Critical Pedagogy Reassessed
As I have explained elsewhere (B.Johnston, 1999b), I am not entirely convinced by critical pedagogy, I have several objections, all of which have a moral coloring. First, I find a lot of writing about critical pedagogy to be too abstract, theoretical, and couched in exclusionary language; in this I believe that many theorists have failed in their moral obligation to make their ideas fully accessible to others, especially practicing teachers. Second, I resent the posturing that accompanies a lot of the theoretical work in mainstream education (and is mercifully absent in most critical pedagogical writings in ELT); this writing claims the moral high ground in debates over the political nature of schooling, and I believe that such a claim does not support the best interests of teachers and learners (Janangelo, 1993). My primary point of disagreement with critical pedagogy, however, is not so much an intellectual objection as a difference of axiomatic starting points. While Giroux, McLaren, Pennycook and others see teaching as above all involving issues of politics and power, my view is that the most basic quality of teaching is its moral dimension. The ways in which political interests and power relations exist in all educational contexts is of very great importance; I have tried to underline this fact by placing the present chapter near the beginning of my book. However, my view of teaching rests ultimately on a different assumption. At heart, teaching for me is not about political interests. It is about the teacher-student relation and about the nurturing of learning. Giroux, McLaren, Pennycook and oth-ers are themselves teachers, both in university classrooms and through their writings. The reason they teach, and the reason people go to their classes and read their books, is because teaching and learning are inherently valuable processes. One of the things that attracts me to critical pedagogy, on the other hand, is that, as my own personal experience has shown me, many of the pedagogical elements of the critical approach—empowering learners, giving them voice, helping them to see the interestedness of knowledge claims and allowing them to become producers rather than only consumers of knowledge—quite simply constitute excellent pedagogy, from a moral standpoint as well as an educational one. Let me approach this from another angle. Returning to my own experiences, how was it possible for us to even live in such an oppressive context as that of Communist Poland? It was possible because life is not just about politics, power, and the struggle for social change. People lead rich and fulfilling lives in even the most repressive of regimes, simply because life can never be reduced to political oppression. While a few heroic individuals—the Lech Wałęsas and the Anna Walentynowiczes of the world—took on the political struggle, the rest of us were just trying to live ordinary lives, and for the most part succeeding. In most cases, you do not need to engage in a political struggle to love your family, to enjoy the company of your friends, and to do good and important work, and you do not need complete democracy to engage in meaningful teaching and learning with your students. Democracy, freedom, and social change are all terribly important, but for the great majority of us the real business of life can and must go on regardless, whatever our political context. The alternative view—that until equality among all people is achieved we must devote ourselves above all to the struggle for social change—strikes me as being a bleak prospect indeed, and one that denies the richness and profound humanity of relation, including the teacher-learner relation, as it is played out in whatever circumstances it has found itself. 57 Values in English Language Teaching
As I have explained elsewhere (B.Johnston, 1999b), I am not entirely convinced by critical pedagogy, I have several objections, all of which have a moral coloring. First, I find a lot of writing about critical pedagogy to be too abstract, theoretical, and couched in exclusionary language; in this I believe that many theorists have failed in their moral obligation to make their ideas fully accessible to others, especially practicing teachers. Second, I resent the posturing that accompanies a lot of the theoretical work in mainstream education (and is mercifully absent in most critical pedagogical writings in ELT); this writing claims the moral high ground in debates over the political nature of schooling, and I believe that such a claim does not support the best interests of teachers and learners (Janangelo, 1993). My primary point of disagreement with critical pedagogy, however, is not so much an intellectual objection as a difference of axiomatic starting points. While Giroux, McLaren, Pennycook and others see teaching as above all involving issues of politics and power, my view is that the most basic quality of teaching is its moral dimension. The ways in which political interests and power relations exist in all educational contexts is of very great importance; I have tried to underline this fact by placing the present chapter near the beginning of my book. However, my view of teaching rests ultimately on a different assumption. At heart, teaching for me is not about political interests. It is about the teacher-student relation and about the nurturing of learning. Giroux, McLaren, Pennycook and oth-ers are themselves teachers, both in university classrooms and through their writings. The reason they teach, and the reason people go to their classes and read their books, is because teaching and learning are inherently valuable processes. One of the things that attracts me to critical pedagogy, on the other hand, is that, as my own personal experience has shown me, many of the pedagogical elements of the critical approach—empowering learners, giving them voice, helping them to see the interestedness of knowledge claims and allowing them to become producers rather than only consumers of knowledge—quite simply constitute excellent pedagogy, from a moral standpoint as well as an educational one. Let me approach this from another angle. Returning to my own experiences, how was it possible for us to even live in such an oppressive context as that of Communist Poland? It was possible because life is not just about politics, power, and the struggle for social change. People lead rich and fulfilling lives in even the most repressive of regimes, simply because life can never be reduced to political oppression. While a few heroic individuals—the Lech Wałęsas and the Anna Walentynowiczes of the world—took on the political struggle, the rest of us were just trying to live ordinary lives, and for the most part succeeding. In most cases, you do not need to engage in a political struggle to love your family, to enjoy the company of your friends, and to do good and important work, and you do not need complete democracy to engage in meaningful teaching and learning with your students. Democracy, freedom, and social change are all terribly important, but for the great majority of us the real business of life can and must go on regardless, whatever our political context. The alternative view—that until equality among all people is achieved we must devote ourselves above all to the struggle for social change—strikes me as being a bleak prospect indeed, and one that denies the richness and profound humanity of relation, including the teacher-learner relation, as it is played out in whatever circumstances it has found itself. 57 Values in English Language Teaching
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