Evil Pineapples Are Actually Quite Innocent: 2013

Sunday, 10 November 2013

The Beginning of (Something)?

I've decided that November is the worst month of the year for a teacher to actually aim to do something grand or significant. The pressures of end-of-year reporting (as well as the associated marking) mean that time is of a premium.

It's unfortunate, given that's precisely the month which brings about the annual NaNoWriMo. I would love to do this one year, but 2013 is not that year.

That said, I still wanted to do SOMETHING this year. So instead of a 50,000 novel, please enjoy this (almost) 500 word... something :)

The Beginning of (Something)

It began in darkness, if you accept the common definition of darkness as the absence of sunlight. In truth, the moonlit park lacked many things - a functioning slide, proper safety fit-outs - but light was not something that was in short supply the night that Joy and Max first sat and talked on the swings. Their conversation sparked like a birthday party - the words danced through the air like sparklers, illuminating the area between the sandbox and the flying fox with an ethereal glow. It was a chance meeting, an unlikely meeting: one of those inexplicable moments where the universe conspires to bring two people in one place to achieve some grander vision of love.

Unfortunately this piece of happiness was not at all common for Max. Perhaps that served to make the evening all the more memorable - that it represented such a stark contrast from the venomous insults and stinging slaps he was so used to. In his mind this might have, in some perverse way, justified the years of abuse he’d endured, because it allowed him to appreciate the magic of his evening with Joy more completely than he otherwise may have been able to. It was also, rather ironically, what drove him to venture out into the park that night. A particularly violent assault give him the impetus to seek out his secret place of solitude beneath the stars, where he often escaped to let wounds heal and remind himself that the world can foster beauty. He was certain of this fact after meeting Joy.

Shallow, material desires motivated those in Joy’s life: her father was an investment banker, and while her mother saw little more than an ATM when she looked into her husband’s eyes, that aided her in giving the impression that she truly loved him. It would be wrong to say that Joy’s childhood was unhappy - she was never left for wanting anything, even when she never asked for any of it. She knew she was privileged, and never took for granted the life she had. However, there simmered underneath the rosy exterior a yearning for something more meaningful - to know what it felt like to love and be loved, not as an obligation or as one loves a prized collectable, but in the raw sense of feeling as hearts are made to do. This search brought her to Callaghan Park on a Tuesday evening in June - while it may seem awfully convenient and illogical for her to look for meaning in a park on a weekday, in hindsight Joy realised there was something poetic and serendipitous in the fact that she found exactly what she was searching for.

And so, the forces of fate had bound these two souls together, the image of new love captured in the gentle rocking of adjacent swings, the tentative clasping of fingers, and the night sky that framed their silhouettes so beautifully.

Thursday, 8 August 2013

Subtraction vs Multiplication

I'm staring at a blank screen, with absolutely no idea what I'm doing. I'm not sure what I want to say, but I know I want to say it.

Do you know how that feels?

Do I just want to be heard, or is there something substantial to explore?

I think all of us have those little voices, the ones that whisper to us and tell us what to think and say and feel. One voice or many voices, they're always giving advice or reassurance.

Can you read between the lines?

There is always more and there is always less. Those are two absolutes, two constants in a cosmos of inconsistencies. People usually want more: money, power, friends, love. There's something to be said for quality over quantity, but that's just a humble opinion from a not-so-humble fella.

Why don't we want less? It seems like so many people complain about the things they do have: problems, debts, stress. Instead of wanting more of the thing that you think will make you happy, why don't you seek less of the thing that makes you unhappy.

It's kind of like putting a donut in tofu stew. It doesn't matter how much you like donuts, because eventually you're going to sour on them when mixed with tofu stew. It's inevitable, like terrible Australian Drama.

Speaking of, that's something I could do with less of.

Less is more, or so the saying goes. Here I'm saying that maybe less is just less, and maybe that's not such a bad thing.

Here's to sparsity; to minimalism and infrequency. To lacking instead of excess. To the gentle trickle, rather than the flowing waterfall.

Friday, 28 June 2013

The Room

The world is a Room of contempt. It is a Room we collectively share, yet each individual takes solitude in. It is a product of us and it produces it: a womb of humanity and all that entails. We live in it, yet each day our lives are less the living.

The grey, textured wallpaper is made of shame: of greed and violence and hatred infused to surround us, to remind us of our deeds and our doings. It is a grey that is less colour and more void. The vinyl floor on which we stand is smooth underfoot but our feet remain planted, stuck stubbornly as though adhered by fear, or dread, or apathy. There is a hanging light that extends from the centre of the ceiling, intermittently flashing but never bringing true illumination. In the corner stands a full-length mirror; a dreary, tear-stained sheet haphazardly thrown over covers it, creased and ragged and kind. Nobody wants to see their reflection.

Melancholy drapes frame the windows that are glazed over, barring vision of another world: a world of promise because it is beyond, outside ourselves, untouched by our evil. One wonders if it actually exists anywhere but in our hopes. It is tantalizing – you stare at the glass waiting for a vision to appear, an answer that will seem obvious and yet entirely unthinkable. A key to unlock this misery, this banality, this cycle of despair.

A key to what? There is no door. There is no escape. There is history and logic to prove that. It is a prison, confining us to our mistakes and reminding us of our flaws. Good thing that mirror is covered.

Someone thought of painting the Room. As though interior design could fix this. Suffering does not disappear under an undercoat. Pain cannot be glazed over with a change in décor. It is in the walls themselves, a part of the very structure: ironically it traps and protects simultaneously.

And I guess that’s the real tragedy of the Room. For all of the horror that we know exists, for all of the screams and the silence, the Room is not to blame. If anything, the Room provides a chilling sort of comfort. A sense of constancy, of consistency, of expectations being lived up to. It is as reliable as it is abhorrent.

No, the fault lies not in the Room, but in those who built it. The fault, dear world, lies in ourselves.

Saturday, 22 June 2013

Falling

There’s a moment that feels like falling. Forget for a moment that this moment does actually involve falling: or at least, the moment immediately following this moment. It’s amazing that something that is one thing can feel like something else: that experiences aren’t just what they are, but what they’re described as, what they feel like.

‘Falling’ is such a broad term to describe how you’re feeling anyway. It shouldn’t be. It’s quite clear what falling should feel like - a loss of your ability to stand, or a removal of the floor that works with gravity to keep you upright. But people apply it to other situations: falling in love, for example. And what does that even mean, to fall in love? If you fall in a pit of lava, even if you die a horribly burn-y death, you’ve still fallen and it’s not an entirely inappropriate word to use. In fact, it’s completely appropriate in those exact circumstances to describe the moment before you hit the lava as you feeling like you’re falling. Not that I expect you’ll ever actually have to describe that feeling, what with the chances of you finding yourself in the vicinity or a lavanous pit (yeah, I’m making up words) probably quite low.

That all makes sense. Well, it makes a little bit of sense, if you can follow. What doesn’t make sense is falling into something that can’t kill or hurt you. And maybe that’s the point: you don’t fall into something pleasant. Or even if you do happen to land in a giant pile of marshmallows or rainbows or something equally symbolic of pleasantness, the feeling of falling isn’t the pleasant part, it’s the landing that feels good. So when people talk about falling in love, what they mean is that they’re worried that their feelings will result in them being maimed or death-ed (past tense of death) or cause significant pain. Nobody takes pleasure in saying that they’re falling in love with someone - it’s a tentative emotion, one of dread and fear. Being in love with someone is different. You’re no longer in that freefall, that chaotic uncertainty where you’re not really sure if you feel that way, or if they feel that way, or if you’ll always feel that way, and gosh I’m just so confused.

Even the people who take such joy and pleasure in expressing that feeling don’t really mean it. You know what I’m talking about: the “I think I’m falling for him/her!” types. The exclamation mark gives the illusion of excitement, but it doesn’t mask what’s going on beneath the surface. That statement reeks of desperate fickleness - an unwillingness to commit to a feeling or a thought or whatever love is in any definitive terms. Because again, you're never really sure if what you're talking about will be reciprocated, so you give yourself an out. It’s testing the waters, and that’s just so human to be cautious. I’ve never seen a duck dip its toe in the pond. They swim or they walk, and they don’t make a fuss about one or the other.

Where was I...

So, back to this moment, the moment where it feels like you’re falling. You’re really not though, not yet anyway. But you know soon you will be - there’s a realisation that comes, perhaps when the world around you starts to get fuzzy, and the outline of everybody else is blurry so that they no longer have clearly defined edges but morph into blobs. And you know then that you can’t stop what’s going to happen, because it’s already been set in motion (the motion of course being downwards). You feel your head go dizzy, your heart starts pounding inexplicably quickly, you lose control of your limbs. A wave washes over you, but it’s not a cleansing sort of wave that soothes and brings peace. It’s a destructive wave that doesn’t leave any semblance of you left, not in that moment anyway. You’ll eventually be washed to shore, ideally in one piece not too dissimilar to how you started, but the moment that water hits you there’s no reaching you.

I promise I’m not talking about falling in love.

Saturday, 20 April 2013

It's Been A While...

And this is the reason why... been working hard on this assignment. It's a reflective critical change analysis: I was required to consider the significant socio-cultural influences on my professional career, as well as explore the impact of particular theoretical perspectives on my developing philosophy. Below is the result, but be warned - it's not exactly 'easy reading'!

Introduction – Mapping the Past

Cartography is the study and practice of mapping techniques. As a field, it “builds on the premise that reality can be modeled in ways that communicate spatial information effectively” (Wikipedia, 2013). Cartographers draw on a distinct range of tools to plan and chart their journeys, record findings and discover entirely new destinations. As an extended metaphor for reflective practice in education, the notion of ‘mapping our past’ is aesthetically rich. As Zeichner (1994, p. 10) says, “the process of understanding and improving one’s own teaching must start from reflection upon one’s own experience”. Rather than communicating spatial information though, it is more useful for educators to reflect on particular temporal, cultural, historical, geographical, social and personal influences on their pedagogic voyages (Lidstone, 2013). This critical change analysis will seek to apply the ‘mapping’ metaphor by employing the ‘tools’ of cartography in the context of my personal educational journey. It is hoped that by reflecting on the events and influences of the past, I’ll gain a greater understanding of myself, and find some clarity for future pathways to explore.

Canvas

The canvas is the landscape that a map is drawn on: it is necessarily broad, and as new information is brought to light, evolves to reflect changing information. In much the same way, society encompasses a broad range of people from many different generational and historical contexts, who meet on the same canvas at particular points in time, bringing a range of experiences, perspectives and beliefs.

It is necessary to position myself on that canvas in order to determine what impact the broader landscape has had on shaping me. At the risk of seeming self-indulgent, I’ve included a short biography to help me identify pertinent points to analyse.

Jeffrey Lewis was born 2^nd October, 1990, in Toowoomba. He was raised in Innisfail, a small town in Far North Queensland, where he lived in the same home from a very young age. Jeffrey comes from a loving and supportive family: his mother and father are happily married, and he has 2 elder sisters and a younger brother. Graduating high school in 2007, Jeffrey immediately commenced study at QUT, completing a Bachelor of Creative Industries (Drama)/Graduate Diploma in Education (Senior Years) in 2011. He is currently employed at an independent single-sex school in Rockhampton, where he teaches in his primary teaching areas of Drama and English, and has enrolled in a Masters of Education course with QUT.

One of the key pieces of information drawn from this biography is my age, and by extension my generational context. According to Rebecca Huntley (2006, p. 14), Generation Y “are described in study after study as optimistic, idealistic, empowered, ambitious, confident, committed and passionate”. While there is no definitive date range to define this generation, many commentators place the birthdates of this ‘Millennial’ generation somewhere between 1980 and 2000 (Pew Research Centre, 2010). It is within this cultural and generational milieu that I entered the world, and it is within this context that I have developed both personally and professionally.

In contrast with previous generations, Millennials from Western countries have grown up in relatively secure and peaceful times, without the pervasive threat of nuclear warfare or the background of World War. This certainly reflects my experiences growing up – looking back, there was a certain innocence and naivety to my worldview. Even in September 2001 when much of the world was in panic over the World Trade Centre attacks, I recall being blissfully unaware of the true gravity of what was going on. Contrary to conventional wisdom, I’d suggest that this undeniably significant event has, apart from causing mild inconvenience when travelling by plane, had very little impact on me personally – this aligns with research that suggests “even the most audacious and terrifying acts of public violence can’t dent the ambition and optimism of [Generation Y]” (Huntley, 2006, p. 4). It’s not yet clear if this is a positive trait, or whether it reflects a generation that doesn’t necessarily face problems in society, but is “more effective at ignoring them” (Huntley, 2006, p. 9).

Another defining generational trend influenced by technological advancements and an increasingly interdependent economic system is the notion of ‘the flat world’ (Friedman, 2006). This paradigm suggests that globalisation has effectively rendered notions of borders and distance redundant, allowing the world to be viewed as a two-dimensional and accessible canvas. Howe and Strauss (2009, p. 16) contend that Millennials are unique in being the first generation to “[think] of itself as global”. Given the hardships facing those living in extreme poverty, or being discriminated against across the globe, the assertion that our younger generations are capable of ignoring problems (Huntley, 2006) that are more visible than before is troubling.

Beyond the influence of generational context, the impact of neoliberal ideology on education is far-reaching and substantial. The rhetorical and policy imperatives to ‘improve standards’, ‘return to basics’, and subject students to high-stakes standardised testing measures such as NAPLAN are driven by an anti-egalitarian political and economic agenda, where responsiveness to the needs of the private sector is seen as the solution to problems facing society (Apple, 2000). Hill and Kumar (2008) suggest that these neoliberal policies have resulted in a crisis in critical thought, as controversial topics are removed from curriculum, and teacher training (nee education) focuses less on critical issues of inequality in race, gender and social class. Perhaps this to some extent accounts for the lack of empathetic thought identified previously: education is being methodically deprived of it’s ability to allow students to question our current circumstances, then hypothesise and imagine a better reality. The apathy of youth that many decry could be the product of systemic changes in education driven not by public conscience, but a search for profit (Hill & Kumar, 2008).

A Change of Course

In examining my life journey to date, I can easily define the most influential and transformative experience, which has had far-reaching impacts on my personal and professional ‘identities’. Gee (2000, p. 99) defines identities as the “kind of person” you are in any given context. For the purposes of this assignment, I’m most concerned with the effect on the performance of my teaching identity and the resulting impact on my professional self.

At the end of 2010, I found myself incapacitated with a severe case of osteomyelitis, a type of bone infection, in my right femur. While it would be hyperbolic to suggest I was in any mortal danger, I certainly had grave concerns for my future. I was told that amputation may be required if the combination of surgery and antibiotics was not successful. This came just two months before I was due to commence my Graduate Diploma in Education, the culmination of four years of study, and the first opportunity I would have to engage in a teaching practicum. After five surgeries and almost six months of intravenous and oral antibiotic treatment, I was able to successfully complete my first teaching practicum (on crutches!), cementing my passion and desire to teach. This was particularly difficult as a Drama teacher!

Linley and Joseph (2004), in reviewing the research around positive change following trauma, suggest that ‘adversarial growth’ is a concept well-supported through empirical evidence. They propose that traumatic or difficult experiences can lead to changes that “propel the individual to a higher level of functioning than that which existed prior to the event” (Linley & Joseph, 2004, p. 11). I believe my anecdotal experiences, while perhaps not empirically sound evidence, prove this point. Lying in hospital gave me a lot of time to reflect on and consider my philosophy and approach to education, and also gave me a real sense of my fragility and mortality. While I certainly spent a lot of time feeling sorry for myself, I also began considering the bigger problems facing society that, typical of my generation, I had ignored thus far. The experience inspired me to broaden my engagement with critical ideas surrounding education, which has enriched me as an intellectual and as a teaching practitioner, and ultimately led me to enroll in this Masters course.

Sextant

A sextant is a navigational device that measures the angle between two objects, and was used particularly for reference with celestial objects (Wikipedia, 2013). I’ve chosen to use this ‘device’ to analyse the influence of particular theoretical or philosophical readings about the purpose and function of education in society that I’ve consumed subsequent to my illness. This choice acknowledges the sextant as a ‘personal lens’ to view various theoretical and philosophical positions (celestial objects), which helps me determine my own position. I also feel the central role of the horizon in providing a baseline for sextant measurements reflects the broader perspective I’ve gained, and acknowledges my desire to seek a greater range of challenging views. In particular, my reading has focused on the ideas espoused by two influential educational theorists interested in democratic and egalitarian outcomes: Paulo Freire and Henry Giroux.

Freire’s ‘Pedagogy of the Oppressed’ is best described as “a pedagogy which must be forged with, not for, the oppressed… in the incessant struggle to regain their humanity” (Freire, 2000, p. 46). This implies a greater purpose in the process and institutions of education, where educators should seek to transform the ‘social reality’ of humankind through the intellectual and empathetic engagement of those who are oppressed. Applying a Foucaultian lens, it could be argued that all children, regardless of their particular socio-economic status, race or gender, would qualify as an oppressed member of society. This is evident in Foucault’s (1999, p. 98) writing on discipline and the institutions which practice and propagate it. He describes school as:

“an architecture that would operate to transform individuals: to act on those it shelters, to provide a hold on their conduct, to carry the effects of power right to them, to make it possible to know them, to alter them.”

Giroux suggests that this corporatised architecture is a genuine criticism of contemporary schooling, and helps to create a “culture of fear and security” (Giroux, 2011, p. 4). His ‘Critical Pedagogy’ places schools and universities as “important sites of struggle” (Giroux, 2011, p. 6) in society that should seek to address or confront the imbalances and injustices facing vulnerable individuals and groups. I find this especially thought-provoking in the context of a supposedly more apathetic or ignorant generation that engages less passionately in public political debate (Cowan, 1997).

The pedagogical frameworks provided by Freire and Giroux reject the paradigm of students being receptacles permitting themselves to be filled (Freire, 2000), as this does not satisfy the needs of students entering a dynamic and rapidly shifting economic and employment landscape (Friedman, 2006). Freire (2000) particularly advocated for education being the practice of freedom rather than domination. More importantly though, Freire and Giroux’s disparate but similar pedagogies encourage teachers to challenge and provoke students: to “awaken students to the surrounding world… simultaneously [giving] them the faith and strength to work to transform the world” (Van Heertum, 2006, p. 46). This explicit framing of education as a potential source of positive change, rather than a site of cultural, social and political reproduction (Giroux, 2011) has been incredibly influential in my developing philosophy of teaching.

Only through “restless, impatient, continuing, hopeful inquiry” (Freire, 2000, p. 72) can we hope to critique and improve systems, institutions and ultimately realities. This requires an approach to teaching that promotes dialectic, dialogic engagement with students over didactic methods drawn from industrial systems of education: a symbiotic exchange of ideas and knowledge rather than a transmission of narrow facts and processes. The use of more democratic pedagogical practices would, according to Giroux (2011, p. 1), “[create] the conditions for producing citizens who are critical, self-reflective, knowledgeable, and willing to make moral judgments and act in a socially responsible way”. The ultimate goal is to encourage a love of learning in students, and an appreciation that “the unfinished character of human beings and the transformational character of reality necessitate that education be an ongoing activity” (Freire, 2000, p. 84).

Finally, reflecting back on my own experiences as a student has enlightened me to some startling realisations. Freire sums up the configuration of most of my lessons in rather horrifying terms:

“The teacher talks about reality as if it were motionless, static, compartmentalized, and predictable. Or else he expounds on a topic completely alien to the existential experience of the students. His task is to "fill" the students with the contents of his narration— contents which are detached from reality, disconnected from the totality that engendered them and could give them significance. Words are emptied of their concreteness and become a hollow, alienated, and alienating verbosity”(Freire, 2000, p. 71).

Thinking back, it was the teachers and the lessons that broke from this rigid model that challenged, inspired and influenced me most. It’s why I enjoyed Drama as a subject so much, and consequently chose to major in Drama education. It wasn’t until I began Curriculum Studies units in Drama though that I discovered the metalanguage and theoretical understandings to describe what I intrinsically knew about the power of experiential, aesthetic learning (Abbs, 1989).

Compass

Rather than using the more trendy and technologically based GPS to help chart future directions, I’ve leant towards the traditional compass. This choice is influenced by aesthetic considerations, as well as the implication that my future is not necessarily following a predetermined or prescribed path. A compass allows variation in the form of degrees, and suggests that new directions may be ‘discovered’ and followed along the way.

Indeed, the process of reflecting on my educational journey through this task has in many ways provided more confusion about my future directions than I previously had. I can unequivocally state my desire to engage more strongly with pedagogies promoting critical thought and issues of social justice has been cemented. That general guiding principle will serve as my ‘Northern Star’, so to speak. I now realise that this interest is largely a reaction against the perceived prevalence of apathy amongst today’s youth. My desire to disrupt accepted power and discipline structures engendered by a powerful neoliberal agenda, and promote critical and empathetic thought in young people, is also a result of a greater sense of purpose that I’ve derived from a serious medical condition. I have a belief that Drama pedagogy is a powerful tool in achieving that goal, and in my current role as a classroom teacher am endeavoring to embed meaningful, experiential learning experiences as much as possible to achieve these goals.

However, I’m not quite sure what lies along the path laid out for me. For now my goal is to see the impact of this intellectual awakening on my immediate classroom practice. Moving forward, it’s conceivable that I may perceive my greatest impact can be had in a classroom setting: however, I’d like to better understand the scope available to enact meaningful change at various levels within the educational field. This could lead me to pursue positions in areas such as school leadership, research and academia, pre-service teacher training, curriculum development or policy positions. I hope my engagement with assessment two will provide greater insight into the best path for me.

Reference List:

Abbs, P. (1989). A is for aesthetic: Essays on creative and aesthetic education: Psychology Press.

Apple, M.W. (2000). Between neoliberalism and neoconservatism: Education and conservatism in a global context. Globalization and education: Critical perspectives, 57, 77.

Pew Research Centre. (2010). Millennials: Confident. Connected. Open to Change. Retrieved 8 April 2013, from http://www.pewsocialtrends.org/2010/02/24/millennials-confident-connected-open-to-change/

Cowan, J.J. (1997). The war against apathy: Four lessons from the front lines of youth advocacy. National Civic Review, 86(3), 193-202.

Foucault, M. (1999). The Means of Correct Training. In A. Elliot (Ed.), The Blackwell reader in contemporary social theory (pp. 97-106). Oxford: Blackwell. Retrieved from http://blackboard.qut.edu.au/webapps/portal/frameset.jsp.

Freire, P. (2000). Pedagogy of the oppressed (M. B. Ramos, Trans. 30th Anniversary ed.). New York: Continuum International Publishing Group.

Friedman, T.L. (2006). The Right Stuff: Tubas and Test TubesThe world is flat: a brief history of the twenty-first century (pp. 301-322). New York: Farrar, Strauss and Giroux. Retrieved from http://blackboard.qut.edu.au/webapps/portal/frameset.jsp.

Gee, J.P. (2000). Identity as an analytic lens for research in education. Review of research in education, 25, 99-125.

Giroux, H. (2011). On Critical Pedagogy (S. R. Steinberg & A. M. A. Freire Eds.). New York: Continuum International Publishing Group.

Hill, D., & Kumar, R. (2008). Global neoliberalism and education and its consequences (Vol. 3). Routledge.

Howe, N., & Strauss, W. (2009). Millennials rising: The next great generation. USA: Vintage.