Critical Autoethnography and Intercultural Learning

Emerging Voices

Phiona Stanley

• Publisher: Routledge
• Year: 2020
• ISBN:
  9781000054125
• Edition: 1
• Topic: Education
• Subtopic: Multicultural Education

Critical Autoethnography and Intercultural Learning shows how critical autoethnographic writing in a field such as intercultural education can help inform and change existing research paradigms. Engaging story-telling and insightful analysis from emerging scholars of diverse backgrounds and communities shows the impact of lived experience on teaching and learning.

Different areas of intercultural learning are considered, including language education; student and teacher mobilities; Indigenous education; backpacker tourism; and religious learning. The book provides a worked example of how critical autoethnography can help shift thinking within any discipline, and reflects critically upon the multidimensional nature of migrant teacher and learner identities.

This book will be essential reading for upper-level students of qualitative research methods, and on international education courses, including language education.

Part I

Engaging with the western ‘academy’

2

Epistemological violence and Indigenous autoethnographies

Michelle Bishop

Introduction

During my Master’s in Educational Psychology programme, I stumble upon an early description of Aboriginal Peoples’ cognitive capacity, published in the Children’s Encyclopaedia (1908). It proclaims:

[T]he small brain of the Australian native … their lot is inescapable … these people do not merely know less than we do but are never able to learn as much as we do, even when they get an equal chance.

(Lowe, 1998, p. 657)

It’s devastating to read this. Anger and sadness conflicts inside me as my brow deepens and I think about the stories of trauma and humiliation I’ve heard from my Nan, Aunties, and Uncles. A steady pulsing in my throat becomes noticeable. Sticky palms reach for the squishy ball I keep on my desk. For moments like this. I can’t believe this is what people thought and relied upon to justify dispossession and genocide. How the State assumed control over every aspect of Aboriginal¹ Peoples’ lives. Still ongoing. Do people continue to think like this, deep down, maybe without them even knowing it? Has it become embedded in people’s psyche – that Aboriginal Peoples are unquestionably ‘primitive’ and ‘inferior’? Where did these ideas come from?

As a Gamilaroi woman, entering ‘White’,² patriarchal spaces can be a little unsettling. This was especially the case when I returned to university in 2016, this time to one of Australia’s top universities, and began a Master of Education (Educational Psychology). The dominance of Western knowledge systems was startling, and during class discussions, it was common to hear outright assertions being made of the superiority of Western knowledges.

Unwavering arrogance and belief in ‘truth’ and ‘empirical evidence’. Though not trying to be malicious, but lacking awareness of the presence of colonial discourses as purposeful Western constructions designed to reinscribe colonialism and present the stratification of society as natural. I’m careful to refrain from revealing my reactions and wrestle to keep my facial expressions calm. Casually I look around the room for allies; who will meet my eye in dismay?

Within the field of educational psychology, and the academy more broadly, the pervasiveness of colonial discourses continues to reify Western knowledge as ‘universal’ and ‘normal’. I draw on the work of Homi Bhabha (1996, p. 92) who defines ‘colonial discourse’ as the ‘apparatus of power’, which seeks to ‘construe the colonized as a population of degenerate types on the basis of racial origin, in order to justify conquest and to establish systems of administration and instruction’. It is therefore imperative for me to position myself upfront; centring who I am and where I am (coming) from. I do not claim to be neutral nor objective, and therefore wish to acknowledge and proclaim my subjectivities.

As the only Aboriginal woman in the classroom, I often felt saturated and submerged by the primacy of Western knowledge systems. Sometimes it didn’t feel safe to identify myself, and so, like an interloper, I would sit, silent and sullen, wondering if my fair skin meant no one would expect an Indigenous person to be in the room. Watching. Listening. Building my arsenal of encounters with White supremacy. Other times, I identified myself early on, and navigated unrelenting classroom dilemmas – to challenge, appease or tune out?

In this chapter I seek to explore the presence of colonial discourses in educational psychology, and the epistemic violence that ensued. My intention in revealing the omnipresence of colonial discourses is to demonstrate how easily they go unrecognised. There remains a tendency for educators to perpetuate these indirectly or unknowingly. For example, the opposing binary – primitive/civilised – appears to be embedded as ‘truth’ within the field of educational psychology: ‘just the way things are’. This presumption permeates educational policy today, most notably in Australia with the ‘benevolent’ Closing the Gap³ campaign (Commonwealth of Australia, 2018). I do not believe educators are malicious or scheming Western supremacists when they assert such binaries; they often don’t know what they don’t know. Therefore, it is crucial to reveal ‘everyday’ normative practices and taken for granted ‘truths’ within educational psychology. In order to do this, it is essential for me to first understand and build a knowledge base of the ontologies and epistemologies of educational psychology: where is it (coming) from?

I thought studying educational psychology would grant me ‘scientific legitimacy’ from which to speak, and assumed (naively) that, based on what educational psychologists know about learning and schooling, they would have to be advocating for alternative schooling models. I was wrong. Unfortunately, throughout my studies, it became apparent that educational psychology was focused primarily on how students learn, without question (or interest) in who was learning, what they were learning, or why. It proved difficult for me to just concentrate on the how. I worry about the intergenerational consequences if systems and structures of education remain the same. Are we apprehending generations of young people in an education system that is inhibiting social, emotional, cultural, and cognitive growth? What is the purpose of schooling? As the experts on how people learn, I wanted to know what educational psychology thought of the structure of the schooling system. But, as I found out, the discipline of educational psychology was created and designed to legitimate and support formal schooling. And, more than that, through my research, I uncovered shady origins. A sordid foundation on which educational psychology today has been built. These epistemological beginnings were never acknowledged during my Master’s, and yet they underpin the way schooling is conducted today. To what degree must educational psychology account for the harmful effects of schooling, particularly in regards to Indigenous students?

Throughout the chapter, I rely on Indigenous autoethnography as a ‘reassertion of Indigenous ways of knowing and being’ (Tynan & Bishop, 2019). Distinct form of analysis. Not autoethnography. Marked in italics, my autoethnographic dataset of narrative, reflection, and storytelling demonstrates a defiance to conventional forms of academic writing; offering a ‘central form of resistance to the colonial forces that have consistently and methodically denigrated and silenced them’ (Wilson, 2004, p. 71). However, Indigenous autoethnography also fulfils an important ethical imperative. It provides a space where I can walk my talk; not just state, but show my positionality, and in doing so, forge a connection and sense of relatedness with the reader (Martin, 2008; Wilson, 2008).

However, I would like to acknowledge that this puts me in a somewhat vulnerable position; ‘Indigenous autoethnography’ demands personal exposure. This is risky business in the academy where you’re expected to maintain control (McIvor, 2010). Smith (2012, p. 37) warns that ‘writing can be dangerous because sometimes we reveal ourselves in ways which get misappropriated and used against us’. This worries me. There is a danger that I may encounter opposition and confrontation from those working in educational psychology. I am terrified this could harm my credibility as a person and as a scholar or have negative effects on my collegial relationships or career prospects. My intention in writing this chapter is not to discredit or vilify anyone. Rather, I am convinced that the discomfort and epistemic violence I experienced during my Master’s was not an isolated occurrence, that this is something that affects many Indigenous students in higher education (cf. Barney, 2016). Therefore, my aim is to provoke an awareness of the pervasiveness of colonial discourses in educational psychology, and the academy more broadly, and the harm this may cause Indigenous students.

Establishing an Indigenous autoethnography

Indigenous postgraduate students can become frustrated by being forced to accept western, ethnocentric research methodology that is culturally remote and often unacceptable to the Indigenous epistemological approach to knowledge.

(Foley, 2003, p. 44)

My desk is stacked with research textbooks. On the computer, 17 tabs remain open. I’m trying to find the ‘right’ methodology for my Master’s project. Is this what I’m meant to do – just choose one? I read how narrative inquiry is fighting for recognition as a valid research methodology (cf. Bell, 2011), and how mixed-methods research has become a ‘risk reduction strategy’ by including a quantitative component to ‘back up’ qualitative findings (cf. Bryman, 2007). It seems the epitome of research is quantitative/positivist and anything that deviates from this needs to justify/verify itself. But doesn’t this just reinforce the norm as the norm? I settle on critical discourse analysis. I figure I can analyse programme materials to reveal the reliance on colonial discourses in educational psychology. But the weeks slip by and in every attempt to ‘do’ the research I experience tension and hesitation. I spend many nights berating myself and my abilities to do research. Intensely frustrated, I begin to think maybe I’m not cut out for this.

Foley’s words above affirmed my hesitation in ‘selecting’ a methodology and provided justification for me to reframe and re-centre who I am and where I’m coming from. Tuck and Yang (2014, p. 6) concur, insisting ‘who we are and how we see the world matters as it influences and informs everything we do, including methodological “choice”’. I devoured such research being produced by Indigenous ‘warrior’ scholars from all over the world (cf. Martin, 2008; Smith, 2012) who expose the ways in which Western research paradigms have been assembled and based upon Western values and philosophies (Blair, 2016), and how decolonising methodologies are reclaiming and foregrounding Indigenous epistemologies. In this way, decolonising methodologies are simultaneously enhancing complexity and critical analysis (Bunda, Zipin, & Brennan, 2012) whilst encompassing and engulfing Western hegemonic frameworks (Foley, 2003; Martin, 2008; Smith, 2012). For me, centring decolonising methodologies as an overarching theoretical framework eventually led to my selection of methodology. In effect, it selected me. I was going to write an ‘Indigenous autoethnography’.

Indigenous autoethnography differs from autoethnography. As Maori scholar Paul Whitinui (2014, p. 461) argues, Indigenous autoethnography provides an opportunity to discuss the ‘cultural underlays/overlays associated with time, space, place and identity … autoethnography, as the dominant discourse … at times lack[s] a certain esoterically, metaphysical, and w(holistic) edge specific to an indigenous reality’. For me, autoethnography didn’t quite ‘fit’. Typically, the ‘auto’ in autoethnography denotes ‘self’ (Wall, 2006), a concept which, as identified by other Indigenous scholars (Iosefo, 2018; Whitinui, 2014), I felt needed to be expanded in recognition that ‘self’ is a bigger entity than an individual. Despite contrary assumptions, I am not an individual. My knowledge comes from my family, my communities, my connections. My ‘self’ belongs to them.Hence, Indigenous autoethnography invokes a way of researching that challenges and contests the ‘official, hegemonic ways of seeing and representing the other’ (Denzin, 2006, p. 422). This, I would argue, is a lived reality for myself and many Indigenous Peoples. Houston (2007, p. 47) concurs, stating ‘Aboriginal authors … are acutely aware that their personal histories have been shaped by social forces, and in particular a series of government policies and educational practices’. We are consistently reminded of ourselves as the ‘other’. It is from this place that Indigenous autoethnography ‘flips the gaze’, resisting the unquestioning privilege typically awarded to Western research methods. It examines and exposes systems and structures of power and interrupts ‘conventional’ (i.e. Eurocentric and patriarchal) research and writing practices. Furthermore, it refuses to be pinned down, and cannot be reduced to a single definition or set of practices.

Indigenous autoethnography is agentic, allowing a freedom, unbound by regulations and instead bound by obligations. To family and community. To Country.⁴ To Indigenous Knowledges. Where storytelling can spiral into a bigger pattern, an interconnectedness that recognises and links together infinite experiences across time and space. It is accessible and offers a voice to those human and non-human stories that are often silenced, ‘worthless’.

Shady discipline?

Throughout my Master’s, I tried to remain optimistic about the possibility of a future education revolution. I was interested in how the brain ‘worked’, but, more than that, I wanted to be part of a movement to change Australia’s school system. I’m not convinced that the current schooling model in Australia is the best way to ‘do’ education; schools are often sites of harm for many Indigenous students (Gillan, Mellor, & Krakouer, 2017). Initially, we were systematically excluded, and then, in New South Wales at least, upon our inclusion, there remained an ‘Exclusion by Demand’ policy whereby Principals could exclude any Aboriginal student upon request by a non-Aboriginal person (Fletcher, 1989). This was in place until 1972! It is not hard then to imagine the intergenerational devastation caused by formal schooling. Do schools continue to be ideological vehicles designed to assimilate, indoctrinate, and acculturate Indigenous Peoples? I know from my Elders that our way of education is extremely effective – it has been in pla...

Table of contents

• Cover
• Half Title
• Title Page
• Copyright Page
• Table of Contents
• List of figures
• List of contributors
• Acknowledgements
• Introduction
• PART I: Engaging with the western ‘academy’
• PART II: Lingua-cultural learning
• PART III: Intercultural learning in the world
• Conclusion
• Index