did was
‘perfect’.”
The most remarkable part of her work, however, was her teaching of music.
I am not sure that “teaching” captures the flavour of this activity where, in one
former student’s words, children
sat round the pot-bellied stove, drinking cocoa til late in the afternoon, sight-reading
exercises, preparing for the spring music festival, an operetta, a church event or just
singing for the joy of it. She successfully taught children who were thought to be
tone-deaf to sing and enjoy music . . . we [challenged] one another to sing the most
difficult intervals and passages.
Somehow “she covered the curriculum for all grades but it was her love and
enthusiasm for music that captured her students.” Another former student recalls
the spring musical plays where all children, “even the big farm boys,” took part
in performances for the “town” (i.e., Tatamagouche). Yet another student tells
of the treacherous drive over the (then unpaved) mountain roads to the Music
Festivals in Truro, where the children from Tarbet received wide acclaim for
their singing and their sight-reading.10
Miss Murray as Community “Animateur”
The unusual activities taking place at Tarbet and the excellence demonstrated in
at least one area of learning, brought Murray to the attention of School Inspector
MacLeod (Annual Report, 1944, pp. 75, 76) and, through him, to Professor
Mortimer Marshall of Acadia University. Marshall believed all teachers should
have intimate experience of the communities in which they teach. In his opinion,
teachers can only respond to the needs of students if they know the community
setting — the prevalent forms of work or employment, the leisure-time activities,
and the interests and attitudes of the parent body (Marshall, 1948, 1949). At the
time, he needed the help of a co-operating educator, both to initiate community
projects and study groups in the University catchment and to involve his graduate
students in such activities. Betty Murray was asked to be that educator. This she
agreed to do, resolving to spend her newly inflated salary on additional lessons
in the University’s School of Music.
In her community work over a period of three years, Miss Murray won the
confidence of local people and built programs that radiated from the University
town of Wolfville. Her style was informal. Various people from the area
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remember her as “just like one of the family.” She formed close and abiding
friendships throughout the Valley and, as she remembers, “always had a place
to stay for the night.” One woman recalls that “Betty would drive in the yard in
her old Chevy,” stride in “with her overnight bag in hand,” and ask if her hostess
could “throw another potato in the pot.” According to these informants, no task
was too menial for Betty. She would “chop wood, pitch in with the dishes, and
entertain us all with stories.”
Miss Murray moved among the largely rural people of the Annapolis Valley
to assess their perceptions of need, to encourage study groups that spoke to these
needs, and to involve graduate students from Acadia University as observers,
researchers, and, where needed initially, group leaders. It was the people who
identified their interests in forming specific study groups, radio Farm Forums,
Women’s Institutes, explorations of local history, book clubs, and music and
drama activities (see Annual Report, 1947, pp. 175–178). Miss Murray acted as
facilitator to make the necessary links and, in the case of music and certain
discussion groups, as leader.
Now Miss Murray was creating another set of links — between adult learning
(i.e., her official area of activity) and the involvement of children in musical
ventures. This developed as she, in an effort to identify community leaders,
visited teachers in their rural schools. As singing occurred everywhere Miss
Murray went, she had an opportunity to note those children who appeared especially keen to sing. These came from all sectors of the community; they included
a few children like me who had enjoyed the advantage of private lessons and
those, far more numerous, who had very little musical opportunity. We came
from some 20 Valley schools and were invited to form a large “Rural Girls’
Choir” that met regularly in a church basement.
Some of the children were asked, in due course, to make guest visits to larger,
adult, community choirs. The children’s role was twofold: to demonstrate excellent singing and, by their sheer presence, to elevate the choir to its “community”
function — that is, to connect people of all ages in a common purpose. One
prominent Nova Scotia entertainer recalls that, as a young man in love with singing, he “accompanied Betty Murray to a different choir every night of the week.”
Miss Murray as Adult Educator
Contemporary with Murray’s work in the Annapolis Valley was the development
of a master plan for a projected Division of the Nova Scotia Department of
Education to serve the learning needs of adults (Henson, 1946). The planners of
the Division of Adult Education took their inspiration from several sources. First,
there was the influence of the extension workers of St. Francis Xavier University
who, since the late 1920s, had been working with fishermen and farmers of
eastern Nova Scotia to form credit unions and cooperatives. This experiment in
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rural development, known as the Antigonish Movement, was led by the Roman
Catholic clergy and by Father “Jimmy” Thompson and the Reverend Dr. Moses
Coady in particular. Just as active were the men of the extension service of the
provincial Department of Agriculture and Marketing, who saw economic and
social organization as equally necessary to the advancement of the rural communities (Henson, 1954, p. 5). Yet another influence was the rapidly developing
Home and School movement, whose leaders perceived a need for “adult education about education” and considered the community an important “educational
influence ranking with the home, the school, and the church” (Henson, 1954, p.
5).11 A common perception among these various groups was that the social and
economic inequalities, tolerated in the days of the Great Depression, were quite
unacceptable in the relative prosperity of immediate post-war Nova Scotia.
Based on experiments in adult education in other settings and on a wide
survey within the province, Guy Henson — soon to become director of the new
Division — outlined a philosophic approach to adult education and three main
directives for action. The importance of local initiative and decentralized
organizational control was emphasized. The Division’s role would be (1) to help
communities develop educational programs suited to their interests and needs, (2)
to serve the especially urgent needs of racial minorities (i.e., the Black population of Nova Scotia), unemployed youth, war veterans, and women, and (3) to
co-operate with existing educational institutions and voluntary groups with
educational purposes (Annual Report, 1946).
The Division of Adult Education was established in 1946 with a highly skilled
group of founding educators directed by Guy Henson and with Charles Topshee
as assistant director. Both leaders had extensive experience in adult educational
projects through St. Francis Xavier University. The other three educators were
John Hugh MacKenzie, a former school principal and worker with war veterans,
Don Wetmore, a drama specialist,12 and Elizabeth Murray, the “successful
teacher and community leader” (Annual Report, 1946, p. 94). Miss Murray’s
assignment was to continue her work in the Annapolis Valley and, as a “field
representative,” to test the ideas of various Divisional members, for, as Henson
(1954) recalled eight years later, she
was able to rub shoulders with the people with whom she was working, to enter their
homes, to attend gatherings more or less regularly, and to see the day-by-day, week-byweek progress. . . . All the things we were doing or offering thus came under her
firsthand scrutiny as a professional worker and she could report on their immediate and
long-range values from the point of view of the people concerned as well as from her
own. (pp. 20, 21)
During the next four years in the Valley (1946–1950), Miss Murray and her
education students became engaged directly in the activities of 19 communities
with approximately 1,000 people. By extending more peripheral service, she was
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“in contact with another 20 communities.” In Henson’s estimation, “these activities constitute a significant advance in adult education in rural Canada” (Annual
Report, 1950). He continues the prodigious list of accomplishments:
This year [Miss Murray gave] a total of two months of time to help staff four folk
schools; assist with classes of 50 teachers in the adult education course [at Dalhousie
University] and 14 teachers in a new course in community music at the Nova Scotia
Summer School [also at Dalhousie]; instruct at the 10-day Summer School of Community
Music and give several short courses in other counties for adult music leaders; conduct
several short courses for farm and Home and School workers in other counties; and
maintain contact with folk school students and their communities in Hants and other
counties in which the Division has no regional representative. (p. 161)
Related outcomes of Miss Murray’s project included a new education program
for patients at the Nova Scotia Sanatorium13 and frequent assistance at provincial
and county conventions of the Nova Scotia Farmers’ Association, Nova Scotia
Federation of Home and School Associations, and Women’s Institutes.
Using this experimental period of Miss Murray’s service with the Division of
Adult Education, and her later work as field representative in Colchester County
and as music supervisor to the Division — a period extending to 1960 — I shall
pursue here three Divisional innovations in which Murray was particularly influential: (1) the residential folkschools, mentioned by Henson above, (2) the School
of Community Arts, and (3) the Nova Scotia Festival of the Arts. Although the
innovations arose through the combined vision and effort of all workers in the
Division, there is evidence as I shall show that Betty Murray’s role was crucial
to each venture’s success.
An inspirational impetus to the development of regional and residential folkschools came from the work of Danish philosopher, educator, and “man of the
cloth” N. F. S. Grundtvig. Bishop Grundtvig, who lived from 1783 until 1872,
conceived of education as a lifelong process in which each person could, and
should, be engaged from birth to death. He believed that the most effective
means of engagement was obtainable through man’s dialogue with his neighbour.
One finds in Grundtvig’s writing, as in the Danish folkschools of today, the
“interesting mix of stubborn individual spirit and strong social collectivism . . .
that Danes regard as everyman’s responsibility toward freedom of choice”
(Warren, 1987).
The Nova Scotian folkschools had, similarly, the goal of developing individual
competencies in the light of social or community contexts. This, according to
Donald F. Maclean,14 was consistent with the ideal of “educating people, not
merely training them.” In this process, we can trace an attempt to “get at the
whole person.” This was approached in two ways during the 10 days or so of
residential life. First, there was a strong emphasis on developing an appreciation
of local history and the rural setting. In Maclean’s words,
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this [would lend] a sense of identity, or worth, and of motivation. . . . If I am to become
effective, then I must become someone who reads things, not just manuals on how to do
this or that, but to gain some appreciation of history and to develop some perspective that
prevents me from feeling defeated and discouraged because something doesn’t work.
Others have worked hard in the past and failed, but they learned something from their
failure; or they have succeeded and gone on to something further.
Tom Jones, another early field representative and, later, director of the Adult
Education Division, confirms that the “thrust was to help people understand their
rural communities better. And to take part more effectively in the life of the
community, [through sharing] ideas and experiences.”
Related to this sense of unity with one’s past and community was the development of the cultural aspects of the individual. For this reason, all participants in
Nova Scotia folkschools studied music, drama, and folkdance. These activities
were seen, according to Herman Timmons, another former director of the Division, as “part of a well-balanced life” and as a “means for getting at the whole
person.” Once more, the emphasis was on personal development in a community
context.
The folkschool day was “spent in study groups about community issues,
whereas the evening program was initiated and directed entirely by the students.”
Murray’s role was to temper long days of study with music and often physical
recreation, and to participate in discussion groups as the need arose. In Jones’
estimation, “She was great at [this]; she looked after the music but she very ably
took part in all the other sessions.”
The vision behind these folkschools was both transformative and long-term.
The immediate goal was to assist able community members to realize their own
leadership abilities and, as a result, to assume leadership roles back in their own
villages and towns. The long-term outcome demanded patience and perseverance.
As Maclean explains, “if you really transform individuals, this is something that
is permanent and the effects will be socially pervasive for a long time to come.”
The “transformation” arises, in this case, from self-discovery — the discovery of
leadership capacity.
The follow-up work in local Nova Scotian communities showed Betty Murray
playing a large role. Timmons, recalling Murray’s effectiveness, says she was
always an innovative person, a creative person. There were no bounds to her interest, as
far as people were concerned. She was a generalist, even though she had a high degree
of expertise in the music field. And she was a terrific field worker, managing people and
organizing people and programs. She had energy, creative ability, and perseverance. She
wasn’t easily discouraged.
Timmons emphasizes that many people might have similar talents but were far
less successful, lacking “Betty’s dedication, hard work, and the determination to
stick with it.”
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Dedication, hard work, tenacity, and vision were needed for the conception
and realization of the School of Community Arts and, later, the Nova Scotia
Festival of the Arts. The School was initiated jointly, in the late 1940s, by the
Divisional drama supervisor, Don Wetmore, and the “musical” field representative, Betty Murray. Its purpose, like that of the folkschools, was to develop
leaders who could carry on projects in their own communities; this time, of
course, leadership was in the arts of drama, music, painting, and dance.
Naturally, the 10-day School could not produce professional “artists”; the
objective of Murray and others was to identify those with training and talent in
their communities and bring them to the School to benefit from the stimulation
of the finest teachers of the arts in Canada (and, occasionally, England) and by
association with other students. Although the School began in Halifax County,
it was moved early to Tatamagouche, which became its permanent home.
Tatamagouche was, from the very beginning, the venue of the Nova Scotia
Festival of the Arts. It was no coincidence that this particular village was
selected for the provincial event; as Donald Maclean recalls, it was chosen
“because Betty had been so successful in identifying people and having things
happen in that community. [As folk schools had been held in Tatamagouche],
there was a very receptive body of people.” Timmons remembers the original
planning committee meetings and agrees that
the major contribution, the birth of the Festival, was from Betty Murray. Her ability to
envision what might take place and then to plan how it might be launched and then to
execute it. You could go so far in dreaming things, but Betty was also great in the execution.
And the execution bore the unmistakable marks of art and history, played out in
a context of community.
At the Festival, local artists displayed their art and crafts on the grounds.
Internationally known Canadian musicians, such as Maureen Forrester, Lois
Marshall, and Teresa Stratas, gave guest appearances on the stage of the Rural
High School. Nova Scotian theatre companies performed major plays. In one
tent, children could “have lessons” with Orff and Kodaly music educators and
in another they could “draw and paint.” This was truly a community happening.
My interviewees, without exception, were affected deeply by these Festivals.
Timmons, for example, recalls one of the most pleasant experiences of his life
as he sat in the school auditorium and watched
[Wilder’s] Our Town. In [viewing the vagaries of a small town], I felt that everything
seemed to cohere, that everything was hanging together in the Festival program. Outside
the auditorium were the booths and displays of community culture — folkdancing, choral
groups, crafts — and, in the building, was a splendid performance of Our Town. In this
play about the intrigues of a small New England community, one of the characters looks
down from Heaven and observes, “My gosh, all of this. Is this what it was about?”
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Possibly the history plays in Tatamagouche today offer us “the character in
Heaven” with his transcendent insights. Through the history plays, the people of
Tatamagouche recreate their own story. They revisit their ancestors and, by
viewing amusing and tragic happenings and political manipulations, they become
aware of their history in an entirely different way.
The Festival moved to Halifax in the early 1960s where, after a few years
without Murray’s guiding force and dissociated from the community spirit of
Tatamagouche, it fell apart. In 1960, after 14 years in Adult Education, Betty
Murray resumed her career as a schoolteacher. She had, all along, befriended
many children in need, including a few who showed exceptional interest and
ability in music. Her decision to provide a permanent home for the eminently
gifted 11-year-old Stuart Campbell led to a second decision to abandon the “road
show of adult ed.” For the next 16 years, Murray taught for the City of Halifax,
most of the time as a Grade 5 teacher in the inner-city and racially mixed
Richmond School. An account of this period, as remarkable as the three touched
on above, must await another publication.
DISCUSSION
Three threads weave this story together. The first links past and present in action
and in re-presentation. This historical awareness, well developed in the young
Murray and finely tuned during her years as an adult educator, appears with full
force in the current Tatamagouche plays. As Maclean explains, the historical
awareness, of which the entire town becomes a part, provides “not only a sense
of identity but a sense of depth to that identity.” The second thread, intertwined
inextricably with the first, is “community” in the fullest sense of the word.
Community, for Murray, has come to mean, perhaps has always meant, the interaction of people of all ages and abilities.
This leads to the third thread, the significance of the individual person within
the collective. Maclean articulates an observation that I heard over and over
again, that “Betty Murray was able to infuse with the development of the individual an awareness of social interaction.” This was accomplished, he recalls,
through her “infectious enthusiasm. Some people are enthusiastic but a week later it is all over and done with. Betty wasn’t like that. I can think of all sorts of
individuals who were touched by her enthusiasm. And it started something that
they really took hold of, very often with her continuing encouragement.”
Time and again I was to hear of Murray’s energy and enthusiasm; also, people
spoke of her strength of purpose and the direct manner in which she expressed
it. Jones’ comment is typical: “She did say exactly what she thought. She never
pulled any punches that I can remember. But we always found her to be a very
kind person, a good teacher, and a very, very hard worker.” Maclean recalled,
however, that no one would view her
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in any sense of the word as obtrusive. She was very much in the centre of things but you
never felt she was dominating the scene in a way you’d rather not have happen. You
might feel that she was a central figure in something, but it was never unwelcome or
unproductive.
Maclean speaks of others in that era who, confident of their “right” path, were
unable to convince others to follow.
From such conversations I form an image of Murray’s leadership that not only
supports feminist claims of nurturing, caring, and networking, but also shows a
leader of immense strength — one who, in many cases, bends people to her will
(Greenfield, 1984, p. 150). It is through a continuing study of both Murray’s
character (i.e., the values to which she adheres) and the characteristics of her
leadership (such as humour, determination, vision, directness of speech) that I
may enlarge my understanding as the research progresses.
By observing Murray’s leadership-in-action and listening to her words, I am
developing two images of leadership. First, leadership appears as situational
action; although there appears to be a predilection to leadership in certain people,
the leader in one context may be the follower in another. There is, thus, the
potential for leadership in all people. Second, leadership may involve and foster
creativity where both become affirmative expressions of the human condition.
In this case, for example, Murray encourages, models, instructs, cajoles, and
insists that others perform and add their own personal touch to their performance.
The people in her context are inspired to go beyond the written script, both in
drama and in their daily lives. I use the word “creative” meaning that the end
product — if such ever exists15 — cannot be anticipated fully in advance of its
realization. This going beyond any individual “vision” applies to the history plays
of Tatamagouche as it did for the early organizers of the Division of Adult
Education. As Maclean recalls, it was not that they had a specific vision of what
a particular place should be as a community but, rather, that the people
themselves should develop an informed sense of vision.” What will result
“nobody knows until it has been realized. If you have been sound and honest
along the way, and have learned something, then much more likely than not the
outcome will be positive. Not perfect, but positive.”
METHODOLOGICAL PROBLEMS AND CONCLUSION
Two problems in particular impede the writing of this educator’s life history by
the traditional means of historical research, that is, by an examination of
documents. First, an examination of the recorded facts do not establish a claim
to leadership during the Adult Education years.16 Analyses of documents enabled
me to build an image of strong-minded and prolonged activity surrounding Betty
Murray but hardly a detailed profile of leadership as we know such profiles from
the “conventional” literature. I found an essay concerning rural schools written
381
by Murray from her one-room schoolhouse in Barrasois (Murray, 1943) and,
later, another describing the musical life of the community of “Upper Utopia”
(Murray, 1950). These documents demonstrate an initiative that was unusual for
a young woman in the early 1940s. Also, from Henson’s year-end reports, we
read accounts of Murray’s field activities in the Annapolis Valley and other parts
of the province (annual reports 1947–1950), and the director makes numerous
references to Murray’s community involvement and to her activities in the Fine
Arts. Missing from the documentation, however, are the perspectives of her
fellow workers and her students. It is from these informants alone that we can
begin to appreciate the strength of character and the sheer “presence” that
constituted this woman leader at mid-century.
Another impediment to building the profile of leadership emanates from
Murray’s humility. Although she makes decisions that in many ways affect
others, and occasionally in the face of considerable opposition, she does not view
herself as a “leader” but as a “facilitator.”17 In an attempt to understand from the
participant’s point of view — that is, following a Weberian concept of verstehende sociology (see Brubaker, 1984, p. 5) — I was thus unable at first to identify
evident leadership.
Through sharing with other interviewees Murray’s perceptions about leadership, I was able to correct the story. Timmons, for example, felt that the very
attitude of humility explains Murray’s ability to “get results from others — the
fact that she thinks that, that she tells you her role was to encourage others,”
represents her true leadership ability. Indeed, Grob (cited in Smyth, 1989)
contends that, “leadership . . . must demand of its practitioners a willingness to
open themselves to critique [and] . . . insofar as [it] is the work of humans who
are moral agents, it must root itself in . . . humility” (p. 183). Although many
consider humility a virtue (e.g., Holmes, 1992; MacIntyre, 1981), we would do
well to examine another interpretation. Humility, particularly common in women,
may reflect their reaction to a world not written according to the script of their
own experience and “ways of knowing” (Belenky et al., 1986). Quoting Patricia
Spacks, Heilbrun (1989) points out that although a woman has “significant,
sometimes dazzling accomplishments to her credit, the theme of accomplishment
rarely dominates the narrative. . . . Indeed to a striking degree [women] fail
directly to emphasize their own importance” (p. 23). We must be careful, in the
case of exceptional women, to distinguish humility — the virtue seen so clearly
through the masculine lens — from the tendency among women to “disallow”
recognition of their own strength.
My understanding of Murray’s particular leadership style, incorporating as it
does both the voice of empowerment and that of authority, and my appreciation
of her underlying concern for history, community, and the individual, have
grown from a period of observation and from reading, reflecting on, and, most
of all, listening to the words of others. Through such qualitative methods, I have
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CAROL E. HARRIS
been able to correct my own preconceptions of Murray’s leadership. Whereas,
for example, I had assumed the primacy of an exciting and innovative event —the
growth of a renowned experiment in adult education — on the development of
Murray’s attitudes, beliefs, and values, I have discovered that these values were
well in place prior to 1946. It was Jones, who first met Miss Murray while
studying Education at Acadia, who clarified my understanding:
I don’t think that Betty learned the approach from the Adult Education Division. I think
she brought it. In other words, I think part of the approach that gradually formed in the
Adult Education Division over the last five years of the ’40s was largely due to Betty
Murray’s input. Although everybody changes [with new experience], I think she came
with a lot of the basic philosophy. She may have modified it as she went along, sharpened
it, honed it a little bit, but she certainly had the basics when she came.
Murray, in this sense, was instrumental in shaping the history of Adult Education
in Nova Scotia. Bringing her values of “caritas” and community to the Division
of Adult Education she, and others of like mind, constructed an educational reality that drew from the past and that lives on today.
NOTES
1
This research was supported financially by the University of Calgary and the Social Sciences and
Humanities Research Council of Canada. I gratefully acknowledge the thoughtful assistance of
Donald F. Maclean, Elizabeth Burge, and Elizabeth Tucker.
2
See Rizvi (1986), as well, for a particularly cogent argument supporting a “democratic and communitarian” model of school leadership.
3
I define “caritas” with most of the descriptors offered by Oakes and with an encompassing emphasis on human compassion.
4
As Keller (1986) maintains, the “relations between things [in this case, leaders and their followers]
are as delicate as spider’s silk, known only instinctively, with profound indirection — yet strong
enough to hang a bridge on” (p. 218).
5
Concerning the inadequacy of documentation, my findings parallel those of Nelson (1992).
6
To capture more closely the spirit of each setting, I address my major participant variously as
“Murray,” “Betty,” “Betty Murray,” or “Miss Murray.”
7
A paper entitled Innovative Leadership in a Community Context: Elizabeth Murray and the History Plays of Tatamagouche may be obtained from me upon request.
8
The village takes its name from a Mi’kmaq word signifying “the meeting of the waters,” for at
Tatamagouche the Rivers Waugh and French converge and flow into the Northumberland Strait.
9
As many children had to walk several miles in all seasons, a noon meal was a necessity.
10
Inspector Nelson MacLeod (Annual Report, 1943) notes that “special honours went to Tarbet
school, with its capable teacher, Miss Elizabeth Murray” (p. 72).
11
Far more radical in intention and ideology than the Antigonish Movement was a small but active
group of Anglican clergy in the 1940s known as the Anglican Fellowship for Social Action
(AFSA). These young men took their lead from the Gospel, pledging to “hold the natural resources of the earth as a common trust for all mankind” (interview with the Rev. Canon Russell Elliott,
383
August 1993). The “Briefcase Boys,” as the socially minded clergy were called by friends, did
not receive always the blessing of established churchmen.
12
It is of some significance that members of the Adult Education Division considered drama, art,
music, and libraries to be crucial to community living. I was told by Donald F. Maclean (who,
in 1954, became secretary to the Division) that these cultural components were “part of a wellbalanced life” contributing to both the development of individual skills and one’s “relation with
other people in a community sense.” Drama activities, for example, provided a motive for exploring one’s historical roots and present-day problems, and presenting these in a creative form of
communication.
13
Betty Murray herself spent one year in the Sanatorium when she contracted tuberculosis in her
early twenties. Betty’s father, Dr. Dan Murray, regularly saw tubercular patients in his home; as
a consequence, two of his own children were infected.
14
In lengthy interviews I held with them during the summer of 1992, adult educators Donald F.
Maclean, Herman Timmons, and Tom Jones shared their perceptions of Divisional events. References to these persons in the text of the article are to this series of interviews.
15
During the party to celebrate last year’s closing night, I overheard someone ask Betty how long
it took her to write Milk and Honey. “Oh,” she replied, “it’s not finished yet. If I had another two
weeks, it would be quite different.”
16
Since retirement, however, Murray has received wide recognition, including an honorary doctorate
from Acadia University and honorary life memberships from the Nova Scotia Choral Federation
and the Canadian Music Educators. The Tatamagouche plays, moreover, are well covered in the
local papers and are accompanied by feature stories about their author.
17
Possibly Murray’s self-perception is changing as a result of the current research as we reflect
together on the comments of others. Certainly my own views are evolving, not only regarding
Murray’s leadership but about “leadership” in general. That this “reconstruction of the researcher’s
own understanding of the problem” may occur during the process of conducting qualitative
research has been demonstrated clearly by others (see Casey, 1992, p. 206).
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Carol E. Harris is in the Department of Communications and Social Foundations, Faculty of
Education, University of Victoria, Victoria, British Columbia, V8W 3N4.
Éléments d’information contribuant à la formation
de l’image d’un établissement universitaire*
Nha Nguyen
université de moncton
L’image institutionnelle, considérée comme un outil de promotion efficace en milieu
concurrentiel, peut aussi être mise à profit par les universités dans leur stratégie de
positionnement. Contrairement à la plupart des études antérieures sur l’image des
établissements scolaires, qui sont de nature descriptive et souvent dénuées de vérification
empirique, cette étude se propose d’identifier un ensemble de facteurs explicatifs de cette
image perçue chez la population étudiante. Une enquête effectuée dans une université
canadienne a fait ressortir six éléments d’information utilisés par l’étudiant dans son
processus de formation de l’image de l’institution fréquentée, à savoir, en ordre
d’importance, l’identité de l’institution, sa politique de communication, son offre de
services, son support physique, la recherche et les services à la collectivité réalisés par
son corps professoral, et ses dirigeants. Ces résultats présentent donc aux gestionnaires
scolaires un défi de taille en matière de marketing, celui de bien gérer l’image de leur
institution respective en privilégiant, entre autres, les éléments tangibles et visibles dans
la création et la diffusion de cette image pour la rendre plus concrète et plus facilement
saisissable.
Universities may see their institutional images as effective and profitable promotional
devices in competitive times. Research on the question of image has often been descriptive and empirically weak. By contrast, this study elicits six factors that explain how
students form their image of a Canadian university. They are, in order of importance, the
institution’s identity, its communications policy, its services, its physical support system,
the research and community service of its professoriate, and its leadership. Academic
administrators thus face a marketing challenge, that of building an image based on tangible and visible elements which are easily grasped.
À l’instar des entreprises à but lucratif oeuvrant en milieu concurrentiel, les
universités sont aussi confrontées à des situations où le positionnement de
l’institution aux yeux du public constitue un outil de marketing important pour
attirer et, dans une certaine mesure, fidéliser une clientèle. En effet, plusieurs
études affirment que le choix d’un établissement d’enseignement post-secondaire
à fréquenter repose souvent sur son image, en particulier, sur sa réputation et son
*
Cette recherche a été soutenue par une subvention du Conseil de recherche en sciences humaines
du Canada et du Conseil de la faculté des études supérieures et de la recherche de l’Université de
Moncton.
386
REVUE CANADIENNE DE L’ÉDUCATION
19:4 (1994)
L’IMAGE D’UN ÉTABLISSEMENT UNIVERSITAIRE
387
prestige, deux éléments de cette image (Kealy et Rockel, 1987; King, Kobayasht
et Bigler, 1986; Milo, Edson et McEuen, 1989).
Parallèlement, la recension des écrits révèle que la notion d’image institutionnelle est largement exploitée dans la stratégie de marketing depuis plusieurs
décennies par le secteur industriel et plus récemment par le secteur tertiaire. Dans
le domaine de l’enseignement post-secondaire, l’image institutionnelle peut aussi
être mise à profit par les universités qui font face à la concurrence de plus en
plus forte pour, entre autres, attirer les meilleurs candidats et convaincre les
pouvoirs publics et la collectivité de subvenir à leurs besoins.
Par ailleurs, nous avons noté que la plupart des études antérieures sur l’image
institutionnelle se rapportant à l’enseignement post-secondaire sont de nature
descriptive et souvent dénuées de vérification empirique (Alfred et Horowitz,
1990; Davies et Melchiori, 1982; Melchiori, 1990; Weissman, 1990). Le présent
article se propose d’identifier un ensemble d’éléments d’information utilisés par
une population étudiante dans la perception du portrait de l’institution qu’elle
fréquente. Les résultats de cette étude explicative permettraient d’évaluer
l’importance relative des diverses composantes de l’image institutionnelle, et du
même coup d’éclairer, en partie du moins, le gestionnaire d’université dans sa
démarche de marketing visant à améliorer l’image de l’université auprès de sa
clientèle étudiante.
L’IMAGE INSTITUTIONNELLE
La formation de l’image institutionnelle
L’image institutionnelle est définie comme un ensemble d’impressions et d’attitudes qu’ont les gens à l’égard de l’institution (Kotler et Fox, 1985). Cette image
comporte deux volets: fonctionnel et émotionnel (Mazursky et Jacoby, 1986).
D’une part, le volet fonctionnel englobe des caractéristiques tangibles, mesurables
et pouvant facilement se comparer à celles des autres institutions. Ce sont
notamment les frais de scolarité, la variété de programmes, le corps professoral,
les bourses d’étude, les installations et l’équipement. D’autre part, le volet
émotionnel est fondé sur des éléments psychologiques exprimés sous forme de
sentiments ou d’attitudes à l’égard de l’institution.
Dans cette étude, nous nous intéressons uniquement à l’image perçue chez la
clientèle étudiante. Lors de son contact avec un établissement d’enseignement,
l’étudiant a tendance à ne retenir que les éléments d’information compatibles
avec sa configuration cognitive de formation d’attitudes ou de croyances. Ultérieurement, lorsqu’il est exposé de nouveau à l’institution, il se reconstruit un
portrait de celle-ci en puisant dans sa mémoire certains de ces éléments d’information. Selon Mazursky et Jacoby (1986), le processus de formation de l’image
est un processus d’intégration de deux réalités: la réalité “objective,” définie par
un ensemble de caractéristiques de l’institution, et la réalité “subjective,”
388
NHA NGUYEN
constituée des impressions de l’individu sur les caractéristiques saillantes
retenues. La formation de l’image institutionnelle est donc le résultat d’un
processus de traitement de l’information chez l’étudiant. Ce dernier combine des
attributs individuels (personnalité, sentiment, etc.) à des attributs organisationnels
(publicité, qualité du service, etc.) pour former un ensemble de sens ou de
valeurs qu’il retient en mémoire et utilise pour décrire sa perception globale de
l’institution.
Il est intéressant de noter que l’offre de services d’un établissement d’enseignement est fondamentalement immatériel. À l’instar de l’ensemble du secteur
tertiaire, le caractère impalpable du service éducatif découle de l’absence de sa
représentation physique, c’est-à-dire du fait qu’on ne peut ni le voir, ni le
toucher. Ce caractère incite ainsi l’étudiant à privilégier, dans son processus de
formation de l’image, certaines caractéristiques tangibles et souvent extrinsèques
du service, particulièrement le corps professoral et l’environnement physique où
se déroule la prestation.
Les éléments d’information dans la formation de l’image institutionnelle
La recension des écrits révèle que les informations utilisées par l’étudiant dans
la formation de l’image d’une université peuvent résider dans son identité, sa
politique de communication, ses dirigeants, son corps professoral, son support
physique et son offre de services.
L’identité institutionnelle
Toute institution projette une identité par le biais d’un ensemble d’indicateurs
physiques et de comportements. Cette identité est souvent utilisée pour représenter ou symboliser l’institution et lui permet de se distinguer des autres. Les
éléments clefs de l’identité, souvent visuels, doivent être instantanément reconnaissables et synonymes de la personnalité de l’institution. Il est donc important
d’harmoniser ces éléments afin d’éviter des messages contradictoires qui peuvent
être dommageables pour l’image institutionnelle. L’identité de l’institution peut
être mesurée, entre autres, par son nom, son logo et sa culture.
La politique de communication
La politique de communication est constituée de deux volets: l’un est destiné à
la clientèle visée et d’autres groupes externes, et l’autre, à son personnel. La
communication avec la clientèle comprend un ensemble de décisions concernant
les thèmes et les messages que l’institution veut véhiculer dans divers médias.
Par exemple, certaines universités font appel à des médias de masse pour publiciser les réussites de leurs professeurs et étudiants afin de créer des attitudes et des
croyances favorables à leur égard. D’autres participent comme commanditaires
389
à des concours scientifiques, économiques, culturels et sportifs pour accroître leur
visibilité auprès des groupes cibles. Dans la communication avec les employés,
le marketing interne est considéré comme un outil indispensable pour contrôler
la performance du personnel de l’institution, qui, à son tour, exerce une influence
significative sur la perception de la clientèle à l’égard de l’institution.
Les dirigeants de l’institution
Les dirigeants font partie du personnel en contact direct avec la clientèle, mais
à des niveaux hiérarchiques supérieurs. Ils projettent par le biais de leur
réputation leur propre image qui, aux yeux du public, peut facilement être
confondue avec celle de l’institution qu’ils dirigent. Ainsi, pour obtenir plus de
visibilité de leur image, certaines universités ont tendance à recruter des
personnalités publiques ayant laissé les marques dans d’autres sphères d’activités.
Par ailleurs, les dirigeants contribuent aussi largement, par leur style de
leadership et de gestion, à créer une culture organisationnelle propre à l’institution. Cette culture organisationnelle facilite à son tour la formation des
croyances et des attitudes non seulement chez les employés, mais aussi chez la
clientèle, et par conséquent, la formation de l’image de l’institution.
Le corps professoral
Les professeurs constituent le coeur du personnel de contact d’un établissement
d’enseignement. Ils font ainsi partie du monde de l’étudiant tout au long de son
processus d’apprentissage. Le corps professoral est là pour servir l’étudiant,
c’est-à-dire remplir sa fonction d’enseignement. Comme premier responsable de
la prestation du service de formation, il est mieux placé que tout autre employé
pour déceler les faiblesses du processus. Le corps professoral constitue donc une
source d’information précieuse pouvant éclairer la décision du gestionnaire
d’améliorer la qualité du service. Aux yeux de l’étudiant, le corps professoral
représente une dimension prédominante de l’image institutionnelle, puisqu’il est
un des premiers points de contact et continue par la suite son rôle d’interlocuteur
privilégié tout au long du processus d’apprentissage.
Le support physique
Plusieurs études soulignent le rôle important du support physique dans la perception chez la clientèle étudiante, tout particulièrement à l’égard de la qualité du
service offert par l’institution et à l’égard de son image (Bitner, 1992; LeBlanc
et Nguyen, 1988). Le support physique comprend à la fois les instruments nécessaires à la prestation du service et l’environnement physique qui les entoure.
L’évaluation du support physique d’un établissement d’enseignement repose
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NHA NGUYEN
notamment sur la localisation, les installations, l’aménagement, l’ambiance, le
décor, le confort.
L’offre de services
Un établissement d’enseignement offre en réalité plusieurs services, même si la
notion de service est souvent présentée comme monoservice. En fait, une offre
de services comprend généralement un service de base entouré d’un ensemble de
services périphériques. Le service de base qui découle de l’objectif de la
démarche de l’étudiant est le premier élément recherché par ce dernier pour
satisfaire son besoin principal. Le programme d’études choisi par l’étudiant
constitue donc le service de base. L’offre de services de formation comporte
aussi plusieurs services périphériques dont certains sont indispensables à la
prestation. La présence des services périphériques permet non seulement de faciliter l’accès au service de base, mais aussi de le rendre plus attrayant aux yeux
de l’étudiant. Les bourses d’études, le service de logement, de santé, les activités
sportives et para-académiques et d’autres services aux étudiants en sont des
exemples. La qualité de l’offre de services a souvent un effet significatif sur les
croyances et les attitudes de l’étudiant à l’égard de l’institution.
Cette étude propose donc une analyse exploratoire et empirique des informations utilisées par la clientèle étudiante dans sa perception de l’image de
l’institution qu’elle fréquente.
MÉTHODOLOGIE DE L’ÉTUDE
L’échantillon
L’évaluation de l’image institutionnelle fut effectuée auprès de la clientèle
étudiante d’une université canadienne de petite taille ayant une constituante
principale et deux régionales. Cette institution a une population étudiante
d’environ 8000 personnes dont plus de 5000 à temps complet. Elle offre, à
l’exception des études en médecine, en médecine dentaire et en pharmacie, 123
programmes de premier cycle, 31 de deuxième cycle et un de troisième cycle.
L’enquête fut menée auprès de la population étudiante à temps complet de la
constituante principale, soit environ 4500 personnes inscrites au sein de ses 11
facultés ou écoles localisées dans une cité universitaire. Sur un total de 950
questionnaires distribués dans les classes choisies selon une stratification double:
discipline et année d’études, 868 questionnaires complétés constituent l’échantillon final, ce qui représente un taux de réponse de 91,3%. Cet excellent taux de
réponse s’explique par la participation des professeurs concernés à la distribution
des questionnaires dans leur classe respective au début de la séance, ce qui
obligea en quelque sorte les étudiants à se soumettre à l’exercice. En ce qui
concerne les 82 non-réponses, elles comprennent 45 refus de réponse et 37 questionnaires incomplets.
391
Mesures de l’image institutionnelle
La mesure de l’image institutionnelle utilisée dans la présente étude est axée sur
deux interrogations: Quelles sont les composantes de l’image institutionnelle?
Quelle est l’importance des diverses composantes de cette image? À cet effet,
nous privilégions une approche de mesure visant à identifier les éléments d’information qu’utilise l’étudiant dans la formation de l’image institutionnelle. Pour ce
faire, nous avons procédé, avant l’enquête principale, à une entrevue de groupe
auprès de dix étudiants aléatoirement choisis afin d’identifier les dimensions
relatives à l’image institutionnelle. Les participants ont été appelés à discuter des
caractéristiques de l’identité organisationnelle, de la politique de communication,
des dirigeants, du corps professoral, du support physique et de l’offre de services
d’un établissement universitaire. Les résultats de l’entrevue de groupe ont permis
d’identifier 39 dimensions qui ont été par la suite reprises et présentées dans un
questionnaire dans les 39 énoncés établis sur une échelle de Likert à sept points
allant de “1=aucun impact” à “7=très grand impact.”
Pour évaluer l’image institutionnelle proprement dite, nous avons recouru aux
deux énoncés établis aussi sur une échelle de Likert à sept points: le premier vise
à évaluer la réputation de l’Université (allant de “1=très défavorable” à “7=très
favorable”) et le deuxième, l’image actuelle de l’Université (allant de “1=très
défavorable” à “7=très favorable”).
ANALYSE DES RÉSULTATS
Une analyse factorielle avec rotation varimax effectuée sur 39 variables identifiées a donné lieu à huit facteurs orthogonaux expliquant ensemble 58,7% de la
variance totale. La rétention des variables a été fondée sur la valeur minimale de
0.45 de leur point de saturation et sur leur concordance avec la signification
intrinsèque du facteur dont elles font partie. Le tableau 1 présente les huit
facteurs et leurs coefficients de fidélité alpha de Cronbach.
Le facteur F1 comptant pour 28,7% de la variance totale, représente la composante “support physique.” Les variables retenues dans ce facteur expriment à la
fois les installations du campus universitaire, leur aménagement et les conditions
ambiantes du lieu de prestation.
Les facteurs F2 (enseignement) et F7 (recherche et services à la collectivité)
expliquant ensemble 9,6% de la variance des variables originales constituent la
composante “corps professoral.” À l’exception de l’apparence physique, toutes
les variables prévues pour cette composante ont été retenues.
Les facteurs F3 et F6 représentent la composante “offre de services” et
comptent pour 9,3% de la variance totale. Les variables retenues dans le facteur
F3, nommé “service académique,” décrivent les principales caractéristiques du
service de base et des services périphériques offerts par l’institution. Le facteur
F6 désigne l’accès à l’offre de services. L’accès au service est défini par les
392
NHA NGUYEN
TABLEAU 1
Résultats de l’analyse factorielle
Point de
saturation
Alpha de
Cronbach
L’aménagement intérieur des bâtiments
0,80
0,89
L’aménagement du campus
0,77
L’ambiance et le décor intérieur
0,75
L’apparence extérieure des bâtiments et
terrains
0,74
Facteurs
Variables
F1: Support physique
F2:Enseignement
(corps professoral)
La propreté générale
0,68
L’éclairage
0,62
Le stationnement (accès, disponibilité)
0,61
Le confort intérieur
0,54
Le système de signalisation
0,52
La localisation
0,46
La capacité à transmettre la matière
0,87
La capacité d’éveiller la curiosité chez
l’étudiant
0,76
Les méthodes d’évaluation utilisées
0,71
La gentillesse et la courtoisie
0,70
Les qualifications (diplômes,
expériences)
0,57
L’enseignement reçu
0,46
La bibliothèque universitaire
0,67
Les services aux étudiants
0,66
Les bourses d’études
0,61
L’équipement et le matériel
informatiques
0,55
La variété des programmes et des cours
0,46
La réputation des dirigeants de
l’Université
0,82
La visibilité des dirigeants de
l’Université
0,77
Le style de leadership et de gestion
0,75
F5: Identité et
Le logo de l’Université
0,79
promotion
Le nom de l’Université
0,76
F3: Service
académique
F4: Dirigeants
Le caractère distinct de l’Université
0,56
La promotion publicitaire
0,49
Les activités de relations publiques
0,46
0,86
0,75
0,84
0,72
393
TABLEAU 1 continué
Résultats de l’analyse factorielle
Point de
saturation
Alpha de
Cronbach
La procédure d’inscription
0,71
0,68
Les critères d’admission
0,62
Les trames horaires des cours
0,45
L’implication dans les activités
para-académiques et communautaires
0,69
Facteurs
Variables
F6: Accès au service
F7: Recherche et
services à la
collectivité
(corps professoral)
F8: Opinions de
l’entourage
La capacité à réaliser des travaux de
recherche
0,65
Les parents et les amis
0,76
Le conseiller en orientation au
secondaire
0,76
0,68
0,55
critères d’admission, la procédure d’inscription ainsi que les trames horaires des
cours. Il faut noter que la variable frais de scolarité n’a pas été retenue comme
une caractéristique de l’offre de services. Cela peut s’expliquer par une certaine
uniformité des frais de scolarité dans l’ensemble des universités canadiennes.
Le facteur F4, nommé “dirigeants” et comptant pour 4,5% de la variance
totale, regroupe trois traits de caractère des dirigeants de l’institution, soit la
réputation, la visibilité et le style de leadership et de gestion.
La description des facteurs F5 et F8, avec 3,9% et 2,7% de la variance totale
respectivement, nous apparaît toutefois moins évidente. Le facteur F5 contient
deux volets, souvent définis de façon distincte quoique intimement reliés: l’identité institutionnelle et la promotion. Or, cette promotion combinée avec les
variables retenues dans le facteur F8 (opinions de l’entourage) constitue normalement la politique de communication de l’institution.
Somme toute, l’analyse factorielle a fourni une structure assez stable. Les
variables retenues sont dans l’ensemble concordantes avec la signification des
facteurs, à l’exception de trois variables, apparence physique du corps professoral, frais de scolarité et méthodes de communication interne, qui ont été éliminées en raison de leur point de saturation faible. De plus, aucune variable avec
un point de saturation égal ou supérieur à 0,45 n’est retenue dans plus d’un
facteur. Par ailleurs, les résultats des tests de fidélité révèlent que la cohérence
interne des facteurs est satisfaisante compte tenu de la nature plutôt exploratoire
de la présente étude, puisque tous les coefficients alpha de Cronbach sont supérieurs à 0,50 (Nunnally, 1978).
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NHA NGUYEN
Pour évaluer l’image institutionnelle, un indice égal à la somme des deux
énoncés prévus à cette fin a été formé en l’absence de la connaissance sur
l’importance relative d’un énoncé par rapport à l’autre. La vérification partielle
et limitée de la fidélité et de la validité de cet indice révèle que les résultats de
ces tests sont également satisfaisants. En effet, le coefficient alpha de Cronbach
de l’indice d’image institutionnelle est estimé à 0,85, tandis que les coefficients
de corrélation de Spearman entre l’indice lui-même et les deux énoncés sont de
0,92 et 0,93. Par contre, il faut noter l’asymétrie légèrement à gauche de la
distribution de l’indice. Pour remédier à ce problème, nous avons remplacé
l’indice par sa racine au carré avant de l’utiliser dans une analyse de régression
visant à vérifier l’effet des informations identifiées sur l’image perçue de
l’institution.
Dans cette analyse de régression linéaire multiple dont l’estimation des
paramètres a été effectuée par la méthode des moindres carrés ordinaire, l’indice
transformé est utilisé comme variable dépendante contre les huit facteurs retenus
par l’analyse factorielle comme variables indépendantes. Les résultats sommaires
de l’analyse de régression présentés au tableau 2 montrent une liaison très significative.
DISCUSSION ET CONCLUSION
À la lumière des résultats obtenus, il est permis de constater la prédominance de
trois composantes de l’image d’un établissement universitaire: son identité
propre, sa politique de communication et son offre de services.
L’identité d’une institution n’est pas considérée comme synonyme de son
image, mais elle constitue, certes, une façade importante de celle-ci. On remarque que l’identité est souvent utilisée pour renforcer ou même créer une image.
Cette pratique peut ainsi porter à la confusion entre les deux notions, qui,
quoique conceptuellement distinctes, s’appuient dans leur formation respective
sur plusieurs indicateurs semblables, tels que le nom, la culture organisationnelle
et le caractère distinctif de l’institution. Dans le contexte des établissements
scolaires, il est parfois préférable que leur identité soit concordante avec les
valeurs dominantes de la collectivité qu’ils desservent pour renforcer le sentiment
d’appartenance chez l’étudiant. Notons que ce dernier n’est pas un client ordinaire, car son rôle et son influence sur l’institution sont généralement durables.
Par exemple, les réussites des diplômés contribuent positivement à l’image de
qualité de l’institution qu’ils ont fréquentée.
Quant à la politique de communication, elle est le principal instrument de
transmission d’informations susceptibles d’influer favorablement sur les attitudes
et les croyances des groupes cibles à l’égard de l’institution. Il est de toute
évidence que le choix des thèmes et des messages de la communication externe
dans divers médias est extrêmement important dans le processus de gestion de
l’image institutionnelle. La difficulté de communiquer ce qu’est le service de
395
TABLEAU 2
Résultats de la régression multiple sur les 8 facteurs
Variables indépendantes*
(8 facteurs)
Bêtas
standardisés
F
Support physique (F1)
0,127
14,205a
Enseignement par corps professoral (F2)
0,038
1,250
Service académique (F3)
0,168
24,711b
Dirigeants (F4)
0,055
3,010c
Identité et promotion (F5)
0,183
29,290b
Accès au service (F6)
0,091
7,263d
Recherche et services à la collectivité
par corps professoral (F7)
0,091
7,284d
Opinions de l’entourage (F8)
0,152
20,286b
*Variable dépendante: indice de l’image institutionnelle. R2ajusté=0,29; F=13,403; p<0,0001.
a
Significatif à p<0,001.
b
c
d
formation, en raison du caractère fondamentalement immatériel de ce dernier,
doit inciter l’institution à recourir à des substituts du service comme le corps
professoral, le support physique ou encore l’étudiant lui-même pour promouvoir
les bénéfices promis du service. D’autre part, l’institution ne doit pas négliger
l’effet du bouche à oreille de cette communication dont le contrôle lui échappe
souvent, en évitant par exemple de s’impliquer dans des événements porteurs de
controverses. Si le bouche à oreille est positif, il se traduit par un attrait
particulièrement important chez l’étudiant potentiel. En revanche, s’il est négatif,
une véritable aversion peut facilement s’installer chez ce dernier à l’égard de
l’institution. La force d’influence du bouche à oreille est particulièrement
phénoménale dans les services où le client potentiel recherche activement de
l’information sur une organisation et son offre de services. C’est d’ailleurs le cas
de ceux qui choisissent un établissement d’enseignement supérieur à fréquenter,
d’où l’importance des opinions de l’entourage de l’étudiant dans la prise de
décision. En somme, le rôle capital de la promotion dans la formation de l’image
doit se traduire par la mise en place d’une politique de communication fondée
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NHA NGUYEN
sur les principes de continuité, de clarté et de cohérence pour éviter la diffusion
d’une image floue et peu convaincante.
L’offre de services de formation, qui se révèle aussi une composante majeure
de l’image d’un établissement scolaire ne constitue pas en soi une surprenante
révélation, car, au plan de marketing, ces services forment un des éléments clés
de la stratégie visant à influencer ou à modifier les croyances et le comportement
des groupes cibles envers l’institution (Greer, 1991).
Par ailleurs, il faut noter l’impact relativement faible de la composante
recherche et services à la collectivité du corps professoral sur l’image, même
comparativement à celui du support physique de l’établissement. De plus, l’effet
de l’autre composante du corps professoral, enseignement, sur la formation de
l’image s’est avéré non significatif. Pour mieux comprendre ce résultat, nous
avons procédé à une autre régression, mais avec la satisfaction de l’étudiant
comme variable dépendante. Il ressort de cette analyse que l’enseignement
dispensé par le corps professoral constitue le premier facteur explicatif de la
satisfaction. Il faut souligner que la satisfaction est un jugement résultant de
l’évaluation d’une prestation spécifique tandis que la perception de l’image,
quoiqu’elle puisse être déterminée par une seule prestation, est un jugement
global issu d’un processus plus ou moins cumulatif d’évaluation d’une série de
prestations réparties sur une période de temps donnée. En ce sens, la satisfaction
est un état psychologique alors que la perception de l’image est une attitude. À
notre avis, l’enseignement est directement relié à la satisfaction plutôt qu’à
l’image, parce qu’il peut être considéré par l’étudiant comme un acte de service
qui se produit de façon ponctuelle, quoiqu’il soit répétitif. Malgré ce résultat, il
faut reconnaître le rôle de l’enseignement dispensé par un établissement scolaire
dans la formation de son image, car la satisfaction retirée de l’enseignement reçu
a certes un effet de renforcement sur la perception de cette image chez l’étudiant.
Cet enseignement est également un facteur déterminant la perception de la qualité
de l’offre de services, laquelle qualité contribue ultérieurement à la formation de
l’image institutionnelle.
En ce qui concerne le support physique, qui comprend les instruments et
l’environnement où se déroule la prestation, cette étude confirme son apport
significatif à la perception de l’image institutionnelle. Ce résultat est aussi
concordant avec d’autres écrits antérieurs qui ont mis en lumière l’influence du
support physique sur l’image institutionnelle dans d’autres secteurs de service
(Bitner, 1992). La perception du support physique par l’étudiant peut conduire
à des réactions cognitives, physiologiques et émotionnelles à l’égard de l’institution fréquentée, qui, en retour, contribuent à la formation de l’image de cette
dernière. Au niveau cognitif, le support physique communique à l’étudiant des
indices lui permettant de reconnaître certaines caractéristiques dominantes de
l’institution et la qualité de son offre de services. Les réactions physiologiques
et émotionnelles peuvent amener l’étudiant à poursuivre ou même à interrompre
son séjour au sein de l’institution. Il est donc important que la conception du
397
support physique réponde à la fois aux besoins opérationnels de la prestation,
fondés sur la maximisation de l’efficience organisationnelle, et aux besoins de
marketing visant à créer un environnement favorable à l’étudiant dans le but
d’influencer ses attitudes et croyances envers l’institution, donc sa perception de
l’image de cette dernière.
Le dernier facteur explicatif de l’image d’un établissement d’enseignement
supérieur, les dirigeants, dont le niveau de signification est statistiquement faible
dans la présente étude, s’inscrit dans une démarche visant à donner plus de
visibilité et de leadership à l’institution. L’impact des dirigeants sur l’image
institutionnelle nous paraît plus évident lorsqu’il s’agit des personnalités connues,
car leur réputation est intimement liée à celle de l’institution. La présence de ces
dirigeants profite à l’institution, peut-être, grâce à leurs habiletés de gestion, et
surtout, grâce à leur pouvoir d’influence auprès des groupes et des organisations
avec qui l’institution entretient des relations.
Finalement, il faut noter le caractère partiel et limitatif de ces résultats quant
à leur contribution de la généralisation à l’ensemble des institutions scolaires.
Même pour le secteur universitaire, l’université choisie n’est certainement pas
représentative en raison, entre autres, de sa taille, de ses particularités régionales.
Mise à part cette limitation, les résultats obtenus présentent tout de même aux
gestionnaires scolaires un défi de taille en matière de marketing, celui de gérer
l’image de leur institution respective.
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Nha Nguyen enseigne à la Faculté d’administration, Université de Moncton, Moncton (NouveauBrunswick), E1A 3E9.
Learning Processes in a Canadian Exchange
Program for Multicultural, Anti-Racist Education1
Alister Cumming
ontario institute for studies in education
Ronald Mackay
concordia university
Alfred Sakyi
ontario institute for studies in education
In this article we report qualitative and quantitative analyses of 120 high school students’
learning processes during exchange programs emphasizing multicultural, anti-racist
education in various Canadian cities. We found five topics of learning and six learning
processes common to these exchanges; determined that students perceived significant
changes to have occurred in reference to their personal, psychological knowledge and
skills (but not their capacities to act in local societal contexts); and documented certain
effects parents and teachers indirectly associated with this program perceived to have
appeared after the program was completed. Our findings suggest the value of schools
continuing similar exchanges across Canada as well as developing locally based policies
and programs for multicultural education and long-term, grounded approaches to evaluating these innovations.
Dans cet article, les auteurs font état d’analyses qualitatives et quantitatives ayant trait aux
processus d’apprentissage de 120 élèves du secondaire qui ont participé, dans diverses
villes canadiennes, à des programmes d’échange privilégiant un enseignement multiculturel et antiraciste. Après avoir identifié cinq sujets d’apprentissage et six processus
d’apprentissage communs à ces programmes d’échange, les auteurs ont établi que les
élèves ont noté chez eux des changements importants dans leurs connaissances et compétences personnelles et psychologiques (mais non dans leur aptitude à agir au sein de leur
milieu). Les auteurs ont en outre décrit certains effets que les parents et les enseignants
ont associés indirectement à ces programmes bien qu’ils ne se soient manifestés qu’une
fois les programmes terminés. Les conclusions des auteurs donnent à penser que les
écoles ont tout intérêt à continuer de favoriser de tels programmes d’échange à travers le
pays et à mettre au point des politiques et des programmes locaux en matière
d’enseignement multiculturel ainsi que des approches concrètes à long terme en vue
d’évaluer ces nouvelles initiatives.
Many schools and school boards in Canada are now adopting policies to foster
multicultural awareness and anti-racist action — adapting their curricula to suit
the increasing ethnic diversity in their student populations and local communities,
399
19:4 (1994)
400
ALISTER CUMMING, RONALD MACKAY,
&
ALFRED SAKYI
formulating regulations to counter discrimination and inequities, and promoting
the capacities of students and school staff to appreciate and interact with other
cultures in Canada. But little research has described systematically what these
educational innovations actually do and accomplish. At a minimum, evaluation
research must document the qualities of learning such educational programs
foster as well as determine if students achieve the aims these programs promote.
Our article addresses this need in reference to a three-year study of a pilot
program involving adolescent students and their teachers from 12 school boards
in different regions of Canada who took part in two-week exchanges aiming to
develop multicultural awareness, anti-racist attitudes and school policies,
understanding of other regions of Canada, and student leadership in these areas.
In Canada and elsewhere, multicultural education has often appeared as a
diffuse desire or a goal dependent on local initiatives and circumstances rather
than an established, uniform curriculum practice. Reviews of research, school
policies, and educational resources have consistently found a lack of conceptual
coherence — referring, for example, in Canada, to the “confused state of the
field” (Martin, 1993, p. 9), the “largely atheoretical” character of such activities
in schools (Mallea, 1987, p. 44), or the “disembodiment” of the concept of
multiculturalism from school curricula (Edwards, 1992, p. 30) — concluding that
few common definitions or principles of multicultural education currently exist:
“The only common meaning is that it refers to changes in education that are
supposed to benefit people of color” (Sleeter & Grant, 1987, p. 436). As one
comprehensive review of Canadian publications recently concluded, “we do not
yet have coherent models of Multicultural Education theory and practice that will
provide significant guidance either to researchers or practitioners in the field”
(Gamlin, Berndorff, Mitsopulos, & Demetriou, 1992, p. 52). Or, as analysts of
comparable situations in Britain and the United States have explained, multicultural education tends to have “started off as a highly practical activity and come
to be theorised about only at a later stage” (Vyas, 1992, p. 267) while simultaneously confronting “misconceptions” that have led some educators “to resist
multicultural education for fear that it will cause racial tensions and compromise
educational standards” (Gay, 1992, p. 44).
In recent years, however, scholarship and school policies have moved from
debates over definitions of multicultural education toward actions and analyses
demonstrating how “multicultural education can and should be implemented”
(Gay, 1992, p. 48). In Canada, several programs of multicultural education have
been implemented in schools, then evaluated locally at these sites (Choldin,
1989; Clarke, 1982; Fisher & Echols, 1989; Ijaz, 1980; Jack, 1989; McAndrew
& Gress-Azzam, 1987; McPhie, 1989; Megalokonomos, 1984; Melenchuk, 1989;
Rose, 1989; Ungerleider, Krawczyk, & Court, 1990; Ziegler, 1980). Numerous
theoretical analyses, some of Canadian educational settings, have also been
published (e.g., Berry, Kalin, & Taylor, 1977; Kehoe, 1985; Mallea, 1989;
McLeod, 1987, 1992) as have guidelines for practices in Canadian schools (e.g.,
MULTICULTURAL, ANTI-RACIST EDUCATION
401
Kehoe & Hébert, 1984; Ontario Ministry of Education, 1992; Sealey, 1985;
Ziegler, 1981). Moreover, the federal government has formulated specific policy
and introduced legislation — the Canadian Multiculturalism Act of 1988 (see
Multiculturalism and Citizenship Canada, 1990) — and several provinces have
also adapted their human rights codes.
Distinct developments have occurred in Ontario, where multicultural education has widely been reformulated as “anti-racist education” in response to
dramatic demographic changes in urban and suburban school populations,
analyses exposing institutionalized discrimination against visible minorities, and
much-publicized, violent incidents in schools and urban areas (Cummins, 1988;
Lewis, 1992; McLeod, 1992). In 1993, Ontario’s Education Act was amended to
require all school boards to develop and have operating policies of “antiracism
and ethnocultural equity,” along with appropriate evaluation systems, by the end
of the year (Ontario Ministry of Education and Training, 1993). Such developments were already under way, as McLeod (1992, p. 225) reported, citing 40 out
of 125 school boards in Ontario having explicit policies for multicultural education as of 1991. Education policies in other provinces have been less proactive
but have tended nonetheless to endorse principles of equity, multicultural awareness, and cross-cultural understanding (e.g., d’Anglejan & De Koninck, 1992;
McLeod, 1987; Saskatchewan Human Rights Commission, 1985).
Approaches to evaluating these policy changes are only now beginning to
appear — for example, specific evaluation approaches and frameworks suited to
educational contexts in Britain (Tomlinson, 1990) and the United States (Banks,
1993; Borman, Timm, El-Amin, & Winston, 1992; Gay, 1992; Grant & Millar,
1992; Price, 1992). Correspondingly, there have appeared detailed accounts of
classroom processes for multicultural education in certain educational settings in
the United States (e.g., Tatum, 1992; Weigel, Wiser, & Cook, 1975). But many
fundamental aspects of multicultural education in Canada remain unaddressed
(outside selected experimental settings), such as descriptions of teaching and
learning processes, models of curriculum organization, or impacts on local
communities.
This article is the first analysis we know of that offers systematic documentation of learning processes in multicultural educational among school-aged
learners across a wide range of locations in Canada; it reports findings from a
three-year naturalistic study of a nation-wide exchange program to foster multicultural, anti-racist leadership skills among high school students in various
Canadian cities. Pursuing goals of evaluation research, we asked:
1. What and how do the students participating in this program learn?
2. Which program objectives do the students participating in the program report
they have achieved?
3. What effects do parents of participating students and teachers indirectly
associated with the program perceive the program to have produced two
months after its completion?
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CONTEXT
Data for the purposes of program evaluation were gathered within programs
organized by the Society for Educational Visits and Exchanges in Canada
(SEVEC) from 1990 to 1993. This pilot program built on SEVEC’s previous
initiatives for the learning of English and French language and culture through
exchange visits between Canadian Francophone and Anglophone students (e.g.,
as evaluated by McLean, Stern, Hanna, & Smith, 1978) as well as other, similar
exchange programs between school-aged students within single school boards
(e.g., as evaluated by Choldin, 1989; Megalokonomos, 1984) or internationally
(e.g., as evaluated by Grove, 1984; Rose, 1989).
Publicity for SEVEC’s Multicultural, Anti-racist Leadership Exchange Program indicated its aims were to help participants:
to develop intercultural/interracial leadership skills; to develop a deeper appreciation of
Canada’s mosaic through student and teacher interactions and cross-cultural sharing; to
establish a framework of racial understanding; to identify some causes of prejudice; to
develop the environmental conditions for ethnocultural and racial equality; to determine
strategies and processes to effectively deal with prejudice and discrimination in the school
and community environment; to encourage the accessing of the community’s multicultural/anti-racist resources into the educational programs.
These goals conform generally to the type of broad-based strategy for multicultural education that McLeod (1992, p. 220) categorized as a cultural/
intercultural approach or that Sleeter and Grant (1987) described as a comprehensive approach to multicultural education promoting cultural pluralism, social
equity, and attention to ethnic differences. Two unique features of the SEVEC
program, however, were that its exchanges were between schools across different
regions of Canada and that it aimed to prepare student “leaders” to become
capable of acting as catalysts in their schools to promote multicultural awareness
and anti-racist actions after the exchanges were completed.
Our research proceeded in three phases, each of one year’s duration, parallel
to the organization of SEVEC’s program into three annual sets of exchanges
between different pairs of school boards. In each year SEVEC matched several
groups of about 25 students and several of their teachers from one school board
with a comparable group in another region of Canada. These paired groups met
for an intensive, week-long exchange in each of their home schools. SEVEC
provided teachers with several days of orientation before the program, then
teachers and students in participating schools prepared unique curricula for their
exchanges within a general framework specified by SEVEC. Students volunteering for the program were selected to conform to the distribution of visible and
ethnic minorities in each local school setting. In the first year of the program
403
(1990/91), seven school boards in or around Halifax, Ottawa, Toronto, Victoria,
and Winnipeg participated. In the second year (1991/92), participants included
three of the same school boards from Ottawa and Victoria as well as four
additional boards from Kitchener and Waterloo, Sydney (Nova Scotia), and
Winnipeg. In the third year (1992/93), the same school boards from Kitchener
and Waterloo, Ottawa, and Victoria continued and were joined by schools in
Bracebridge and Igloolik.
The first two phases of evaluation research served mainly to describe the
educational program in its initial phases and to provide formative recommendations to help improve specific aspects of the program. In the first year of the
study (1991), we gathered participant-observation data at all the schools and
conducted interviews with all participating teachers as well as some students and
their parents. These data were used to prepare an inventory of the conditions
under which the program operated, as well as narrative case studies of typical
program activities (Mackay & Cumming, 1991). This observation period showed
the program to consist in fairly unique activities in each site, organized by
teachers as well as by student planning committees, typically as a week-long
itinerary of scheduled events thematically linked to program goals, participants’
interests and interpersonal dynamics, local resource people, sites, and situations.
Six fundamental activity-types formed the curricula implemented in each exchange:
• cooperative tasks such as peer interviews, group simulations, interaction games, or role
plays;
• guest speakers or media presentations such as lectures or panel presentations by community experts (e.g., counsellors, consultants, professors) or showing of films or videos
on topics of racism or multiculturalism;
• guided tours of sites with local, cultural significance such as religious sites, museums
or galleries, government buildings, or community service centres;
• planning or evaluation sessions to prepare or debrief participants for other activities
or for students to organize specific events;
• formal ceremonies such as dinners, dances, or farewell presentations; and
• performances produced by students such as dramatic sketches or video-tapes.
In the second year of evaluation research, we used our observational data from
the initial exchanges to prepare instruments for the research reported here. These
instruments were pilot-tested in the second year of the study with 81 students
participating in two sets of exchanges in four locations. The results were
analyzed and reported to SEVEC (Cumming & Mackay, 1992), then the instruments were refined slightly for use in the third phase of evaluation research. This
article reports results from the third phase (1992/93) of the evaluation research
(see Cumming & McKay, 1993), which emphasized summative purposes: documenting learning processes and outcomes among student participants at the point
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where the program had achieved a stable, consistent organization and several
teachers had gained two years’ prior experience with it.
INSTRUMENTS AND DATA COLLECTION
In 1991, we prepared three instruments for data collection, building on findings
from participant-observation in the previous year, then had program organizers,
participating teachers, and several university specialists in multicultural education
review them for content and administrative feasibility:
• a log in which students could document the content and processes of their learning
during the exchanges;
• a survey questionnaire to be administered prior to and after participation in the
exchange program, asking students to rate their current knowledge or skills in regard
to program objectives; and
• a survey checklist to be mailed, two months after the exchanges were finished, to
parents of participating students as well as teachers in participating schools who
themselves had not taken part in the exchange activities.
The learning log was a single sheet of paper asking students to describe up to
nine things they became aware of, gained new knowledge about, or became
better prepared to take action on. These three categories were suggested by
participating teachers in the previous years’ exchanges as different qualities of
cognitive and social learning fostered by the program. The logs were administered twice weekly at each exchange site, then placed in sealed envelopes (without teachers reading them) and mailed to us researchers.
To prepare the instrument for pre- and post-program surveys, we asked
teachers who had participated in the program the previous year to reformulate the
program’s stated goals into objectives accurately indicating their instructional
intentions and practices, using pedagogically appropriate terms that would be
comprehensible to their students. This activity produced 11 specific objectives,
which we later transposed into 11 questions with descriptive rating scales for
students to assess whether they possessed no (1), some (2), many or much (3)
or very many skills or very much knowledge (4) for each program objective,
with options for “I don’t know” responses as well as brief written comments:
1.
2.
3.
4.
5.
6.
7.
to develop leadership skills,
to clarify and use language on issues of race and culture,
to experience and hopefully to value another culture,
to foster a greater interest in other cultures and races,
to identify some causes of prejudice,
to identify barriers between people,
to become more aware of conditions in the school in order to increase equality among
racial and ethnic groups,
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8. to become more aware of one’s own biases and prejudices,
9. to increase one’s ability to deal effectively with prejudice and discrimination within
the classroom and other school environments,
10. to raise one’s willingness to apply leadership skills to community activities, and
11. to become more motivated to address issues involving prejudice and discrimination
in the community.
For the data reported here, surveys were mailed to participating teachers in
advance of the program, along with a protocol for administration to all students
in the exchanges during the first day of the first week of each exchange (the
pre-program survey) and then on the final day of the second week of the corresponding exchange (the post-program survey).
To obtain a broad perspective on the program’s impact, we developed an
instrument containing 12 items teachers or parents were to check off if they
perceived them to have occurred as a direct result of students’ participation in
the SEVEC program. In addition, respondents were asked to comment briefly on
their perceptions of these events as well as to add events not cited on the
checklist but which they believed were associated with the program. We identified items for this checklist by interviewing parents, teachers, and students in the
first and second years of the evaluation, documenting their impressions of
distinct effects they thought the program had fostered in their schools and
communities. These survey forms were mailed, two months after the completion
of the exchanges, to all parents (or families) of students participating in four of
the exchanges in 1992/93 as well as to all teachers in corresponding schools (i.e.,
teachers who had not themselves taken part in the SEVEC program). The survey
was not mailed to individuals associated with the third exchange because the
timing of its final exchange meant the survey would have coincided with their
summer vacation. We sent all potential respondents return self-addressed envelopes with postage stamps attached.
ANALYSES
The learning logs produced open-ended, written data, which we analyzed using
a constant-comparative methodology (Erickson, 1986), devising categories to
represent the full content of these data while reducing them to specific, emergent
themes. In the second year of the evaluation research, one researcher first read
all the learning logs produced in the exchanges, then categorized their content
into a preliminary set of themes. We tallied students’ responses under each
theme, combining themes that initially accounted for less than 10% of the data
into other, appropriate thematic categories, which the two other researchers then
reviewed and further refined.
This procedure resulted in two sets of coding categories. One set of five
categories was linked to topics students frequently reported having learned about
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during the exchanges, whereas the other set was linked to six learning processes
students frequently reported having engaged in to construct their knowledge
during the exchanges. After agreeing on the nature of these categories, we
selected 10% of the learning logs (using a table of random numbers) to establish
inter-coder reliability. For the topics of learning, we established an agreement
level of 88%. Coding of the learning processes, however, proved more difficult
because of students’ vague or abbreviated wording in some instances, which
made interpretation of the precise significance of these data difficult. Several
efforts to code samples of the data, and to discuss problematic cases produced
levels of agreement of only 75% between two coders but intra-coder reliability
of 83% agreement. After establishing reliability for the coding scheme, one
researcher coded all the learning logs, a set of nearly 3,000 items, coding each
log twice — once for the topics students reported learning about, and once for
their reported learning processes.
FINDINGS
According to data received, 120 students participated in the three exchanges in
1992/93: 48 in Exchange A, 50 in Exchange B, and 22 in Exchange C. (To
preserve confidentiality, names of the schools or school boards are not identified
here.) Students ranged from 14 to 20 years of age, though most were 15, 16, 17,
or 18 years old. More females (72) participated than did males (37), whereas the
previous year nearly twice as many males as females participated in the exchanges.
Topics of Learning
Students’ reports of their learning included statements similar to those listed
under the different topics that follow. Of the topic of racism, they said:2
• [I became aware of] racism in my town.
• [I gained new knowledge about] racism and how it affects different people.
• [I am now better prepared to take action by] not just walking away, but to stand up
in the face of racism.
They reported learning about immigration problems:
• [I became aware of] how hard it is for immigrants to settle in Canada.
• [I gained new knowledge about] the feelings many other cultures may feel coming to
a new country.
• [I am now better prepared to take action by] helping to organize activities and explain
rules to new students who speak different languages.
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about cultural and language differences:
• [I became aware of] how to write in different languages, such as Arabic.
• [I gained new knowledge about] other cultures and religions.
• [I am now better prepared to take action by] being more interested in my friends’
backgrounds and languages they speak.
and about leadership skills:
• [I became aware of] you have to make your point clear enough that other people can
understand your situation.
• [I gained new knowledge about] confidence that I didn’t have before.
• [I am now better prepared to take action by] leading activities to express the things
that multiculturalism represents and what we want our school to become.
They said they learned geographical and historical information:
• [I became aware of] Ontario, unlike Nova Scotia, is made up of a large array of
cultures.
• [I gained new knowledge about] how mistreated Blacks were in the late 1800s and
early 1900s.
• [I am better prepared to take action by] going back to the Longhouse and learning
more about the Native cultures.
Table 1 presents the distribution of these topics for all three exchanges. Overall,
the greatest proportions of the learning students reported concerned geographical
and historical information (31.8% of coded statements in the logs) and leadership skills (32.4%). A secondary emphasis was learning about racism and discrimination (17.3%) as well as cultural and language differences (17.8%). In
their 1992/93 logs, hardly any students reported learning about immigration
problems (.6%), a category accounting for a distinct emphasis in one exchange
the previous year.
Across the three sets of exchanges, students generally reported having learned
about similar proportions of these topics. One distinct difference was that logs
from Exchange A focused considerably more on leadership skills and less on
geographical and historical information, whereas logs from Exchanges B and C
focused more on geographical and historical information and less on leadership
skills. This difference may indicate the emphasis of teaching and curriculum
activities, teachers’ prior experience with the program (varying from 2 years in
Exchange A to none in Exchanges B and C), or the local conditions and priorities in each setting.
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TABLE 1
Distribution of Student Learning by Topic
Topic
Racism and
discrimination
Exchange A
Exchange B
Exchange C
Overall
17.9%
18.7%
12.4%
17.3%
Immigration problems
1.0%
0.1%
0.0%
0.6%
Cultural and language
differences
20.6%
14.4%
15.3%
17.8%
Leadership skills
41.6%
21.7%
22.0%
32.4%
Geographical and
historical information
18.8%
45.1%
50.2%
31.8%
Processes of Learning
Students’ reports of their learning facts or incidents appeared in statements like:
• [I became aware of] the population of Waterloo — 124,000.
• [I gained new knowledge about] the different songs and dances of the First Nations
people.
• [I am now better prepared to take action by] rebutting racist comments with interesting
facts and figures.
They described learning such concepts as:
• [I became aware of] getting even is not the only way to solve problems.
• [I gained new knowledge about] new definitions that were unaware to me, such as
racism, multiculturalism, and anti-racist society.
• [I am now better prepared to take action by] knowing the steps that are needed to be
an anti-racist person.
The learning logs contained many statements in which students said they
acquired greater awareness of others:
• [I became aware of] what an immigrant’s feelings, fears, and frustrations are.
• [I gained new knowledge about] how to live with a family of a different culture.
• [I am now better prepared to take action by] looking on the inside of a person rather
than the outside.
Students reported their increased self-awareness:
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• [I became aware of] how I talk and the language that I use.
• [I gained new knowledge about] my own feelings toward racism.
• [I am now better prepared to take action by] examining myself more closely for signs
of racism or prejudice then doing something about it.
Comments about learning personal skills appeared:
• [I became aware of] how to handle name calling.
• [I gained new knowledge about] how to resolve certain situations calmly.
• [I am now better prepared to take action by] standing up for what I believe in.
Students said they improved their capacities for social organization:
• [I became aware of] new ways of overcoming prejudice and racism in my school.
• [I gained new knowledge about] how to begin a petition and its rules and regulations.
• [I am now better prepared to take action by] organizing more clubs in schools which
do not have one and help them with our experience.
Overall, as Table 2 indicates, the processes of learning students reported most
often in their logs involved learning specific facts or incidents (36.6% of all
coded statements in the learning logs), developing their personal skills (29.9%),
learning concepts (13.6%), and gaining greater awareness of others (14.1%).
Very few students documented such learning processes as developing their selfawareness (3.0%) or capacities for social organization (2.8%), categories
reported much more frequently among students in the previous year’s exchanges.
Across the three sets of exchanges, students in Exchange A reported having
learned concepts and developing their personal skills to a greater extent than
students in Exchanges B and C, who emphasized learning facts or incidents. The
proportions of learning processes reported were, however, generally consistent
across the three sets of exchanges, despite a high level of local control over
curriculum organization.
Pre-Program and Post-Program Surveys
Table 3 reports group means, standard deviations, and results of sign tests for all
students producing complete sets of pre- and post-program questionnaires rating
their own knowledge and skills on 11 items linked to objectives of the SEVEC
program. These results are remarkably similar to those reported for the 1991/92
exchanges for every item on the questionnaire (Cumming & Mackay, 1992),
suggesting similarities in the participating student populations in both 1991/92
and 1992/93, as well as consistent trends in areas where the program may have
discernible effects on students’ senses of their own knowledge and skills.
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TABLE 2
Distribution of Student Engagement by Learning Processes
Learning Process
Exchange A
Exchange B
Exchange C
Overall
Facts or incidents
22.3%
54.7%
49.5%
36.6%
Concepts
19.7%
5.9%
7.9%
13.6%
Awareness of others
16.5%
10.7%
12.8%
14.1%
Self-awareness
2.6%
3.7%
2.8%
3.0%
Personal skills
37.3%
19.6%
25.1%
29.9%
Capacities for social
organization
1.6%
5.4%
1.9%
2.8%
Students’ Prior Knowledge and Skills
Students at the start of the program perceived themselves as possessing varying
degrees of mastery of the knowledge and skills linked to SEVEC’s program
objectives. Overall, when they began the SEVEC program, students tended to
state they had “many” skills or “much” knowledge linked to valuing other cultures (M=3.7), interest in other cultures and races (M=3.3), and applying leadership to community activities (M=3.3). Conversely, at the start of the program
students thought they had only “some” knowledge of or skills for using language
related to race and culture (M=2.5), identifying barriers between people (M=2.6),
increasing equality in the school (M=2.5), and awareness of their own biases and
prejudices (M=2.2). These differences in initial self-assessments suggest that
students participating in the exchanges generally had pre-existing interests in and
advance preparation for this type of educational experience. But these students
also tended to see their knowledge and skills as somewhat limited in certain
areas, particularly in terminology, concepts, and self-awareness regarding multiculturalism, anti-racism, and equity in schools.
Students’ ratings of their own skills and knowledge increased slightly between
the beginning and end of the exchanges for all but 3 of the 11 program objectives. For 6 questionnaire items, students’ responses indicated they thought they
had acquired significantly greater knowledge and skills over the period of the
exchanges, specifically for interest in other cultures, leadership skills, using
language related to race and culture, identifying causes of prejudice, identifying
barriers between people, and awareness of their own biases and prejudices.
These 6 areas are mostly ones where students had rated their knowledge and
skills as relatively low or moderate at the start of the SEVEC program. Sub-
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TABLE 3
Students’ Pre-Program and Post-Program Ratings of Their Skills and
Knowledge on Program Objectives
Pre-Program
a
Post-Program
Sign testa
Program Objectives
M
SD
M
SD
1. leadership skills
2.8
.9
3.1
.8
p=.007
2. using languages related to race and
culture
2.5
.9
3.0
.6
p=.000
3. valuing another culture
3.7
.5
3.7
.5
n.s.
4. interest in other cultures and races
3.3
.8
3.7
.7
p=.045
5. identifying causes of prejudice
2.9
.8
3.2
.8
p=.000
6. identifying barriers between people
2.6
.9
3.0
.8
7. increasing equality in school
2.5
1.1
2.6
1.1
n.s.
8. awareness of own biases and
prejudices
2.2
1.0
2.6
1.0
p=.000
9. dealing with prejudice and
discrimination
2.7
1.0
2.5
1.0
n.s.
10. applying leadership to community
3.3
.8
3.3
1.0
n.s.
11. addressing prejudice and
discrimination in the community
3.0
1.0
3.1
1.1
n.s.
p=.000
significance of 2-tailed p.
analyses of these data revealed no differences between male and female students
participating in the program, but response patterns differed somewhat with
students’ ages; 14- and 15-year-olds indicated more distinct changes in their
responses to such survey items as identifying barriers between people or using
language related to race and culture than either younger or older students did.
This pattern warrants further investigation, given that it implies this type of
education may have more or fewer benefits for students at different points in
their lives.
Students also did not indicate changes in their capacities to act socially in
terms of actions like increasing equality in school, dealing with prejudice and
discrimination, applying leadership to their communities, valuing another culture,
and addressing prejudice and discrimination in the community. In sum, students
seemed to report that they had acquired distinct personal skills and knowledge
during the exchange program but that they were still uncertain how to use these
skills and knowledge for social action in their schools or communities.
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Impact Perceived by Parents and Other Teachers
Of the 98 survey forms mailed to families of participating students and the 40
survey forms mailed to teachers at schools participating in exchanges A and B,
we received only 42 completed checklists (10 additional forms were returned by
Canada Post indicating their addresses were incorrect). The mail survey response
rate was therefore 38%, a rate insufficiently high to rule out the possibility of
biases in the responses received (e.g., perhaps only parents or teachers favourably
disposed to the program completed the surveys).
Almost all respondents (92.9%) indicated that they thought the SEVEC
program had resulted in more knowledge of other cultures. About half the respondents likewise indicated that the program had led to increased awareness of
anti-racist policies within the school and community (59.5%); the production of
dramatic plays, newsletters, or literary works related to anti-racism (54.8%);
more open relations between ethnic groups in the school (54.8%); the formation
or enhancement of multicultural clubs (52.4%); improved communication with
community groups (50.0%); and reduction of racism and other kinds of prejudice
(47.6%). Respondents also indicated that they perceived the program had led to
better communication with parents (35.7%) and the creation of anti-racist policies at the school (23.8%). Only two respondents (4.8%) thought the program
had led to change in the school curriculum.
Comments written on the survey forms mostly praised the program. Some
parents pointed appreciatively toward changes they were able to discern:
• Many students grew closer as they understood and gained respect for the similarities
and differences in each other’s culture. Our sons have maintained contact with many
of the exchange students from their twin province and with others on the exchange
from this location.
• Our daughter was particularly drawn to the Indian culture in B.C. We wish that she
could learn more about these wonderful people. She expressed her appreciation of the
elders teaching their rites and rituals to the teenagers. . . . Our daughter’s
enlightenment will follow her the rest of her life. Thank you for a beautiful, enriching
program, and a special thank you to the teachers for their dedication and enthusiasm.
• It was an excellent opportunity. We as a family felt non-racist until we did the
program, then we realized it existed within us and we were totally unaware until the
program called SEVEC showed us.
Similarly, teachers in the participating schools described distinct events arising
from the program:
• Teachers are more aware of racism in the classrooms. They know how to address it —
not ignore it.
• A 4 ft. by 6 ft. mural — “multiculturalism” depicting anti-racist and multicultural
images — designed and created by the students. A multicultural fair also took place
involving the community and about 350 students.
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• We have become less tolerant of racist comments and jokes.
• Excellent to see trained students act as role models for their peers. The trained students
were confident and consistent in their approach to younger students.
DISCUSSION
Our study documents the learning high school students reported during two
weeks of multicultural, anti-racist education within the framework of an
exchange program between schools in different regions of Canada. Data indicate
that specific learning processes occurred in this context, although the validity of
our analyses is limited to this one educational program, which consisted entirely
of volunteer participants, without the experimental confirmation of control groups
or randomly selected populations (neither of which would have been feasible for
our research). As such, our analyses suggest curriculum processes that similar
educational programs in Canada might expect to foster in exchanges among
adolescent learners, rather than providing empirical evidence of predictable
learning outcomes.
Analyses of students’ logs indicated that they perceived their learning to centre
primarily on four topics: racism and discrimination, cultural and language differences, leadership skills, and geographical and historical information. Learning
about these topics appeared to occur mainly through four types of knowledge
construction processes: acquiring facts or information about specific incidents or
situations, learning new concepts, gaining awareness of others, and developing
personal skills for leadership. Within a common program of studies, the distribution of these learning topics and processes appeared quite consistent across
five locations in different regions of the country, suggesting that teachers and
students in Canadian secondary schools approach multicultural, anti-racist
education in fundamentally similar ways. Further research, however, is necessary
to establish such similarities or bases for variation. Future studies should
carefully consider differences, attending to such variables as teachers’ experience
with multicultural education, local priorities as well as demographic and cultural
factors, ages of students and their existing knowledge and skills, and types of
curriculum activities.
Our analyses of students’ self-ratings on a survey instrument suggest they
perceived their personal knowledge and skills linked to program objectives to
increase significantly during program participation — particularly their developing
leadership skills, clarifying and using language on issues of race and culture,
identifying barriers between people, and identifying causes of prejudice. Comparable differences did not appear, however, for students’ ratings of their knowledge
and skills related to social action in their schools and communities. These
self-reported findings conform closely to our impressions (from on-site observations in the program’s initial years) of topics and processes emphasized by
teachers’ and students’ activities. Moreover, data from learning logs similarly
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indicate that students found their activities during the exchanges greatly
emphasized cognitive or personal kinds of knowledge and skills. Results of mail
surveys to parents and teachers indirectly associated with the program also suggest that the program’s main effect was to increase students’ personal awareness
and individual capacities. These mail surveys, however, also pointed out various
other effects these multicultural exchanges fostered in schools, families, and
communities over the longer term.
Several interpretations of these survey results are possible. First, the results of
pre- and post-program surveys may be linked to information directly available
to students to rate with confidence their knowledge and skills at the time of
completing the exchanges as well as “halo effects” from these immediate experiences: A sense of one’s own personal skills and knowledge can be answered with
some confidence directly, whereas a sense of increased preparedness to act more
effectively may require time and appropriate opportunities to materialize. In
support of this interpretation, parents’ and teachers’ responses to the mail survey
did point toward an array of specific, socially oriented effects in schools and
students’ lives that they had observed two months after the exchanges were completed. Second, it may be that the socially oriented variables over which the
SEVEC program and students themselves have direct control were quite limited
(as described in Mackay & Cumming, 1991), making action in the school and
local community a primary, long-term responsibility of schools themselves and
of people within and around them, rather than of an exchange program organized
externally. A third possibility is that the 11 objectives teachers set for these
exchanges were too numerous to accomplish in two weeks, suggesting that future
exchange programs might emphasize fewer learning objectives, or that the duration of such exchanges should be lengthened.
Future research is required to verify our findings, systematically investigate
other forms of multicultural education, and assess the long-term effects of leadership training in multicultural awareness and anti-racist policies within particular
Canadian schools and communities. Our analyses describe how individual
students reported their learning to have occurred within a specific educational
program, but such learning must be considered more extensively for its impacts
on the broader school environment, students’ families, and local communities.
For this reason, one important direction for future studies is longitudinal
documentation of qualities of change within single schools and communities in
response to new policies and practices in multicultural education, accounting in
detail for local contextual factors and processes. A comparative perspective, such
as ours, appears vital to identifying common trends and local differences across
schools and geographical settings. The long-term, grounded approach adopted
here also appears fundamental to evaluation research being able to understand
new initiatives in multicultural education in terms that meet and interact with the
intentions and interests of particular teachers, program organizers, students, and
415
families. Further attention, moreover, needs to be given to many ambiguous
aspects of multicultural education (e.g., people’s differing interpretations of key
concepts, qualities of individual experience, and intergroup processes of resistance or accommodation) not included in our summative focus on specific dimensions of the SEVEC program, but which were obvious to us during our initial
period of participant-observation.
NOTES
1
Portions of this research were presented at meetings of the Canadian Multicultural Education
Foundation, 17 October 1992, Edmonton, Alberta; the Association for Moral Education, 12
November 1992, Toronto; and the Canadian Council for Multicultural and Intercultural Education,
27 November 1993, Vancouver. We thank Selina Mushi, Lawrence Myles, Shelley Taylor, Patti
Trussler, and Dianne Wood for assistance in data collection and analyses at various points; Robert
Harrison, Valerie Dean and other SEVEC staff for their support in facilitating this evaluation
research; Canadian Journal of Education reviewers for helpful comments on earlier versions of
the manuscript; and the teachers, students, and families of students across the country who
enthusiastically participated in the exchange program and reported on their experiences and
learning processes.
2
Phrases in square brackets correspond to prompts appearing in the learning log format. The
statements presented here appeared in students’ logs from the 1991/92 exchanges, following our
initial analyses and uses of these particular statements as exemplars for analyses of data from
1992/93.
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the Department of Measurement, Evaluation, and Computer Applications, both at the Ontario Institute
for Studies in Education, 252 Bloor Street West, Toronto, Ontario, M5S 1V6. Ronald Mackay is
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Quebec, H3G 1M8.
A Critical Examination of Anti-Racist Education
Earl Mansfield
John Kehoe
university of british columbia
Multicultural education has been the subject of intense criticism since the early 1970s.
Most criticism has come from the advocates of anti-racist education. At the same time,
anti-racist education has been subjected to very little scrutiny. This paper examines some
conceptual, empirical, and political limitations of anti-racist education.
Most educators consider the current curriculum to be apolitical. Although it is the case
that all education is political education, anti-racist education is viewed as being too
political. Anti-racist education tends to be reductive — victims of discrimination are
usually referred to as “black,” whereas perpetrators are “white” — and narrowly conceived
to refer only to institutional racism. Finally, many of the anti-racist interventions reported
show negligible and even negative results.
Depuis le début des années 70, l’éducation multiculturelle fait l’objet de vives critiques,
surtout de la part des partisans d’une éducation antiraciste. Pour sa part, l’éducation antiraciste a été très peu commentée. Dans cet article, les auteurs examinent certaines lacunes
conceptuelles, empiriques et politiques de l’éducation antiraciste.
La plupart des éducateurs estiment que les programmes d’études actuels sont apolitiques. Bien qu’en fait toute éducation soit politique, l’éducation antiraciste est considérée
comme trop politique. L’éducation antiraciste a tendance à être réductionniste — les victimes de discrimination étant habituellement désignées comme des “Noirs” et les
coupables comme des “Blancs” — et à ne s’occuper par définition que du racisme institutionnel. En outre, un grand nombre des interventions antiracistes signalées donnent des
résultats négligeables et parfois même négatifs.
Almost from its inception as an official Canadian government policy in 1971,
multiculturalism has received intense criticism. Perhaps the most serious
criticisms have come in the area of multicultural education. Anti-racist theorists
have maintained that multicultural education does not address visible minorities’
real concerns. Critics contend that under the guise of such explicit purposes as
cultural enrichment, equality of access, and reducing personal prejudice, multicultural education has implicitly functioned to reinforce the status quo (Parker,
1992), subvert minority resistance (Troyna & Williams, 1986), and reproduce
social and economic inequities (Troyna, 1992). Unfortunately, most of these
contentions are speculative and unsubstantiated.
Tator and Henry (1991) suggest that “the most recent trend in education is to
move away from a multicultural approach and to embrace the model of antiracist education popular in England and the United States” (p. 144). The two
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ANTI-RACIST EDUCATION
419
approaches differ substantially in their emphases. Multicultural education has
traditionally emphasized intergroup harmony (Lynch, 1992), educational underachievement (Banks & McGee-Banks, 1989), individual prejudice (Lynch, 1992),
equality of opportunity (Banks & McGee-Banks, 1989), enrichment through celebration of diversity, and improving self-image through pride in cultural heritage
(Fleras & Elliott, 1992). The more recent anti-racist perspective emphasizes
intergroup equity (Parker, 1992), educational disadvantage (Wright, 1987),
institutional racism (Stanley, 1992), equality of outcome (Massey, 1991), unequal
power relationships (Donald & Rattansi, 1992), and cultivating political agency
through critical analysis (Massey, 1991). There are, as well, several similarities.
Both approaches support the teaching of heritage languages, and promote student
teamwork and dialogue as preferred classroom activities (Hernandez, 1989; Troyna, 1992). Both emphasize culturally different ways of perceiving and learning,
and advocate the removal of bias, tracking, and assessment barriers from the
curriculum (Fleras & Elliott, 1992; Tator & Henry, 1991). Whereas multicultural
education has been subjected to considerable critical analysis over the past two
decades, however, anti-racist education has received relatively little critical
scrutiny.
This paper examines some of the political, conceptual, and empirical limitations of anti-racist education in order to question the call for replacing
multicultural education with anti-racist education. We argue that multicultural
education should be retained in Canada, and should incorporate only the best elements of anti-racist education for the purpose of providing a more comprehensive
approach.
A Marxist informed anti-racist movement developed in the United Kingdom
and the United States in the early 1970s (Troyna, 1992). Liberal education’s
promise of equality of opportunity through meritocracy had not been fulfilled,
and it was argued that the objectives of progressive education could not be
achieved in a capitalist society because the school’s function was the reproduction of a stratified labour force.
Marxist educational theorists portray racism as originating in the struggle of
the proletariat against the bourgeoisie, the class controlling the means of
production and distribution of material wealth. They contend that racism arises
from and is a condition for capitalism (Bourgeault, 1988). In this view, “racism
serves the important function of producing cheap labour for capital accumulation” (Bolaria & Li, 1988, p. 14). This function of capitalism is accomplished by
bringing large numbers of non-white immigrants or migrant labourers into the
country, providing employers with a “reserve army” labour pool, that is, more
labourers than are needed, ostensibly as a hedge against unforseen shortages, but
in actuality to reduce the demand for, and hence the value of, indigenous workers. Immigrant workers who consider even a low standard of living better than
what they were familiar with in their home countries, are often willing to work
for less than their indigenous counterparts, and thus employers can use them to
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undermine indigenous workers’ ability to demand higher wages. Employers benefit from the cheaper, more docile immigrant labourer, compared with the higher
priced and better organized indigenous labour force, which resents what it views
as unfair competition (Adam, 1983). In this way, white working-class resistance
to capitalist exploitation is conveniently redirected toward “alien,” non-white
scapegoats (Jenkins, 1978). Capitalism, then, is considered to have a vested
interest in maintaining material discrepancies and racial antagonisms between
white and non-white workers, and thus in perpetuating racism (Elliott & Fleras,
1992). Accordingly, Marxist educational theorists have concluded that the purpose of the education system as an integral component of capitalist societies is
“not to achieve equality, but quite the reverse: to reinforce inequality” (Willis,
1981, p. x).
Anti-racist educators seek to redress these inequities through a politicization
of curriculum and instruction (Francis, 1984; Short & Carrington, 1992). This
position is clearly evident in Troyna and Williams’ (1986) contention that antiracist education requires “involvement by educational institutions in political
issues” (p. 107), and in the view of Thomas (1984) that “anti-racist education is
also political education” (p. 24).
As a politicized curriculum, anti-racist education teaches the structural,
economic, and social roots of inequality. It “confronts” prejudice through an
examination of the historical antecedents and contemporary manifestations of
racial discrimination in society (McGregor, 1993; Tator & Henry, 1991). It
focuses critical attention on unequal social and power relations that capitalism
maintains and gives the appearance of rationality. Unless students understand the
nature and characteristics of discriminatory barriers and thus acquire political
agency, anti-racist educators believe the prevailing inequitable distribution of
resources will remain intact (Fleras & Elliott, 1992). Anti-racist education should,
argues Stanley (1992), be directed toward changing the social realities that
racism appears to explain, rather than simply trying to change the explanations
themselves.
Critics of the politicized character of anti-racist education have complained of
“the subordination of education to political ends regardless of the educational
consequences” (Pearce, 1986, p. 136) and the possibility of indoctrination or
propaganda (Troyna & Carrington, 1990). A difficulty in using politically oriented anti-racist curricula is the perception of many parents and educators that the
current curriculum is and should remain apolitical. A related concern is whether
the Canadian public, which is predominantly centrist politically, would support
a type of education so closely aligned with the political left. One should also
remember the strong anti-left sentiments of many immigrant and refugee groups
in Canada for whom Marxism is synonymous with oppression (H. Palmer, 1991).
Some observers such as Massey (1991) maintain that anti-racist education carries
too much left-wing baggage to gain widespread public support. Perhaps Sharma’s
(1991) observation that anti-racist education will have to dissociate itself from
421
leftist ideologies if it is to engage the support of the general public is an accurate
assessment, given the historical and contemporary political climate in Canada.
Elliott and Fleras (1992) maintain that institutional and systemic racism are
“embedded within the structures of a Capitalist system” (p. 74). Similarly,
Massey (1991) recognizes that in the anti-racist view, “racism is seen as the
direct and deliberate consequence of capitalist colonial exploitation” (p. 32).
Consequently, many anti-racists believe that as long as we have a capitalist
system we will have racism. One difficulty with this position is that any
improvement in racist attitudes or behaviour in Canadian society must be discounted because racism is a necessary condition of capitalism. Similarly, if the
very structure of the education system functions as an agent of institutional
racism in a capitalist society, as some anti-racists suggest (Tator & Henry, 1991),
then it is highly unlikely that schools will be sympathetic to challenging the
capitalist system. When anti-racist education attacks the values of capitalism, it
sets itself in an untenable position in the Canadian context, where Canadians
have historically embraced capitalist enterprise and continue to do so.
ANTI-RACISM AS A REDUCTIVE PROCESS
Anti-racism tends to be reductive. One reductive stereotype used by anti-racists
is the term “black.” In the United Kingdom, anti-racists use the term “black” to
subsume all African and Caribbean blacks of any national or ethnic descent, as
well as East Indians, Pakistani, Bangladeshi, and Chinese immigrants (Allcott,
1992; Brah, 1992). Although anti-racists in Canada confine their use of the term
“black” to those Canadians who actually define themselves as black, the term is
still used without acknowledging varied ethnic and differentiating characteristics
(Elliott & Fleras, 1992; Tator & Henry, 1991; Thomas, 1987). All differentiating
characteristics are thus reduced to colour only, and to only one colour — black.
The term “black,” according to Banton (1988), oversimplifies the problems faced
by various black immigrant groups by implying that all their problems are
colour-related and hence attributable to racism. Use of the undifferentiated term
“black” has also given the erroneous impression that the central element of black
existence is racism (Gilroy, 1992; Rattansi, 1992). As Gilroy (1992) explains of
anti-racist initiatives in education, “they have trivialized the rich complexity of
black life by reducing it to nothing more than a response to racism” (p. 60).
Additionally, the term “black” hides the fact that some black groups have fared
much better than others economically (Honeyford, 1986), and that some have
achieved far better academically than others in the same circumstances (Banton,
1988; Gibson, 1991).
The term “black” excludes non-black groups who may experience as much
racism as do black groups (Rattansi, 1992). It denies cultural specificities and
sets itself in opposition to cultural pluralism (Brah, 1992). Non-black ethnic
groups in Canada are likely to reject anti-racist education if the exclusive focus
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remains “black.” Perhaps an even stronger reason for minority members to reject
anti-racist initiatives, with their intensive focus on colour, is expressed in
Modood’s (1992) observation that “Muslims (and indeed most other minority
communities) do not see themselves in terms of colour and do not want a public
identity that emphasizes colour” (p. 273).
One reductive tendency of anti-racism and anti-racist education is to reduce
racism to something primarily, if not exclusively, perpetuated by whites (Gordon,
1989; F. Palmer, 1986). An important criticism of anti-racism is that it portrays
all whites as racists (Sarup, 1991) while disregarding evidence of racism committed by non-whites. The following statements are indicative:
In the field of education, the basic assumption behind many current anti-racist policies is
that since black students are the victims of the immoral and prejudicial behaviour of white
students, white students are all to be seen as racists, whether they are ferret-eyed fascists
or committed anti-racists. (The Runneymede Trust, 1989, p. 22)
There are certain difficulties in attributing racism to minority groups. According to our
interpretation of racism as power, they cannot display racism against the majority sector.
Statements made by a minority group — however unflattering or ethnocentric — should
not be regarded as racist since they are merely slogans without the capacity for harm.
(Elliott & Fleras, 1992, p. 58)
These views contribute to what F. Palmer (1986) calls “the preposterous suggestion that all white people and only white people are, and cannot but be racists”
(pp. 149–150). This suggestion is likely to be rejected by Canadians not only
because a majority of Canadian ethnic groups are white, but because it is clearly
inaccurate. As many point out, “notions of inferiority and superiority are certainly not limited to whites” (Hastie, 1986, p. 70). Japanese treatment of Koreans is
an obvious example. Cashmore and Troyna (1990) cite American Black Muslim
leader Louis Farrakhan’s blunt anti-Semitism, and racism by Malaysians against
the Chinese minority; Henry and Ginzberg (1985) highlight black racism against
other blacks; Stasiulis (1990), citing Iocavetta, explains that “racisms built on
language, religion and other cultural markers have historically be [sic] directed
at white as well as non-white groups” (p. 291).
Another reductive tendency of anti-racism is to privilege “institutional racism”
as the exclusive explanatory variable in accounting for discrepancies between
educational and material attainments of “blacks” and of the white majority.
Although anti-racists disparage social or cultural difference explanations in terms
of “deficit,” “deprivation,” or “pathological models” (Massey, 1991, p. 23), they
discredit such explanations without demonstrating their incorrectness. Religious
and cultural traditions, belief systems, and socio-economic background, identified
as explanatory factors in attainment discrepancies by such observers as Morris
(1989), are essentially disregarded. Similarly, rural-urban migration adaptation
problems (Rattansi, 1992; Sowell, 1981), dysfunctional family organization
423
(Coelho, 1988; Head, 1984), or the restricted linguistic codes identified by
Bernstein (1977) are largely discounted as explanatory factors. The proclivity of
anti-racists to regard other explanations for material or academic inequities as
excusing or denying institutional racism (Tomlinson, 1990; Wright, 1987) results
in a reductive polarization that is likely to be viewed by Canadians, and particularly by educators, as dogmatic and narrowly conceived.
ANTI-RACIST EDUCATION AS COUNTER-PRODUCTIVE
Anti-racist education as it is predominantly theorized may have the unintended
effect of exacerbating rather than ameliorating the very problems it identifies.
With its almost exclusive emphasis on “race,” anti-racism acts to reify “race,”
a concept anti-racists themselves agree is “vacuous” (Brah, 1992). Although such
anti-racist theorists as Donald and Rattansi (1992) contend that “the physical or
biological difference between groups defined as ‘races’ have been shown to be
trivial” (p. 1), and Sarup (1991) asserts that “scientifically speaking, race does
not exist” (p. 23), the discourse of anti-racism predominantly emphasizes race
(Brah, 1992; Troyna & Williams, 1986). “In this way,” states Li (1990), “race
is reified, or treated as though it were a concrete form which in fact it is not” (p.
7). A singular emphasis on “race” within the schools may also unintentionally
contribute to what African-American educator Shelby Steele (1990) describes as
“race-holding” — a defensive and debilitating maintenance of personal identity
solely in relation to one’s “race.”
Anti-racists’ specific reference to racial characteristics for the purpose of
countering racism is what Troyna and Williams (1986) describe as “benign
racialization.” But how benign is this racialization, whether in schools or in
society? For example, the Runneymede Trust (1989) recognizes that anti-racist
education which intensifies the focus on race can lead to polarization of students
along racial lines, and Ramcharan (1982) observes that increased emphasis on
race “has been a major factor in the exacerbation of colour consciousness in the
society” (p. 107).
Indo-Canadian educator Kogila Moodley (1984) suggests that Canadian multiculturalism has been correct to be silent on “race,” and to emphasize instead
what she considers to be the more valid concepts of ethnicity and culture. Perhaps by using such invalid notions as race, anti-racist educators may unwittingly
validate them in the minds of both racists and their victims. The danger in
emphasizing race in our efforts to assist the victimized, suggests Moodley, is that
“they will be restigmatized through the very efforts meant to destigmatize” (p.
802).
A second counterproductive aspect of anti-racism and anti-racist education is
that their virtually exclusive association of racism with colour distracts attention
from other, perhaps equally damaging forms of discrimination. Modood (1992)
describes the problem as “a concept of racism that sees only colour discrimina-
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tion as a cause and material deprivation as a result” (p. 272). Whereas such
anti-racists as Thornhill (1984) react against a broader, multifactor conception of
racism, contending that it minimizes colour-related racism by placing it “on the
same footing as discrimination based on language, religion, cultur[e]” (p. 4), such
authors as Stasiulis (1990) posit that “Canadian racism has been evoked not only
by skin colour, but by ethnic markers as well, based on language, religion, and
other components of ethnic culture” (p. 278). The significance of Stasiulus’
observation becomes evident in a conversation related by Adams (1990) in which
he expressed admiration to a civic official in Owen Sound, Ontario, at the reelection of their black mayor. The official responded by asserting, “Oh, up
around here we don’t mind blacks. It’s Catholics that we hate” (p. 96).
Perhaps we have not observed that some of the most devastating forms of
human intolerance, which have motivated white to kill white in Bosnia and black
to kill black in Rwanda, have nothing to do with colour. If anti-racist education
is to focus exclusively on colour discrimination, it may minimize the importance
of “racisms built upon language, religion, and other cultural markers” (Stasiulis,
1990, p. 219) in the minds of students, and inadvertently excuse acts of discrimination or prejudice unrelated to colour. Rather than have students see discrimination as based solely on colour, it is important to remind them that, as Henry
and Ginzberg (1985) observe, “there are few among us who are not potential
victims of discrimination, whether it is based on sex, race, religion, country of
origin, disability or occupation” (p. 54).
Without an understanding of racism, what generates it, and how it is manifested, teachers who would implement anti-racist initiatives are in the awkward
position of being well-intentioned but poorly informed arbiters of racism. This
lack of clarity concerning racism is exemplified in the following comment by
Troyna and Williams (1986):
In short, the relationship between racist intent, racialist practices and racist effects (in the
form of inequality) are not as clear-cut as many would have us believe. The imperative
must be to clarify empirically these relationships if realistic and productive anti-racist
policies are to be formulated. (p. 56)
It is in reference to this uncertainty that F. Palmer (1986) states, “anti-racism is
its own worst enemy, for it lacks a clear concept of what racism is” (p. 112).
Not only has the phenomenon of racism not been adequately specified, but
anti-racist theorists have yet to provide educators with a clearly enunciated
concept of how anti-racist education can achieve its goals. As Tator and Henry
(1991) observe, “what is also increasingly clear is that educators who now espouse anti-racist education also lack a clear conceptual understanding of how this
approach can act to change the system” (p. 144). Before anti-racist theorists can
hope to achieve anti-racist goals through the schools, they must, as Knowles and
Mercer (1992) admonish, provide educators with “a historical account which
425
specifies what precisely is to be opposed, and secondly, how this might be
achieved” (p. 113).
A related consideration seldom mentioned by anti-racist educators is what
should be accepted as evidence of less racism. Some anti-racist teaching studies
accept a positive change in attitude as measured by social distance, semantic
differential, and Likert scales. Others include a decrease in authoritarian beliefs;
a decrease in the belief the world is just; and an increase in expressions of
empathy for victims of discrimination. Given the nature of the goals of anti-racist
teaching, however, consideration should also be given to a willingness to remove
institutional barriers and to indications of a willingness to cause social and power
relations among groups to be equal. In addition, a greater willingness to attribute
lack of success to societal attitudes and policies rather than to group characteristics would be an indication of less racism.
A final problem concerning anti-racist education is suggested by several
research findings that implementation of anti-racist initiatives may produce
negligible results or, in some cases, unintended counterproductive outcomes in
the classroom. Rattansi (1992) states that “like the multicultural project of
reducing prejudice by teaching about other cultures, the anti-racist project of
providing superior explanations of unemployment, housing shortage and so forth,
has so far, and for similar reasons, produced only patchy evidence of success”
(p. 33). Three studies (McGregor, 1993; McGregor & Ungerleider, 1993; Ungerleider & McGregor, 1992) used meta-analyses to compare anti-racist teaching
and multicultural teaching programs. The results of all three studies showed some
positive effects and some negative. Even those teaching programs reporting positive change, however, showed only minimal gains.
Not only is there little evidence of success of anti-racist educational initiatives,
there are indications that some of these initiatives may actually increase racism.
Kehoe (1984), for example, has observed that “in general, school courses on the
nature of prejudice have not been effective in reducing prejudice and in some
instances have had negative effects” (p. 50). Black’s (1973) semantics study, for
example, comparing the effectiveness of general semantics and anti-racistoriented semantics in reducing racially prejudiced attitudes, found that although
instruction in general semantics usually reduced prejudiced attitudes, instruction
in anti-racist semantics had the opposite effect.
THE RECORD OF MULTICULTURALISM IN CANADA
Because much criticism of multiculturalism by anti-racist proponents may no
longer be valid in light of the present evolutionary state of multicultural
initiatives in Canada and their attendant successes, we argue here that multicultural education, augmented with some of the more positive anti-racist
elements, should continue to be the educational means by which Canadians seek
to accomplish intergroup understanding, harmony, opportunity, and equity.
426
EARL MANSFIELD
&
JOHN KEHOE
Some of the most serious criticisms levelled against multiculturalism are that
it has done nothing to redress employment and material inequities between
minorities and the majority (Dahlie & Fernando, 1981; Troyna & Williams,
1986). But even here the situation appears to be changing rather rapidly. In 1965,
Porter pointed to the salience of ethnicity in the social and economic hierarchical
stratification of Canadian society as a “vertical mosaic.” Darroch (1979) used
Porter’s methods to see if the vertical mosaic continued to be a fact of life for
minority Canadians 14 years after the original study, and found that ethnic affiliations were no longer a significant factor limiting social and economic mobility
in Canada. Similarly, Ramcharan (1982) found that although most non-white
immigrants had to settle initially for jobs below those they had occupied in their
homelands, after language and professional training a majority were able, in a
short time, to progress to similar or better positions than they had held in their
homelands. Ramcharan believes this would not have been the case in Canada as
little as a decade previously. A study by Lautard and Loree (1984) reported that
although Porter’s vertical mosaic was still evident, occupational inequality among
Canadian ethnic groups had declined significantly. And, although they do not
distinguish between visible and other minorities, Pineo and Porter (1985) found
that particularly for native-born men (of any ethnic group), ethnicity had no
bearing on occupational attainment.
In 1985, Henry and Ginzberg found considerable evidence of racial discrimination in their well-known study Who Gets the Work? where black and white
applicants with the same credentials and approaches applied for the same jobs
in Toronto with vastly different results. But more recently Henry confirmed that
“The study was replicated in 1989 with different results. In field tests, the
number of jobs offered to white and black applicants was virtually the same”
(cited in Employment Equity and Access to Opportunities, 1990, p. 27). Lautard
and Guppy’s (1990) meta-analysis of demographic data similarly indicated that
social and material inequalities originally described by Porter (1965) have largely
dissipated.
THE CALL FOR RAPPROCHEMENT
Anti-racist and multicultural education have typically been promoted in opposition to one another over the past two decades (Gill, Mayor, & Blair, 1992). This
has led to a concern that the ongoing conflict between proponents of multicultural and anti-racist education has harmed their common purpose of a more just
society. One unfortunate consequence of the multicultural versus anti-racist
conflict is that it has confused or antagonized many educators who seek direction
in modifying their curricula or instructional practices, to be more responsive to
the needs and aspirations of the ethnic communities they serve. Clearly, it is time
for an accord. What we propose is that the focus of multicultural education could
427
be expanded to incorporate some important concerns of anti-racist education,
such as institutional barriers, material inequalities, and power discrepancies
between minorities and the majority. What we do not suggest is that multicultural
education adopt anti-racism’s exclusionary emphases of colour-racism and capitalism, or its divisive, oppositional approach.
Fleras and Elliott (1992) advise that “a truly effective multiculturalism must
be concerned not only with culture and heritage, but more importantly with
disadvantage, justice, equality, discrimination, and prejudice” (p. 136). Such an
expanded role for multicultural education has recently been advocated by Gollnick and Chin (1990), Sleeter (1991), and Nieto (1992). This more materially and
critically oriented expansion would enable Canadian multicultural education to
address some persistent concerns of recently arrived visible minorities, while it
continues to pursue such goals as celebrating and sharing heritage, and promoting
intergroup understanding, harmony, and equity. It is this type of education for an
ethnically and culturally pluralist society that is arguably most appropriate in the
context of Canadian ethnic diversity, and most likely both to receive sustained
public support in our liberal democratic society and to retain the essential capacity to evolve in relation to the needs and aspirations of all Canadians.
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Rapports au savoir et programme québécois
de sciences humaines au primaire
Yves Lenoir
Mario Laforest
université de sherbrooke
Le programme d’études québécois de sciences humaines au primaire actuellement en
vigueur est considéré sous l’angle du choix des rapports aux savoirs qu’il entend privilégier en mettant de l’avant une démarche d’apprentissage prétendue “naturelle.” Les
assertions qui émaillent le discours reposent sur un rapport au savoir réifié qui renvoie à
des perspectives épistémologiques réalistes des plus traditionnelles. Un tel choix assure
une cohérence épistémologique avec le modèle d’intervention éducative que sous-tend le
programme et que Not relie aux méthodes d’hétérostructuration cognitive de type coactif.
Il assure également, par l’union à première vue contradictoire de ce modèle d’intervention
et de l’approche “naturelle” qui crée l’illusion d’une participation active et responsable
de la part du sujet à un processus de dévoilement, une vision rassurante de l’idéologie
éducationnelle qui sous-tend la conception du programme.
The Quebec primary school social studies curriculum favours certain kinds of knowledge
it claims are “natural” for young learners. Its traditionalist and realist epistemology is
consistent with self-contradictory models of educational intervention and (as Not says) of
cognition. This curriculum overcomes the visible contradiction between intervention and
“natural” (that is, participatory and autonomous) learning, under the guise of a reassuring
ideology.
La question du savoir, de sa production, de sa diffusion et de son appropriation
s’est élevée au cours des vingt dernières années au rang de préoccupation
cruciale dans le domaine de l’éducation formelle. De concert avec certaines
influences proprement économiques qui caractérisent nos sociétés occidentales,
il faut reconnaître qu’elle provient, entre autres, de l’influence des travaux de la
psychologie cognitiviste et, particulièrement, des courants constructivistes, de
ceux de la sociologie et de l’épistémologie critique qui plongent leurs racines
dans la pensée dialectique.
La présente analyse critique portera sur les propositions que véhicule le
programme québécois de sciences humaines au primaire (Gouvernement du
Québec, 1981) vis-à-vis des rapports au savoir.1 Nous entendons par rapports au
savoir à la fois les représentations évoquées de ce qu’est le savoir et des
modalités d’accession à ce savoir, dans le sens général de “système de conceptualisation” que donne Chevallard (1989).
Trois questions sont soulevées: (1) Quelles conceptions et quelles modalités
d’appréhension du savoir les concepteurs du programme et du guide ministériels
431
19:4 (1994)
432
YVES LENOIR ET MARIO LAFOREST
(Gouvernement du Québec, 1981, 1983a, 1983b) privilégient-ils? (2) À quels
courants épistémologiques et idéologiques participent ces conceptions? (3) Quels
peuvent être, conséquemment, les impacts majeurs de ces conceptions sur l’enseignement et les apprentissages en sciences humaines?
Dans un premier temps, nous exposerons les principaux éléments pertinents
à notre propos relatifs à la conception ministérielle telle qu’elle apparaît dans le
guide officiel d’accompagnement du programme (Gouvernement du Québec,
1983a, 1983b). Ces données nous permettront, dans un deuxième temps, de faire
ressortir les tendances relatives à la conception du savoir et au mode d’acquisition de ce savoir qui marquent ce programme. Enfin, en conclusion, à titre
d’hypothèse interprétative, nous ferons ressortir la cohérence qui existe entre des
positions apparemment contradictoires dans le discours pédagogique ministériel.
LE DISCOURS DES CONCEPTEURS DU PROGRAMME
Le programme et le guide: une brève contextualisation
L’actuel programme d’études en sciences humaines au primaire, “défini en
termes d’objectifs de formation et de contenus d’apprentissage” (Gouvernement
du Québec, 1981, p. 3), a pour objectif global d’“amener l’élève à une première
compréhension des réalités sociales, géographiques et historiques du monde dans
lequel il vit” (Ibid., p. 14), c’est-à-dire de lui permettre d’acquérir, à travers une
approche intradisciplinaire, globalisante et relationnelle, par le développement des
trois concepts interreliés de base — l’espace, le temps et la société — une représentation conceptuelle relative, limitée et temporaire de la réalité humaine, dans
ses structures sociales spatiotemporellement déterminées (Lenoir, 1990).
Il est accompagné, comme tous les autres programmes d’études, d’un guide
pédagogique dont le but est d’“offrir aux enseignants les informations et les
explications susceptibles de les aider à s’approprier le nouveau programme tant
dans ses aspects théoriques que dans son application pratique” (Gouvernement
du Québec, 1983a, p. 1).2
Alors que le programme énonce, en s’appuyant sur un objectif global et des
objectifs généraux, un ensemble d’objectifs terminaux et intermédiaires, le guide,
qui se veut un instrument d’orientation et de soutien sur les plans didactique et
pédagogique, traite longuement “des façons et des moyens de réaliser l’enseignement des sciences humaines: la démarche d’enseignement, les moyens pédagogiques et l’évaluation” (Ibid., p. 1).
La démarche d’apprentissage proposée
Ne sera pris ici en considération que l’un des sous-éléments traités dans le guide
à l’intérieur des indications relatives à la démarche d’enseignement: en effet,
nous ne considérerons, dans la suite de cet article, que la démarche d’apprentis-
SAVOIR ET SCIENCES HUMAINES AU PRIMAIRE AU QUÉBEC
433
sage, entendue comme l’une des dimensions “de la méthodologie de l’enseignement des sciences humaines au primaire” (Gouvernement du Québec, 1983a, p.
13). Le guide relève d’abord que “tout au long de sa vie, l’être humain poursuit
une incessante quête de sens, un apprentissage continu animé par un constant
besoin de connaître et d’apprivoiser le réel” (Ibid., p. 14). Et ces multiples
apprentissages s’effectuent toujours sensiblement “selon une même démarche, un
même cheminement” (Ibid., p. 14).
Pour le guide, il s’agit pratiquement d’une évidence: “La démarche d’apprentissage exposée ici reprend simplement le cheminement que suit habituellement
l’esprit humain pour comprendre le réel et résoudre les problèmes de la vie, les
grands comme les petits” (Ibid., p. 14). Ainsi, à travers “trois grandes phases:
l’exploration, le traitement des informations et l’échange [. . .] très intimement
reliées entre elles par une préoccupation constante de réflexion sur le réel,
c’est-à-dire d’observation, d’interrogation, de comparaison et d’interprétation des
réalités” (Ibid., p. 14), elle respecte selon “un ordre logique qui n’est cependant
pas absolu [. . .] les grandes étapes du cheminement de celui qui apprend, depuis
la perception initiale qu’il a d’une réalité jusqu’à la perception nouvelle qu’il
s’en donne à travers ses apprentissages” (Ibid., p. 14). Il s’agit en fait, signale
le guide, d’un “schéma circulaire de réflexion” (Ibid., p. 14).
Le guide présente ensuite chacune des étapes en se plaçant d’abord du point
de vue du cheminement attendu de la part de l’élève, puis du point de vue de
l’enseignant, pour préciser les interventions que ce dernier doit poser en termes
de démarche pédagogique pour favoriser la démarche d’apprentissage.
En explicitant la phase de recherche et de traitement des informations, le guide
signale qu’il s’agit là du “coeur de tout apprentissage. Dans la vie courante, c’est
le moment plus ou moins long, mais toujours très intense, où l’on s’informe,
expérimente et analyse les données pour trouver la signification recherchée. C’est
aussi et peut-être surtout le moment privilégié où chacun, à sa mesure et à sa
manière, développe son habileté à décoder le réel, à le recevoir tel qu’il est — et
non tel qu’il voudrait qu’il soit — à l’examiner de plus près, à établir des relations qui jusque-là passaient inaperçues et, ce faisant, à actualiser son potentiel
et sa confiance en soi” (Ibid., p. 15).
Enfin, dans la conclusion à la présentation de la démarche d’apprentissage et
des modalités d’intervention qui doivent la guider et la soutenir (Ibid., p. 15), le
guide ferme la boucle en reprenant l’idée que les apprentissages en sciences
humaines au primaire reposent sur une démarche naturelle: “Telle que présentée
ici, la démarche d’apprentissage met l’accent sur la force et la richesse du
processus naturel d’apprentissage” (Ibid., p. 16).
ÉLÉMENTS D’ANALYSE CRITIQUE
Le regard critique qui sera maintenant porté sur cette position sera développé en
fonction de trois axes, de façon à faire ressortir: (1) que le guide met de l’avant
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une conception réifiée du rapport au savoir; (2) qu’il entretient une confusion
entre la démarche d’apprentissage spontanée, dite “naturelle,” et les démarches
d’apprentissage à caractère scientifique; (3) qu’il promeut ainsi un modèle
d’intervention flottant, qui se promène de manière ambiguë des méthodes d’autostructuration cognitive aux méthodes d’hétérostructuration cognitive de type
coactif (Not, 1979).
Une conception réifiée du rapport au savoir
La position des rédacteurs du programme d’études et du guide est claire: il
importe que l’élève, en recourant à la démarche naturelle, décode le réel et le
reçoive “tel qu’il est — et non tel qu’il voudrait qu’il soit” (Gouvernement du
Québec, 1983a, p. 15).
Une telle assertion repose sur un rapport au savoir qui renvoie à des perspectives épistémologiques réalistes des plus traditionnelles. En effet, le réalisme qui
marque cette pensée, de type positiviste, conduit à considérer la réalité comme
une entité indépendante de nous. Il est dès lors permis de parler de réification,
c’est-à-dire de “chosification” de la réalité: on attribue aux objets des propriétés
qui appartiennent en propre au sujet et au rapport d’objectivation qui le constitue
en tant que tel. Pour Lukàcs (1923/1960), l’activité humaine et ses produits
s’opposent à l’être humain lui-même en tant que “quelque chose d’objectif,
d’indépendant de lui et qui le domine par des lois propres, étrangères à
l’homme” (p. 113–114). Ainsi, l’être humain produit une réalité sociale qui le
nie. Le savoir apparaît un objet étranger et autonome: “knowledge in the objective sense is knowledge without a knower: it is knowledge without a knowing
subject” (Popper, in Kavaloski, 1979, p. 226). Et une double réification s’opère
alors, car en plus de ne retenir que l’apparence phénoménale des choses comme
étant l’expression de la réalité telle qu’elle existerait, une valeur d’explication
théorique lui est allouée (Borel, 1978; Kosik, 1970).
Comme nous l’avons déjà souligné en fonction d’un autre objet (Lenoir,
1993b), une telle façon de concevoir le rapport au savoir repose sur la conviction
que le savoir préexiste à l’être humain et que son existence est indépendante de
lui. Petrie (1992), empruntant l’expression à Jane Roland Martin, parle de
“dogma of God-given subjects” (p. 299, 306). Et Horkheimer (1968/1974b) avait
déjà stigmatisé le fait que “la totalité du monde perceptible, telle qu’elle est
donnée pour l’individu vivant dans la société bourgeoise [. . .] est considérée par
le sujet qui le pense comme le degré suprême de la réalité — le donné qu’il faut
bien prendre tel qu’il est” (p. 29). Ainsi, sous prétexte de coller à la réalité de
la vie, de lui être fidèle, la substitution au savoir d’un soi-disant réel tangible et
concret, immédiatement perceptible, occulte alors le fait que ce réel est luimême, d’abord et avant tout, une construction humaine élaborée à l’origine à
partir d’autres bases que scientifiques.
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Voilà un axiome dont les effets sur les processus d’apprentissage sont loin
d’être négligeables, puisqu’il réclame la soumission du sujet apprenant aux
discours livresques des manuels scolaires, à la parole du maître, bref à des
positions idéologiques qui visent à légitimer des situations de fait, des rapports
sociaux, etc. À titre illustratif, il ne pourra être question que de “conquête de la
Nouvelle-France” (Gouvernement du Québec, 1981, p. 44), point de vue
franco-québécois, et non de libération d’un peuple du joug du féodalisme, point
de vue anglo-canadien; il y a eu “découverte” de l’Amérique au XVe siècle,
tandis que les premiers hommes y sont “arrivés” il y a environ 35 000 ans (Ibid.,
p. 44) et que l’on oublie l’“arrivée” des Vikings. Or, si l’on s’inscrit dans une
perspective constructiviste, il n’est pas de représentation, quel que soit le
discours, mythique, cosmologique, religieux, éthique, scientifique ou technoinstrumental, qui ne soit production réalisée par l’être humain vivant en société.
L’impact d’une telle épistémologie sur l’éducation peut être dramatique. Pour
Kavaloski (1979, p. 226–228), l’apprentissage revient alors à un processus exclusivement d’assimilation (ou d’internalisation) d’objets de savoir établis de façon
hétéronome:
Il en retire trois conséquences qu’il qualifie de désastreuses: 1 le savoir humain est
réduit à un ensemble de biens à posséder et à consommer; 2 l’élève agit en tant que
consommateur et en tant que réceptacle pour le savoir; 3 l’enseignant est considéré
comme le dépositaire du savoir, comme un privilégié qui, ayant accès au savoir, peut le
délivrer en tranches. (Lenoir, 1993b, p. 390)
Il faut ajouter (4) que l’enseignement est conçu, dans cette perspective et selon
le modèle hétéronome retenu, comme un acte de révélation, d’imprégnation ou
de dévoilement du savoir. Et, (5) une telle formation conduit à des effets négatifs
sur le développement de la conscience sociale et de la pensée critique. L’alternative a été très bien posée il y a plus de 60 ans par Gramsci (1975):
[E]st-il préférable de “penser” sans en avoir une conscience critique, sans souci d’unité
et au gré des circonstances, autrement dit de “participer” à une conception du monde
“imposée” mécaniquement par le milieu ambiant; [. . .] ou bien est-il préférable d’élaborer
sa propre conception du monde consciemment et suivant une attitude critique et par
conséquent [. . .] [de] participer activement à la production de l’histoire du monde,
[d’]être à soi-même son propre guide au lieu d’accepter passivement et de l’extérieur une
empreinte imposée à sa propre personnalité? (p. 132)
Cette vision dévalue également les représentations de l’enfant et les ravale au
rang de fantasmes, de fictions projectives. Si les auteurs du guide reconnaissent
l’existence de telles représentations, ces dernières, que le guide nomme “perceptions” (ce qui les renvoie à un niveau préconceptuel), ne sont prises en compte
que pour stimuler l’intérêt et permettre, grâce à leur confrontation, la phase
d’exploration (Gouvernement du Québec, 1983a, p. 15). Cependant, elles ne sont
436
plus utilisées par la suite, ne serait-ce que pour assurer un rapprochement
comparatif avec les nouveaux acquis. En fait, les “perceptions” sont assimilées
à la réalité, sinon deviennent le réel; pourtant, les objets de la perception,
Horkheimer (1968/1974b) l’exprime clairement, sont le résultat de l’action humaine, d’un rapport établi entre le sujet et l’objet masqué par la réification. Cette
façon d’aborder le savoir n’est toutefois pas étonnante quand on se place dans
une perspective plus idéologique qu’épistémologique. En effet, elle sert d’abord
à transmettre les valeurs idéologiques et ne peut risquer de compromettre sa
cohérence au travers de constructions autonomes et critiques.
Une confusion entre la démarche d’apprentissage spontanée, dite “naturelle,”
et les démarches d’apprentissage à caractère scientifique
Le guide clame haut et fort l’existence d’une démarche naturelle, démarche
circulaire unique, puisqu’il s’agit d’“une même démarche, un même cheminement
[. . .] du processus naturel d’apprentissage” (Gouvernement du Québec, 1983a,
p. 14, 16), que l’esprit humain suit habituellement “pour comprendre le réel et
résoudre les problèmes de la vie” (Ibid., p. 14) et dont la force et la richesse
(Ibid., p. 16) sont assurément, pour les auteurs du guide, garantes de son efficacité. Une telle simplification, qui se retrouve de façon plus ou moins explicite
dans divers programmes, est sans doute exprimée avec le plus de force dans celui
de sciences humaines (Lenoir, 1991b).
Sur cet aspect, la confusion est extrême, mais conséquente avec la conception
réifiée du savoir, puisqu’aucune différence entre réel et réalité n’est établie et que
celui-là se donne tout achevé à qui possède les clefs pour y accéder! Représentations et concepts scientifiques se confondent donc et s’équivalent, et leur élaboration relève d’une démarche exclusive qui doit ouvrir les portes qui obstruent
le passage vers le savoir: d’où un premier niveau de confusion!
Mais il est un deuxième niveau de confusion qui se situe dans l’appel à “la”
démarche naturelle retenue dans le guide et le modèle d’intervention éducative
qui est implicitement privilégié dans le programme. Il y a maldonne . . . En effet,
les rédacteurs du guide se sont inscrits au sein d’une approche inductive des plus
naïves, depuis longtemps dénoncée (par exemple, Chalmers, 1976/1987; Gillièron, 1985; Piaget, 1947/1967). Cette approche, sur le plan de l’enseignement, a
été bien décrite et modélisée entre autres par Not qui l’identifie de façon générique, car elle englobe de nombreux courants, en parlant des méthodes d’autostructuration cognitive (Not, 1979, 1987; Lenoir, 1991a).
Or, la démarche “naturelle,” spontanée, qui est en fait largement une démarche
inductive, faite de tâtonnements empiriques, d’essais et d’erreurs, de tentatives
multiples, et à laquelle l’être humain fait habituellement appel pour régler ses
problèmes de vie, n’assure nullement qu’elle puisse, de par ses caractéristiques
propres, permettre que son utilisateur parvienne au “réel tel qu’il est.” Pourtant,
signalons-le dès à présent, et cela peut paraître contradictoire, le programme
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requiert, pour sa part, un cheminement qui assure l’atteinte des objectifs prescrits,
ce qui nécessite la mise en branle non d’une investigation spontanée relevant du
seul sujet qui apprend, mais bien d’une structuration contrôlée de l’extérieur.
Il nous faut réagir contre l’appel à la méthode inductive — appel qui se
comprend bien de la part des pédagogies d’autostructuration cognitive qui la
perçoivent comme la méthode “naturelle” de l’enfance — en tant que démarche
d’apprentissage appropriée. “Même à titre de description idéale, c’est-à-dire
irréelle,” atteste Gillièron, “l’inductivisme n’est plus actuellement justifiable”
(Gillièron, 1985, p. 13). Il apparaît impossible de légitimer l’inductivisme naïf,
pour lequel le fondement du savoir se trouve dans l’observation rigoureuse et
méthodique du réel en dehors de tout préjugé (ce qui implique à la limite la
croyance dans l’objectivisme), ainsi que l’expose Chalmers (1976/1987, p. 33–
34) en illustrant ses faiblesses par le rappel de la “dinde inductiviste” de Bertrand
Russell. Il importe de reconnaître qu’aucune observation n’est neutre ni
exhaustive, mais qu’elle résulte nécessairement d’un angle d’approche qui la
conditionne, que les perceptions elles-mêmes sont tributaires des connaissances
et expériences antérieures du sujet, mais aussi de ses attentes et de son état
d’esprit général (ses structures d’accueil, ses modèles théoriques d’interprétation,
etc.). Les énoncés d’observation ne sont pas premiers: “contrairement aux affirmations inductivistes, ils doivent être précédés par une théorie, et deviennent par
là même aussi faillibles que la théorie qu’ils présupposent” (Ibid., p. 50).
Si le tâtonnement empirique, relié à l’intelligence pratique, n’est pas réductible
à une démarche à caractère expérimental, car il se retrouve dans les essais
humains tant d’appréhension du réel, de résolution de problèmes que de vérification de points de vue émis ou d’observations effectuées, il ne peut encore
moins être considéré comme le précurseur “naturel” d’une méthodologie expérimentale. En effet, en fonctionnant comme un aveugle, sans jamais prévoir les
conditions de la réussite, il s’oppose à la démarche expérimentale. Y recourir sur
le plan pédagogique peut avoir de sérieux effets négatifs, signalent entre autres
Giordan (1987), Giordan et de Vecchi (1987) ou, encore Astolfi et al. (1978), si
le tâtonnement n’est pas récupéré, analysé et réinséré dans une démarche à
caractère scientifique. Not indique lui aussi que “la démarche empirique simple
et la méthode expérimentale sont deux démarches différentes” et qu’il “n’apparaît
entre l’une et l’autre aucune relation qui autorise à penser qu’en exerçant la
première, on prépare nécessairement la seconde. Chacune paraît régir son domaine et requérir une éducation appropriée aux conditions de son développement.
Si l’on s’en tient à de simples considérations empiriques, on manquera tout le
travail de théorisation nécessaire pour passer de l’expérience courante à la
connaissance méthodique et rationalisée” (Not, 1979, p. 137).
En fait, une telle position des auteurs du guide reflète l’incompréhension
véhiculée à l’égard d’une démarche à caractère scientifique ainsi qu’un imbroglio
grave entre l’induction saisie comme processus psychologique et l’induction
utilisée comme procédé logique. L’approche “naturelle” — qui adhère à l’idée de
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l’innéité d’une telle démarche et qui confond ce distinguo relatif à l’induction —
s’appuie sur une longue tradition, extraite des pédagogies d’autostructuration
cognitive, fortement centrée sur la seule perspective psychologique, et décontextualisée éventuellement des visées des auteurs qui l’ont mise de l’avant. Ainsi,
Dewey (1909/1933) avait déjà décrit ce processus d’apprentissage, directement
lié aux conflits incessants que l’être humain rencontre dans ses rapports avec les
milieux de vie, et avait distingué dans l’acte de pensée “cinq pas logiquement
distincts” (p. 72). Plus près de nous, Smith (1975/1979) affirme, par exemple,
que “tous les enfants et tous les adultes sont normalement dotés du processus de
base qui permet la modification et l’élargissement de la structure cognitive; ils
ont ainsi une capacité innée d’apprendre” (p. 130) et il identifie une procédure
en quatre étapes à laquelle l’être humain aurait recours. Ces auteurs, et bien
d’autres, dont Claparède (1930/1958), à côté du piège d’une dérive psychologisante liée étroitement à des conceptions épistémologiques de type soit réaliste,
soit nominaliste, dans lesquelles ils sont plus ou moins tombés, ont célébré les
capacités de la pensée enfantine et ont affirmé la nécessité d’en tenir compte.
Ce que le guide s’efforce sans doute de souligner, nous semble-t-il, c’est que
l’enseignement sera probablement plus efficace et plus fécond s’il respecte les
phases psychologiques de l’apprentissage, telles qu’on les appréhende de nos
jours. Dans ce sens, il s’avère tout à fait justifié de promouvoir la mise en place
de conditions qui puissent favoriser des processus d’apprentissage requérant
l’interaction entre l’investigation et la structuration. En retournant au processus
d’équilibration majorante de Piaget et aux concepts interagissants d’assimilation
et d’accommodation, on peut rappeler que celui-ci montre combien la théorie du
tâtonnement est limitée et dégage la nécessité d’une activité assimilatrice, “aussi
nécessaire à la structuration des formes les plus passives de l’habitude (conduites
conditionnées et transferts associatifs) qu’au déploiement des manifestations
visiblement actives (tâtonnements orientés)” (Piaget, 1947/1967, p. 107).
Ainsi, au lieu de ne retenir de façon prioritaire qu’une phase d’apprentissage
explicite, celle d’investigation spontanée centrée sur l’assimilation ou de structuration contrôlée s’appuyant sur l’accommodation (ce qui n’exclut pas le recours
à une seconde phase, de structuration ou d’investigation, laquelle demeure
cependant aléatoire), selon que l’on opte pour des méthodes d’autostructuration
cognitive ou d’hétérostructuration cognitive, il importerait d’appréhender les
démarches d’apprentissage dans la perspective d’une interaction de trois phases
en interaction non linéaire, d’investigation spontanée, d’investigation structurée
et de structuration régulée (Lenoir, 1991a, 1991b) et de saisir le passage de
l’investigation spontanée à l’investigation structurée non comme un cheminement
normal, continu et progressif s’effectuant de façon inévitable et harmonieuse,
mais bien en des termes de conflit cognitif et de rupture. Cette conception
requiert donc, au niveau des processus d’apprentissage, une distanciation par
rapport à l’approche inductive et la mise en place d’une méthodologie qui puisse
tout à la fois tenir compte des représentations et favoriser la conceptualisation,
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“l’émergence de la connaissance scientifique,” dirait Bachelard (1949/1986, p.
146), la théorisation de la pratique à travers les activités symboliques, la
structuration discursive qui agit comme principe organisateur de pensée et
d’action.
En conséquence, plutôt que de revendiquer la mise en place d’une démarche
pédagogique universelle et exclusive qui réponde à un processus “naturel,” il
serait bien davantage approprié de considérer les processus d’apprentissage, qui
procèdent à la fois par assimilation et accommodation, comme les fondations
indispensables, les conditions préalables à partir desquelles différentes démarches
à caractère scientifique doivent être peu à peu appréhendées par les élèves du
primaire. Ces démarches diversifiées et fonctionnelles (communicationnelle,
expérimentale, de conceptualisation, de résolution de problèmes) sont d’ailleurs
également objets d’apprentissage. Or, les concepteurs du guide ministériel
demandent aux enseignantes et enseignants de promouvoir le développement de
démarches d’apprentissage qui sont présentées comme “naturelles,” comme appliquées dans la vie quotidienne et comme relevant du “bon sens”! S’agirait-il de
faire apprendre aux écoliers ce qu’ils maîtrisent déjà? Ou encore, sur le plan
idéologique, faudrait-il considérer l’adhésion à des contenus idéologiques comme
le produit d’une démarche “naturelle”?
Par ailleurs, à ne prendre en considération que la dimension psychologique des
processus d’apprentissage, il s’opère une évacuation plus ou moins consciente,
mais certaine, des démarches spécifiques aux matières. En effet, ces démarches,
qui sont plurielles, interviennent en tant que processus médiateurs tant dans la
construction de la réalité, ce qui est le cas des sciences humaines, que dans son
expression et dans la mise en relation avec elle. Un tel comportement tend alors
à appréhender les processus d’apprentissage soit comme un mode de communication, soit comme une résolution de problèmes. En conséquence, le développement
conceptuel, propre aux matières qui visent prioritairement la production de la
réalité (les sciences humaines et les sciences de la nature au primaire), est exposé
à ne relever que de mécanismes qui privilégient le renforcement des représentations initiales, la production tâtonnante et aléatoire, sinon le recours au seul
imaginaire. L’apprentissage des démarches à caractère scientifique et de la
démarche de conceptualisation en particulier risque, dans un tel cas, d’y être à
toutes fins utiles inexistant.
Un modèle d’intervention flottant, qui se promène de manière ambiguë des
méthodes d’autostructuration cognitive aux méthodes d’hétérostructuration
cognitive de type coactif
Le dernier aspect que nous considérerons porte sur les modèles d’intervention
éducative qui influent sur les pratiques pédagogiques des enseignantes et des
enseignants du primaire en sciences humaines. Le choix d’un rapport objectiviste
au savoir et l’appel à une démarche dite “naturelle” dans le guide conduisent à
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une profonde ambiguïté entre le modèle d’intervention implicitement mis de
l’avant par le guide et le modèle qui ressort des conceptions actualisées dans le
programme d’études.
D’une part, dans le cadre des pédagogies d’autostructuration cognitive, la
démarche d’apprentissage est saisie dans sa dimension “naturelle,” spontanée.
Rappelons que, pour Halbwachs (1981), un apprentissage naturel peut se définir
comme étant “celui qui participe au développement spontané du système cognitif
en présence de tous les stimuli produits par l’environnement et la vie quotidienne” (p. 16). Pour sa part, Legendre (1988) définit ainsi la méthode naturelle
d’apprentissage: “Méthode d’apprentissage générale qui s’appuie principalement
sur les ressources personnelles du sujet dans ses activités quotidiennes d’apprentissage” (p. 371). Il importe, en conséquence, de distinguer nettement une
démarche de ce type, s’appuyant sur les courants maturationnistes ou développementaux, s’exerçant dans le quotidien et conduisant à la production de représentations, d’une démarche à caractère scientifique, de production conceptuelle dans
le cas des sciences humaines, ce qui ne signifie aucunement que l’utilisation de
la seconde exclut le recours à la première. Bien au contraire, elle s’avère
indispensable dans la perspective d’une approche d’interstructuration cognitive
qui recourt à des perspectives constructiviste et interactive, et elle constitue
même la première étape, d’investigation spontanée, faisant appel aux schèmes
assimilateurs, de tout processus de cognition.
En référence à ces pédagogies d’autostructuration cognitive, toutefois, de tels
modèles, qui ont particulièrement fleuri au cours des années 1970, relèvent
largement, au Québec, de cette conviction que l’apprentissage et l’enseignement
découlent d’une organisation endogène et que celui qui apprend est son propre
enseignant, le seul sujet qui développe de lui-même ses propres potentialités. Le
rapport du Conseil supérieur de l’éducation (1971) sur L’activité éducative
illustre parfaitement cette option. Il fait référence de façon régulière et positive
à une nature enfantine: ainsi l’enfant “est naturellement spontané; il est spontanément lui-même sans effort ni contrainte; il est inventif et autonome [. . .]. Il
possède comme d’instinct le sens du rythme [. . .]. Il est spontanément porté à
s’exprimer [. . .]. Il apprend, poussé par sa curiosité naturelle,” etc. (Ibid., p. 26).
Dans les pédagogie d’autostructuration cognitive, le savoir est d’abord conçu
comme une réalisation existentielle et un épanouissement de soi résultant d’un
ensemble d’expériences menées dans un contexte agréable qui permettent de
découvrir progressivement la réalité des choses et d’apprendre à vivre. Ainsi,
enseignant et apprenant, dont l’importance est surévaluée, ne font qu’un à toute
fin pratique. Et même si l’existence du premier est reconnue, mais avant tout à
titre d’animateur, il demeure en dehors des processus d’apprentissage. La priorité
est alors mise sur le savoir-être, sur la relation psychopédagogique. Comme le
mentionne Delorme (1982), “La pédagogie apparaissait essentiellement comme
un problème de communication” (p. 92).
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D’autre part, en lien direct avec l’idéologie éducationnelle systémique et
fonctionnelle qui prédomine actuellement, et à partir de laquelle la plupart des
référents constitutifs du programme ont été élaborés, ce dernier privilégie nettement le recours à des méthodes d’hétérostructuration cognitive de type coactif
(Not, 1979), ce qu’illustre bien toute son organisation fondée sur une batterie, au
moins théoriquement hiérarchisée, d’objectifs de comportements observables et
mesurables.3 La coaction4 y demeure cependant des plus restreintes; elle est
même fictive dans les faits, puisque le sujet apprenant n’est en fait qu’un pseudosujet, un sujet assujetti, un sujet “apparent” qui réagit à des stimuli (le “sujet
réel” demeurant l’agent éducatif), le récepteur — actif néanmoins — d’un message
conçu, programmé, balisé de l’extérieur et inculqué progressivement, à partir
d’unités d’apprentissage séquentiellement prédéterminées: “les voies sont tracées
à l’avance en fonction d’un éventail de choix qui a été préétabli et l’élève est
dirigé par le système sur le trajet correspondant à une réponse qu’il n’a pas
construite mais choisie” (Not, 1979, p. 75) parmi différents possibles acceptables
scientifiquement sans doute, mais aussi normativement sur le plan social. On peut
donc parler d’une approche axée sur le dévoilement d’un savoir prédéterminé,
où l’attention porte sur la définition a priori de ce savoir en termes d’objectifs,
sur l’identification des procédures didactiques et pédagogiques les plus à même
d’assurer l’atteinte de ces objectifs et sur l’évaluation du cheminement et du
résultat cognitif exprimé de façon comportementale.
La priorité, dans cette approche fondamentalement hétérostructurelle, est alors
mise sur le paraître extériorisé et sur le savoir-faire, sur l’instrumentalisation, sur
la capacité d’appliquer des gestes et des opérations préfabriquées en fonction
d’effets à produire, compte tenu des objectifs fixés, non sur l’appréhension et la
compréhension du réel et sur la prise de conscience des actions et des rapports
sociaux. L’apprentissage repose sur une structuration imposée et suivie d’une
investigation contrôlée, à différencier nettement d’une investigation structurée et
d’une structuration régulée propre aux méthodes d’interstructuration cognitive
(Lenoir, 1991a).
Au delà de cette opposition qui pourrait paraître irréductible entre le recours
à une démarche “naturelle” généralement associée aux méthodes d’autostructuration cognitive et à une structuration hétéronome des savoirs à enseigner requérant
un modèle d’intervention coactif, il est permis de dégager à la fois une cohérence
épistémologique et une complémentarité idéologique. En effet, ce choix, qui met
hors circuit les finalités sociopolitiques poursuivies, se voit occulté par un appel
à un “processus naturel d’apprentissage.” Celui-ci crée l’illusion d’une participation active et responsable de la part du sujet à un processus de dévoilement —
et non de (re)construction — d’une réalité dont les contenus cognitifs sont déjà
déterminés, agencés et contrôlés de façon hétéronome, alors que ce processus
implique en fait, nous venons de le mentionner, un assujettissement du sujet
apprenant, le recours à des procédures d’inculcation préétablies en séquences,
442
déjà largement balisées, canalisées et déterminées d’avance de l’extérieur de celui
qui apprend.
En fait, l’appel à une démarche “naturelle” procède d’une position épistémologique de type “continuiste,” comme le montrent très clairement Deschamps et
Clémence (1990) dans leur analyse des théories de l’attribution: si le profane,
dans ses activités quotidiennes, n’est pas un “professionnel de la connaissance,”
pour de nombreux auteurs “il n’en reste pas moins que la façon ‘naïve’ dont il
utilise l’information pour construire ses savoirs est conçue comme isomorphe aux
façons dont est traitée l’information dans la production scientifique” (p. 102).
Comme le supposent certains chercheurs, l’être humain se comporterait dans son
quotidien comme un statisticien dans l’exercice de ses activités professionnelles,
comme un individu qui rationaliserait à la manière d’un scientifique intuitif, “se
livrant à un traitement objectif de l’information” (Ibid., p. 100). Telle est, entre
autres, la position de Kelley (1967, in Deschamps et Clémence, 1990, p. 100–
113). Cette conception permet ainsi le rapprochement entre la vision “naturaliste”
de la démarche et les points de vue inductifs et réalistes pour lesquels le “vrai”
(c’est-à-dire la réalité) est un donné préexistant qui appartient au réel chosifié et
dont il resterait à dévoiler les propriétés inhérentes. Dans ce sens, “rechercher le
vrai s’identifie à enregistrer passivement l’environnement. Passif dans sa recherche d’objectivité, l’individu ne peut être que neutre vis-à-vis de l’objet et non
impliqué dans sa propre action” (Apfelbaum et Herzlich, 1970–1971, p. 973).
Une telle orientation positiviste conduit rapidement à une asepsie sociale, évacue
la nécessité d’une contextualisation sociale du processus d’objectivation, exclut
le recours à une perspective historique et se marie bien avec les méthodes coactives.5
L’association constatée dans le programme de sciences humaines entre la
“démarche naturelle” et le “réel tel qu’il est” apparaît donc, à l’analyse, conséquente: elle est fondée sur des perspectives ontologiques, psychologiques et
épistémologiques qui s’harmonisent avec bonheur à une idéologie éducationnelle
systémique fonctionnaliste. Celle-ci se caractérise non par un discours porteur de
contenus spécifiques socialement problématiques, mais par sa dimension
empirique et opérationnelle, instrumentaliste. Le “vrai” s’exprime désormais dans
la réussite de l’activité manipulatrice; il se mesure à l’aune du succès de
l’intervention technocomportementale. Alors que la science du XVIIe siècle avait
fait de la nature un objet d’exploitation pour l’être humain débarrassé enfin du
contrôle transcendantal du divin (Lenoir, 1993a), que les penseurs des Lumières,
dans une version sécularisée de la croyance religieuse selon laquelle Dieu
gouverne le monde, ont réduit l’homme à la nature en en faisant un objet, une
machine parmi d’autres, un “animal laborans” (Horkheimer, 1930/1974a; Horkheimer et Adorno, 1944/1974), les idéologies actuellement dominantes tendent
à convertir la “vérité” (la conceptualisation du réel) en un objet banalisé,
ponctuel, matérialisé dans un faire quotidien programmé (Habermas, 1968/1973;
443
Lenoir, 1979). Or, l’appel mythique à un “sujet” agissant de manière “naturelle”
et l’importance accordée à la subjectivité et à l’intériorisation individualistes par
les philosophies de la vie et les courants de pensée ultérieurs qui s’en sont
inspirés, servent de caution puissante à cette techno-instrumentalisation des
processus d’apprentissage et de la vie elle-même. En ce sens, une telle idéologie
possède bien des traits de la pensée occidentale en développement critiquée par
l’École de Francfort6 entre 1930 et 1960.
CONCLUSION
À la fin de cette analyse, quel élément central pouvons-nous dégager? Du point
de vue des idéologies éducationnelles, le programme de 1981 se rapproche indubitablement de l’idéologie systémique fonctionnaliste. Or, cette idéologie, toute
centrée sur les opérations à mener, n’est pas porteuse d’un contenu spécifique.
Son opérationnalisation peut s’accommoder de la présence d’autres idéologies,
ce qui est bien le cas en ce qui concerne le programme de sciences humaines au
primaire. À ce niveau, les auteurs du programme et du guide y ont recours pour
combattre d’une part, à l’aide d’un discours pseudoscientifique et humaniste,
l’idéologie éducationnelle de la révélation qui avait régné tout au long du XXe
siècle jusque dans les années 1960, et pour promouvoir, d’autre part, l’institutionnalisation de rapports sociaux fondés sur des pratiques technocomportementales centrées sur l’immédiateté de la vie quotidienne. Leur approche s’apparente
alors, sur le plan de la démarche d’apprentissage, à l’idéologie de la découverte,
ce qu’illustre bien le discours pédagogique tenu dans le guide.
Le choix, sur le plan de la démarche d’apprentissage, d’une pédagogie de la
découverte n’apparaît donc plus, à l’analyse, illogique. Une telle approche se
marie aisément soit avec les méthodes coactives, soit même, à la limite et à
certaines conditions, avec une pédagogie de la révélation, parce que au moins un
de leurs fondements est semblable: que le rapport au savoir soit conçu en termes
de processus de révélation, de dévoilement, ou encore d’imprégnation, par exemple, le savoir est toujours situé à l’extérieur du sujet et constitué indépendamment
des êtres humains, préalablement à leur action d’appréhension, y compris pour
les pédagogies d’autostructuration cognitive où le sujet le découvre tout seul en
le captant perceptuellement. Ainsi, bien qu’en apparence, le programme et le
guide utilisent à l’occasion des concepts reliés au mouvement de la psychologie
cognitive, et que le programme recourt à des principes directeurs dont l’un se
réfère même explicitement à une conception constructiviste (Gouvernement du
Québec, 1981, p. 7)7 — les autres, comme le montre Laforest (1989), relevant de
courants psychologiques innéiste, maturationniste et béhavioriste — ces deux
documents sont loin de proposer une véritable approche constructiviste. Leur
contenu est incompatible avec de telles perspectives qui, pour être mises de
l’avant, devraient proposer une pédagogie interactive effective.
444
Serait-ce alors par ignorance, par incompétence, par souci de ne pas déplaire
à quelque tendance que ce soit, ou encore par volonté de tout amalgamer de
façon à assurer un confusion telle que l’enseignement suive sans problème les
courants hégémoniques, que les auteurs du programme ont osé faire appel, dans
leurs références bibliographiques, à des auteurs comme Piaget et surtout Kosik,
et qu’ils citent textuellement Goldmann (1966), sans le mentionner cependant,
en parfaite contradiction avec leur position, pour définir la fonction des sciences
humaines: les sciences humaines “considèrent ces faits humains non pas comme
des ‘choses’ extérieures aux hommes, indépendantes d’eux et immuables, mais
bien comme étant l’action humaine elle-même et les résultats de cette action”
(Gouvernement du Québec, 1981, p. 8)? Le danger d’un tel salmigondis réside
assurément dans la possibilité d’établir une interprétation des finalités, des
orientations et des modalités d’enseignement du programme qui puisse être
revêtue d’un masque donnant une illusion de cohérence. Les deux questions
fondamentales qui restent en suspens et à laquelle nul formateur ne peut éviter
de répondre, même implicitement, car ses actes éducatifs ne sont jamais neutres,
sont alors les suivantes: quel être humain vivant en société veut-on former? Et
pour quel projet de société?
NOTES
1
Sur les origines de la notion de rapport au savoir, voir J. Beillerot (1989).
2
Étant donné que les pages qui sont objet de l’analyse sont les mêmes dans les deux guides
pédagogiques (Gouvernement du Québec, 1983a, 1983b), nous ne nous référerons plus dorénavant
qu’à un seul d’entre eux.
3
Même le Conseil supérieur de l’éducation (1989) mentionne que
certains critiques prétendent [que ce modèle] convient particulièrement bien à l’entraînement
technique ou à l’acquisition d’une habileté relativement simple, plutôt qu’à des activités de
développement plus complexes marqué par la variété, la richesse et la relative imprévisibilité
de l’expérience humaine. Dans les typologies courantes des conceptions de l’éducation, on
considère que ce modèle d’élaboration de programme s’harmonise naturellement avec une
conception à dominante “systématique-technologique” plutôt qu’avec une conception humaniste de l’éducation. (p. 63)
4
Le recours à l’expression “méthodes coactives” se réfère au sens que Littré accorde au terme
“coaction,” soit “à la fois la présence de deux sujets intervenant dans la même activité, mais aussi
l’idée que l’un des deux est contraint par l’autre à ne pas faire ceci ou cela” (Not, 1987, p. 21).
La coaction implique que l’élève recoure à la “machine,” c’est-à-dire à tout support matériel qui
est organisé pour assurer la régulation du déroulement des activités d’apprentissage et des
réponses fournies par l’élève. Il peut s’agir de fiches, d’un cahier d’exercices, d’un manuel
organisé dans cette perspective, d’un programme informatique, etc.
5
D’autres conséquences pourraient être dégagées. Ainsi, appliqué à l’écolier, ce modèle supprime
la spécificité du processus d’apprentissage de l’enfant et le saisit comme un modèle embryonnaire
du processus adulte établi comme norme idéale qui, toujours d’un point de vue “continuiste,” doit
être exercé pour lui permettre de s’épanouir et de passer d’une connaissance commune à une connaissance scientifique, en dehors de toute rupture épistémologique.
445
6
L’École de Francfort, qui a rassemblé des noms d’intellectuels aussi célèbres que ceux de Horkheimer, Adorno, Marcuse, Fromm, Bettelheim, Benjamin, Lazarfeld, Lowenthal ou Wittfogel, a
travaillé dans la continuité de la grande tradition philosophique allemande, du début des années
1920 aux années 1960, à l’élaboration d’une “théorie critique” de la culture et de la société
occidentale qui s’est voulue de plus en plus au-dessus de la mêlée et distante de la praxis sociale,
face à la désillusion et à un pessimisme consécutifs au constat d’une incapacité de réunir raison
et action autonome et de pouvoir mettre en oeuvre une praxis critique. Habermas, connu par la
traduction française des ses oeuvres, en est un des continuateurs.
7
Le principe directeur en question est le suivant: “L’enfant est le premier agent de son développement; il apprend à connaître et à comprendre le monde qui l’entoure par une interaction
constante avec son environnement” (Gouvernement du Québec, 1981, p. 7).
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“Assembling Reminders for a Particular Purpose”:
The Nature and Dimensions of Educational Theory
Tasos Kazepides
simon fraser university
This article should be read as prolegomena to the development of a Theory of Education.
In it I argue that the term “educational theory” is multiply ambiguous as it may refer to
a theory of schooling (which is a non-starter), to a theory of education (which is general
and philosophical in nature), or to theories in education (which are specific and empirical). The article points out the logical primacy of a theory of education in the context of
which we ought to develop specific theories in education. It emphasizes the importance
of a clear and defensible concept of education for educational theory and practice and
argues against the view that education is some kind of activity or process.
Cet article présente les prolégomènes à une théorie de l’éducation. L’auteur soutient que
l’expression “théorie educative” est ambiguë à plus d’un titre, car elle peut être comprise
dans le sens d’une théorie de la scolarisation (qui normalement doit venir après une
théorie plus générale), ou d’une théorie de l’éducation (qui est de nature générale et
philosophique), ou de théories sur l’éducation (qui sont plus circonscrites et empiriques).
Dans cet article, l’auteur met en évidence la primauté logique d’une théorie de l’éducation
dans le contexte de laquelle devraient s’édifier des théories précises sur l’éducation. Il
souligne en outre l’importance d’un concept clair et justifiable de l’éducation pour une
théorie et une pratique éducatives, et s’oppose à l’idée que l’éducation est une sorte
d’activité ou de processus.
Few educational debates are characterized by as much confusion and theoretical
barrenness as the one on the nature and function of educational theory. Despite
repeated criticisms, the prevailing view among most educationists is largely an
architectonic one. Just as architecture (or medicine, or engineering) draws on
several disciplines to solve problems related to human habitat, educational theory
draws on the disciplines of psychology, philosophy, sociology, history, inter alia,
to deal with problems concerning the education of human beings. What is never
made clear, however, is the place of each of these “foundation disciplines” within
the theory; the constraints imposed on these disciplines by the nature of the
enterprise; the relationship among the disciplines; and the character of the
resultant educational theory. This article deals with these questions and sketches
an alternative to the prevailing view. The intention here is not to deal with these
questions in detail — that would require book-length treatment — but to provide
the general framework for their answer.
448
19:4 (1994)
EDUCATIONAL THEORY
449
THE MANY USES OF “THEORY” AND “EDUCATION”
Unless we are dealing with incurable reductionists of the extreme logical
positivist type, we should expect any sensible discussion on educational theory
to begin with the recognition that the word “theory” has many uses, all of them
legitimate, useful, and important in their respective contexts. We do not talk only
or primarily about the theory of relativity or the theory of evolution, but also
about the theory of numbers, music, knowledge, education, value, and politics.
The meaning of the word “theory” in these examples is parasitic on its subject;
if we want to discover the character of a particular theory, then, we should move
our eyes away from the word “theory” and pay attention to what the theory is
about. A long time ago Aristotle remarked wisely that “it is the mark of an
educated person to seek after that degree or exactness in each kind of inquiry
which the nature of the particular subject admits.”1 It is a depressing fact that his
admonition has often been ignored in this debate. It appears to me naive and
primitive in the extreme to confuse the nature of educational theory with
scientific theory simply because both are called theories. It is equally crude to
maintain today that one of the aforementioned uses of the term “theory” is more
central, paradigmatic, or fundamental and must, therefore, occupy a more privileged position among theories. Neither etymology nor the ordinary uses of the
word lend support to such claims. If Aristotle’s distant voice can no longer be
heard through the centuries, Wittgenstein’s repeated exhortations most certainly
must not be ignored.
Yet, for example, D. J. O’Connor (1973) has reiterated his old claim that “the
word ‘theory’ as it is used in educational contexts is generally a courtesy title”
(p. 48). If that claim was already unjustified even in 1957, reiteration after 25
years must be considered hubris. His strategy is the familiar persuasive one; he
seeks naively to define “theory” generally, that is, outside its various contexts,
and of course he fails. He then offers his Procrustean “stipulative” definition of
“theory,” which arbitrarily rules out educational theory or renders it inferior.2
A similar problem exists with regard to the word “education”; we do not
always know in which one of its several senses the word is used when people
speak about educational theory. In his last statement on the concept of education,
O’Connor gave only one reference to work related to the subject and that was
to his own views on the concept of education in his Introduction to Philosophy
of Education published 35 years ago — completely ignoring the very significant
work of R. S. Peters and others on that concept! Thus, although he recognizes
that the word is used ambiguously (he wrongly says that “the term ‘education’
is multiply ambiguous”),3 he repeats his 1957 view on the concept, which is a
kind of conceptual stew consisting of socialization, training, and education (1982,
p. 137).
There are two reasons why I refer to O’Connor’s views. First, even his critics
do not always manage to escape his paradigm of what constitutes an educational
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theory, and second, the theory all these writers are arguing about is not one of
education but of schooling.
There is one notable exception. John Wilson has argued consistently and
candidly against the prevailing paradigm but he seems to be ambivalent about the
appropriateness of even talking about educational theory. In his criticism of Hirst
and the standard thesis, Wilson begins by arguing that “anything properly called
‘educational theory’ is a non-starter,” but later he suggests that “the nature of
educational theory must surely be connected with, indeed a function of, what
education is taken to be: and about this Hirst says virtually nothing.”4 Let us then
begin at the beginning, that is, with an examination of the concept of education.
WHAT IS EDUCATION?
I would like to suggest that this is a potentially misleading question because it
may give the impression that “education” refers to some kind of an entity which
we can identify, discover, or locate somewhere. In ordinary language “education”
is often used to refer to schooling or to the education system of a country (as in
“Education in Canada”) as well as to all the things that a person has acquired or
learned (as in “The Education of Henry Adams”). Educationists talk about education as a field of study whereas sociologists talk about education in a very broad
sense as “the socialization of the young” — an all-embracing technical concept
of questionable value to educators. Although all these uses of “education” are
legitimate in their respective language games, they are not the ones central to
educational policy and practice. The three important uses of the word are to be
found in the participial adjective (“the educated”), the verb (“to educate”), and
the adjective (“educational”). Thus, in ordinary language we ask whether somebody is an educated person, whether the teacher is educating her students, or
whether an activity or program has educational value. It is not uncommon to
come across educational writings where it is unclear in which sense the term
“education” is employed, or worse, where the writer slides from one sense of the
word to another. In which of the foregoing senses, for example, is “education”
used in the claim: “All education is political in character”?5
The verb “to educate” may give the impression that education is some kind
of activity, but a brief comparison with activity verbs shows that it is not. All
activities have a beginning, take time, and have an end; educating does not. I
started writing this section of the paper half an hour ago, but I did not educate
my students for two hours yesterday. Educating, then, is not an activity, although
some activities may be educational, others miseducational, and still others noneducational.6 Although claims that education is an activity are sometimes merely
infelicitous with no serious conceptual consequences, more often they are
misleading because such claims are about teaching or, more commonly, about
educative teaching. Matters are different, however, with the claim that education
is a process.
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It is a much more interesting, important, and complex task to decide whether
education can in any of its uses be described as a process. The word “process”
is widely used in educational writings. Perhaps there is no book in the field of
education that does not talk about “the process of education,” “the process of
teaching,” “the writing process,” and “the learning process,” or about “the
process of understanding” and “the process of critical thinking.” Even one of the
most profound educational thinkers of our times, R. S. Peters, entitled one of his
earlier essays “What is an Educational Process?” (1967). Well, in which sense
of the word “process” could we say that there exist educational, teaching, or
learning processes? I believe it would facilitate our discussion and would enable
us to evaluate the various claims about processes if we classified them into
appropriate categories.7
Legitimate Uses of the Word “Process”
We talk of (a) natural processes (e.g., the process of digestion), (b) human-made
natural processes (e.g., the process of manufacturing a car), and (c) conventional
processes (e.g., the due process of law). For obvious reasons we cannot use the
verb “to process” in the first of these senses but we do use it in the second sense
(e.g., to process a certain material) and in the third (e.g., to process an application). We also use the idiomatic phrase “in process” to suggest that, in the last
two senses, something is being made, constructed, or accomplished. What natural
and human-made processes have in common is that they are governed by causal
relationships. Conventional processes, on the other hand, are determined by
human-made rules that may vary from one society or period to another. Although
conventional processes are established to secure order, efficiency, humane
treatment, and so on, they may degenerate into unnecessary, cumbersome, and
senseless “red tape.” Now it seems clear that in none of these senses can we say
that education, in the important three aforementioned senses, could be a process.
In the sentence “In the process of cleaning my room I found my lost book” we
have another legitimate, innocuous, and harmless use of “process” which we
might call the merely durational sense (d). In the context of education we can
say: “In the process of teaching history I learned that . . . ,” or “In the process
of learning to fly I discovered something important about myself.” In all such
examples the phrase “in the process of” can be replaced by the word “while.” All
that these locutions suggest is that human activities, such as teaching the
Pythagorean theorem, and attainments such as learning or understanding the
theory of evolution, require time and effort. One does not become an educated
person miraculously or instantly; that is part of the human predicament. I
mention this innocent use of “process” because with a slight twist it leads to the
next category.
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Slovenly Uses of the Word “Process”
Although not nonsensical, it is pretentiously academic to say that “in the process
of educating the young we must do X and Y,” but it is potentially dangerous talk
if it leads us into the conceptual quagmire of “processes of education,” “the process of learning,” “the process of understanding,” “the process of teaching,” and
the nebulous stages of educational development that presuppose such processes.
All this talk, of course, can be just sloppy, careless, slipshod educational jargon.
When in his early essay R. S. Peters asks “What is an Educational Process?” he
is in fact asking “What is an educational activity?” And those who talk about the
processes of learning or educational development may mean nothing more than
that in order for the young to acquire worthwhile learning and understanding they
need time, effort, and a lot of care. In other words, the word “process” might be
used in all these examples in its durational sense. And the stages of educational
development may mean nothing more than that a lot of our concepts presuppose
other concepts which must, logically, be taught and learned first. Unless, of
course, they are not using the word “process” in that sense, and in that case we
are dealing with the following category.
Pernicious Uses of the Word “Process”
The belief that there is some order in the world is, very much like the law of
non-contradiction, presupposed by all our other beliefs and all our actions; it is
what Wittgenstein called a river-bed proposition. And the quest for the discovery
of those laws, regularities, patterns, or tendencies constitutive of that order is as
old as humanity. In the physical sciences the quest has been spectacularly
successful, whereas in the “human sciences” it has resulted at best in confirming
the obvious or the common-sensical. And yet, the temptation to explain human
thought and action as if they were the same kind of physical phenomena as
photosynthesis seems irresistible to many students of human behaviour even
today. Thus, psychologists and educationists continue to talk about “thought
processes,” “processes of knowing or understanding,” and “processes of learning”
as if they were natural processes; but can there be such processes? Wittgenstein
(1953) points out that here we have a
Misleading parallel: psychology treats of processes in the psychical sphere, as does
physics in the physical. Seeing, hearing, thinking, feeling, willing, are not the subject of
psychology in the same sense, as that in which the movements of bodies, the phenomena
of electricity etc., are the subject of physics. You can see this from the fact that the
physicist sees, hears, thinks over, and informs us of these phenomena, and the
psychologist observes the external reactions (the behaviour) of the subject. (no. 571)
Learning, knowing, and understanding do not refer to any kind of overt or hidden
processes, neurophysiological or of any other kind. “The grammar of the word
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453
‘knows’ is evidently closely related to that of ‘can,’ ‘is able to.’ But also closely
related to that of ‘understands’ (‘Mastery’ of a technique)” (Wittgenstein, 1953,
no. 150). Neither do these words refer to any kind of mental states. “Depression,
excitement, pain are called mental states” but not knowledge and understanding
(p. 59, [a] and [b]).
Those terms, then, that are central to the educational engagement, such as
knowing, learning, and understanding, are all achievement words; they suggest
that the person has come up to certain standards, is able to perform certain tasks.
This is the reason why our concept of education in its important uses mentioned
earlier is a normative one. Our ideal is the educated person whose pursuit of
worthwhile understanding presupposes the procedures, virtues, and standards of
excellence embedded in the various disciplines of thought and action as we know
them today. It is on the basis of those standards that we can decide whether an
activity has educational value and the extent to which a person, an institution,
or a form of life is educating or miseducating.
To be able to have the kind of explanatory and predictive scientific theory of
education that O’Connor and others envisage, education must be some kind of
process. But in the three aforementioned central senses education cannot be any
kind of process. First, there are no natural processes of desirable human
unfolding or development — even the greatest educational romantics were unable
to discover such processes. If there were, they would make all our efforts to
educate unnecessary. Second, there cannot be causally determined educational
developmental processes invented by human beings the way there are such processes for manufacturing cars, washing machines, and the like. If such processes
existed they would render education a form of naive social engineering and our
educational institutions would become real factories! Like virtue, however,
education is neither natural nor yet unnatural; it refers to an ideal of human
development whose standards are social. The special character of educational
theory, then, cannot be determined by the scientific study of human nature; it can
be revealed only by philosophical inquiry.
Finally, can education be conceived as a conventional process? It is unfortunate that in the English language the word “education” is used to refer to both
“schooling” and “education.” This often results in a cross-eyed view of education, because people usually talk about education while keeping one eye on the
schools. Those who have been talking about educational theory have, in fact,
been talking mainly or exclusively about schooling and the appropriate or desirable conventional institutional processes that must prevail in schools. To the
degree that this is happening in philosophy of education it is, in my view, a very
unfortunate development for our society. Among other evils, it reinforces the
belief that the other institutions in society can continue to be, as many of them
largely are, on a permanent vacation from education. This is surely a development that must be resisted by all educators because it abandons the idea of the
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educating society, wherein the whole community, with all its institutions, laws,
customs, political order, media, and so on, educates (or miseducates) its citizens.
Pericles of ancient Athens knew that when he boasted that his city had educated
all the Greeks; at our great peril we seem to have forgotten it. I believe the
abandonment of the idea of the educating society is one of the greatest dangers
for civilized life. Even our public schools and universities, which are supposed
to function as educational institutions, have become to a large extent centres of
mere professional training and socialization. Perhaps what our society needs
today, in order to remain open and civilized, is a clear and defensible theory of
education.
An example of a confused and distorted view of education can be found in
O’Connor’s “Two Concepts of Education” (1982). The source of the confusion
lies partly in his misdiagnosis of the problem. He begins by claiming that “the
term education is multiply ambiguous and that this multiple ambiguity is one of
the main obstacles in the way of a satisfactory theory of education. Indeed, it is
an immovable obstacle to a unified theory” (p. 137). This claim is simply false.
As I mentioned earlier “education” is not ambiguous, although it can be used
ambiguously, as it is in this essay by O’Connor. Like many other terms in our
language “education” has various meanings, according to the various contexts in
which it is used. Just as one does not confuse “sharp cheese” with “sharp knives”
or “sharp minds,” one ought not to confuse “education” with “training,” “socialization,” or “schooling,” or with a field of study, simply because we use the term
“education” to refer to all of them. If one does, then one is responsible for the
confusion and for the ensuing consequences. O’Connor (1982) begins by talking
about “the aims of education” but since some find that phrase “unacceptable on
philosophical grounds” he is prepared to settle instead for the phrase “the
functions of education” or even “the effects of education” (p. 137). The reason
he doubts the appropriateness of talking about “the aims of education” (although
he does not state this) is a good one, because “education,” unlike “schooling,”
is not in the category of things that could have aims; only human beings and
(derivatively) human actions, programs, or institutions can have aims, and, as we
noted earlier, education in its important senses is not any of those things. But
then, if he is truly talking about “education” proper, he cannot talk about its
“functions” either. So by “education” O’Connor must mean “schooling.” But then
why does he find it inappropriate to talk about the aims of the school as a social
institution? Furthermore, if he is talking about the functions of the school, he
should not confuse those with the aims of the school. The aims of an institution
are those things that an institution ought to pursue or professes to pursue,
whereas its functions are what it in fact does (Kazepides, 1989). It has been said
that clarity is not enough; I agree, but it is necessary.
Although Paul Hirst disagrees with O’Connor on some major issues regarding
the nature of educational theory, it is clear from his writings on the subject that
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455
he is also talking about schooling, not about education. The major shift in his
thinking is that whereas in his earlier writings he maintained that the principles
of educational practice should be derived from the “disciplines of education,” he
now (1983) thinks they ought to be “abstracted from practice” (p. 12).
One major problem in assessing Hirst’s views is that they are couched in abstract language; in typical Hirstian fashion, no examples of educational principles
are given, as if the nature of these principles was sui generis and obvious to
everyone. But the nature of these principles is not obvious at all. Are they moral
principles or rules of logic? Are they common-sense practical beliefs or are they
discoveries of the “disciplines of education”? Or does educational practice (i.e.,
schooling) generate sui generis principles different from the principles of informed and civilized life? More importantly, how can one discover or recognize
educational principles or “abstract” them from the practice of schooling without
clearly articulated and defended criteria of education? If they are involved
implicitly in all educational (i.e., schooling) practice, what is the point of making
them explicit? Are the same educational principles regulative of schooling today
in Iran and in British Columbia?
It appears to me that the search for “principles” is a leftover from the old
superstitious belief that educational thought must be scientific to be respectable;
I cannot explain this craving for general principles in any other way. What Hirst
(1983) says about the nature of these principles and the methods for their development reinforces this belief:
I would now argue that the essence of any practical theory is its concern to develop
principles formulated in operationally effective rational discourse that are subjected to
practical test. (p. 19)
The best methodology for the development of rational educational practice is, I think, in
large measure an empirical matter. (pp. 20–21)
As I try to show in what follows, this view is misleading in a serious way.
Perhaps the best way to characterize the nature and purpose of building a theory
of education is by borrowing a familiar phrase from Wittgenstein: “we are assembling reminders for a particular purpose.”
IS EDUCATION A CONTESTED CONCEPT?
O’Connor must be one of those who believe that “education” is a contested
concept. To make his definition of education less contentious he opted for a wide
and vague definition that includes also socialization and training. He says:
The programme is no doubt a fairly vague one. I have deliberately made it so in order to
command as wide a provisional agreement as possible. And the areas of imprecision that
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make it vague will be filled out in different ways depending on the society to which it
is related and the tastes, values and social background of those who interpret it. But at
least it is true that educational processes [italics added] as we know them in contemporary society have some of these effects on some of the people who are processed [italics
added] by our educational system. . . . (O’Connor, 1982, pp. 137–138)
It is clear now that O’Connor is talking about the aims of schools in the
Western world and not about the concept of education. Those aims, like the aims
of any social institution, can always be contested. For example, which closed or
theocratic society would accept O’Connor’s (1982) fourth aim, which proposes
to make the young “critical of the information and values conveyed by authority
and tradition”? (p. 137). There have been and still are societies whose public
policy regarding its public schools includes only systematically training, socializing, and indoctrinating their young. Could we say today that such societies
have an educational policy? Well, when and why might somebody be tempted
to answer this question in the affirmative? So long as schools exist as public
institutions, their aims will continue to be contested even within the most
homogeneous societies; these aims are not matters of definition but of argument,
based on the information, aspirations, priorities, commitments, and the level of
education of the contestants. Can the criteria of our concept of education be
contested in the same manner?
Our conception of education is ours — that is a tautology worth remembering.
The Native peoples of Canada did not have that concept 100 years ago, and for
the same reasons we could not say that Homer’s cunning Odysseus was an educated person. Our concept of education presupposes differentiation among the
various forms of understanding through which we make sense of the world
today; it also presupposes those complex intellectual achievements within each
form of human inquiry. Outside of or without such traditions we cannot talk
about education, unless of course we are using “education” in one of its other
senses. Our ideally educated person recognizes the demands of reason within
each form of human experience and has his or her mind disciplined by the
standards of excellence in each universe of discourse. The fact that the demands
of reason are not always clear or easy to articulate does not mean that we can
abandon the search for them; it simply makes our educational task more difficult
or less certain. The search for understanding has a single direction; one is
allowed to take alternative paths, to follow different signposts, to slow down, or
to speed up, but one cannot go back and still claim that one is engaged in
education.
The knowledge and value criteria of education serve to remind us that the
intellectual achievements of humanity that constitute the substance of education
are forms of knowledge and understanding — not mere skills of knowing how to
get along in life, nor doctrinal, superstitious, or mythological accounts of the
world and human experience. Whatever the epistemological status of scientific
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457
theories, historical explanations, or mathematical or moral claims, the truth is that
no one can get an education without engaging in a conversation with some of the
existing traditions of thought, including the controversies within these forms of
human discourse. Does it make sense, then, to say that the knowledge and value
criteria of education are contestable? Could one become an educated person
without acquiring some worthwhile understanding? Is there an alternative way
to get an education, that is, outside such traditions?
One might argue that although the knowledge and value criteria of education
are part of the logical grammar of that concept they do not enable us to make all
the important educational decisions. Well, they assist us in making the most
fundamental educational decisions; they help us to exclude from educational
programs and from public life all doctrinal beliefs, superstitions, prejudices,
unsupported claims, mere opinions, and non-rational methods of dealing with the
citizens — and a concept that enables us to distinguish between civilization and
barbarism should be considered the most valuable concept in our language. Of
course, the criteria of education do not tell us which specific disciplines,
programs, and books to include in our educational programs and which methods
or organizational structures to use to educate the young. But then why should
they do that? Countless activities and experiences have educational value and one
can choose many combinations of these worthwhile pursuits in designing an
educational program. Likewise, there is a great variety of ways one can teach
children successfully, so long as the teacher is knowledgeable, imaginative,
caring, and committed to a vision of the good society. Our educational paradise,
then, is a pluralistic one. There are many ways one can save the educational
souls of citizens, young and old — unless, of course, one is an orthodox Procrustean who assumes that all young people should have exactly the same educational
diet, that there is only one set of activities that should be included in every
educational program, or that there are only certain methods, procedures, and
institutional arrangements, and, therefore, only one process of education (i.e.,
schooling). Paradoxically, it is usually the same Procrusteans (who want to
impose their educational programs on others) who claim that the concept of
education is a contested one! Our concept of education, which lies at the heart
of an open society, does not require predetermined objectives, specific programs
of study, or official curricula — that is what training and indoctrination require.
Education requires only justified principles, canons of inquiry, and standards of
excellence that are embedded in countless worthwhile human achievements.
I believe that the talk about the process of education is the outcome of a
pernicious form of “scientism” that has permeated our thinking and has contributed to the unfortunate institutionalization of the concept of education —
education has become confused with the institution that is supposed to promote
it and the conventional processes of schooling have become the processes of
education! Thus, being educated has become synonymous with being processed
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by our education system! The result is that those who have been talking about
theories of education are in fact talking about theories of schooling. The confusion of “education” with the institution of schooling is as serious as would be
the confusion of the concept of justice with a particular legal system. Without a
clear and defensible concept of justice we cannot ask how just a legal system is;
without a clear view of education we can no longer ask what is the educational
value of a system of schooling. We know what sorts of things would count as
theories of education and justice and what would be the nature of such theories;
we do not know what could be the character of theories that would deal with a
host of heterogeneous problems of schooling or a legal system, theoretical and
practical. It appears to me that John Wilson’s statement is appropriate here,
namely, anything properly called a theory of schooling is a non-starter.
A THEORY OF EDUCATION AND THEORIES IN EDUCATION
It follows from the preceding that a theory of education is necessarily philosophical in character. The central task of an educational theory is to establish clear
and defensible criteria of education that will demarcate the character of our
educational ideal and the scope of educationally worthwhile activities. These
criteria are implicit in the ordinary ways we use the term “education”: we talk
about educational, miseducational, and non-educational practices, programs,
goals, functions, and institutions; we give educational reasons, grounds, and
arguments; we dispute the educational value of certain activities; and we characterize people as educated or uneducated. Educational engagements are normative,
implying both knowledge and value criteria. A theory of education that cannot
give a clear, accurate, and defensible account of these criteria will be unable to
distinguish education from mere training, socialization, miseducation, indoctrination, and propaganda and should therefore be considered primitive and worthless; it cannot guide our thoughts, judgments, and decisions when we engage in
educational policy or practice. The reasons why discussions on the nature of
educational theory have floundered are the lack of a perspicacious view of education, the tendency to confuse education with schooling, and the bewitchment of
our intelligence by the scientific paradigm of theory.
Our view of education as an ideal of human development is inseparable from
our idea of human nature and human flourishing and is, thus, constitutive of our
view of the good life. Consequently, a theory of education must be informed by
sound theories of knowledge, value, language, and mind and must be an integral
part of sound political theorizing. Since knowledge is one of the criteria of
education it is necessary that a theory of education be well informed about the
conditions of knowledge as well as about the various forms of understanding
through which we make sense of the world and of human experience. Without
a clear view of what constitutes a knowledge claim we cannot distinguish education from indoctrination, propaganda, and other forms of miseducation.
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459
Equally important to a defensible and useful view of education is the
determination of the value criterion of education. The great danger that threatens
education today is the almost exclusive emphasis on the instrumental value of
educational activities and the hedonistic ethic prevalent in our society and in the
public schools. Particularly problematic are some technocratic and pseudoscientific perspectives on human nature and behaviour which, as I argue later,
have distorted our view of the learner, of the nature of learning and teaching, of
education in general, and particularly of moral education.
Similarly, our theory of education will be as sound as is the theory of mind
embedded in it. Our ordinary views of the mind, however, seem to be necessarily
metaphorical, with each metaphor giving a certain perspective on it. Some views
of mind that have survived in the language of teaching are more or less primitive
and have misled generations of educational thinkers, policy makers, and practitioners. “To furnish the mind with knowledge” implies that the mind is similar
to a passive room, “To transmit knowledge” gives the impression that the mind
is a passive receiver, and “To instil or inculcate certain beliefs” suggests that the
mind is a tabula rasa. “To exercise the mind” or “To train children’s reasoning
or memory” suggests that the mind consists of some kind of mental muscles. The
horticultural metaphor of mind conveys the idea that it is like a field that has
been lying fallow and must be cultivated. Some of the most influential metaphors
in education, namely, moulding, growth, and development, are not without their
severe limitations.
Although it could be said, with appropriate qualifications, that education is the
development of mind, it would be a mistake to consider education as being responsible for its genesis; we acquire our minds through early socialization, not
through education; education is the (further) development of mind. And yet, little
attention has been paid by philosophers of education to those acquisitions that
constitute the prerequisites of educational development.8
These, then, are some of the dimensions of a serious and coherent theory of
education. They provide the philosophical background against which we should
make all the decisions regarding educational institutions, policies, programs,
activities, methods, and so on, and they give us the criteria of what is to count
as relevant and worthwhile empirical research for educational policy and practice.
A theory of education, then, should not be confused with specific psychological
or other theories concerning conditions of learning, motivation, methods of teaching, institutional arrangements, and the like. A theory of education puts severe
constraints on all such theories and to the extent that they meet such constraints
they could be considered theories in education, that is, theories relevant to
educational policy and practice. Theories in education will inform us on what is
conditionally possible and thus they will provide the boundaries of realistic,
effective, and informed educational policy and practice. Nothing I have said so
far suggests that a theory of education is carved in stone; it must be constantly
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enriched by the most sophisticated and refined philosophical thinking and must
reflect our self-awareness and our humanity. When educational policy is conducted in the absence of a theory of education it is usually in the service of
non-educational objectives; vague slogans of various kinds are used then in place
of a theory of education. It is sad but I think true that the history of schooling
is a history of educational slogans replacing one another rather than a history of
the development of a theory of education.
BY WAY OF ILLUSTRATION
I would like to illustrate the importance of the distinction between a theory of
education and theories in education by referring to the way many North American educationists, for the last two decades, attempted to solve what they have
(mis)described as lack of discipline in the schools. In typical American fashion
they have developed a course, usually entitled “Discipline and Management in
the Classroom,” for all future teachers in faculties of Education. My view is that
both the identification of the problem as one of lack of discipline and the
strategy of addressing it are wrong and they suggest the absence of a coherent
theory of education. We might question, first, the appropriateness of describing
the problem as one of discipline. That is, if schools are to operate as educational
institutions and not merely as barracks, then the problem is not simply that
students do not follow certain rules — assuming that the rules themselves are
justified — but that they do not understand and do not follow the fundamental
principles of civilized life. In other words, the problem is not simply one of lack
of order, but one of lack of moral order — a much more complex and difficult
problem to study and solve.
Although various authors are included in these courses (e.g., Rogers, Dreikurs,
Glasser, and so on), the dominant approach is based on the “educational technology” model which is a child of Skinnerian behaviourism. The incompatible
assumptions about human nature behind these various approaches are never
examined and the theory of education implied by them is completely absent. In
fact there cannot be a coherent theory of education that would sanction the
eclecticism practiced in these courses. Because the problem is perceived as one
of lack of discipline, however, the strategies usually taught to student-teachers
are manipulative knowing-hows that aim at making their students conform to
those rules that would guarantee the desirable order within public schools. In
other words, in the absence of a clear and coherent theory of moral education,
all sorts of techniques for controlling human behaviour, developed for noneducational purposes, are taught for use in the schools.
The misdiagnosis of the problem is clearly the result of not having appropriate
criteria of educational relevance that would guard against allowing inappropriate
theories developed in laboratories with animals to be used as theories in educa-
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tion. Discipline or the lack of it presupposes certain rules that one considers
legitimate or important. The desirability of discipline depends logically on the
desirability of the rules being preserved. Thus, although lack of discipline is not
necessarily a bad thing for those who violate the existing rules in the school, it
suggests that there is a moral problem in that institution: either the students have
not learned to live in accordance with certain principles, or the institution is
trying to impose on them arbitrary rules that they do not understand and to which
they are not committed.
The exclusive emphasis on the behaviour of the students, then, suggests that
the primary concern of those who want to maintain discipline in the classroom
is to control the students rather than to help them live their lives as thoughtful
and responsible moral agents. The former is simplistic and relatively easy but of
questionable educational value. The latter, on the other hand, is complex and
involves re-examining every aspect of the school as an educational institution.
Teachers must be exemplars of the virtues, attitudes, and form of life they want
to maintain, and the fundamental principles of morality must regulate all school
life. The problem in preparing teachers is not merely to teach them certain skills
and strategies that will enable them to control the students so that the students
conform to established rules of behaviour but to enable teachers to guide the
young so that the young can live their lives intelligently and with understanding
and commitment to the fundamental principles of civilized life.
This very brief sketch of a rather complex problem illustrates, I hope, the very
serious consequences of the lack of a shared coherent theory of education against
which important educational decisions must be made and theories in education
chosen. To put it simply, there can be no theories in education in the absence of
a theory of education. And just as we cannot talk about churches without theology, we cannot talk about educational institutions without a theory of education.
NOTES
1
Aristotle, Nicomachean ethics, I. ii. 8 (my translation).
2
“My stipulative definition is that a theory is a logically interconnected set of hypotheses
confirmed by observation and which has the further properties of being refutable and explanatory”
(O’Connor, 1973, p. 50). Notice, however, that this definition is not stipulative but a definition
of scientific theory, which is programmatically taken to be the paradigm case of theory; by
comparison all other theories are considered defective copies or poor relatives. See Scheffler
(1960) on programmatic and stipulative definitions.
3
One reviewer of the manuscript of this article says: “The author is pedantic in saying that it is
incorrect to talk of words being ambiguous. One definition in the on-line OED is ‘of words or
other significant indications: admitting more than one interpretation, or explanation; of double
meaning, or of several possible meanings; equivocal. (The common use.)’ The OED reports that
what the author says is a mistake is in fact very common. . . .” Well,I agree with the OED but
I disagree with the reviewer’s conclusion. Unlike vagueness, which is a feature of language,
ambiguity is created by the users of language, it is our failure and if we are more careful we can
and should avoid it; if we do not we are sinners! This is a simple but very important point that
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TASOS KAZEPIDES
most introductory books in philosophy make today. Words can be vague but they are used ambiguously; we are not responsible for the former but we are definitely responsible for the latter.
4
The view that “theory” in education is merely a “courtesy title” is the result of superstition, which
maintains that all human problems can or should be understood by the methods of the natural
sciences, whereas the view that “anything properly called ‘educational theory’ is a non-starter”
ignores the fact that the word “theory” has many uses. See also Wilson (1975).
5
The same reviewer mentioned in note 3 claims that I “privilege one sense of ‘education’” at the
expense of another legitimate use of the word, namely, schooling; that in his province “the
Minister of Education is concerned, to use Green’s phrase, that education enable people to stay
out of jail and off of unemployment insurance. That is, education is a matter of socialization and
training. The Minister would probably be mystified by the author’s concept of education. But the
author dismisses the Minister’s concept.” I feel here that this reviewer and I are like dark ships
passing in the night! I am confident that no minister of education in Canada could be so
uneducated as to confuse education with training and socialization. But let us get the logic of
educational planning straight. There are no inherent reasons why schools should function as
educational institutions. They could be, as they often have been, mere centres of training,
indoctrination, propaganda, socialization (whatever that means), and so on. When we talk about
public schools as educational institutions we say something about the character of these schools
that separates them from military academies, religious seminaries, and professional schools. We
send our children to school so that they can get an education. The important question, then, is
what we mean by education. In the absence of a stated purpose it is logically impossible to talk
about any institutions. So, what is the reviewer’s view of the purposes of schooling? Is he
satisfied with his minister’s alleged view? Should the schools educate or simply train the young?
I have argued elsewhere (Kazepides, 1982) that public schools have various legitimate functions:
to provide the prerequisites of education, to educate, to train, and to socialize. Does the reviewer
suggest that we ought to return again to an undifferentiated conceptual stew like the one
O’Connor recommends? It appears to me that those who are involved in education in any capacity
ought to use a more refined, coherent, and useful conceptual framework when they talk about the
purposes of schools; that is a sign of education.
6
Characterizing education as an activity is a very common mistake that many first-rate philosophers
of education make. Consider, for example, the following statement from Paul Hirst (1983): “In
activities [italics added] like education, the complexity of the elements is greater than in the case,
say, of technology . . .” (p. 14). John Wilson (1975) manages to characterize education both as
an activity and as a process: “We retain the idea that education is centrally concerned with
educating, that is, of education as a characteristically intentional activity [italics added] conducted
by human beings on other human beings, involving a certain kind of process [italics added] and
having a certain kind of point” (p. 35). I suspect that both authors are talking about teaching as
an enterprise, not about education.
7
As far as I know, James McClellan (1976, pp. 14–17) was the first to suggest a similar
classification of the various uses of “process” and I am indebted to him.
8
For the necessity of distinguishing between education and its prerequisites, and the importance
of that distinction, see Kazepides (1991).
REFERENCES
Aristotle. Nicomachean ethics.
Hirst, P. (1983). Educational theory. In P. H. Hirst (Ed.), Educational theory and its foundation
disciplines (pp. 3–29). London: Routledge & Kegan Paul.
Kazepides, T. (1982). Educating, socializing and indoctrinating. Journal of Philosophy of Education,
16, 155–165.
EDUCATIONAL THEORY
463
Kazepides, T. (1989). On educational aims, curriculum objectives and the preparation of teachers.
Journal of Philosophy of Education, 23, 51–59.
Kazepides, T. (1991). On the prerequisites of moral education: A Wittgensteinean perspective.
Journal of Philosophy of Education, 25, 259–272.
McClellan, J. E. (1976). Philosophy of education. Englewood Cliffs, NJ: Prentice-Hall.
O’Connor, D. J. (1973). The nature and scope of educational theory. In G. Langford & D. J.
O’Connor (Eds.), New essays in philosophy of education (pp. 47–65). London: Routledge &
Kegan Paul.
O’Connor, D. J. (1982). Two concepts of education, Journal of Philosophy of Education, 16,
137–146.
Peters, R. S. (1967). What is an educational process? In R. S. Peters (Ed.), The concept of education
(pp. 1–23). London: Routledge & Kegan Paul.
Scheffler, I. (1960). The language of education. Springfield, IL: Charles C. Thomas Publisher.
Wilson, J. (1975). Educational theory and the preparation of teachers. Windsor, Berkshire: NFER
Publishing Company.
Wilson, J. (1985). Do we need educational theory? [book review]. Journal of Philosophy of
Education, 19, 143–146.
Wittgenstein, L. (1953). Philosophical investigations (G. Anscombe & R. Rees, Eds.; G. Anscombe,
Trans. [English]). Oxford: Blackwell.
Tasos Kazepides is in the Faculty of Education, Simon Fraser University, Burnaby, British Columbia,
V5A 1S6.
Education and Everyday Life:
An Argument Against “Educational Futures”1
Robert Lanning
university of new brunswick
This essay is a critique of educational futures as proposed by educators, members of the
business community, and others. I examine the themes of several recent documents from
provincial and national levels of government, and argue that speculations about the future
found in these sources serve the interests of dominant sectors of Canadian society at the
expense of the student and general populations. I propose and explain a set of categories
of everyday life as an alternative focus for discussion of education in the future.
Cet essai est une critique des voies d’avenir de l’éducation tels qu’ils sont proposés, entre
autres, par des enseignants et des gens d’affaires. L’auteur analyse les thèmes de plusieurs
documents publiés récemment par les gouvernements fédéral et provinciaux, et soutient
que les spéculations au sujet de l’avenir de l’éducation que l’on trouve dans ces sources
servent les intérêts des secteurs dominants de la société canadienne au détriment des
élèves et du grand public. Il propose, pour discuter de l’éducation dans l’avenir, d’autres
approches axées sur une série de catégories tirées de la vie quotidienne.
During the past decade, educational and economic policy makers have increasingly traced changes in technology and economic restructuring, and the probable
effects of these on the future work force. Much of their attention has focused on
students’ transition from school to work, including consideration of some obvious
constraints on an efficient passage: declining education standards, the high
drop-out rate, and expressed doubt that schooling can equip young people for the
world outside the classroom. Among other things, this has spawned considerable
talk about “educational futures,” much of which reflects an obsession with
prediction while exhibiting tacit agreement that the future cannot be mapped
definitively. The futures industry has produced an almost perpetual stream of
additions to the curriculum, programs defined by the buzz-word of the day, and
“new” educational goals that are frequently restated abstractions of yesterday’s
unrealized aims. Such changes in the curriculum often require teachers to educate
for — largely speculative — economic and social conditions.
Educational policy discussions of this character have come to the public
domain along with new approaches to work organization (see Kanter, 1990).
Future-oriented programs in work and education have as their empirical rationale
the globalization of the economy and the intensity of technological change moving us into a “post-industrial society.”
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19:4 (1994)
EDUCATION AND EVERYDAY LIFE
465
This article is an argument against the concept of “educational futures” as
formulated by government bureaucrats, corporate leaders, educators, and others,
in a number of representative pre-policy discussion papers issued for public consumption. My critique is limited to documents from four provices and a national
statement on these issues from the Economic Council of Canada.2 I explore the
concept of the future used in these documents, and demonstrate where futurists’
concerns with schooling and socialization are misled and misleading. My purpose
is to draw attention to the way these documents address the needs of state and
business interests while appropriating the futures of subordinate sectors of
society.
Depending on one’s point of view, the future of education has different
priorities. For futurists, the virtually uncontrollable trends of technical change and
economic restructuring seem to dictate the urgency with which it is considered.
Alternatively, the focus on the future ought to be governed by recognition that
we are dealing with the futures of persons as agents of economies. The tension
between priorities can be illuminated by understanding that the discourse and
planning for educational futures is a bourgeois critique of everyday life. In the
contemporary world, dominated by technologies that drive the creation of new,
often artificial needs, the critique of everyday life has emerged from the class
and cultural interests behind technological advances. In this regard, Henri Lefebvre (1991) argued that,
Far from suppressing criticism of everyday life, modern technical progress realizes it. This
technicity replaces the criticism of life through dreams, or ideas, or poetry, or those
activities which rise above the everyday, by the critique of everyday life from within. . . .
(p. 9)
The rapidity of technological innovation and the managed obsolescence of products, values, and styles of life constitute the substance and direction of this
critique, and led Lefebvre to conclude that the modernization process in capitalist
societies brought about “new conflicts and new contradictions in what is new,”
because “the new is (more or less) everywhere” (p. 66). Similarly, the introduction of work re-organization schemes and changes in the curricula are part of a
bourgeois critique of everyday life; they confirm that human needs historically
derived from life in capitalist social systems will be more difficult to satisfy.
Virtually all educational futurist arguments operate at the social structural or
institutional level, promoting a set of “needs” socially constructed to serve the
production of knowledge useful to dominant sectors of society: corporate interests and the state. These needs are, in short, a positive attitude toward a
disjointed work life, increased frequency in retraining and unemployment, and
diminished expectations of a secure future.
The alternative view, which is the basis for critical knowledge of everyday
life, is that acceptance of or adaptation to these needs has a detrimental effect on
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ROBERT LANNING
“natural” or “necessary” needs. These are the conditions for maintenance and
reproduction of life (Heller, 1974, pp. 29–34; Marx & Engels, 1970, pp. 42–48,
132–133), but in our contemporary context include the need for a broad-based
critical knowledge, especially as it pertains to such categories of everyday life
as the control of labour processes, generational continuity of knowledge, security
of labour and of life, and the struggle against alienation. I take these categories
of need to be fundamental and familiar categories of everyday life. They constitute the ordinary terrain on which social roles and relations are carried out.
Familiarity is a context in which persons come to know and reason about everyday life, “a firm position from which we ‘proceed’ . . . and to which we return
in due course” (Heller, 1984, p. 239). As a “cultural . . . or ethical element” of
everyday life (Lefebvre, 1991, p. 15) the familiar is a need. The bourgeois
critique of everyday life that exists within educational futures undermines this
familiarity as a validation of lived experience.3
The heart of the problem is the difficult connection between the future and
everyday life. During the Great Depression, Robert S. Lynd argued for a cultural
understanding of the future that has retained its significance. Much of what he
referred to as the “tilt into the future” has become institutionalized, creating
ever-renewed efforts to work to achieve a place in the future and working equally hard to postpone it (Lynd, 1939/1964, pp. 88–90). As Lynd saw it, our culture
has “harness[ed] the present instrumentally to the future” (p. 90), undermining
the desire for creativity and spontaneity. Similarly, Lefebvre (1991) states that
“everyday life reveals the forces which work for and against” human progress
(p. 189). In a society able to produce an oversupply of artificial needs, it has
been possible, in everyday life, “to erect the immediate as a barrier to wider and
more far-reaching ways of seeing” (Lefebvre, 1991, p. 189). The future, then, is
a component of everyday life requiring critical appraisal.
THE “FUTURE” IN EDUCATIONAL DISCOURSE
David Livingstone has surveyed popular and intellectual conceptions of the future
and suggests that among the latter there are two camps — those who “set out
more morally-explicit images of preferred futures” and those who engage in
“ ‘value-free’ technological forecasting” (1983, p. 181). The second group concerns me here. Typical technological forecasters argue that the future will consist
of an increasingly interdependent and knowledge-based economy, an increase in
technological and educational levels, and a more humane and leisure-oriented
culture. Their conception of the future is derived in this way:
To the technological forecaster . . . creating the social future apparently means discovering trends and then using further technical ingenuity to either mute or facilitate them.
However sophisticated they become, such approaches are based on a presumption that the
future really depends on forces that are beyond human capacity to control in any signifi-
467
cant way. The enduring image of the future left by all such writings is one of irreversible
technocratic trends remote from whatever social and political capacities ordinary people
might retain. (Livingstone, 1983, p. 181)
There is considerable pessimism about the accuracy of such forecasting. Etzioni
and Jargowsky (1990) have shown that claims of a transition to a “post-industrial” society are often exaggerated, and Johnston (1993) has argued that the
more important shift is ideological.4
In the discourse of technological forecasters, found in educational futures
documents, the concept of the future is awash with contradictions. Harold
Shane’s Education for a New Millennium (1981) is a collection of the thought,
expectation, and planning from a large body of academics around the globe.
Among Shane’s conclusions, based on his respondents’ expectations of the
future, is that ending the continuing inequality in social benefits and managing
the resulting social instability will require much social energy. The Saskatchewan
discussion paper Toward the Year 2000 uses the data from Shane’s 132 subjects
to impress upon its readers that the world of tomorrow will be a place of conflict
and want (Saskatchewan Department of Education, 1985, pp. 10–11). Elsewhere
the future is variously defined but each explanation retains a similar contradiction — that the future is at once created by “us” and at the same time shaped
by the demands of and on technology.
The key to knowing the future is that its essence is change. Knowing how
change occurs and how it can be facilitated through an inclusive type of planning
is essential, for “[r]eal change does not occur without the support of those
effected [sic] by the change” (Saskatchewan Department of Education, 1985, p.
30; see also Ontario Ministry of Education, 1984, pp. v-vi). The planning in educational futures documents, however, is often directed less to realistic social
planning than to individual adaptation to the autonomy of technological change.
As such, the future is approached as a set of ambivalent circumstances leading
persons to experiences of uncertainty. In the context of education, “knowing
change” does not imply a more secure knowledge of everyday life. The parameters of learning appear quite narrow and easily blur into “adjustment.”
To deal with these changes and potential problems, the Ontario document
looks back at the stability of the “old system” Egerton Ryerson built in the
nineteenth century (Ontario Ministry of Education, 1984, p. 20). The British
Columbia document (British Columbia Ministry of Education, 1992) centres its
proposals on the creation of a “learning culture,” whereas the authors of the New
Brunswick document see the need to strengthen relations among many social
components — formal and informal education, public schooling and private enterprise — to “build not just a system of education but a culture . . . rooted firmly
in the values of society . . . economic to be sure, but civic and personal as well”
(New Brunswick Commission on Excellence in Education, 1991, p. 5).
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ROBERT LANNING
Another promoted means of solving problems of the future is individuality, a
concept these documents’ authors confuse with the more ideological concept,
individualism. All the documents in question assert that critical thinking, problem
solving, citizenship and values education, and gender relations, among a multitude of other current program titles, are crucial for the individual to learn his or
her place in the future. These documents demonstrate an increased sensitivity to
the subjective and stress the development of the person. The individual must
learn, however, that this new attention comes with the traditional political and
cultural demands of citizenship. John Harker (1992) has discussed the contradictory way the British Columbia document addresses “individuality.” There will
be, he writes, “encouragement of [students’] critical thinking, creativity and
flexibility,” but the individual will be “constantly subordinated to the need to
maintain social stability and economic prosperity” (p. 4). Harker goes on to
suggest that the individual will be fulfilled, according to this document, when he
or she works toward “the societal and economic expectations held for them [italics added]” (p. 4). The professed interdependence in society is limited to each
individual conforming to the demands of social structural forces on which he or
she simultaneously depends for survival.
Other facts of change setting the stage for consequential or correspondent
problems are the “explosion of knowledge,” a greater ethnic mix in North
America, and shifts in gender roles and in the demography of Canadian society
(British Columbia Ministry of Education, 1992, p. 2; Ontario Ministry of Education, 1984, pp. 13–18). The “increased need for learning,” for example, will be
conditioned by, among other things, “the shrinkage of financial resources,” a
“poor fit between education and employment,” the personal transformations
brought on by technological change, and the dovetailing of education and training
which will necessarily constrain education (Economic Council of Canada [ECC],
1992; New Brunswick Commission on Excellence in Education, 1991, pp. 7, 12;
Ontario Ministry of Education, 1984, pp. 7–8; Saskatchewan Department of
Education, 1985, pp. 9–10).
The authors of these future-perspectives tend to play both sides of the
issue — prediction and planning on the one hand, problems and uncertainties on
the other. Accentuating this contradiction, these documents heighten the tension
in the way young people may plan for the future. For example, in their focus on
the subjective factors of education and the world of the future, the authors of the
Saskatchewan document are compelled to state that schooling must teach new
skills to “prepare students for the new and unpredictable”; that is, “personal
problems, family problems, job-related problems, and other types of conflict”
(Saskatchewan Department of Education, 1985, pp. 17–18).5
The theme of a connection between education and work is readily apparent in
these documents. The ECC has introduced a concept to explain this new condition: coherence between education and the labour market. This will be the most
469
effective strategy to ensure that labour-market demands are anticipated in the
education, training, and apprenticeship of youth.
Coherence has two dimensions in the present context: 1) the transmission by employers
of signals about skill needs and about the preparation of graduates of the education
system; and 2) the accurate reading of those signals by students, parents, and learning
institutions — and, most particularly, their response to those signals. (ECC, 1992, p. 3)
It has become a common theme in business-education dialogues that the corporate sector wants greater input into the creation of a locally produced work force.
Some level of collaboration between schools and industries is unquestionably
useful in certain circumstances.6 But suggestions like the one from Telecom
Canada’s president that such collaboration will virtually eliminate workplace
drudgery and provide workers with “more influence with regard to the content
of their jobs and how their organizations are managed” are misleading (Farrell,
1990, p. 17). This is especially true when educators and businessmen predicate
their collaborative efforts on the need to define “sustainable economic strategies
based on job and wealth creation” (Greenleaf, 1993, p. 20). Too often such
priorities translate into instrumental decisions about production methods and the
training and recruitment of a labour force.
One example of work re-organization relevant to the concept of coherence is
the “flexible firm.” It is coherent not only with proposed educational changes but
with the conceptual framework and rationale of futurist contentions. The flexible
firm is characterized by three forms of flexibility: functional, allowing for a
quick shift of workers between various jobs; numerical, a timely increase or
decrease in labour force numbers; and financial, a system of remuneration facilitating the first two forms of flexibility. Although this strategy is a response to
“new market realities,” it is also a critique of the existing labour force as having
inappropriate skills, or as being a constraint on management because it is organized and therefore inflexible. Instead, those who affirm the new realities of the
market promote a cheaper, precisely trained work force that can be expanded,
trimmed, or jettisoned on short notice: flexible specialization.
[E]mployers have recognised that the current state of the labour market, with high unemployment, few shortages of labour, and a weakened trade union movement, will help them
secure these aims. So, there are both strong pressures to achieve a more flexible workforce and greater opportunities to do so now than in the past. (Atkinson, 1984, p. 28)
This means that workers will require not only multiple skills for the continuously
changing workplace, but also an affirmative attitude toward redundancy claimed
to be inherent to change and toward retraining that is coherent with change.
These are the major themes and speculations in the complex of education,
work, and the future. As it stands, this discourse does little more than lend itself,
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ROBERT LANNING
as Livingstone and Harker have suggested, to the increased powerlessness of
people, and a continuation of the contest between the individual and society. If
educational futures claim a necessary interdependence with social components
outside of schooling, such as the organization of production, then it should be
argued with equal force that an adequate analysis of educational futures depends
on a social theory in which education, work, and society share the same kind of
interdependence.
SHIFTING THE FOCUS: A RETURN TO FUNDAMENTAL SOCIAL CATEGORIES
The discussion of educational futures not only contains a critique of existing
conditions, but proposes new work and educational patterns that will become the
foundation for social relations. A critical knowledge of everyday life must
respond to these proposed patterns by initially restating the premise that the
individual is an expression of society’s totality of forces and relations. Heller
(1984) begins with: “If individuals are to reproduce society, they must reproduce
themselves as individuals. We may define ‘everyday life’ as the aggregate of
those individual reproductive factors which . . . make social reproduction
possible” (p. 3). Additionally, it is imperative that the corporate agenda of
educational futures, which takes change and uncertainty as a positive, be interrogated by a series of questions about how everyday life is sustained and reproduced, what social forces alter familiar terrain, and to what extent everyday life
can be changed before necessary needs of persons, as defined by Heller (1974,
p. 33), are undermined. Thus, an oppositional critique necessarily operates at
three levels. First, it must reveal educational futures as an attack on the existing
content of everyday life. Second, there must be an attempt to “protect” certain
moral and cultural elements that have become “an organic part of the ‘normal’
life of people belonging to a particular class in a given society” (Heller, 1974,
p. 33). Finally, such a critique must go beyond what is customary and establish
a new basis of existence that is in the interests of this, the working class. In this
article I can only begin such a critique on the first two levels.
Thus, we need to examine fundamental categories of social relations, delineating the territory of expectation for most persons about to make the transition
from school to work. Except for the category of alienation, the categories dealt
with here — work, knowledge, time, and generational succession — are all takenfor-granted categories along which persons progress through established patterns
of living. But, as argued to this point, educational futures discourse actively
displaces the familiar in favour of other courses of expectation and behaviour.
Space does not permit a thorough historical analysis, but without difficulty one
could demonstrate that much social disorder and reform has arisen because of
conflict over work practices, the control of knowledge, the division of time
between work and leisure, and issues of social and personal security.7
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Work and Knowledge
The Economic Council of Canada (1992) states that the student population to
which their proposals are directed is the 70% who are not normally expected to
go on to post-secondary education (pp. 47, 52). This is the same figure used by
Arthur Wirth in his Education and Work for the Year 2000 (1991), a futurist
proposal for American education. Although technological and other changes will
affect the entire population, it is apparent to educational futurists that the most
serious impact will be felt by those in the industrial and service sectors. This is
also the group whose rising expectations will more likely end in frustration
(Shane, 1981, p. 26). Thus, those who claim to know the impact of future change
have aimed their discussions at the mass of less educated and less skilled
working people to be specifically displaced by the so-called post-industrial age.
Within different historical and social contexts, work and knowledge are
necessary as well as socially constructed needs of persons, organized to assist in
the achievement of economic and community goals. Production, learning, and
doing work is a matter of acquiring the skills necessary for participating in the
social production process essential for developing human talents and capabilities
via the “conscious direction of physical and mental resources,” (Heller, 1984, p.
66). Work, and the knowledge on which it is sustained, is, for Lefebvre (1991),
“the foremost need” because it can lead to knowledge of the social system as a
dialectical whole, as well as free the worker from social constraints and provide
conditions for him or her to master necessity (p. 39).
Educational futurists allow that functional literacy will remain a basic
requirement of schooling for employment; they also promote values education
and the arts as components of a future curriculum, and introduce such new programs as gender equity and ecology. These are tangential, however, to the main
focus on education as a response to labour-market demands. This is, in effect,
a critique of the necessity for working people to possess and/or control knowledge as nothing more than an instrumental requirement to acquire paid work.
Critical, even quasi-autonomous, knowledge is not an issue in these documents;
it has been replaced by attitudes, and learning as means of adjustment to change
and becoming an economically viable person. Adopting an affirmative attitude
and learning fragmentary roles in production or service are key needs of the
labour market that schools can satisfy. Continuous technological change does not
require knowledge of a holistic and genuinely critical character but rather an
attitude to learning that produces and accommodates temporary and adaptable
skills. Because education and the economic market increasingly operate from the
same models (McMurtry, 1991, pp. 211–212), it is not surprising that market
power determines the content of learning and personal adaptability. The success
of vocational education — in fact, its very relevance to the future — depends on
the capacity of training systems to respond to a changing economic and technical
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ROBERT LANNING
environment. But what skills will be needed in the “rapidly evolving industrial
world”? The Economic Council of Canada (1992) answers that the “articulation
of such needs is a crucial component of coherence, since clear signals are necessary for institutions and individuals to respond appropriately” (p. 22, as well as
pp. 17, 39, 52; see also Ontario Ministry of Education, 1984, pp. 16–18, 29–32).
John Farrell (1990) is more confident, stating that “industry knows what practical
and academic skills will be needed for current and future occupations” (p. 28).
In their critique of everyday life, those speaking on behalf of corporate and
state interests (including academics) not only want to determine which skills or
talents are of most worth, but how, ideologically, old knowledge and old
customs, which are actually workers’ self-expressions in labour, will be replaced.
Wirth claims that computer technology has brought about the need for a new
type of thinking, symbolic analysis. This is different, he says, from what he calls
the “action-centred skills” common to industrial workers. Metalworkers, for
example, have in the past relied on the colour of a flame or of a piece of steel
to determine temperature. To Wirth, this is merely an “old physical response” to
be replaced by symbolic analysis. He apparently does not accept that the sense
of sight, touch, or smell is, in fact, a base for cognitive action. Wirth (1991)
seems ready to throw out a form of cognition rooted in pre-industrial labour for
the ideological magic of computer technology and its print-outs (pp. 58–59), a
critique of work lore that undermines a relatively autonomous comprehension of
aspects of the world over which working people have some control.
Consider another example of a new work/knowledge complex, one in which
high school students participate regularly through school/work programs. Once
limited to tallying the bill, taking money, and making change, the clerk in the
computerized grocery store is now involved, Wirth (1991) says, in inventory control, decisions about ordering stock, and related matters. The web of electronic
relations has surpassed the old division of labour, creating a workplace in which
the computer mediates a functional equality of personnel (pp. 56–58). This is an
ideological fantasy. The grocery clerk is “involved” in high-tech work relations
only because he or she moves a package with a bar code across an infra-red
light, signalling the computer to begin a process that results at some point in a
programmed decision to order another carton of wheat flakes. Wirth’s position
is that systems work when all components are recognized as having systemvalue. This is the same rationale offered in the education documents for adjusting
to globalization, that self-driving interdependence of economies wherein each
nation has a functional role in maintaining the system (Ontario Ministry of Education, 1984, p. 9).
Thus, even what the market has previously required of workers’ knowledge
is overtaken by the claims of a future workplace in which the criticism of workers’ talents and capacities is legitimized by the rapidity of changing demands.
The reification of knowledge as computer/electronic information is merely a
recent expression of the contest over control of knowledge in the workplace (see
473
Braverman, 1974; Burawoy, 1985; Palmer, 1992). It has been and remains an
attempt by dominant forces in society to appropriate the means working people
use to fulfil a necessary need — to work in order to reproduce everyday life.
There is little in this futures discourse that remotely approximates a critical
approach to education and work. Educational futurists have speculated on the
needs of dominant institutions generating change, paying little or no attention to
those affected by it. Curricula designed to lead to a questioning and critical
appropriation of the world are absent (see Simon, Dippo, & Schenke, 1991).
Time and Generational Succession
Understanding the re-organization of the conceptual or practical dimensions of
time is essential for comprehending the depth of the bourgeois critique of everyday life. Heller’s (1978) category of time is of particular use here. She says that
the rhythm of time “serves to express the tempo of development of the whole
society” (p. 186), through the more particular rhythm of events: birth, death,
schooling, work, retirement, and so on. Continuity of time, and the consciousness
of it, are implicit in the transfer of knowledge between generations. There is an
expectation in everyday life that the flow of knowledge over time draws into its
movement a new generation, whose members must be conscious of this continuity and desire to be drawn into it, particularly in the case of work. Consciousness
of the continuity of time is necessary for “comprehending humanity’s road to the
present . . . as a temporal process” (p. 182).
The rhythm of time is undermined in the speculations of educational futurists.
The obsession with self-driven technological change works against generational
continuity as a necessary need. At the level of everyday life, the future is about
this kind of continuity. Our culture is sustained, in part, by our tendency to think
and act toward the future; it is an aspect of the teleological orientation of our
species-being (Lukacs, 1978, 1980; Marx, 1977). In the twentieth century, working people particularly have anticipated the future as a time of comparative
security, of a leisure built on that security, but which is possible only after work,
raising children and accumulating material goods over a long period of time.
During these efforts, persons become increasingly conscious of the time they are
going through and toward, attempting to establish a pattern that will “guarantee”
their future as well as lay the groundwork for generational continuity. The
patterns vary among persons in disparate social positions. Appropriate to the
current argument, Lynd (1939/1964) discussed “the hope of sending the children
to college” (p. 92) — a means of reproducing generations and making the future
better.
With this exception, if one represents the future as it feels psychologically to the
businessman as a prolonged line sloping upward, it is probably safe to depict the sense
of the future of a growing mass of workingmen as a horizontal line with incidental waves
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ROBERT LANNING
of recurrent good times. . . . The predominant time-focus in one case is relatively long
. . . in the other, short, from week to week or month to month. (pp. 92–93)
Educational futurists have implicitly accepted this distinction in time (represented, in part, by the 70:30 split in education after high school), and rest the
legitimacy of their proposals on a significant proportion of the population
adapting to this difference in experience and expectation.
In practical terms, the educational documents emphasize that schooling will
be increasingly concerned with preparing young people for a disjointed timeframe of work and other life activities, for the discontinuity of events that will
shape their lives. Flexible specialization and preparation for it in schooling
requires that time be understood as an integrated temporal/spatial concept — as
punctuality. This is an aspect of “knowing the times” and provokes such questions as, “At what time-juncture in the progress of technology will I be required
learn another, different fragmentary skill, and to what other work space must I
shift in order to live temporarily by this fragment?” Knowing the times in this
context means understanding the rhythm and pattern of technological change for
the sake of one’s own fit into the system of production. The rhythms of work
life, the expectations of continuity (i.e., security) are revealed in educational
futures to be the instrumental linkage between the temporal and spatial relations
of schooling and those of production. The “just-in-time work force” exemplifies
the corporate sector’s power to reconstitute work as temporary, at base, located
in the most instrumental time/space contexts of production and social life. What
it is like to adapt to these conditions has been sensitively discussed by Burman
and his unemployed subjects (1988, pp. 139–164).
Alienation and Fragmentation
Alienation occurs when people struggle between socially constructed needs and
natural/necessary needs. Work is a necessary need; consumption beyond a certain
level is a socially constructed need. But more importantly, a future of change in
the direction these documents assume, and in which work-knowledge is continually diminished, is claimed as a “need” for national survival (Ontario Ministry
of Education, 1984, p. 83). Proposed curriculum changes serve the needs of the
business sector in opposition to the necessary needs of those to whom their
documents are directed.
From the point of view of sociologists and philosophers of everyday life,
labour is an act of self-expression and self-preservation, and not, in itself, in any
necessary relationship to alienation (Lefebvre, 1991, p. 38; Lukacs, 1978, 1980;
Marx, 1977, pp. 66–75). But alienation is, from Lefebvre’s (1991) critical
perspective, the “driving force behind the critique of everyday life” (p. 76). For
if everyday life is concerned with the reproduction of individuals, they must
attempt this within such categories as work, knowledge, and the succession of
475
generations. In the category of work alone, social reproduction is carried out in
terms of its structured spatial, temporal, and human relations. In the future, more
than now or in the past, it seems, these relations will constitute the terrain of
conflict over everyday life, for here more than elsewhere the fragmentation process of industrialism continues hard at work. The subordination of work-life to
technological change, fluctuations in economic conditions, and competition between core and peripheral groups of workers will become sources of alienation.
The argument here is not that societies must be stable to protect vulnerable
working people, for the history of industrial labour shows that workers themselves have generated much social change and established new conditions for
security. Nor is the issue simply one of the production and control of knowledge.
Rather, it is that through the categories of thought and action noted above
persons live and expect to live. Further, it is the control over and influence
within these categories that is further stripped away in the futures discourse.
If work is self-expression, then the continued fragmentation of this means of
expression will lend persons an increasingly dismembered identity — historically,
a generalized effect of industrial labour. The bourgeois critique of everyday life
through educational futures continues and intensifies this fragmentation by
specifically attacking these fundamental categories of human development and
maintenance. Knowledge or skill, education or training are not the starting point
of these educational futures or of new production programs. Rather, their primary
orientation is temporariness, redundancy in skill, obsolescence in the production
process, the absence as much as the presence of knowledge, and competition
between spatially related groups. These constitute a reinvigorated attack on the
familiar, on normative expectations of personal as well as social security. Not
surprisingly, alienation is also appropriated as a normal (i.e., expected) part of
knowing our culture. It is recognized that change, whether social or individual,
can affect persons’ development and self-image. In social studies texts, the
negativity of alienation has been reconciled with technological change (Irving,
Deering, Gerrard, & Sheahan, 1988, pp. 258–261; Sproule, 1988, pp. 326–331).
Educational futurists seem to have three lines of defense. One is their
empirically based rationale that change is occurring, that it is legitimate because
it is fact. Technological or other forms of change are, however, socially
constructed through conscious human agency. Thus, the changes they anticipate
can be linked to particular interests. The second line of defense is the offer of
“life-long learning” as an antidote to redundancy. Fundamental to all the educational documents reviewed here, and such work programs as flexible specialization, is the continuous and socially constructed need to learn, not more, but
other. The surpassing of one or another skill or fragment of knowledge, students
are warned, is an inescapable condition of the future (ECC, 1992, pp. 16–17,
44–46). But as Livingstone (1993) has shown, life-long learning for poor and
working people remains systematically constrained. Although the trend has
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ROBERT LANNING
changed in some respects it is still the youngest and most educated who
participate in continuous education activities, and the oldest and least educated
whose labour experience and desire for knowledge is least used.
The third defense of educational futurists is the momentum of their rhetoric:
they attempt to legitimize the alienating, destabilizing effects of displacement and
the disjointedness of working people’s lives, it seems, by impressing upon these
people the need to alter their expectations as often as they will be required to
change their fragmentary skills and shift from redundancy to employment to
redundancy again. This is why attitude is so important in these documents — it
is the most useful “knowledge” to be acquired in schooling because it maintains
the fiction that affirmative individual responses to institutional demands is the
key to adaptation and success.
The concept of educational futures has become inextricably linked to the
demands of the business sector. As McMurtry (1991) has argued, the production
of knowledge for corporations, once a by-product of education, “is now proclaimed as its ultimate goal” (p. 210). For all their attention to the individual, to
the subjective component of education, educational futurists have failed to
account for the consequences of this connection and the outcome of subverting
certain necessary human needs.
NOTES
1
I thank the three anonymous reviewers, and, especially, David Livingstone for their critical
comments and suggestions.
2
I use “documents” as a generic term in this article to refer to these publications.
3
From a different perspective, but of similar import, A. Giddens (1991) has stressed the significance of routine as a starting point of self-identification.
4
It is also important to note that beyond any empirical trend to shift away from industrial labour
in North America is the shift of industrial capacity, and therefore industrial labour, to less
developed regions. This is not evidence of a coming post-industrial society through technological
change so much as it is a continuation of capital’s historic and global search for less restrictive
environments and cheaper labour.
5
A critical survey of this document and others which accompanied it in Saskatchewan can be found
in Regnier (1987).
6
In this regard, among key statements and proposals are those of the Corporate-Higher Education
Forum (1990) and Bloom (1990, 1991).
7
It must be acknowledged that in using the concept of familiarity we risk reifying some social
relations and practices. The “familiar is not necessarily the known” (Lefebvre, 1991, p. 15); its
categories are social relations and social roles which may be dominant but also ordinary and
uncritical. It is on this basis, however, that a critical knowledge of existing relations — one’s place
in the world — and alternatives, may be acquired. Some categories of work, education, and
experience will illustrate the effect of this critique.
REFERENCES
Atkinson, J. (1984, August). Manpower strategies for flexible organizations. Personnel Management,
pp. 28–31.
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Bloom, M. (1990). Reaching for success: Business and education working together. Ottawa:
Conference Board of Canada.
Bloom, M. (1991). Reaching for success: Business and education working together. Ottawa:
Conference Board of Canada.
Braverman, H. (1974). Labor and monopoly capital. New York: Monthly Review Press.
British Columbia Ministry of Education. (1992). Year 2000: A framework for learning. Victoria:
Queen’s Printer.
Burman, P. (1988). Killing time, losing ground. Toronto: Wall and Thompson.
Burawoy, M. (1985). The politics of production. London: Verso.
Corporate-Higher Education Forum. (1990). Learning for the future. Montreal: Author.
Economic Council of Canada [ECC]. (1992). A lot to learn. Ottawa: Minister of Supply and Services.
Etzioni, A., & Jargowsky, P. A. (1990). The false choice between high technology and basic industry.
In K. Erickson & S. P. Vallas (Eds.), The nature of work (pp. 304–318). New Haven: Yale
University Press.
Farrell, J. H. (1990, September/October). Education and industry: A vital partnership for the 1990’s.
Education Today, pp. 16–28.
Giddens, A. (1991). Modernity and self-identity. Stanford: Stanford University Press.
Greenleaf, A. (1993 March/April). Workplace needs and educational goals: Closing the gap.
Education Today, pp. 20–23.
Harker, W. J. (1992). Framing the text: The Year 2000 in British Columbia. Canadian Journal of
Education, 17, 1–11.
Heller, A. (1974). The theory of need in Marx. London, UK: Allison and Busby.
Heller, A. (1978). Renaissance man. London, UK: Routledge, Kegan Paul.
Heller, A. (1984). Everyday life. London, UK: Routledge, Kegan Paul.
Irving, G., Deering, R., Gerrard, D., & Sheahan, P. (1988). Society: Living with change. Don Mills:
Addison-Wesley.
Johnston, B. J. (1993). The transformation of work and educational reform policy. American
Educational Research Journal, 30, 39–65.
Kanter, R. M. (1990). The new workforce meets the changing workplace. In K. Erickson & S. P.
Vallas (Eds.), The nature of work (pp. 279–303). New Haven: Yale University Press.
Lefebvre, H. (1991). Critique of everyday life. London, UK: Verso.
Livingstone, D. W. (1983). Class ideologies and educational futures. London, UK: Falmer.
Livingstone, D. W. (1993). Lifelong education and chronic underemployment: Exploring the contradiction. In P. Anisef & P. Axelrod (Eds.), Schooling and employment in Canada (pp. 89–102).
Toronto: Thompson Educational Publishing.
Lukacs, G. (1978). The ontology of social being: Marx. London, UK: Merlin.
Lukacs, G. (1980). The ontology of social being: Labour. London, UK: Merlin.
Lynd, R. S. (1964). Knowledge for what? New York: Grove Press. (Original work published 1939)
Marx, K. (1977). Economic and philosophical manuscripts of 1844. Moscow: Progress.
Marx, K., & Engels, F. (1970). The German ideology. London, UK: Lawrence and Wishart.
McMurtry, J. (1991). Education and the market model. Journal of the Philosophy of Education, 25,
209–217.
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New Brunswick Commission on Excellence in Education. (1991). Schools for a new century.
Fredericton: Author.
Ontario Ministry of Education. (1984). Towards the year 2000. Toronto: Author.
Palmer, B. D. (1992). Working class experience. Toronto: McClelland and Stewart.
Regnier, R. (1987). Maximum consultation, minimum rationality. In D. Cochrane (Ed.), So much for
the mind (pp. 69–90). Toronto: Kagan and Woo.
Saskatchewan Department of Education. (1985). Toward the year 2000. Regina: Author.
Shane, H. (1981). Education for a new millennium. Bloomington, IN: Phi Delta Kappa Educational
Foundation.
Simon, R., Dippo, D., & Schenke, A. (1991). Learning work: A critical pedagogy of work education.
Toronto: OISE Press.
Sproule, W. (1988). People in perspective. Scarborough, ON: Prentice-Hall.
Wirth, A. (1991). Education and work for the year 2000. San Francisco: Jossey-Bass.
Robert Lanning is in the Department of Social Science, University of New Brunswick, Saint John,
New Brunswick, E2L 4L5.
Débat / Discussion Note
A Response to Larry Sackney’s Review of
Decentralization and School-Based Management
Dan Brown
university of british columbia
Larry Sackney’s review of my book Decentralization and School-Based Management appeared in the Canadian Journal of Education in Autumn 1992 (volume
17, number 4; pp. 473–476). Unfortunately, the review has some glaring deficiencies: serious omissions, extraneous criticisms, unsubstantiated allegations, and
contradictory concluding statements. As it stands, the review is a strong example
of how not to write a book review.
One objective of a review is to convey to the reader what the book was
intended to do, why it was written, and what the author’s main conclusions are.
Sackney’s review is spotty since it is restricted to only some of the volume’s
contents. The overall subject matter and boundaries could have been made clear.
Among points that might have been mentioned are that the book considers
school-based management to be an organizational rather than a political phenomenon, that the voices in the book are chiefly those of persons who work in
decentralized school districts, and that the change to decentralization requires a
lot of preparation. These omissions are substantial, but the review falls down
even more on its three kinds of criticisms.
Sackney takes questions about instructional practices and teacher supervision
from my suggestions for further research in the last chapter, and then implies that
they should have been addressed. Clearly, they were not part of the study and
ought not to be considered oversights. Sackney calls for more data from teachers
on empowerment. But such data were not collected because it was not my specified intention to stress this topic. What Sackney does is ignore my aims and ask,
“Why didn’t he use a different viewpoint or different data?” As stated, these
criticisms are entirely extraneous to the book. This is akin to picking up a book
on religion and saying that it does not offer knowledge about gardening, which
is what the reviewer wanted.
Sackney’s point about the unusual juxtaposition of a structural view with perceptual data (p. 474) is well made. Elementary readings on educational research
show, however, that administrative studies conceived entirely within one paradigm are severely limited either by lack of meaning or generalizability. That is
why most researchers combine paradigms and methods to some extent. More
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DÉBAT
/
DISCUSSION NOTE
importantly, his remark about superficiality of the analysis of the effect of
decentralization on roles other than the principalship is not backed up. In fact,
I devoted 7 pages of data analysis to the principalship, and 8.3 pages to other
roles on which the effect of decentralization was much less (according to both
the data and the literature). Criticisms must be substantiated by evidence. In this
instance, the facts make the allegation of superficiality appear superficial itself.
Sackney zeros in on my query of whether school-based management increases
school productivity. He claims I did not answer this question, then cites the four
answers I provided. On the basis of his own data, it appears I did in fact answer
the question.
In Sackney’s final comment he says I showed what decentralization is, how
it works, and how it is achieved, and that the book would be of interest to others.
But he (1) does not say what the book did do well, and (2) makes some severely
negative criticisms. This is an ethical issue; these particular remarks are inconsistent with the preceding review. Reviewers must ensure that what they state or
imply in one place does not contradict what they say in another.
Some of Sackney’s responses go well beyond the book to comment on the
study of decentralization in general. That is probably a good idea. For instance,
he asserts that more data are available from the Edmonton Public Schools,
although I had written that they were not on hand. The author and reviewer here
disagree. But the discussion could have been extended to other developments.
Since the book was written, political decentralization has been instituted in
England and Wales as well as Chicago, whereas organizational decentralization
closely akin to the Canadian version is being implemented in Kentucky. Issues
of governance and participation could have been made really exciting had the
models been contrasted.
Writing an informed and reasoned review is not easy; no question. But this
does not mean that ill-thought-out reviews are excusable. They are not. For many
readers, a single review will be their sole acquaintance with a book. Academic
decisions are made on the assumption that reviewers have done a conscientious
job. Although Sackney’s review is a notable failure, I hope my response will
strengthen reviewers’ resolve to do the best work possible.
Essai critique / Review Essay
La didactique du français langue maternelle:
analyse d’une recherche bibliographique
fondamentale
Claude Simard
université laval
La didactique du français langue maternelle (DFLM en abrégé) est une discipline
relativement jeune qui n’a pas encore atteint le degré de développement auquel
sont parvenues les sciences connexes plus anciennes comme la linguistique ou
la psychologie. Très peu d’ouvrages de référence ont été publiés dans le domaine. La recherche bibliographique menée sous la direction de Gilles Gagné de
l’Université de Montréal contribuera à combler cette lacune et à consolider le
statut de la DFLM. Jusqu’à maintenant, quatre livres sont parus:
Gagné, G., Lazure, R., Sprenger-Charolles, L. et Ropé, F. (1989). Recherches en
didactique et acquisition du français langue maternelle. Tome 1: cadre conceptuel, thésaurus et lexique des mots-clés. Montréal: De-Boeck-Université,
Éditions universitaires, Institut national de recherche pédagogique, Programme
de perfectionnement des maîtres de français, 200 p.
didactique et acquisition du français langue maternelle. Tome 2: Répertoire
bibliographique. Montréal: De-Boeck-Université, Éditions universitaires, Institut national de recherche pédagogique, Programme de perfectionnement des
maîtres de français, 497 p.
didactique et acquisition du français langue maternelle. Répertoire bibliographique: mise à jour 1. Montréal: Services documentaires multimedia, 250 p.
didactique et acquisition du français langue maternelle. Répertoire bibliographique: mise à jour 2. Montréal: Services documentaires multimedia, 250 p.
Cette imposante recherche bibliographique a été réalisée conjointement par une
équipe de l’Université de Montréal et une équipe de l’Institut national de recherche pédagogique de France. En plus de se présenter sous la forme de volumes,
la banque de données peut être consultée par ordinateur sous le nom de DAFTEL
(ou Émile 3) en France et de DAF au Québec.
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ESSAI CRITIQUE
/
REVIEW ESSAY
L’ouvrage vise à fournir un inventaire exhaustif des recherches en didactique
et en acquisition du français langue maternelle produites de 1970 à 1984 pour le
premier répertoire, et de 1970 à 1988 et 1989 pour la première et la deuxième
mise à jour. Les auteurs annoncent que d’autres mises à jour pour les recherches
antérieures et postérieures à 1989 seront réalisées régulièrement. La bibliographie
concerne les travaux produits uniquement dans les pays de souche francophone,
soit la Belgique wallone, le Canada français, la France, le Luxembourg, le Québec et la Suisse romande.
D’après les indications données dans le tome de présentation, les recherches
retenues ne couvriraient, sur le plan de l’âge et du niveau scolaire, que les
époques allant de la petite enfance à l’adolescence (fin du secondaire pour les
pays européens ou fin du collégial pour le Québec). Ces limites chronologiques
et institutionnelles semblent restrictives et devraient être élargies. La didactique
du français langue maternelle s’intéresse directement à des sujets tels que l’alphabétisation des adultes illettrés ou le réapprentissage du français écrit chez les
étudiants qui sont encore mauvais scripteurs à l’université. De même, la formation des enseignants de français relève en propre de la DFLM. Il serait à la fois
dommage et injustifié qu’une recherche bibliographique en DFLM qui se veut
exhaustive n’inclue pas les études sur des questions aussi importantes.
La bibliographie n’a pas de prétention critique. Elle se veut essentiellement
descriptive et analytique. Les descripteurs choisis pour l’indexation des travaux
portent sur le type de recherche, le pays d’origine, l’âge des sujets, etc. Dans le
premier répertoire, celui de 1989, les références bibliographiques sont simplement
analysées à l’aide de descripteurs. Dans les deux mises à jour, les notices pour
les recherches postérieures à 1984 sont suivies d’un résumé, ce qui renseigne
beaucoup mieux l’usager sur le contenu des documents recensés. Pour faciliter
la consultation, le répertoire est accompagné d’un index des auteurs et d’un index
des sujets. Si l’on combine le premier répertoire aux deux mises à jour publiées,
la banque contient en tout 3 492 références.
Nous nous attarderons surtout sur le premier tome, où sont exposés les principes à la base de la recherche bibliographique. En plus du lexique des mots-clés,
le tome de présentation fournit un thésaurus, c’est-à-dire une liste hiérarchisée
des termes utilisés, ainsi que le cadre conceptuel de l’étude, texte substantiel qui
définit le domaine de la didactique de la langue maternelle, propose une typologie des recherches en didactique et explicite les modalités de la recherche
documentaire. Le cadre conceptuel élaboré par l’équipe de Gilles Gagné peut être
considéré comme un texte fondamental en didactique de la langue maternelle, en
raison de la portée épistémologique des notions abordées et de la clarté de l’argumentation. Faute d’espace, nous ne pourrons examiner que quelques concepts qui
nous paraissent essentiels parmi tous ceux que les auteurs ont été amenés à définir.
Le champ de la didactique du français langue maternelle est situé à l’intersection de deux grands domaines de référence, d’une part celui de l’enseignement/
ESSAI CRITIQUE
/
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REVIEW ESSAY
apprentissage, qu’étudient particulièrement les sciences de l’éducation et la psychologie, d’autre part celui de la langue, qui relève notamment des sciences du
langage et des théories de la littérature. Les auteurs proposent le schéma suivant
(tome 1, p. 10) pour illustrer cette idée d’intersection:
SCHÉMA 1
Délimitation du champ de la didactique du français langue maternelle
DIDACTIQUE DU FRANÇAIS
LANGUE MATERNELLE
↓
ENSEIGNEMENT
CONTENU
APPRENTISSAGE
DISCIPLINAIRE
↓
sciences de l’éducation,
psychologie, sociologie, etc.
↓
sciences du langage, de la
communication, théories de
la littérature, etc.
Une telle conception de la didactique est admise de plus en plus. La plupart des
didacticiens de diverses disciplines s’entendent actuellement pour dire que la
réflexion didactique porte sur les phénomènes d’enseignement/apprentissage
d’une matière donnée. C’est avant tout en fonction de ce principe du croisement
qu’a été opérée la sélection des travaux pour le répertoire bibliographique: une
recherche qui ne portait pas en même temps sur un aspect de l’enseignement/apprentissage et sur un contenu du français langue maternelle a été éliminée.
Dans la deuxième mise à jour (p. 7), les auteurs proposent ce deuxième
schéma en vue de mieux circonscrire l’objet de la DFLM:
SCHÉMA 2
Objet du champ de la didactique du français langue maternelle
interactions
enseignement
←
verbales
→
↓
développement
↓
enseignant
établissement
apprentissage/
→
composantes
langagières
←
élève
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ESSAI CRITIQUE
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REVIEW ESSAY
Cette autre figure ajoute un pôle “apprentissage” les caractéristiques des élèves
et au pôle “enseignement,” les caractéristiques des enseignants et des établissements. En outre, elle place indistinctement les interactions verbales et les
composantes langagières au coeur des préoccupations de la DFLM. Les
interactions verbales entre l’enseignant et l’élève ne forment pourtant pas un
objet d’enseignement/apprentissage au même titre que les composantes
langagières de lecture, d’écriture, d’écoute et d’expression orale. Les interactions
verbales en classe constituent en fait des moyens par lesquels l’enseignant tente
de faire acquérir à l’apprenant des savoirs et des savoir-faire langagiers. Cette
assimilation des interactions verbales aux composantes langagières est conceptuellement abusive. Si la DFLM s’intéresse aux interactions verbales en classe,
c’est moins pour elles-mêmes que pour mieux voir comment les contenus
d’enseignement/apprentissage propres au français langue maternelle sont transmis
par les enseignants et comment ils sont appréhendés par les apprenants au travers
du langage. Il faudrait repenser ce schéma de manière à réinsérer les interactions
verbales du côté de l’enseignement et de l’apprentissage.
Comme l’étude de la langue maternelle à l’école est tributaire des expériences
vécues par l’apprenant en dehors du cadre scolaire, la bibliographie comprend les
recherches relatives à l’apprentissage du français langue maternelle en milieu
“naturel.” Les auteurs distinguent bien cependant les travaux relevant en propre
de la didactique, soit ceux qui ont été réalisés à l’intérieur de l’institution
scolaire, et les études qui concernent plutôt l’acquisition du langage en dehors
du cadre scolaire, particulièrement durant la petite enfance dans le milieu
familial. Le titre de l’ouvrage est très clair à ce propos: sont répertoriées les
“recherches en didactique et acquisition du français langue maternelle.”
Après avoir défini le champ et l’objet de la DFLM, les auteurs se penchent sur
les concepts d’enseignement et d’apprentissage.
Relevons tout de suite un raccourci inexact à propos des deux grands courants
de la psychologie. Même si le cadre de l’ouvrage n’admettait pas un long
parallèle entre le béhaviorisme et le constructivisme, il reste qu’on ne peut
distinguer ces deux “options psychologiques” en se contentant d’affirmer que les
béhavioristes regardent surtout le résultat alors les constructivistes se penchent
plutôt sur le processus d’apprentissage (tome 1, p. 17). Il s’agit en fait de deux
systèmes proposant des visions diamétralement opposées de l’apprentissage, le
premier postulant la transmission de la connaissance par conditionnement, le
second insistant au contraire sur l’activité structurante de la pensée du sujet dans
l’acquisition des connaissances.
La notion de représentation est très mal exposée quant à ses rapports avec
l’enseignement. Dans le lexique complétant le cadre théorique, le terme
représentation de l’enseignant est malencontreusement assimilé à attitude de
l’enseignement, bien que les représentations soient avant tout d’ordre conceptuel
et non affectif. Le terme représentation de l’élève reçoit en revanche une
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définition plus juste: “perception que l’élève a de la situation d’apprentissage, de
l’objet d’apprentissage, du processus ou de la démarche utilisés, de la tâche à
accomplir, etc.” (p. 181). La première mise à jour a rectifié l’erreur relative à
l’expression représentation de l’enseignant en en reformulant la définition sur le
modèle de celle de représentation de l’élève et en éliminant le renvoi à attitude
de l’enseignant. L’erreur initiale qu’on relève dans le tome 1 s’explique difficilement quand on songe à l’importance capitale que la notion de représentation
(ou de conception) a prise ces dernières années en didactique. S’il est une
question qui intéresse au premier chef la DFLM, ce sont bien les conceptions que
les enseignants et les élèves se font des composantes langagières. Admettons que
la recherche sur les représentations est plus avancée en didactique des sciences.
Elle a cependant pris un essor si net en didactique des langues depuis les années
1980-1990 que la banque DAF ne peut la négliger. À regarder en comparaison
le nombre élevé d’entrées consacrées à la notion de préalable (ou l’équivalent
anglais de prérequis), on constate que le cadre conceptuel ainsi que les
recherches recensées par l’équipe de Gilles Gagné sont encore marqués par le
paradigme béhavioriste dominant des années 1960-1970. On peut espérer qu’à
l’avenir le paradigme montant de la psychologie cognitive prendra de plus en
plus de place.
Un autre aspect négligé par la bibliographie, du moins dans le cadre
conceptuel et le lexique, se rapporte à l’idéologie. L’enseignement du français
langue maternelle est soumis à de très fortes pressions provenant des médias, de
l’opinion publique et du gouvernement, en raison de la portée politique et
culturelle de la langue nationale dans le fonctionnement des États. Comme l’a
écrit Jean-François Halté dans son Que sais-je? sur la didactique du français
(1992, no 2656, p. 11), “en français plus qu’ailleurs, la réflexion didactique ne
peut s’émanciper facilement des conflits de valeurs.” Cette dimension importante
a été pratiquement oubliée dans le tome de présentation comme dans les deux
mises à jour. L’idéologie n’a même pas été intégrée aux concepts clés. Aucune
expression analogue ne figure comme image sociale de l’enseignement du français perception et attente du public vis-à-vis de l’enseignement du français, etc.
La première mise à jour retient bien effet social de l’enseignement, mais seulement par rapport à la différenciation sociale. Par ailleurs, ainsi que le programme
de français du secondaire du Québec l’a mis en évidence, la langue maternelle
constitue un puissant moyen de transmission des valeurs socio-culturelles
orientant la vie d’une collectivité. Le silence règne encore au sujet de ce volet
fondamental de l’enseignement de la langue maternelle. Sous aucune rubrique,
il n’est fait mention spécifiquement des aspects culturels et axiologiques de la
langue. Une telle lacune doit être comblée sans tarder dans la prochaine mise à
jour. La didactique du français ne peut se restreindre à une vision techniciste de
l’enseignement/apprentissage de la langue maternelle. Parmi les mots-clés du domaine, on doit trouver ceux qui couvrent la dimention socio-culturelle aussi bien
486
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REVIEW ESSAY
que des termes techniques comme didacticiel, groupe témoin, lisibilité, méthode
syllabique, vidéo . . .
Les composantes langagières forment l’axe des contenus disciplinaires de la
DFLM. Les auteurs les ont divisées en trois catégories: (1) les aspects reliés à
la langue et au langage, (2) la littérature et les autres médias, (3) les relations
entre le français et les autres matières. La première division, la plus large, réunit
les habiletés de réception et de production, les éléments du code linguistique et
de l’organisation globale du discours, les aspects métalinguistiques ainsi que les
rapports entre les diverses composantes susmentionnées (rapport lecture/écriture,
rapport code oral/code écrit, etc.).
La deuxième division tombe dans l’ambiguïté en introduisant une distinction
contestable entre texte et document. Le premier serait de nature littéraire et
renverrait à l’oeuvre considérée dans sa facture interne, tandis que le second se
concentrerait sur la fonction référentielle et appartiendrait aux médias (presse,
télévision, radio, film . . .). Cette opposition renvoie “en amont” à la distinction
du littéraire et du non-littéraire. Il est faux de prétendre que les discours non
littéraires sont surtout référentiels. Ce critère s’applique peut-être aux discours
informatifs (et encore!), mais certainement pas aux discours d’opinion et d’argumentation qui ressortissent avant tout à la fonction conative du langage. En outre,
le terme document pourrait convenir à propos des discours mixtes recourant à la
fois au langage et à l’image comme le cinéma ou la bande dessinée. Mais en
quoi un article de journal comme un éditorial ou un fait divers ne pourrait-il pas
représenter un texte au même titre qu’un conte ou un poème? Ces appellations,
en apparence commodes, ne sont pas vraiment appropriées et demanderaient à
être révisées.
Devant la difficulté de cerner la littérarité, les auteurs ont décidé de regrouper
les notions de texte et de document. Dans le thésaurus, les deux termes forment
effectivement une même rubrique. Cet amalgame risque cependant de gommer
la part importante que devrait détenir la littérature dans l’enseignement de la
langue maternelle. À notre époque où l’écrit administratif, technique et journalistique se multiplie, la classe de français n’a sans doute pas d’autre choix que
d’accueillir les articles de presse, les textes de vulgarisation scientifique, les
messages publicitaires ou électoraux, etc. L’entrée des discours courants ne
signifie absolument pas qu’ils peuvent être assimilés aux textes littéraires compte
tenu des grandes différences entre les deux sur les plans culturel, esthétique et
philosophique. Même si les divisions d’un répertoire bibliographique n’ont pas
à être très approfondies parce qu’elles obéissent principalement aux nécessités
pratiques de l’analyse documentaire, il reste qu’elles ne devraient pas conduire
à de telles distorsions conceptuelles. Il conviendrait que le champ de la littérature
soit reconnu en propre dans le thésaurus.
Au-delà de la question de la littérature se profile l’épineux problème de la
classification des discours. Aucune typologie existante ne permet à elle seule de
ESSAI CRITIQUE
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487
rendre compte de la complexité du monde des discours. Si on veut parvenir, en
didactique, à une vision satisfaisante, on doit se référer à divers modes de classement. De ce point de vue, l’évantail de descripteurs choisis par les auteurs de la
bibliographie permet malgré tout de cerner de façon assez fine les phénomènes
discursifs et textuels abordés dans les recherches répertoriées. Ont été entre
autres identifiées la notion de type de discours (défini selon la forme ou la
fonction) et la notion plus hétéroclite de genre (défini d’après la forme, le
registre, le sujet, le monde de référence, etc.).
La deuxième grande partie du tome de présentation propose une conception
de la recherche ainsi qu’une typologie des recherches. Comme nous voulons nous
en tenir aux aspects directement liés à la didactique du français langue maternelle, nous laisserons de côté les problèmes épistémologiques de fond abordés par
les auteurs (la distinction entre induction et déduction, l’opposition entre
comprendre et exprimer, etc.). Ce serait l’objet d’un autre compte rendu. Nous
nous pencherons plutôt sur la typologie proposée.
Renonçant à la tâche gigantesque de trancher la question de la scientificité, les
auteurs ont préféré s’en tenir à la notion d’activité de recherche, qu’ils ont
décrite d’après quatre critères devant assurer un degré suffisant de rigueur. Ceuxci se rapportent à la détermination des objectifs visés, à l’explication du cadre
théorique inspirant l’étude, à la présence d’une discussion ou d’une démonstration, enfin à l’indication de références bibliographiques intégrées. Malgré leur
imprécision, les quatre critères retenus ont permis à l’usage de distinguer, dans
l’ensemble de la documentation dépouillée, les travaux constituant des recherches
de ceux qui n’en sont pas, tels que les manuels et les textes d’opinion. Il faut se
rappeler qu’en raison de la nature analytique et non critique de la bibliographie,
les auteurs n’ont pas cherché à évaluer la qualité des études, mais simplement
à identifier les recherches dans le domaine en vérifiant la présence des éléments
énumérés ci-dessus.
La typologie de l’équipe de Gagné se fonde sur le double critère de l’objectif
et de la méthodologie. Quatre types sont reconnus: (1) la recherche descriptive,
(2) la recherche théorique, (3) la recherche expérimentale et (4) la recherche-action. La recherche descriptive vise à décrire les phénomènes à l’aide de stratégies
d’observation telles que l’enquête, l’étude de cas, l’analyse de corpus linguistiques, etc. La recherche théorique s’appuie sur l’analyse conceptuelle pour élaborer des modèles théoriques, faire l’examen critique de concepts ou de pratiques
pédagogiques et établir des synthèses de résultats de recherche. S’inscrivant dans
une démarche hypothético-déductive, la recherche expérimentale tente, à la
lumière d’un cadre théorique, de vérifier la relation de cause à effet entre des
variables en les manipulant à l’aide d’un dispositif soigneusement contrôlé.
Enfin, souvent oubliée dans les autres typologies en sciences humaines, la
recherche-action s’efforce de transformer la réalité pédagogique en élaborant, en
essayant et en évaluant en classe de nouvelles interventions didactiques. Les
remarques des auteurs sur la recherche-action sont fort judicieuses et contribue-
488
ESSAI CRITIQUE
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REVIEW ESSAY
ront sans aucun doute à clarifier et à relever le statut de ce type de recherche de
tradition plus récente que plusieurs tiennent encore en suspicion malgré son
intérêt certain pour l’enseignement.
La typologie utilisée pour la banque DAF possède plusieurs qualités. Sa
simplicité rend son maniement facile. Les catégories reconnues rendent bien
compte de l’ensemble des activités de recherche en didactique du français langue
maternelle. Loin d’être restrictives, elles reconnaissent explicitement deux types
de recherches essentiels, soit la recherche théorique et la recherche-action, qui
n’ont pas encore obtenu en éducation toute la visibilité qu’ils méritent. Enfin, en
se fondant sur le double critère de l’objectif et de la méthodologie plutôt que sur
un critère unique, les auteurs ont évité les classements trop fragmentés ou trop
contraignants. Ainsi en est-il de la distinction quantitatif/qualitatif fort à la mode
actuellement. Comme il est bien expliqué dans le tome de présentation (p. 44),
une recherche peut être à la fois quantitative et qualitative si, par exemple, en
plus d’utiliser un plan expérimental et des analyses statistiques les chercheurs
recourent à des techniques qualitatives telles que l’entrevue ou l’étude de cas
pour mieux comprendre ce qui s’est passé chez les élèves durant le traitement
pédagogique mis à l’épreuve. À n’en pas douter, cette typologie est appelée à
devenir un outil incontournable dans les cours sur la recherche en DFLM au
niveau de la maîtrise et du doctorat.
Nous examinerons maintenant le choix des mots-clés du thésaurus et les définitions fournies dans le lexique. L’ensemble s’avère adéquat et bien structuré,
d’autant plus que des corrections et des ajouts peuvent être faits dans les mises
à jour subséquentes. Il est presque impossible d’inventorier la multitude de
termes employés en didactique de la langue maternelle. Malgré la difficulté, les
auteurs ont réussi à réunir la majeure partie des mots-clés. Quelques omissions
regrettables ont été signalées plus haut notamment à propos de la dimension
idéologique de la langue. Relevons-en quelques autres. Parmi les activités
d’apprentissage, on pourrait ajouter des activités nouvelles très intéressantes
comme la dictée à l’adulte (pour l’éveil à l’écrit des tout-petits), le tri de textes
et les jeux d’écriture ou de poésie. La plupart des genres littéraires sont mentionnés, mais pourquoi ne trouve-t-on pas la fable et les diverses catégories de
récit telles que le récit fantastique d’aventures, psychologique ou historique au
même titre que les entrées existantes de roman policier, roman-photo ou sciencefiction? La logique qui a présidé au choix des identificateurs des composantes
langagières n’est pas toujours évidente, spécialement en ce qui a trait à la
terminologie grammaticale. Le mot conjonction n’apparaît pas alors qu’on a
ajouté préposition dans la deuxième mise à jour. Ne figurent pas non plus des
termes largement employés dans l’enseignement de la grammaire et de l’orthographe comme accord, conjugaison, genre, nombre, masculin, féminin, singulier,
pluriel, mode, temps . . . L’expression littérature enfantine devrait être complétée
par celle de littérature de jeunesse, qui a le mérite d’inclure les oeuvres destinées
ESSAI CRITIQUE
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489
à l’adolescence.
Même si le lexique accompagnant le répertoire bibliographique n’a pas été
conçu pour servir de dictionnaire spécialisé en didactique de la langue maternelle,
il se doit de fournir des définitions justes, d’autant plus qu’en l’absence actuellement d’un dictionnaire de référence en DFLM il est appelé à jouer un rôle de
suppléance pendant plusieurs années. Dans l’ensemble, les définitions s’avèrent
acceptables. Certaines devraient cependant être corrigées. Les termes conte et
légende devraient être rattachés à la notion de récit ou de discours narratif
comme les termes nouvelle et roman. La définition du nom correspond à celle
de la grammaire traditionnelle; critiqué par les spécialistes de l’enseignement
grammatical, ce genre de définition sémantique devrait faire place à une formule
tenant compte des acquis de la linguistique moderne. Loin de se limiter à la littérature enfantine, le terme récit désigne un grand type textuel et est synonyme de
texte narratif; il y a peut-être eu confusion ici avec l’album dans la littérature
pour enfants. Il n’est pas aisé de se démêler dans les discussions terminologiques
autour de la notion de mot; néanmoins les auteurs auraient pu joindre le critère
graphique et le critère fonctionnel pour faire voir qu’une unité lexicale fonctionnelle peut être formée de plusieurs unités graphiques (pomme de terre, parce que,
à cause de . . .). En dernier lieu, signalons que le terme discours est conçu d’un
strict point de vue interne sans considération de la situation de communication,
bien qu’aujourd’hui un nombre de plus en plus grand d’auteurs l’utilisent pour
parler d’un énoncé inscrit dans une situation de communication, réservant le
terme texte aux aspects relatifs à la structure interne de l’énoncé.
En conclusion, la bibliographie analytique des recherches francophones en
didactique et acquisition du français langue maternelle apparaît comme un
instrument de base dans le domaine. Tout en assurant une meilleure diffusion des
travaux de recherche, elle offre une réflexion épistémologique très précieuse sur
le statut de la DFLM et sur les types de recherches. Dans l’ensemble, les définitions et les classifications proposées sont pertinentes. Les quelques critiques
adressées ici ne visent qu’à contribuer à améliorer un ouvrage promis à un grand
avenir.
RÉFÉRENCE
Halté, J.-F. (1992). La didactique français (col. Que sais-je? no. 2656). Paris: Presses universitaires
de France.
Index du volume 19 /
Index to volume 19*
Articles
Baudoux, Claudine. Stratégies de carrière et promotion en éducation, 45.
Beck, Kirk A., James R. P. Ogloff, & Anne Corbishley. Knowledge, Compliance, and Attitudes of Teachers Toward Mandatory Child Abuse Reporting in
British Columbia, 15.
Bruneau, William. Toward a New Collective Biography: The University of
British Columbia Professoriate, 1915–1945, 65.
Case, Roland. Our Crude Handling of Educational Reforms: The Case of Curricular Integration, 80.
Corbishley, Anne. See Beck, Kirk A.
Cumming, Alister, Ronald Mackay, & Alfred Sakyi. Learning Processes in a
Canadian Exchange Program for Multicultural, Anti-Racist Education, 399.
Douglas, Anne S. Recontextualizing Schooling Within an Inuit Community, 154.
Falardeau, Mireille. Voir Poissant, Hélène.
Hanley, Betty. Canadian Arts Education: A Critical Analysis of Selected Elementary Curricula, 197.
Harris, Carol E. Discovering Educational Leadership in Connections: Dr. Elizabeth Murray of Tatamagouche, 368.
Hébert, Martine. Voir Saint-Laurent, Lise.
Herodier, Daisy. See McAlpine, Lynn.
Hill, Anne. Surprised by Children: A Call to Pedagogical Possibilities, 339.
Jickling, Bob. Studying Sustainable Development: Problems and Possibilities,
231.
Kazepides, Tasos. “Assembling Reminders for a Particular Purpose”: The Nature
and Dimensions of Educational Theory, 448.
Kehoe, John. See Mansfield, Earl.
Laforest, Mario. Voir Lenoir, Yves.
Lanning, Robert. Education and Everyday Life: An Argument Against “Educational Futures,” 464.
Leavitt, Robert M. “They Knew How to Respect Children”: Life Histories and
Culturally Appropriate Education, 182.
Lenoir, Yves et Mario Laforest. Rapports au savoir et programme québécois de
sciences humaines au primaire, 431.
Mackay, Ronald. See Cumming, Alister.
*
Références aux numéros du volume/Key to pagination: (1) 1–120; (2) 121–196; (3) 197–338; (4)
339–492.
490
19:4 (1994)
INDEX DU VOLUME
19 /
INDEX TO VOLUME
19
491
Mansfield, Earl, & John Kehoe. A Critical Examination of Anti-Racist Education, 418.
McAlpine, Lynn, & Daisy Herodier. Schooling as a Vehicle for Aboriginal Language Maintenance: Implementing Cree as the Language of Instruction in
Northern Quebec, 128.
Nguyen, Nha. Éléments d’information contribuant à la formation de l’image d’un
établissement universitaire, 386.
Ogloff, James R. P. See Beck, Kirk A.
Paillé, Pierre. Pour une méthodologie de la complexité en éducation: le cas d’une
recherche-action-formation, 215.
Peterson, Carole. Narrative Skills and Social Class, 251.
Poëllhuber, Bruno. Voir Poissant, Hélène.
Poissant, Hélène, Bruno Poëllhuber et Mireille Falardeau. Résolution de problèmes, autorégulation et apprentissage, 30.
Robinson, Jonathan M. Reflective Evaluation: Two Labradorians Work Toward
a Productive Evaluation Model for Aboriginal Educators, 142.
Royer, Égide. Voir Saint-Laurent, Lise.
Saint-Laurent, Lise, Égide Royer, Martine Hébert et Lyne Tardif. Enquête sur la
collaboration famille-école, 270.
Sakyi, Alfred. See Cumming, Alister.
Sarrasin, Robert. Bilinguisme et biculturalisme chez les Atikamekw, 165.
Tardif, Lyne. Voir Saint-Laurent, Lise.
Tite, Rosonna. Detecting the Symptoms of Child Abuse: Classroom Complications, 1.
Westbury, Marilyn. The Effect of Elementary Grade Retention on Subsequent
School Achievement and Ability, 241.
Young, Beth. An Other Perspective on the Knowledge Base in Canadian Educational Administration, 351.
Note de recherche / Research Note
Savard, Nathalie, Christian Savard et Colette Dufresne-Tassé. Comparaison de
deux façons d’identifier les questions et les hypothèses formulées par le
visiteur de musée, 94.
Débat / Discussion Notes
Brown, Dan. A Response to Larry Sackney’s Review of Decentralization and
School-Based Management, 479.
Case, Roland, Ken Harper, Susan Tilley, & John Wiens. Stewart on Teaching
versus Facilitating: A Miscontrued Dichotomy, 287.
Harper, Ken. See Case, Roland.
Seixas, Peter. A Discipline Adrift in an “Integrated” Curriculum: History in
British Columbia Schools, 99.
492
INDEX DU VOLUME
19 /
INDEX TO VOLUME
19
Stewart, Douglas. Teaching Undiminished: A Reply to My Critics, 299.
Tilley, Susan. See Case, Roland.
Wiens, John. See Case, Roland.
Essais critiques / Review Essays
Bélanger, Nathalie. Voir Tardif, Maurice.
Grenier, Danny. Voir Tardif, Maurice.
Luke, Carmen. Out of the Garden and Into the Mall [Out of the Garden: Toys,
TV and Children’s Culture in the Age of Marketing, by Stephen Kline], 305.
Ricker, Eric. Collective Negotiations, Policy Bargaining, and the Prospect of
Devolution: Bryan Downie and the Politics of Teacher-Trustee Relationships
in Ontario, 108.
Simard, Claude. La didactique du français langue maternelle: analyse d’une recherche bibliographique fondamentale [Recherches en didactique et acquisition
du français langue maternelle par G. Gagné, R. Lazure, L. Sprenger-Charolles
et F. Ropé], 481.
Tardif, Maurice, Nathalie Bélanger et Danny Grenier. L’idéologie cognitiviste et
l’éducation [Pour un enseignement stratégique, l’apport de la psychologie cognitive par Jacques Tardif], 316.
Recensions / Book Reviews
Beynon, June. First Nations: The Circle Unbroken, directed by Geraldine Bob,
Gary Marcuse, Deanna Nyce, & Lorna Williams; produced by Gary Marcuse
& Svend Erik-Eriksen, 194.
Gaudreau, Louise. Les modèles de changement planifié en éducation par Lorraine
Savoie-Zajc, 333.
Langevin, Louise. Le décrochage par Serge Michalski et Louise Paradis, 335.
Lebrun, Nicole. Ils jouent au Nintendo . . . mais apprennent-ils quelque chose?
par Jacques de Lorimier, 331.
Pouliot, Suzanne. L’Hétérogénéité des apprenants: un défi pour la classe de
français sous la direction de M. Lebrun et M.-C. Paret, 118.
Pouliot, Suzanne. Le roman de l’amour à l’école: l’amour de la lecture par Clémence Préfontaine, 117.
Viola, Sylvie. Le plaisir de questionner en classe de français par Godelieve De
Koninck, 337.
Divers / Miscellaneous
Stairs, Arlene. Introduction — Education as a Cultural Activity: Stories of Relationship and Change, 121.

Anne Hill Surprised by Children: A Call to Pedagogical Possibilities

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