Inside Education

Exploring the art of good learning

Stephen O'Brien

• Publisher: Routledge
• Year: 2015
• ISBN:
  9781317362685
• Edition: 1
• Topic: Pedagogía
• Subtopic: Educación general

To learn more about learning – what it is and how it works – it is necessary to look inside education. Inside Education takes the reader on a journey of four 'live' education projects: the first all-Irish speaking, mixed-gendered, multi-faith primary school in the Republic of Ireland ideally suited to exploring learning identity; an alternative post-primary school for those who leave (or are left behind by) the formal education system also based in the Republic of Ireland and ideally suited to exploring personal learning; an early college school that enables students to simultaneously sit their high-school diploma and college exams based in Queens, New York and ideally suited to exploring learning success; and an adult education training centre that works with 'landless' movement members based in Brazil and ideally suited to exploring learning power.

Using a critical ethnography approach, each research narrative naturally unfolds/enfolds to tell a more complete learning story. All those interested in education are primed readers. By (re-)viewing their own learning outlook, they may begin to advance deeper critical ideas and debates in education. They may come to (re-)represent education, reminding public consciousness of its human stories, as well as its curious, intricate and powerful qualities. And they may (re-)discover 'other' roads to raise a scholar. Teachers, educational researchers, parents and guardians will be particularly interested readers.

' Inside Education is a thought-provoking, challenging and revealing journey inside the world of education and learning. Its exploration of school and classroom practices in a range of different settings provides important insights into how we learn ? a central aspect of our education system which remains overlooked and understudied. In doing so, it lays down a challenge to policy-makers and educators everywhere to think differently about the way we learn and, ultimately, help students fulfil their real potential.'

- Carl O'Brien, Chief Reporter for The Irish Times

' Inside Education is a stunning example of passionate scholarship that nonetheless refuses a redemptionist stance. The ethnography captures people and contexts and draws the reader into the four sites of learning in fluent and lyrical prose. This is facilitated by the extensive use of research notes deploying historical, comparative, literary, artistic and scholarly sources."

- Denis O'Sullivan, Emeritus Professor of Education, University College Cork, Ireland

1
Learning Identity

It’s a wet May Monday morning in Cork. Despite the artificial allure of its southernmost location, Cork city is no stranger to bad weather – and that Irish summer of 2012 would be heralded as the worst in 50 years. People were to be heard recording their own views on the weather, drawing on their rich store of familiar experience and language inventory. It is said that the Irish have as many words to portray ‘rain’ as the Inuit have to describe ‘snow’. Thus, not accounting for particular forms of jargon, the day may be ‘soft’, ‘misty’, ‘showery’, ‘heavy’ or ‘torrential’. This particular Monday morning is ‘lashing’ [very heavy rain] and I am stationed in my car outside Gaelscoil an Ghoirt Álainn, north of the city. Ireland has two official languages – English and Irish (‘Gaeilge’) – both of which are uniquely spoken by its populace.¹ While ‘Hiberno-English’ may arguably be more accessible (e.g. rain descriptors), Gaeilge (the indigenous language of Ireland) may not be so. Thus, a brief interlude for ‘translation’: Gaelscoil means ‘Irish (speaking) school’ and an Ghoirt Álainn literally means ‘the beautiful field’ (or colloquially, ‘Mayfield’). On this very wet morning, then, I am waiting outside Mayfield’s (Irish-speaking) primary school. I have come to visit with an open mind; though what has been written about this particular school, and Gaelscoileanna (the plural of Gaelscoil, denoting ‘Irish language schools’) in general, commonly presupposes the research scene. Mindful of this supposed narrative, which I hope to share with you shortly, my primary desire is to learn more about this school. What, I ask myself, is the identity of this place and how is learning so connected to this identity? Officially, Gaelscoil an Ghoirt Álainn is the first mixed-gendered, all-Irish-speaking, multi-faith school on the island of Ireland.² My thoughts drift to how a child that attends this school might identify differently, that is, become a different person and a different learner than he/she would if attending a single-sex, all-English-speaking, Catholic school (for example). While I do not wish to compare school-type identities, I start to speculate how this particular community shapes (and is shaped by) notions of identity. I also begin to wonder how a child learns an identity and how this might influence his/her learning character. My thoughts, as heavy as the rain, find relief in the stirring of people from all directions.

The school is set back from an open public green area, known locally as the ‘tank field’, so named because a water tower once stood on its grounds. This common area is used by Brian Dillon’s GAA (Gaelic Athletic Association³) sports club, which has permanently erected goalposts for hurling and Gaelic football matches and regularly organises training sessions for its young male and female members. The field is also used by local people of all ages for jogging, strolling, ‘hanging out’ and walking their dogs, as well as by local schools for matches, fêtes and sports days. There is always some activity in the tank field. On school mornings just before 8.45 AM, it is the turn of the pupils and guardians of Gaelscoil an Ghoirt Álainn to provide the bustle. The vast majority are headed towards the narrow road behind the far-end goalpost that leads to the gates of Brian Dillon’s sports pavilion. The school is housed on the right-hand side of the club within its gated arena. At busy times of the school day, parents and guardians are asked to keep the roadway clear and desist from entering the grounds by car. Many park on the main road alongside the walled perimeter of the field and make their way by foot towards the gated entrance. They form a long column. A few brave souls choose to hurdle the walled border and forge their path across the sodden pitch towards a side entrance further up. The bravest few choose to walk the fullest length of the pitch from the southern (old ‘tank’) position. It is strangely touching to see so many youngsters struggle in their efforts to come to school. An hour or so ago they had been tucked up in their beds, cosily protected from the elements. Now, as they make their way towards the school gates, some stop to greet their friends, while others jockey and jostle in the rain. The parents and guardians are less enthusiastic about the prospect of a journey delay. I sympathise and eventually make my own brisk way – not via pasture.

The children’s uniforms, barely visible beneath the layers of weather proof clothing, mark community membership. But wider impressions of Gaelscoil membership presuppose this assembly. The media has been instrumental in generating these. Writing in The Irish Times, Louise Holden (2007) asks if the rise of the Gaelscoil owes much to “real engagement with the Irish language and culture”, or if it constitutes “old fashioned snobbery and elitism.” The impression given is that Gaelscoileanna confer unfair ‘advantage’ on its members. Kate Holmquist (2008) is more assertive in her article in The Irish Times, which is provocatively (regrettably) entitled ‘Language of Educational Apartheid’:⁴

Not only will your [Gaelscoil] child be surrounded by mostly middle-class children and get 10 per cent bonus,⁵ but he or she will also be likely to have smaller classes, aiding performance in other subjects.

Sarah Carey (2008) goes further in another Irish Times article entitled ‘Gaelscoil parents want to have their cake and eat it’:

In practice, it’s a class issue. Whether the motivating force is middle-class liberalism or heartfelt nationalist ideology, you won’t find too many immigrants and local ruffians at the Gaelscoil. Parents are entitled to make every effort to improve their children’s chances in this world and Gaelscoileanna with their smaller class sizes and self-selecting participants are a good mechanism for that. But do me two favours: Stop pretending that this is all about the Irish language and don’t expect the rest of us to pay for it.

In counter argument, proponents of Gaelscoileanna, such as Foras na Gaeilge (the Irish Language Organisation) and Gaelscoileanna Teoranta (a national voluntary organisation that supports the development of Irish-medium schools), point to the important role such schools play in celebrating national culture, identity and language. While they would certainly argue that the ‘elitist’ tag is unfair, they might concede that some of their schools are ‘advantaged’, particularly those that are predominantly white, Irish and middle class and are deemed to intellectually perform. Overall, and by design, they argue an inclusive case, highlighting a network of primary and secondary Gaelscoileanna in disadvantaged areas of Ireland, a non-fee paying school structure and a universal ‘open’ enrolment policy. Moreover, they point to widespread parental support for their schools.⁶ Undoubtedly influenced by market and state support for ‘school choice’ (see Chapter 4), this has translated to a rapid rise in Gaelscoileanna in Ireland over the past 3 decades: From a total of 16 schools in 1972, to 175 Irish-medium primary schools and 41 post-primary schools in 2012.⁷

The Gaelscoil I’m about to visit has made its own impression. It is aesthetically unpleasing with adjoining prefabs shaping its higgledy-piggledy structure. The latest supplement bears down on earlier prototypes that once housed younger tenants. Such aesthetics tell a bigger story. These ‘temporary’ prefabs have been home to the Gaelscoil since 1998. Up to this time, the school community had been searching for a permanent residence, a pursuit that’s still ongoing and not without controversy. In 2006, Cork City Council, which had acquired the ‘tank field’ by statutory powers in 2001, offered to sell the land to the Department of Education to build a new Gaelscoil. In response, representatives of the local residential community formed a ‘Save Our Tank Field’ campaign. A bitter battle ensued, with both sides (‘for’ and ‘against’ the school) claiming legitimacy. Why, asked opponents, were there proposals to build a school on a designated green field site in a district that is already well served by primary schools? Why, asked proponents, were there objections to build a school that planned to maintain large parts of the green field site and ameliorate the substandard accommodation of its pupils and teachers? Oft heated and emotionally charged, such arguments (among others) regularly appeared on blog sites that debated the future of Gaelscoil an Ghoirt Álainn.

These blog sites frequently underscored irreconcilable differences and intractable positions. Associated slogans accommodated political attachment, with little room for elasticity. It appeared that you were either for ‘Save Our Tank Field’ or ‘All We Want Is a School’.

Around the time of this school dispute, David McWilliams (2006) – celebrity economist, broadcaster and author – had just written a bestselling book entitled The Pope’s children: Ireland’s new elite. Written at a time when the country appeared to prosper economically,⁸ it presents itself as an entertaining and informative description of Ireland and its people. Replete with populist discourse, caricature descriptors and essentialising arguments, the book sets out to ‘capture’ what it means to be Irish. In one such depiction, McWilliams offers a profile of ‘Hibernian Cosmopolitans’ (or ‘HiCos’):

They want to be both special and rich, they want the Gaelscoil and the fancy double-doored fridge, they want Kila [an Irish band that fuses Irish and world music] and the Killers [an American rock band], they want the connectedness of spirituality and the freedom of liberty, they want to belong and yet lose themselves. They are Hibernians but they want cosmopolitan goodies.

(McWilliams, 2006, 146)

Such unproblematic ‘blending’ of capital and culture is perhaps unsurprising from an economist’s standpoint; nevertheless, identity labelling is eagerly advanced. Hence, the typification of Gaelscoil parents:

The aim of the HiCos is not to turn themselves into Gaeilgeoirí [Irish speakers] but to get the best for their family. As with everything they do, Gaelscoileanna [sic] allows them to pick the best bit from what the Hibernian menu has to offer and move on. It is an economic free lunch, spiced with the virtue of authenticity […] People who send their children to Gaelscoileanna display great taste. They are erudite, refined and concerned. Twenty first Century Gaelscoil parents are in a class of their own. They are both cosmopolitan and Hibernian.

(McWilliams, 2006, 236)

I wondered if parents of Gaelscoil an Ghoirt Álainn identified with this description of themselves – if they saw their school as “the breeding ground for the new sophisticated elite” (McWilliams, 2006, 240). Undoubtedly, impressions had been made of them by an author whose Gaelscoil research appears to have been conducted outside a certain school’s gates.⁹ However artificial/overstated, impressions have real effects, whether these emerge/coalesce via celebrity writing, newspaper articles or select oppositional claims to a Gaelscoil’s establishment. I am very mindful of these now, not least because they form a key context to the identity of Gaelscoil an Ghoirt Álainn. Here is a school literally fighting for its identity. And I am about to step inside.

Figure 1.1 Gaelscoil an Ghoirt Álainn

Identity signals

As with all schools, organised chaos reigns first thing in the morning. Here, wet bodies cloud the narrow corridors, with teachers on hand to steer their safe passage. Criss-crossing trails eventually fade as pupils disperse into classroom warrens. Further activity centres on the reception area. Sick notes are handed in, children make unexpected phone calls home, parents inform of imminent family events, lunchboxes are belatedly dropped off, appointments are secured and more. A level of stillness returns to the office some twenty minutes later. Lisa, the school’s administrator, will soon be available to speak with me but first she has a number of notices to forward to teachers. She apologises for the inconvenience, though I feel responsible for discommoding her. I am keen to speak with Lisa and am happy to wait. It is often said that school administrators are its ‘eyes and ears’. They are visibly the first point of contact between home and school and are intimately attuned to communal interests and demands. They are knowledgeable of, and engage with, a variety of educational supports, including counsellors, home liaison officers and health professionals. They understand the personal/professional character of the school principal as they work in tandem on organisational tasks. They enable extracurricular¹⁰ activities (such as field trips and sporting events), communiqués (including school reports and newsletters) and the smooth operation of management systems (including school policies and pastoral supports). Lisa, as I am about to find out, performs all of these functions. She literally communicates school culture.

We head to the newest ‘upstairs’ prefab that is suspended at the back of the school complex. This, the quietest part of the building, now serves as the staffroom. Next door, sixth class pupils (12 year olds) settle down to work and the faint sounds of busy Irish can be heard through thin walls. I first ask Lisa what she thinks about impressions of Gaelscoil elitism. Maybe a number of years ago, she states, most parents would have been working. But now almost 1 in 4 families is suffering from unemployment. Some come in confidence to the school to communicate their financial difficulties, and an increasing number cannot afford to pay the voluntary school contribution.¹¹ It may be the case that approximately half the school’s constituency is made up of middle-class families, with the remaining half almost equally split between high and low socio-economic groups.¹² Yet, as Lisa maintains, the recession has adversely affected all social groups.¹³ The school too is sited within a disadvantaged area of the city¹⁴ and the parental profile reflects this diverse loca...

Table of contents

• Cover
• Title
• Copyright
• Dedication
• CONTENTS
• Introduction
• Acknowledgements
• 1 Learning identity
• 2 Personal learning
• 3 Learning success
• 4 Learning power
• Index