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Online and out there: how children view privacy differently from adults July 14, 2015

Posted by sethuws in Early Childhood Education, Education Policy and Politics, Primary Education, Role of the family, Secondary Education.
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from Joanne Orlando

Children growing up in a world of social media are developing a very different conception of privacy to that of their parents. Ed Ivanushkin/Flickr, CC BY-SA

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Have you seen the how-to video of a teenage girl styling her hair that went disastrously wrong? She was obviously very disturbed by what happened, yet still uploaded the footage onto YouTube. Do you think a 45 or 50 year-old would upload an equivalent video of themselves?

The majority of young people now share lots of things online that many adults question and feel uncomfortable about: their likes, dislikes, personal views, who they’re in a relationship with, where they are, images of themselves and others doing things they should or maybe shouldn’t be doing.

In fact, a study undertaken in the US by Pew Research found that 91% of 12-to-17-year-olds posted selfies online, 24% posted videos of themselves. Another 91% were happy posting their real name, 82% their birthday, 71% where they live and the school they attend, 53% their email address and 20% their mobile phone number.

Overstepping

Children’s fondness for online sharing is a global phenomenon, and in response governments internationally have initiated awareness campaigns that aim to ensure children are more private online.

In the UK, the National Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Children recently launched a Share Aware campaign. This includes the recent TV advertisement, called I saw your willy, which depicts the ill-fated consequences of a young boy who as a joke, texts a photo of his penis to his friend.

The ad emphasises to children the need to keep personal information about themselves offline and private.

Similarly the Australian Federal Police have launched Cyber safety and ThinkUKnow presentations for school students, which highlights the social problems that can arise when you’re having fun online.

Adults often interpret children’s constant online sharing to mean that they don’t care about privacy and/or don’t understand the potential longer-term issues. There is some truth to this perspective. But simply labeling children as either disobedient or naïve is too simplistic. There is an important need to understand why children are overstepping adult-defined marks of privacy online.

Shifting attitudes

In the words of Facebook, our relationship status with privacy can be summed up as: it’s complicated.

Part of the complexity comes down to how privacy is defined. Many adults understand privacy to mean being selective about what one reveals about themselves so as not to reveal too much personal information. We often assume that children will adopt the same conceptualisation, but should we?

Privacy is a fluid notion. Think of Victorian times and the imperative for women to keep their ankles hidden. Part of the reason its definition is shaped and reshaped is due to the changing social environment in which we live. This idea is useful for thinking about why children divulge so much information online.

Children are growing up in public (not private) times, in which people freely and constantly reveal themselves on their screens. This is not solely associated with physical nudity and the stream of semi-clad women that constantly inhabit advertisements, music videos and the like. An environment that idolises nudity certainly contributes to children seeing such behaviour as the norm. Privacy, however, is not just about nudity and sex.

Given the exponential growth of reality shows and social media, children now have unprecedented access to the inner thoughts and personal actions of others. Children are growing up watching real people freely share their deep personal ideas, experiences, opinions and actions. The very purpose of these mediums is to encourage such sharing of information!

Children watch everyday people in the Big Brother house openly discuss their sexual experiences, develop friendships, go to the toilet, get ready after their morning shower and, explain deep personal childhood issues.

Similarly, they watch Survivor and The Bachelor where people can reveal the darker side of their ambitions, world-views and ways of dealing with others. Their revelations are under the guise of competition however they offer subliminal messages about what we can and should share publicly share.

Consistently watching others reveal themselves on screen feeds children’s understanding of what is private information and what isn’t. Its impact is strengthened because children watch these revelations on their personal screen such as their tablet or mobile, which can make it more of an intimate, one to one connection for the child.

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Children are growing up in a world saturated in social media, and their notion of privacy is adapting in response. Jim Sneddon/Flickr

Generation gap

Add to this, the dynamic stage in life young people are at, which is characterised by risk-taking behaviour. This combination results in the understanding that sharing what many adults might consider to be private ideas, is really just part of life.

In previous generations it was assumed that the average person wouldn’t want to give up privacy. But for this generation, giving up privacy for a social life, fame (or infamy for some), easy access to shopping and studying or working from home is the norm.

Children’s penchant for online sharing is a much larger cultural transformation than it’s given credit for. The whole idea of what is private and what is public is being disrupted and reshaped by new screen-driven interests and activities.

There is a need to move away from simply judging and reprimanding for their online sharing habits. There is always a need for safety and awareness campaigns, although it is also important to move beyond older and outmoded views of privacy so that we can actually understand young people’s privacy negotiations.

In this way we might have more of a chance to meaningfully support negotiations that are transparent, equitable and foster children’s well-being.

 

This post was previously published on The Conversation.

 

Dr Joanne Orlando is a senior lecturer in the School of Education and an early career researcher in the Centre for Educational Research at the University of Western Sydney, Australia.

 

School to university transitional experiences of refugee background students: A journey of uncertainty and complexity June 23, 2015

Posted by Editor21C in Education Policy and Politics, Primary Education, Secondary Education, Social Justice and Equity through Education, Teacher, Adult and Higher Education.
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from Loshini Naidoo

 The blog is based on a 2012 OLT (Office of Learning and Teaching) funded project “supporting school-university partnerships for refugee students’ access and participation in tertiary education”. The views in this blog do not necessarily reflect the views of the Australian Government Office for Learning and Teaching.

 Australia has a long history of welcoming refugee communities into the broader social fabric and likewise of benefiting from the contributions made by these communities to Australian society. Refugee background students however represent a “high risk group which faces great challenges in terms of adaption to the school system, acculturation, social adaptation, English language learning, and eventual academic success” (Brown, Miller & Mitchell, 2006, p. 150). The adaptation to the new education system is further compounded for refugee background students by having spent prolonged periods of time living in refugee camps or in a transient existence (Naidoo, Wilkinson, Adoniou, Langat, Cunneen &bBolger , 2015; Ndhlovu, 2013).

Refugee background students, particularly those arriving from Africa, are a specific group with greater educational, welfare and support needs (Taylor, 2008). These include basic skills in reading and writing as well as the socialised reading and writing skills required to learn and communicate effectively. Thus, many refugee background students frequently find that they are expected to acquire social communication, academic writing and communication skills, while catching up to their native-speaking peers, who often themselves are still developing language competency (Naidoo et al. 2015).

Academic success and transition to university is dependent on the knowledge of engrained social norms that are often taken for granted (Trumbull and Rothstein-Fisch et al. 2014). ). No matter how natural they seem, these behaviours are culturally specific and must be actively learned by students (Nwosu and Barnes et al. 2014). Thus, many refugee background students who are not ‘fluent’ in the cultural practices of Australian higher education can often find the transition difficult (Naidoo et al., 2015).

The language challenges students face at university are connected to both their own English language proficiency, and also the very specific English language demands that university study and discipline specific study places upon them (Naidoo, et. al., 2015). University academic staff prioritise the dissemination of discipline based knowledge rather than language skills (Dunworth & Briguglio, 2011) and while academic staff are aware of the difficulties encountered by many international and some domestic students, they feel ill-equipped to provide English language support (Naidoo, et al, 2015).

Academic staff at university are concerned that generic learning support programs are inadequate to meet the specific language needs of refugee background students, and that scarcity of long term funding for specific programs limits their effectiveness (Naidoo, et al, 2015). A consequence of this outsourcing of academic language support is the disinvestment of responsibility by academics.

Alongside the need for explicit teaching of discipline specific content and language is the need to teach learning to learn cognitive and metacognitive strategies for the Australian university context. Cognitive strategies include understanding how to locate and select credible sources of information and metacognitive strategies include successfully planning assessment tasks that are appropriately structured to meet the needs of the discipline area (Hurst & Davison, 2005).

These culturally specific strategies are frequently taken-for-granted practices amongst university educators, and thus, form part of the ‘hidden’ curriculum. They present cultural challenges as what seems to be ‘everyday’ curriculum knowledge is actually part of cultural practice and is not necessarily known to English language learners.

Not having English language support that builds students’ capacity to engage fully within a discipline presents a distinct obstacle to academic achievement and the ability to manage the academic language registers of university (Naidoo, et. al., 2015). The current English language support strategies employed at universities are not directed at supporting the language acquisition journey of a student on a language learning progression, but rather with meeting more immediate needs around the submission of assignments.

The impact of an English language support program that transcends disciplines will create a new dialogical space to examine established power hierarchies and academic practices and will show institutional commitment to a more supportive, actively integrated language learning program at university that will enable diverse students to transition much more easily through university programs.

 

REFERENCES

Brown, J., Miller, J., & Mitchell, J. (2006). Interrupted schooling and the acquisition of literacy: Experiences of Sudanese refugees in Victorian secondary schools. Australian Journal of Language and Literacy, 29(2), 150-162.

Dunworth, K., & Briguglio, C. (2011). Teaching students who have English as an additional language: A handbook for academic staff in higher education. Milperra, New South Wales: HERDSA.

Hurst D., & Davison C. (2005). ‘Collaboration on the curriculum: Focus on secondary ESL’, in Crandall J., & Kauffman D (ed.), Case Studies in TESOL: Teacher education for ESL and content area teachers, pp. 41–66. Alexandria: TESOL.

Naidoo, L., Wilkinson, J., Langat, K., Adoniou, M., Cunneen, R., & Bolger, D. (2015). Case Study Report: Supporting school-university pathways for refugee students’ access and participation in tertiary education

Ndhlovu, F. (2013). Language nesting, superdiversity and African diasporas in regional Australia. Australian Journal of Linguistics, 33(4), 436-338

Nwosu, O. C., Barnes, S. and L, R. 2014. Where ‘Difference is the Norm’: Exploring Refugee Student Ethnic Identity Development, Acculturation, and Agency at Shaw Academy. Journal of Refugee Studies, p. 050.

Taylor, S. (2008). Schooling and the settlement of refugee young people in Queensland: The challenges are massive. Social Alternatives, 27(3), 58-65.

Trumbull, E., Rothstein-Fisch, C. and Greenfield, P. 2014. Bridging Cultures in Our Schools:New Approaches That Work. [e-book] A WestEd Knowledge Brief.

 

Associate Professor Loshini Naidoo is an academic in the School of Education, and a senior researcher in the Centre for Educational Research , at the University of Western Sydney (UWS), Australia.

We’re not talking to our kids: are we causing speech delay? June 2, 2015

Posted by Editor21C in Early Childhood Education, Primary Education, Role of the family.
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from Jane Hunter

A parent with a small child in a stroller is walking along the footpath with headphones in. The child is crying, the parent is oblivious.

A parent walks into a cafe engaged in conversation on the phone, with a child tagging along. The parent orders a coffee and a drink for the child. The parent sits down and continues talking on the phone. A tablet computer is pulled out of the parent’s bag and passed to the child. The parent continues talking on the phone.

A parent enters a doctor’s waiting room with child in arms, sits down; the child is placed on a nearby chair. The child is handed a mobile phone to play with, while waiting.

Is technology the villain?

As a parent and educator I encourage teachers to integrate technology in learning at schools. I have done a number of large studies in the area, and studies show educational programs on computers and other devices have great potential to improve early learning.

But primary school principals and early years’ teachers have expressed concern to me about the increased numbers of kindergarten students with obvious speech delays – so much so that in many schools speech therapists have been called in.

One inner-city Sydney school principal said:

From 62 kindergarten children this year, 11 require speech therapy. That is almost 18% of the cohort. While I am an advocate for using technology in education, I am very concerned about basic human skills like speech not being as developed as well as they could be when young children start school.

Are parents relying on technological devices to entertain their children – known as “pass ‘n’ play” – rather than direct conversation, story reading, playing games and make-believe, and other forms of quality interaction?

There aren’t enough studies on the effects of parents’ use of technology on children’s speech development to make definitive claims, but the fact that it has been raised by teachers and principals suggests we need to look into the issue more closely.

Pass ‘n’ play

This is just as it sounds: the parent passes the child a technological device to play with while in the café or in the doctor’s waiting room. While technology certainly has its place in childhood development, devices should be used as active tools providing quality interactions, not as pacifiers.

Parents should use the device with an educational app or game to question and talk about what is happening on screen. If technological devices are just “inbuilt babysitters” or “moment fillers” they are not fulfilling the educational capacity for which they could be used.

Similar fears of declining familial interactions were raised with the promulgation of television in the 1950s. The main difference here, however, is that these smart phones and tablet computers are carried everywhere we go.

What does the research say?

A UK study suggested “technology gadgets are blamed for a 70% leap in speech problems in the past six years”. In a follow-up article, a US paediatric speech pathologist asked whether technology is damaging children’s speech and language skills; it concluded too much time on devices is definitely playing a role.

When parents are endlessly busy on computers, phones, tablets and watching TV, that is time they are not spending interacting with their child. https://www.webchild.com.au/read/viewpoints/touch-screen-technology-and-children”>Brain scientist Dr Jordy Kaufman argued that in 2013 there were no scientific studies on the consequences of the use of technological devices by very young children. Research at the Swinburne BabyLab is being undertaken to fill this gap. Kerry Staples an early childhood specialist at the University of Western Sydney, adds:

We need some caution here – to say it’s all down to technological devices and parents’ overuse is too simplistic. Technology holds tremendous potential for young children but interactions between parents and children while using tablets and mobile phones is what I’d like to see more of.

Turn off the devices and talk

In his book Program or Be Programmed Douglas Rushkoff implores us to “not always be on”. Children do learn from TV and from using apps on devices and by using other technologies, but speech, language and social skills are learnt from real interactions with people. Technological devices can be used better, especially with young children.

This article was originally published on The Conversation in March 2014.

 

Dr Jane Hunter is a lecturer in the School of Education and an early career researcher in the Centre for Educational Research at the University of Western Sydney, Australia. The subject of her recent book, ‘High Possibility Classrooms’, is outlined in a previous blog post.

Watching Struggle Street May 15, 2015

Posted by Editor21C in Community Engagement, Education Policy and Politics, Social Justice and Equity through Education.
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 from Susanne Gannon

Watching Struggle Street has been an uncomfortable experience. As it was meant to be, and as it should be. It provides stark representations of poverty, drug addiction, physical and mental ill-health, family breakdown and the difficulties faced by particular individuals and families in the heart of our largest city. It’s been easy to become caught up in the vortex of emotions that began swirling around the program before we had seen any more of it than the promo. It has been difficult to decide when and how to write about it, and there has been much intelligent discussion about it during the last two weeks from people who live in Mt Druitt as well as outside commentators.

Even after the double screening of episodes two and three, which SBS promised would resolve widespread concerns about the first episode, there seems to be no consensus across social and mainstream media, except perhaps about the voiceover (which like many others I found both grating and patronizing). People who have criticized the show have been accused of lacking empathy and compassion, while people who are overwhelmed by emotion and horror have been positioned as middleclass voyeurs from the ‘eastern’ edges of the great urban sprawl. What does seem to be consistent is that many residents of Mount Druitt, in particular those individuals and organizations that were portrayed in the series, do feel profoundly misrepresented and reduced for the purposes of ‘drama’.

One of the problems with postcode poverty is the stigmatization of one particular area as the container of all these issues. As many people have noted, drug abuse, poverty and ill-health are widespread in contemporary Australia. And there are, without doubt, geographic pockets of endemic poverty and community vulnerability (or wide swathes if we turn to regional and rural Australia). However Struggle Street (Series 1, postcode 2770) does not tell us that. The problems begin for me from its opening sequence where the camera hovers over the tourist icons of the Opera House and Harbour Bridge (Voiceover: “Sparkling Sydney Harbour, gateway to a sun-bronzed Aussie lifestyle”), then zooms at rapid speed through tunnels and down highways (Sound effects: car engine, screaming rubber of tires on bitumen, brakes), and comes to a screeching stop at the sign “Mt Druitt: 45 Kms west of Sydney”.

The scene then cuts in rapid succession through the exterior of a graffiti covered fibro house, a disheveled interior (Off-screen dialogue young woman: ‘It’s just been trashed’), a tattooed torso, an arrest in the mall, and a mid-shot of man holding up a small bag of drugs (dialogue: ‘This is the shit is going to get us smashed”), a verandah with two men, one of them angry shouting and pointing his finger off screen (dialogue: “If anyone gives any of my kids any fucking drugs I’m going to tear them to fucking pieces, I don’t give a fuck if he’s a bikie, I don’t give a fuck if he’s God”), cut to a worried-looking teenage girl listening to the shouting, cut to man in the street leaning on a red car, holding a stubby of beer, wearing a “Drink Sensibly’ T-shirt. We are reeling already at the horrors of Mount Druitt and that is only the first 35 seconds of three hours of program extracted from the hundreds of thousands of hours of footage gathered over the six months that some residents of Mount Druitt were stalked by cameras. We find out the names and some of the stories of these people as the program unfolds but the relentless pace does not let up. Just to use this opening as an example, there is no way of entering the documentary without being separated from Mount Druitt and the people we see there. They are irrevocably ‘other’ to we viewers, who are from the first second of the filming positioned – by the commentary, the images and the editing – as tourists in the western suburbs.

Mount Druitt of course has long been the go-to place for media stereotyping of the western suburbs, which the film-makers would have known if they had any history in this country. But this seems to be an English import made by KEO Films ‘Australia’. The formula was honed in their UK series Skint: a postcode, poverty, key characters who are multiply disadvantaged and colourful visually and in their language, which is translated with subtitles, even when they are speaking English (see Skint Season 3, Episode 3 at https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AeZmaEidAJk l) Some of the scripting seems remarkably similar, though oddly, in comparison to Struggle Street, the narrator of Skint Series 3 uses ‘we’ occasionally in the script as he talks about the unemployed, homeless and criminal residents of Merthyr Tydfil, the Welsh former coalmining town that is the focus of Series 3. What seems to be avoided in Struggle Street is any reference to social policy and the responsibilities of governments and the wider society to our fellow citizens. There is no consideration or possibility of social policy as a factor that might be mobilized to address endemic poverty. A couple of small-scale community organizations are depicted but these too are portrayed as shambolic and ineffective (and as QANDA revealed, they are already at risk of losing their funding).

In Struggle Street, as in Skint, it’s all up to you and the decisions that you make as an individual and a family about your life. Wrong decisions lead to bad outcomes, and all we see in Struggle Street are wrong decisions, or decisions that seem to be doomed or that come too late. There isn’t any sense of the multiple supports and resources and the careful case management and participatory approaches that might make a difference in addressing youth mental ill-health, methamphetamine and heroin addiction and many other issues that pile up in Struggle Street.

There is some empathy here and there, in the story arc and in individual scenes, and we know that the characters want their lives to turn around but there is little indication of how this might be achieved. Their own attempts to do things differently are most often portrayed as failures. In the final episode, even the weather conspires to ruin the community event that one character has been working on, and the birthday party surprise is ruined when one of the guests comes around during the preparations. We do see lots of love but this is wrapped in a condescending package that mocks rather than respects the people who gave their stories and their time to the KEO camera people and interviewers.

The ethics of representation and informed consent (versus the blanket ‘waivers’) in this program, or in the ‘realist documentary’ form that SBS claimed for Struggle Street, are worthy of much greater attention. The promo material for Struggle Street claims that it is ‘fly on the wall observational documentary’, that it ‘gives a voice to those doing it tough’ and that it is ‘raw, honest and unfiltered’. By now it is clear to all involved that, like all television, no matter what the pitch from KEO films was at the beginning, it is a carefully constructed and artfully edited text with the intention of sensationalizing disadvantage.

Arguably, the most vulnerable in the community have been made more vulnerable through their engagement with Struggle Street. Even if it isn’t conventional, as SBS’s content manager claimed, it’s worth considering how the program might have been different if there had been a more participatory approach. Why not have community meetings or consultations through the process of film making and editing? Why not provide opportunities for deepening the conversations around poverty and ill-health and how these are experienced by people, why not give them a voice in richer ways than we have seen? Wouldn’t it have been interesting if there had been some media training made available to young people from this area of high unemployment, for example internships might have been embedded into the large Screen Australia grant that funded the project (as scholarships are in large ARC research grants)?

Where is the additional programming from SBS that nuances the arguments – like the post-program panel of participants and advocates from Go back to where you came from? What about talking to the school principals, vocational and alternative education providers about the opportunities that are being made available and the further investment in human capital and potential that is still required? Where are the politicians, beyond the mayor who is such an obvious champion of the beleaguered people in his electorate?

And it is beholden on SBS I think, when they get over their excitement about their high ratings, to go back and speak to the people of Mount Druitt again about the inadvertent impacts of the program on the people who were its subjects and to ask what they can do for the community that, in some ways, it has savaged. It might look at its own ethical guidelines, the agreements it makes as it outsources its programming, and most importantly, the promises it makes to its participants in its programming.

In this instance, the ‘Six million stories and counting’ that used to be SBS’s slogan seems to be reduced to one overarching story, the same old story that has been told again and again and again of this part of the city. For some of the other stories of Mount Druitt and of living on Struggle Street, I recommend starting at the following links:

ABC QANDA May 11 http://www.abc.net.au/tv/qanda/txt/s4212658.htm

ABC Life Matters May 7 http://www.abc.net.au/radionational/programs/lifematters/struggle-street-poverty-porn/6450174

Mt Druitt – St Mary’s Standard May 13 http://newslocal.newspaperdir

ect.com/epaper/viewer.aspx

Add your own links in the comment boxes below.

Associate Professor Susanne Gannon is Equity Program leader in the Centre for Educational Research at the University of Western Sydney, Australia, which will host a conference in late October 2015 on ‘Resisting Educational Inequality: Reframing policy and practice in schools serving vulnerable communities’. Her 2009 paper ‘Rewriting the road to nowhere’ on media representations of Mount Druitt can be accessed here:

https://www.academia.edu/191401/Rewriting_the_Road_to_nowhere_Place_pedagogies_in_western_Sydney

She is also a Board member of Westwords: The Western Sydney Young People’s Literature Development Project which aims to celebrate the diverse stories of young people and communities in western Sydney http://westwords.com.au

Learning off by Heart May 5, 2015

Posted by Editor21C in Primary Education, Secondary Education, Social Ecology.
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from Carol Birrell

One subject I teach through the School of Education at UWS is Learning and Creativity, a Social Ecology unit undertaken by many pre-service teachers (about 250 each semester). It introduces students to engaged learning through creative pedagogies and instills how to be a creative teacher in all aspects of the curriculum. I happened to be taking an absent, sick tutor’s class just a week or so before a major creative piece of work was due. A young man with shining eyes stayed behind to ask me whether or not he was on track with his assignment.

His plan, as he explained to me, was to demonstrate to the class the impact of an intense learning experience he had gone through just a year or so earlier. It was learning the Koran off by heart. He told me it took him 3 years to memorise all the words of this ancient text, which also demanded knowing the meaning of every word written. Scholars had come to Sydney to conduct this teaching and it was every day for three years that he studied so intently. He showed me the Koran itself, in its exquisite detailed calligraphy, and demonstrated the process of his learning right from the beginning. He had learnt a page a day, line by line, then progressing to paragraph by paragraph. Within a very short time, he was able to put together and repeat a grouping of 3 paragraphs and so on, up to a whole page, then several pages. Each day began a series of new pages, but first with a testing of the previous day’s learning.

I was astounded by this singular feat of learning off by heart, since I can hardly recall the names of my current students in class, let alone the poems and songs of my childhood!

It made me think about the ‘noble art’ of rote learning and its fall from favour as a teaching strategy. When I was in primary school, the times tables in Maths were an absolute fixture of everyday lessons and the whole class would chant it out together like a mantra being exhorted by a pulsing fervent crowd. Alas, no real fervour here in class, just the terror of being caught out in not knowing the answer to 6×8! I must say, it had some sort of appeal to me then, even in its hollow recitation. There was definitely a rhythm to the sing-songy learning which most of us seemed to enjoy once we had it mastered. Of course, there were some who never managed to master it, despite the threats…!

Then I think back to my crazy High School French teacher, who fired herself into every class with a barrage of language. We would sit mute as the French words flowed from her into a fertile field of unknowing. She loved us to repeat out loud, after her, all our vocab for the day. Yes, vocab for the day, at least 10 words that she would duly test us on the very next lesson. This may not seem so unusual, to call upon rote learning in the acquisition of a new language, but somehow I think it had more to do with learning off by heart as her particular ‘je ne sais crois’! Did we learn via this method? We surely did, but was it again, more through fear, or the power of rote?

Perhaps I imbued some of these now archaic techniques in my own pedagogical practices unknowingly. A particularly difficult 9F Geography class (no, ‘F’ was not the teacher’s surname but the lowest level of streamed classes), convinced of their ineptitude for anything scholarly, and backed up by most teaching staff, had me confounded when I tried to get them to study the geography of Japan. Of course, first up, you have to know the names of the islands of Japan. Impossible! No matter what I tried, no recall. Blank wall! I finally, in sheer desperation, resorted to something familiar. Get a chant and a rhythm going:

‘Hon-shu Shik-ok-ku Ky-u-shu Hok-kai-do! ‘
‘Hon-shu…
Shikoku…
Kyushu…
Hokkaido!’

And off we went stomping around the class, around and around with these words becoming familiars amidst much hilarity and stupidity. But they got it! And it stayed with them. Fixed in embodied learning that rarely disappears. Maybe hidden, but there to be plucked at some future time.

So I think it is time to take a long hard look at some of these Western educational outdated methods and reconsider if we have thrown the baby out with the bath water. Is there no place for honing our memory through ongoing recitation? And what about poetry known and recited out loud? Children’s nursery rhymes that form a strong basis of literacy?

The lost art of learning off by heart… Now why was it called that? What has the heart to do with this process of memorizing?

The young man with shining eyes told me why he wanted to do this feat of memorising. The desire had been with him as a young kid, when first shown the Koran. He just knew he wanted to do it, for his love of God. As strong then as it was twenty or more years later when he finally achieved his dream. Now, he was learning through his heart. And with his heart.

I do know that in an embryo, when the organs are early developing, the heart and the ear lie close together, before the ear finally migrates to the top of the body, which becomes the head. So for some time, the intimacy between head and heart creates a template of relationship that may be remembered each time the word is spoken aloud to the heart.

The shining man cannot rest on his laurels once the deed has been accomplished, the total memorization of the Koran. He must one day a month go through that huge chunk of the Koran in total, to test his memory, to say it out loud, going over and over it for the rest of his life.

This, surely, is learning off by heart! Not all learning systems threw rote learning out, for good reason.

I am off to brush up on some poems, long ago learnt and forgotten. How hard can that be? And then after that, I’ll tackle the names of all my students…!!

 

Dr Carol Birrell is a Lecturer and social ecologist in the School of Education at the University of Western Sydney, Australia. She has written several other contributions on this blog site.

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