Literacy and the Curriculum: Success in Senior Secondary Schooling

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Literacy and the Curriculum: Success in Senior Secondary Schooling

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Literacy and the Curriculum: Success in Senior Secondary Schooling

Edited by

Joy Cumming and Claire Wyatt-Smith

First published 2001 by The Australian Council for Educational Research Ltd 19 Prospect Hill Road, Camberwell, Melbourne, Victoria, 3124 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1 Copyright © 2001 Joy Cumming & Claire Wyatt-Smith All rights reserved. Except under the conditions described in the Copyright Act 1968 and subsequent amendments, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the written permission of the publishers. National Library of Australia Cataloguing-in-Publication data: Literacy and the curriculum: success in senior secondary schooling. Bibliography. Includes index. ISBN 0 86431 352 7. 1. Literacy - Australia. 2. Literacy programs - Australia. 3. Curriculum evaluation - Australia. 4. Education, Higher - Australia. I. Cumming, Joy. II. Wyatt-Smith, Claire. 374.0130994 Edited by Renée Otmar, Otmar Millar Consultancy Pty Ltd, Melbourne Cover design by Rob Cowpe Design Text design by Rob Cowpe Design Printed by Australian Print Group Visit our website: www.acerpress.com.au

Contents

Acknowledgements

vii

Introduction CHAPTER

1 A multi-theoretical and multidisciplinary approach to literacy education and curriculum research Joy Cumming and Claire Wyatt-Smith

2

Examining literacies as situated practices CHAPTER

2 Framing literacy demands Ian Reid

CHAPTER

3 ‘You’ve just got to learn how to see’: Curriculum subjects, young people and schooled engagement with the world Gunther Kress

CHAPTER

12

21

4 What counts as literacy: An interactional, ethnographic perspective Teresa Crawford, Maria Lucia Castanheira, Carol N. Dixon and Judith L. Green

32

Curriculum control CHAPTER

5 Language matters in English lessons Linda Gerot

CHAPTER

6 Literacy and literate subjects in a Health and Physical Education class: A post-structuralist analysis Bronwyn Davies

CHAPTER

61

7 Literacy and learning in senior schooling: The Legal Studies classroom as an instructive case Brian Cambourne

CHAPTER

45

72

8 The literacy demands of the curriculum in the post-compulsory years: What are they? What should they be? Peter Winograd

84

Epistemology CHAPTER

9 Pedagogic discourse in the post-compulsory years: Pedagogic subject positioning Frances Christie

CHAPTER

10 Supporting knowledge construction in science Janice Wilson

CHAPTER

94 104

11 Examining how evaluative talk functions in instructional sequences Claire Wyatt-Smith

117

Switching literacy demands CHAPTER

12 Some comments on what is read and written John Elkins

CHAPTER

13 Literacy demands of the curriculum in the post-compulsory years Brian Street

CHAPTER

146

14 Avoiding the traps: Literacy demands as cognitive demands Joy Cumming

CHAPTER

132

157

15 Multimedia literacy demands of the scientific curriculum Jay Lemke

170

Reflections CHAPTER

16 A critical commentary Indiana Study Group

182

References

191

Index

199

Acknowledgements

iteracy and the Curriculum: Success in Senior Secondary Schooling presents a challenge to the educational community to reconsider what counts as valued in literacy, literacy education research and in the literacy–curriculum relationship in post-compulsory schooling. In designing the two-year national study, in which this book had its genesis, we believed that it was important to capture authentic classroom practice from the student’s point of view. We were also committed to a multi-theoretical and multidisciplinary approach in the understanding that a critical concern for research is how disciplinary perspectives are embedded in a theory– practice relationship. We invite readers to use the book as a forum in which to engage with a range of theoretical orientations and methodological approaches to examining literacy education, curriculum, and the relationship of the two. We would like to thank the researchers who supported the study and contributed their writing to this collection. We also wish to thank Jill Ryan and Shani Doig for their research assistance in the project, and Geraldine Castleton for her advice in the preparation of the book. Finally, we owe special gratitude to Jill Ryan for her constant support and care in the editing process. This book is a product of the project The Literacy Demands of the Curriculum in Post-compulsory Schooling, which was funded by the Commonwealth Department of Employment, Education, Training and Youth Affairs through the Children’s Literacy National Projects Program. The views expressed herein do not necessarily represent the views of the Commonwealth Department of Employment, Education, Training and Youth Affairs.

L

vii


Introduction

JOY CUMMING AND CLAIRE WYATT-SMITH GRIFFITH UNIVERSITY

CHAPTER

1

A multi-theoretical and multidisciplinary approach to literacy education and curriculum research Introduction

This book examines the intersection of literacy, curriculum and classroom practice in the context of the final years of formal schooling. It challenges the educational community to reconsider what counts as valued in literacy, in literacy education research and in literacy–curriculum interfaces. Literacy education has been a key focus in educational policy, research and practice throughout the world. Considerable attention has been directed to date to early literacy education, middle schooling, special needs, basic education for adults, workplace literacy and what previously has been termed the ‘literacies’ of specific areas such as mathematical literacy, scientific literacy and technological literacy. The literacy demands of post-compulsory schooling, where post-compulsory means schooling beyond the minimum legal age for leaving school, have not received comparable attention. More specifically, the relationship between literacy, the curriculum of post-compulsory schooling and classroom practice is little researched. This book redresses this area of need and, in so doing, examines issues of epistemology, changing student cohorts, curriculum diversification and current literacy theories. Three major factors have informed the book. First, our interest lies in the enacted curriculum and the demands that students routinely face in classroom learning. As we later explain, the framing conceptualisation of these demands is through the eyes of the student. To this end, the book draws on some 220 videotaped hours of authentic classroom practice in more than 100 different subject classes in the senior years, allowing full analyses of the interaction of literacy, curriculum and classroom practice to occur. Second, the analyses of the classroom practice data are inclusive of literacy theories. This multi-theoretical stance is explained later in this chapter. Third, the analyses also have multidisciplinary inclusivity, ranging across the variety of curriculum pathways currently on offer in schooling. Thus, the following chapters are not directed by literacy considerations alone, but also by considerations of different disciplines, in two ways: the different disciplines informing the school curriculum such as science, art, agricultural studies, and English, to name some; and the different disciplines informing the methodologies and approaches in literacy education research. In order to accommodate a multi-theoretical and multidisciplinary approach, the starting point of a definition that was encompassing of curriculum, and not singularly theoretically aligned, was needed so that a broad focus on literacy demands was ensured.

Defining literacy The underlying position of this book is that literacy can no longer be defined as comprising only the ability to read and write at the functional level. Literacy is not a single, unitary skill. It involves far more than abilities to encode and decode text, and its presence or absence cannot be defined in terms of a literacy/illiteracy dichotomy. The definition of literacy below, provided in the Australian Language and Literacy Policy (1991) and synthesised in a report by Lokan et al. (1995), captures a

A MULTI-THEORETICAL AND MULTIDISCIPLINARY APPROACH

3

comprehensive profile for literacy, and indicates the extent to which literacy and curriculum are interactive and interdependent: the ability to read and use written information and to write appropriately, in a range of contexts; to develop knowledge and understanding; to achieve personal growth; and, to function effectively in our society. Literacy also includes the recognition of numbers and basic mathematical signs and symbols within text plus the integration of speaking, listening and critical thinking with reading and writing. (Lokan et al., 1995, p. 32)

In accepting this definition as a starting point, we were mindful of the need to avoid what Brian Street in Chapter 13 refers to as ‘terminological confusion’, while simultaneously recognising that definitions of literacy evolve. A strength of the provided definition is its explicit inclusion of concerns with reading and processing of written information in a range of forms, writing, the influence of context, constructions of knowledge and understanding, individual development, and access to and effective participation in language use in society. An additional strength of the definition is the inclusion of a social semiotic perspective as applied to symbolic languages. Further, the definition accommodates speaking, listening and critical thinking, understood to be interrelated with all of the previous aspects of reading and writing. While the definition does not explicitly mention literacy as a social, ideological practice, nor the term ‘literacies’, it is sufficiently encompassing to be read as allowing rather than excluding these concepts. Indeed, it is worth noting that all of the researchers in this book were able, in the context of the research study, to apply and elaborate their own understandings of literacy, or literacies, in relation to this definition. In addition to drawing upon this framing definition, we were mindful in the establishment of the parameters for the research study, and for the writings of this book, of existing historical frameworks of English language pedagogy, and their evolution into recent definitions and conceptualisations of literacy and literacy education.

Literacy education frameworks Literacy education frameworks are often discussed in terms of three major schools of thought. These frameworks, as used by Freebody, Ludwig and Gunn (1995), and adapted from Gilbert (1989) and Christie et al. (1991), are described as: the skills approach, emphasising the perceptual and technical procedures of decoding (for reading) and encoding (for writing); the growth and heritage approach, emphasising the private, personal and individual ways in which people use and grow through reading and writing, and the significance of reading and writing as offering access to the valued literary heritage; the critical–cultural approach, emphasising the variability of everyday literacy practices from culture to culture and site to site, and the analytic, critical nature and cultural and political consequences of using reading and writing in everyday social experience. (Freebody, Ludwig & Gunn, 1995, p. 38)

4

LITERACY AND THE CURRICULUM: SUCCESS IN SENIOR SECONDARY SCHOOLING

The first two categories, skills, and growth and heritage, draw on the work of Dixon (1969), who at the 1965 Anglo-American Dartmouth Seminar on English teaching presented three major models or ‘images’ of English pedagogy operating in schools on both sides of the Atlantic. According to Dixon, the skills model emerged in an era when language education concentrated almost exclusively on mechanics (punctuation, spelling and grammar), techniques of expression and repetition of exercises to improve performance. The skills model largely ignored the intrinsic value of the writing; that is, the nature and quality of the ideas expressed. Linguistic appropriateness, creativity and imagination were not key concerns of the time, and good performance was measured by correctness or accuracy. Dixon’s second model was identified as the cultural heritage model, which dates back to the Greek view of literature as moral and spiritual influence. This philosophy of English teaching emphasised the transmission of culture through the study of literature. Unlike the skills model, the cultural heritage model recognised the learner in the acquisition process by offering different styles of writing for imitation, and by providing contexts for discussion of the experiences of the fictional characters. In his third model, Dixon associated the concept of growth with a model of language learning that focused on the students’ active processing of personal experiences through language. He expressed the importance of the nexus between language learning and personal growth in the following way: In ordering and composing situations that in some way symbolise life as we know it, we bring order and composure to our inner selves. When a pupil is steeped in language operation we expect, as he [sic] matures, a conceptualisation of his [sic] earlier awareness of language, and with this perhaps new insight into himself as creator of his own world. (Dixon, 1969, p. 13)

This view was not unanimously welcomed, and there were those who argued in support of the cultural-heritage model. For example, Whitehead (1965) claimed that, in any English program, literature must be given ‘the central place that rightly belongs to it, as the keystone which holds the arch together’ (Whitehead, cited in Allen, 1980, p. 12). Thompson confirmed this stance, claiming that ‘the most deeply effective form of language is literature, which many of us believe should be the core of English teaching at every level of education’ (Thompson, cited in Allen, 1980, p. 9). However, the dominant mood of the Anglo-American Dartmouth Seminar on English Teaching was one of acceptance of Dixon’s association of language and personal growth. This work has been cited to demonstrate that the frameworks, as they were originally conceptualised by Dixon (1969), applied to English-language pedagogy and to reading and writing development. Since Dixon’s work, these frameworks have been revisited to examine ‘different propositions about the nature of literacy’ (Freebody et al., 1995, p. 38) and have come to strongly inform literacy theories. Further, in the context of literacy and literacy education, the work of Dixon has been added to by the inclusion of a third category or school of thought, namely, the critical–cultural approach, mentioned above. According to Freebody et al. (1995), the critical–cultural approach: focuses attention on the broader consideration of literacy as a social practice and in cross-cultural perspective. One motivation has been the rejection by many writers of the dominant view of literacy as a ‘neutral’, technical skill, and the conceptualisation of literacy instead as an ideological practice implicated in power relations and embedded in specific cultural meanings and practices. (p. 43)


5

As suggested here, a critical–cultural approach is underpinned by assumptions that literacy and culture are intertwined, and that literacy, as a social practice, involves authority relations that are enacted in ways that are contextually and culturally defined. As an umbrella term, critical–cultural approaches are understood to include sociological, anthropological and critical linguistic theories.

Existing and new conceptions of literacy and literacy education This discussion shows the richness of the theoretical underpinnings of literacy and literacy education to date. While any practical implementation in literacy education usually draws on more than one framework, theoretical approaches to literacy are usually predominantly located within one of these. Further, these different frameworks show the move to recognising the dynamic nature of literacy, currently understood to include, among other elements, semiotic, visual, aural and textual practices. Prominent in recent, influential conceptions of literacy and literacy education is the work of genre theorists whose writings emphasise the role of cultural knowledge in meaning making and the cultural and contextual dependency of literacy. Genre theorists, for example, argue that learning the genres of one’s culture is a necessary part of becoming a successful participant in the culture, and that explicit teaching of how language works is essential in schooling (Christie & Rothery, 1990). Underpinning the genre-based approach to literacy education is the systemic functional model of language that has been developed in large part through the work of British-born Michael Halliday, and further elaborated by a number of colleagues including Ruqaiya Hasan, Frances Christie, Jim Martin and Gunther Kress. The model is a socially based theory of language use that focuses on meaning and how language is structured to convey meaning. In particular, the model explores systemically how the structure of language enables people to achieve their communication purposes in social contexts. Other writers also advocate critical–cultural approaches to literacy and literacy education in schooling. The New Literacy Studies (NLS) (Gee, 1991; Street, 1984, 1993a,b, 1997) for example, is a collection of writings in both research and practice, that ‘treat language and literacy as social practices rather than technical skills to be learned in formal education’ (Street, 1997, p.47). Central to NLS is an awareness of the ‘ideological’ nature of literacy and hence, the need for ‘culturally sensitive teaching’ (Villegas, 1991) in building on students’ own knowledge and skills. In elaborating on this, Street argues that ‘literacy not only varies with social context and with cultural norms and discourses regarding, for instance, identity, gender and belief, but that its uses and meaning are always embedded in relations of power’ (p. 48). Street’s work, among others, also promotes a view of literacy in the plural; that is, of literacies, though this is not uniformly welcomed as helpful, as Kress discusses in this volume (Chapter 3). Plurality of literacy is not a new conceptual development; Street’s identification of three different kinds of literacy date back to the early 1970s. However, the 1990s saw a growing development in theories of multiple literacies and a heightened exposition of the complex ways in which such may be influenced by combinations of variables related to social class, gender, age and ethnicity (Freebody, 1993; Heath & Mangiola, 1991; Mangubhai, 1993; Walton, 1993; Wyatt-Smith & Castleton, 1995). The banding together of Australian and overseas researchers in undertaking the International Multiliteracies Project (1995) demonstrates the current and widespread interest in examining the influences of such variables on literacy practices, as well as the implications of these for curriculum and pedagogy. While the terms used to capture the plurality of literacy (for example, ‘multiliteracies’)

6


continue to be contested, other writers (Edelsky, 1991; Fairclough; 1992; Gee, 1991; Gowen, 1992; Knobel, 1999; Singh, 1995) argue their usefulness in addressing literacy variation within, as well as between, language communities. While the conception of literacy as multiple and culture- and context-dependent has informed the growing body of research into literacies in education (Christie & Misson, 1998; Durrant & Green, 2000; Ivanic & Ormerod, 1995; Lankshear & Snyder, 2000; Mace, 1995), theories that relate to other frameworks are not redundant. This is demonstrated by the variety and breadth of theories that inform the chapters in this book. The value of different theoretical approaches can perhaps best be considered by drawing a parallel to the synthesis of approaches to reading undertaken by Freebody and Luke (1990). They identified general families of approaches to reading pedagogy and research that focus on the roles of the reader as: code breaker, text participant, text user and text analyst. Freebody and Luke argue that these categories are displayed and emphasised variously in different approaches to literacy instruction, showing how it is necessary to draw on several approaches in order to understand the resources necessary to be an effective reader. Similarly, in literacy education and literacy research, we posit that, since different theoretical orientations and methodologies currently inform the research body, it is timely to examine how they intersect and work to complement one another when applied to a common body of data. Of special interest are the insights that each one makes available and, collectively, how they yield richer analyses than would be available by applying a single approach.

Future directions: theoretical diversity and curriculum focus While more recent emphases have centred on critical–cultural approaches and on literacy understood as social and cultural practices, there is a history of literacy research and pedagogy upon which this book can draw. In addition, the focus of most recent research working from newer theoretical positions has been primarily on the match and mismatch in language and literacy between the home, community and school, and work and school. The relationship between literacy or, more specifically, the literacy demands of the curriculum, and classroom learning, has not been subject to the same scrutiny. Similarly, the issue of how literacy relates to educational success or failure across the curriculum remains largely unexplored. Broadly speaking, the research previously undertaken in these areas has involved teachers and students in primary classrooms (Freebody et al., 1995; Green & Yeager, 1995) or in university settings (Ballard, 1995), with emphasis on issues for those students with English as a second language (ESL), or who have standard English as a Second Dialect (ESD), or students disadvantaged due to economic or geographic factors. This book builds on these previous writings by addressing specifically the literacy demands of curriculum in the final two years of non-compulsory schooling; that is, Years 11 and 12. A distinguishing feature of this work is that it examines authentic classroom practice, drawing on differing, and perhaps conflicting, theoretical and methodological orientations to bring new insights into the nature of literacy demands of senior schooling, and, in so doing, into the nature of literacy itself. From the outset we were aware that this was an entry into uncharted territory. We were keen to represent the diversity of theoretical understandings and methodological approaches, welcoming the possibilities, not only of consensus, but also of discord. Informing our approach was the understanding that, should conflicting accounts of literacy demands emerge from different theoretical analyses, then examination of these sources of conflict should assist to generate new insights into curricular literacy demands and into the nature of literacy itself.


7

The value of a multi-theoretical and multidisciplinary approach This is not the first time that a multi-theoretical approach to literacy education research has been explored. Other researchers have similarly demonstrated a commitment to considering data from multiple perspectives, recognising the vital need for us to understand how ‘the instruments we use determine what we see’ (Harste, 1992, p. x). For example, Beach et al. (1992) explored ‘the application of a range of different ... perspectives to studying literacy’ (p. 2). Beach et al. ‘wanted researchers ... to make explicit their underlying theoretical perspectives and assumptions’ (p. 2), in order to encourage open debate about differences in these assumptions and the ways in which they shape research methodology. These writers worked from the proposition that a single disciplinary perspective was inadequate (p. 11). Their view was that, since different theoretical and methodological approaches rest on quite different assumptions and traditions, it is necessary to explore these assumptions and traditions in order to provide better understandings of literacy research outcomes. Heap (1986) has also made clear his own and Carl Bereiter’s commitment to what he referred to as ‘multiperspectival approaches’ in their investigations of what acculturation is and how it might best be accomplished. According to Heap, ‘While the call for multidisciplinary, or so-called interdisciplinary, work has gone out many times before, I sense that the need and value of such a call is pressing, and of a different nature, in the case of reading, and writing, research’ (p. 85). For Heap, a critical concern is how disciplinary perspectives are embedded in a theory–practice relation. This book not only takes up the challenge of undertaking a multi-theoretical approach, but also is located at the intersection of literacy and curriculum, theory and practice. It extends the work of Beach et al. (1992) by bringing together a group of researchers to explore further ‘the application of a range of different disciplinary perspectives to studying literacy’ (p. 2). In this book we have also invited researchers to identify and discuss their theoretical orientations and methodological approaches, in order to encourage open debate about literacy education. Moreover, we have invited researchers to share these approaches through application to a common body of authentic data collected from Grade 11 and 12 classrooms. We offer the book as a forum in which multiple voices are made available. Alongside the theoretical richness currently available in literacy education research is a strong body of literature on curriculum-related issues, including literacy across the curriculum; strategies for assisting students from language backgrounds other than English; specific curriculum literacies, such as the language of mathematics; language and text books; literacy and gender; whole-school approaches to assessment; the impact of assessment on curriculum design and implementation; relationships between literacy and students’ cultural and linguistic backgrounds; and a growing body of work on the use of computers and multimedia in the classroom. The sheer volume of such work makes it impossible to summarise all of these areas; however, the researchers who have contributed to this volume have expertise that encompasses many, if not all, of these curriculum issues. Therefore, the direction and import of research in these areas are presented by the writers to contextualise their own chapters. While recognising the considerable diversity of curriculum issues that could be considered, our priority for the analysis of the literacy demands of the curriculum in senior schooling was to ensure that we encouraged what Jay Lemke in his chapter (Chapter 15) describes as ‘a rich and diverse repertory of analytical techniques for text and discourse meaning’. Such a repertory was essential if we were to allow for ‘different ways of knowing’ (Baker, Clay & Fox, 1996) and, in so doing, capture the literacy–curriculum–practice intersection in a way otherwise not possible. A related priority was to make explicit the theoretical underpinnings, not only of literacy education

8


practice and research, but also the body of research that explores specific literacies; for example, scientific literacy. We felt that this multi-perspective approach was critical to our examination of the literacy demands of post-compulsory education and the demands of various specific subject areas. The previous discussion of the current categorisations of schools of thought about literacy and literacy education has shown that some of these categorisations draw heavily on earlier work on Englishlanguage education. The further work on these categorisations has explored their application to literacy and literacy education in a range of contexts and has provided further elaboration of current schools of thought. However, a wide-ranging, cross-curricular and post-compulsory or senior schooling emphasis has not been a focus of the previous research. We perceived a commitment to a cross-curricular and a multi-perspective approach to be highly desirable in studying literacy demands faced by an increasingly heterogeneous student cohort as they undertake studies in an increasingly diversified curriculum.

The unique contributions of this book While this book adopts a similar approach to that taken by Beach et al. (1992), its distinctive contribution is the way in which it brings together multiple perspectives to a common body of authentic classroom data. In taking this approach, our purpose is not to diminish the distinctiveness of each of the various approaches, nor necessarily to achieve a blend among them. Any tensions and dissonance are seen to be generative, and to maximise outcomes for influencing classroom practice. The goal of developing a series of writings with a multi-perspectival, cross-curricular approach raised several challenges. There has been the challenge of bringing together a team of internationally respected literacy and curriculum researchers, in the understanding that each researcher individually would not be expected to embrace a multi-theoretical perspective. The researchers were asked to apply their own preferred theoretical orientation to data supplied to them, to outline their approaches, to use these approaches to interpret provided data, and to provide findings and recommendations for educational research, policy and practice. As requested, the researchers have included an account of the fields of theory and research on literacy and methodology/ies that they drew upon in analysing the data provided for them. In this way, the multi-theoretical approach has not only yielded new insights in curriculum and literacy connections, but also the book presents in succinct form a suite of literature reviews that span a wide range of theoretical orientations and methodologies. Additionally, Jerome Harste, working with the Indiana Study Group, has provided a critical commentary on the body of accounts addressing notions of what constitutes literate behaviour, and the key observations and conclusions reached by the researchers.

The authentic resources of this book The theoretical and methodological analyses in this book draw on intensive, authentic classroom practice data collected in senior secondary classes in four Australian schools. In order to understand the context of the writings, some information about these is necessary. The schools represent a range of factors in school settings in Australia, including metropolitan and rural location, size, cultural diversity of student body and diversity of educational offerings. The schools’ philosophies and curriculum range from the traditional to alternative, work-oriented programs


9

with flexible timetabling. Also, the schools are located in two states with different assessment and certification systems for senior schooling, and represent the range of systems currently operating in Australia and throughout the world. Queensland, with a predominantly school-based system of high-stakes assessment for certification in the senior schooling years, and New South Wales, with a combination of external examinations and school-based assessment for the Higher School Certificate (HSC), represent the extremes of the continuum of internal and external balances in assessment systems operating at present. In each of the chapters, additional contextual information is provided to set the scene for the analysis, where necessary. In order to capture the literacy demands on students as they engaged with different curricula, we developed the concept of student-cam. Student-cam captures the classroom from the point of view of the student. This includes interactions with the teacher, fellow students and a range of materials as these occurred during the course of lessons. Each of 26 students who became our student-cam focus was tracked and videotaped for approximately three full consecutive days, over one or two episodes of their post-compulsory schooling. This generated a large body of video data records in which the students were not the subject of the video but provided our lens for capturing the literacy demands that they actually faced, as well as how they chose to engage with it. Essentially, then, our interest is in the curriculum as enacted by teachers and students, rather than the official curriculum that might be studied through analyses of syllabus guidelines and textbooks. So to capture the complexity and diversity of the literacy demands of current curriculum, we selected students from different streams of study: predominantly Humanities–Arts studies; predominantly Mathematics–Science studies; and courses with a vocational/technical orientation. We then provided each of the researchers who had agreed to contribute to this book with four hours of video data, together with the written artefacts that related to them. The segments present different periods of schooling such as a full day, across days, across years, across subjects or comparisons of different classes in the same subject area. Again, the segments do not present especially critical incidents or highlighted episodes, but worked to ensure that the researchers were given an eye on the classroom and experienced as closely as possible the school curriculum as it actually occurred. While we acknowledge that our decision to provide already collected data for analysis placed constraints upon the contributors, for some in ways that were not necessarily compatible with their own preferred approaches, the following chapters show that each writer was able to use the data and his/her own theoretical orientation to give clear frameworks and interpretations of the literacy demands of the post-compulsory curriculum. Beyond the selection and packaging, the data were offered as theoretically unframed — it fell to the writers to craft the frame from their own theoretical and methodological orientations. What was provided were raw data or data in a naive state that lent itself to wide-ranging analyses of the authentic, daily class experiences of students (each given pseudonyms to preserve confidentiality).

Conclusion The chapters of this book make clear how the literacy demands and practices of the curriculum in post-compulsory schooling contexts are extremely complex. Further, the interpretations and conclusions of the contributors and their suggestions for changes in pedagogical practice, policy and for research highlight the need for serious rethinking of literacy education practices in senior schooling. Such a venture can be fully realised only within productive partnerships between teacher researchers in schools and university researchers, and we wish to commend the major contribution of the teachers

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and students, who through their willingness to participate, have made possible the insights into the literacy demands of curriculum. In addition to the specific findings and suggestions for practice offered in the suite of chapters, our major conclusion is that it is no longer appropriate to talk about literacy across the curriculum, or even literacy and curriculum. Through the analyses, we identify how definitions of literacy, in interaction with curriculum, must evolve from the singular and the homogeneous, to the plural and diverse. Specifically, we identify the need to define curriculum literacies. We use ‘curriculum’ deliberately as a noun, rather than the adjectival ‘curricular’, in order to demonstrate that this conjunction represents the interface between a specific curriculum and its literacies, rather than literacies related to curriculum in a generic sense, or a single literacy that can be spread homogeneously across the curriculum. From this, we invite readers to consider how traditional definitions that construe literacy as primarily reading and writing do not match the observed literacy environment of postcompulsory schooling in which students are typically expected to coordinate multiple literacies simultaneously, drawing on listening, viewing, reading, writing, speaking and critical thinking, in order of apparent frequency. Students are expected to use these various literacy modes in dynamically networked ways, thereby engaging in multiple literacies in the course of a lesson and a day. The move towards diverse and plural definitions of curriculum literacies, as we suggest, does not lead to increased ambiguity, but accommodates the development of an increased pedagogic sharpness. Definitions of curriculum literacies need to be developed in ways that are subject specific, and allow epistemological assumptions to be raised to consciousness, with identification and exploration of how variations occur across subjects. This position requires a shift away from the profligate use of ‘literacy’ in the singular and as synonymous with fluency or a knowledgeable state, to the conceptualisation of curriculum literacies involving the active integration of reading, writing, listening, speaking, viewing and critical thinking practices in recognisably appropriate, subject-specific ways. Finally, the book lends further support to previous claims about the strengths of multi-theoretical approaches to literacy research. As Gunther Kress notes in his chapter (Chapter 3), the questions posed through the work of this book go well beyond language, and so beyond the possibilities of linguistics, to provide encompassing frames of thinking. We believe this is essential if we are to ensure the academic success of all students in senior schooling.

Examining literacies as situated practices

IAN REID

CHAPTER

2

CURTIN UNIVERSITY OF TECHNOLOGY

Framing literacy demands

A theoretical orientation Impersonal phrases such as ‘literacy demands of the curriculum’ are so familiar that we seldom pause to think about the range of ways in which those demands become enacted or mediated for students. Between the generalised concept — literacy, curriculum — and the individual who actually reads, writes, speaks and listens, there will always be several intervening factors that serve to frame the language behaviour and the learning. The following analysis concentrates on the framing of certain literacy events within the study program of one Year 12 student. This attention to the framing of specific classroom situations can be useful in revealing how and why an individual student’s literacy often varies considerably from subject to subject, from class to class, from day to day. To recognise that any segment of a teaching–learning relationship is framed by a shifty set of linguistic and para-linguistic factors is to understand that literacy is not a quantifiable capacity or a determinate level of language competence. Rather, it is a mixture of knowledge, skills, attitudes, habits and performance. It will take different forms in response to different kinds of stimulus. A stimulus may be materially textual (the manner in which something is said or written) or it may be less tangible (an aspect of the interaction between the individual learner and the teacher or fellow students). If we ask, then, what literacy demands a given curriculum is making on those who study it, the inquiry can yield productive answers, to the extent that it takes into account the particulars of framing. But before considering some classroom examples, it may be useful to recall briefly how this kind of analysis has emerged, not only in the field of education, but also in a variety of disciplines. It is more than two decades since theories of framing first became well known. The pioneers included Bateson (1972), Goffman (1974), Bernstein (1975) and Minsky (1975). It is not possible here to describe even in summary the distinctive aspects of each theorist’s work, let alone the range of subsequent developments of frame analysis; that has been done elsewhere (MacLachlan & Reid, 1994). In broad outline, it can be said that the concept of framing, in contrast with more static concepts such as code or context, emphasises agency and interactivity, and so is better able to acknowledge how complex interpretation can be. The increased interest in framing is part of a more general desire to investigate how meanings are made and controlled. Therefore, it figures prominently in the work of discourse analysts, such as Tannen (1993), who investigate language behaviour within certain interactional contexts. It is a general axiom of frame analysis that any phenomenon, such as a series of classroom interactions or an activity of reading, draws part of its significance from features of the human situation in which it occurs. The frame metaphor usefully draws attention to the problematic distinction between what is ‘inside’ a situation (or inside a text, or inside an interpretation) and what is outside. Take reading, for example: To regard our acts of reading as acts of framing is to recognise that we make a text mean something by both separating it from, and joining it with, a variety of references. The metaphor of ‘framing’ simply reminds us that in order to perceive and understand anything (say, a poem), we must provisionally

FRAMING LITERACY DEMANDS

13

distinguish it from other things while also relating it to them — as we distinguish figure from ground, picture from wall, poem from page, foreground from background, here from there. Framing is the process of demarcating phenomena in a double-edged way that simultaneously includes and excludes. What makes it provisional is that neither its terms of reference nor its principles of relevance are fixed. (Reid, 1990, p. 50)

When considering the complex processes through which some written texts are produced and interpreted, we can distinguish schematically between different kinds of framing — though in practice they are intricately linked (MacLachlan & Reid, 1994). But when considering how curricular and pedagogic structures manifest themselves in a given classroom situation, we will usually find that much of our analysis needs to focus especially on the role of the teacher in providing a certain frame for what is to be learnt — a frame of explanation and purpose that comes largely from the official curriculum, which the teacher represents or instantiates.

‘What do I have to do here, now?’ It may sometimes happen, of course, that a lack of explicit framing is the most significant feature of a lesson. The exact nature of the literacy demands may be unclear to a student because too little is directly available in that learning environment to bring it into proper focus. Consider a fairly simple example. Part of a videotaped record of lessons shows Daniel, at an early stage in his final year of secondary schooling at a New South Wales college, spending some 70 minutes supposedly working on his Design and Technology subject. (His course is vocationally oriented; he is not working towards a university entrance qualification.) During this lesson time, Daniel is expected to pursue the writing up of a ‘major design project’ proposal. There is, however, very little observable activity throughout the period. Interchanges with others are minimal. The teacher talks with Daniel only a couple of times: first to ask him briefly to get organised (he replies with cheerful flippancy ‘I’m well organised’, but she says ‘I don’t think so’), and later to discuss what he has in his folio. This conversation about the folio is cursory, and leads to no apparent progress. It is obvious that Daniel’s behaviour is not purposeful. He asks the teacher directly, ‘What do I have to do here, now, in this room?’ It seems a reasonable question, but her reply is offhand and unclear. Perhaps (one can only speculate) she regards Daniel as less than serious in his application to a task that he might be expected to understand quite well; after all, it had already been defined for him on paper. However, the fact is that a lot of time passes fruitlessly and Daniel adds almost nothing to what was already in his folio. What literacy demands are being placed upon him here, and by what means? In terms of the intended curriculum, that is fairly easy to answer: he is supposed to be proceeding with the written development of his project proposal, in accordance with previous instructions. Yet this work has not been framed for him in a sufficiently motivational way. Nothing said or done in the classroom situation is engaging his interest, and indeed even the written indication of project steps (setting out an action plan, documenting his research, keeping a diary up to date, and so forth) does not really specify for him with much precision what language expectations are involved. For instance, his diary jottings do not meet normal Year 12 standards of written expression (‘I new basical everything I’m going to do’, ‘I sketched a angle view’) — but perhaps they may be acceptable to the teacher in this rough note form. An observer could hardly be sure. How would the student himself know exactly what is the intended function of this writing? How does the teacher regard it, and what assistance (if any) does Daniel get in developing a sense of appropriate usage? Is he being tacitly

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encouraged to think that an apprentice designer needn’t worry about erratic spelling, punctuation, sentence structure? How does the conduct of this subject, Design and Technology, frame the role of written text vis-à-vis graphic text generally? How does it frame the value of developing skills in writing? On the evidence of the videotape and the printed course materials, one can only say that there does not seem to be any emphasis on effective communication through language.

Four kinds of framing Deficient, then, in the situation just described is overt circumtextual framing. The term ‘circumtextual’ refers to any tangible adjuncts to a text. If the text in question were a book, its circumtext would comprise not only the title, cover, author’s name and any other items considered to be physically surrounding the textual core, but also the book’s location on a certain library shelf or wherever it might happen to be situated at the time. These can all serve to guide interpretation. In the present case, the ‘text’ that we are considering comprises a segment of enacted curriculum: classroom activity recorded on tape, and in particular Daniel’s work (or lack of work) on his portfolio project; and in such cases the circumtext can be taken to include ‘official and unofficial rubrics that are inscribed in classroom practice’ (Reid 1990, p. 50) — for example, the teacher’s spoken remarks, print material previously distributed to explain the assignment, or relevant curriculum documents. A teacher is not, of course, the only person with whom a student can interact in the classroom. Circumtextual framing of literacy practices may also occur (perhaps unofficially) through guidance from others within the same learning environment. Later in the session described above, after much aimlessness, Daniel decides to try to make telephone contact with a guitar-manufacturing firm, his chosen project being the design of a bass guitar. It is only at this stage that a significant observable literacy event occurs, and it falls outside the scope of the lesson itself and its official participants. When Daniel lets it be seen that he doesn’t understand how to track down information he wants in the Yellow Pages directory, the researcher who is video-recording Daniel’s activities takes the liberty of coaching him discreetly in the use of that resource. A specific kind of literate behaviour, arising from the task at hand, is being elicited from the student by someone who intervenes to fill a quasiinstructional role. The kind of circumtextual framing sketched above (though actually negligible during most of the lesson) depends on the relationship between student and teacher or teacher-surrogate. This, broadly, is what Basil Bernstein had in mind when he wrote about ‘the framing of educational knowledge’, in a paper published many years ago. As he uses the term, framing ‘refers to the degree of control teacher and pupil possess over the selection, organisation, and pacing of the knowledge transmitted and received in the pedagogical relationship’ (Bernstein 1975, pp. 205–6). A learning process is strongly framed if the teacher exerts tight control over the nature of what is studied, the method by which it is studied and the rate at which it is studied. In the case of Daniel’s classwork for the Design and Technology subject, this pedagogical framing is weak: he is left largely to his own devices, and as far as literacy is concerned there is not a very explicit insistence on what he must know or do. There is, however, always scope for a different kind of interpretive activity: extratextual framing. This term refers to the process whereby someone brings into a given language situation (into the reading, writing or whatever it may be) any ‘outside’ information or interest — such as Daniel’s passion for and knowledge of music, which is tapped to extend his literacy skills when the researcher helps him locate phone numbers so that he can make contact with instrument makers. This example is a simple reminder that a student’s personal stock of extratextual information and interest often


15

needs to be engaged by circumtextual framing cues before he or she can respond to the literacy demands of the curriculum. The point becomes more salient when we turn for comparison to the videotape record of a Contemporary English class in which Daniel participated a few days earlier. In Bernstein’s sense, this particular English lesson shows ‘strong framing’: the teacher exerts tight control over the content and pacing of what is to be learnt. (Bernstein attaches neither positive nor negative connotations to the terms ‘strong’ and ‘weak’ in this usage.) The recorded segment of this lesson begins with several minutes of silent reading. Before this, they have watched the film The Killing Fields, apparently without much comment. The teacher then provides on the blackboard eight broad thematic headings (‘Revenge’, ‘Courage and Endurance’, ‘Horrors of War’ etc.), which in effect are prefabricated frames for organising and limiting students’ interpretation of what they have been viewing on the screen. The teacher asks, ‘What do you see in the film that comes under these headings?’ To frame responses in this fashion is to contain the spread of potential meanings, and thus to limit also the literacy demands of this part of the curriculum. The role of language in mediating experience is not made problematic. There are no suggestions that might encourage students to look critically at the way in which words and images are used in this film (or any text) to represent realities within frames that are necessarily tendentious, because frames are devices for including some things and excluding others. On the contrary, a supplied topic heading such as ‘Reporting the Truth’ is likely to be taken at face value in the absence of any specified critical dimension to the literacy task. Yet, material that could have generated a productive discussion of those issues was on hand. For instance, in the previous lesson the students had read an extract from the biography of a cameraman and war correspondent active in that region at the time, and had to answer questions on it for homework — but no reference was made to this during the current session, despite the fact that the biographical passage mentions such things as the ‘B-grade moviemaking’ background of one of the correspondents. Opportunities for developing students’ critical literacy are missed. In the environment of this Contemporary English classroom, literacy is not acknowledged as involving any reading between the lines, any reflection on the ideological work that language (verbal or visual) does through its selectivity. Literacy is merely, it seems, something required in order to produce words under supplied headings. The students duly scribble a few phrases on their sheets — Daniel writes one line underneath Reporting the Truth: ‘journlists photo’s’ [sic] — and some of them exchange a few desultory remarks. That is all. It is not difficult to think of alternative ways, more productive ways, of looking at this kind of material. For example, instead of requiring students to limit their interpretation of the film to supposedly universal abstractions such as ‘Courage and Endurance’, one might encourage some reflection on culturally different attitudes. Questions could be raised about the possibility that a Cambodian audience and an American or Australian audience might frame their interpretations quite differently. Relevant to this kind of consideration is an experiment reported by Tannen (1993, pp. 14–56) in which a movie was shown to separate groups from different countries, who were then asked to recount what they had seen. Culture-specific expectations framed their perceptions extratextually. Similarly, one might raise questions about the possibility that gender-based attitudes would produce differences in interpretation. Kelly-Byrne’s study (1991) of ‘gendered framing’ in English classrooms is of interest in this regard. Investigating aspects of teaching and learning in an Australian co-educational school community, Kelly-Byrne observed in particular how ‘students learn to adduce frames of reference so that they can make sense of the texts they encounter’, and how teachers use certain ‘procedures, classificatory acts and sets’ that sometimes carry a gender bias.

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There also would be scope for encouraging students to reflect on ways in which the film they have viewed recalls other films or books of a similar type. This could open up discussion of a further aspect of interpretation: intertextual framing, which has to do with how meanings are generated by an awareness of difference-within-resemblance. In addition, instead of naturalising a viewer’s experience of the film in terms of general human themes such as comradeship and revenge, a lesson might pursue a close analysis of how the film is constructed as an artefact, building an illusion of completeness out of a montage or succession of distinguishable parts. To look at the visual text in that way is to frame it intratextually, which is a way of developing critical literacy because ‘subdivisional markers ... [and] any disjunctions in tone or point of view, will often turn out to make a crucial difference between one person’s sense of what it all means and another’s’ (Doecke & Reid, 1994, p. 270). Being helped to perceive those relativities and relationships can do more to make a student resourcefully literate than just being asked to make lists of phrases under generalised headings.

Unilateral demand In the foregoing observations on how the curriculum is being enacted in Contemporary English and in Design and Technology, a few language issues have been identified. They emerge more fully in some of Daniel’s classroom experiences in other subjects. The rest of this analysis focuses on aspects of the data for Design Fundamentals and for Mathematics in Society. In the lessons for these two subjects, taking place on the same day in February, the framing of literacy demands differs considerably. So do Daniel’s own responses to the demands. To what extent the differences reflect the disciplinary norms of subject areas, as well as variations in individual teaching and learning styles, is difficult to judge on the basis of this small sample alone. The recorded lesson for the subject called Design Fundamentals is framed circumtextually by the teacher’s monologic pronouncements about what he wishes the students to do, stated in terms of physical activity rather than intellectual purpose: ‘I want you to cut these out and stick them in your book’, ‘I want you to start developing some sketches’, ‘I want you to go to the library and collect some examples of graphic design’. This kind of statement illustrates something observed by Sinclair and Coulthard (1975) in their study of the language of classroom interactions. They note that teachers typically control the structure of lessons by using certain linguistic frames in ways that would seem inappropriate within an ordinary conversational transaction. For instance, the gambit ‘I want you to ...’ is an assertion of hierarchical power relationships. In the terms employed by Sinclair and Coulthard, such elements of pedagogic discourse, signalling the start of a lesson stage and setting a particular tenor for it, are called ‘boundary exchanges’, and are seen as comprising the functions of ‘framing’ and ‘focusing’ (pp. 22, 49). While complying in a minimal way with his teacher’s instructions, Daniel remains almost entirely passive and isolated throughout this lesson. His interactions with others are infrequent, casual, without any perceptible educational purpose. The video camera follows him to the library, where he makes a seemingly random selection of a few books, and then we see him back at his desk, flicking through the pages, looking for items to photocopy. Neither his teacher’s spoken instructions nor the printed design project brief itself direct him to pay attention to any particular features of the visual or verbal texts that he is reading or is meant to be producing. Daniel’s chosen topic is ‘Designing an Entertainment Event’, and what he has in mind is a rock concert. Between cutting out photocopied pictures, writing captions and drawing designs, Daniel often sits back, rests, yawns, gazes around the room. Occasionally he ambles hither and yon, or


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exchanges idle comments with one or two other students. His lack of motivation is obvious. Time passes slowly for him. Against that background, the last quarter of an hour before the lesson ends is especially revealing. There are three phases of communicative interaction during this final part of the lesson. First, Daniel initiates some very limited conversations with a few other students, perhaps trying indirectly to discover what exactly he should be doing. But nothing much comes of this. Second, eventually the teacher comes to Daniel’s desk to check on progress, and he sees at once that there has been a failure to grasp the basic nature of the set task. He attempts to explain to Daniel that the aim is to produce an aesthetically integrated design package — ‘That’s the whole idea of it!’ he keeps saying, with a tinge of weary impatience in his voice. To the teacher it must seem that Daniel is simply not bothering to think properly about the demands of the assignment, demands which have been specified in material handed out previously. This printed statement of what is required includes not only a list of design components (ticketing, T-shirt, poster, costume, set design) but also certain literacy demands: ‘Your research needs to be thorough, detailed and well documented ... Notes and illustrations of this research is [sic] to be included in your design process diary.’ Nevertheless, the teacher’s remarks apparently have no more effect on Daniel than the written specifications. The third and last phase in this sequence of interactions occurs when another student comes up to Daniel’s desk of her own accord. Perhaps she has overheard what the teacher said; perhaps she recognises that Daniel needs more help. Her contribution, at any rate, is simple and effective. She merely asks him a few casual yet concrete questions that suggest particular design possibilities, such as ‘Why don’t you have those two lines coming down ...?’ At once Daniel begins to show signs of animation and application — but just as he warms to his task the class is told to pack up. Any casual observer can see that studious behaviour does not come readily to Daniel. Anyone can see that he is less enthusiastic about the formal curriculum than about his external interests as guitarist in a rock band. Anyone can see that his reading and writing practices are not resourceful. It should also be obvious that in these circumstances the literacy demands placed on him as he moves from subject to subject are unlikely to come into sharp focus for him, let alone engage much of his attention, unless he is drawn into a dialogue based on direct questions. But, for the most part, the demands of the curriculum come to him unilaterally, framed as things the teacher is requiring him to do for reasons that are not always well explained.

Demand through dialogue When Daniel’s fellow-student in the Design Fundamentals class comes up to him and asks, in a tone of sympathetic interest rather than reproof, ‘Why don’t you ...?’, this is almost the only time that anyone has put a question to him in any of the three subject lessons so far discussed. The exceptions are the narrowly framed question that the Contemporary English class is given on paper — ‘What do you see in the film that comes under these [teacher-supplied] headings?’ — and the productive little exchange that occurs when the camera-operating researcher takes pity on Daniel and deftly guides his search for telephone numbers. Significantly, Daniel’s own valid question to his Design and Technology teacher, though posed without truculence, is ignored: ‘What do I have to do here, now, in this room?’ In contrast to Daniel’s usual experience in the other lessons, what he encounters in his Mathematics in Society classroom is framed in such a way that the literacy demands (in this case, mainly numeracy demands) of the curriculum are brought into clear focus. Much of this is accomplished by a

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concentration on questioning, initiated and modelled by the teacher but taken up by the students as well. Question-based dialogue becomes the main medium of learning throughout the period. The teacher begins by engaging the class in a running conversation about the topic of the lesson. He explains some of the basic language of algebraic expressions — ‘like terms’, ‘coefficient’, ‘expand’, ‘factorise’ and so forth. Equations are written on the blackboard as he goes. And he continually checks the students’ understanding of the word or concept before proceeding to an example. But his questions are not only of the quiz type, where he himself already possesses the answer (‘What does factorise mean?’, ‘Do you know what a factor is?’, ‘What are the factors of 8?’). He also asks about their readiness to move on: ‘Is everyone with me so far?’ Daniel’s whole attitude in this environment is visibly different from what we have seen elsewhere. He attends closely to what is said, and writes down a good deal of the information that the teacher puts on the blackboard. He responds to questions, he asks his own questions, he refers to his textbook, he jots down key terms. He is thoroughly involved in a range of literacy and numeracy practices, and his motivation is keen. He even calls out at one stage, ‘I think we should move on to harder stuff!’ It is said partly as a joke, but the self-confidence is evident nonetheless, and with it comes an active involvement in his learning. The teacher then takes the work to a further stage, asking the students to design their own algebraic equations. (This has much the same basic function, pedagogically, as the task of writing something that is similar in structure to what one has been reading: cf. Reid, 1990.) Daniel works on this with a relatively high level of concentration, despite some chatter with his neighbour. It is clear from the seating arrangements and from his body language that in this Mathematics in Society lesson Daniel feels less isolated from fellow-students than he is in the other classrooms, and yet this does not distract him noticeably from the subject of study. He continues to show an inquiring attitude. For example, he asks the teacher to explain why positive and negative signs in algebra work as they do. At the end of the lesson he calls out triumphantly to the teacher, ‘I did what you said!’ — and his buoyant satisfaction is plain to see.

Framing and control The less conspicuous the frame, the more powerful its influence can be. Classroom frames are not always easy to detect, and they can exert their greatest control when invisible to students. Bernstein remarks that, whereas a typical syllabus in the European tradition tends to be strongly framed, making explicit demands and offering few options to teacher or learner, in contrast a typical North American syllabus usually allows a greater range of subject combinations and less insulation between academic and everyday knowledge. However, both curriculum types subordinate the student, though they do so in different ways. The first is based on the idea of discipline, which ‘means learning to work within a received frame’: that is, the student becomes an apprentice who must accept ‘a given selection, organisation, pacing and timing of knowledge’ (Bernstein, 1975, p. 214). On the other hand, the more ‘weakly framed’ style of learning requires the student to bring more of his or her own personal thoughts and values into the open — and there, ironically, they are more amenable to control. Whatever the type of curriculum under consideration, one of its ultimate aims, presumably, should be to empower the student as someone able and motivated to continue learning. If this is to happen, the teacher needs to find ways of helping the student to recognise the particular frames, the institutional structures of authority, that are operating in the classroom:


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Metaphors of framing can ... draw attention not only to the mediated status of all communication but also to questions of control. Inequalities in power between participants in an exchange will determine who can say what and to whom, who has the right to speak or to remain silent, and who has (or presumes) the right to speak for others. In most communicative situations, our awareness of the mediating power structures that lend authority to certain kinds of discourse tends to be suppressed. But ... even messages that we think of as perfectly literal exert authority, and this authority is derived from the contextual relations implied by the message. Teaching French verbs or telling a child to go to bed have more than a literal meaning, backed as they are by institutionalised (familial and educational) relations of power. (MacLachlan & Reid, 1994, p. 108)

In our earlier discussion of aspects of Daniel’s Contemporary English class, it was noted that the teacher provides several thematic headings (‘Revenge’, ‘Courage and Endurance’, ‘Horrors of War’ etc.), which frame the students’ interpretation of the film they have just seen. Some limitations in this approach have been mentioned, and we observed that one of its effects is to curtail the literacy demands of this part of the curriculum. It is in fact a device for control. Because the thematic frames themselves are just presented, not acknowledged to be problematic or opened up for discussion, there is no scope for the students to develop an awareness that literacy should include reading between the lines and questioning the reductive nature of certain generalised labels. It is also worth recalling here that, in a different way but with a broadly similar effect, the Design and Technology lesson fails to provide explicit framing: Daniel is evidently quite unclear about the precise nature of the literacy demands, even after asking ‘What do I have to do here, now, in this room?’ Again, the student is disempowered because the teacher has not managed to convey the requirements and rationale of this part of the curriculum.

Framing this analysis The foregoing analysis of the framing of Daniel’s classroom experiences is, of course, necessarily framed in turn. Although those gathering the data have made every conscientious effort to avoid bias, it is inevitable that the video camera lens, and the editorial choices about what to record on film and how and when to record it, curtail to some extent what can be seen, and partly determine how it is interpreted here. Therefore, it is not possible to go beyond tentative inferences about some matters. For example, it is impossible to know how representative are the patterns of interaction that we have noticed. Perhaps other framing factors were prominent in the way a given subject was taught a week later. So the data under consideration here cannot indicate definitely whether it is true of school subjects — as apparently it is of disciplinary cultures in post-secondary education — that different fields of study tend to ‘foster different attitudes with regard to literacy, tacitly or openly encouraging their students to approach communicative tasks in one way rather than another’ (Reid, Kirkpatrick & Mulligan, 1997, p. viii). Nevertheless, some conclusions appear to be warranted. Literacy demands are sometimes unclear to a student because too little framing information is directly available in the classroom environment to bring those demands into proper focus. The intended curriculum can appear to be perfectly obvious from a teacher’s point of view, but the nature and point of work may not have been circumtextually framed for students in a way that motivates them. What the teacher says, how the teacher relates to the student, what course materials are presented — these are all aspects of the situation within which learning can be either facilitated or impeded.

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Appropriate responses to the literacy demands of the curriculum are hardly possible until a student’s personal stock of extratextual knowledge, conscious attitudes and unrecognised assumptions are engaged by circumtextual framing cues. In particular, unless the role of language in mediating experience is revealed as problematic, students will seldom recognise that their perceptions are often framed extratextually by cultural differences, class differences, gender differences and so on. The literacy demands placed on students as they move from subject to subject are most likely to come into sharp focus if teachers establish a learning environment characterised by question-based dialogue. In contrast, the intended curriculum will not be satisfactorily enacted if the demands of the curriculum come to students unilaterally, framed as tasks the teacher is requiring them to do — especially if the reasons are not fully explicit. Classroom frames, ‘by definition, not only include; they can exclude at the same time’ (Reid, Kirkpatrick & Mulligan, 1997, p. vii). Therefore, they may be hard to detect, and they can exert their greatest control when invisible to students. If a major curriculum objective is to empower students so that they are well equipped for independent learning, teachers need to find ways of helping them to recognise and demystify the particular framing structures of institutionalised authority that are operating in the classroom.

GUNTHER KRESS

CHAPTER

3

UNIVERSITY OF LONDON

‘You’ve just got to learn how to see’: Curriculum subjects, young people and schooled engagement with the world Introduction

This chapter is based on a data-set consisting of materials from four subject areas — Drama, Film/TV, Art and English in the Queensland post-compulsory curriculum. The materials consisted of videotaped lessons (or edited extracts of lessons); of policy statements on curriculum in the four subjects; of some local (that is, school-based) elaborations of these; and of materials produced by one student (Simon) who was being ‘tracked’ over a period of several days. The chapter begins with my current views on the many complex questions surrounding the issue of ‘literacy’, then reflects on what I regard as some essential aims of (literacy) curricula in culturally plural, post-industrial societies. The chapter reviews the materials, videotaped and other, and, finally, concludes with a brief comment on the institution of the school, the pupils and their desires, in the broad, amorphous environment of one specific locality in the contemporary, post-industrial, globalising world.

Reading the world and representing yourself in the world The quotation in the chapter title is derived from comments made by the Art teacher in the course of her interaction with two students engaged in drawing each other’s portraits. It encapsulates the dynamic interaction of ‘reading’ and ‘writing’: writing (or production, more generally) can only proceed on the basis of careful ‘reading’ (or perception/interpretation more generally). And this process of perception is a matter of learning, just as much as the matter of production. This is all well-understood and considered to be ‘commonsense’. What is considered less commonsense is that the reading/perception here is of an aspect of the natural world, namely the effect of light on a physical object, a face. This phenomenon is drawn into the world of representation (Western forms of drawing, in this case) through conventionalised ways of seeing, and the associated conventions of production (‘shading’ in the case at issue; that is, representing in drawing without the use of ‘line’). In other words, the world of culture and its conventions are ‘imposed on’ the world of nature. This is fundamentally different from the process of learning how to see in the subject Film/TV, where the issue of learning to see is learning to recognise an already existent set of cultural conventions exemplified in a socially made object, which in the case of one lesson is a TV news broadcast. The Art teacher’s teaching of the learning of ‘how to see’ proceeds largely by showing: with a pencil she points to areas on the face of a pupil to show where the shadows are, and where the areas without shadows are ‘They’re there, aren’t they? You’ve just got to learn how to see.’ Of course she uses language, but language is used in this episode as an ancillary mode of communication — the core of what goes on does so through pointing, demonstrating, outlining and gesture. Language supports, and language in the end is used to comment, to summarise and to ratify. There are three points to be made from this brief discussion. First, in this interaction several modes of representation and communication are significantly involved. There is speech; there is

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gesture-as-pointing; there is the visual representation with pencil and paper. In other words, representation and communication proceed in a multiplicity of modes — the process is multimodal. This idea is captured (and is also now beginning to become commonplace) in terms such as multi-literacies, multiple literacies and so on. Second, the modes are used in specific ways. Gesture is used as the means for demonstration and as the mode for the analysis of an aspect of the natural world, the face; speech is used as the mode of commentary and as the mode of ratification. Drawing is the mode of production for the textual semiotic object which is at the centre of attention — an image of a face. In other words, in this interaction there is a specialisation of representational and communicational modes. This is a point which needs to be emphasised, and which will be explored later in the chapter. The three modes are not equally fully developed: speech clearly is a fully articulated mode, and the conventions of drawing have long histories and conventionalised forms in particular cultures. However, in Western cultures, drawing is a mode which, in its public, everyday uses (contrasted to its uses in the aesthetic domain) is not fully articulated in a systematic fashion. It is not taught in the school curriculum as one of several available modes for communication; it occurs in the curriculum as a mode for (aesthetic) expression. Gesture is a fully articulated form in the representational and communication systems of the severely speech impaired, but it is not fully developed for most other groups, and it is not the subject of overt teaching, other than in the Drama lesson. Here, in this classroom, the communicational mode which is foregrounded is Drawing. Its conventions and its possibilities are in focus. Neither speech nor gesture is at the centre. In the English classroom, language as speech and language as writing move into the centre; in the Drama classroom there is focus (not solely of course) on gesture. It is essential to keep these subject-specific representational and communication foci very clearly in mind. It tells us that representation and communication (‘literacy’/‘literacies’) have very different forms in different subjects and classrooms. They have different tasks, a different place epistemologically: imposing convention on nature — drawing nature into the semiotic net of culture in the case of drawing; uncovering cultural conventions through the representational possibilities of the body and of speech in Drama; and so on. ‘Literacy’ is not one thing evenly spread across curricular areas. It varies with the kinds of disciplinary practices and forms of knowledge that are at issue in a school subject. If the place, use and valuation of the different modes vary from subject to subject, then so do the relations and interactions between the modes. Speech may have the function of commentary and ratification in the Art classroom, but in the Drama class it may be a mode that is equal with other modes of representation — the body, for instance. In the English classroom, which is videotaped in this data-set, language-as-speech is dominant for most of the time (though its relation to languageas-writing varies constantly). At this point, I wish to focus on two further issues. One is the use of the term ‘literacy’, and the potential problems with present uses of that term. The other is the question of the theoretical disciplinary frame(s) in which to discuss this issue. First, the matter of ‘literacy’. It is useful to reflect that the term has no equivalent in non-Anglophone cultures (though there are attempts at translation/neologism: lettramento in (Brazilian) Portuguese, Literarität in German etc.). In other words, this term, which is used with such utter confidence in English-speaking cultures, and around which governments construct elaborate political campaigns, does not exist in other languages. In other cultures there are terms for the very many aspects named by (or collapsed into) the term literacy; for example, alphabetisme (German), meaning ‘cultivated’ or ‘cultured’ person. I have severe misgivings about the profligate extension of the term in the current period (whether

‘YOU’VE JUST GOT TO LEARN HOW TO SEE'

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as computer, visual, media, cultural or emotional literacy etc.). While it seems to offer the possibility for a unification of a diverse field through the use of a single term, it simultaneously obscures essential and deep differences in tasks, potentials, possibilities and limitations, in representational and communicational modes used in different areas. A school that has a cross-curricular policy on ‘literacy’ may be hindered more than helped by this metaphoric extension of the term. On the one hand, it offers a seemingly ready connection between ‘visual literacy’ as imagined by the Art department, and ‘verbal literacy’ as imagined by the English department. On the other hand, the use of the term at once also provides a comforting answer: we are all ‘doing’ literacy. This answer then acts as a full-stop to further essential thinking and analysis. Once the ointment of ‘literacy’ has been spread evenly across the problem areas, we have all done our bit, and that might then be that. The discussion here is meant to indicate forcefully that the imposition of a cultural convention on nature (the case of Art) is fundamentally different to the enterprise of the elaboration/discovery of aesthetic conventions in a literary text which is itself produced out of these very conventions. Nor are the various conventional systems of representation commensurate at any other than the most general and abstract levels. An analytic engagement with the natural world through sight, and its representation with the material substances of charcoal and paper through the (Western) conventions of drawing is related to the engagement with the social world through the use of bodies in spatial configurations, and through speech (as in Drama), but that relation exists at a deep level. There is a real danger in naming both of these ‘literacy’; only the most facile relations and similarities can be focused upon in that naming. Given the urgency of the question of ‘what for?’ around all of the curriculum, around all school subjects, a real understanding of the potentials of each mode of representation and communication is called for. In order to defend the importance of the Art curriculum in the face of the most diverse political and economic demands for ‘relevance’, it is essential to be clear about what each mode actually does do: for instance, that, among other things, drawing provides a place for concentrated, detailed (from the point of view of the student) and fresh engagement with the natural world through sight and conventions of seeing, as well as an understanding that cultures have developed specific ways both of ‘learning to see’ the world and learning to represent it. In a world which is increasingly turning to visual modes of representation and communication for quite essential reasons, economic as well as social, this is an important set of facts to understand. Such an understanding would also begin to provide an essential basis for Art teacher, Maths teacher, Science teacher, English teacher to begin to have conversations that go beyond the limitations of past (and failed; for example, English across the curriculum) initiatives, or present initiatives around a concept of literacy too diffuse to have any curricular or pedagogic bite. The second issue derives from this; namely that the concept of literacy is inevitably tied to ‘letters’ and therefore to ‘language’. The major theoretical underpinnings of studies of language have come from linguistics — in some form or another. This is not to dismiss the work of psychologists, anthropologists, philosophers, sociologists and others in the domain of language, but to say that the implicit disciplinary base has been that of linguistics. The questions posed in this present study go well beyond language, and so they go well beyond the possibilities of linguistics to provide encompassing frames for thinking. For that reason, I have begun to move from linguistics and its concern with one system of signs — language — to a concern with all those systems of signs which seem to have significance in particular areas of human social practice, such as in education, for instance. This has entailed a shift from a disciplinary base in linguistics to a disciplinary base in semiotics — ‘the science of the life of signs in society’ in Saussure’s oft-quoted phrase. Semiotics, as the ‘science of the life of signs in society’, is concerned with an account of all meaningful

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systems in a culture. Its basic unit is the sign, any element in which meaning and form have been brought together through the action of the maker of the sign. In my account of semiotics, signs are motivated conjunctions of meaning and form, made by socially situated individuals out of their interest in representation and communication at the moment of the making of the sign. This version of semiotics, social semiotics, assumes that signs are always expressive of the interests of their makers (rather than being conventionally established ‘counters’ of meaning of an arbitrary construction, ‘exchanged’ in communication). Since the sign is the result of the interest of its maker, it provides, at least hypothetically, a reflection of the cognitive and the affective action of its makers. The characteristics of signs give access to forms of cognition and kinds of affect. Signs are made in all semiotic modes. We can assume that all semiotic modes enable the expression of any meaning with equal facility, or we may assume that different modes have different ‘affordances’. For instance, when during the Art lesson one of the (female) students leans across the table to measure, with the span of her hand, the dimension of her partner’s face in order to transfer that measurement onto her page, the affective charge which is established between the two partners is qualitatively different to that established by a written representation; nor could it be readily ‘translated’. Or, the transduction of a three-dimensional object into a two-dimensional drawing requires cognitive work of one kind, different to the transduction of elements of the TV news into the categories of aspects of media-theory, such as ‘angle of shot’, ‘close-up’, ‘source’. This is not a matter of cognition alone. Drawing requires engagement of a particular kind with the world, through sight and through the establishment of neuro-muscular channels, which become habituated and ‘second nature’ for ‘the accomplished artist’. The different semiotic modes demand and produce differential engagement with the world. The forms of engagement lead to distinct forms of cognition. The forms of engagement demanded in the Drama classroom make different demands than those of the Art or the English classroom. For instance, intertextual relations are established by the participants with familiar bits of drama — ‘soaps’ in the contemporary context. These are drawn on as a linguistic/textual resource, but they are also invoked as a resource for bodily action in space. Bodily action brings into play its modes of social, affective and cognitive engagement (‘this feels too close’, or ‘I have to be less formal’ etc.). In a social semiotic, multi-modal approach there is a sharp focus on the semiotic modes that are in play, and on the forms of learning they facilitate. Acting with eye, brain and hand as in the Art class is a different kind of learning to acting with one’s whole (social and physical) body in spatial relations to other social and physical bodies, as in the Drama class. This is different yet again to the learning that takes place in the analysis of a media text; or in the laborious verbal elucidation of a novel in the English classroom. To this must be added the effects of the inherent characteristics of the mode of representation. Drawing on the flat surface of the page ‘reduces’ three dimensions to two; but it keeps the emphasis on spatial relations between elements in the visual field. Salient elements in that field are shown in significant relations to other salient elements. The ‘logic’ is that of representing what is most salient, and of showing relationships of a spatial kind between the elements. Placement in the visual field is one means of indicating salience. A piece of writing, on the other hand, may attempt to imitate the sequential development of speech: this element first, this second, this other element third, and so on. This logic is quite distinct: it depends on sequence and time. What is said first may be most important, or what is said last; what is first may be seen to lead to what comes second, giving rise to notions of causation. The logic is to mention relevant entities and events, and to indicate the sequential/temporal relations among them.


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In these respects, the Art classroom and the English classroom are fundamentally different in their epistemologies. It is not clear at the moment which of these offers the preferred route for economic, technological and cultural futures, though the visual seems to be in the ascendancy in many domains. At the very least, it is clear that deeply different possibilities are at issue, culturally, economically, epistemologically and affectively. In a social semiotic account, sign-systems are the result of the work of cultures over long periods, and are constantly remade. Different cultures may have made different choices, not only about how to use a particular mode — say, speech — but also about which modes are to be used and which are to be central in particular domains. If mode and cognition and affect are closely intertwined, then it is clear that a naively logocentric approach is particularly untenable for a pluricultural society. A last comment before I conclude this theoretical introduction. The maker of a sign, who remakes the sign in her or his interest out of existing cultural stuff and in the light of a ‘reading’ of the communication environment in which the sign is made, changes not only the representational resources of the group, but also changes his or her own, internalised set of resources. Remaking a sign in communication is to change the set of resources of the maker. Cognitively and affectively she or he is not the same as she or he was prior to that remaking. In other words, the theory in which I am operating sees the signmaker as constantly transformative of the set of resources of the group and of her or himself. It is a theory of the constant transformation of both resources and of subjectivity. This is a decisive break with theories that have been more or less dominant through the past century, which have insisted that we are language (or sign) users, but that we do not affect the shape of the system. In my view, we transform the set of resources as we transform ourselves in acts of representation and communication. The crucial points are (1) it makes the individual agentive in relation to the group’s resources, and in relation to her or his own subjectivity; (2) it forces us to look seriously at the resources that are available to the individual in that transformative activity. At the same time, equally and at another level, there is constant transduction between these modes in the brain and, consequently, the production of new signs. At one level the modes and their signs are discrete; at a more general level they are not. There is, in the brain, a constant activity of transduction, a constant process of synaesthesia which draws on all forms of bodily/sensory engagement with the world, in all semiotic modes. Indeed, this is mirrored in a sense both by the new technologies of multimedia, in which the previously tight boundaries of modes are becoming fuzzy, and by the newer forms of texts which ‘blend’ modes to produce, not only new textual objects, but new codes composed of elements of previously distinct modes (for example, writing and image in a contemporary science textbook). These new textual objects are already the givens of the new semiotic landscapes. They demand new skills, new dispositions, new human subjectivities. Above all, they demand new theories of communication, representation and semiosis: not only in relation to language and literacy, but in relation to the new multimedia and multimodal world. In that world the individual sign(re)maker is constantly transformative in relation to existing resources in all the modes made available by a culture, constantly remaking/transforming the semiotic resources. In this world, the essential metaskill is that of design (superceding that of use and incorporating that of critique). It has to be said that the data-set is closer to an older communication landscape: modes are treated as discrete and bounded. Boundaries are not just observed, but are even quite tightly policed — particularly so in the English and the Film/TV classroom. In both classrooms, though in different ways, there is an emphasis on staying within boundaries, whether those of the codes of TV production, or those of a slightly fuzzed literary–critical tradition.

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The theoretical framework put forward here has these major features: (1) communication and representation are always multi-modal; (2) hence an emphasis on language alone will not reveal the communicational demands of the various curriculum areas; (3) this means that the term literacy may be insufficiently sharp to provide the essential deep account of ‘what goes on’ in communication; (4) a semiotic, multi-modal approach focuses on the materiality of the modes, on the possibilities and limitations of human engagement with the natural and social world; (5) modes always interact, and are used in specific configurations by socially located individuals, in response to their own interests and the perceived demands of the environment; (6) individuals are sign-makers (not signusers), and act in the making of signs out of a desire to give the most apt account of their interest; (7) transformation of the semiotic resources is at the same time a transformation of the sign-maker’s subjectivity; (8) the essential skill and disposition for the new communication world is that of Design, in the interest of the socially located individual.

Curriculum as social design The study in focus here, literacy demands of the post-compulsory curriculum, answers the question of aims in terms of the demands of the post-compulsory years of schooling on young adults. It focuses on the demands made by the school on young people. It asks about the intended and the enacted curriculum, in these post-compulsory years. A different way of posing this question would be to ask not about the demands of the post-compulsory years, but about the literacy demands that young people are likely to face in the first decades beyond their lives in school. To some extent this is implied in some of the curricular statements: in the Film/TV syllabus there is talk of ‘communication in the 20th century becoming increasingly visual’, about ‘active participation’; in the Drama statement there is talk of creating ‘a critical and active awareness of Australia’s multi-cultural heritage and of its dynamic and changing nature’. A focus on life beyond the post-compulsory years necessitates a questioning of the outlines of that changing world, of its social characteristics, its cultural shapes, its developing economic forms, its technological changes, and its moral/ethical stances. What are the four curricular areas about, from the point of view of a curriculum of communication and representation? What epistemologies, what forms of subjectivity are at issue? The Drama curriculum (as it emerges in this data-set) keeps intended and enacted curriculum closely together: the production of dramatic episodes explores social interaction, while the performance aspects of these episodes provide an experience of the possibilities of representing and communicating through (minimal) use of props, of space, of bodies (both in their spatial relations and in gesture as representational means), and of speech. In this they all draw on ‘canonical forms’ as their reference and resource: the TV ‘soap’ is tangibly present as a model text. The teacher introduces/uses technical vocabulary ‘voices are being lost, I want to hear everything’, ‘I want you to create focus’, ‘you need to spend a little more time setting up the relationship’ etc. These technical means, as well as the experience from performance, are then available in the discussion and analysis of an existing dramatic text, made available to the class in the form of a script as well as the performed televisual text. The Drama classroom provides the experience of creating social relation as an abstract entity, which then becomes a performed event; it shows the relation of an existing script to its implementation/ performance. In this it provides a real experience of the relation of Design to performance. The use of the multiplicity of semiotic modes and the experience of their complex interactions in these chains of representation projects, at least potentially, a view of social making under the agency of the


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young adults involved, and at least suggests their agentive involvement in the making of forms of social knowing. The Drama curriculum is positioned wholly in the social world, the world of existing, wellestablished semiotic modes (for example, the genres of the TV soap; the colloquial forms of speech: Simon says, ‘I spent 20 bucks...’; the forms of social interaction conveyed through bodily gestures). The Art curriculum is concerned — in this data-set — to show how cultural convention throws its semiotic net over un-semioticised nature, in order to bring the natural into the social world. Epistemologically, it demonstrates the learnedness of seeing; the variety of conventions for representation (for example, not line, but shading: ‘what you’re trying to do is just outline the shadows and the highlights/it’s the point of the exercise’); the constructedness of the effects of realism and facticity. The Art teacher, too, uses technical terms essential for the purposes of ‘learning how to see’: ‘look at a clear bit’, ‘getting those shadows’, ‘there should be no line’. The lesson is focused explicitly on the means of representation (what is described in the accompanying syllabus materials as ‘visual literacy’). The teacher does much direct technical instruction: at the whiteboard, through talk to the whole class, in interaction with small groups. Technical competence is in the foreground, and the aim of production/representation developed out of that competence is the focus of the lesson. The Film/TV curriculum, like that of Drama and of English, deals with existing cultural/semiotic objects and with the conventions instantiated in them. The focus is the establishment of a set of technical categories that will, on the one hand, form an analytical/descriptive framework for understanding television and, on the other hand — as in the Art lesson — become a resource for new production. Here, too, the emphasis is on ‘learning how to see’, though what is to be seen is an already semiotically formed aspect of culture. The technical categories range from descriptions of the more directly social/ideological world (‘sources’, ‘balance’, ‘bias’, ‘human interest’, ‘power’), to the more directly technical aspects (‘angle of shot’, ‘close-up’, ‘mid-shot’, ‘re-voicing’), to categories that hover in between (‘stories’, ‘house-invasion story’, ‘a world-wrap’). However, the more formal categories are not left as ‘formalism’, but are explained through a strong link of form and meaning: what is the meaning of camera-angle (for example, an example of a politician ‘shot’ with a high, upward camera angle); what is the meaning of the length of the story; what is the meaning of the length and the number of sports stories? Camera angle is linked with power and (potential) ‘bias’; distance of shot is linked with effects of social familiarity; length of story with significance for the audience etc. These terms are used not just to provide analytic categories, but also to provide categories that will inform production. This class will be engaged in producing their own news program, in which these categories can be used to design the semiotic object that is to be made. Epistemologically, the Film/TV classroom focuses most directly on the issue of representational form and its relation to power, on the possibilities for ideological construction. It does this not merely by saying that there is bias, but by showing analytically and productively how bias is produced. It links, in the most explicit way, power with knowledge, and representation with ideology. Lastly, the English curriculum. The syllabus document focuses on English as being about language; yet the classroom is entirely devoid of any discussion of language, let alone within the socio-linguistic framings of the curriculum document. On the other hand, the English department policy – Students is inordinately detailed on matters of routine and practices: ‘... you must have the kind of folder that will allow you to keep your paper work for English in order’; ‘... you must also bring to school a foolscap size manila folder clearly marked with your name ...’; ‘… it is your responsibility ... follow

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the school’s policy ... it is your responsibility ...’; ‘Your work must be authentically your own ... plagiarism ... you will be penalized severely ...’ and so on. The lesson itself opens in exactly this fashion: ‘You’ll be tested on the absolute detailed knowledge of this book ... research has shown that the more you’ve worked out for yourself the more you’ll get a handle on the whole question ... plan ahead, think ahead ...’ The lesson is largely a catechistic exercise, much of the same kind as in the written materials — lists of comprehension questions followed by brief written responses in the latter case, and brief spoken responses in the classroom. Clearly, the task of ‘comprehension’ is a relatively straightforward decoding view of literature and language. There is no evidence of the development of a taught facility for critique. Simon’s written responses to the set of comprehension questions are not conducted in a technical language, either that of forms of literary criticism, or that of (socio-) linguistic awareness. If the student’s response to the lesson can be taken as an indication of his reading of this part of the curriculum — the sense that he has made — then it seems that the subject English (unlike the other three, which do develop and insist on some technicality) remains at a comfortable level of commonsense, as far as a curriculum of representation and communication is concerned. Trawling through the set of 70 (!) comprehension questions set on one novel reveals the following terms, which might be regarded as technical to English: setting, atmosphere, characters, flashback, formal direct speech punctuation, irony, imagery, simile, poetic technique, clichés. Many of these remain, seemingly, at the level of everyday usage (atmosphere, irony, setting). My insistence on this point is to draw out what English as a subject adds epistemologically to the overall ‘literacy’ curriculum of the post-compulsory period. What means of engagement with the world does it provide? Looking at the data-set from a linguistics–textual point of view (in line with the syllabus statement), the focus on language reduces to vocabulary expansion in the exercise just discussed, and in the video-taped material. The comprehension questions do not aim to develop a sense of the textual or linguistic aspects of the literary genre under discussion — whether of narrative structure as a ‘global’ feature, or of literary/stylistic aspects (with the exception of ‘formal direct speech punctuation’). The written responses by Simon confirm this strongly. On the one hand, his responses (and this applies to the classroom) are at the level of commonsense: Q4: ‘Describe the atmosphere in the classroom. What is Dorahy’s state of mind?’ A: ‘The atmosphere was boring for the boys and his teachings were irrelevant [sic]’; or Q5: ‘What do we learn about the following characters in pages 1–13 (Note form only)’ A: ‘Buckmaster Snr: M. chauvinist Pig - Racist, Violent, powerful, Bully.’

Neither ‘atmosphere’ nor ‘character’ are taken or developed as technical terms; they remain within commonsense understandings. There is a clear gap between intended and enacted curriculum. A quotation from the syllabus document may provide a sense of the intended curriculum: • a model that systematically describes the relationship between language and its social context • social, emotional and cognitive aspects of language development • principles of developing and refining language skills. The teaching of English should be informed by an explicit understanding of how language is used in meaningful cultural activities, and how language development is promoted.

In the data-set provided, there is no real evidence of this.


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The ‘literacy’ demands documented in the data-set Taking, for the moment, the Lokan et al. (1995) definition of literacy, which includes number, sign and symbol recognition, it is clear that the four curriculum areas in Simon’s high school provide a wide and rich variety of materials, and of possibilities of practical use and engagement. In Drama this happens through the text of the play Cosi, through speech, through bodily movement, through the use of space as an expressive, semiotic mode. In Art this happens through speech, (less) through writing, through analytical and productive use of visual forms of representation. In Film/TV this happens through writing (in the written instructions), through speech, through complex multicodes of the media of Film and TV, both analytically and productively. In English there is a major focus on writing as the central mode, and speech as a major medium for analysis and description. The demands are varied, complex and, in principle, amount to a rich ‘take’ on communication and representation. The worry I am left with has three aspects: 1. No sense of connection appears to exist, either for teachers or students, between the subject areas. That is, from the materials provided there is no sense that Simon knows or feels that there is — at however general or abstract a level this might happen — a commonality of purpose between the four subjects in relation to modes of communication and their potentials for engagement with the natural and social world. Nor is there a sense that such recognition exists for the teachers. If this insulation between subjects in fact exists, no real sense of a broad literacy curriculum can emerge, and no synergy can develop between the people in these different subject areas and the curricular contents of the subjects. 2. There is an inescapable feeling from the materials (whether written or video recorded) of a disengagement, or a lack of engagement, by the students (and by Simon) with the subjects and what they offer. Affectively, and therefore probably cognitively also, the subjects do not manage to engage the students. There are differences: Simon is most engaged, judging from the materials, in the Art lesson, where he is actually productive. Of course, this cannot be dissociated from factors of the age of the group, perched uneasily between a near-physical and sexual maturity, and yet socially distant from adulthood, both through the effects of the school’s actions and those of the society beyond the school (though Simon is described as having a job, and, therefore, with the power conferred by earning money, a full member of consumer culture). The sexual charge between Simon and his female partner, when in the Art lesson they are asked to draw each other’s face, is tangible. It seems impossible to discuss the ‘dry’ issue of literacy demands made on Simon and his peers without taking the fullest cognisance of that question. The fact of the separation, discreteness, autonomy of the subject areas leads to a further sense of decontextualisation which renders the curriculum more meaningless for these students. It is difficult for them to engage, given the perceived or real absence of connection, integration, valuation and meaningfulness. 3. This leads back to the question of the use of the term ‘literacy’. No doubt teachers in the school have addressed, overtly, the issue of ‘the literacy demands across the curriculum’. There remains a strong (and correct) commonsense that literacy is about representation through letters — reading and writing. The fact that there is little production of writing in the data-set — only notes, even in English — gives this a particular twist in this school. But Art teacher and English teacher will find it nearly impossible to begin serious debate, discussion, let alone curriculum development, if an unspoken commonsense persists that literacy equals reading and writing.

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Equally unhelpful are the existence of weaker, metaphorically extended notions of literacy that are also beginning to be present (‘emotional literacy’, ‘media literacy’ — a weak sense of ‘competence in’). At this level there has been no useful debate, merely relatively superficial rhetoric (this is unfair in the case of ‘media literacy’, as exemplified in the data-set: here a set of categories for discussion/ analysis/production does exist). The absence of this debate means that there exists no basis for productive debate around subject areas at this level. At the same time, the metaphoric notion of literacy (as skill, competence in x or y; or as a superficial notion of ‘communication’) acts as a barrier to serious investigation of the various semiotic modes, in terms of their potentials for representation and communication. Consequently, there can be no real engagement with this crucial issue until the core of the problem is recognised, and debate, analysis, description has begun. For this to happen we may need, at least in certain domains, to restrict the use of the term ‘literacy’ to the representation of language in the form of letters, and to focus on the other modes in terms appropriate to their characteristics and uses. In summary just at this point, before moving to the final issue of literacy demands beyond the post-compulsory curriculum: First, it is clear that the subjects are quite different in their use of literacy in the central sense. Second, they are also distinct in their engagement with their part of the world, and in their representation and communication of that. Third, it is remarkable how little production of writing there is on the students’ part, even in English; and the narrow range of forms of writing represented in the data set. Equally, it is clear that there are different mixes of use, of value, of function, of literacy and of other modes in the different subject areas. In order to try to systematise this a bit, one could ask: ‘Which mode is most used in which subject area?’ Speech would be clearly dominant. One could ask ‘How is speech used in relation to other modes?’ Here the answers might be: • in English speech is used to elucidate writing • in Drama speech is used to discuss, shape; to elucidate writing; and as a co-equal mode with bodily representation in performance • in Art speech is used to demonstrate, to point, to elucidate • in Film/TV speech is used to elucidate; and as a co-equal mode in production, with other modes. One could also ask ‘Which mode is most valued, which is seen as the constitutive mode of this subject?’ Again, the answers would differ in revealing ways: • in English writing as (literary) text • in Drama speech and bodily representation • in Art the (several) modes of visual representation • in Film/TV the complex conjunction of visual/verbal modes. Assessments of this kind — and the research and reflection that would follow in schools as elsewhere — are a sine-qua-non for the establishment of successful policies and practices for communication across the curriculum. This could also provide a framework within which teachers in one subject area could talk to teachers in another subject area on the grounds of their own competence, of the proper demands of their subject, and of the demands of the world beyond the school. Real differences and real convergences would clearly be there, and would form the basis for the formation of a real policy of communication across the curriculum.


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The school in late modernity: questions for a curriculum of communication As suggested earlier, the real issue for the curriculum is the relation between what it offers to young people, and the shape of the world into which they will move. This poses severe questions in late-modern, post-industrial, culturally plural societies struggling to reshape themselves in a globalising/ localising world. Economies founded on information as the new central resource will make specific demands on curricula of communication; so do the intensifying dynamics of globalisation, though in somewhat different ways. One of the questions at the centre of this complex issue is about the kind of social subject who can be productively human in this world. This review of the school’s response to such issues is predictably ambivalent. The school offers, in the range of four subjects glimpsed, precisely the kind of intellectual/social resources that are essential, in my view, for that post-school world. Yet, it offers them in a manner which hides their real strength, which leaves them very nearly unusable for the young people who experience them. The students’ too-evident disengagement shows that they do not feel that their desires as young adults are being addressed in any real sense. One deep cause of this lies in the school’s (and, of course, the education system’s) inability to understand and then to make the link between school and society: the education system still believes itself to be providing the discretely packaged, essential skills for the era of mass production, for a mass society. It does not understand the more diffuse, more amorphous, more complex outlines of late modern societies. Schools, as Basil Bernstein once remarked, cannot change society. At the moment that is precisely the demand which is made of the school — unfairly and inappropriately. One reason for the existence of the anxiety around the post-compulsory curriculum is, of course, precisely the charges in economic and social organisation in the school’s environment (youth unemployment, itself an effect of vast shifts in the global economic context). But the school does have the responsibility to attempt to understand the environment in which it operates, and in which its young members already live, and in which they desire to lead fulfilling lives. It is here where a reconfiguration, based on careful theoretical work, of the semiotic resources of representation and communication in this school can be of profound benefit for the whole school community.

TERESA CRAWFORD CALIFORNIA STATE UNIVERSITY, FULLERTON MARIA LUCIA CASTANHEIRA, CAROL N. DIXON AND JUDITH L. GREEN UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA, SANTA BARBARA

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CHAPTER

What counts as literacy: An interactional, ethnographic perspective

hat counts as literacy in any group is visible in the actions members take, what they are oriented towards, for what they hold each other accountable, what they accept or reject as preferred responses of others, and how they engage with, interpret and construct text (for example, Bloome, 1983; Bloome & Green, 1992; Green & Harker, 1982; Heap, 1980). From this perspective, literacy is a socially constructed phenomenon that is defined by situation and redefined within and across differing social groups, including reading groups, families, classrooms, schools, communities and professional groups. Literacy, therefore, is not located within the heads of individuals, nor is it a process that is the same for all people in all situations (c.f. Bloome, 1987; Cook-Gumperz, 1986; Gee, 1990; Street, 1984). Nor is literacy a state of being that one achieves, such as a state of grace (Scribner, 1984). Rather, it is a dynamic process during which what literate actions mean continually are being constructed and reconstructed by individuals as they become members of a new social group. Being a member of a class involves understanding, constructing and engaging in literate actions that mark membership in that class (Chandler, 1992; Dahl & Freppon; 1995; Putney, 1996; Rex, Green & Dixon, 1997; Wells & Chang-Wells, 1992). In this process, individuals also display actions that mark them as members of a particular group or sub-group within that class — for example, a person who reads like a member of the top (or low) reading group (Collins, 1986; Scribner & Cole, 1981). Thus, we speak of situated literacies, not literacy (Barton, 1994; Gee, 1990; Luke, 1995; Street, 1993), since not one definition of literacy captures the range of literate practices in classrooms (Santa Barbara Classroom Discourse Group, 1992). Literate practices are developed as a group develops, and serve the purposes and goals of both the group and the individual within the group. Members of a group are afforded, or are not afforded, access to certain opportunities for constructing and acquiring the situated repertoire of literate practices needed to participate in socially and culturally appropriate ways (Kantor et al., 1992; Putney et al., 2000). Just what constitutes an individual’s or group’s repertoire depends on which opportunities the individual or group has access to and which opportunities they take up (Tuyay, Jennings & Dixon, 1995). Therefore, conceptualising literacies as socially constructed is to understand that literacies are both a product of, and a cultural tool for, members of a social group, and are constituted in and through their literate practices.

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An interactional, ethnographic perspective on analysis An interactional, ethnographic perspective is composed of mutually informing theories grounded in cultural anthropology (for example, Geertz, 1983; Spradley, 1980; Street, 1984, 1993), interactional sociolinguistics (for example, Gumperz, 1982; 1986; 1992), and critical discourse analysis (Fairclough, 1993; Ivanic, 1994). From this perspective, the ethnographer seeks to learn about the cultural actions, cultural knowledge and cultural artefacts that members need to use, produce, predict and interpret in order to participate in everyday life within a social group; for example, a classroom or a small group within a classroom (Heath, 1982). By observing what members say and do, to and with whom, under what conditions, when and where, in relation to or using what artefacts, for what

WHAT COUNTS AS LITERACY

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purpose(s) and with what outcomes for self and the group, the ethnographer can identify the ‘vast reservoir of cultural knowledge ...’ and practices that members construct and use to ‘... interpret experience and generate behavior [actions]’ (Spradley, 1980, p. 6). This perspective on culture, along with work on local knowledge from symbolic anthropology (Geertz, 1983), guides this interactional, ethnographic analysis of the actions, patterns and practices of everyday life in classrooms. By viewing classrooms as cultures in which members construct norms and expectations, roles and relationships, and rights and obligations, in and through the patterned ways of interacting within and across time and events, we are able to identify local practices. This framework was also informed by a second ethnographic perspective, ethnography of communication (Gumperz & Hymes 1986). This approach enables the study of language in the classroom (that is, languages brought to the classroom), and the language of the classroom (discourse processes, practices and referential systems constructed by members in order to guide academic life) (Green & Dixon, 1993; Lin, 1993). Through analysis of these languages, we are able to also examine and identify the literate practices guiding text construction and use that are shaped by, and contribute towards, the developing language and literate practices of a community (Bloome & Bailey, 1992; Bloome & Egan-Robertson, 1993; Floriani, 1993). From this perspective, as members interact over time they construct criteria and principles for appropriate and expected language use, text construction and social action that are situated and context-bound. Language, then, is of a community, and no individual has access to, or knows the full range of, cultural knowledge that constitutes a community language or literate practices. When we engage in doing ethnography, we typically examine questions such as ‘What counts as literacies within the group being studied?’, and apply the interactional, ethnographic approach to the collection and analysis of data across a school year, or even multiple years. However, the analysis presented in this chapter is not based on a complete ethnography, but on a set of video and artefact data provided from a larger study, as outlined in Chapter 1. Building on the work of Green & Bloome (1997), this chapter shows that, by using the conceptual and theoretical premises of interactional ethnography, it is possible to use an ethnographic perspective to construct an emically-oriented representation of the literate practices of members in the data provided. Further, by contrasting the differences in these practices, we are able to identify what counted as literacies within and across the data. Finally, by juxtaposing these practices across days, a situated view is constructed of how the literate practices identified supported or constrained the repertoire of literate practices developed by the participants as represented in the data.

Studying literate practices as socially constructed The interactional ethnographic perspective guided the theoretical and methodological decisions made about how to analyse the data provided. The data consisted of videotapes and artefacts of a ‘day’ in the life of Aaron, a Year 11 student selected for this analysis. We were asked to identify the literacy demands of five subject-area classes experienced by Aaron: Food Technology, General English, Hospitality, Industry Studies–Metal, and Mathematics. In order to demonstrate the approach, we include a broad range of analyses to illustrate their logic of inquiry (Birdwhistle, 1977). Analytical decisions made included: how to enter the data; whom and what to study on the videotapes; what points of view to use in analysing data (for example, the whole class, the individual with the class, and outside influences acknowledged within the class); and what additional data to request in order to assess the level of representation of the original data provided. The focus of the analysis was to

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identify the situated literacies constructed by members of the group and/or visible in and through the actions of members. In order to identify these literacies, we examined what was constructed in and through the moment-by-moment interactions among members of a social group; how members negotiated events through these interactions; and the ways in which knowledge and texts generated in one event became linked to, and thus a resource for, members’ actions in subsequent events. In this way, we examined how literacies were talked, acted and written into being, and how, through their actions, members made visible to each other what counted as appropriate discursive and literate practices. In order to examine the ties or links between practices, and the repertoire of actions and knowledge needed across time and events, we drew on the construct of intertextuality proposed by Bloome and his colleagues (Bloome & Bailey, 1992; Bloome & Egan-Robertson, 1993). Using their criteria for identifying the socially constructed nature of intertexuality, members’ interactions across times and events were explored to identify what was proposed, recognised, interactionally accomplished and acknowledged as literate practices through words and actions, and the social significance of these intertextual ties. These criteria guided the exploration of the following: the explicitly stated, and the implicitly inferred, requirements for participation; the literacy demands entailed by membership in each of five subject-area classes that Aaron, the focal student of the analysis, had on the days provided; Figure 1. Logic of inquiry: analytic process Over-arching question: How might we understand the ways in which the literate practices are shaped, and in turn shape, the everyday events of classroom life, and therefore, the opportunities that Aaron (and his peers) had for learning? Posing questions: What events were constructed in these classes? Where, under what conditions, with whom, and with what? Representing data: Constructing time-stamped running record of chains of activity. Creation of two types of event maps. One including phase and sequence units, and another the construction of comparative timelines. Analysing events: Review of the comparative timelines to note the flow of activity in each class (Hospitality, Cooking, Machine Shop, English and Math), and to identify what time was spent on and by whom. Posing questions: What did the physical ‘whole’ of the literate environment look like within and across classes? Where was Aaron (the focal student) located within these environments? Representing data: C-Video framegrab of each change of camera focus to get a picture of shifting activity and the literary environment. Construction of comparative physical maps. Analysing events: Use of comparative maps to locate Aaron in relationship to the group and to compare the physical space and literate practices across classes. Posing questions: What was the role of the workbook and other texts in framing the opportunities for learning? Representing data: Domain analysis and taxonomy of the different forms of texts used and the ways in which they were used by teachers and students across classes. Analysing events: Comparative analyses of domains analyzed across subject area classes. Posing questions: How was literacy talked and acted within and across classrooms? Who was responsible for the text constructed? Representing data: Transcribing talk into event maps including identifying who talks, contextualisation cues, time and phases of activity. Analysing events: Cross-case comparisons of activities and person(s) responsible for change in activity. Domain analysis and taxonomy construction to identify the types of practices across classes and the opportunities they afford. Posing questions: What is the role of the individual in the socio-cognitive activities identified? Representing data: Construction of comparative/contradiction tables providing evidence of both the collective and individual practices within and across classes. Analysing events: Cross-case comparisons addressing teacher actions/practices that set up feeling of trust/distrust regarding student work, student take-up of literate practices and Aaron’s interactions across classes.


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the opportunities for learning afforded members of each class; what Aaron (and others) did to learn; and the consequences for Aaron of using, or not taking up, such opportunities or meeting such demands. We began our analysis with an over-arching question, and then engaged in a set of iterative processes that led to the construction of data from the raw records and artefacts provided. Figure 1 provides an illustrative representation of these data constructions and analyses processes. As indicated in Figure 1, the over-arching question was: ‘How might we understand the ways in which literate practices are shaped, and in turn shape, the everyday events of classroom life, and therefore the opportunities that Aaron (and his peers) had for learning?’ In answer to this question, we undertook a series of data representation steps and analyses, each of which was guided by subsequent questions generated by our interactions with the data and the findings visible through those interactions. Through this analytic approach, we created a series of transcripts, data tables, and domain analyses that were later used contrastively (Hymes, 1977) to construct a grounded perspective on literate practices across the subject-area classes. This process constitutes the ethnographic research cycle as characterised by Spradley (1980). The interactive–responsive nature of this approach is illustrated in Figure 1, in which sub-cycles are represented by overlapping boxes. For example, the initial phase of the analysis of Aaron’s opportunities for expressing literacy entailed three levels of map construction: a time-stamped description of the chain of activity, an event map representing the episodic nature of members’ activity (the dialogue of action — Spindler & Spindler, 1987) and comparative timelines of the events and phases of activity. These structuration maps formed the basis for subsequent representations and analyses. Event maps (as all structuration maps), therefore, represent the ebb and flow of activity, constituting socially significant processes and practices within a given period of time, such as a school day or a class session (Spradley, 1980, p. 78). Thus, they became core texts within the analytic process. Each was constructed by observing how time was spent, with whom, on what, for what purposes, when, where, under what conditions, and with what outcomes (Green & Wallat, 1979; Green, Weade & Graham, 1988; Green & Meyer, 1991; Santa Barbara Classroom Discourse Group, 1992; Spradley, 1980), and represents a different level of differentiation of information. By observing these aspects of concerted activity among members of each class, we were able to identify the boundary of a phase of activity as interactionally marked by the participants through discourse and other contextualisation cues (Gumperz, 1992), and to show the differentiated nature of conversation and action. By examining which phases of activity are linked around a common task, it was possible to identify events and sub-events of everyday life in these classrooms. Thus, although we did not engage in the extended data collection generally associated with comprehensive ethnography, we illustrate how adopting an ethnographic perspective — and engaging in the iterative research cycle for constructing and analysing these — provided a theoretical approach to examining the relationship of discourse and interpretation in each class setting (Green & Bloome 1983; 1997).

Identifying the construction of events In order to begin the exploration of what counted as literate practices across the five subject area classes, we created a running data record of activity for each class. A time-stamp was placed on the page each time a change in activity occurred as indicated by member(s)’ actions. For the purpose of illustration, an excerpt from the mathematics class (Figure 2) is presented as a representative example of what a running record affords researchers.

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Figure 2. Constructing a running record to identify chain of activity: segment of time-stamped, videobased field notes of the mathematics class 01:42:14

[New environment] Aaron sits at single table against window. Another table in front of him — empty. [Can hear voices in the room, but can’t see anyone else.]

01:43:28

Female (researcher?) places tape recorder on Aaron’s desk.

01:44:23

Male voice (teacher?) gives assignment: something about ‘consolidation period’ and ‘working on consolidating what they’ve done for the last two days’ (Math class?). Aaron starts writing in binder.

01:44:31

Someone (female student?) asks Aaron to close window. He does, then continues writing. [Can hear the male voice in the background, talking about mathematics computations] (Assume from the tone of interaction that this is the teacher.)

01:46:26

(T?) comes over to Aaron and asks if he’s ‘got it?’ Can see the half sheet of paper that I recognise as one of the mathematics artefacts. Aaron answers, ‘It would be three?’ He (T?) says ‘No’ and works with Aaron on how to do differentiation. [Can see the man pointing to Aaron’s work and talking with him, but the camera doesn’t show him].

01:47:06

Aaron looks up (for affirmation?). The man says ‘that’s right, let’s have a little confidence in yourself.’ Aaron smiles and keeps working, with interaction and guidance from the man (T?).

01:48:29

(T?) leaves saying, ‘Very good, that’s right. You’re getting there.’ Aaron keeps working. [Can hear the man’s voice talking in the background].

01:53:51

(T?) returns to (check on?) Aaron. [Can see a hand only, pointing at Aaron’s paper (T?)]. He takes Aaron’s pen and draws a graph to illustrate what the problem worked out. He tells Aaron that what they’ve ‘actually worked out gives meaning to the process of differentiation.’ They continue to work together on another problem. (Assume the man left because there is no more talk.)

Key (based on Corsaro (1981)): Text not in brackets or parentheses are descriptive notes Text in [ ] are data and methodological related comments Text in ( ) are theoretical questions or researcher assumptions

This type of mapping served three purposes: (1) it provided a way of creating a written record of when-in-time a particular chain of activity occurred, forming a type of video-based field note akin to field notes taken in situ; (2) it allowed for the identification of phases of activity (that is, cohesive or thematically tied interactions); and (3) it allowed for return to the same moment in time on a videotape to examine a particular phase of activity once identified. Building on the conceptualisation of field notes by Corsaro (1981), the running data record contained three types of information: general descriptions (descriptive notes) of activity of the focal group, as indicated by the camera angle; data and methodological notes marked by [ ]; and theoretical and personal notes, for example, questions or research assumptions indicated by ( ). The next step in the data representation and analysis process involved the construction of event maps (see Figure 3). Event maps are constructed from the data in the running records. They provide a picture of part-whole/whole-part relationships, and the ways in which members structure their world (c.f. Erickson & Shultz, 1981). For example, Figure 3 represents a basic set of relationships that guide our approach to exploring the constructed nature of events and literate practices. Each column can be read alone or in combination with subsequent ones. Moving from left to right across the table, a more fine-grained and differentiated set of information is provided. The final column on this event map provided space for theoretical, personal and methodological notes that were embedded in the running data records, thus separating interpretive information and issues from descriptions of social activity.


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Figure 3. Identifying phase and sequence units: segment of event map of the mathematics class Time

Phase Units

01:43:28

Calculus — Individual work session

01:44:31

01:44:31

01:46:26

Interactive work session

01:47:06

Sequence Units (Actions/Activities)

Notes/Comments Female (researcher?) sets tape recorder on Aaron’s desk.

Male voice gives assignment: something about ‘consolidation period’ and ‘working on consolidating what they’ve done for the last two days’. Aaron starts writing in binder.

Male voice (Teacher?)

Someone asks Aaron to close window. He does, then continues writing.

Is the voice a female student? I can hear voices in the background. The male voice I heard earlier is talking about mathematics computations. I’m assuming from the tone of interaction that this is the teacher.

(T?) comes over to Aaron and asks if he’s ‘got it?’ Aaron answers, ‘It would be three?’ (T?) says ‘No’ and works with Aaron on how to do differentiation.

I can see the half sheet of paper that I recognise as one of the mathematics artefacts in the data provided for analysis. I can see the man pointing to Aaron’s work and hear him talking, but the camera doesn’t show him.

Aaron looks up at the (T?). (T?) says ‘that’s right, let’s have a little confidence in yourself.’ Aaron smiles and keeps working, with interaction and guidance from (T?)

Aaron’s facial expression looks as though he is trying to get affirmation for his answer.

01:48:29

Individual work session

(T?) leaves saying, ‘Very good, that’s right. You’re getting there.’ Aaron keeps working.

I can hear him walk away and then his voice in the background.

01:53:51

Interactive work session

(T?) returns to ‘check on’ Aaron. He takes Aaron’s pen and draws a graph to illustrate what the problem worked out. He tells Aaron that what they’ve ‘actually worked out gives meaning to the process of differentiation.’ They continue to work together on another problem.

I can only see him pointing at Aaron’s paper. Assuming T? walked away because there is no more talk.

The phase-units column describes the ways in which certain actions were cohesively tied around a common activity, and allowed for understanding the ways in which time was spent proportionally in this class. For example, the pattern of activity shown in Figure 3 was one in which Aaron shifted from individual work to interactive work with an adult male, and then back to individual work. In addition, the discourse of each class as represented on the video data was transcribed in its entirety. (Transcripts of each class session were constructed using message units as minimal amounts of communicative or social meaning (bursts of talk) that can be identified by using contextualisation cues (for example, intonational contour, pitch, stress, juncture, kinesics, proxemics) and used for analytic purposes. However, in the event maps provided (Figure 3 and Appendix 1), excerpts of discourse are not necessarily represented in message units.) In column three the actions/activities which made up each phase unit of the Mathematics class are visible, including excerpts of discourse from the transcriptions. We engaged in a process of juxtaposing the actions and interactions of members across phases of work (individual or interactive), to identify the kinds of literate practices engaged in by Aaron and the adult. For example, across all phase units Aaron engaged in a range of literate practices: writing in a binder, responding to an oral directive, answering a question posed by the adult, and working interactively with the adult while writing in his binder.

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After analysing the range of literate practices, the focus shifted to particular phases of activity, in order to explore further how these practices were related to Aaron’s developing understanding of mathematical concepts. In the second phase unit (01:46:26), Aaron signaled his still-developing sense of mathematical literacy by posing his response to the adult’s question as another question (‘It would be three?’ asked with a rising inflection). The adult, in turn, indicated to Aaron that this response was incorrect, and worked with him to increase his understanding of differentiation. Aaron again questioned the accuracy of his own response, as indicated by his action of looking at the adult. This time he received affirmative responses, after which he continued working on the assignment. In a second focused analysis, we shifted from Aaron to the adult male, in order to examine how his actions helped Aaron understand what was academically significant in these moments (a process of cultural mediation — c.f. Vygotsky, 1987). This analysis made visible what counted as a ‘consolidation period’: It was a period in which the adult provided specific support for Aaron (and others?) to develop and consolidate his knowledge of the concept being studied (that is, the process of differentiation). He accomplished this by engaging with Aaron in a number of ways: by requesting information from Aaron about his understanding, by observing Aaron’s response, by providing guidance in doing the work, by giving affirmative responses about the processes of thinking (for example, ‘Give yourself credit’) and doing (for example, ‘You are getting there’), and by returning to check once more on Aaron’s progress. The segment at 01:53:51 is a telling case (Mitchell, 1984) in that it showed that the adult continued to provide support for Aaron’s work and understanding. In this segment, he joined with Aaron in constructing a representation, and then indicated that their joint actions were academically significant, by stating that what they have ‘actually worked out gives meaning to the process of differentiation’. Through the dialogue of action and of talk, the teacher supported Aaron in talking and acting the mathematical process into being, thus providing him with a rationale for this work, further defining what was meant by this mathematical process. In the brief analyses presented above, ways were identified in which the adult shaped literate practices in mathematics. These practices constitute a situated view of what counts as doing and knowing mathematics. One practice Aaron learned was that it was possible to work collaboratively with someone who had more knowledge, in order to construct jointly an understanding, not merely an answer. He also had opportunities to see that he was capable, and that he needed to have ‘confidence’ in his ability to do this work. He learned that mathematical knowledge entailed a range of types of representations: graphs, numerical data represented as mathematical sentences (visible on Aaron’s written artefacts), and oral data. Finally, through Aaron’s interactions with the adult he had the opportunity to understand that mathematical knowledge was social knowledge, knowledge of a group, and not merely personal knowledge. From this perspective, to be literate in mathematics in this class entailed knowledge of discursive practices (ways of talking mathematics), semiotic systems (ways of communicating meaning through multiple sign systems) and cultural resources (prior knowledge of mathematical processes; physical materials or tools including binders, workbooks, pencils and paper; and so forth). It also entailed the construction of identity — for example, identity as a mathematics student, as a successful problem solver, and as a worthy, valued and appropriate conversational partner (Davies, 1989; Fernie et al., 1993; Ivanic, 1994). Viewed in this way, literate practices and processes entailed both the interpretation and production of text — oral, written, visual and graphic, through which meanings about the assigned mathematical problems were constructed.


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Contrasting literate practices across Aaron’s classes Contrast is critical in the process of constructing an interpretation of what it means to be a member of the social group and what counts as literate practices. In order to illustrate how the issue of contrast worked in the analysis of Aaron’s opportunities for learning to be literate across disciplines (subjectarea classes), additional sets of analyses were undertaken. The logic of inquiry used to select appropriate and productive forms of contrast included contrasts using event maps across classes; contrasts across methods (event mapping, transcript/discourse analysis, domain analysis); and contrasts between stated and observed curricula. For a detailed description of the comparative analysis across time and events, see Castanheira et al., 2000. The analysis showed that the range of activity varied across days within each class. Observation across the days showed that, for some classes, events were tied across days (for example, differentiation in Mathematics), while in other classes, the events differed (for example, Industrial Studies–Metal involved a discussion of a workbook on one day, and hands-on opportunities on the other day). Across all classes, however, the range of activity and literate practices identified through the analyses of one day were representative of the range identified for classes across all days. Given that we did not engage in a detailed analysis of all class periods, no claims of typicality are being made, only claims of commonality in the range of literate practices afforded to Aaron.

Contrasting methods and data Using the same methodological approach, we examined what counted as literate practices and knowledge in the English class, the class most commonly associated with the development of literate practices and processes. We examined the shifting demands associated with phases of activity that were related to test taking, test correcting and record keeping. These three phases of activity were selected because they held the potential of making visible what the teacher valued as literate knowledge of content and practices. Using Appendix 1 as an anchor for a range of analyses, a form of contrastive analysis referred to as triangulation of data and perspectives (Denzin, 1989) was used to construct an understanding of the literate practices and demands of general English. Consideration of the part-whole relationships inscribed across columns in Appendix 1 shows that the teacher took up positions as monitor of the test, time keeper, shifter of activity and record keeper. In no instance was she observed talking about or providing information that went beyond the workbook or that addressed the content of general English. These actions suggest that she privileged the workbook as the authority, placing the responsibility on the students for obtaining the content from the text. Further examination of students’ actions showed that they took up roles related to the teacher roles: as test takers, assessors and reporters of ‘marks’. No student initiated questions or asked for information during the test or during correction time. This coordinated set of actions showed that these actors shared a common view of task and of the literate practices associated with this task — what they were supposed to do and how they were supposed to do it.

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Triangulation of the literate demands inscribed in the testing phases of activity was undertaken, using a range of data sources: the map (Appendix 1), the test taken by Aaron, the marks reported by the students (obtained from the transcript) and the workbook. This same contrastive-analysis approach was used to explore the literate practices, actions and demands of the next event — the individual workbook phase. The teacher’s actions across time in this event showed that she once again positioned the text as authority.

Future directions and considerations The interactional, ethnographic approach in this chapter framed a logic of inquiry that allowed for the identification of literate opportunities available to Aaron across his five classes, and the identification of processes and practices that differed significantly. Of particular note were the differences in his two academic classes, Mathematics and English. In the Mathematics class, Aaron had opportunities to expand his conceptual understanding of mathematical terms (the language of the discipline) and computational practices (the actions of mathematicians), through direct interactions with the teacher, both individually and as part of his participation in whole-group discussions. Through these interactions, Aaron ‘learned about’ and ‘engaged in’ a particular range of literate practices of mathematics. In contrast, in his English class, his interactions, and thus his opportunities to build his conceptual understandings, were limited to what he could access from the workbook and from his desk partner. It is argued here that the interactional opportunities afforded to Aaron in English focused on ‘knowledge about’ literate practices, rather than ‘engaging him in’ the literate practices he was reading about. The contrast in teacher approach to instruction showed marked differences that shaped who or what was seen as an authority on the content of the discipline. Through her actions and practices, the English teacher can be seen as handing over (Edwards & Mercer, 1987) to the workbook the role of authority on the content of English. The consequences of these actions became visible in the contrast between her approach and that of the Mathematics teacher. When Aaron needed to modify what he was doing in mathematics, the teacher took up the role of more-capable other (c.f. Vygotsky, 1987), working with Aaron in a number of ways that provide information about Aaron’s mathematical processes and abilities. In the English class Aaron had help only from the workbook and from his desk partner. However, the analysis showed that, when he asked his desk partner for help, he did not receive the help needed. Thus, both the workbook and the desk partner can be viewed as potential capable others whose potentiality was not realised. This situation is an example of how the lack of certain actions on the part of the teacher (for example, directly interacting with students to clarify processes and practices, or inviting questions about their thinking) resulted in missed opportunities for Aaron to receive the support that he understood he needed. Thus, the actions shaped consequences beyond this moment for what Aaron could access in subsequent work, and what he could display as literate knowledge and practice. Another dimension of the relationship between teacher and student related to student ability was made visible in the contrast between Mathematics and General English. In the Mathematics class, the teacher’s actions showed that he viewed Aaron as capable and that what Aaron needed was knowledge of certain tools and practices for engaging with the mathematical content. In interacting with Aaron, he used actions that allowed the two of them to complete the activity, thus creating a


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joint response to the problem and providing Aaron with directly observable information about what counted as a literate practice for the problem at hand. In this way, he helped Aaron construct a situated identity, one in which Aaron could have ‘confidence’ in his ability. This teacher, therefore, expanded Aaron’s capacity to know and do mathematics, while the English teacher’s actions provided no such support (Rex, 1997; Rex, Green & Dixon, 1997). The contrast between the literate practices in these two classes made visible the situated nature of learning, and how the opportunities for learning shaped what counted as literate practices, and thus literacy, in each subject-area class. The analyses as presented through the interactional, ethnographic approach are illustrative of those identified across the five classes. This discussion concludes with questions that can be asked in future work by both teachers and researchers: • What are the opportunities for learning to be literate afforded to students within and across discipline-based classes? • Who has access to these opportunities, in which ways, under which conditions and with which outcomes? • What is the relationship between the planned and observed curriculum in shaping opportunities for learning? • How do the actions among actors shape opportunities and, in turn, how do the opportunities constructed shape what counts as actor, identity, knowledge, text and literate practice among other social and cultural dimensions of life in classrooms? • How is capacity for learning constructed, and what is the role of literate practices in shaping this capacity? • How is literacy defined, shaped and taken up by members of local groups? • Who is defined as literate, and how is this definition related to the opportunities for accessing literate processes and practices within and across local communities of practice? We would like to thank the other members of the research team (Julie Esch, Marli Costa Hodel, Cynthia Hughart, Silvia Neves, Pedro Paz, Nuno Sena and Rosemary Saley) for the contributions they made to this chapter through their work on the analyses presented here. In addition, we thank Dr Gregory Kelly, University of California, Santa Barbara, for his editorial comments on an earlier version of this chapter.

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Appendix 1. Segment of event map from English class Time

Sequence Units (Actions/Activities)

IA Spaces

Norms & Exp.

T? continues sitting at desk watching students

Individual (within collective)

Silence during test taking

00:18:57

Female voice (T?) says something — Aaron looks up

Whole class

The teacher has the right to talk during testing.

00:21:48

Aaron puts his pencil down and sits backs arms folded — looks at his watch

Individual

When finished, sit quietly

Female voice tells them to put pens down and get out their (?) booklet.

Whole class

Authority figure (T?) will signal how much time given

Aaron gets out a yellow booklet and opens it [appears to read from booklet and then mark on his paper].

Individual

(Some) tests are self-corrected. Talking is okay during this process

00:18:28

00:22:07

Phase Units Test — taking (cont.)

Test — correcting

00:22:29

Student/ student pair

00:30:13

They (Aaron and his neighboor) trade papers. Aaron hands his paper to someone [only saw a hand reach in to get it].


00:31:33

Aaron takes out binder and shares something with his neighbour. They talk.


00:36:11

Aaron starts writing.

Individual

(T?) says she will call them and they are to call out what marks they got.

Whole class

Scores may be made public

00:36:45

She calls out names of students and they respond with the number of marks they got out of 20.

Whole class

T? trusts students to be honest

00:37:51

She calls out Aaron’s surname, Aaron says 7.5.

Whole class

She makes some announcements about the tests coming up — makes the point that there will be a test on the complete booklet at the end to reinforce they should have all their work done by Week 11.

Whole class

00:36:33

00:38:48

Recordkeeping

Individual Work — workbook (this phase continues)

T? gives choice of how to correct test (self or with partner)

Workbook to be completed. Knowledge from workbook to be tested


Roles & Rel.

Literate Practices

Notes/Comments

Monitoring students who are taking test

T? gives test (from workbook) covering 9 topics of Chapter 1

Females are on one side and in middle and males on the other — still can’t locate a ‘teacher’. Camera pans room — don’t know if it’s only one side or not — can’t see the other side of the U the tables are arranged in

Aaron (S) writing on test form

Sounds like she’s talking to someone specific — not Aaron — because someone (male voice) responds Aaron appears to be finished

(T?) is shifter of activity Students respond

T? controlling task through limits of time. T? directs students to booklet

Aaron gets a yellow booklet out and opens it

The booklet positioned as the ‘authority’ [has the correct answers]

S responds appropriately by opening his booklet and comparing it with his answers. Students can correct tests in pairs. The model for correcting comes from the booklet.

Assuming that he is correcting his paper. [Heard the word ‘incorrect’.] Can’t see if other students have paired up to do this. Do they all share ‘yellow booklets’? [no longer quiet in room] Aaron talks with his neighbour throughout this process. His neighbour does not have a yellow booklet on his desk — they appear to be sharing Aaron’s. Although it wasn’t visible it seems as if they (Aaron and desk partner) traded papers and were marking (correcting) each other’s papers and now have given them back to their rightful owners).

Students are positioned by each other and T? as assessors

Academic conversations with partners

Students talk to each other about content of binder

[can’t hear]

Writing Students are reporters of marks

T? requests students’ scores. T? accepts the students’ evaluation of their own work as valid. Students’ result on the tests are made public

Foreshadows future activity.

Oral reporting of marks.

Can tell he is waiting for his name. Tone of voice is low.

T? setting future work goal. T? places the workbook as reference for guiding students’ progress and work pace.

Is the length of this term 11 weeks? (the workbook will be completed by week 11) How far are they in the term? (maybe towards the end because it’s close enough for the announcement that they would be tested on week 11)

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Curriculum control

LINDA GEROT

CHAPTER

5

QUEENSLAND UNIVERSITY OF TECHNOLOGY

Language matters in English lessons

Introduction Underpinning this chapter is the understanding of literacy/ies, and indeed the whole of education, as social practice(s). This chapter draws on the work of educational sociologist Basil Bernstein, to theorise and frame the notion ‘schooling as social practice’. This, in turn, provides a context for discussing ‘literacy demands’. Bernstein has spent his entire professional life trying to understand and explain both ‘the process and content of what occurs inside schools’ (Sadovnik, 1995, p. 11). And even before such a position became popular, Bernstein understood that schooling was/is a social and political construction. In order to theorise and at the same time give coherence and order to this discussion of two Year 12 English classes, I draw on Bernstein’s (1973, p. 85) notions of ‘curriculum’, ‘pedagogy’ and ‘evaluation’: Formal educational knowledge can be considered to be realised through three message systems: curriculum defines what counts as valid knowledge, pedagogy defines what counts as a valid transmission of knowledge, and evaluation defines what counts as valid realisation of this knowledge on the part of the taught.

Within the discussion in this chapter of curriculum, pedagogy and evaluation evident in the two English classes, the notion ‘pedagogic discourse’ is important. In Atkinson’s (1985) discussion of Bernstein’s work, ‘pedagogic discourse’ is said to be: … constructed out of a double process. Elements [of knowledge] are decontextualised from their original location [from the field of production] and then recontextualised into a new assemblage (Atkinson, 1985, p. 171).

In terms of the data analysed in this paper, knowledge concerning peace studies and conflict resolution, on the one hand, and literary studies on the other has (apparently) been recontextualised within teacher-training programs, and then again recontextualised in the process of teaching Year 12 English. In the transition between knowledge creation (field of production) and knowledge dissemination (the school, a field of reproduction), the discourse of peace studies/literary studies, like all pedagogic discourse, becomes the discourse of classroom peace studies/literary studies. Experts and lay people alike recognise that there is a difference between the discourse of literary studies and the discourse of classroom literary studies, just as there is a difference between the discourse of science and the discourse of classroom science, and so on. Moreover, few have difficulty distinguishing one discourse from the other. Using data from the two Year 12 English lessons, I argue that, in the processes of decontextualisation and recontextualisation, much is lost in the translation, especially where the discourse of literary studies is concerned. While the teachers were able to name the tasks expected of the students, they were limited in their ability to articulate the means for doing the tasks. Nor did the teachers demonstrate or model how to do the tasks. Being Year 12 English, these tasks make heavy and

LANGUAGE MATTERS IN ENGLISH LESSONS

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sophisticated demands for/on literacy. Halliday’s (1994) work on discourse analysis and Hasan’s (1985) work on verbal art have been used to identify the nature of these demands.

Curriculum: what counts as valid knowledge One of the most striking features of the English classes viewed (via video and print materials) was the extent to which curriculum, pedagogy and evaluation alike were driven from top to bottom by the impending Higher School Certificate (HSC) exam. In NSW, where the classes took place: Year 11 courses are known as Preliminary courses and Year 12 courses as HSC courses. Satisfactory completion of the Preliminary course is a prerequisite for entry to the HSC course. Examinations focus on HSC content, with Preliminary content regarded as assumed knowledge. (National Board of Employment Education and Training, 1993, p. 37)

It is no exaggeration to claim that the English lessons viewed, as well as those which preceded and followed these, were rehearsals for the HSC. This claim will be substantiated and elaborated at various points throughout this discussion. Against this background of State policy, the school prepared statements for its school information kit, describing the curriculum of its various English courses. Of relevance to this chapter are the school’s descriptions of 2 Unit English – Contemporary and 2 Unit English – General: 2 Unit English – Contemporary is a functional English course designed to develop students’ whole language skills. Students explore topical issues through reading/reviewing a wide range of materials. They develop speaking, writing and listening skills for use in a variety of different contexts including the workplace. It is a varied and interesting course without a literary focus. (from school’s Course and Subject Description booklet)

Penny’s class was engaged in a unit of work called ‘War and Peace’. Within this unit students explored a range of issues, including conflict, conflict resolution, political repression and forms of responsible citizenship. In the lessons recorded, the novel Talking in Whispers by James Watson, a fictional account of political repression in Chile, was the focus of discussion. Within these lessons, the students did a great deal of listening, little speaking and even less writing. However, assessment items made considerable demands for reading, oral reading, speaking and writing. Tracey was enrolled in the school’s 2 Unit English – General course, which: … has a literary focus with students offering their personal responses to a range of literary texts in a variety of creative modes as well as essay format. Students also explore topics through reviewing supplementary materials such as newspapers, magazines, videos, short stories, films, etc. (from the school’s Course and Subject Description booklet)

In the lessons recorded, Tracey’s class was discussing the poetry of Bruce Dawe, especially ‘Life Cycle’. According to the teacher’s board notes at the beginning of the session, Dawe’s use of language and the structure of the poem were the focal points of one recorded lesson, and answering questions about ‘Life Cycle’ and a ‘creative [writing] task’ were the focal points of the lesson recorded subsequently.

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The enacted curriculum: 2 Unit English – Contemporary Of concern to Penny’s teacher was the need to ‘go through’ the questions contained in the Study Guide for Talking in Whispers. This appeared to be of importance for both short-term and longerterm reasons. In the short-term, going through the questions provided a way for the teacher and students to check their understanding of the novel itself, now, and more importantly, to establish its relation to ‘the wheel’ (see Appendix 1). ‘The wheel’ appeared to represent for the teacher, if not the students, a working document, a piece of work in progress and a summary (synthesis of the content worth learning and remembering in the War and Peace unit). Hence, ‘the wheel’ contextualised the study of the novel in its own terms, and as one element within a larger and broader theme of study. Going through the questions also contributed towards a longer-term goal, as rehearsal of/towards the HSC. The teacher is completely upfront about this, as the transcription in the next section on assessment shows. Going through questions implies more than just pedagogy, of course. Questions ask about something, in that way, instating curriculum. Perhaps not surprisingly, many of the questions based on Talking in Whispers involved use of metaphor. Teacher (Tchr): Alright, question number 19. In the novel, we see the stadium used in three important incidents, or different stages in the history of the unrest in Chile. What are the uses of the stadium, Kerry? Kerry: My first one was Silver Lion held a political rally. Tchr: Okay, the first one. At the beginning of the book we see a big political rally in Santiago for the Silver Lion. The second use was as a prison to round up all the um the opponents of the junta and throw them in jail, and the third use was…? Student (Stud): the soccer match Tchr: the soccer match, between…? Stud: England and Chile. Tchr: Okay, what do these three uses symbolise? Leon: The hope that freedom will eventually return to Chile. Tchr: Okay, which use is symbolised by that? Leon: The political rally. Tchr: Okay, the political rally expresses their hope that Chile is returning to democracy and peace. Yup. Use of the prison symbolises what? Nanc: There is no return; the terror goes on. Tchr: Okay, that nothing is changed. The military is in control, and torture, repression and imprisonment is still going on in the country. And the third one, which is the most difficult symbolically, the soccer match between Chile and England. Kath: Nothing’s happening. Tchr: Can you explain that, Susan? Susan: They’re acting as if nothing’s happening. Tchr: Who’s acting as if nothing’s happening? Stud: Chile … and the foreign countries. Tchr: … and the foreign countries. You want to explain that, Mark? England is playing Chile in a soccer match at the end of the novel, so that symbolises that …? Mark: The foreign countries ignore the brutality. Tchr: Why do you say that?


Mark: Stud: Mark: Tchr:

Mark: Tchr: Mark: Tchr: Mark: Tchr:

Stud: Tchr: Stud: Tchr:

Penn: Tchr: Tchr: Penn: Tchr:

Stud: Tchr: Leon: Tchr: Stud: Penn: Tchr: Stud: Tchr: Stud: Tchr:

Because they came to play the game; they didn’t, ah, what’s the word? … boycott. Yeah, they didn’t boycott it. Okay, yes, that no one is boycotting Chile because of the repression and killing and disappearances that are going on. England is happy to come and play soccer with Chile. Why shouldn’t they play soccer? They’re helping the junta. How are they helping the junta? By going ahead with the game … supplying them with money. So, by continuing to play sport with ‘em and selling them goods and whatever, it’s almost like giving them support to go ahead and do what they’ve been doing. Yeah. Where did boycotts and sanctions really make a difference around the world a few years ago? The rest of the world said, we’re not going to play sport with you; we’re not going to deal with you; we’re not even going to let your planes fly into our country. Africa. Which part of Africa? South Africa. South Africa, yeah, where they had apartheid. So boycotts around the world really made a difference in changing things in South Africa. So world pressure when these sorts of things happen can bring about what? Peace. Peace. That’s another way peace can be restored, through international pressure. Now when Andres starts making enquiries, what do his friends and neighbours say to him, in response to his enquiries? It’s not my business. It’s not my business. So when friends and neighbours — note, important words, friends and neighbours — we expect certain things from friends and neighbours, like what? What do we expect from friends and neighbours? Help, loyalty, truth. Truth, loyalty, help. When your friends and neighbours say, ‘It’s not my business,’ what does that remind you of? Everyone is too scared to speak out. Okay, and what does that remind you of, with the book itself? The title. Talking in Whispers. Right, so even the friends and neighbours here are ‘talking in whispers’; ‘it’s not my business’. See no evil, you know, the three monkeys? See no evil, hear no evil, speak no evil. Have you seen the three monkeys sitting in a row? Yeah. One’s got his hands over his eyes; one’s got his hands on his ears and the third one on his mouth. And the old saying is ‘see no evil, speak no evil, hear no evil’ — I see nothing, I say nothing, I hear nothing. And, if you like, that could be on the new flag in Chile. ‘I’ll stay alive if I keep my eyes shut, my mouth closed and my ears closed.’

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Of ‘metaphor’, which these instances involve, Hasan suggests: … the doings/happenings/states etc. in a literature text have a dual status: they are themselves, i.e. they are assertions of such and such a state of affairs … these are themselves meanings. But a meaning can be attached to these meanings. If this is possible, then the first order meanings are like signs or symbols, which in their turn possess a meaning — second order, or perhaps more general meaning. (Hasan, 1985, p. 98)

The meanings in the novel appear to have this quality of metaphor, and as these typical instances have shown at some length, the metaphorical meanings are considered by the teacher to be crucial to the business at hand.

Assessment: 2 Unit English — Contemporary Students’ understandings of metaphors within the novel, and of the novel itself as a metaphor for adult life, is central to successfully dealing with the assessment task included in the bracket of lessons viewed. According to the assessment task sheet given to the students for this unit of work, students are to: Select a poem related to the issue of Peace and War. 1. Read a section of the poem that you consider sums up the poet’s ideas and is helpful for an understanding of Peace and War. Your section of the poem should be approximately 150 words in length. You will be marked for using appropriate stress, intonation, pauses and pronunciation. 2. Give a brief explanation of why you chose the poem, how it relates to your core text and how it adds to your understanding of Peace and War.

The students are reminded that this task relates to the HSC. Tchr:

Remember, I told you about the five basic questions asked in the HSC. This one is asking you to do two of those questions, but orally. One of the questions is: ‘How does your text help you to understand the issue, and secondly, what are the main points, what have you learned?’

Interestingly, the teacher goes on to say: ‘I’m somewhat restricted in what I can say about your assessment task. But I can help you in broad ways.’ This he does by suggesting that students: ‘Explain how your poem matches the wheel’; ‘explain how it relates to your core text’; and ‘how it adds to your understanding of peace and war’. While students will need to be able to use an instance of verbal art (poem) to reflect upon the meaning of peace and war, interpreting the meaning of the poem against the meaning of the core text is worth only two of 20 possible marks for the assessment task. In fact, ‘explaining’ the text, which includes the two HSC questions referred to above, is worth eight possible points. Each of the following elements require explanation; each is worth a maximum of two points: introduction and identification of the poem; reason(s) for choosing the poem; demonstration of link to core text; and how the poem adds to personal understanding. However, oral reading of the chosen poem is worth a possible 12 points, two each for: appropriate stress/pause, appropriate intonation, acceptable volume, clear pronunciation, having rapport with audience/eye contact and appropriate body language. The sudden elevation in status of oral reading over HSC content is not explained to students in this lesson, though they unquestioningly accepted the appropriateness of the oral reading activity. The English lessons in which Penny participated were interesting in the degree of metaphor involved. Study of literature does require students to interpret metaphors of language and of culture


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in the ways rehearsed in these lessons addressing Talking in Whispers. This seems pretty much takenfor-granted. More striking, perhaps, are the other layers of metaphor in the lesson conduct. Discussion has already alluded to the first and most obvious — the extent to which the lessons were metaphor for the HSC, a written examination. Each and every lesson was a microcosm of, and rehearsal for, this event. It was as though this was the only reason, or at least was the most important reason, to study literature, much less English, in school at all. The HSC seems to provide the ‘why’ of the above rehearsals. But ‘what’ is rehearsed, and ‘who’ actually does the rehearsing? The answers to the what, who, and even how, are provided in the locution — the teacher’s talk. In the entire set of materials viewed, the teacher talked about writing but, significantly, did not demonstrate or model writing. In other words, he did not practice what he preached. The students didn’t practice what he preached, either! The students were given few opportunities to write — and then with little guidance, and mostly for assessment.

The enacted curriculum: 2 Unit English — General Like Penny’s class, Tracey’s was primarily concerned with answering questions from a prepared worksheet. The questions addressed Bruce Dawe’s poem ‘Life Cycle’. Written on the board before the lesson were three points: excursion moneys, creative task, and questions on life cycle. Written on the board during the lesson was: Bruce Dawe ‘Life Cycle’ his use of language structure of the poem

This, it would seem, was the intended curriculum. It is interesting, therefore, to see what the teacher says about the language and structure of Dawe’s poem: Tchr:

We were working through the dictionary definitions, the straight meanings of certain words to come to an understanding at a fairly basic level. So we looked at a list of vocabulary there. We worked through that, and we also worked through Questions 1, 2, 3 and 4. And now we’re moving on to look at the language, the elaborate language, the elevated language, the more complicated language in the poem.

Elsewhere in the lesson transcript, the teacher used the term ‘allusion’; referred to the language of an Aussie Rules match as ‘familiar’, ‘rough’, ‘ready’ and ‘homey’; referred to Dawe’s use of ‘obscure words’ and twice more to the ‘elaborated’ and ‘elevated’ language of the poem. Of the structure of the poem, the teacher suggested: Tchr:

Remember, too, that we were looking at the structure of the poem, how the structure of the poem does actually follow through, the birth, the reproductive moment, the children in the poem, and you pointed out to me the structure of the poem itself mirrors the life cycle.

The questions posed on the worksheet, as shown in Figure 1, provided students with a further source of information about Dawe’s use of language. Tracey’s answers to the language-oriented questions above drew, of course, on the teacher’s terminology, though spelling and punctuation are Tracey’s own. Her answers to questions 4–9 on the worksheet were as follows: 4. It is to focus the readers attention and draw attention to the words. 5. The language is formal, elegant and dignified.

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6. 7. 8. 9.

The vocabulary is elevated to be extremely high, rise above all Children are born into Aussie Rules society they don’t have a chance there lives are conditioned The contrast makes us smile because it doesn’t fit into the stanza. It’s somewhat inappropriate The metaphor creates it to be loud and overwhelming.

For homework, students worked on their answers to the questions comprising ‘on second reading’. To start the next lesson, the teacher read aloud a newspaper article which satirised spectators’ devotion to sporting teams. The teacher drew students’ attention to the author’s use of allusion to religious fanaticism in the article. Figure 1. Worksheet for Unit 2 English — General On first reading: Vocabulary empyrean welter

shrapnelled resurgent

covenant centaur-figures

forswear maize god

race-memory

1. What is a ‘life-cycle’? Quote the lines and words which suggest this in the poem. 2. What is the poet poking fun at in the poem? 3. What is the poet suggesting in the line ‘having begun a lifetime’s barracking’? 4. Examples of alliteration are ‘feebly at first’ and ‘parents playfully’. What do these devices add to the sense of the poem at this point? 5. What do you notice about the language of ‘Hoisted shoulder-high ... roaring empyrean’? 6. Comment on the effectiveness of the image ‘hearts shrapnelled with rapture’. 7. What does the simile in ‘the minds rippling out like streamers’ suggest about the minds of the children? 8. What is the effect of the juxtaposition of the slang expression ‘ooohh you bludger’ and the biblical phrase ‘the covenant is sealed’? 9. What does the metaphor ‘the pure flood of sound’ suggest about the quality of the sound? 10. Dawe establishes the obsession with Australian Rules football is so great, it maintains itself into old age. What is the effect of this interest in ‘oldtimers’? On second reading: 1. Dawe has compared the stages in the life of a football fan to the stages in the life of a creature in the natural world. Does this comparison work? Give reasons for your answer. 2. What does Dawe hint at as being the drawbacks of such an obsession? 3. What do you think his attitude is to football fanatics?

In the course of trying to link the prose passage she had just read to the poem ‘Life Cycle’, the teacher asked the students: Tchr: Stud: Stud: Stud: Tchr:

What is the term we use when we compare two unlike things? Comparison Juxtaposition Metaphor Yes, metaphor, how two unlike things are the same.

The teacher then writes on the board: ‘extended metaphor — a comparison of unlike things developed throughout a piece of writing, i.e. poem, prose passage’

She then leads the students back to a discussion of homework questions, asking, ‘Is the extended metaphor in Dawe’s poem effective?’ Tracey didn’t think so:


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The comparison does not work as I do not think there was enough of a common element in the ‘Life Cycle’.

Since Tracey’s answer was neither cited nor discussed, it was allowed to stand as written. There followed a brief ‘downloading’ session where students brainstormed what they knew about ‘Life Cycle’, with the teacher summarising contributions into a set of brief notes. Tracey did not copy these notes, but responded when the teacher next announced a ‘creative exercise’. The class was not told why they were to undertake the writing activity proposed, but it seems likely that it was providing students an opportunity to offer ‘… their personal responses to a range of literary texts in a variety of creative modes….’ (from the school’s Course and Subject Description booklet). Tchr:

Stud: Stud: Tchr: Stud: Tchr:

… choose a sport with which you are familiar, and trenchantly or gently ridicule or mock the sport. You could take some religious theme, you could take the world of art, the rather elaborated allusion to Greek mythology. You can use any allusion or reference that you like, and you are going to satirise and/or vehemently ridicule the sport. So you’re going to write a match report. A report? A commentary? A summary of what happened on that particular day, so you can write as though you are there at that time, like a commentary on radio or TV. Is this one of those quick ones? Yes, this is a quickie.

Students worked on their ‘reports’ for the remainder of the recording. Tracey’s response does mock netball (see Appendix 2), but seems to completely miss the point about allusion, of ‘extended metaphor’, which, if I am not mistaken, was the point of this exercise. Tracey did request some feedback from the teacher, which was provided as follows: Tracey [to teacher]: Can you just read mine for a sec.? Tchr [reads through the draft]: Just have another look at it. Tracey: It’s funny. Tchr: It is funny. When John is finished, you can read it to him. I want you now to read it to yourself, looking, thinking about the way in which the piece flows. Tracey: It doesn’t flow. Tchr: Okay. Tracey: I know it doesn’t flow. Tchr: Okay, so … look through … Tracey: It semi-flows. Tchr: Yes, so you also need to look through your spelling. Then I’ll come back to check.

It would seem in this class that both the teacher and therefore her students fall back on the obvious (like spelling) and the everyday (like ‘formal’, ‘obscure’ and ‘flow’) in the absence of an explicit and revealing way to analyse and discuss text. As Hasan (1985, p. 92) suggests: … our way into most of the meanings of most texts is obviously through their language: texts after all are linguistic objects and a literature text is no exception to this rule.

Hasan (1985, p. 91) further acknowledges that: The importance of language in verbal art has been recognised for centuries, but the ways of talking about its role have not always been helpful. To say that the language of literature is sublime, creative, emotionally charged, mimetic etc. is not exactly revealing.

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Nor is it exactly revealing to say that the language of ‘Life Cycle’ is ‘elaborate’, ‘elevated’ and ‘complicated’. Nor do the terms ‘metaphor’, ‘simile’ and ‘allusion’ go far enough, since all language use — for example, that used in a casual conversation over coffee — is rich in ‘metaphor’, ‘simile’, ‘imagery’, ‘allusion’. Interestingly, the ‘crib notes’ (Spurr, 1995) to which the teacher and students alike may have referred during their study of Dawe’s poetry use the same limited language for discussing the language of verbal art. In particular, ‘elevated’, ‘metaphor’, ‘alliteration’, ‘simile’, ‘rhythm’ and especially ‘onomatapoeia’ appear repeatedly. Few would argue against Hasan’s claim that ‘our way into most of the meanings of most texts is obviously through their language’. What we need is a more revealing and explicit language for talking about meanings, and this requires a conceptualisation of language as wordings rather than words. Meanings in literature texts are of two orders, as suggested earlier. In verbal art, one order of meaning acts as metaphor for a second-order meaning. The first-order meanings Hasan (1985, p. 97) calls ‘verbalisation’. At this level, one needs an ordinary, operational knowledge of language to know the meanings encoded in the text. At this level, the literature text is like any other text. Some might call this the ‘literal’ meaning of the text. But these literal meanings also have non-literal or ‘secondorder’ meanings. The second-order meanings Hasan (1985, p. 97) calls ‘theme’. These are at the highest level of abstraction, and refer to the deepest level of meaning in verbal art: … it is what the text is about when dissociated from the particularities of that text. In its nature, the theme of verbal art is very close to a generalisation, which can be viewed as a hypothesis about some aspect of the life of social man.

The link between first- and second-order meanings, called ‘symbolic articulation’ (Hasan, 1985, p. 98) resides in patterns of linguistic patterns. ‘Linguistic’ in the locution ‘linguistic patterns’ implies more than words; it implies wording, for it is through wording not words that meaning is realised. Hence, an analysis of symbolic articulation is an analysis of the lexicogrammatical patterning; patterns of wording in a text. In any poem, or indeed in any work of verbal art, consistent patterns of language patterns provide the background, and significant contrast in patterning provide the foregrounding (Hasan, 1985, p. 98). It is in this backgrounding and foregrounding that symbolic articulation lies. Tracey’s teacher appears to have understood the significance of ‘contrast’ in her explanation of ‘extended metaphor’ and, indeed, all verbal art is extended metaphor. But lacking a theory of wording (that is, lexicogrammar), she explained this as a matter of field, when in fact ‘metaphor’ is an inherently linguistic notion.

Linguistic modelling for poetry teaching Below I present my analysis of another Dawe poem that illustrates what is meant by ‘symbolic articulation’, as Hasan uses this term. The analysis uses Halliday’s (1994) systemic functional grammar. You and Sarajevo for Gloria Hearing the sound of your breathing as you sleep, with the dog at your feet, his head resting on a shoe, and the clock’s ticking like water dripping in a sink — I know that, even if reincarnation were a fact,


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given the inherent cruelty of the world where beautiful things and people are blasted apart all the day long, I would never want to come back, knowing I could never be this lucky twice . . . (Dawe, 1992)

The first four lines of the poem provide the basis of Dawe’s appreciation for his life as it is. These four lines grammatically comprise four clauses, the latter three of which are nested, each inside the former: Hearing the sound of your breathing [[ as you sleep [ with the dog > at your feet ] ]]

Each of these clauses is both expanding (elaborating the meaning of the clause before) and dependent; and the whole bundle in turn is both expanding and dependent, elaborating the meaning of ‘I know that’. ‘I know that’ is the only independent clause in the poem. This clause, expanded by lines 1–4, projects the final two lines in the poem. These two lines comprise four clauses: I would never want || to come back || knowing || I could never be this lucky twice

Each of these projected clauses is dependent (that is, is reported rather than quoted). ‘To come back’ and ‘knowing’ are non-finite, as are ‘hearing’ and ‘resting’. Each of the remaining three clauses: even if reincarnation were a fact given the inherent cruelty of the world where beautiful things and people are blasted apart all the day long

expands the one before, is dependent, and taken together, expand ‘I would never want to come back’. Interpreting ‘given the inherent cruelty of the world’ as a clause might seem generous. It can be so interpreted if it is read as an attributive clause — the world is inherently cruel — which has been firstly turned into a fact clause — given the fact that the world is inherently cruel — and then the fact clause turned into a nominalised form — given the inherent cruelty of the world. The poem involves a good deal of such nominalisation. ‘Breathing’, ‘ticking’, ‘dripping’ and ‘reincarnation’ have all been encoded, not congruently as actions, but as things, and ‘cruelty’ has been encoded as a thing, not a quality (cruel). It is a world of beautiful ‘things’, with one ominous exception. Nominalisation is a form of grammatical (as opposed to lexical) metaphor, and in this poem serves two important functions. Firstly, writing the poem in more linguistically congruent, finite clauses renders it a list of assertions: I hear || you breathe || as you sleep.|| You sleep with the dog at your feet.|| His head rests on a shoe.|| And I hear the clock tick.|| When it ticks|| and when water drips in the sink|| the two sound alike.

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Presumably, this is not what Dawe intended. Moreover, nominalisation keeps clear the modifying (mainly elaborating) relations in the poem: Hearing the sound of your breathing (breathing) as you sleep (you sleep) with the dog at your feet his (the dog’s) head resting on a shoe.

Within the verbal component of the clauses, it is significant that polarity is positive in all clauses but two: I would never want || to come back I could never be this lucky again

Moreover, these are the only clauses to use modal (italicised) as opposed to temporal, finite verbal operators, flagging their reference to a hypothetical, next life. Few of the clauses in the poem are fully transitive, in the sense of there being two participant roles related by a process. In ‘hearing the sound of your breathing’ there is a ‘hearing’ (process: mental: perception) and what is heard (participant: phenomenon), but no ‘hearer’ (participant: senser). In ‘as you sleep’ there is a sleeper (participant: behaver = you) and sleep (process: behavioural) but no participant: range. In ‘where beautiful things and people are blasted apart all the day long’ there is ‘blasted apart’ (process: material), what is blasted apart (participant: goal) and circumstance: time (all the day long) but no account of who does the blasting (participant: actor). Only three clauses comprise the participant–process–participant pattern; interestingly, all three are attributive clauses:

if

his head participant: carrier

resting process: attributive

on a shoe participant: attribute: circumstantial

reincarnation participant: carrier

were process: attributive

a fact participant: attribute: entity

I participant: carrier

could never be process: attributive

this lucky participant: attribute: quality

twice circumstance: frequency

‘Even if reincarnation were a fact’ is also distinctive for its conjunction ‘even if ’. Dawe has been very spare with his use of such ‘linking words’. This particular concessive conjunction ‘even if ’ turns fact into non-fact, pre-empting even the possibility of reincarnation. A final point to be made about the verbal component of the clauses in the poem is the fact that all, but one, are in active voice. The exception is all the more exceptional for being an ‘agentless’ passive. where

beautiful things and people participant: goal

are blasted apart process: material

all the day long circumstance: duration


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Use of this structure leaves unspoken who or what is responsible for doing the blasting (and perhaps by metaphorical extension, leaves open the question: what makes the ‘world’ inherently cruel — fate? God? lady luck? man’s inhumanity to man?). The analysis reveals clear patterns of backgrounding and foregrounding. The types of linguistic patterns are significant, not for being identifiable, but for the particular kinds of meanings they are making in this poem. To discuss ‘what’ meanings are made is at the same time to discuss ‘how’ they are made, since these merge in language. Foregrounding is interpretable only against backgrounding. Selecting the clauses with the unusual (foregrounding) patterns, we have something like the following: Even if reincarnation were a fact I wouldn’t want to come back to an inherently cruel world where beautiful things and people are blasted apart all the day long. I know I could never be this lucky twice. Here ‘this lucky’ refers to the initial four clauses, which establish the basis of Dawe’s appreciation of his life as it is. ‘Twice’ harks back to the notion of ‘reincarnation’. Given the simple gifts of his life, reincarnation would normally be considered twice lucky. But … Dawe’s poem, like all verbal art, doesn’t merely use extended metaphor; it is extended metaphor. The meanings of the poem, at the level of ‘verbalisation’ are about the tranquility of hearing breathing, clocks ticking and water dripping, and of dogs sleeping, and contemplation of how war rends asunder these very things that make life worth living. The meanings of the poem at the level of theme are about ‘what it is like to be in love’ (Dawe, 1992, p. xiv). As a ‘hypothesis about some aspect of the life of social man’ (Hasan, 1985, p. 97), it is a poem not only about Dawe, but about us.

Conclusion One can enjoy a novel, play, poem or any other text with an everyday, operational knowledge of language. But providing the basis of one’s interpretation, and evaluating the effectiveness of a text, necessarily rely on knowledge of how language makes meaning via lexicogrammar generally, and of how patterns of lexicogrammatical choices in the text make meaning specifically. In the two English classes, students were asked to interpret first-order and second-order meanings in literature. Moreover, at some point in their study, they were asked to produce ‘verbal art’ and/or to comment on the effectiveness of a piece of verbal art. Knowledge about text as linguistic object was significantly limited and, in both classes, this in turn proved limiting. The HSC requires both receptive and productive insight into how texts make meaning lexicogrammatically. So why have the teachers of these classes not taught students everything they know about text? Perhaps they have. It may be that the problem lies not so much with the teachers as with the teachers’ teachers. Teacher education courses that explore how texts as linguistic objects work are relatively new and few in number. The teachers of the above classes likely did not have access to such courses. Hence, the ‘pedagogic discourse’ to which the teachers had access in their training was silent on the matter of how lexicogrammar/language/text works to make meaning. So, in turn, the pedagogic discourse to which the Year 12 students had access was also silent on this matter.

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The goals pursued by Penny, her classmates and teacher are worthy ones, as are those pursued by Tracey, her classmates and teacher. Reaching those goals requires a particular kind of literacy, one which entails interpretation and discussion of both lexical and grammatical metaphor, of first and second-order meanings, and of their symbolic articulation. We recognise that young learners need to be taught ‘literacy’; it doesn’t just happen. We need to extend the same courtesy — based on the same insight — to Year 12 students, for whom the literacy demands of HSC study are new. There are ways for all teachers to assist Year 12 learners, by demonstrating, not just talking about, writing. If the teacher ‘thinks aloud’ while writing, students can see what’s expected and how to meet those expectations. Time could be re-allocated such that students actually rehearse writing, under supervision, without having to produce an assessment piece. This should follow the teacher’s demonstration; without explicit direction it remains just another test of what students can already do, more or less well, not an attempt to teach students what they need to know. Teachers could deconstruct model answers with students. Most school children know the value in mathematics of working back from the answer to the problem. The same strategy can be used in other domains of learning, including literary studies. These are matters of language. What better place for them, then, than English lessons?


Appendix 1. ‘The Wheel’

War Changes all participants:

War is horrific:

Who are the Peacemakers?

• War forces people to do things that would be illegal during peace. • It is difficult for any one to readjust to peace after the brutality of war. • Not only soldiers but civilians traumatized or brutalized by war. • People forget how to “trust” in war. • People will do almost anything to survive war. • Young will never recapture a normal youth or development

• Many normal laws are ignored, changed or broken. • Murder, disappearance. • War frees some sadists to obtain legal pleasure for their brutality. • war sometimes brings out the worst in people *

• • • • • •

War has become entertainment: • War films. • Demand to see “real” wars on TV. • World public has become “desensitized to war”.

Peace is essential for a quality life *

WAR AND PEACE SOME ASPECTS

War is about death and destruction

* Text added by student shown in italics

All Societies celebrate the sacrifice of war:

War is expensive, “Big Business”: • Many countries can’t afford to feed their people but spend big money on arms. • Many countries make big money from the sale of arms. • In civil wars one group will take the wealth of the country & buy weapons to use on their own people.

Amnesty International Andres International Media Peace Movements Singers Protesters

Propaganda and censorship in War: • The first casualty of war is truth. • All governments control media outlets in war. (Novel, Gulf war.) • Underground groups spring up to ‘Talk in Whispers’ or print alternative but illegal opposing views.

• Heroes created (Anzac) • Myths created (Fighting ability of Aussie) • Martyrs created (Silver Lion from novel.) • war sometimes brings out the best in people *

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Appendix 2. Tracey’s Satiric ‘Report’ ‘Contact … obstruction to the WD for invading the WA’s space.’ As I stand here, as a spectator, I look upon the crowd with dismal pleasure. The young girl who assumes the position with the ball, focuses on her team members. She looks for a break. The defense embraces the stance, does a struddle and looks much like a headless chicken Running around, trying to follow the game, the reff calls a ‘time’. ‘GA, please report to me for a nail check up’. The GA approaches quietly and flashes her nails of victory. They are 2mm over the standard length and she is rushed to the authorities like a criminal commiting a crime. The game goes on. Spectators cry. The family scream out for victory. The tough, demanding father preaches out ‘c’mon GK, move into the defense’, the opposing father screams ‘c’mon GS, focus … no, not on me, on the blooming goal. A loud horn sounds the break, as all the team members are greeted with oranges neatly cut by the encouraging mothers. The envious sisters who hope to be a part of the game soon, lie hidden beneath the shadows. The horn sounds again, panic stations erupt, as one girl discovers her torn knee. ‘I can’t go on’, she shouts … ‘bring in the reserve’. The reserve who looks like a stunned mullet slowly walks out onto the court. The cycle begins once more. The participants take their stand. It’s the last ten minutes of the game. Cheering roars, like a lions den the crowd paces up and down the court. Viscious glances exhange from each team, as the last goal is to be shot. It braces round the rim, balancing on the goal posts edge. ‘Ooh’ comments the crowd. The ball circles then slowly drops into the victory’s game. The game is over. The winning team cheers, the loosing team cries. Mothers comfort their disappointed daughters with the routine saying ‘mabey next time love’. The game is over. The chairs and oranges are packed away in the car. The court lies bare, waiting for the next game to begin.

BRONWYN DAVIES

CHAPTER

6

JAMES COOK UNIVERSITY

Literacy and literate subjects in a Health and Physical Education class: A post-structuralist analysis

n this chapter I use post-structuralist theory to analyse the discursive practices which take place in a Health and Physical Education class two weeks before the Year 12 exam. I analyse the oral discursive practices through which students and their teacher work to produce the students as ‘literate subjects’ — in this case, literate subjects who are preparing for exams. I also examine the ways in which the female students work to produce the teacher as a literate subject. In planning this study, I use the following broad definition of literacy:

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the ability to read and use written information and to write appropriately, in a range of contexts; to develop knowledge and understanding; to achieve personal growth; and to function effectively in our society. Literacy also includes the recognition of numbers and basic mathematical signs and symbols within text plus the integration of speaking, listening and critical thinking with reading and writing. (Lokan et al., 1995, p. 32)

My major point of difference with this quote is the inclusion of the term ‘personal growth’, which suggests an essential, pre-literate self whose growth is facilitated through literacy — a bit like a plant’s growth being facilitated through the application of fertiliser and water. In a post-structuralist analysis, literacy does not just help that which is already formed to grow bigger and stronger; it actively shapes, even constitutes, in an ongoing way, the subjects who are ‘becoming literate’. In addition, I would refer to literacies, rather than literacy, and the ways in which literacies are made relevant in different contexts and which are, in turn, constitutive of those same contexts. A post-structuralist analysis enables us to consider the (literate) subject as a discursively constituted fiction, whilst recognising how powerful fictions are in constituting what we take to be ‘real’. Post-structuralist analysis enables us to view that constitutive work in practice. It examines those features of discourse that we normally disattend, not just in the words on the page or the words that are spoken, but in the texts of ‘self ’ that signify this or that kind of individual subject. In order to undertake this analysis, I was provided with four hours of videotaped data in which one student, Andrea, was filmed in six different classes over two days in late October, 1996. Also provided were the syllabus for each of the subjects in which Andrea was videotaped, the written material produced by her during the four hours, as well as the pages of the texts from which she worked. There are brief background notes on the curriculum, on assessment, on the school, the country town in which the school is located, and on Andrea. The note on Andrea reads as follows: Andrea was identified by all of her teachers as an average student in the classes she takes. Her English teacher, who had taught her since Year 9 felt that a lack of confidence in her own abilities would have to be overcome for her to participate more fully in class discussions. As the videos show, she is a relatively quiet member of the classes. At the time of data collection, she was uncertain of her future plans. She felt she would not be able to afford to go to university in the following year, but that she would have to find a job. (In subsequent contact with the school, it was established that Andrea had found work in the local Woolworths supermarket.)

The video camera is above and behind Andrea’s head, revealing little more of Andrea than her long, shining, blonde hair, which spills over her shoulders and down her back. When the teacher

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starts talking, the camera moves to place him at the centre of the screen, with Andrea’s head included as foreground. The intention was for the camera to record the literacy demands being made on Andrea, and by videotaping the classroom from ‘her point of view’ made it possible to see the teacher and classroom as she saw them. But Andrea’s point of view is not so easily captured. What appears on the video is closer to what the video camera operator took to be her view point. In choosing the teacher as the central figure to film, Andrea’s view point is constructed (fictionalised) as one in which the teacher is in central focus. And the transcription you see in this chapter is filtered again by what I consider to be relevant. I painstakingly transcribed words and movements, as though Andrea were attending to all this detail. For the most part, the camera does not record Andrea’s face, making it difficult to guess where she is looking and how much of the detail of the talk she attends to. The camera films the teacher. Andrea’s gaze possibly moves from her blank book to the pen she twiddles in her hands, to the teacher, and to the other female students when they speak. We cannot know what Andrea hears. Once, Sally, the student next to Andrea, speaks to her, and she listens carefully and shakes her head, suggesting she does not know the answer. For the most part, Andrea holds herself very still for the camera. Or perhaps she always sits so still. When the teacher is talking about the exam format, her hand goes up over her mouth. Otherwise, her posture indicates unproblematic attention to the subject matter the teacher is presenting. But such guesses about her point of view are necessarily tentative. In the 15 minutes of the Health and Physical Education lesson I chose for this analysis, Andrea engages in very little observably literate behaviour other than listening. She demonstrates readiness for literacy, however, by opening her book and holding her pen in readiness. But all she writes down is the date and time of the exam. She does not speak. It is less than two weeks before the Year 12 exam for this subject. The 15 minutes to be examined here is not radically different from the whole four hours of tape provided, as far as Andrea’s actions are concerned, except in the Creative Textiles class, where she is engaged in making some cards. Even here she speaks very little; on one occasion asking the female student next to her to comment on the design she has stencilled onto the page. Andrea is quiet and apparently compliant. She does not join in any of the banter in the classroom, and when once the English teacher asks her a question directly, she falters ‘I don’t know’ and the teacher passes on. The smaller signs indicate, though, that she knows what is going on, even though she does not orally participate. To this extent, Andrea is one of the students rarely focused on in classroom analyses. She forms part of the backdrop to the talk and action in the classroom, rather than part of the action. Yet, it is a vital background. Without these quiet, docile students, most lessons would not work. The task, then, is ironic and complex. I must examine the literacy demands of the curriculum, with Andrea as the central figure. Yet, Andrea does not speak and produces almost no writing. In what follows I examine the problems of attempting such an analysis, as well as the oral and literate practices of the teacher and some of the other students in the 15-minute segment I chose. The Health and Physical Education teacher has a loud voice. Throughout the lesson he speaks loudly, slowly and deliberately, with many pauses to lend significance to what he says. He appears to be quite young, and his bare, suntanned legs are bulging with muscles. The female students, also dressed in shorts and T-shirts, sit at their desks in a wide circle, facing him. The four male students in the room are, for the most part, silent, and are not visible in what is recorded, except for the few seconds when two of them enter the room after the teacher has begun talking. Several of the female students collaborate with the teacher to produce the observable lesson. They ask and answer questions. They gently push the teacher towards greater clarity. The male students, like Andrea, are for the most part silent. They are off camera, so it is not possible to read the texts of their bodies. Their one

LITERACY AND LITERATE SUBJECTS IN A HEALTH AND PHYSICAL EDUCATION CLASS

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contribution to the discussion is read by the teacher as offensively sexist and is treated with derision, suggesting that their silence should not be read as compliance in the way that Andrea’s might be. During the lesson, a worksheet the teacher had previously handed out is referred to. This has a week-by-week plan, and at the bottom an ‘exam focus’ question. From this it is possible to see that the teacher’s plan has been that students first consolidate their knowledge of the ‘theories of Pluralism/ Functionalism and Hegemony’. They will then read articles on social issues and extrapolate into sport. (That reading is supposed to take place during this lesson.) Later, according to the plan, they are to present panel discussions. The ‘exam focus’ question on the bottom of the handout is as follows: The images presented by the media construct social hegemony. This is in contrast with the communities [sic] views and expectations about sport. Discuss.

On Andrea’s handout she has written immediately beneath this, presumably in the earlier lesson, ‘Societies [sic] perception of sport, medias [sic] perception of sport — how is it hegemonic?’ She thus repeats his grammatical errors, adds her own, and at the same time shows an attempt at engagement with the teacher’s intended meanings. The teacher’s plan is thus theoretically challenging and ambitious. Its enactment in terms of literate practice is somewhat flawed. (The intended curriculum for Health and Physical Education in use at that time is one in which students learn ‘the use of correct grammar, spelling, punctuation and layout’ (Board of Senior Secondary School Studies, 1987, p. 3). Interestingly, neither the teacher nor the students indicate any awareness of the grammatical error in the teacher’s writing.) For ease of analysis, I divided the transcript of the classroom talk into six segments, of which three are analysed here. I have broken the text wherever there is a slight change of topic, so that the chunks for analysis are not too big. These breaks should be recognised as an imposition on the text of the talk, as the talk flows rapidly from one segment to the next. For our purposes here, though, I analyse each segment before going on to the next.

Segment 1: the exam timetable 1. Andrea (quietly and purposefully opens her note book to a blank page. Researcher places tape recorder on the desk near her. Andrea does not acknowledge her presence.) 2. T (walking in to class) Okay, we’ve got two out of the five male students in the class (unclear). 3. Ss (female) (several quietly talking, one apparently responding to the teacher’s statement) 4. T Is he? (Dressed in T-shirt, shorts and sneakers, he props himself against the desk with feet on floor in a semi-standing posture, in front of class. He looks at students. A male student enters the class.) Okay, guys (looking in the direction of the female students), we won’t hold off any longer. You should have seen by this the exam timetable. Ours wasn’t put on, supposedly, and I’m pleased Cathy brought it to my attention. It’ll be on Tuesday the 12th of the 11th. Tuesday 12th of the 11th. 5. Ss (female) (groan) 6. T Tania is the only one who will have a change. She will be taking her catering prac., which is an hour-and-a-half down to just below that. (Another male student enters the room.) So can you see (Tania moves over to the teacher to look at the timetable), you’ve got a catering exam just here on Tuesday the 12th of the 11th was the exam which overrides that, and you will have yours down (points), your prac. catering exam. Because it’s in the hall and it’s…

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7. S (female) Will I have nine to 11? 8. T Yes, it goes for an hour-and-a-half. 9. S (male) When is it nine to eleven? 10. T Yeah. 11. S (female) Nine to 10.30. 12. T Everybody see that, anybody not see that? (Passes timetable to a male student.) 13. S (female) Nine to 10.30? 14. T Yeah, about that. 15. T Oh, hang on. The exam pro forma is that you, start your exam at the appropriate time, where everybody will finish at the same time. 16. S (female) Mmm? (puzzled) 17. T Well, if you’ve got an hour-and- half exam and someone’s got an hour exam, you will start your exam before they do, so they will sit there and study until, for an extra half an hour, and then proceed with their exam. 18. S (female) And be in the hall … 19. T It’s in the hall. 20. S (female) So we sit there for half an hour? 21. T Well, you won’t, it’s an hour and a half and they’re only in hour-and-a-half blocks. You’re going to need it. 22. S (female) (unclear) Start at nine o’clock. 23. T The exam time (unclear, several students talking). If there’s a problem, any further problems, please go to the office and find out. Mr Brown needs to know straight away. (several students talking quietly) Okay. 24. Sally (quietly to Andrea) Did these come with the rolls? (Andrea shakes her head, indicating she doesn’t know. Sally then addresses her question to the teacher,) Did these come with the rolls or what? [rolls: Class rolls, which are used to mark student attendance, are distributed, along with any notices to be read, during the first five minutes of each school day.] 25. T No, it didn’t, at the moment HODs [heads of department] the only ones who have picked it up and … 26. S (female) We did get them in the roll. 27. T Did you? 28. S (female) Yeah. 29. T Oh, right. 30. S (female) (quietly) Lucky, because they’re all we’ve got.

The teacher positions himself as teacher by placing himself at the front and by remaining semistanding while the students sit at their desks. His loud voice and his display of his body suggest a specific positioning as ‘PE teacher’. His immediate reference to the male students’ absence (2) draws attention to his teacherly right to demand that students attend his lessons. The female students, by seating themselves at their desks with books and pens ready, and talking in quiet voices, position themselves as students, and in so doing, also position the teacher as teacher. In referring to the absent students as ‘male students in the class’ he draws attention to the sex of the offenders, and thus also to the sex of the non-offenders, who are quietly waiting for the lesson to begin. In their quiet reply (presumably about one of the absent male students, since the teacher responds ‘Is he?’(4)) the female students specifically constitute themselves as helpful students.


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In signalling the beginning of the lesson, the teacher addresses the students as ‘guys’ (4). It is not clear whether he has adopted this as a generic label for all students, or whether he is addressing the male students walking in at that point, reminding them that their tardiness has caused a delay in the lesson. The lesson is opened with reference to the exam timetable, and with acknowledgment of the helpfulness of a female student, Cathy (4). He carefully announces the date of the exam (4) and the students groan (5), signalling that they are listening, and that exams are not happy events. The teacher then goes on to explain to one student that her timetable is different and, in doing so, gives unclear information about the timing of the exam. Two of the students had prompted this error by talking about nine to 11 as the time of the exam (7, 9). When the teacher falls in with this error (10), a female student quietly corrects him (11, 13), which he vaguely accepts with ‘Yeah, about that’ (14). He then produces, as an afterthought, a very unclear statement about the exam arrangements (15) and the lack of clarity is signalled by a female student’s puzzled query ‘Mmm?’ (16). He then produces a clearer explication which, as it turns out, was not relevant to these students. When one of the female students tries to establish whether it is relevant to them (20) he re-positions himself as the authoritative teacher and them as subordinate students by telling them they will need all the time they have been allocated for the exam (21). The teacher decides to end the talk of timetables by telling them to take up the responsibility Cathy had displayed earlier, and to check for themselves whether the timetable is workable. Sally is bothered by this because she has not received a copy of the timetable. She first asks Andrea and then the teacher if they were handed out with the rolls. Again, the teacher speaks authoritatively (25), but is wrong, and a female student quietly corrects him (26). This time he accepts the correction (27-29) and another female student’s quiet comment that follows suggests he is not to be relied on for information (30). The teacher is only able to produce himself as literate here, in the sense of being able to communicate effectively, with a great deal of support from the female students. His loud, authoritative style signals one who is competent and in charge. The detail of his talk requires substantial repair work by the female students before it is comprehensible, or even correct.

Segment 2: preparing notes for the open-book exam 1. T

All right, next thing you want, uh look at, is, Martin came up with an idea ... he said, ‘Oh, look can I do, you know, talk about how one cell or one particular entity in the ahh community can be hegemonic, and hive that sort of information?’ I want to discourage you going into the exam with a preconceived idea of the question, or, going in with only one view of our topic, because looking at uh pluralism and hegemony, you’re going to have to know that broad scope information, so, no matter what question turns up you can answer it, so don’t go in there with a preconceived idea. Next point, the hanging files are littered, literally stacked with stuff on this information, women in sport, violence, and so on. Go and see them, you will get a lot of information out of it, and remember ( ) you’re going to have to extrapolate, ooh a big word, for you to get information to … 2. S (female) (unclear but humorous tone of voice, a male student laughs) 3. T Yeah, I know (chuckles). So you’re going to have to use the information that’s there, and then say, OK, how can I adapt this to my, what I need. Okay? It’s an open-book exam. You can only take your notes into the exam. (Moves to another table and picks up an article and shows the class.) So, if you sit up there and get copies of 45 articles, I won’t let you in the exam with them.

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I’ll stand at the front door and say ‘No, you can’t do it’. (Places article back on the table and moves back and props himself on the front desk.) 4. S (female) (unclear) 5. T You can only take your notes in. You can take photocopied handwritten notes, but that’s it. 6. S (female) Can you? So you can get someone’s notes and copy them? 7. T You can. Before people sort of rush out and do that, I think it’s pretty important to realise, open-book exams can actually look a sucker fair in the face and then, there, you either take too much information in … 8. S (female) Take too long to look for it? 9. T Or you sit there and you take too long to look for it. A good way to do it, if you’ve got a book like this, or a umm A4 paper like that, or a pad like this, (moves around pointing at the items), your best bet is to tag it. 10. S (female) Meaning? 11. T Well, if you’ve got some information on that page, and then just write a small note on the side. It’s like one of those alphabet little calendars where you just run your fingers down to the right letter and flip it over. Same thing with this. It stops you from sitting there meandering through a whole heap of information that you don’t need. Okay, it’s only your information should only be there if you need to, a quick brush, ohh, I’ve just forgotten the exact wording or whatever. Okay don’t fall back on it and think you’re going to research the question. You do not have the time. Okay. (minor interruption) Okay guys, let’s keep going. Let’s get in and getting your reading base well and truly umm on board at the moment, please. If you find a good copy of something that you really think is interesting, let everybody else have a look at it.

In this segment the teacher continues to produce himself as authoritative, but does so with a rather original use of words. He uses ‘hive’ as a verb, presumably meaning ‘to collect’. They are not to ‘hive’ information on one ‘cell’ or ‘entity’ in the community (1). He tells the students not to have a ‘preconceived idea’ of the question (1), as though the lesson were not precisely about how to think ahead about what the exam question might be. He tells them he wants them to have ‘broad scope information’ in order to look at ‘hegemony and pluralism’. He names particular topics they might look for, despite his warning not to take up Martin’s idea to look for information on one topic (1). In establishing what they can take into the exam with them, the teacher constitutes himself as the authority who will stand at the door and tell them what they can and cannot take in (3). (Will he examine every page, I wonder, and how long will this take?) In allowing only handwritten notes into the exam, he seems to be valorising the labour of writing, giving it greater value than printed or typed text. Even a photocopy of someone else’s handwriting is to be preferred over notes compiled out of printed text. He warns the students not to take too many notes into the exam and a female student offers him words to use (8), which he accepts (9). He then produces an idea about how they can organise their notes for the exam to make them readily accessible. They can ‘tag’ them. In order to prompt clarification of the idea, a female student asks ‘Meaning?’ (10) and he describes what he means using the words ‘alphabet little calendar’, presumably to indicate ‘address book’. (11). By such requests for elaboration, the female students constitute him as one who has valuable information. The teacher then emphasises that they cannot expect to research the question in the exam, but that they can only use the notes as a resource when they have forgotten the exact wording of something (11). His authoritative tone of voice and his careful repairs of his positioning as ‘teacher’, that is, as one who holds valuable knowledge and has the right to exert authority (segment 1, 21), work to sustain the fiction of the teacher as teacher, as one who has and will pass on valuable strategies to the students for becoming literate subjects. The teacher ends this sequence of talk with a request


that they share any good resources. I wonder how anyone in the class would know what a good resource is in this context?

Segment 4: teaching by example 1.T Okay, and so we have to look at, how does, how does TV, portray women in sport? Suggestions. 2. S (female) Sex objects. 3. S (female) Sex objects. 4. T Sex objects. 5. S (female) Passive. 6. T Passive? Yeah, passive. How much? 7. S (female) Not as important. 8. T How much women’s rugby union or rugby league do you see? 9. S (female) None. 10. T Anything else? 11. S (female) Women are not as important. 12. T Not as important. 13. S (female) They have to be really beautiful and not, not have anything wrong with them. 14. S (female) Not so talented. 15. T Yes, they’re not as fast and they’re not as aggressive, so what have they got to do? They’ve got to wear body suits to touch or they’ve got to be … 16. S (female) Got bikinis in the booklet. 17. T Okay, they wear bikinis, you know umm … 18. S (female) They’ve got to play beach volleyball and have a beautiful tan. 19. T Yeah, well look at the males. The males in the beach volleyball don’t wear swimmers do they? 20. S (female) No, women wear swimmers. 21. T No, they wear a pair of shorts and a T-shirt or a singlet and that’s it. Women, what do they wear? 22. S (female) Little shorts. 23. T Full bikini, that’s it. If you look at … okay, let’s look at those few that you’ve got. How was that influencing the way we generally see women? 24. S (female) In the community? 25. T In the community. Are women … 26. S (female) (unclear). 27. T Yeah. 28. S (female) They’re not as important in, you know, things like politics or … 29. T Thank you, anything else? 30. S (female) That to be like good at their sport or recognised for their sport they have to be beautiful. 31. T Yeah, they have to be beautiful, good, and work 15 times harder than anybody else. 32. S (female) So is that what you can talk about in the exam? How the media … 33. T Well, you know, hang on. That’s a focus remember. 34. S (female) That’s not, what I’m saying is the focus that you’ve given us doesn’t talk about that. It doesn’t say how the media influences me and you. It says the media is in contrast to the community. 35. T Okay, well just turn the tables around then. What is it looking at? What’s contrast? 36. S (female) The differences. 37. T The differences. Okay. Compare and contrast, similarities, differences. So what’s happening?

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Come on, think, if we said the media’s doing this and you’re looking at a contrast view of it in the society. 38. S (female) The community’s starting to realise that that’s not true or right. 39. S (female) We’re trying to change it.

Following an earlier attempt to explain how the possible exam question, the ‘focus’ and their research might fit together, the teacher decides to illustrate what he is talking about with an example. He chooses women in sport as the specific topic and asks how the media represents them (1). The female students give him a range of answers and all are accepted (2–14), though ‘passive’ is accepted with a momentary questioning (6). He asks ‘How much women’s rugby union or rugby league do you see?’ (8), as though these (male) sports were unquestionably the most important sports that women might be seen in. He does this rather than draw attention to the amount of high-quality coverage women’s netball was receiving at the time, presumably since he does not consider it as important, or because it would interrupt the simplistic binary they are jointly constructing. He then appears to make a statement of fact about women’s actual inferiority (15). He goes on to argue that women can only gain media attention by being sexually attractive, while men do not have to do this (15, 19, 21). He then asks how these media images influence general perceptions (23). The female students’ descriptions of how women in the community are perceived are, for the most part, similar to the earlier list. The teacher cuts the talk short and says ‘Yeah, they have to be beautiful, good, and work 15 times harder than anybody else’ (31). Which is, of course, exactly what these female students are doing in this class. In other words, the talk is ostensibly about a perception ‘in the community’, but the ‘perception’ is uncomfortably close to the surface features of this classroom. The teacher does not, of course, draw attention to this, presumably since it would undermine his intention to focus on ‘perceptions’. Or, perhaps, he is not aware of the parallel. One of the female students then attempts to bring the discussion back to the exam, and to the task they face of constituting themselves as literate subjects in the discourses of Health and Physical Education (32). She is cut down mid-sentence by the teacher, who reiterates his confusing view of the function of the ‘exam focus’ question (33). But the student persists. She tries to show how what they have been talking about does not fit the focus question. The neat fit they have just achieved, in their talk, between the images in the media and the perceptions in the community is not what the question calls for (34). The teacher defensively latches on to the word ‘contrast’ in the original question, and reduces the question to a much simpler question of the ‘compare and contrast’ variety, presumably to justify why they have been talking about similarities rather than differences. All attempts on his part to produce in his talk the connection between the theories and the specific issues are abandoned. Instead, he pushes the students to produce the answers. ‘Come on, think,’ he commands them, as though the answers were obvious and they were simply not thinking hard enough (37). The female students’ answers are interesting. One describes society as capable of literate critique (38). ‘We’re trying to change it,’ says another (39) (whom does she mean by ‘we’?). Not this class with this teacher; though in the next segment he strongly aligns himself with those trying to change society in his fierce put-down of what he considers to be a sexist comment from one of the boys.

Segment 6: back to the exam question 1. S (female) (Student raises her hand.) Will the question be a general question or just based on one specific topic like the media or gender or violence? 2. T To be really honest with you, I think it will be a general question.


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3. S (female) That’s good. (Several students talk at once.) 4. T Yeah, okay. But, as I said, don’t go in the way Martin was going or and don’t take that question as gospel. It is only a focus. And say, well, hey, this is the way it’s looking at it. Okay. One type of question that you may have to look at, it’s where planning … 5. S (female) Do you have to have a reference? 6. T Umm, with notes in there you can reference, yes. Okay. 7. S (female) Does it matter if you don’t? 8. T If you’re going to be an A-standard student with an open-book exam, yes, I’d expect you to have to do that. 9. S (female) Like properly reference stuff? 10. T Yes. 11. S (female) To reference page number? 12. T Yep. 13. S (female) Huh huh. 14. S (female) Crap, that’s boring, that would take too much time. (Others laugh.) 15. T I don’t think so. 16. S (female) Yeah. 17. T I mean, that’s what I’m saying, you’re going to try and search through your information to find something that’s appropriate. You should have a fair idea of the topic that you’re looking at and the other stuff. Oh yeah, I have a general idea that it’s on these pages. So just pull down to the page and look through it, you know, you don’t sort of start at the front page and start reading trying to hopefully come up with some idea that there’s a quote in here for me somewhere. Don’t let an open-book exam fool you. It’s a sucker’s way of being hit fair and square between the eyes and fail miserably. Because they think ‘Oh, it’s cool, I can take my gear in with me.’ Okay, I’ve spent enough time talking, get going please. Hanging files, if the computer’s in terms with umm media scan, a media search that’s alright. There’s the sociology magazines. 18. S (female) ( ) 19. T There’s heaps just there, you know, and I mean just because you have an article does not necessarily mean it’s going to be the be all and end all. But you can read it and you may extrapolate from it. (Students begin to stand.) 20. S (female) (Unclear — students laugh.) 21. T Do me a favour. Join into small groups and make the effort to work as a team. You’re going to cut your work load down, as I’ve said. There is a huge amount of information. (Teacher moves over and kneels in front of one of the students to talk while other students go to the files.)

The teacher’s words ‘To be really honest with you, I think ...’ suggest he does not know for sure what the question is. But the school sets the questions and the extent and nature of the students’ questioning suggest that they believe he knows the wording of the question. The teacher attempts again to make the connections clear between being specific, the focus question and the exam question. He finally reveals that the focus question is an example of the type of question they will be asked (4). He begins to lecture them on good planning and they interrupt with a question about the exact requirements for referencing (5–13). (Presumably now that the larger question has been answered they can get down to a detailed description of how to produce themselves as literate in the exam context.) The teacher explains how detailed referencing will enable them to be read as A-standard students (8). One of the female students jokingly objects to this requirement (14), causing laughter.

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He then refers to his advice about tagging their notes for ease of reference, and about not being ‘a sucker’ who thinks it’s easy because you can take notes in with you (17). He also returns to his ‘big word’ from the beginning of the lesson — ‘extrapolate’. That is what they have to be able to do (19). Finally, he asks them to go to the files and to share the work (21). And what of Andrea? As I mentioned earlier, she does not engage in any of this oral production of herself as some of the other girls do. She says little, giving greater attention to the more private act of writing. After the last segment ends, Andrea and Sally go together to the files. At first Sally actively hunts for articles, which she hands to Andrea. Andrea holds them and looks through them, skimming them briefly. Sally finally hands her a box and tells her to look, too. They collect some articles and return to their desks to copy out some passages for their exam notes. Andrea laboriously copies out a table of hours of televised coverage of sport in 1990, published in 1992, but which includes no data on differences between coverage of male and female sport. She carefully puts in the authors’ names, the name of the book and the date and page number. She then copies some quotes out of The Gen, choosing the words in bold type, from an article on women and advertising; for example, ‘No matter how fat and ugly they may be, older men are used to convey experience, prestige or knowledge but older women seldom appear’. Her own notes read ‘Advertising — subtly and repeatedly portray men as the decision makers, the authority figures, the ones with power, money and prestige, and women as passive, dependent and powerless, thus adverts promote inequality’. This is not referenced or placed in inverted commas, even though it is only minutely different from the words in the article. This suggests that Andrea does not have a reliable concept of what plagiarism is. She also finds a snippet in The Gen about the percentage of coverage of men’s and women’s sport in the media, which she copies down without the page reference. She has apparently listened to the instructions about referencing, and has constituted herself in her note taking as an ‘A-standard student’ by recording the reference details (though they are not complete). She has also, apparently, read the class discussion as relevant to the exam question, even though the explicit instructions are to research in a broader way. This suggests the kind of ‘cue consciousness’ associated with success in exams (Miller & Parlett, 1976). (The vocal girls were more like Miller & Parlett’s ‘cue seekers’ who are, of course, even more successful in exams.) As mentioned earlier, Andrea went on to work at Woolworths, but we were not told what grade she achieved in the exam. This information may serve to further constitute her in the eyes of others as average, and as not-university-material. Her failure to engage in classroom talk was used as evidence by the English teacher of ‘lack of confidence’. I wonder whether that teacher would use the male students’ failure to talk to constitute them in the same way? My assumption in setting out to analyse this classroom material, was to ‘find the ways’ in which students were constituted as literate subjects. I did not expect that the teacher would be inadvertently teaching the students to be illiterate, nor that the students would be working to constitute the teacher as literate. There is no evidence in the analysis of the talk that Andrea is any more or less literate than the teacher, yet the supportive work the female students engage in to sustain the fiction of him as literate and as authoritative enables that fiction to be taken as real. His noisy confidence suggests he is happy to accept that reality. No-one does similar support work for Andrea. The fiction of herself as literate subject is a solo performance. At the same time, she too is party to the constitutive work that sustains the teacher as teacher. She does not draw attention to his weaknesses, which the camera would so easily have allowed her to do, simply with an occasional, discreet raised eyebrow in the direction of the camera operator. Clearly, there are many literacies presented as relevant in this classroom. These might be grouped together as: the discourses and practices of hegemonic masculinity (with all the contradictions and


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contestations this now implies); the discourses and practices of femininity and, in particular, of competent female studenthood (again with all the tensions and differences of interpretation this entails); theoretical literacy (as it is made relevant in the handout); practical literacy (as it is relevant to passing exams and gaining access to administrative information); and, finally, written forms of literacy (such as copying information from books). The competent engagement in the acts of communication which are necessary to ‘function effectively in our society’ require active knowledge of all of these discourses and practices, and more. While we tend to think of literacy as primarily involving acts of reading and writing, what this analysis shows is that literate practice is much broader than this. It is all too easy to forget about the centrality and importance of orality (Davies & Corson, 1997). It is, at the same time, difficult to grasp the extraordinary complexity of juggling the many and contradictory discourses that we simultaneously engage in as we constitute ourselves and are constituted in one way or another. What is necessarily foregrounded in this paper is the ascendancy of the group of girls who set out to gain the information and knowledge they need for competent studenthood, while maintaining the teacher’s dominant masculinity and their own subordinate femininity. These are the forms of literacy visibly taken up and made relevant in this classroom, and the ascendant group of girls shows greater skill in managing these than the teacher does. Andrea does not visibly take any of them up and so, regretfully, I too, make her largely invisible in a paper that sets out to analyse data in which she is intended to be the central figure. Her production of herself is as ‘good girl’ in this classroom: she is compliant, unresisting, obedient and attractive; a version of femininity that still has some currency in the society in which she must learn to ‘function effectively’, but which may not be of much value in acquiring the knowledges she needs to be the A-grade student she would seem to want to be. I would like to thank Pam Gilbert and Shirley Grundy for their comments on an earlier version of this chapter.

BRIAN CAMBOURNE

CHAPTER

7

UNIVERSITY OF WOLLONGONG

Literacy and learning in senior schooling: The Legal Studies classroom as an instructive case Setting the scene: A day in the life of …

In August 1996, Amy, a Year 12 Student, was in her 2 Unit Legal Studies Class at a senior college in Sydney. There were between seven and nine other students in this class. They sat at rectangular tables arranged in parallel rows, all facing the same way. A teacher’s table was placed at the front of the room, just to one side and in front of a whiteboard. To the side of the board was a pin-board with a display of faded texts pinned to it. The teacher’s table had a carry-basket on it, from which spilled a confusion of books and papers. There were chart-like materials affixed to the walls around the room. It was difficult to tell whether these were related to the Legal Studies course this class was taking, or whether they belonged to another class that might also use the room. The teacher was a female in her 30s, dressed casually. She appeared to be friendly but firm, and was on a first-name basis with the students. On this day, she stood to the left of the table and began to speak to the students. The following is a small portion of a ‘specimen record’ (Wright, 1967) created after multiple viewings of a video recording of this class.

The teacher informs the students that there are resources in the library associated with the topic they are studying, and that these resources will be placed on special reserve, which means that they can’t be borrowed. She informs the class that these resources contain ‘good information,’ and that the students should be using ‘other sources’. She then hands out a worksheet, the last page of which is a crossword puzzle. The teacher jokes about being ‘clever’ for devising a crossword for such senior students to complete. She then informs the class that the intent of the current session is ‘revision’, and that the worksheet is the medium for this revision. Amy appears to be listening. She has a textbook open in front of her, and behaves as though she is seeking answers to the questions or instructions on the worksheet from the textbook. She fiddles with the recorder on the desk in front of her, and then waves at the camera. She is obviously conscious of being observed. She listens to the chitchat going on between a couple of male students and the teacher, and then begins to read from the worksheet and the textbook. She copies from the textbook onto the worksheet. While she’s doing this, the teacher’s voice can be heard responding to a few task-related questions from other students. The message from the teacher is essentially about the importance of the task and its relationship to the forthcoming exam. The teacher then ceases talking and the students are also quiet. Amy appears to be concentrating on the worksheet and the textbook, and continues to read from the book and the worksheet, and to write in the spaces provided. She appears to have the book open at the appropriate page and is engaged in a cycle of: reading from worksheet, reading from book, tapping her pencil, writing an answer. She responds to a peer, who asks a question about the tape recorder, then stares into space as though thinking. Writes a few more words. Amy writes some more, goes to turn the page several times, but hesitates, re-reads from the text, and then writes on the worksheet. The teacher’s voice can be heard in the background, responding to other students’ questions and comments. Amy’s hand moves from the right to the left page of the text. She writes some more on her worksheet. She appears to read the last part of right-hand page, and then turns the page. She leans forward as though to write on the worksheet, hesitates, flips back through the textbook for several pages. Her behaviour resembles ‘skim-reading’. A mobile phone rings somewhere in the classroom. Amy grins to herself. All this time the teacher has been interacting with other students, responding to questions to do with the task in which the class is currently engaged.

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The role of literacy in Amy’s behaviour stream This is one small segment from Amy’s on-going stream of behaviour. It represents a sample of the multiplicity of behaviour episodes in which Amy might participate on any school day during the academic year. In this segment, Amy engages in a range of behaviours that can be subsumed under the broad label ‘literacy-related behaviours’. These are behaviours that involve her in the construction of systems of meaning around specific areas of knowledge, by responding to, creating and exploring oral and written texts. In this small segment, the meanings Amy constructs are predominantly associated with that part of her senior school curriculum known as ‘Legal Studies’. She listens to her teacher’s and her peers’ oral language; she uses oral language to respond to comments and questions from her teacher; she uses oral language to request and convey information pertinent to the lesson; she reads the written language on the worksheet and from the text book; she writes responses in the appropriate spaces on the worksheet; she skim-reads the textbook; she views the pictures and diagrams associated with the material she reads; she appears to be composing silently just prior to engaging in writing. On one level, Amy’s literacy-related behaviours in this segment are similar to those in which she is likely to engage in other subjects she takes. Not only will she be expected to read, write, listen, respond orally, skim-read, compose silently and view in Contemporary English, Mathematics in Society, Economics, Retail, and the Business Studies subjects she takes, she will also be expected to engage in a range of other behaviours associated with the construction of meanings inherent in these subjects. However, on another level the literacy behaviours in which she engages are quite different from those she’ll be expected to use in other subjects she studies. Obviously, the content of what she reads, listens to, talks about, writes etc. will differ from subject to subject. Not only will the content differ, but the specific purposes, audiences and outcomes of the literacy behaviours in which she engages will differ from subject to subject. Furthermore, if she doesn’t miss a day’s school through illness or other misadventure, she will have logged just under 1000 hours of participation in such classes during this academic year. If literacy-related behaviours in these other subjects occur at even onetenth of the rate they occur in this small segment, the sheer number of literacy-related behaviours in which she actually engages during the course of an academic year begin to take on astronomical proportions. We can be reasonably certain that Amy’s school-based literacy experiences are not unique. It is very likely that thousands of other senior secondary school students have similar experiences in the course of a school day, as they move from class to class. Unfortunately, we can’t be sure about much else that occurs in these post-compulsory classrooms, especially with respect to literacy and the role it plays in learning and knowledge construction. While there has been a plethora of research and theory building about literacy acquisition, methods of teaching literacy in the early grades of school, early intervention, reading failure, and assessment and evaluation of literacy levels, there has been little done with respect to how it is used, or what it is used for, in the later years of schooling. This project provides a much-needed opportunity to redress this imbalance. Its major purpose is to understand rather than prove . It seeks to understand how literacy and learning phenomena are enacted in the post-compulsory secondary classroom. It does not seek to ‘prove’ cause–effect relationships between any variables that might be present. Because of this, it has been located within the ‘naturalistic’ or ‘constructivist’ paradigm of inquiry. The focus of the inquiry, indeed the analytic unit of research, is the post-secondary classroom. The methodology used makes it possible to

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address questions that more traditional, hypothesis-testing research models cannot address; questions such as: What are these classrooms like? How do students such as Amy live that part of their lives known as the Year 12 Legal Studies Unit 2 curriculum? What goes on here with respect to learning and knowledge construction? What goes on in these settings with respect to literacy? These questions, in turn, beg a set of prior questions: What happens in these classrooms? How do they ‘work’? Why do they work that way? What factors and forces shape them? What kinds of learning cultures are created within them? Why do they work in the ways they do? What kinds of literacy are promoted in them? Such questions assume that classrooms are ecological contexts that can be systematically studied. As such, they require a robust theoretical orientation from which to frame, guide and direct inquiry. The conceptual framework known as ‘ecological psychology’ (Barker, 1968) provides such an orientation.

The ecology of classroom learning and literacy use: a framework for classroom inquiry The major tenet of ecological psychology is that the environment is connected with human behaviour in lawful and predictable ways. By ‘lawful and predictable’, Barker means that what happens within them can be explained by theoretical principles that are empirically grounded. The unit of analysis which Barker and his colleagues developed to conduct their research is the ‘behaviour setting’ (Barker & Associates, 1978). According to Barker, behaviour settings are ‘stable, concrete environmental units’, where people engage in behaviour. They are ‘stable’ because they continue to exist day after day. They are ‘concrete environmental units’ because they are located within physical and temporal boundaries that are easily recognised. Examples of behaviour settings abound in the world. The church service at St James each Sunday at 9.00 am is one. So too is Woolworths, the Red Rose Café, the saloon bar at the Oxford Pub in Wollongong, the corner newsagency. All are stable, all are bounded by physical and temporal boundaries. All are ‘natural’ in the sense that they have not been created by researchers for research purposes. All have two classes of components: namely (a) humans behaving (praying, listening, singing hymns, buying and selling goods) and (b) non-psychological objects (paraphernalia) with which behaviour is transacted, such as pews, hymn books, glasses, chairs, walls, doors, goods etc. In each of them, both the behaviour and the physical objects that constitute them are internally organised and arranged to form patterns that are not random. All are predictable in terms of the behaviours that are likely to occur within them, given normal, everyday circumstances and the purposes for which they are set up. It would be highly unlikely for the patterns of behaviour which occur in the saloon bar of the Oxford to also occur at the 9.00 am service at St James, or vice versa, even if the same people were involved. Post-compulsory secondary classrooms such as those in which Amy and her peers spend so much time can be characterised in the same way. Not only are they ‘stable, concrete environmental units where people engage in behaviour’ (the teaching and learning of subjects such as Legal Studies and Business Studies), but they are capable of being understood and explained (that is, ‘analysed’) in terms of the interactions and tensions between three classes of variable, namely: • the physical properties of the setting • the number and character of that setting’s human components • the program(s) of events which typically occur within that setting’s organisation.


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In this chapter, this theoretical framework is used to explore the nature of the teaching, learning, knowledge construction and literacy behaviours that are demanded of and coerced from students who enter a specific kind of post-compulsory classroom setting, namely Unit 2 Legal Studies, at a senior college in the New South Wales school system.

The nature of the data collected The methodology employed in this study generated two broad categories of data.

1. ‘Frozen’ records of classroom behaviour These comprised four hours of video recordings of consecutive lessons of three Year 12 students. The students were enrolled in a course of study that included subjects which had a vocational focus. This chapter focuses on analysis of lessons in the course Legal Studies.

2. Paraphernalia with which these students interacted This comprised a range of artefacts related to each lesson’s content and purposes. These included worksheets designed by the teacher, reading materials with which the students interacted during or prior to the lessons, records of teacher notes and questions from the board, and notes copied from the board. These data were collected from ‘experimenter-free’ sites, using relatively non-obtrusive procedures. The research design was one which emphasised low degrees of experimenter control.

Procedures employed in analysing the data Five distinct analytic procedures were employed.

1. Making specimen records of student and teacher behaviour ‘Specimen records’ are ‘detailed narrative accounts’ of an individual’s stream of behaviour in any particular setting (Barker & Associates, 1978). They are analogous to very rich, detailed field notes written by an unobtrusive observer. After repeated viewings of the four hours of video recording, specimen records of the behaviour of the three students were made. These were then used to generate a specimen record of each teacher’s behaviour in the respective classrooms. An example of a specimen record is contained in ‘A day in the life of . . .’ above.

2. Identifying the paraphernalia used in lessons Within behaviour settings, it is possible to identify physical paraphernalia (sometimes called ‘behaviour objects’), which on the surface may appear to have distinct qualities, but which are interdependent with, and affect, the behaviour which occurs. In this study, those paraphernalia that were clearly and unequivocally associated with activities which led to students constructing systems of meaning and knowledge in Legal Studies were identified for

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further analysis. Five broad categories of paraphernalia were identified as pertinent to this study: wall charts, worksheets, a textbook, texts photocopied by the teacher and the whiteboard.

3. Episode analysis Episode analysis necessitated repeated re-readings of the specimen records of each of the students and teachers, for purposes of identifying units of behaviour. As stated above, the analytic unit employed in this study was the ‘behaviour setting’ as defined by Barker, namely ‘a set of physical paraphernalia arranged and organised in a certain way, plus standing patterns of behaviour and activity in which the human components of these settings typically engage’ (Barker & Associates, 1978). Within behaviour settings, it is possible to identify segments of behaviour that have a recognisable beginning and end, an overarching ‘concern’ (‘business’, ‘what it is about’) and a particular form of activity (an ‘activity pattern’) associated with it. They are sub-units within the setting, called ‘episodes’. For example, some of the episodes that occurred in the specimen records of Amy’s Legal Studies setting described above were: listening to teacher set scene for lesson; listening to teacher set scene for worksheet activity; completing worksheet; highlighting newspaper article; and marking worksheet.

4. Second-level analysis A second level of analysis was then attempted. This involved drawing the analyses done in Step 2 (Identifying the paraphernalia used in lessons) with Step 3 (Episode analysis) into a more complex ‘framework’ that would permit further exploration of the setting, especially with respect to the way in which the curriculum was enacted. Basically, the analytic processes involved in developing this framework included: • Identifying and naming each episode in each specimen record. • Identifying and labelling the ‘concern’ (‘business’) of each episode in terms of the subject being taught. • Identifying and summarising the main message(s) a student could potentially receive from the episode (the ‘Potential message’). • Identifying and labelling the standing patterns of literacy behaviour that students were expected use if they were going to participate effectively in the episode (‘Expected literacy behaviours’). • Listing the paraphernalia with which students ‘cognitively’ interact during the episode (‘Behaviour objects’). Table 1 is an example of this framework.

5. Third-level analysis It became apparent that there was another layer of information embedded in the framework (Table 1), which the second-level analysis had generated. Not only did the specimen records of the students’ behaviour identify the behaviour objects with which they interacted, but it was possible to further analyse these behaviour objects in terms of the specific kinds of literacy/language skills and understandings that they demanded from the students. Accordingly, each worksheet, assessment task, highlighted newspaper cutting and so on that was identified as a ‘behaviour object’ was individually analysed from this perspective. Table 2 is an abbreviated example of this third level of analysis.


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Table 1. A sample of Amy’s data, reconstructed using the framework developed for second level of analysis Episode

‘Concern’ or ‘business’

Potential message

Expected literacy behaviours

Behaviour objects

Setting scene for lesson

Transmission of information regarding 1. Resources in library 2. Purpose of session

These resources and this lesson are very important for exam.

Listening to and understanding teacher’s oral language.

Wall charts: Potential objects with which Amy might interact. No evidence that she did.

Seat work using worksheet

Revise content of prior lessons and provide opportunity to consolidate knowledge and understanding of topic.

The knowledge being revisited per this worksheet is important for exam.

Construction of meaning using the written form of language, includes any one or all of the following: reading, writing, responding to instructions on worksheet, reading from textbook, finding information, copying it into space on worksheet.

Worksheet, textbook

Highlighting newspaper clipping

Selecting relevant information for assessment task

Students should draw on different sources of information when preparing for exam.

Skim-reading, reading deeply, deciding which information is relevant to task, listening to teacher’s comments.

Copy of newspaper article, highlighter pen, folder of previously filed handouts

Marking Worksheet

Self-evaluation of answers to worksheet questions. Opportunity for further probing, comments, elaboration by teacher.

There is one right answer to these problems. The textbook contains the information that needs to be reproduced for the exam.

Listening to peer’s responses, reading own response, judging degree to which own answer matches that read by peer, listening to teacher’s comments and asking questions of and/or commenting on peer or teacher responses.

Textbook, worksheet

Break

Recover from intensity of concentration during worksheet exercise.

N/A

N/A

N/A

Resumption of marking worksheet

As above.

As above.

Reading, writing, responding to instructions on worksheet, copying information from textbook onto worksheet.

As above.

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Table 2. Example of third-level analysis: the Legal Studies worksheet 1. Format of Worksheet There were 15 questions on the worksheet, ranging over the following types of cognitive activity: • Yes/No recall of factual information • Short-answer recall of factual information • Short-answer recall of factual information with explanation • Short-answer explanation/interpretation only • Cloze answer based on definition • Short-answer interpretation of metaphor (‘Glass ceiling’). There were 15 sentence-sized spaces for answers (even for Y/N question). 2. Language used on Worksheet Q. 1: Specialised vocabulary (‘traditional role’, ‘peasant families’, middle/upper class) Complex syntax (‘from both ... and …’) constructions Q. 2: Specialised concepts (‘role/importance’) Specialised linguistic skill (‘ explain’) Ambiguous referent (‘this time’) Q. 3: Specialised vocabulary (‘concept of marriage’, ‘today’s society’) Ambiguous referent (‘this’ referring back to a concept in a previous question) Q. 4: Name of special person and role in history (‘Emmiline Pankhurst’) Genre of revision question (‘What is she known for’) 3. Amy’s Responses Q. 1: Language used is very textbookish, but speculative(‘peasant women usually had a share. . .’, ‘breed male heirs’) with occasional lapses to less formal language ( ‘… and usually had a say in …’). Use of passive academic prose ‘ . . . women were supported by . . .’ (unsure whether this was copied from text with a minor paraphrase to fit the space left for the question). Couple of spelling errors and punctuation omissions. Q. 2: Appears to be an amalgam of three facts, which address the question. Possibly copied from the text book and ‘cobbled’ together (a form of lowlevel paraphrase). Q. 3: Omitted. Q. 4: A nonsentential answer — possibly a copied phrase. Explicit Messages Given on Worksheet: • • •

Name of course (Legal Studies) Section of course (Case Study Women) Purpose of worksheet (revision questions) Date:? Amy didn’t fill in date.

Implicit Messages in Worksheet •

Some words in bold (means these are important – students need to know this).


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The second and third levels of analysis generated data that were then subjected to the ‘hermeneutic dialectic process’: hermeneutic because it is interpretative in character, and dialectic because it represents a comparison and contrast of divergent views with a view to achieving a higher-level synthesis of them all, in the Hegelian sense. Nevertheless, the major purpose of this process is not to justify one’s own construction or to attack the weaknesses of constructions offered by others, but to form a connection between them that allows their mutual exploration by all parties (Guba & Lincoln, 1989, p. 149).

By applying this hermeneutic dialectic process to the analysis of apparently divergent data, I attempted to synthesise the information in a way that would assist in understanding how learning, literacy, and knowledge were ‘enacted’ in Year 12 subjects.

Results of analysis Four themes emerged from the application of this process to these data: 1. The power and ubiquity of the teacher 2. The nature of teaching and learning in these settings 3. The discourse of the Year 12 Legal Studies classroom 4. The ideological parameters of the Year 12 Legal Studies classroom.

1. The power and ubiquity of the teacher One of the most significant findings that emerged from this analysis was the power and ubiquity of the teacher. The events in these classrooms involved one group of adults (students), behaving in ways that had been largely determined by one other adult (the teacher). Between them, students and teachers had created a culture in which in-built rules and ways of behaving and responding were adhered to by all who entered the setting. But it was the teacher whose influence was most pervasive. She was involved in almost all of the significant parts of the classroom setting. She decided who would talk, who would read, who would respond, what would be read, what would be written about in these settings. She signalled the beginnings and endings of most of the episodes that occurred. She managed the transitions between episodes. She defined the content and form of student action. In summary, it could be said that the teachers in these classrooms influenced the purposes, practices and processes that occurred in these settings to a significantly higher degree than any other adult who chose to enter them. The power of the teacher was reflected by the fact that, except for some minor challenges to these purposes, practices and procedures, they were complied with in full. It is difficult to imagine another setting in our culture in which groups of 18–19-year-old adults would be prepared to let another adult dictate so much of what they do. It is as though the teacher had been able to create a setting which gave the message: ‘You are now in a senior secondary classroom. The things you do here and the ways in which you behave are not to be confused with things and behaviours at other times or in other places.’ This nexus between the ubiquity and power of the teacher was reinforced throughout the data analysis. Even though the camcorder was set up in order to record the on-going streams of behaviour from the perspectives of individual students in the setting, I found myself continually focusing on the teacher: what she said, what she did, where she stood, and so on. Why? The study of an individual’s behaviour in any habitat is not the same as the study of that habitat

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per se. While studying the behaviour in these classrooms from the perspective of each of the individual students yielded data on those aspects of the setting with which each of them had some kind of transaction, it did not allow for the conceptualisation of the environment as a setting which a number of human components were simultaneously experiencing. However, it was possible to use teachers’ behaviour as a source from which a comprehensive picture of the setting qua setting could be derived. The teachers were the single human component in these settings which were significantly involved in just about everything that happened within them. Using a teacher’s behaviour to recreate the nature of the setting yielded a more holistic, inclusive and accurate picture of the setting than using a single student’s behaviour. Only the teacher’s special power and ubiquity make this possible. There are few other settings where this would be so. This, of course, begs some other important questions: How is this power and ubiquity played out in these classrooms? How does it shape the way in which the curriculum is enacted? The next section focuses on some of the issues embedded in these questions.

2. The nature of teaching and learning in these settings It was possible to identify an underlying blueprint in the sequence of teaching–learning events that occurred in these settings. It went something like this: 1. input of knowledge and information (which leads to) 2. directed reading/writing responses to this input, which coerce recall and memorisation of this knowledge and input (which leads to) 3. teachers using these responses to achieve any or all of these purposes: a) evaluating the degree to which a student had control of the information, concepts, knowledge inherent in the input b) elaborating, clarifying, extending, paraphrasing meanings inherent in the input c) providing feedback about responses that were judged to be incorrect and inadequate. The input of knowledge and information occurred almost exclusively through what might be called ‘directed reading activity’ (DRA). DRA involves the teacher in two forms of behaviour: a) selecting a text that contains the information she has decided needs to be internalised by the students b) providing both the medium and opportunity for them to read this text and to construct some form of response to it. In these classrooms, the medium was typically a worksheet or a handout that had to be read and marked with a highlighter pen. The opportunity was provided by structuring episodes in which the students were expected to interact with a worksheet or some other kind of text. In the data analysed, there was no teacher input in the form of mini-lectures, narrative expositions or ‘tellings-about’. There were three broad kinds of responses to DRAs, which these teachers encouraged: a) short, written answers on specially prepared worksheets b) high-lighting information in pre-selected texts c) oral response during ‘marking’ or ‘discussion-of-response’ segments. Feedback to students about the adequacy of their responses to the DRA was provided in two ways: a) comments made and questions asked by the teacher during the ‘marking’ episodes; these were typically made to the whole class b) comments made to individual students as the teacher ‘roved’ while students were completing a written task. An integral part of this general ‘blueprint’ was the literacy and learning paraphernalia devised by


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the teachers to support the DRAs (as indicated earlier, there were many charts around the walls of the rooms in which these lessons were conducted; in these analyses, however, inferences cannot be drawn about how they had been constructed, what they were about, nor how they were used). In these classrooms these comprised worksheets, textbooks, photocopies of newspapers and other documents chosen by the teachers, detailed written statements of assessment tasks and assignments, and directions written on the whiteboard. The emphasis was on what might be described as ‘learning alone’. There was little or no evidence of social construction of knowledge. Nor was there was any evidence of group or collaborative learning.

3. The discourse of the Year 12 Legal Studies classroom By ‘discourse’ I refer to the values and beliefs that are embedded in the ways of behaving and acting in certain contexts. This is similar to Gee’s (1992) conceptualisation of discourse as an ‘identity kit which comes complete with the appropriate costume and instructions on how to act and talk so as to take on a particular role that others will recognise’ (Gee, 1992, p. 21). While discourse is typically manifested in language, it is more than language, and includes ways of behaving as well as talking. The discourse that permeated these classrooms was predominantly about ‘good information’, ‘figures and facts’, ‘statistics’ and ‘revision’ which might be ‘useful for the forthcoming exam’. For example, when the teacher hands out the newspaper item for the ‘highlighting-of-pertinentinformation’ episode, she says, ‘I’m giving out something that will help you with your assignment … a 1993 article that is filled with statistics’. A few minutes later she interrupts a student’s reading and informs the class that students should be using their highlighter pens to mark ‘figures and facts’. A few minutes later, in the same session, she draws the students’ attention to a table/graph on the newspaper they are marking and says, ‘… good statistics are important’. This emphasis on the importance of information is further reflected in the elaborate storage and retrieval systems that each student used. There was evidence in each of the video tapes that all students carried large ring-binder folders in which a large number of handouts had been stored in plastic sleeves tabbed for quick retrieval and reference. The similarity of these files and the large number of students who seemed to have them suggest that they were considered mandatory, or at least highly recommended, accoutrements of learning in these post-compulsory classrooms. Finally, two of the texts on the whiteboard were also about deadlines for assessment tasks and the date of the trial exam. It seems that the main message which constantly pervades the discourse in these classrooms is about memorising factual information that others have constructed for the purpose of reproducing it in assessment tasks and examinations.

4. The ideological parameters of the Year 12 Legal Studies classroom What do these data reveal about the ideological predispositions of the teachers who orchestrated the learning in these classrooms? Given the power that these teachers obviously wielded, it is reasonable to argue that much of what happens in these classrooms can be traced to the aggregate of the beliefs, values, knowledge and understandings about knowledge and knowledge construction, teaching, learning and literacy that these teachers hold. It is this ideology which determines what happens in these classrooms and, therefore, how the curriculum is enacted.

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The following inferences about the ideological parameters of these classrooms are supported by the data: Knowledge and knowledge construction These teachers behave in these settings in ways that strongly suggest that they believe that there are correct forms of knowledge which exist independently of the knowers and learners. Knowledge for them is not socially constructed, but exists ‘out there’, waiting to be discovered. For them, Legal Studies are domains of knowledge that are already completely and correctly structured in terms of concepts, relations, properties and entities. Given this view of knowledge, the goal of teaching becomes one of helping the learner acquire these correct forms. The goal of learning becomes knowing these correct forms, and building correct propositional structures. This is essentially a view of knowledge which grows out of an ‘objectivist tradition’ (Duffy & Jonassen, 1992). Teaching This ideological tradition spills over to one’s beliefs and values about teaching. It means that, before any teaching takes place, it is incumbent on the teacher to identify the concepts, relations and properties which the learner must eventually know. It also means that, while teachers might encourage their students to be ‘active learners’, the underlying purposes of the activities they build into their sessions is to cause students to pay closer attention to the stimulus events and to practise getting control of the knowledge inherent in these stimulus events, ultimately for the purpose of demonstrating mastery of that knowledge. Mastery is equated with the ability to reproduce this knowledge in relatively unchanged form during examinations. The evidence strongly suggests that the Legal Studies teacher held similar beliefs. The data show that she perceived teaching to be predominantly about the transmission of factual (and therefore ‘true’) information from an authoritative source to a learner’s mind. ‘Authoritative sources’ in these classrooms included textbooks, newspaper articles, teacher comments and legal documents. Because there was little or no emphasis on critical teaching (Knoblauch & Brannon, 1993), the validity of these sources was never questioned or challenged by the teacher or by the students. Students were not encouraged to interrogate the texts they were asked to read. On the few occasions when students attempted to question the so-called ‘correct’ answer (or the teacher’s response), they inevitably retreated from their position if the teacher challenged it. The implicit message in much of the teacher’s behaviour was: ‘You should all know and be skilled in the processes you can draw on and use in order to learn this information for the forthcoming examination’. Learning It was obvious that teachers in these classrooms wanted their students to learn the subjects they taught in organised and systematic ways. To this end, they seemed to equate learning with the acquisition of knowledge and meanings that had been constructed and ‘packaged’ by a more authoritative ‘other’. The medium for learning was predominantly the written form of language. The processes most commonly applied to the factual texts which were used in these classrooms was ‘reading and summarising’. The end product of the process of ‘summarising’ was a written product, which was then compared with a response judged to be ‘correct’ by the teacher. Learning in these settings was also seen to be a process of eliminating ‘incorrect’ knowledge from one’s repertoire, usually after receiving feedback that one’s response to a learning task was wrong or flawed. The context in which learning occurred was regarded as ancillary, perhaps even neutral, to what was actually learned.


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Literacy When teaching and learning are structured as they were in these classrooms, literacy is forced to play a role that supports and maintains these structures. In these classrooms, this role became that of a ‘conduit’ for facilitating the flow of information from an authoritative source to students’ minds. Just as a drinking straw can be perceived to be a conduit which allows a drinker to suck up and imbibe the contents of a drink container, in these classrooms literacy played the role of conduit which (presumably) enabled a student to ‘suck up and imbibe’ the information that someone else had constructed. It was also the conduit through which the student could regurgitate the information that had been imbibed, hopefully without transforming it too much. What assumptions about literacy are needed to support this ‘conduit’ metaphor? What can be inferred about the beliefs and understandings that these teachers had about the nature and role of literacy in their subject areas? At least the following are supported by the data analysed: • ‘Literacy’ means the ability to read and write. • ‘Literacy’ is a single, monolithic skill that needs to be acquired before it can be applied. • Once acquired, literacy can be universally applied to all subject areas. • Students in the final two years of secondary school have acquired all the literacy they need for learning in the various subjects they study. • Helping students to acquire this level of literacy appears not to be the teachers’ responsibility.

Conclusion: towards an understanding of literacy and learning in the Year 12 Legal Studies classroom Behaviour settings are not independent, stand-alone entities. All are parts of larger wholes that affect what happens within them. All are subject to controls from outside their boundaries. This is especially so for those behaviour settings we call ‘classrooms’. The behaviour setting ‘Year 12 Legal Studies class’ is part of the setting ‘senior college’, which is itself located within a bureaucracy called the State ‘Department of School Education’, which is in turn part of a larger organisation called ‘The State Government’. At each level in this ever-expanding set of ‘enclosed–enclosing’ units, the physical properties, the human components and the programs which dictate what happens within them are imposed on to a greater or less degree by the larger ‘enclosing’ setting. Therefore, much of what happens in these classrooms can be fully understood only in terms of the wider ecological context. Perhaps we can only ever hope to understand fully how the Legal Studies curriculum is enacted in these classrooms by further research that focuses on the way in which these sub-systems and supra-systems interact and impact on each other? Perhaps the way that knowledge is constructed in these classrooms, perhaps the teaching methods that are used, perhaps the learning activities that are introduced, perhaps the way the literacy is used, is as much a function of the wider systems’ perceptions of the purposes of schooling, or of the status of the upcoming public examinations, as it is a function of what teachers know and believe about learning and knowledge? In the course of this exploration of a Year 12 classroom I have touched on only a few of its many facets. The picture painted in this chapter is therefore necessarily incomplete. Hopefully, it is a first approximation to, or component of, the theory (or theories) of post-compulsory secondary classrooms that we are seeking to generate.

PETER WINOGRAD

CHAPTER

8

UNIVERSITY OF NEW MEXICO

The literacy demands of the curriculum in the post-compulsory years: What are they? What should they be? In teaching me independence of thought, they had given me the greatest gift an adult can give to a child besides love, and they had given me that also. (Courtenay, 1989)

n this chapter I describe my theoretical orientation and methodological approach used in the analysis. Next, the literacy demands occurring in videotaped settings of classrooms in a rural high school in New South Wales are described. Finally, I develop some interpretations and implications for practice. In the chapter I also share my perspectives on literacy and what I learned from reading key reports.

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Theoretical orientation to literacy First, a caveat. I understand that I was watching a student in a high school in rural New South Wales (NSW). I understand that there are fundamental differences between education in Australia and education in the United States of America (USA). I do not suggest that Australia adopt any of the educational practices used in the USA, but do suggest, however, that some of the questions and struggles in the USA might be of use to educators struggling with the same challenges in Australia, in particular those dealing with issues of inclusivity and appropriateness. Over the past 25 years, a steady stream of national reports and commissions have informed Americans that their system of public education is failing to meet the needs of the nation’s children. From the publication of A nation at risk in 1983 (National Council on Education Standards and Testing, 1992) to the popular press (for example, Kozol, 1991) and recent articles in top academic journals (for example, Darling-Hammond, 1994), the alarm has been sounded about the many complex and interrelated crises that face American education. At the risk of vast over-simplification, two of the most important crises are: • the low levels of academic achievement of American students in general, and the need for higher, ‘world-class’ standards of learning; and • the disastrously low levels of academic achievement of many Black, Hispanic, Native American, inner-city and poor rural students, and the importance of helping all children obtain an equitable and effective education. In an attempt to address these crises in education, policy makers, educators and other stakeholders have engaged in a variety of reforms since the mid-1980s. In recent years, a number of states have attempted to approach education reform in a more comprehensive and systemic manner (for example, Cohen, 1995; Corcoran & Goetz, 1995; Goertz, Floden & O’Day, 1995). Systemic reform, in this context, refers to efforts that include three key components: 1) the promotion of meaningful outcomes or expectations for all students; 2) alignment of policy approaches and the co-ordination of a wide variety of institutions and stakeholders to support student achievement; and 3) the restructuring and aligning of public education governance to support student achievement.

THE LITERACY DEMANDS OF THE CURRICULUM IN THE POST-COMPULSORY YEARS

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Perhaps the most visible result of the recent wave of reform has been the emphasis on standards (for example, National Council on Education Standards and Testing, 1992; Pullin, 1994). It is important to note that the term ‘standards’ is used in a variety of ways. First, there are content standards — what students should know and be able to do. Second, there are achievement standards — how well students should know or do these things. Third, there are opportunity-to-learn standards — what kinds of resources and learning opportunities are available for students. In addition, there are discussions about standards for new teachers, for experienced teachers, standards for administrators, standards for professional development, standards for teacher preparation programs, and so forth. The purpose of this project brought to mind the issue of content. When asked to make comments about the demands that the curriculum places on students, the question was ‘What literacy demands should the curriculum place on students?’ My theoretical orientation does not allow for a focus on the literacy demands without some understanding of the purpose of these demands. What are Australian students in the post-compulsory curriculum expected to know and be able to do? The approach to this project used frameworks that I worked with in Kentucky as part of that state’s efforts at educational reform. The national concerns about the quality of public education was reflected in the Commonwealth of Kentucky. Indeed, Kentucky’s citizens had reason for concern; Kentucky’s public education system was one of the worst in the nation. For example, the state ranked 50th in the nation in adults with high school diplomas, first in the nation in adult illiteracy, and 39th in the nation in high-school graduation rates. In 1989, these concerns came to a head when the Kentucky Supreme Court ruled that the state’s public school system was unconstitutional. The Court concluded that each and every child in the Commonwealth was not being provided with an equal opportunity to have an adequate education, and ruled that the Kentucky General Assembly establish a more equitable system of public education. In response to the public’s concerns about quality and the Court’s order for equity, the Kentucky General Assembly in 1990 passed a comprehensive piece of legislation, entitled the Kentucky Education Reform Act (KERA). KERA made sweeping changes in the areas of educational finance, governance and curriculum. In the area of curriculum, a key change was the identification of six broad learning goals. These goals state what students should know and be able to do when they graduate from high school: 1. use basic communication and math skills for purposes and situations they encounter in life 2. apply core concepts and principles from mathematics, the sciences, arts and humanities, social studies, practical living studies and vocational studies to purposes and situations they encounter in life 3. become self-sufficient individuals 4. become responsible members of a family, a work group, or a community 5. think and solve problems across the variety of situations they encounter in life 6. connect and integrate the knowledge they have gained in school into their own lives. Since 1990, Kentucky’s educators have been wrestling with ways in which to change the curriculum so that students would be able to meet these six goals. From primary school to high school, discussions have focused on how to change teaching and learning. What do students need to know? What instructional methods are valuable? What content needs to be covered? What kinds of experiences do students need to make them successful in life? How can we make what happens at school more meaningful, authentic and relevant? As part of this effort, a series of more specific academic expectations were developed for each of the six broad learning goals. Because this project focuses on literacy, it is useful to know that, for reading, the academic expectation is that students construct meaning from a variety of print materials,

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for a variety of purposes, through reading. For writing, the academic expectation is that students communicate ideas and information to a variety of audiences, for a variety of purposes and in a variety of modes, through writing. These definitions of literacy are important and are examined later. One of my roles as a researcher was to examine the changes that took place in Kentucky’s classrooms. A variety of approaches and evaluation instruments were used (for example, Hall & Hord,1987; The Kentucky Institute for Education Reform, 1996; Winograd, Compton-Hall & Cantrell, 1997), but at the heart of these efforts were the following questions: 1. Are the classroom activities meaningful and relevant? That is, do the classroom activities present problems and challenges that have a clear link to the real world of the student? Are students applying what they are learning to purposes and situations they encounter in life outside of school? 2. Do the classroom activities have a clear link to the learning goals and academic expectations? 3. Are the activities developmentally appropriate for the age level of the students? Are the activities and lessons tied to the students’ learning, or are they part of a pre-set curriculum, tied to a rigid schedule? 4. Are the students actively involved in their own learning? Are there opportunities to engage in co-operative learning, hands-on learning, problem-solving, extended opportunities for writing, presentations and other forms of active learning? 5. Do teachers interact with students by motivating, challenging, encouraging, inviting reflection and giving feedback? 6. Do students have opportunities to initiate the classroom activities, design the investigations, request resources and otherwise take responsibility for their own learning? 7. Do students and teachers have a clear understanding of what are the standards of performance? Do students have systematic opportunities to evaluate their own work against these standards of performance? 8. Do students use a variety of materials, including print, software and an abundance of resource materials? 9. Is there evidence of integration among content areas, when appropriate? The lens for examining what goes on in classrooms is tied very tightly to our goals — to what should be happening in that classroom. Again, when asked to comment on the literacy demands in the classroom, I need to know what those students are expected to know and be able to do.

Analyses of the data The contextual information As well as providing videotapes and associated texts, taken from one student’s lessons over two separate episodes in his senior schooling, the researchers in this project also provided some information extracted from Higher School Certificate (HSC) syllabuses, in order to contextualise the video and written data. After the initial analyses of this contextual information, a number of questions arose: 1. What are the HSC standards and requirements? Who determined these standards and requirements? 2. Do they really identify and emphasise what students need to know and be able to do in order to be successful in the diversity of ‘post-school destinations’? 3. How current and comprehensive are the HSC standards and requirements?


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4. How well does the actual curriculum that takes place in classrooms match up with the expectations outlined in the HSC standards and requirements? 5. Is the system of assessments and examinations providing stakeholders with the kinds of information they need? Do these assessments and examinations accurately predict how well students will succeed in adult life? 6. How do the HSC standards and requirements and the system of examinations impact the issues of inclusivity and appropriateness? 7. How much professional development and other kinds of support do teachers receive in order to help students achieve higher expectations, or to meet the needs of a more diverse student population? The researchers in this project also supplied additional contextual information consisting of three reports: Securing their future: The New South Wales Government’s reforms for the Higher School Certificate (NSW Government, 1997); Their future: Options for reform of the Higher School Certificate (McGaw, 1996); and Pathways for post-compulsory students in New South Wales (Schools Council, 1993). The information in these reports was particularly useful in understanding the history of the HSC. In addition, I was able to learn more about what students in Years 11 and 12 were expected to know and be able to do. The key question for our purposes was what kind of curriculum structure — more specifically, what kinds of literacy demands — should be in school in order to help a more diverse group of students achieve a richer range of excellence? Some of the proposed answers to this question are to be found in the report Securing their future (NSW Government, 1997). The NSW Government proposes to increase the rigor and quality of the HSC curriculum by streamlining the curriculum and developing explicit standards that identify what students should know and be able to do. Moreover, the Government addresses the issue of equity by arguing that ‘The curriculum for the Higher School Certificate must be able to cater for the interests and abilities of the full range of students without compromising standards or lowering expectations’ (p. 4). The Government’s report is a planning document, and whether these ideals can be translated to reality with the desired effects remains to be seen (the same is true of most of the educational reforms in the USA). While the report is light on detail dealing with standards, it does provide some information about what students should know and be able to do. For example, the report claims that one of the purposes of the HSC is to: foster the intellectual, social and moral development of students, in particular developing their • knowledge, skills, understanding and attitudes in the fields of study they choose • capacity to manage their own learning • desire to continue learning in formal or informal settings after school • capacity to work with others respect for the cultural diversity of Australian society (p.6).

In another section of the report, the NSW Government identifies a set of key competencies that ‘are seen as being integral to the application of knowledge, skills and understanding in a range of settings’. They are: • collecting, analysing and organising information • communicating ideas and information • planning and organising activities • working with others and in teams • using mathematical ideas and techniques

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• solving problems • using technology. As stated earlier, it is difficult to focus on the literacy demands without some understanding of the goals of these demands. The contextual information contained in the reports from Professor McGaw and the NSW Government were extraordinary helpful in providing an initial understanding of what students in Years 11 and 12 are expected to know and be able to do. If my understanding of the reports is correct, then it appears that the demands of the curriculum in the post-compulsory years should include, at a minimum, opportunities for using literacy in the following ways: • fostering each individual’s unique talents and to fulfill personal goals • developing a desire to become a lifelong reader and writer • applying knowledge, skills and understanding in a range of settings • managing one’s own learning • collecting, analysing and organising information • communicating ideas and information • planning and organising activities • working co-operatively with others • solving problems • using technology. Let us turn to videotapes and the written lessons to see what actually happens to students in classrooms.

The videotapes and the written lessons I analysed videotaped and written lessons undertaken by Sam, a student in Years 11 and 12. The videotapes were excerpts from lessons in 2 Unit General English, 2 Unit Business Studies, 2 Unit Computer Studies, 2 Unit Chemistry, 2 Unit Mathematics and 2 Unit Agriculture in Year 11. In Year 12, the excerpts were from 2 Unit Business Studies, 2 Unit Agriculture, 2 Unit English, 2 Unit Chemistry and 2 Unit Mathematics in Society. The classroom artefacts were copies of the textbooks, notes from blackboards, instructional handouts and student responses, notes or answers associated with the videotaped lessons. The question under consideration is, ‘What are the literacy demands made on the students by the enacted curriculum?’ It is reasonable to begin to answer this question by defining what is meant by the term ‘literacy demand’. Firstly, the definitions of reading and writing we developed in the Kentucky reform effort: Reading is the ability to construct meaning from a variety of print materials for a variety of purposes; writing is the ability to communicate ideas and information to a variety of audiences and for a variety of purposes, in a variety of modes. These basic definitions were expanded in a variety of curriculum-development materials so that teachers had more guidance. The definitions in reading focused on ways in which teachers could help students to construct initial interpretations, to elaborate upon and respond critically to what they had read, to monitor and manage their comprehension, and to develop into life-long readers. In addition, the definitions of reading emphasised the importance of comprehending a variety of materials, including literary, informational, practical/ workplace and persuasive texts. The definitions in writing focused on ways in which teachers could help students to write for a variety of reasons to use the strategies involved in process writing and to evaluate their own writing according to a set of effective writing criteria. This approach to defining literacy is useful for a number of reasons. First, it emphasises the


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importance of using literacy in a flexible manner, across a wide range of contexts and for meaningful purposes. Second, it focuses on comprehension and communication, rather than on decoding skills in reading or the mechanics of writing. There are important skills and strategies to teach in reading and writing, but too many of the definitions of reading and writing used in schools in the USA are mired in long lists of sub-skills. We can expand the concept of literacy to include listening and speaking, by defining literacy as the ability to construct meaning (by reading or listening) or to communicate meaning (by writing or speaking) in a variety of authentic situations, for a variety of authentic purposes. The question, ‘What are the literacy demands made on the students by the enacted curriculum?’ can be restated as ‘How do the students use reading, writing, listening and speaking during their lessons?’ In general, the answer is that the literacy demands in the majority of the lessons on the videotapes and the materials contained in the classroom artefacts were very traditional in nature. Now, traditional is not necessarily a bad thing — the lessons covered important content, and the students need to read, write, listen and speak at a fairly sophisticated level in order to be successful. The students used skimming, scanning, rereading and other reading skills throughout the lessons. In addition, the students spent a great deal of their time taking notes, developing drafts and using the other skills of writing. The student observed spent most of his time sitting at a desk, reading expository textbooks or literature, writing short answers to questions, copying notes from the board, taking part in class discussions, or listening to lectures. For the most part, the students sat and received while the teachers stood and presented. Many of the teachers’ lectures and presentations were thoughtful and contained useful information on how to deal with the academic tasks at hand. But traditional approaches may not develop the kinds of literacy or learning that students need in order to be successful in the world they will face outside of school. The data shows that Sam read a very restricted range of materials for a very restricted range of purposes. In addition, he wrote for a very restricted range of purposes for a very restricted range of audiences. When Sam was tested, he was tested in exactly the same mode in which he was instructed. He sat at a desk and wrote answers on a sheet of paper. With a few notable exceptions, there were no extended opportunities for hands-on application of literacy skills to real-life problems, co-operative learning, discussions on how to evaluate quality, or opportunities for Sam to evaluate his own work. There did not appear to be a wide variety of authentic texts. There did not appear to be many discussions of learning strategies taking place, or situations where strategies such as activating prior knowledge, making predictions, summarising or seeking clarification were used. There did not appear to be any student-initiated work, nor any demonstrations, presentations or other forms of performance assessment. Sam wrote about computers, but he was not recorded using one. In order to be more specific, let us examine three of the lessons in more detail. Hopefully, these analyses provide some insight into what is actually happening in the classroom, and how the literacy demands might be strengthened in order to achieve the expectations and goals envisioned in the contextual reports. Lesson 1 In this lesson (Year 11: 2 Unit General English), Sam is working through a school-developed English workbook dealing with newspaper articles. The headings and associated text in the workbook include ‘What are newspapers?’, ‘Why read newspapers?’, ‘Types of newspapers’, ‘Headlines’, ‘Language and style’, ‘Types of articles’, and ‘How to analyse an article’. The workbook is complete with sample

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articles and exercises. Sam’s task is to read the sample articles and to write short answers to the exercises. In addition, he is to write a short newspaper article on one of five preselected topics. Sam is working alone in this lesson. The workbook contains useful introductory material about newspapers, and the sample articles look as though they would be interesting to students of his age. One is about a dehydrated tourist who was rescued from death in the outback, and another is about a young man’s plans for the Olympics. The information about how newspapers are written and how to analyse articles is important. Sam’s responses to the questions are brief but on target. What are the literacy demands of this lesson? One answer is that Sam must be able to read the workbook, follow directions, analyse samples and write out his response. But we can learn more if we consider this lesson using the tentative framework of expectations contained in the report, Securing their future, and outlined in the previous section. In one sense, Sam is applying his skimming, scanning and other reading skills; he is managing his own learning and he is analysing and communicating information. He is doing so in a fairly limited manner and in a fairly contrived situation. The lesson could be a good start, but where does Sam actually apply his skills to reading real newspapers? Where is Sam’s opportunity to evaluate his own use of newspapers? When does Sam get to reflect on his ability to write an article or a letter to the editor that has a real purpose? Sam can analyse the information in the sample articles, but can he, and does he, use real newspapers in important ways to enhance his own life? This also appears to be a great opportunity for the students to work together (and to use technology) to write articles, or to publish their own newspaper in order to address the issues they see as critical and to solve the problems they face. Lesson 2 One of the lessons was notably different from the others. In this lesson (Year 11: 2 Unit Agriculture), a teacher and three students are studying a large aerial photograph of a local farming area. The teacher and the students are bending over a table, working together rather than in the traditional format of a teacher standing in front of students who are sitting at their desks. The teacher is raising questions about water quality, conservation and other crucial issues, and the students are interested and involved. At one point, the teacher says that the question he is raising is how to keep the farms viable for the next 60 to 100 years. This lesson has such potential. The teacher and students are dealing with an authentic issue that has direct relevance to their lives. The teacher is showing the students how the subjects (science, agriculture, geography, economics) they are learning can be applied to the real world. What is powerful about this lesson is that the students are applying their knowledge, skills and understandings in an authentic setting; they are collecting and analysing information; and they are working co-operatively to solve real problems, using appropriate technology. Moreover, Sam appears to be involved. This lesson comes from Agriculture — which is the one area in which Sam is excelling. Lesson 3 This lesson (Year 12: 2 Unit General English) involves the students in analysing a piece of literature, Looking for Alibrandi. The teacher writes questions on the blackboard, and the students copy the questions. The questions require the students to understand the story’s characters and their relationships, to analyse the plot, to analyse the author’s use of language, and so forth. The students then skim the book, looking for answers to the questions. Sam’s answers to these questions are very brief, and the teacher’s written comments indicate that she is not satisfied with his answers. At one point, the teacher writes, ‘You start to make your point too late in your answer. Think, then write’.


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Initially, the students are working alone, but then there is a class discussion about the questions. The teacher helps the students to understand how authors develop characters and how to answer questions dealing with literature. But what is so striking about this lesson is that the teacher tries to motivate the students to write longer answers to their literature exercises, by saying that all of this is practice for answering questions during the examination. The similarity between what happened in that class and what happens in the USA is striking. The message is that the purpose of school is to prepare for more school. While it may be true, it certainly lowers our chances of making school a place that is explicitly linked with the outside world. In terms of expectations about what students should know and be able to do, the lesson does require the students to apply an important set of skills in reading literary texts and writing in response to the kinds of questions likely to be set in an examination. But literature should be so much more. Where is the discussion about personal response and the opportunities for experiencing how literature can enrich one’s own life? In what ways does this lesson develop the desire to become a life-long reader? The lessons in the videotapes indicate that students in the post-compulsory curriculum do face a variety of literacy demands. They must be able to read and write about, listen to and discuss academic subjects at a fairly sophisticated level. What is not so evident, however, is how well these literacy demands match those that students will encounter in life outside of school. The tapes contained little evidence that students have adequate opportunities to engage in co-operative learning, handson learning, authentic problem-solving, extended opportunities for writing, presentations and other forms of active learning. The tapes also contained little evidence that students initiated many of the classroom activities, designed the investigations, requested resources and otherwise took responsibility for their own learning. And, finally, the tapes included little evidence that students had a clear understanding of what standards of performance were expected of them.

Conclusions Reading the contextual information, I gained an appreciation for the similarity in the issues facing educators in the USA and in NSW. Concerns about excellence, equity and curriculum permeate our discussions, and our hopes for the future are high. However, in examining the artefacts and watching the tapes, I got a strong sense of a very traditional approach to higher education. Students are expected to sit, to be receptive and to prepare for examinations that will enable them to sit, to be receptive and to prepare for life at university. This is a system that has been in place (in the USA, at least) for quite some time and is fairly successful at educating certain kinds of students and maintaining the status quo. Certainly, there is much to value in a traditional system of education. There is a great deal of knowledge about literature, science, economics, agriculture, mathematics and so forth that does need to be transmitted to students. Just as clearly, students who do well in such a system will fit in with many of the jobs that society has to offer. It is important to be able to listen to lectures, to read complex expository and narrative texts, and to be able to answer questions about what one has learned. But our experiences in the USA are telling us that such a traditional approach to education is not enough. Too many of our children are not learning the more complex academic, thinking and problem-solving skills that they will need in order to be successful. The relationship between what is learned in schools and what is needed in real life needs to be strengthened.

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In closing, I pose some questions: Where is the vision of what secondary schools should be? Where are the authentic, meaningful, hands-on activities that current research stresses is so important to learning? Where are the literacy activities that will ensure that all students can apply their literacy skills to real-life experiences? What kinds of support will secondary teachers and schools need in order to develop a curriculum that is more meaningful and relevant for all students? These questions often go unanswered in the USA, but I believe these are the right questions to ask.

Epistemology

FRANCES CHRISTIE

CHAPTER

9

THE UNIVERSITY OF MELBOURNE

Pedagogic discourse in the post-compulsory years: Pedagogic subject positioning

Background data For this study, I was provided with data collected in an Australian rural high school, and asked to focus on a student, Stephen, in the course of lessons in English, Biological Science, Agricultural Science and the Certificate in Rural Skills. Classroom episodes were recorded in October 1996, when Stephen was in Year 11, and again in May 1997, when he was in Year 12. These episodes featured Stephen’s class in interaction with eight different teachers. Apart from video recordings of these episodes, the following were provided: blackboard notes copied by Stephen, copies of some written notes he produced in the lessons, some teacher handouts, material from official curriculum guidelines in the state in which the school was located, indicating both broad expectations to do with the post-compulsory school curriculum, and more specific advice to do with the contents and goals of the subjects Stephen studied.

Some methodological constraints This study commenced with several assumptions and approaches in mind, drawn from classroom discourse analysis in both the primary and the secondary school (Christie, 1989; 1991a & b; 1994; 1995a, b &c; 1996; 1997; 1998a & b). These are explained below, though some aspects of the planned methodology were not adopted because of methodological constraints. One constraint concerned the concept of ‘student-cam’. Where possible, the camera was used to capture what was going on from Stephen’s point of view, and no attempt was made to capture whole-class interactions other than those in which Stephen was playing an active part. I have some reservations about this approach, since it is impossible to dissociate the actions of Stephen from those of others. The other constraint was that the data had been drawn from a sampling of classroom behaviours. In order to understand the nature of classroom activity, one needs to study the whole cycle of work in which it occurs, where this can mean following lessons for several weeks. Other writers have advanced similar positions (for example, Wells, 1993; Green & Dixon, 1993). The data received were lessons recorded in a sequence of three days, once in 1996 and once in 1997. It was not possible to follow any progression in activity beyond the three-day sequences in the school subjects and, because audibility was low in parts, plans to transcribe the total classroom talk were abandoned in favour of the selection of small passages only. This is not intended as a negative criticism. I am aware of the considerable difficulties in recording classroom activity, and any decision to record classroom data requires selection. Constraints of some kind were inevitable and, in any case, the video data provided invaluable information about: (i) the physical settings of activities, indicating the physical dispositions of the participants (ii) the varied locations of the activities, from classroom to farm, having consequences for the ways in which language and literacy were used at each site (iii) the complex range of semiotic systems that came into play, and hence the various modes of meaning-making, apart from verbal ones, that applied.

PEDAGOGIC DISCOURSE IN THE POST-COMPULSORY YEARS

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Such information became central to a number of the claims made in this chapter, both about the language learning and about the pedagogic subject positions (see below) constructed in the classroom talk. The various curriculum documents, classroom handouts and student notes received were also essential in judging the language and literacy learning demands in the school disciplines.

Some methodological considerations The methodology used provided the theoretical framework adopted. This methodology draws partly on Halliday’s (1994) systemic functional (SF) grammar, theories of genre as proposed by Martin and others (see, for example, Christie & Martin, 1997) and Bernstein’s (1990; 1996) sociological theories regarding the operation of a pedagogic discourse. Teaching–learning activity, like other complex social activity, may be thought of as staged and purposeful, leading to the creation of classroom genres. A typical unit of curriculum work involves a sequence of several genres (normally involving several lessons), constituting a curriculum macrogenre and using Halliday’s SF grammar, one can track the progress and changes in the discourse as the macrogenre unfolds. (See Christie 1991a & b; 1995a; 1997; 1998a & b for discussions of curriculum genres and curriculum macrogenres, and Martin, 1994; 1995 for related discussions of genres and macrogenres.) Two registers, or sets of language choices, operate in the unfolding of the discourse, a regulative and an instructional register; the former relates to the pedagogic goals and organisation of the classroom activity, while the latter relates to the field of knowledge (or the ‘content’) taught and learned. The notion of the two registers draws from Bernstein’s theory of pedagogic discourse (see, for example Bernstein, 1996 ). Bernstein proposes that a pedagogic discourse has two elements: a regulative discourse and an instructional discourse. The latter is ‘embedded’ in the former in such a manner that the discourse of some context outside the pedagogic relationship is taken and relocated for the purposes of teaching and learning. (Bernstein argues that there are many pedagogic relationships other than those found in schools, though this discussion is concerned only with relations within schools.) For example, the discourse of physics is found in sites apart from schools, including universities, where new physics knowledge is often generated. This discourse, providing the instructional discourse, is taken and transferred to schools for the purposes of initiating the young through the regulative discourse. In being relocated into the school setting, the instructional discourse changes to some extent, because of the requirements of the regulative discourse. The principles determining the pacing, sequencing and evaluation of the curriculum activity involving teaching about physics (or anything else) are regulative, and thus are realised in the regulative discourse. While Bernstein uses the metaphor of the one discourse being ‘embedded’ in the other, the metaphor of ‘projection’ taken from the SF grammar is used here, and I argue that the regulative register ‘projects’ the instructional register. The metaphor of ‘projection’ is preferred over that of embeddedness, because the two terms have a different significance in the SF grammar. A projected clause involves something thought or said that is reinstated or relocated for some purposes, as in ‘He said that he was very sorry’. In my view, projection captures the relationship of the two registers. Through a careful analysis of the pedagogic discourse, it is possible demonstrate how the two registers operate as a curriculum macrogenre unfolds, and the nature of the ideal pedagogic subject position (Bernstein, 1996) that is constructed in the pedagogic discourse. (The term ‘pedagogic subject position’ refers to that subjectivity, with its associated attitudes, values and skills that is ideally shaped in a given pedagogic discourse. The idea is not determinist, according to Bernstein, since the pedagogic discourse that shapes the subject position is itself volatile and open to challenge (see Bernstein, 1996, p. 52).)

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The data provides evidence to argue that: (i) The general principles for the operation of a pedagogic discourse appear to apply in each of the teaching–learning episodes examined. (ii) While all such episodes have in common certain features marking them as pedagogic, each has features distinctive to the instructional register (or the ‘content’) being drawn upon. (iii) There is a distinctive pedagogic subject position in each episode and thus in each school subject or ‘discipline’. (The term ‘discipline’ is used here, rather than ‘subject’, to avoid confusion with the other sense in which the word ‘subject’ is used: the pedagogic subject position.) (iv) The pedagogic subject position is realised in characteristic discourse pattern. (v) In each case there is evidence of an oral language and, in most but not all, of a literacy also. SF register theory argues that, in any social activity, three elements of the context of situation shape the nature of the text. (See Halliday & Hasan, 1985 for a representative discussion, although the formulation used here is a little different.) The three register variables are: field, tenor and mode. Field constitutes the social activity, which for the purposes of writing is the topic. Tenor refers to the nature of the roles and relationships of the participants in the activity. A complex of factors affects the nature of the roles and relationships: suffice it to note that relations may on the one hand be hierarchic, or non-equal, as in that of teacher to students or, on the other hand, may be non-hierarchic or equal, as in that of student to student. Finally, mode refers to the way in which the message is constructed and the role that language plays in its construction. Again, a complex of factors affect mode, only some of which are mentioned here. Broadly, language changes depending on whether it is used face to face or at some distance. Face-to-face conversation, for example, is different from the production of a novel and, in the latter case, the effect of the distance of writer and reader changes the grammar that is used. Again, language changes depending on whether it is subservient or ancillary to activity, as in cooking, for example, or constitutive of activity, as in the giving of a speech (Hasan, 1980; 1984). In viewing the eight teaching–learning video clips, I was struck by the marked differences in the discourses, depending upon: the school discipline, the physical locations where the episodes occurred and the ways in which other semiotic systems apart from language were involved in the construction of the activity. All these affected the language and literacy.

The teaching episodes in Year 11 In Year 11, the teaching episodes involved teaching and learning: (i) to build a farm fence (from rural science) (ii) horse reproduction (from Agricultural Science) (iii) the reproductive cycle of the kangaroo (from Biological Science) (iv) talking about the influence of popular films and TV programs on children’s socialisation, and preparing to write an essay about it (from English). If we arrange the four episodes thus, there is a cline, showing a remarkable series of shifts in language and literacy, and in associated semiotic systems. This series of shifts reveals a great deal of the language and literacy across the four discipline areas. At the one end is the rural science activity: because it is most practically based, it makes no use of literacy, and only some use of oral language, but the primary activity is fence making. At the opposite end of the cline lies English, which is the least practical and which makes least use of resources other than talk. Indeed, the English episode depends heavily on teacher–student talk and blackboard writing of points, and it employs no other


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semiotic systems (though the teacher refers to an earlier discussion of the film Home Alone). In the rural science activity, oral language use is ancillary to the activity of fence making; in the English activity, language — mostly oral, but to some extent written — constitutes the activity. The Agricultural Science and Biology episodes lie between these two extremes. They make considerable use of teacher–student talk, and they also employ written texts, either for reading or as aspects of the writing tasks the students are to use; the Agricultural Science episode makes use of illustrations accompanying the written notes, and it also makes use of a real horse to demonstrate a number of matters; the Biology lesson employs a video, bringing into the activity use of moving pictures with accompanying voice-over. In both cases, while language, oral and literate, is very important, it is not fully constitutive of the activity, for language is variously used in association with other meaning-making activities. While the pedagogic discourse across the four episodes differs considerably, some general observations apply about the regulative register. In all cases, the regulative register disposes the students to adopt and/or develop certain desired practices, habits and procedures for working that would produce appropriate pedagogic subjects. Such subjects are ideally attentive towards their teachers, polite in their dealings with teachers and fellow students, and willing to follow directions to work in particular ways. These matters, apparent in the talk, are also reinforced by the physical dispositions of the students vis à vis their teachers. In the conventional classroom, in all but the rural science episode and the latter part of the Agricultural Science activity, it is the students who are seated facing the teacher, who in contrast stands out the front, symbolically, at least, larger than the students because of the standing position, and able to command a view of all students as they work. Even in the relatively unconventional setting of the farm in rural science, it is the teacher who dominates, standing back a little to observe the students making their fence, but stepping in at times to demonstrate some method. When the teacher in the Agricultural Science episode works with the horse, he directs attention to points about the horse, assisted by two students who stand near it, while the students sit in groups on the ground. As for the language used, it is the teacher who: distributes handouts; gives directions to initiate lessons; asks the initiating questions and a great many others in the body of the episodes — though students also ask questions of the teachers as the episodes proceed; occasionally reminds students to concentrate, and/or to focus on the task; and directs the reading tasks, as well as the writing activities. It is the teacher, working through the regulative register, who is responsible for the initiation, sequencing and pacing of all teaching–learning activities, and also for ongoing evaluation of the students’ progress.

Year 11 Rural Science As noted, the rural science lesson takes place in a paddock, involving a male teacher and three students. The teacher directs the activity of using tools to tighten fencing wires, in order to make an effective fence. To judge from some official materials about the Certificate in Rural Skills, as well as observation of the video, the regulative field here involves development of vocational skills relevant to a ‘future in rural and service industries’. Among the selective skills available to Certificate students, ‘Introductory fencing skills’ was listed as one module of study. Hence, fencing skills was the instructional field selected with which to achieve the broader goals associated with the regulative field of development of persons with relevant rural skills. The tenor and mode variables of the regulative and instructional registers converge in this episode — a condition of a practical activity. The tenor of teacher to students is hierarchic, in that he is expert

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and they are novices. This is apparent linguistically, for example, in his frequent uses of the imperative, as he directs the students’ behaviours, and it is also reinforced by his physical disposition, standing back to watch the students as they work, and occasionally intervening to demonstrate something. The mode shows frequent use of the features of language in face-to-face interaction, and that is ancillary to activity. Most notable of these is the frequent use of exophoric references to aspects of the fence making. Examples of teacher talk include the following: ‘Righto, undo these, take the top wire and start again.’ ‘Righto, you can set it up, fellers.’ ‘Now, after you put it through you can bend it round there.’ ‘Just do it like that.’ ‘Just keep watching these two.’ ‘Just check.’

The implements used to tighten the fence wires are never named. There is no need to name them, since a shared understanding, both of their names and uses is held by the participants. (Since I do not know how to build fences nor the names of the tools used, the tools cannot be named in this discussion.) The three students talk among themselves a little, sometimes also addressing the teacher. Stephen is sometimes left to work alone on the fence, though the teacher is never far away, so his authority is never in doubt. There are quite long sequences — several minutes sometimes — when no-one says anything. This should cause no surprise, since the activity is that of fence making: talk is ancillary to such a task. This discussion of the pedagogic discourse in Year 11 rural science has demonstrated that: a pedagogic subject position is in construction, the position is constructed in the practical activity of fence making, this activity involves development of practical skills, and the associated uses of oral language reflect the requirements of face-to-face interaction and attention to task.

Year 11 English A male teacher works with a class of about 15 students. The teacher sometimes refers to the need to structure an essay, and he makes a blackboard summary as he talks, intended to guide the students’ writing. While the students have opportunity to contribute, and appear at times to be interested, it is the teacher who talks most. Since his object is to encourage students to develop opinions about the undesirable influences of many popular films and TV programs, he might be surprised to know that. The State’s senior English syllabus reveals that English ‘offers students worthwhile and practical linguistic and literary perspectives on human experience, endeavour and problems’. Elsewhere, it refers to the range of text types or genres in an English-speaking culture, and to the need to provide ‘structured learning experiences to ensure that all students can use language appropriately and effectively in a wide range of social contexts.’ A section advises teachers about the ‘contextual factors’ that influence the relevant pattern of language use, and the ‘textual features’ of texts to be considered in teaching them. The teacher is no doubt aware of the syllabus, and draws in part on it in his teaching. The target genre is an argumentative genre. The regulative field in the English episode then, involves development of capacity to articulate opinion, partly through talk, but especially in a written argumentative text type. The instructional field selected by the teacher, and drawn from the experience of TV and film viewing, is that of the influence on the socialisation of the young by popular programs, where the interest is in the effects of the role models made available through the media. The teacher makes clear his own strong views


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about the negative influences of many films and TV programs. He refers to the ‘decidedly unhealthy’ messages communicated in the film Home Alone, and the sense of the ‘disfunctional’ family that is involved. At another point, referring to an Australian TV serial that was set in a school, he asks: ‘What was that horrible show that’s set in Melbourne?’, to which a student replies ‘Heartbreak High’. It would be a very confident student who would challenge the teacher’s authority in the face of such a strong condemnation. The essay question reads: ‘How do role models on television influence children’s socialisation?’ While the teacher says that ‘the essay is very open to how you wish to interpret the question’, it is clear that he holds forcible views himself about the negative impact of films and TV programs, and he appears to assume that the students will agree with him, though he occasionally asks whether they agree or disagree. In a lesson apparently committed to development of capacity to express point of view, there is no great incentive for students to express a contrary point of view to that expressed by the teacher. A strong moral imperative applies for the students to adopt the general views espoused by the teacher. This general observation accords with the findings of my own recent research into secondary English teaching in a sampling of schools in Melbourne (Christie 1995b & c; 1998b). Cranny-Francis (1986) and Rothery and Stenglin (1997) make similar observations, as do Hunter (1994) and Love (1999). A primary function of English, it seems, is to develop moral attitudes, where that normally involves adoption of a consensus position about the morality of a particular issue, and little support is given to students who might want to argue otherwise. In one sense, this may not be considered new, since for some time a great deal of English teaching has been perceived as being about ethics and morality. But in another sense it points to an ambiguity about English teaching that should be cause for concern. The ambiguity lies in the fact that, while English as a school discipline is often publicly ‘talked up’ for its commitment to the development of capacity in students to express independent opinion, it is in practice often quite authoritarian about the capacity it affords students to express unpopular views. The absence of capacity to express other points of view (in this case that the films and TV programs in question are generally positive, or perhaps harmless) is frequently associated with absence of any development of capacity to offer critical appraisal, either of the media in question or of the patterns of written argument the students are intended to learn. On the whole, secondary English is remarkable for its absence of a technical language for dealing with the construction and discussion of argument. In the classroom in question, some talk, as we have seen, goes into constructing a summary of points for writing: this is instructional field information. There is also some teacher talk and advice about the construction of the genre. He refers to the need, for example, for ‘topic sentences’ in paragraphs, and to the associated need for ‘linking sentences’, alluding to earlier lessons in which he has given advice about these matters. But little is said about the overall rhetorical structure, and there is no great use of a metalanguage of the regulative field that might help the students create appropriate written language. What might be the steps in the construction of an argumentative genre? How would they be recognised? How would one recognise the main thesis? What would be linguistic evidence of a wellorganised argument in support of the thesis? What research might one reasonably be asked to do in finding data with which to develop the arguments? Most of these matters receive no attention. Instead, what is on the board constitutes a definition of the term ‘socialisation’ and a list of characters on TV and in films who are typically depicted as ‘square ‘ (for example, police officers, teachers) and those depicted as ‘cool’ (for example, surfers or musicians). These are reasonable matters to attend to in expanding the instructional field, but they are also insufficient, in that more attention needs to be devoted to the demands of the writing task. At one point, the teacher talks privately to Stephen about his writing, and he concludes the consultation by saying, ‘There’s

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nothing wrong with what you’ve said. It’s just the way you’ve expressed it’. This isn’t helpful to any student. It leaves quite unexplained those linguistic features of the target text (fundamental to the regulative register), which Stephen needs to understand in order to be judged on the success of his learning. What can we say overall of the pedagogic discourse of Year 11, at least with respect to the episode sampled? Firstly, the ideal pedagogic subject position is that of one who cares about social issues (here, role models in popular TV and film), and who can develop opinion about such issues in an approved manner: that is, in a manner that criticises. Contrary to the protestations of many English teachers, English very often doesn’t seek to develop independence of views. Secondly, as noted, this school discipline is constructed in language, and no other semiotic systems are involved: English is very much constituted in language. Oral language in face-to-face interaction is important, especially for talk of the instructional field. However, for the critically important, eventual evaluation of students’ learning, a capacity to write is significant. Thirdly, English is remarkable for its absence of a technical language to do with writing, and this is disturbing because student performance is evaluated through their ability to write appropriate genres.

Year 11 Agricultural Science The Agricultural Science class starts in a classroom and concludes in a paddock. In the classroom, the students sit in rows, facing the male teacher and the blackboard. A great deal of teacher-guided talk about cows and horses and their reproductive cycles leads to a blackboard summary, in which the teacher involves a student, constructing as he moves about the room. (Incidentally, fleeting reference is made at one point to looking at a video, apparently in an earlier lesson.) The students copy the summary and consult a handout which sets out a verbal text about cows’ reproductive cycle with accompanying illustrations. The Agricultural Science syllabus stated that the study develops in students ‘the ability to access and process information and data and to communicate their conclusions in a clear, coherent and accurate fashion, in genre appropriate to the discipline’. Elsewhere, it said that the study would encourage ‘a range of attitudes and values’ including ability ‘to make balanced, informed decisions based on sound scientific principles and rational argument’. We can see that the principles expressed in such documentation provided the regulative register, while the instructional register for the episode involved horse and cow reproduction. Both registers are apparent in the classroom discourse. A great deal of the teacher-led talk is devoted to building the technical language of the field: ‘oestrus cycle’, ‘hormone fluctuations’, ‘hormones’, to name some terms. The teacher insists that these be used accurately, for there is an apparent discourse he wants to develop in which the terms are deployed appropriately. At one stage, directing discussion about the period of maximum sexual receptivity in cows and horses, the teacher asks a question about the best time for a horse to mate: A student replies: Teacher: Another student: Teacher:

‘About three days.’ ‘Three days? That’s a very technical answer.’ (said sarcastically) ‘As close as possible to ovulation.’ ‘As close as possible to ovulation. Well done. Excellent answer.’

The insistence on the use of a technically appropriate answer (a frequent feature of this teacher’s discourse) is an expression of the regulative discourse, while the particular answer represents an articulation of part of the instructional register. Clearly, Agricultural Science, at least as sampled in this episode, is insistent about relevant use of technically appropriate language.


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Figure 1 provides an example of the illustrations, demonstrating ways in which the relevant instructional field knowledge is constructed in means other than verbal text. Agricultural science constructs its meanings thus quite considerably in relevant images, as well as in verbal texts. Figure 1

Examination of a horse takes place in a paddock. Here, the language is oral, though it is less ancillary to the task than in the case of the fence-making activity. The teacher explains aspects of the horse, referring, for example, to describing the parts of the horse and its size. He asks two students how to recognise ‘the near and off side’. Overall, Agricultural Science is constructed in both oral and written language, where the written language is accompanied by use of relevant pictures that assist in the instructional field information. The ideal pedagogic subject position is of one who amasses scientific information, using relevant technical language to construct the discourse involved, and is able to reason in a manner deemed rational and in accordance with the scientific facts.

Year 11 Biological Science The Biology episode takes place in a classroom, with the students (perhaps 20) arranged in rows facing the female teacher. She uses a video on the reproductive cycle of red kangaroos, and she refers to a handout identifying the written tasks students are to complete as part of their Biology program. The lesson is to prepare them for the task of writing material in relation to the tasks. Some of the technical terms used in the talk about kangaroos is similar to that in the Agricultural Science episode, including such terms as ‘oestrogen’ or ‘hormone’. Though there are points of similarity, there are differences in the overall discourse constructed. The talk of horses and cows is part of a discourse devoted to understanding them in order to care for them as they breed, and this reflects their status as domesticated animals. The talk of red kangaroos is devoted more to pursuit of

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scientific knowledge about marsupials, kangaroos in particular, as a good in itself. After showing the video, the teacher refers frequently to the handout, indicating what the students are to do in writing about kangaroos. They should explain: ‘how the reproductive strategies of the red kangaroo are suited to the Australian environment’. The target genre that is suggested by such a question is an explanation (Veel, 1997), and in general terms the teacher points the students in the direction of writing such a genre. Alluding to the question, the teacher says: ‘Right, first thing, you need to make a statement about the environment’. A student overlaps her to say ‘Arid, low rainfall’. The teacher agrees and says a little later ‘First thing you should do is explain the environment and then you say why that strategy’ (that is, for survival). Later still, she says ‘It’s [the kangaroo’s] first strategy to help with the environment is that it is able to breed all the year round’. At no stage does the teacher give an overview of the target genre, nor does she use any meta-language to identify elements of an explanation, though as we have seen she does devote some time to talk of the ‘first thing’. Though the teacher devotes a great deal of attention to talk about kangaroos (the instructional field), in which the students participate with some interest, she appears not to direct students to considerations of the target genre (the regulative register). This is a source for concern. It is, however, not an uncommon problem at all stages of schooling: language is so instrumental to the task at hand that teachers often do not bring its characteristics to the forefront of students’ thinking. This means that the patterns of written language too often remain part of the ‘hidden curriculum’, advantaging those equipped by prior life experience and opportunity to learn it, but denying access to those who lack such experience. In summary, the ideal pedagogic subject position in Year 11 Biology seems to be that of one who can marshall a technical language relevant to science, and who can deploy it for the making of scientific explanation. In the case examined, the explanation relates to kangaroo reproduction, but it could have related to reproduction in plants (also listed in the Biology syllabus). This concludes the discussion of the pedagogic discourse in the four sampled teaching–learning episodes in Year 11. Generally, the rural science text involves language that is closest to action, so that it is ancillary to the overall task. English, on the other hand, while it involves activity of a kind, is in another sense much more distanced from activity than rural science, for at least two reasons. Firstly, it is distanced from the activities of viewing films and TV programs. Secondly, it is also distanced because its goal is to reflect upon the viewing of such media, arriving at conclusions about their effects. While English builds its meanings very much in language, it makes very limited use of technical terms in order to build those meanings. Agricultural Science and Biology lie somewhere between rural science and English, at least in terms of some measures. Thus, they both use language at times that accompanies uses of other semiotic systems. Their patterns of language use, however, are not really ancillary to action, and both seem to build patterns of oral language and literacy that draw considerably upon technical terms to realise their meanings. Many of the observations of Year 12 were not very different from those for Year 11. Due to the limitations of space in this publication, they are not discussed here.

Some concluding observations There are significant differences across the four disciplines sampled, though whether the differences identified relate uniquely to the post-compulsory years, rather than the years of secondary education generally, is doubtful.


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Rural science, at least on the evidence of the sample examined, is most practical in its orientations, involving students in a range of ‘hands-on’ tasks, necessitating some considerable skill, demanding appropriate patterns of oral language, but apparently making little systematic use of literacy. The discourses of Biology and Agricultural Science are overtly committed to initiation of their pedagogic subjects into traditions of reasoning and methods of deploying language to encode those methods. They thus attach importance to induction into technical language relevant to their regulative and instructional fields. The episodes sampled in Year 11 show some evidence of attention to teaching features of target genres, albeit of a rather general kind. Instructional fields that derive from set texts in English are often selected and discussed in a general way, with very little attention to proper research in the fields. Moreover, English makes little use of a technical language, either to do with the regulative register, or to do with the instructional register. One result of this is that the criteria for evaluation remain poorly articulated. It might be protested that no more than English do the other disciplines sampled seek to develop independence of opinion, and that the observations with respect to English seem needlessly hard. There are two rejoinders; firstly, no other discipline makes quite the claims that does English for the development of independence and individuality (Christie, 1995a & b, 1998b; Macken-Horarik 1996, 1998 and Love, 1999). The claim seems rather shallow when faced with the considerable evidence that schools look for, and actually reward, attitudes that are ‘mainstream’, not controversial (Cranny-Francis, 1996; Rothery & Stenglin, 1997) while they endorse ways of using language in English which frequently remain poorly articulated and taught (see Rothery & Christie, 1995). The second rejoinder is different. While there is scope and opportunity for greater critical engagement with ideas in the senior secondary school than is often found there, in that the disciplines apart from English stress their methods of working and the discourses in which these methods are encoded, they are to be respected for valuing the traditions they seek to pass on and the procedures for working that they endorse. Thus, students might consider where the experimental method their teacher asks them to replicate came from, and what its advantages are claimed to be. They might also consider what kinds of questions such a method could never address, and what this reveals of the limitations as well as the strengths of experimental procedures. There are many other procedures and methods used by scientists, including those used in the Biological and Agricultural Sciences, and some exploration of the history of the development of Western scientific methods would be very desirable in terms of fostering a community of young people able to take a critically intelligent interest in their world. Alternatively, what of the ethical issues that much recent agricultural and scientific research has opened up, and why are these not matters of concern in the Agricultural Science and Biology classroom? Not all scientific developments are an unalloyed good, and we should acknowledge the wisdom of developing a community of people skilled in critiquing them. There are a wide range of issues that the critically literate student graduating from secondary school might well be expected to explore and debate. In this sense, all the disciplines reviewed could do considerably better.

JANICE M. WILSON

10

CHAPTER

GRIFFITH UNIVERSITY

Supporting knowledge construction in science

t is through the discursive practices that characterise a domain that students acquire the vocabulary and forms of knowledge which enable them to engage in a field of academic study (Corsen, 1995). Literacy practices and language use in the official and enacted curriculum of two school subjects, Biological Science and Agricultural Science, provide the focus for this chapter. Assumptions about the role of literacy practices in supporting knowledge construction in science are examined, as is the use of words to convey a set of beliefs about the nature of science and science learning.

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Views of literacy Olson (1994, p. 1) suggests that a major portion of children’s formative years are spent in acquiring, first, some general literate competence and, second, in using this competence to acquire such specialised bodies of knowledge as science and history. Access to and participation in specialist domains defines a particular form of literacy, and it is with these forms of literacy that educational institutions are concerned (p. 274). Literacy ‘involves a diverse set of procedures for acting on and thinking about language, the world and ourselves’ (p. 17), and literacy skills provide the ‘route of access’ to knowledge in a domain such as science. Glaser, Ferguson and Vosniadou (1995) argue that participation in cultural activity is dependent on the ability to manipulate, connect and understand the meaning and inter-relationships of different knowledge entities. Learning oral and written language, acquiring the number system, learning arithmetic, algebra and calculus, understanding computers, graphs, tables and formalisms in science are central activities. These views and those of Lokan et al. (1995) on literacy frame this study (see Chapter 1).

Conceptions of ‘scientific literacy’ in science education Views of literacy within the context of school science differ from prevailing interpretations of the term ‘scientific literacy’. Within science education there has been lengthy debate about definitional matters and, more significantly, the perceived purposes of promoting scientific literacy (Bauer, 1992; Bybee, 1997; Gräber & Bolte, 1997; Shamos, 1995). ‘Scientific literacy’ has acquired specific meanings that are distinct from, but usually related to, concepts of literacy used in other fields. Fensham (1987, p. 18) represents scientific literacy as a cultural tool enabling socio-political debate about science at a broad cultural level, while Shamos (1995) calls for a school science curriculum that will enable students to understand the nature of science, its ways of building knowledge and its impact on society. This, he claims, is more important than having the conceptual understanding and reasoning skills of scientists. However, Baumert (1997) sharpens this argument by suggesting that, while cultural participation may be an important educational goal, gaining access to the fundamental tools with which knowledge is represented and communicated is of higher priority.

SUPPORTING KNOWLEDGE CONSTRUCTION IN SCIENCE

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‘Literacy’ in the context of school science? In this chapter, it is assumed that literacy in the context of secondary school science refers to the ability to use literacy practices associated with the formulation, representation and communication of meanings about natural phenomena. Applied to the contexts of science classrooms, laboratories and field settings, literacy practices may include: • reading and using written scientific information • writing appropriately about science in a range of contexts • developing knowledge and understanding of science • integrating speaking, listening and critical thinking about science with reading and writing • recognising basic mathematical and scientific signs and symbols within science texts • using arithmetic, algebra and calculus in science activities • understanding computers, graphs, tables and their use in data representation • understanding formalisms such as protocols for experimental design • using accepted scientific conventions.

Scientific knowledge Latour (1987) distinguishes between ready-made science, of textbooks and school science, and science in the making, the science that is newly built as a result of research activities, validated by replication, and communicated and debated in public forums. By emphasising the building of new knowledge, teachers can assist students to participate in the cultural practices of science (Bereiter, 1994, p. 23). Scardamalia, Bereiter and Lamon (1994) use the term knowledge building to refer to the creation of new theoretical models, in contrast to knowledge construction, by which they refer to the acquisition of understanding of currently accepted theories and models. The importance of these distinctions resides in their influence on talk about science, assumptions about scientific knowledge, and beliefs about learning and teaching science.

The construction of scientific understanding Constructivist epistemologies posit a belief that the human mind constructs and stores knowledge entities such as concepts, propositions, procedures and mental models, and that these are used to give meaning to observed phenomena, objects, events and relationships in the natural world. Whether or not that construction is an individual process occurring in the head of the learner, or a social process of shared negotiation of meaning among individuals, has been an area of intense debate in recent years (see, for example, Phillips, 1995; Salomon & Perkins, 1998). Extensive reviews of published studies (Driver, Squires et al., 1994; Pfundt & Duit, 1994) document the prevalence of naive, partial or intuitive concepts held by individuals of all ages. Conceptual-change approaches to teaching science (Strike & Posner, 1992) aim to identify learners’ naive or partial concepts, and to facilitate their elaboration or reconstruction through designed interventions. In contrast, social constructivist views emphasise social context and negotiation of meaning among individuals through social interaction. Studies of knowledge building in communities of scientists (Knorr-Cetina, 1981; Latour & Woolgar, 1979; Latour, 1987) and small groups of science students

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(Richmond & Striley, 1996; van Zee & Minstrell, 1997) acknowledge the role of talk in the social construction of meaning. Driver, Asoko et al. (1994) present a theoretical perspective on teaching and learning science in the classroom, informed by a view of scientific knowledge as a social construction and by a perspective on the learning of science in schools as knowledge construction involving both individual and social processes.

Constructing shared meaning Harré and Gillett (1994) suggest that concepts confer an inference-making ability on those who grasp them. Based on the assumption that concepts are mental representations stored by individuals, and that words are referents for stored meanings, then externalisation of meaning through the use of symbols and signs, whether mathematical, graphic, scientific or word-based, enables sharing of meanings, and thus, participation in the discourse of science. Olson and Astington (1986, p. 197) question whether language merely expresses existing ideas, propositions and mental states, or whether it provides the occasion for the construction of these mental structures. They assert that literacy has its impact on cognition, indirectly, through the invention and acquisition of a complex set of concepts, expressed in a meta-language for talking about text. Words such as ‘explain’, ‘define’, ‘hypothesise’, ‘observe’, ‘interpret’ and ‘predict’ (Olson & Astington, 1990) enable talk about talk and thought, and are critical to the discourse of science classrooms (Lemke, 1990). Understanding the subtle distinctions in meaning among different words about thinking, as well as among nouns that represent scientific concepts, is vital to shared thinking and meaning-making in science. Words can also be used to represent a system of beliefs about the nature of scientific knowledge. Whether learning science is believed to be a process of acquiring a body of ready-made models or making-in-the-head by active engagement in knowledge building can be interpreted from the manner in which words are used to represent the practices of science in the research laboratory or in the high-school classroom. Given the importance of literacy practices and word use in promoting thinking and sharing thoughts about science, this chapter focuses on their role in two lessons. Literacy practices and patterns of language use are examined in official curriculum documents, and transcripts and artefacts representing the enacted curriculum. The ways in which they are used to support individual and shared construction, representation and communication of meaning about natural phenomena and the nature of the scientific enterprise are also analysed. The specific questions asked are: 1. What are the literacy demands of the official curriculum? How are these seen to support knowledge construction? 2. What are the literacy demands of the enacted curriculum? How are these demands being used to support knowledge construction? 3. What is the dominant view of the nature of science and science learning represented in the language of the official and enacted curriculum? Is it ‘ready-made science’ or ‘science-in-themaking’? The investigation is based on content analyses of written curriculum documents, classroom artefacts, and transcriptions of teachers’ and students’ verbal language. The nature and extent of literacy demands are illustrated by segments of curriculum documents, lesson transcripts or, in the


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case of the Biological Science lesson, from pages of the students’ workbook (Australian Academy of Science, 1991). Lists of concept labels and meta-cognitive and meta-linguistic verbs (Olson & Astington, 1986) compiled from the two lesson transcripts and a biology worksheet, are provided.

The literacy demands of the official curriculum In Queensland, the curriculum of the post-compulsory years is the responsibility of the Board of Senior Secondary School Studies (BSSSS) which, for subjects such as Senior Biological Science and Senior Agricultural Science, develops syllabus documents, accredits school work programs and reviews school-based assessment materials and procedures. Discussion of the official curriculum is based on an analysis of syllabus documents (BSSSS, 1992a, 1992b & 1995). A table showing the correspondence of literacy practices and syllabus objectives is provided in the Appendix.

The Agricultural Science syllabus The document portrays the subject as ‘an applied science which provides students the opportunity to learn a wide range of scientific principles and concepts within the stimulating and dynamic context of agriculture … This course will help develop in students the ability to access and process information and data and to communicate their conclusions in a clear, coherent and accurate fashion in a genre appropriate to the discipline’ (p. 2). Field-based experiences provide the context for learning, and assumptions about their role are clearly stated. Field-work is ‘characterized by hands-on learning, using investigative and/or experimental techniques’ and incorporates laboratory investigations, experimental techniques, field surveys, classification of plants, animals and soils, and data processing activities. These activities are to be conducted either by teams of students or singly, as appropriate’ (p. 12). Implicit in the document is the assumption that the acquisition of knowledge and understanding results from the application of investigative skills. New knowledge is built through problem-solving in authentic contexts and through investigation of relevant questions, thus consistent with science-in-the-making.

The Biological Science syllabus Biological Science is ‘concerned with the study of the phenomenon of life’ (BSSSS, 1992). The document acknowledges that ‘science is a cultural endeavour’ (p. 1), and refers to the knowledgebuilding practices of the science community, omitting reference to processes of science learning. The syllabus states that ‘effective use of language (written, spoken and symbolic) is integral to the achievement of the aims of the subject’, but it is not suggested that this use of language contributes to learning by enabling students to construct or clarify their understanding. Whereas the rationale depicts science as a cultural endeavour ‘dependent upon an empirical approach to the search for natural explanations of phenomena observed in the universe’ (p. 1), the document implicitly represents biology as a set of ‘ready-made’ products and cognitive processes with which individual students are to become familiar. There is little sense that engagement in debate and argument about explanations of natural phenomena, or authentic investigations or experiments, whether in the laboratory, field settings or the classroom, can result in explanations of natural phenomena. While cognitive processes are important features of the document, they generally relate to the individual student’s capacity to process or verify ‘ready-made’ knowledge.

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The literacy demands of the enacted curriculum Segments of two Year 12 lessons, Biological Science and Agricultural Science, provide a view of the enacted curriculum in a laboratory lesson, as well as a traditional, teacher-led classroom lesson. Trent, the focus student, was enrolled in a course with vocationally oriented subjects at a government high school, located in a provincial city. Trent studied six subjects in Years 11 and 12, and was described by his teachers as a hard-working student of average ability. Perhaps influenced by his family background of small-crop farming, it was Trent’s stated intention to apply for enrolment after Year 12 in a two-year Certificate course in horticulture at an agricultural college.

The Agricultural Science lesson At the start of the transcript, the teacher asks students to examine plant samples, and to refer to a set of photocopied pages distributed in a previous lesson. The teacher assigns specimens to students and organises the class members for a small-group activity that occupies the first part of the lesson. Each student is able to refer to tabulated data for analysis and interpretation. The purpose of the activity is to determine metabolisable energy values and protein levels in three grass samples. Smallgroup discussion continues until the groups complete the task. The videotaped segment covers the last 25 minutes of the lesson, and begins with a dialogue between the teacher and the whole class. This consists of a sequence of exchanges with a few students, while others adopt a passive listening role. At the end of the lesson, the board summary shows key points to guide students’ revision, as well as a summary data table resulting from the small-group discussion. While Trent participates in the verbal exchanges, he does not complete the recording of tabulated data, but copies the board notes as suggested by the teacher. Developing knowledge and understanding through listening and/or speaking The segment is dominated by teacher-led dialogue, in which the key concept of food value and related concepts of metabolisable energy value and protein value are defined, clarified and applied through initiation–response–evaluation episodes. The teacher seeks answers to questions posed by the previous group activity. T S T S T S T S1 S2 T S3 T S3 T

We look at energy when we talk about M.E. What does M.E. stand for? Metabolisable energy. Metabolisable energy. So what does that actually mean? The energy that’s actually taken in. Taken into the ...? Into the system. What system? The root system. Into the plant system and stuff. Into the blood stream. Yes, into the blood stream, so that energy which can be taken into the blood stream … as opposed to? What is the protein value? Crude or digestible? Crude. Okay! So what does crude protein value mean? It’s just what’s there in the plant, not what’s digested. It’s just what’s there. It’s what’s there, it’s not what can be digested. (line 103)


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The extract reveals that Student 1 has not understood that the teacher is referring to the digestive system of the animal and, instead, he refers to the root system of the plant crop species. Student 2 acknowledges the teacher’s meaning by introducing the concept of blood stream. By asking for clarification of meanings, the teacher introduces the possibility that not all protein is actually absorbed from the digestive system into the blood stream. By referring to food as material taken into the digestive system, he suggests that not all ingested material is metabolised. Developing knowledge and understanding through reading The teacher draws attention to a photocopied handout on the concept of feed value, and calls on students to apply their prior knowledge to a new situation: T

If you go and read that article a little bit further … If we go to the third page, page 115 of that article ... (line 273).

Writing about science Students copy a data table from the board to their notebooks, and record percentages of protein and metabolisable energy, calculated from the information in the handout. The teacher lists six key points on the board which refer to topics for exam revision. Trent copies the notes on revision topics, but completes the table only partially. Using mathematical signs and symbols within text Students had been asked to read and interpret tabulated data, using protein and energy values expressed as percentages: T S T S T

I’ll just go around the class, and I want you to explain how you made the decision on what protein or what metabolising energy value was for one of those specimens. What value did you get for protein? 9.5! 9.5 what? Per cent Per cent. Okay, so how did you reach that? Well, Alan, how did you work it out … ? So you used the table 5.3 on page number 114. If you went to table 5.4 and looked at it as a young sorghum crop, what would that have given you? (line 126)

Using the accepted conventions of science In this segment, the convention relates to the Linnaean system of binomial nomenclature used to give a Latin name to the genus and species of animal or plant. This convention ensures that clear, unambiguous communication about species is possible. T S2 T S1 S2 S3 T

Rhodes grass. Can anyone tell me the scientific name for that? Chloris galliana or something. Chloris galliana? No, No! G-a-y-a-n-a. Is any of this in the exam? So, just out of interest then, Chloris gayana. I didn’t push the convention. I did mention it to a few, when you write scientific names, a capital ‘C’ for the genus and a small ‘g’ for the species name. Okay! Chloris gayana, and you put a line underneath (line 62).

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While this convention is central to the biological sciences, and serves to maximise clarity of communication about particular species, the student S3 has no such understanding. For him, the importance of this piece of knowledge lies in its potential to earn marks during assessment. In summary, the literacy demands involve students in small-group and whole-class discussion and, after reading text material, to perform a calculation. Tabular data is recorded and students are to copy revision points into their notebooks. The teacher engages a few students in a triadic dialogue (Lemke, 1990), while others do not participate. Students are apparently expected to acquire knowledge and understanding by listening. Little emphasis is placed on writing and reading.

The Biological Science lesson The lesson deals with the concept of cellular respiration and the chemical reactions of living cells. The teacher presents information for three minutes of the 26-minute segment. He explains graphical conventions used in representing data, and reminds students of the genre of report writing. Students spend the remainder of the lesson working in pairs to complete a laboratory exercise. The experimental procedure, which students have been asked to read, is 1600 words in length, and outlines the theoretical basis for the exercise, together with instructions for performing mathematical calculations (Australian Academy of Science, 1991). The summary questions require students to analyse their results and to make inferences using conceptual knowledge from earlier lessons. Trent’s partner has read the procedure and is able to set up the equipment. For most of the lesson, the students wait to read a thermometer at intervals, and to record temperature changes. They finish the set task earlier than most, and a conversation unrelated to the lesson engages their attention. Writing scientific reports The teacher emphasises the conventions of report writing and the need for exact descriptions of experimental procedures. T

It’s normal when we’re doing experiments to write it up carefully so that we can check up how to do it again. In other words, if we’ve got an experiment properly set up you should be able to do the experiment again and get the same or very similar results. This is why we are so careful when we do an experiment to describe exactly what we do, so that someone can repeat it and get the same results. (line 15).

Developing knowledge and understanding through reading Prior reading of the experimental procedure is assumed by the teacher. Using graphs to represent data The experiment is designed to allow calculation of the heat energy released by yeast cells during cellular respiration, by measuring changes in temperature. The student workbook includes guidelines to assist students in analysing and interpreting their data. They are asked to ‘Plot the three sets of temperatures graphically, as a series of points joined by ruled lines …’ Using algebra to calculate experimental results In order to enable conclusions to be reached about the data, the laboratory procedure suggests that students perform an algebraic manipulation, using changes in temperature to calculate the amount of heat energy liberated by 15 grams of glucose.


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In summary, the literacy demands of this lesson require students to read a lengthy experimental procedure, conduct an experiment based on that procedure, use graphical and mathematical skills to record, calculate and present data, and to write a laboratory report in an appropriate scientific format.

Using language to represent a view of science and science learning The Agricultural Science lesson Using the words of the subject In order to examine the relative emphases placed on conceptual knowledge, cognitive and communicative processes in the lesson, the concept labels, meta-cognitive and meta-linguistic verbs in the lesson transcript are listed in Table 1, while Table 2 shows similar categories from the photocopied handout. As Table 1 shows, the teacher uses 48 different words or combinations of words as labels for subjectrelevant concepts in the 26-minute lesson segment. Of these, only six are used five or more times in the lesson. These words are not generally used in everyday speech or in other school subjects. Table 1. Words of Agricultural Science in the teacher’s talk Concept labels

Meta-cognitive and meta-linguistic verbs

energy value protein level (value)* species couch feed value* seed head flower formation succulence Rhodes grass Chloris gayana scientific convention metabolisable energy bloodstream root system protein value crude protein value

digestible protein value kikuyu plant fibre* rye grass* sorghum* food plant sheath protein* absorbance pasture plants ruminant animal pasture form roughage nitrogen fertiliser halage silage

gut-fill appetite senses faeces digestive senses nutrient value nutrient analysis feed value herd performance feed requirements milk production quadrants grasses seeds energy dry matter production body score

identify use a convention distinguish decide categorise analyse generalise describe explain define

* Words that occur five or more times in the transcript

Thirty-eight concept labels occur in the handout to which students are asked to refer (Table 2) and, of these, only four occur five or more times. There is little overlap between the two lists, revealing that students need to be familiar with a total of about 70 different concept labels in this lesson. The teacher apparently assumes that his students are already familiar with the meanings associated with these words.

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Table 2. Words of Agricultural Science in the written handout Concept labels

energy intake pasture quality metabolisable energy* digestibility* rumen feed value feed quality* growth stages animal performance energy levels protein levels triticale crop maturity

Meta-cognitive and meta-linguistic verbs forage sorghum soil types cattle production nutrient demand leaf to stem ratio livestock unit cereal crop crude protein feed conversion ratio liveweight gain rumen throughput steer herd nutrition body condition

fat score stock classes feed requirements animal interactions pasture growth gains per hectare stocking rate* liveweight pasture height plant maturity livestock month

interpret assess monitor compare consider average explain

* Words that occur five or more times in the handout

Meta-cognitive and meta-linguistic verbs Table 1 shows that these verbs are used far less frequently than the concept labels. On some occasions, the teacher implicitly calls for a mental act by representing the process in other words. For example: T

If you use those notes that you have there, try and give me some idea of what the energy value is of those three samples and what the protein level is in those three samples. (line 1)

The teacher uses the phrase ‘give me some idea,’ whereas, in the language of the syllabus, students are asked to make observations and to draw inferences about the content of the samples. A view of science The language used in this lesson also portrays a view of science as a body of ‘ready-made’ knowledge to be acquired (Latour, 1987). While students engage in an activity to identify grass species, and to determine energy values and protein levels, it is to verify existing answers. The activity does not seek to build new knowledge through students’ engagement in scientific thinking. When using words to represent concepts, the teacher refers to specific definitions, emphasising the correspondence between the word and the object, event or relationship under discussion. This teacher does not dominate the lesson through his exposition, but uses questions to elicit previously held meanings from students, and then engages in clarification of these meanings through further questioning. However, he refers to pre-existing meanings, rather than exploring the multiple meanings which students may already hold, for example: T T

Metabolisable energy. So what does that actually mean? (line 91) So what does crude protein value mean? (line 102)

The language of the classroom and the written text convey the view that there is a single, ‘correct’ meaning associated with words, and that this meaning can be derived from explorations of the object, phenomenon, event or relationship under investigation. The authoritative source for this


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Table 3. Words used in the Biology workbook extract Concept labels

cellular respiration * yeast* energy conversion energy* chemical energy* heat energy* mole glucose* compounds aerobic respiration anaerobic respiration* oxygen discrepancy

Meta-cognitive and meta-linguistic verbs carbon dioxide* heat lactic acid ethyl alcohol muscle tissues chemical reactions joules* temperature rise* experimental procedure ammonium dihydrogen phosphate heat output energy output

plot (the graph) calculate* check (findings) repeat (experiment) measure read (thermometers) label (axes) tabulate (data) test examine (graphs) describe explain define

* Words that occurred five or more times in the workbook extract.

correct meaning is the text, which reflects the accepted meanings of the ‘discourse community’ of agricultural scientists, farmers and teachers of the subject. The very high frequency of concept labels, in comparison with meta-cognitive and meta-linguistic verbs in the teacher talk and the written material, demonstrates a heavy emphasis on acquisition of conceptual knowledge — in contrast to investigating and talking about ideas. Small-group and whole-class discussion is used to engage students in a process of familiarisation with accepted meanings for concept labels.

The Biological Science lesson Using the words of the subject In order to examine the relative emphases placed on conceptual knowledge and thinking processes in the lesson, the concept labels, meta-cognitive and meta-linguistic verbs that occur in experimental procedure are listed in Table 3. During the three minutes in which the teacher speaks to the whole class about the experiment, he uses some of those listed. When the lesson begins, the teacher apparently assumes that all students understand the meanings associated with these 25 concept labels. The meta-cognitive and meta-linguistic verbs are used to guide students in their conduct of the experiment, interpretation and communication of results. The three verbs explain, account and suggest refer to the final questions, which ask students to record their interpretations. A view of science The workbook serves five separate functions: to outline the theoretical basis for the exercise, state its purpose, provide a list of laboratory equipment and chemicals needed, state detailed procedural steps and, lastly, to provide questions that assist students to analyse and interpret their results. Students can follow the directions to perform the activity, but interpretation of results is dependent upon conceptual understanding. The videotape reveals that Trent’s lab. partner has apparently read

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the procedure, and is able to set up the equipment, but neither he nor Trent pay much attention to recording and interpreting results. The language of the first section conveys a predominant view of science as a collection of ‘readymade’ factual products to be received and internalised by students. When a concept label is used, there is an apparent assumption that there is a single, ‘correct’ meaning associated with each label, and that there is one-to-one correspondence between the object and its label. Labels are used without definition or explanation. The procedure is stated concisely and precisely, and presumes that the meaning can be decoded appropriately by the reader. The text is the authoritative source of information about the experiment, and there is no suggestion that readers may decode unintended meanings. This is apparent in the following sentences: In cellular respiration energy is released when glucose and other compounds are broken down to simpler compounds. If oxygen is readily available, respiration is aerobic, and glucose breaks down to carbon dioxide and water. But if oxygen is not readily available, respiration is anaerobic.

The purpose of the laboratory task is explicitly stated; that is, to ‘follow the scientific practice of checking someone else’s findings, by repeating the experiment’. Students are asked whether their results ‘confirm the finding in the experiment described at the start of the exercise’. Here we see ‘ready made’ science, where the ‘true facts’ have been previously revealed and the students are asked to replicate these results.

Conclusion Both official curriculum documents encompass a range of literacy practices listed previously. The sharp contrast between the documents lies in their implicit assumptions about science, science learning and the literacy practices that support knowledge construction. Within the official and enacted curricula, a range of literacy demands is evident. However, the moderate level of task involvement by the focus student, Trent, raises the question of whether the demands are being met. The Agricultural Science lesson segment focuses on concept learning through teacher-led dialogue, intended to support concept acquisition and elaboration, but not application. In biology, the laboratory exercise assumes a well-developed understanding of pre-requisite concepts, the ability to read the written procedure and carry out the experiment, and to prepare a written report with algebraic manipulation of the data and interpretation of results. A motivated and taskoriented student has the opportunity to fulfil a variety of literacy demands in this lesson, but Trent’s engagement is not evident. The frequent reference to concept labels, and infrequent use of meta-cognitive and meta-linguistic verbs in the written and spoken text of both lessons reinforces a view that school science relates to acquisition of a body of ‘ready-made’ knowledge to be transmitted and received. There is an unstated assumption that only after conceptual understanding is achieved, can cognitive and communicative processes be applied to reasoning or problem-solving tasks. The lessons examined do not suggest that learning results from socio-cultural processes, or knowledge-building from first-hand investigations in authentic contexts. It is only in the Preamble to the Trial/Pilot Syllabus in Agricultural Science (BSSSS, 1995) that such a view is mentioned, and this is not enacted in the videotaped lesson segment.


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Discussion In this chapter, the term literacy has been interpreted as the ability to use the practices associated with the construction, representation and communication of meanings about natural phenomena, objects, events and their inter-relationship. The literacy demands associated with learning science are those practices that enable learners to represent their meanings for concepts, propositions and procedures, and to construct their understanding of the topic. The importance of concepts, symbols and the conventions of scientific and mathematical communities (Bereiter, 1994) in shaping students’ understanding is strongly acknowledged, as are teachers’ and students’ use of oral and written language. This use of the term literacy in the context of the science classroom is not commensurate with the use of the term scientific literacy, which has acquired a meaning of its own and is often used as though it is unrelated to concepts of literacy applied to science classrooms. It is argued here that the two are related, and that their inter-relationship should be recognised. Baumert (1997) introduced the idea that the cultural tools of reading and writing are more fundamental than understanding science for ‘participation in professional and political life of a modern society’. Literacy practices, in the broad sense used in this study, are instrumental to knowledge construction, and are thus essential components that underpin the acquisition of scientific literacy. The most critical question relates not to whether literacy practices are vehicles for constructing knowledge and understanding about science, but to the nature and extent of the knowledge that should be acquired in order to achieve scientific literacy. This aspect has initiated considerable discussion and debate in science education. As Shamos (1995) claims, curriculum programs that aim to develop a high level of conceptual understanding of basic science concepts and the reasoning skills of scientists have not achieved their aims with all students. What knowledge and understanding is of most worth is dependent on the uses to which it is to be put. If literacy in science reflects an ability to participate in discourse about science, then the context in which this discourse is to occur needs clarification. For the population that aims to participate in the discourse of a community of scientists, high levels of relevant conceptual understanding and cognitive skills are essential, but other dimensions are of equal importance. Active participation in socio-political debate on science-related matters, as a scientist or as a member of the wider community, demands qualitatively different forms of knowledge, as well as an articulated set of values and attitudes. Understanding the nature of the scientific enterprise and knowledge-building processes and their limitations is fundamental, as is an appreciation of the socio-cultural processes through which new knowledge is validated and promulgated. The achievement of critical awareness of the social consequences of new developments in science and technology, and the socio-political processes which influence decision making about them, are central to achieving scientific literacy. An epistemic emphasis has been largely absent from discussions of literacy in the context of school science. Of greater significance is the absence of such an emphasis in the official curriculum documents, and the discourse of the enacted curriculum. The development of an epistemic viewpoint on science as a field of enquiry should be a fundamental criterion for the achievement of literacy in science, as well as in scientific literacy in the senses in which the term is used within the community of practice of science educators.

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Appendix. Literacy demands of the official curriculum Categories of Literacy Demand

Syllabus General Objectives AGRICULTURAL SCIENCE (TRIAL/PILOT SYLLABUS 1995)

BIOLOGICAL SCIENCE SYLLABUS (1992)

Reading and using written scientific information

Accessing information

Utilising secondary data sources

Writing appropriately about science in a range of contexts

Presenting information in written text

Communicating by presenting information in a variety of forms (written, oral, graphic, physical, audio-visual)

Developing knowledge and understanding of science

Learning facts and principles about agricultural production and the impact of agricultural and pastoral practices on the environment

Recalling subject matter and applying it in simple situations. Using complex reasoning in multi-step challenging situations involving the student’s understanding of subject matter.

Integrating speaking, listening and critical thinking about science with reading and writing

Ability to analyse, integrate, interpret, evaluate and apply information from a variety of sources and in various forms to produce a range of outcomes.

Communicating by presenting information in a variety of forms (written, oral, graphical, physical, audio-visual) Using complex reasoning in multi-step challenging situations; using scientific theories critically

Recognising basic mathematical and scientific signs and symbols

Using symbolic language involving mathematical calculations

Recalling and applying formulae

Using arithmetic, algebra and calculus in science activities

Using symbolic language involving mathematical calculations

Processing information by quantifying (using mathematical operations)

Understanding computers, graphs, tables and their use in data representation

Using symbolic language involving graphical and tabular interpretations. Producing outcomes in written, graphic and physical forms.

Organizing, processing and communicating data.

Understanding formalisms, e.g. protocols for experimental design

Experimenting in order to collect information and test hypotheses.

Devising and designing simple investigations. Combining several of the scientific processes into a coherent strategy for a given task

Using accepted scientific conventions

Defining conventions

Defining conventions

CLAIRE WYATT-SMITH

11

CHAPTER

GRIFFITH UNIVERSITY

Examining how evaluative talk functions in instructional sequences

his chapter examines how evaluative talk, including feedback for formative purposes, functions as part of routine classroom instruction in Senior English and Marine Studies. Specifically, the focus is on how the talk is interactionally accomplished, especially as it entails teacher feedback designed to focus student attention on task demands and to mobilise efforts to achieve an improved performance. At issue are the agencies of the teacher and student in how evaluative talk occurs, the use of feedback as displays of pedagogic authority, and the apparent consequences of such displays. The theoretical framing of the chapter is presented in the first section, followed by a discussion of some main principles of the Queensland assessment system. Then, the talk and interactional styles in the two subject areas mentioned earlier are analysed, showing how they are consequential for learning outcomes.

T

Theoretical framework The theoretical framework for the analyses draws on key conceptual notions in the fields of literacy theory, assessment theory and research on classroom discourse. This interdisciplinary approach provides an opportunity to bring into dialogue understandings about literacy, classroom talk and assessment, in order to enrich data analysis in ways not otherwise possible.

Literacy theory The starting point for analysis is the notion of literacy as a social practice — as distinct from a set of universal, technical skills to be learned in formal education. This notion is central to an ‘ideological’ model of literacy (Street, 1997), according to which ‘literacy not only varies with social context and with cultural norms and discourses regarding, for instance, identity, gender and belief, but that its uses and meaning are always embedded in relations of power’ (p. 48). From this vantagepoint, the classroom becomes a crucial site for studying the ‘contests over meanings’ that occur between teacher and student (and typically, to a lesser extent, student and student) as they enact evaluative talk about in-class performance.

Assessment theory Also informing the analyses is the already strong body of contemporary research on classroom assessment in general and literacy assessment in particular, that supports the view of teaching, learning and assessment as being merged in such a way that the latter is not simply a part of classroom practice, but is also responsive to it. Of particular relevance is Sadler’s (1989) theory of formative assessment, in which he examined ‘the indispensable conditions for improvement’ (p. 121). These are:

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that the student comes to hold a concept of quality roughly similar to that held by the teacher, is able to monitor continuously the quality of what is being produced during the act of production itself, and has a repertoire of alternative moves or strategies from which to draw at any given point. In other words, students have to be able to judge the quality of what they are producing and be able to regulate what they are doing during the doing of it (p. 121; italics as used in original).

As this extract indicates, central to Sadler’s theory is a concern with how students can make the transition from feedback (which is largely external to the student, typically coming from the teacher) to self-monitoring and, in so doing, increasingly exercise control over improvement moves during performance. Sadler’s distinction between feedback and self-monitoring is vital, especially in relation to his observation that feedback typically stays under the control of the teacher. When this occurs, feedback, of itself, does not necessarily lead to improvement, but can serve to maintain student dependence on the teacher (as the sole source of feedback). However, when the student has planned opportunities to develop evaluative experience and expertise, then self-monitoring strategies can lead to an improved performance. The emphasis on the student’s role in assessment broadens the concern beyond the quality and timing of teacher-provided feedback, to the explicit provision of opportunities for students to develop guided, authentic evaluative experience in supportive learning environments.

Classroom discourse The third element of the framework draws on research on the production of knowledge through classroom discourse. Of relevance is Heap’s (1985) distinction between two types of knowledge: propositional — knowing that — and procedural — knowing how — with the latter being concerned with ‘doing’ or task performance in real time. The notion of criterial knowledge — knowing how well — (Morgan & Wyatt-Smith, 2000; Wyatt-Smith, 2000) is also relevant, in that it includes meta-knowledge of the desired characteristics of a fine performance. This chapter takes the position that criterial knowledge is a necessary supplement to both propositional and procedural knowledge. That is, students need to know not only those criteria relevant to a fine performance on the task at hand, but also the ways in which to call them into (and out of ) play to direct on-task improvement strategies. Taken together, the propositional–procedural distinction, in conjunction with the notion of criterial knowledge, are central to analysing how various kinds of knowledge are made available in the classroom. In pursing this line of inquiry, the analyses draw on Freiberg and Freebody’s (1995) work on how teachers use a range of interactive mechanisms to control classroom interactions, including: three-part exchange sequences which include an evaluative component as the third part of the sequence (teacher question – student answer – teacher evaluation; teacher initiation – student response – teacher evaluation) (italics in the original); turn-taking, participation rights, responsibilities and procedures that are regulated by the three-partexchange structure; and the discourse-action machinery of task-oriented interactions which in classrooms is a three-part sequence: teacher directive – student compliance – teacher evaluation. (pp. 203-204)

The inclusion of these mechanisms and the propositional–procedural–criterial distinction in the framework shows how the concern is less with a value-free transfer of evaluative knowledge in the

EXAMINING HOW EVALUATIVE TALK FUNCTIONS IN INSTRUCTIONAL SEQUENCES

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process of academic socialisation, than with the interactive mechanisms through which evaluative talk is woven into pedagogy. This approach opens up the possibility for considering disciplinary presuppositions about teacher feedback and student self-monitoring, and how literacy demands emerge from such. Prior to presenting the analyses of the classroom data, brief comment is made on some main principles of the school-based assessment system in Queensland.

Setting the scene: the Queensland system of criteria-based and standards-based assessment Broadfoot (1995) described Queensland as having ‘an educational system long-known for its radical approach to assessment’ (p. 5). One feature that makes the Queensland system ‘radical’ is that the high-stakes assessment for certification occurring in the final two years of schooling is wholly school-based, with the teachers being responsible for planning and implementing curriculum, and for assessing, reporting and certifying student achievement using stated assessment criteria and standards. Essentially, the system enlists teacher-generated statements of criteria and standards in the service of instruction and the improvement of learning (formative assessment), as well as their more traditional use to judge and certify learning outcomes (summative assessment). The underlying premise of the system is that student performance can be improved if the teachers define and publish those criteria against which work is to be judged before students commence an assessable task. This means that, in principle, students no longer need to guess at teacher expectations for a successful performance. Another related premise is that, in criteria-based and standards-based assessment, students will feel as though their performance has been judged more against the specified criteria than against the teacher’s implicit standards (Sadler, 1986). To date, there has been no sustained, systematic research demonstrating how these premises are realised in classroom practice, and only limited research has been undertaken in how teachers work with defined criteria in their classrooms (Smith, 1995; Wyatt-Smith, 1999). This means that currently little is known about how teachers and students weave explicit, ‘criterial knowledge’ into their classroom interactions in order to inform efforts at feedback and self-monitoring.

Evaluative talk as an ordering principal of pedagogic discourse The data used in the analyses were collected at a Queensland rural secondary school, and included: task specifications and an accompanying statement of criteria; notes recorded by the focus student during English; overhead transparencies; and four hours of videotape capturing lessons in Year 12 English and Marine Studies. A feature common to the lessons analysed was their emphasis on performance. That is, in each lesson students were doing tasks that contributed directly to the evidence that formed the basis for judging achievement on course completion.

English To set the scene: Lloyd, a Year 12 student, sat quietly at the back of the room, sometimes swinging on his chair, at other times writing a word or two into his notebook as the teacher gave directions about the assessable, written assignment on Strange Objects, by Gary Crew. The class had studied the novel for the previous six weeks.

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From the beginning of the lesson, the teacher could be heard exerting strong control of classroom talk. The following segment occurred at the beginning of the lesson, and in it the teacher used a sequence of directives and insertions to establish a view of students’ existing knowledge. Teacher stands at front, next to overhead projector. As he talks he gradually removes the sheet covering the film (see Appendix 1). 1. T Now, I’m going to quickly run through the requirements of the assignment and also just go over the genre, genres quickly. Then you are going to start your rough copy, if you haven’t already done so. So you’ll need your assignment sheet. (pause) The two requirements for this one are an analytical one and a creative, and we’ve been through all of this before, you realise, in preparation for most of your earlier assignments this year. But generally, what’s your difference between the analytical and the creative? (pause – no audible student response). If you choose an analytical essay, what would be different to what you’d choose to do for your creative essay? 2. S You’ll be analysing. 3. T You’ll be given a definite what? 4. S Plan. 5. T No, not plan. What are you given on the sheet? 6. S Question. 7. T Yes, so keep going (pause). So you, when you’re given the creative question, what do you base your knowledge on? You have to make it up. You have to use your knowledge of the plot and story, and the characters and themes. Now with your analytical essay, I am going to focus on Question 2 on the handout sheet. The content we covered on Thursday will suit either of these two questions.

The teacher’s talk in this exchange can be heard as forming the preface to task directives, with the teacher choosing to exert control by answering his own questions. We hear the assumption that students have knowledge of the generic features of what is referred to as ‘the analytical and the creative’. Hence, the move to gloss the topic of generic distinctiveness — ‘We’ve been through all of this before, you realise, in preparation for most of your earlier assignments this year’. Also established in the talk is the teacher’s view that students share an understanding of the required content — ‘The content we covered on Thursday will suit either of these questions’. Teacher display of propositional and procedural knowledge Having established the context for the present assignment, the teacher then delivered his account of how to read the assignment requirements. Of special interest is how propositional knowledge is foregrounded first, and then this is followed by a teacher-controlled display of procedural knowledge, with no explicit mention being made of stated assessment criteria. Also notable is how student turn-taking opportunities in the talk were used to build the teacher’s account of preparing ‘to do’ the task, marked by heavy reliance on imperatives — have to, must, should — all working to establish his identity as the authoritative writer in the classroom. 8. T

9. S 10. T 11. S

Now, what is the first thing you have to do, presuming you have read the book and done everything you are supposed to have done? What is the first thing you have to do to answer that question? Look at everything, like what could be factual. Before you do that, what must you do first, pick out what? Key words.


12. T 13. S 14. T 15. S 16. T

17. S 18. T 19.S 20. T 21. S 22. T 23.S 24. T

25. S 26. T

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Yes, pick out the key words from the question. Once you have picked out those key words and circled them, what must you do next? What do you do with those key words? Make a plan. No, before you refer back to the book. You have picked out the key words, now what do you do with them? Make them up in a sentence. That’s right, you make your own understanding of them and make your own sentence from them — and your own sentence becomes what? A statement of intention that you are going to answer… So, what is the next thing you have to do — Peter? You have identified the key words and re-written the question. You do what they want. Well, yes, you do what they want, but you …? Write a plan. Write your plan? No, I think I would do something else before that. Brainstorming? Yes, brainstorming. Now, from the brainstorming, what would you get? Quotes and stuff. Yes, quotes. A list of points you are going to make. So, that is the next thing you are going to have to do. Therefore, you identify the key words. You rewrite the question in your own terms and you list the points you are going to make to prove or disprove — and you can also at that point write down a tentative conclusion that you think you can come to. On the OHT I have put up another thing. List the quotes and things you might want to use. So, in effect, once you have done that, what have you come up with? Peter, you said it before. A plan. Yes, a plan. You come up with a plan.

One of the distinctive features of this segment is the directive–compliance sequence through which the teacher alerts the student to be compliant in the important business of assessment. Student willingness to participate in this sequence, and thereby to collaborate in the construction of the teacher as assessor, is clear in turns 10 and 11, in which the students were challenged to provide the authorised answer, key words, and again in turns 16 to 22. In these turns we hear students struggling to give the teacher what he wants. Given this, there is an irony in the student’s statement in turn 17 — You do what they want — especially given his striking efforts to give the teacher what he wanted. To whom does the anonymous they refer, especially given that, typically, the class teacher is the one responsible for reading and marking the assignments in school-based assessment, and not an anonymous external assessor? Another feature of the segment is the way in which the teacher controls the interaction until it builds to turns 24 to 26, in which the teacher’s version of how to produce a plan is presented. Interestingly, a student had already offered the word plan in turn 13. However, the teacher’s insertions following this turn established that the leap from key words to plan was not appropriate, and, as indicated in turn 26, the appropriate formula was to move from key words to re-writing the question, to noting key points, and then to recording relevant quotations. Following the teacher-led exposition of planning by formula, the talk shifted to a display of what counts as a good introduction. Once again, the talk remains under the firm control of the teacher, who demonstrated how to apply the formula to the given novel question. 27. T

Now, a very quick going through of that question to identify key words. There is no need to write this down, I have already done it here on the OHT. So, who would like to read out the analytical question for me? Would you read it for me please?

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28. S 29. T 30. S 31. T

35. T

36. 37. T 38. S 39. T


(Student reads Question 2.) Okay. Who would like to have a go at identifying some of those key terms? Those important words that help you answer the question? Describe? Okay, Carmen said ‘describe’. I’d pick out a few things before that; does anyone else have another idea? Okay, ‘believing’ and ‘factual account’. The second half of the question says, ‘Describe in detail how Crew achieves this and comment on the effectiveness of this technique’. Any important words in there? Fiona? [Pause] How about ‘Describe in detail’, which comments on what you have to do. I think the important thing is the ‘effectiveness’ and ‘technique’. They are probably the important terms, so I’ve gone through and highlighted those for you. (Teacher points to words on OHT, shown in Appendix 1.) Now, this is the introduction that I have written to go with that question. Can you read out this introduction please? See if you can highlight as you go along the key points I’ve made from the question. Could you read it, please? (Student reads teacher’s prepared introduction.) Now, can anyone identify in that paragraph where I’ve stated what I’m doing — where I’ve recorded my statement on the question? In the first sentence? The first sentence, that is exactly right. Okay. There is the introduction as it was written, and here is the annotated version of the introduction. The first sentence I’ve marked as my thesis or the statement that I am going to use to answer the question. Further down I’ve highlighted all of the other key words that I think I need to answer the question. So I’ve brought up: ‘believing’, ‘factual account’, ‘detail’, ‘achieves’, ‘effectiveness’ and ‘technique’. These words indicated with the red underline are the words I am going to use as key points in my paragraphs for my essay. Okay. Then my conclusion will prove what I have said with each of these points.

The teacher’s pedagogical routine of teacher question – student answer – teacher evaluation, as heard in the earlier segments, again appears strong here. Interestingly, students do not hear the routine as allowing them to engage in student-to-student talk. Also strong is the teacher’s focus on procedural knowledge in modelling how to produce an introductory paragraph. The extent to which the whole lesson has been choreographed is illustrated by the teacher’s talk as he gradually reveals his own prepared introduction, as shown in Appendix 2. Once again, the talk prioritises the teacher’s directives of applying the formula — identify key words, rewrite question, list points and attempt conclusion. Once again, there is the teacher expectation of student compliance with these directives, with evaluative comment focusing on the formula in action. Still missing from the talk, however, is explicit mention of the stated criteria specifications for the task (see Table 1). As the heading ‘Senior Written English Criteria Sheet’ suggests, the above specifications have been developed in the school for broad-ranging application to the various types of writing that students may undertake in Senior English. That is to say, they are supplied to students as the official criteria to be used for grading analytical expositions and creative writing. According to the school Work Program, the latter included letters, newspaper articles, journals/diaries, epilogues and other book chapters. Insofar as these criteria are not sharply focused on the demands of a single genre or set task, they fall well short of providing useful information about actual assessment expectations. Therefore, it is hardly surprising that reference to them is omitted in the corpus of classroom talk. It appears as though both teacher and student accepted that the sheet was a procedural display satisfying the


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A

B

C

D

GENRE

Very high degree of control over all genre features.

High degree of control over most genre features.

Satisfactory degree of control over major genre features.

Poor degree of control over major genre features.

Very poor degree of control over major genre features.

CONTENT

Content covered in considerable depth and breadth. Notable insight and/or creativity.

Content covered in depth and breadth. Some insight and creativity.

Major content covered in adequate detail. Occasional depth of thought.

Ideas inaccurate and/or repetitious, and/or irrelevant. Lacks adequate detail to sufficiently explain/ develop a response. Too short in length.

Very little content. Repetitious and irrelevant. Lacks direction and development. Far too short in length.

EXPRESSION/ GRAMMAR (includes • cohesion • vocabulary • spelling • punctuation)

Virtually error free. Varied expression, flair. Very fluent and cohesive. Uses a variety of cohesive ties. Discriminating use of an extensive and appropriate vocabulary. Few, if any, spelling errors. Skilful and correct use of all punctuation.

A few errors. Varied expression. Quite fluent and cohesive. Most cohesive ties used. Use of wide and appropriate vocabulary. A few spelling errors. Correct use of most punctuation.

Some errors but free from major and continuous mistakes. Some variety in expression. Basically fluent and cohesive. Generally accurate and appropriate use of vocabulary. Some spelling errors. Correct use of basic punctuation.

Frequent errors. More variety in expression needed. Fluency and cohesion spoilt by disconnected sentences and/or paragraphs. Restricted and/or inaccurate vocabulary. Many spelling errors. Poor understanding of basic punctuation.

Errors frequent enough to impede communication. Little fluency and cohesion. Disconnected sentences and/or paragraphs. Very restricted vocabulary. Frequent spelling errors. Little, if any, understanding of basic punctuation.

TEXTUAL

FEATURES

CONTEXTUAL

FACTORS

Table 1. Senior written English criteria sheet E

Items are assessed on all criteria, but content, genre, expression/grammar are more important

official system requirement for students to be supplied with a criteria statement. Clearly, in this instance, the criteria lost their ‘pedagogic bite’ (Wyatt-Smith, 2000b), and, in turn, any potential to facilitate students’ transition from teacher feedback to self-monitoring. In the absence of talk about criteria, the pedagogical exchange structure of three-part sequences worked to alert students to the need for compliance. However, the studied lesson had an intriguing twist when the student compliance, urged in teacher talk, was undercut by the teacher’s stated demand that students not reproduce the teacher’s sample. What emerges in the following segment is an apparent tension between the teacher’s requirements for students to be simultaneously compliant and independent. 40. T

So, for your analytical essay, if we quickly run through it; your sample of how you are going to read the question and what you are going to do with it in order to write your plan. How can you write the introduction to the question and how in your introduction you can set out the key points you are going to work with throughout the essay. Okay. Now, that is all I am going to do on the analytical question, and we’ve done the content in a fair bit of detail last week and before the holiday. (pause) You don’t have to use what I’ve done — the same key words, the same paragraph. That was my — you don’t have to use the same introduction. That was just a sample, my sample.

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In this segment, we hear the teacher’s talk as weaving together a lesson summary, a reminder that students should know the content, and advice about how to use the given introduction. Of special interest is the attempted repositioning of students, as though at this point they are expected to demonstrate independence — ‘You don’t have to use what I’ve done — the same key words, the same paragraph. That was my — you don’t have to use the same introduction. That was just a sample, my sample’. Student interview data would be needed to determine how students heard this apparent invitation to develop an alternative introduction, or even one that diverged from the stance adopted by the teacher. In the absence of this data, I wondered about remaining openings for students to identify key words not previously identified by the teacher. What rewards (and penalties) lay in store for students who chose to remain compliant to the extent of reproducing the same or similar introduction? Throughout the talk documented above, Lloyd sat quietly, circling the key words on his task sheet. At no time did he volunteer an answer to a teacher-initiated question. Then, following the teacher’s directive for students to begin a draft, Lloyd spent 50 minutes leafing through the novel and making notes. Occasionally, he and his fellow student shared a quiet aside, and sometimes a joke. However, for most of the time, he seemed willing to play the part of appearing to stay on task. Then, in the final five minutes of the lesson the teacher went to Lloyd’s desk to question him about his progress. As the following segment makes clear, despite the teacher’s demonstrations of how to read the question and prepare an introductory paragraph, Lloyd was far from ready to commence a plan. 100. T 101. S 102. T 103. S 104. T 105. S 106. T 107. S 108. T 109. S

Now, are you still reading Lloyd? I’ve read the book, but I’m hoping to get some background for my essay. Which question are you planning to use? The one that’s like yours, the critical evaluation thing. So, which one do you think you might be answering? I’m not sure. Generally, the bank of information here can be used for either question. That’s what I’m going to use. You don’t want any help for the moment? No, I’m right.

In this segment, Lloyd can be heard declaring that he was not ready for the task and yet wanted to refuse teacher assistance (turn 109). Turn 101 presents his attempt at avoiding trouble that may result from being quizzed on the novel. Of interest is how his trouble-avoidance move can be heard as a direct uptake of the teacher’s question early in the lesson as follows: 8. T

Now, what is the first thing you have to do, presuming you have read the book and done everything you are supposed to have done? What is the first thing you have to do to answer that question?

Even though Lloyd insisted that his aim was to get what he referred to as ‘background for my essay’, the video data showed that, in 50 minutes, he did little writing of notes and did not commence work on a plan. As shown in turn 103, for Lloyd, the imperative seemed to be avoiding teacher scrutiny of his writing by aligning himself with the teacher’s writing. Hence his comment ‘The one that’s like yours, the critical evaluation thing,’ can be heard as a public display of accepting the position that he had been offered as student writer. With these words he declared that he was willing to adhere to given guidelines as though such willingness were a necessary pre-condition for success. A key observation to be derived from this lesson is how teacher and student were at different points in the curriculum cycle. Even though the teacher had proceeded to explicate some assessment


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demands, Lloyd chose not to engage with those demands. A second observation concerns the agencies of teacher and student in modelling and feedback processes. Throughout the lesson, the teacher maintained control of the talk, the apparent assumption being that all students were keeping pace with the modelling, and were at the same stage in thinking through the task demands. Also, the talk did not make explicit provision for students to engage in guided application of the procedures that had been modelled prior to moving to independent application. Essentially, what was missing was the opportunity for students to develop guided evaluative experience as they tried out the modelled procedures in a supportive learning environment. This omission made it possible for Lloyd to remain passive and unproductive. The significance of this becomes clear close to the end of the lesson, when Lloyd disclosed his lack of progress, even on the matter of choosing from the set tasks — ‘I’m not sure’. Lloyd’s statement ‘I’m right,’ is not heard as an informed and informative self-assessment, but as a verbal buffer designed to protect against any further interrogations from the teacher. Overall, the sense is that Lloyd wanted to maintain an appearance of playing the unstated rules of the classroom game that, on this occasion, involved the serious business of assessment. However, this was difficult to achieve, given the absence of a tangible outcome from the lesson. As mentioned previously, by the end of the lesson he had not produced a draft introduction nor was there a plan, however rough or provisional. This should not be taken as grounds for claiming that the talk and activity structures that constituted the lesson as a recognisable English lesson made only limited literacy demands on Lloyd. On the contrary, the demands were multiple and complex: reading and interpreting set assessment questions; drawing on prior knowledge of generic structure and other linguistic conventions; reading classroom notes in order to locate relevant content knowledge; choosing and recording quotations from the novel; listening to the classroom talk and observing the interactions for the purpose of cueing in to the teacher’s stated expectations; and then, writing a draft plan and introductory paragraph. Nor should the absence of a tangible outcome be used as the basis for constructing Lloyd as a lazy, unco-operative student. His willingness to be co-operative is clearly demonstrated over a lengthy period by his compliance, in looking as though he was attending to the set task. On this occasion, however, Lloyd’s lack of engagement is reflected in this compliance. The evaluative talk was so controlled and directed that Lloyd engaged with it by taking up the position of student ‘audience’: his engagement was to appear to listen to the teacher’s directions and to passively view the teacher’s display of writing competence. At no time, however, did Lloyd become an active participant in learning about task requirements. It seems that, in this instance, he learned more about doing school and being student than he learned about writing. This contrasts starkly with the observed agencies of teacher and student in evaluative talk in another subject, Marine Studies.

Marine Studies: Evaluative talk and interaction as rules and as resource In the case of Marine Studies, the classroom was the swimming pool, and the lesson addressed a mandatory topic, Personal Water Skills. Students were in the pool to develop competency in snorkelling, swimming and rescue techniques. The lesson began with the teacher instructing students on the correct procedure for clearing their snorkels of water after diving. The focus student, Maria, said she was not clear about what to do, to which the teacher replied: 1. T

To clear your snorkel, you have to blow through it. One way to do it is to put your tongue in behind your teeth and build a bit of pressure. You will have to practise. That is what I want you to do for the first few minutes. Clean your face mask by using a bit of saliva, rub it around

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with your finger and wash it out. When people get their gear sorted out, I want to run through three or four different skills that I want you to be practising.

As this segment indicates, the Marine Studies lesson is of interest in at least two ways. Firstly, the interest is in how, through talk, the teacher regulated student use of physical resources and skill development. Second, the interest is in the interactional activities and patterns of action that constitute the lesson as a recognisable instance of Marine Studies lessons. Taken together, these interests open an opportunity for considering how teacher use of talk became the tool for maintaining control of information chains, with built-in, self-correcting feedback loops. In the course of the lesson, the chains consisted of segmented or ‘chunked’ information about how to perform the skills of finning, shallow-diving, duck diving and mask retrieval. Only when students had mastered finning, for instance, did the teacher and the group of students proceed to the next chunk of information and related performance opportunity. Consider, for example, how, in the following segment, the teacher used talk to provide students with task-specific information — a link in the chain — and how the talk is followed-up by student performance and then feedback about performance. 2. T

3. T

4. S1 5. T

6. S2 7. T

Everybody over here now, please, and I’ll tell you what to do. Now, when ‘finning’, keep your arms beside your body like this. Your legs are kept straight, don’t bend them at the knees. Just move slowly. So the first activity is finning across the surface, the fins are not supposed to break the surface, as this will scare the fish. The fins stay just below the surface. Now breathe nice and easy through your snorkel on the surface. (Students demonstrate finning across the pool.) (Talks as students cross the pool.) Nice and slow, drop your legs a little so they don’t break the surface. That’s looking good, you should be feeling pretty relaxed. (All students have crossed the pool twice.) The next related activity incorporates a ‘shallow dive’ into the ‘finning’ activity. To do a ‘shallow dive’, clear your snorkel with a blow and to verify it’s done correctly you shouldn’t have to pull the snorkel out of your mouth at all. So, we will start off, one dive half way across the pool, come up, clear your snorkel, then repeat it again. (Students demonstrate ‘shallow dive’.) I can’t get all the water out of my snorkel. You need more pressure in the blow. Practise that. (Then to the group.) A lot of people are looking awkward when they dive. When you dive down, bend more quickly at the waist. I think we are trying to fit in too many dives. Just do one dive to the bottom of the pool, come up and clear your snorkel. Okay, let’s go. I did it. Well done, Maria.

This segment shows how the pedagogy relied on a sequence of teacher talk, performance and feedback from either the teacher or individual student about the quality of performance. One student, for example, indicated dissatisfaction with his performance, commenting ‘I can’t get all the water out of my snorkel’, while another reported success — ‘I did it’. Repeated throughout the lesson were several other instances of student-initiated feedback on their progress with the task at hand. The emerging picture was of self-assessment as the authorised way to participate in the Marine Studies class. Also, the segment above shows how the teacher’s talk comprised a combination of explanations and directives, with opportunity for prompt, responsive individual and group feedback. Within this mix, certain terms were interwoven in the talk so that their meaning was explicated. For example, in line 2 finning is introduced and explained as an instruction — ‘Now, when “finning”, keep your arms beside your body like this. Your legs are kept straight, don’t bend them at the knees. Just move


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slowly’. Further, the teacher’s reference to fish — ‘The fins are not supposed to break the surface, as this will scare the fish. The fins stay just below the surface,’ serves to remind the students that the knowledge and experience to be gained in the lesson have application outside the Marine Studies lesson and the site of the school pool. The relevance of the class activities to the world outside school, and the expectation of skill transfer to other activities and sites were also emphasised later in the class. On this occasion, the teacher was responding to a student’s fear of failure when confronted with the task of lifting a mask while sitting on the bottom of the pool: 8.T

9. S 10. T

Okay. The next technique is this: What I want you to do is basically sit on the bottom, lift your mask from your face, don’t take it right off otherwise you’ll have trouble putting it back on. If you do a scuba test, they will throw your mask into the pool and when it is on the bottom, you will have to dive down and put your mask on then clear it of water before you come up. That is the real test. What if you can’t do it? Well, that is the test they do. If you are diving in 30 metres of water and someone accidentally kicks your mask off, you have to be able to put it back on and clear it; you just can’t come up. You have to be able to do this; if you can’t, then you can’t go.

In this segment, the teacher is heard taking up the authoritative position of knowing what is expected in actual scuba tests as they occur outside the school setting. It is as though, at least in this instance, the teacher publicly aligns himself with the anonymous expert assessors involved in these tests, they, to convey the message that the lesson is a serious rehearsal for other tests that count. Intrinsic in the evaluative talk of the lesson was the concern with students’ shared competencies, and not the creation of individual, specialised differences. More specifically, the talk disclosed the teacher’s assessment that the students were not expected to be all at the same level of competence, and yet improved performances would result from practice. Consider, for example, how in the following segment the teacher talked about anticipating improvement after some initial difficulties: 17. T

What I want you to do is this: Just sort of sit on the bottom and lift your mask out so it fills up with water. Then put your mask back on. Then break the seal by pressing here — at the top of the mask. Then look up and blow through your nose. The mask fills up with air, which forces the water out the bottom. Most of you will probably clear half the water on your first attempt and then get progressively better thereafter.

Here again, the teacher’s directives are sharp, with verbs figuring prominently in the instructions. This approach makes considerable demands on students’ listening skills, with the spoken word acting as the primary medium of instruction. Also clear is the teacher’s attempt to alert students to the value of guided practice in a supportive environment. Typically, the source of support was located not only in the teacher’s talk about ‘doing’, but also in the structured opportunities for individual students, as novices, to attempt a performance as a way of modelling for the group. Consider how in the following extract, the teacher’s directives, student demonstration, prompt feedback and an opportunity for small-group interaction work together to structure the learning: 22. T

The next technique you will learn is the ‘duck dive’. You go along the surface, then bend very quickly at the waist. At the same time you kick your legs straight up in the air above you, so you drop like an arrow. I’ll ask Chris to demonstrate for us. The main thing is you bend

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23. T 24. S 25. T

26. T


quickly at the waist, so your head’s pointing straight down. At the same time you kick your legs up high above the water so you drop straight down. As soon as your legs are under the surface you can fin on the way down. (Student demonstration.) Well done. Okay, do you want to do that two at a time? I’ll get something for you to retrieve off the bottom. It hurts my ears. It probably will hurt your ears a little bit, so you can blow your nose on the way down or when you are at the bottom. (To the group) Okay, I want people to take it in turns to retrieve these two things off the bottom of the pool by duck diving down to the bottom. (Maria demonstrates.) Oh good! Well done, Maria!

This segment makes apparent a cycle of interaction between teacher and students, with teacher talk being supported and illustrated by individual student demonstration and guided group application. Maria’s prompt actions in completing the retrieval demonstration indicate that she heard the invitation as routine or typical. Also, the teacher’s comments ‘Oh good! Well done, Maria!’ (line 26) can be heard not only as praising the quality of individual performance, but also as recognising and rewarding the student’s keen listening and observational skills that she had used to cue into the pattern of action the teacher wished her to accomplish. The teacher’s ways of enacting the talk cycle — instruction–guided application–feedback — open the possibility for considering the disciplinary assumption that teacher input in the form of clear, spoken instructions about equipment and tasks is a necessary, though not sufficient, condition for successful learning in Marine Studies. Other valued conditions include the explicit provision of structured opportunities for students to reflect and comment on performance and, in so doing, develop evaluative experience. In effect, the Marine Studies class showcased how propositional, procedural and criterial knowledge can be captured in talk and talked into meaning in ways that students can take up and apply to their learning.

Conclusion This chapter presents a call to re-examine disciplinary suppositions about evaluative talk and the ways in which it shapes pedagogy and classroom practices. The analysis of the Marine Studies data brought to light how teacher and student shared a notion of structured, collaborative learning in which students played a key role in modelling and monitoring of progress towards accomplishment. The analysis also highlighted the value of shared evaluative talk, demonstrating how it led to displays of student reflexivity and curricular growth. Quite a different picture emerged from the English data that revealed how, for Lloyd, time-on-task produced no meaningful outcome. One possible explanation for this is that Lloyd lacked the resources needed to participate in the ways expected by the teacher. Another explanation is that the managerial control of the evaluative talk in the English classroom served to render Lloyd passive and compliant. More specifically, the classroom talk gave priority to the teacher’s display, rather than to students’ guided application, feedback and self-monitoring of progress. And, just as Lloyd played no active part in the evaluative talk of the classroom, so too he disengaged from learning. Finally, this chapter presents a challenge to educators who seek to use written statements of assessment criteria to enhance student learning. In the English class, the stated criteria represented the official record of assessment expectations, but played no active part in classroom evaluative talk


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or other interactions. At no time were students shown to refer to them, nor did the teacher mention them. If assessment criteria are to serve the goal of learning (as distinct from the goal of accountability), then a way forward is to weave talk about them and guided application in their use into classroom practices. If stated criteria do not have pedagogical value ascribed to them in these ways, then surely they can have little, if any, direct relevance to, and impact upon, student learning. Moreover, in the absence of demonstrated links between stated criteria and student learning, the utility of criteria may well be reduced to reinforcing the counterproductive message that the teacher is the sole assessor and source of feedback in the classroom. Appendix 1. Planning the essay — OHT 1

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Appendix 2. Teacher-prepared introduction — OHT 2

Switching literacy demands

JOHN ELKINS

12

CHAPTER

THE UNIVERSITY OF QUEENSLAND

Some comments on what is read and written

his chapter focuses primarily on texts, rather than on classroom events. Taken simply, the texts used consisted mainly of assigned sections of books, newspaper articles, material written on blackboards, overhead transparencies, and student writing. Assessment materials, including tests and assignment rubrics, were also prominent. The artefacts studied and the video records viewed were drawn widely from the students, subjects and schools, and thus differ from the data analysed in the remaining chapters. Thus, the samples obtained ranged widely in subject matter, as did the ways in which the texts were used or created. Reference was made to the videotape records to assist in interpretation. The perspectives adopted for the task of analysing the data in this study are my idiosyncratic blend of socio-historical psychology and cognitive/meta-cognitive theory. These are tempered by a respect for the need for functionality, in that there are likely to be occasions where insights and practices derived from, for example, classroom experience or behavioural psychology will be judged to have validity. I have a particular interest in examples of scaffolding through text as well as through the actions of teachers. When presented with copies of the printed texts, I was immediately struck by the mundane nature of some of it. The videos of lessons where these texts were used strengthened this impression; indeed, it was often difficult to believe that lessons could be so unstimulating, or students so compliant. Nevertheless, there were examples where students were very active learners, and texts were stimulating and challenging. A broad and necessarily overlapping grouping has been used to organise this chapter: reading, writing and assessment. These are not clean distinctions, for reading is often accompanied by notetaking or copying, and also includes viewing non-verbal information. Writers read their own writing, and assessment typically involves both processes.

T

Reading Let us look firstly, at some simple reading from the blackboard in Jim’s Year 11 Chemistry lesson (Figure 1). The teacher writes an equation on the board:

N2 + 2O2 → 2 NO2 He then writes 1m + 2m → 3m and quickly erases it. Two other equations are written and each has some calculations regarding molarity, volume and number of moles (see figure 1). This text is not complete or fully explicit, and the students need to be able to follow the teacher’s talk to understand the material. Thus, this example of reading is subservient to oral presentation by the teacher, and, viewed alone, it will probably be sterile and unhelpful. In Year 12 Maths in Society, Greg reads (or may choose to read, if he wishes) Chapter 7 of Basic Algebraic Techniques (pp. 72–73). Here we see the particular genre that is used by textbook writers in mathematics. Introductory paragraphs contain relatively few mathematical symbols. Indeed, a clear translation between ordinary and mathematical language is given when the author states ‘This can be expressed in mathematical language as follows’ (p. 72). There follows a dense sentence in which

SOME COMMENTS ON WHAT IS READ AND WHAT IS WRITTEN

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Figure 1

the English words ‘If ’ and ‘then’ link mathematical propositions containing the ‘verb’ =. When, after a very brief exposition, the text changes to a set of exercises, we find much more typical English, as verbal expressions are given for conversion to mathematical notation; for example, ‘four more than a number’, and also the inverse task:

After half a page, the exercises change to arithmetical substitution of values in expressions, with just the minimum of connected prose. The pattern of brief exposition followed by exercises is repeated throughout the chapter. The teacher provides a useful blackboard summary of the meaning of key words (‘terms’, ‘expand’, ‘like terms’, ‘simplify’, ‘factorise’). Brief examples are given of gathering like terms and factorising. A common misconception regarding the vinculum is explained. A possible teacher error is erased without explanation, and correct working replaces it.

Figure 2

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I was struck by the way in which the teacher ignored the textbook except for assigning practice exercises. Instead, oral exposition and use of the board was relied upon to build up a summary of key words or definitions. Presumably, the teacher expects the students to read the textbook at home. Greg’s notes (see Figure 2) contain no additional information gathered from the teacher’s verbal explanation, and ‘coefficients’ is incorrectly copied. This example of teachers not monitoring the coherence or completeness of student notes may not be an isolated case. Greg’s answers to questions 13 to 21, which ask for the reinstatement of some algebraic expressions in the student’s own words, are mere expansions; for example: 5y = 5 x y, not 5 multiplied by y or even 5 times y. This videotape illustrates how mathematics lessons often fail to engage students in meaningful activities. Unless students are aware of why practice is necessary in order to gain a high level of proficiency, one wonders why they persevere with a multitude of short exercises. The teacher’s board summary does not exemplify translation between words and symbols, and the teacher relies on students being able to integrate their ‘talking over’ the writing on the board. Blackboard notes also occur in Martin’s Year 12 Economics class (Figure 3). They consist of a simple diagram to contrast contractionary and expansionary fiscal policy. Symbols ‘G’, ‘T’, ‘’ are used without explanation, as are acronyms such as ‘GDP’, ‘CAD’, ‘GD’, and abbreviations such as ‘U’ and ‘Ec’.

Budget ’96 FISCAL POLICY EXPANSIONARY G>t

CONTRACTIONARY G>T

OUTLAYS

REVENUES

As a result of the budget, the budget deficit will swing from a 2% GDP deficit to a 1% surplus and a 4% GDP account for CAD as well as 38% GDP to GD. The U rate is predicted to stay slightly above 8% and Ec growth will be 3.5% also curbing inflation to 2%.

Figure 3

Following this explanation, several pages of newspaper articles are assigned. These constitute authentic information about economics, but they also assume that readers understand certain basic terminology, again including acronyms. In addition, the newspaper genre brings its own challenge for the reader, with often telegraphic prose. Figure 4 shows an extract from the articles read by Martin exemplifying this. Illustrations in the newspaper are of two types — contextual, such as photographs of the Treasurer, who has presented the national budget, and informative, such as graphs and tables (Figure 5). There is no evidence that students are given guidance in reading the latter. While reading the articles, Martin highlights the text and adds his own notes, though these are brief, barely one-third of a page per lesson. We move now to a subject in which reading plays an even more significant role than in Economics. In Year 12 Contemporary English, Greg has read a substantial piece of non-fictional


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MAIN WINNERS FAMILIES About two million lower income families to receive $1000 increase in income tax-free threshold per child. Those who earn less than $70 000 receive $200 a year per child. SCHOOLS Five per cent funding increase. $30m for private schools in capital works. FARMERS $58.4m for 1 100 Landcare projects. $123.8m rural adjustment scheme assistance. $98m forestry package. SMALL BUSINESS Permitted to roll over business assets without capital gains tax (CGT). Individuals permitted to claim exemption from CGT up to capital gain of $500 000 if proceeds for retirement. Self-funded retirees to receive same tax threshold ($11.185) as pensioners. BANKS Able to gain direct access to super through retirement savings accounts. SCIENCE CSIRO funding increased $115m. ARTS Majority of election promises honoured but Government’s pledge to maintain current funding levels broken by cut to Australia Council of 6 per cent.

Figure 5. Sydney Morning Herald 21/8/96 Budget Supplement.

Figure 4. From Sydney Morning Herald, 21/8/96 Budget Supplement.

COVERING THE WAR Walking through the Vientiane market one day, Neil spotted a shirtless, shoeless European with a Beatle haircut. He wore only a pair of jeans and bowler hat and he sat on a rubber groundsheet on which were little piles of white pills. According to Donald Wise, roving correspondent for the London Daily Mirror, Davis asked, ‘What have you got there, old fellow?’ ‘Clap pills’, replied the young man, with an English accent. ‘Then I’ll buy the lot’, said Davis. The young Englishman was Tim Page. Davis took him back to the Constellation for a meal, showed him for the first time in his life how to take pictures with a stills camera, and set him on the way to becoming a war photographer ‘known’, said Wise, ‘both for his multiple wounds and great action pictures’. Figure 6

writing by journalist Tim Bowden, ‘Covering The War’ (Figure 6). He is required to write brief answers to questions, some of which seek explicit information, and others requiring inferences to be drawn. Greg’s responses are mostly single clauses rather than complete sentences. There is little attention paid to the stance of the writer, and the potential of the passage to lead students to deeper reading strategies is probably not realised.

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In the same lesson, Greg also read an article from the Sydney Morning Herald (Figure 7).

Haing Ngor , who won an Oscar for his role in The Killing Fields, has been shot dead in Los Angeles. Luke Hardy helped manage his tour of Australia. travelled with Haing Ngor for 12 days in June 1989. It was supposed to be a tour, but in the end it turned out to be a journey. Haing was in Australia as guest of the National Refugee Week Committee. He spoke on behalf of refugees in seven cities. As a planner of the 1989 Refugee Week program, I was asked to accompany him as a tour manager or minder. There were flights not to miss, interviews to juggle and problems with keys at reception: the tour needed to be managed, but you felt redundant trying to manage the affairs of a person like Haing. He was the archetype of the lone survivor. There was too much of him to mind — it seemed fatuous reminding a person who had dodged minefields and killing pits that his wake-up call was at 6.15 and breakfast would be downstairs. He may have been a doctor, but he was not Albert Schweitzer. Life had impinged too deeply to leave him with much faith in the innate goodness of humankind. I anticipated meeting a gentle survivor, like many Khmer I

I

have known, but it was clear he was possessed and anguished. There was no off-button. His demeanour was of a person cheated, whose loss could never be compensated. He was often in harsh physical pain — bones in his arm and shoulder had never properly knitted after the Khmer Rouge beat and tortured him. His stomach was a mess. He had ulcers and jet-lag. The stress of the tour set in early. On the first day, Haing had to speak on the Midday Show, and also to a gathering of foreign aid representatives. He came across well with Ray Martin, but the address he gave to the aid people was a garbled, anguished stream of consciousness, filled with barely comprehensible accounts of terrible cruelty and privations. The tirade contained the most bitter denunciations of named governments and political doctrines, and ended only when Haing almost passed out from grief. He had no idea of the time. My colleagues and I panicked.

Figure 7

The final task of Greg’s English lesson is to respond to the movie The Killing Fields. (The class have watched the movie over several lessons, and view the final half an hour of the movie in this lesson.) Greg’s ‘reading’ of the written texts and related movie can be considered through his summary (in words, phrases and sentences) of the movie, which identifies themes of revenge, courage, endurance and comradeship, some of which have been suggested by the teacher during class discussion. Greg identifies major elements in the narrative, and sets the movie in the context of the role of photo-journalism. The teacher writes 10 key words/phrases on the board. Some of these Greg incorporates into his summary. Later in the lesson, a small amount of peer discussion occurs, and Greg notes additional ideas. The scene has been set for an extended piece of writing, but this was not sampled in the research design for videotaping. One could certainly interpret this lesson in


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terms of scaffolding the ideational content that could be used in an essay. Unfortunately, no evidence was seen of the teacher scaffolding later writing processes. In Year 11 Business Studies, Jim works from two pages from the set text which illustrate doubleentry accounting, trial balance and a set of accounting principles (more accurately, concepts) (Figure 8). There is also a cartoon (not shown here) illustrating an unrelated aspect of business life. One must question the motivational value of such a cartoon. Textbooks on education by James Popham (1973, 1975) and Guy Lefrancois (1991) are effective examples of the use of cartoons to assist understanding and remembering.

9.6 ACCOUNTING PRINCIPLES Accounting systems must operate within certain rules or principles. These have been established to ensure that standards are maintained and everyone works within the same rules. The following are important principles that need to be understood. 1. The concept of an accounting entity. This is a unit of economic or social activity such as a company or club for which separate accounting records must be maintained. 2. Profit. This is the difference between income and expenses, where income is greater than expenses. If expanses exceed income, then a loss rather than a profit is recorded. Profit is the amount on which tax is usually paid. Figure 8

The blackboard presents instructions for classroom activities to be performed in groups. This is quite innovative, as it asks the students to prepare a lesson to be presented to their peers in a future class meeting. The volume of printed material which students bring to class and the time taken in getting organised is surprising. Piles of books and folios are transferred between desks, yet only one book seems to be germane to the assigned activities. The students form groups, yet spend several minutes reading silently before desultory conversation begins. One girl asks, ‘Are you writing this down?’ and later says ‘We’re just letting you write it’. One boy asks ‘Should we do it on an overhead?’ The teacher suggests that groups summarise the main points ‘to make it easy for the class to understand’. Jim spends several minutes flipping pages in the text book — seemingly trying to locate something. He does not appear to use aids such as the table of contents or index. Such conversation as can be discerned appears to be mainly off-task. In all, some 11 minutes of group activity produces only a small amount of writing. Jim writes four sentences, which characterise double-entry accounting (Figure 9). He uses ↑ to stand for ‘increase.’ This seems remarkably little to show for a whole period.

DOUBLE ENTRY ACCOUNTING * to control the quality of the information held in the accounting system * makes it easy for accountants to check whether everything has been correctly recorded. e.g. every sale made is either cash or credit, each sale recorded on the credit of the sales ledger * result of each is that cash received or fee is an ↑ in the amount owed. Figure 9

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In a Year 12 Business Studies class, Jim reads four pages from his textbook Introducing Business Studies 2. The topics are Quality for Customers (two pages), Workplace Reform (one page), and Managing Statutory Corporations (one page). Each is a case study based on the practices of a business enterprise. The format is particularly dense for a textbook. Two case studies have no illustrations, while the first and longest has four simple line drawings with captions which state major themes (Figure 10). Despite the unappealing three–column layout, small typeface and limited use of headings, the subject matter has some inherent appeal to lateadolescent boys — including a motoring organisation and a large social and entertainment facility operated in association with a professional rugby team. Another piece of sustained reading in which Jim engaged was in Year 11 Agriculture. This was a four–page information pamphlet which sets out facts on Rust Diseases of Wheat. Tables, photographs and drawings illustrate important concepts and facts. It thus presents a much more attractive source of information than he was assigned in Business Studies. This pamphlet was an authentic document produced for farmers by a government department. As such, it assumes considerable Figure 10 background knowledge of wheat-growing and plant diseases. Thus, it begins without any context setting, with a table of the distinguishing features of wheat rusts. The language is non-technical, except for words such as ‘awns’, ‘glumes’ and ‘pustules’. Further exploration of the text would enable the meaning of pustule and glume to be inferred from words of illustrations, but a glossary footnote or direct explanation in the main text would have been preferable. Lastly, three pages of handouts on Target Marketing, Marketing Process and Market Research are provided. A worksheet is completed by listing magazines used by target groups. Reading tasks engaged in by these students are mostly very brief, although some longer reading activities occur. In the course of expository teaching, teachers appear to rely on students’ aural comprehension, with only occasional use of reading of cryptic words and phrases added to the board. Oral reading is notably absent — it appears that teachers either expect students to be able to comprehend required text or used spoken communication, supplemented by writing difficult, new or special vocabulary items on the board. There was no evidence of specially prepared ‘handouts’ designed to assist students to master new vocabulary.

Writing We begin by considering the two pages of diagrams produced by Jim in Year 12 Chemistry. The sample (Figure 11) shows some labels which link molecular structure to the distribution of electrons in bonding. There are few words to explain the diagrams, and to explain them would require Jim to generate quite a lot of verbal material. Specialised notation is the major feature of what is written on the blackboard in Jim’s Year 11 Mathematics class; Jim copies to his notepad. Apart from some introductory sentences, the mathematics is presented extremely tersely:

Figure 11


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y = 5x 2 y1 =

No written contextualisation is given, though teacher-talk can be integrated with the material on the board. Here the student needs to read the information as: y is a function of x given by the relationship y = 5x 2. What is the first derivative of y?

The actual mathematical work is straightforward, merely a recognition that 5x2 is of the form n ax , and its derivative, a.n.x.n-1, will be 5.2.x = 10x . Jim’s written work consists of accurate copying and what appears to be accurate solutions to the exercises. Most of his writing consists of mathematical expressions, though a few terms such as ‘differentiation’, ‘intergration’ (sic) and ‘exercises’ have been copied from the board. This lesson is characterised by large amounts of time spent completing exercises which involve writing on his notepad. We turn again to Martin’s Year 12 Economics class. Martin submits a short essay (an extract from the essay is shown in Figure 12) on ‘The Distribution of Income and Wealth in Australia Today’ (see details in later section on Testing and Assessment.) ... The distribution of income and wealth between people, groups and sectors in the economy are recorded on a Lorenz curve. The Lorenz curve shows the cumulative % of total income on the vertical part of the graph and cumulative % of households ranked by income. So it shows you where you are placed in the income rank. The distribution of income and wealth in Australia bettween the rich and the poor are quite far apart, with the Gini coefficient of .43. The Gini coefficient is measured between 0-1 with 0 being absolute equality which were should be striving for and 1 which is total inequality where 1 person earns all the money. It seems as though males are recieving more income even there is equal opportunities for women it is just that the main makes his peak around 30 while women have a peak at 22-24 and then they go and have a family and that is why females earn less on a whole and then they peak again around 40 when they come back in to the work force. It also seems that if you are educated and are of anglo-saxan background your income is higher then people who are unskilled or are migrants and are new to the country. ... Figure 12

The teacher provided copious comments on his writing, some rather enigmatic, and it is difficult to see how they could be helpful to Martin (for example, ‘confusing’, ‘good’) unless some individual conferencing takes place. The standard desired in the essay is very high, and Martin has difficulty in meeting the standard, even though he demonstrated considerable understanding of the content and generally wrote effectively. Some important issues of values must be negotiated by Martin and his teacher. Martin suggests that equality of the distribution of wealth is desirable, and his teacher points out the virtue of competition while conceding that the current distribution of wealth in Australia is too inequitable. Spelling errors such as ‘recieving’ and ‘saxan’ are not corrected, but ‘bettween’ and ‘majour’ are struck through without indicating clearly what was incorrect. ‘Burue’ is circled with ‘sp’ indicated, while ‘their → there’ is clearly indicated. Indeed, though teachers should not be expected to be perfect in spelling, it is noted that in her feedback, the teacher writes ‘sentances’. In a task involving finding newspaper articles, Martin receives positive comments for some poor quality writing. In addition, his teacher’s comments are barely adequate, and both syntax and some

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spelling errors are ignored. Indeed, one instance where misspelling is indicated is wrong. In the phrase ‘about labour mobility’, the teacher has struck out the ‘u’. In standard Australian spelling the word is ‘labour’, although the political party is ‘Labor’. Martin uses long sentences (47 words is the longest) and his writing shows some lack of proofreading. One sentence strings clauses together, with two instances of ‘and hopefully’, while another uses two connectives together ‘and as’, where either alone would suffice (though with a small change in sense). Figures 13a and 13b show the newspaper article which Martin finds and his comments on the article: Friday 5th July Telegraph Mirror

Workers keener to swap jobs A

ustralians are becoming more eager to switch jobs or get out of the workforce altogether, the Australian Bureau of Statistics says. A new study shows almost a quarter of Australia’s workforce changed jobs last year. More than 2.2 million of the nine million Australians employed at some time between February 1995 and February 1996 changed either their employer or business, or changed their job location, the ABS study said. Retrenchments were also down, with only 20 per cent of the 2.1 million people who left the workforce being retrenched, compared with 24 per cent in 1994 and 30 per cent in 1992. More than 50 per cent of the people retrenched had been in their job less than a

by MATTHEW HORAN year, and two-thirds of those retrenched were male. The number of people who left voluntarily was also up. Of the 2.1 million people who ceased a job, 1.3 million, or 65 per cent, left of their own accord, compared with 61 per cent in 1994 and 56 per cent in 1996. The ABS study on job mobility, released yesterday, said about 85 per cent of people changing jobs changed their employer, while 13 per cent changed ‘their job location. Less than 2 per cent changed both during the study period. The numbers of people who changed jobs are up 2.2 per cent since the last survey in February 1994.

Job mobility was highest for people between 20 and 24, with 35 per cent changing jobs. This is up from 31 per cent in 1994. It found 22 per cent of married people switched jobs, compared with 29 per cent of singles. Migrants were less likely to switch jobs, with just 17 per cent changing their employment or job location, compared with an average of 24 per cent of Australian-born people and 26 per cent of people born other Englishspeaking countries. More than 27 per cent of people with tertiary education switched jobs, compared with 23 per cent of people with none and 17 per cent of people still at school.

Figure 13a

This article is about labour Mobility. When people change jobs they are also changing their pay and working conditions. By changing your pay and working conditions and in this article it quotes that 2.2 million people will change or have changed work over the present financial year. At this level of change it could change the distribution of income and wealth for the year 1995-96. Figure 13b


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One of the difficulties faced in writing the major essay required of Martin is getting a structure around which to attach facts and arguments. Martin needs more assistance than is given by the statement: Research the role of the government towards redistribution. Include in your discussion an analysis of each of the policies and any problems associated with the government policies.

A grammatical analysis would note the definite article in ‘each of the policies’, which suggests that the reader knows which policies the teacher has in mind. This is not the only example that could be interpreted as the teacher’s lack of attention (or knowledge) with respect to precision of expression. One major comment by his teacher on the page–and–a–half of typed, single–spaced essay is ‘too short’. It seems that he was expected to deduce the length required from the 40 marks allotted in comparison to the one page for 10 marks in the first part of the assignment. He is reminded that the question required him to mention ALL policies, and three that he has omitted are listed. One senses that the teacher’s main emphasis is on content and the way it is used to develop arguments and explanations. However, perhaps too little guidance has been given as to structuring the essay. As we have seen for reading, many writing episodes are very short. While some extended writing occurs as homework, most students strive for short clauses. One ongoing source of general criticism of student writing is that little feedback seems to be given by teachers, particularly about advanced textual features. Even spelling receives uneven attention, rarely going beyond striking through incorrect words.

Assessment Among the artefacts provided were a substantial number related to assessment, and these often required both reading and writing. Let us look first at a traditional science test. Jim’s Year 11 Chemistry test requires students to complete their work in 2.5 hours. One first asks the question — Why is this test so long? An answer which seems plausible is that this is typical for the external university entrance examinations for which Jim will sit at the end of Year 12. Thus there is a commonsense assumption that students should gain experience in sustaining their test performance over the same time span. There appears to be little psychological justification for using such a long test, and few teachers or students would agree that student knowledge and understanding would be best demonstrated in such an ordeal. It seems likely that it is traditional bureaucratic convenience which has decreed that students spend up to 2.5 hours reading, carrying out mathematical calculations, and writing to demonstrate their mastery of the objectives of the Chemistry curriculum. It is significant that, in the state of New South Wales, there is a relatively conservative approach to providing exit statements and to selecting students for tertiary education, in that while school-based assessment is used, more significance is attached to the common (that is, state-wide) tests in each subject. Section A contained 20 multiple-choice items. These required careful attention to detail. For example, in Question 1, the student needs to discriminate the subscripts that have been handwritten, and then must respond from memory or by applying valence knowledge. The correct formula for aluminium oxide is a) AlO2 c) Al20 b) Al2O3 d) Al3O2

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A contrasting task is Question 20, in which Jim has to read two tables and deduce the answer using additional information that low pH numbers indicate acidic solutions. The following table shows the colour of universal indicator over a range of pH. pH

1–4

5

6

7

8

9

10–11

Colour

red

orange

yellow

green

blue

purple

violet

Aqueous solutions of four different solids were tested with universal indicator. The results appear below. Solution

Colour

sugar

green

ammonium chloride

orange

sodium hydroxide

violet

potassium acetate

purple

The solution that is most acidic is a) sugar b) ammonium chloride c) sodium hydroxide d) potassium acetate

Jim scores 8 out of 20 marks. Many questions appear to tap memory for facts, such as matching the name and formula for substances. Some may also involve the application of chemical principles, so that it is unclear how an answer has been obtained. Note also the lack of any calculation written down, although there was not a lot of white space available on the test paper. (Choices were to be indicated on a separate answer sheet.) It is also clear that the format is rather crowded. Section B consisted of 10 questions, some with two or three parts, and required written responses ranging from balanced chemical equations to short explanations of chemical phenomena. Some questions required knowledge of mathematical formulae or applications of mathematical relationships such as proportions. Reading demands are substantial, with both specialised vocabulary (for example, concentration, extinguisher), and contrasting terms (for example, fission/fusion). Here we can see Corson’s (1985, 1995) ideas about Graeco–Latin-derived vocabulary and the ‘lexical bar’ experienced by many students whose non-school language is predominantly drawn from AngloSaxon vocabulary. The student needs to infer the technical sense in which ‘what is?’ is used. Also, students are expected to infer the scope of ‘list 3 differences’, which required not only direct responses, but also indirect information. Thus, with respect to types of bonding in molecules, one response the teacher was seeking concerned electrical conductivity, which is a property of substances, not strictly of the bond itself. Thus, some students will try to answer in narrow terms and perhaps not mention conductivity, even though they may know this. Also, while ‘what is’ seems more approachable than ‘define’, the latter is unambiguous, whereas the former could require the student to write at least a paragraph. For computational questions such as ‘25 mls of sodium hydroxide ... Find the concentration of sodium hydroxide’, too little white

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space was allocated. This proved to be a problem, since Jim’s work was crowded into less than 5 centimetres’ depth. In 35 minutes of a lesson, the teacher explains how to calculate the solutions to word problems. Jim listens and writes additional correct information on his test paper. Given that he had received 2.5 marks out of a possible 30 on Section B, most of what he wrote on the paper was copied from the board in response to the lesson observed when the teacher discussed each question with the class, or at least gave the correct answers. Five extended-answer questions in Section C were broadly similar to those in Section B, but some supported the student by breaking down a complex problem into several steps. This might be regarded as a form of scaffolding. In marked contrast to the traditional Chemistry test, Martin’s teacher provides a research assignment in Economics, which is specified in some detail through a rubric supplemented by a marking checklist for variety of references, presentation, depth of analysis and use of economic[s] terminology. Tasks include description, tabulation, explanation, independent research and synthesis. Write a report on the distribution of income and wealth in Australia. Include the following points as a minimum for discussion. The approximate length of the assignment should be 1200 words. TASK

MARKS

1. Write 1 page describing the distribution of income and wealth in Australia today.

10

2. Create a table listing all the relevant statistics on the distribution of income and wealth. (ie according to sex, education, households etc)

10

3. What is meant by poverty? What is the incidence of poverty in Australia? How does poverty affect the economy? What are the social costs of poverty?

10

4. Collect at least two media articles on this topic. Analyse these in relation to the topic. (Include the source and date of publication).

10

5. Research the role of the government towards redistribution. Include in your discussion an analysis of each of the policies and any problems associated with the government policies.

40

Marking Checklist variety of references

5

presentation

5

depth of analysis

5

use of economic terminology

5

An interesting point is that the question specified that Martin create a table listing ‘all the relevant statistics’. While Martin certainly provided an incomplete response, it is surely a matter of judgement about which statistics are relevant. Certainly, he is expected to know what the teacher believes are ‘all the relevant’ items. Reading here involves interpreting graphs and tables, and writing requires the creation of such graphic devices. In Year 12 Design, Greg is given seven pages of information which state specifications for two projects, deadlines for submission of major elements, a guide to completion and a preliminary list of academic and material resources needed. In Greg’s Design class, he is given choice for a project, and

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he selects an Entertainment Event. Again, wide choice is given in realising the task. However, the choice is constrained by very detailed criteria for assessment of the work. (Details are also provided for a project on Homewear Product Design, which Greg rejects.) A one–page schedule sets out a timeline spanning six months. There is also a one-page proforma on which Greg is to set out his proposal for the design of the Entertainment Event. During the lesson, Greg selects and copies graphic material. He chooses some examples because he likes the layout or the lettering style, and will use them in his design. Overall, this lesson presents a large amount of considerate text, though much of it does not need to be comprehended fully at this time. Indeed, Greg’s choice may well be made on affective rather than cognitive grounds. However, over the course of the ensuing six months he will need to pay careful attention to the assessment criteria. During a lesson, Greg works with several pages of draft material for posters and T-shirts.

Conclusion Reading Students in the post-compulsory years read a wide variety of texts. The most challenging material has a readability level of ‘educated adult’. Examples from the present study are articles from highquality newspapers such as the Sydney Morning Herald and textbooks which make few concessions to students who may find reading difficult. The length of texts is also substantial and, if reading is to be done in class, it will consume much of the available teaching time. However, students with limited reading comprehension may not succeed in understanding such texts if the reading of longer pieces is assigned as homework. Shorter reading tasks are likely to be overlaid by teacher-talk. The video record suggests that students focus on copying blackboard material, but rarely incorporate the verbal explanations provided by teachers. Reading, treated inclusively, involves mathematical and chemical symbols, complex charts and diagrams, and pictorial information.

Writing Some writing in most lessons is direct copying of material from the blackboard. Other short writing activities occurred during mathematical calculations (in science as well as mathematics classes) or notes when instructed by the teacher. Little evidence was seen of instruction in or supervision of extended writing. Sustained writing seems to have taken place at home, and usually formed part of continuous assessment in the form of written assignments. Teachers in content areas appear to be more interested in evidence that students understand key concepts in each school subject than in how well it is expressed in writing, or in teaching writing as an integral part of teaching their discipline. Spelling receives inconsistent attention from teachers; overall, student writing was spelled correctly, and teachers were more interested in ideas than spelling.

Assessment Reading and writing activities often occurred together in assessment contexts. It is evident that the greatest need for careful attention to text occurs in assessment tasks rather than in reading informative


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texts. However, it is also evident that sometimes the student needs to ‘read the teacher’s mind’, or at least to draw inferences that are obvious to the teacher, such as how much work is required by considering the weighting of marks. Another feature of some of the assessment practices is the careful use of assessment criteria/rubrics. Very detailed planning is evident, and teachers have developed high-level skills in creating tasks that give students the opportunity to demonstrate their learning. Indeed, in Design subjects, it is reasonable to describe assessment as ‘show-casing’ the students’ original work within the constraints of design principles. In contrast, some traditional academic subjects, especially mathematics, have highly convergent assessment tasks. It would not be difficult to ‘train’ students to initiate algorithms immediately a given problem type is recognised. Indeed, the video record of an introductory calculus lesson was almost devoid of explanation of the process of differentiation. Rather, it was confined to training the students to perform an algorithm.

Other aspects By watching videotapes with a focus on reading and writing, I was struck by the amount of ‘down time’. In some lessons, this resulted in part from the teacher’s need to consult with students one at a time to get them started on individual projects. In other lessons, there seemed to be no pressure towards maximising use of time, so that students were permitted to be inactive and off-task. It seemed that teachers took the position of ‘facilitator of learning’ in motivated adults, while the students were expected to manage their own learning. This is not an unreasonable attitude for teachers to adopt, since these students soon will graduate from high school to some form of higher education, where very little pastoral care will be provided, and success will depend in large measure on their own application to study. There were marked differences among the lessons. Some art lessons appeared to be entirely practical, with minimal teacher intervention, and, once each student had the requisite materials and ‘inspiration’, the teacher acted as a troubleshooter, mentor and critic. Teaching occasionally took the form of ‘supporting performance’ (Tharp & Gallimore, 1988), though this was more likely to occur in a practical class than in traditional academic subjects. It might be that teachers find it difficult to adopt a supportive role in lessons where reading or writing are common. Perhaps they know little about how to scaffold literacy learning. One cannot help but be impressed (and worried) by the differences in reading and writing across post-compulsory subjects. It must be difficult for students to adapt to the different roles for literacy in different classes. It might prove very beneficial for teachers to visit one another’s classrooms, and for them to discuss the literacy demands imposed and how their approach aids (or could aid) the development of powerful literacy that will be useful in further studies, for daily living and for informed, critical citizenship.

BRIAN STREET

13

CHAPTER

KINGS COLLEGE LONDON

Literacy demands of the curriculum in the postcompulsory years

Introduction This research project aims to consider the extent of inclusivity in the requirements of the curriculum in post-compulsory years in Australian schools, and their adequacy as preparation for pupils’ subsequent activities. Data were collected from schools and official documentation by a team of researchers, in order to provide empirical evidence for the literacy demands of the curriculum, and to offer a basis for analysis from a number of perspectives. For the purposes of this chapter, the following materials were provided and reviewed: a video recording of classroom lessons selected from English, Economics, Information Processing and Technology (IPT), and Modern History; contextual information regarding the curriculum being studied in those lessons; classroom artefacts including course outlines, assessment sheets etc. The videotaped lessons focused upon one student, Nilesh. This chapter consists of a theoretical outline of the perspective from which I have viewed this material: a methodological section indicating the approach to the data in the light of this perspective; analysis of particular elements of the data to highlight the variation in ‘literacy demands of the curriculum’, such as ‘switching’, explicit/implicit demands, process/product; student/institutional expectations; and a conclusion that suggests some implications for curriculum design and pedagogy. The national research project in Australian schools lays out a strong position with regard to the interpretation and definition of literacy. It begins from the definitions of literacy provided in the Australian Language and Literacy Policy (1991), updated in the Lokan Report (1995). This assumes a broad view of literacy and curriculum as being interactive and fully independent; a dynamic process closely tied to cultural meanings. The researchers imply that this view may, at times, be at variance with the new technologies of curriculum development in Australia, including outcomes-based education, national statements and profiles for learning areas, competencies and the varying modes of monitoring and evaluation adopted in different states and territories. The literacy theory to which they refer has been well developed with respect to a number of domains — disciplinary theory in anthropology, socio-linguistics, education; home/community similarities and differences; work and school contexts; adult learning; Aid and Development Projects in the South; language and literacy acquisition in primary classrooms; and the problems of university students accessing academic literacy. But the relationship between the literacy demands of the curriculum and processes of classroom learning have not been subject to the same scrutiny. In order to develop this new area, it is important firstly to revisit the theoretical perspectives on which the research project and the present chapter are based, to expose possible differences and indicate changes in current thinking, and to explore their implications for analysis of the materials collected in the project.

LITERACY DEMANDS OF THE CURRICULUM IN THE POST-COMPULSORY YEARS

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Theoretical perspective The position outlined in the literacy demands of the post-compulsory curriculum project and the perspective adopted in this chapter draw upon, though not necessarily in uniform ways, what has come to be called The New Literacy Studies (NLS) (Gee, 1991; Street, 1984, 1993b). The NLS consist of a series of writings, in both research and in practice, that treat language and literacy as social practices rather than technical skills to be learned in formal education. In research, this requires language and literacy to be studied as they occur naturally in social life, taking account of the context and their different meanings for different cultural groups. In practice, this perspective requires curriculum designers, teachers and evaluators to take account of the variations in meanings and uses that students bring from their home backgrounds to formal learning contexts such as the school and the classroom. NLS emphasises the importance of ‘culturally sensitive teaching’ (Villegas, 1991) in building upon students’ own knowledge and skills (Heath, 1983; Heath and Mangiola, 1991). Research and practice in this area are based upon new ideas about the nature of language and literacy. In turn, the research has reinforced and developed these ideas (Collins, 1995). There are two major tenets to this new thinking: a) the notion of ‘social literacies’, and b) that language is ‘dialogic’. An area of research which has developed from these perspectives and which particularly informs the view taken here of the literacy demands of the curriculum is that of c) academic literacies. Following is a brief discussion of these three areas. a) Social literacies: This phrase (Street, 1995) refers to the nature of literacy as social practice and to the plurality of literacies that this enables us to observe. That literacy is a social practice is an insight both banal and profound: banal, in the sense that once we think about it, it is obvious that literacy is always practised in social contexts, and that even the school, however ‘artificial’ it be accused of being in its ways of teaching reading and writing, is also a social construction. The school, like other contexts, has its own social beliefs and behaviours into which its particular literacy practices are inserted. The notion is, in this sense, also profound in that it leads to quite new ways of understanding and defining what counts as literacy, and has profound implications for how we teach reading and writing. If literacy is a social practice, then it varies with social context and is not the same uniform thing in each case. This latter view is described here as an ‘autonomous’ model of literacy: the view that literacy in itself has consequences irrespective of, or autonomous of, context. In contrast with this view, an ‘ideological’ model of literacy is posed, which argues that literacy not only varies with social context and with cultural norms and discourses regarding, for instance, identity, gender and belief, but that its uses and meanings are always embedded in relations of power. It is in this sense that literacy is always ‘ideological’ — it always involves contests over meanings, definitions and boundaries, and struggles for control of the literacy agenda. If that is true, then it becomes more difficult to justify teaching only one particular form of literacy, whether in schools or in adult programs — or at least the justification needs to be made explicit. If literacy is considered to be simply a universal technical skill, the same everywhere, then the specific form being taught in school gets to be treated as the only kind; as the universal standard that naturalises its socially specific features and disguises their real history and ideological justifications. If literacy is considered to be a social practice, then that history and those features and justifications need to be spelled out, and students need to be able to discuss the bases for choices being made in the kind of literacy they are learning. Recently, there has been some elaboration of key concepts in this field, such as the notion of

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‘multiple literacies’, literacy events and practices, social, community and individual literacies. One of the major tenets of the NLS has been that literacy is not a single, essential thing with predictable consequences for individual and social development. Instead, there are multiple literacies that vary with time and place, and that are embedded in specific cultural practices. Examples of variation in literacies have included Heath’s (1983) account of three literacies associated with three communities in the Piedmont Carolinas–Roadville, Trackton and Maintown literacies; my own (Street, 1984) account of three literacies in an Iranian village (schooled literacy, ‘Qoranic’ literacy and commercial literacy; Barton’s (Barton & Ivanic, 1991) account of ‘community literacies’ in the north of England; descriptions of schooled and sub-rosa literacies amongst adolescents in the USA by Shuman (1986), Camitta (1993) and Sola and Bennet (1994). Recently, concern has been expressed regarding this pluralisation of ‘literacies’. Kress (1997) argues that this creates a new reification in which each literacy appears to be a fixed and essential thing. Likewise, I have argued that there is a danger when talking of a plurality of literacies of appearing to associate a literacy with a culture. Current anthropological perspectives suggest fragmentation and hybridity in both domains, and instead refer to literacy practices and cultural processes (Street, 1993a). However, the use of the notion of a plurality of literacies, as in the LDC research proposal, does still have a strategic function. Whilst formally and for research purposes we might be better working with the concept of ‘literacy practices’, which is more robust and sensitive to local variation, at the national and international levels of policy and strategy we still need to challenge the dominant, autonomous model that persists in viewing only a single, reified literacy: for this purpose the notion of a plurality of literacies is still important. There is, however, another sense in which the plurality of literacies has come to be used. This comes from the metaphorical extension of the concept of literacy to other domains of social life, such as computing, politics etc. (cf. New London Group, 1996). One even hears of emotional literacy. Computer literacy, for instance, is presented as a ‘new literacy’: from the perspective of NLS, however, it is not a new single literacy but involves different uses of oral and literate channels in different situations: there is no one phenomenon called Computer Literacy, and the term can be misleading in both research and policy terms. In this sense, literacy comes to mean nothing more than ‘skill’ (as in keyboard skills) or competence. The distinction is important in the present context, since the concept of ‘competence’ is central to the national statements and profiles: if literacy is reduced to competence, then by definition the literacy demands of the curriculum will appear to be narrow and reductionist, whilst the broader demands being made on pupils’ literacy practices in the actual classroom will remain implicit and hidden. In order to analyse the relationship between literacy demands of the curriculum and actual classroom learning, then, we need to be clear about which conception of literacy is at play. For research purposes, the broader view of literacy as social practice is more revealing of the variety of meanings and uses that are involved. Literacy practices as used here refers to not only the observable behaviours around literacy — Heath’s ‘literacy events’ — but also to the concepts and meanings brought to those events and which give them meaning. Within a given cultural domain there may be many literacy practices; that is, not one culture, one literacy. Strictly speaking, then, the literacies referred to above — Heath’s three Piedmont communities and their different literacies, for example — are best thought of as literacy practices. There is, however, a further terminological confusion here. For some, the term literacy practices is taken to refer to what teachers and pupils do in school; that is, schooled literacy practices, the practice of classroom literacy. For research purposes, literacy practices can encompass home and school uses, wider institutional understandings of literacy in the workplace and the community, where literacy is not necessarily that of the school. It is helpful, therefore, to


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keep these two meanings distinct: whilst literacy practice may refer to classroom behaviours, literacy practices allows us to adopt a broader and more culturally relative perspective, and thereby to see and value varieties of literacy practices that we might otherwise miss, and that would certainly remain marginalised through such lack of attention. Again, such distinctions are crucial in the analysis of the literacy demands of the curriculum b) Dialogic language: New theories of language closely associated with those regarding ‘social literacies’ focus upon the nature of language as a continually negotiated process of meaning making, as well as taking. In this research tradition, it is viewed as always a social process, as interactive and dynamic (Volosinov, 1973; Hymes, 1977; Halliday, 1978). For Bakhtin (1981), language is both centrifugal and centripetal, in the sense that users are always struggling to extend its boundaries and meanings, as well as working within prescribed limits; and it is ‘dialogic’ in the sense that it is always in dialogue — language, even when employed silently by single individuals, is always part of a social interaction, whether with imagined others or with the meanings and uses of words that others have employed at other times and places. As Bakhtin states, ‘words come saturated with the meanings of others’. Again, this view of language might appear to be commonsensical at one level — we all know that languages vary, whether that means the differences between French and English, or at a more local level between different dialects, creoles and patois. But the implications of this stance, like that of ‘social literacies’, are at the same time profound. If language is always contested, negotiated and employed in social interaction, then the appropriateness of particular uses and interpretations have likewise to be opened to debate: it becomes impossible to lay down strict and formal rules for all time, and the authority of certain users — whether teachers, grammarians or politicians — becomes problematised. We take possession of language, rather than being passive victims of its entailments. c) Academic literacies: The notion of academic literacies has been developed from the area of NLS as an attempt to draw out the implications of this approach for our understanding of issues of student learning. According to Lea and Street (1997), educational research into student learning in higher education has fallen into three main perspectives: study skills, academic socialisation and academic literacies or discourses. The study skills approach, based on a theory of language that emphasises surface features, grammar and spelling, has assumed that literacy is a set of atomised skills which students have to learn and which are then transferable to other contexts. Its sources lie in behavioural psychology and training programs, and it conceptualises student writing as technical and instrumental. In recent years, the crudeness and insensitivity of this approach has led to refinement of the meaning of ‘skills’ involved and attention to broader issues of learning and social context, what Lea and Street (1997) have termed the academic socialisation approach. In this view, the task of the tutor/adviser is of inculcating students into a new ‘culture’: that of the academy. The focus is on student orientation to learning and interpretation of learning tasks, through conceptualisation, for instance, of a distinction between ‘deep’ and ‘surface’ learning (Hounsell, 1988). Although more sensitive to both the student as learner and to the cultural context, the approach has nevertheless been criticised on a number of grounds: it assumes that the academy is one ‘culture’, whose norms and practices simply have to be learnt in order to provide access to the whole institution; it fails to recognise or theorise institutional practices, including processes of change and the exercise of power. This approach also treats student writing as a transparent medium of representation, and so fails to address the deep language, literacy and discourse issues involved in the production and representation of meaning. The sources of this perspective lie in social psychology, in anthropology and in constructivist education. The third approach, according to Lea and Street (1997), and the one most closely allied with the

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NLS, is academic literacies or discourses. This approach considers literacies to be social practices, in the way we have seen above. It views student writing and learning as issues at the level of epistemology, and identities rather than skill or socialisation. An academic-literacies approach views the institutions in which academic practices take place as constituted in, and as sites of, discourse and power. It views the literacy demands of the curriculum as involving a variety of communicative practices, including genres, fields and disciplines. From the student point of view, a dominant feature of academic literacy practices is the requirement to switch practices between one setting and another; to deploy a repertoire of linguistic practices appropriately to each setting, and to handle the social meanings and identities that each evokes. There is a growing body of literature based upon an approach that views student writing as constitutive and contested, rather than as skills or deficits — which suggests that one explanation for student writing problems might be the gaps between faculty expectations and student interpretations of what is involved in student writing (Cohen, 1993; Lea, 1994; Lea & Street, 1997). Viewed from a cultural and social practical approach, rather than in terms of educational judgements about good and bad writing, students’ struggles with academic writing give us insights into the nature of academic literacy in particular, and academic learning in general, while helping to throw light on issues of failure or drop-out, as well as success and progression. Such an approach has not yet been tested on the complexities of school and classroom learning and, while it is to be expected that many of the insights will carry over from higher education, there are also likely to be areas where the theory will have to be refined and adapted in order to meet the challenges posed by this earlier phase of education. But it is from this perspective that the present chapter approaches the question of the literacy demands of the post-compulsory curriculum.

Analysis of documentation Differences in literacy demands between syllabuses There is a difference between the language and literacy demands of different parts of the curriculum, and these are reflected in classroom practice. The 1987 Queensland Senior Syllabus in English states that: ‘Language is one of the central aspects of life in all cultures. To promote cultural participation, school learning requires students to: • learn language • learn through language • learn about language.’

The document then goes on to explain how the ‘English’ syllabus works. From the data available, however, some inferences can be drawn. The Senior Syllabus in English does spell out in some detail that what it takes ‘language’ to mean is including spoken and written language, the concept of ‘text’ and issues involved in interaction. This is a process and socially sensitive view of language, evidently grounded in Halliday (1978) and in socio-linguistic theory. From this perspective, English can be viewed as one part of language experience and, although other languages are not mentioned, it is probably implicitly assumed to be only way of achieving the aims of the language dimension of the syllabus. From the point of view of the ‘language and literacy demands of the curriculum’, it is interesting to compare what other subject syllabi have to say about these issues. The Senior


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Syllabus in Economics, for instance (BSSSS, 1992c) refers to ‘resources, knowledge and equity’ issues in the context of student participation in society’s experiences, which it locates in a global context. The syllabus does not, however, mention the linguistic dimension of these aims and processes. Observation of the video records reinforces the impression given by the documents that different subjects make different demands, and that students are being required to ‘switch’ between them without explicit attention to what such switching involves. Language, it seems, is primarily left to the ‘English’ syllabus and is not considered to be a significant matter for other subject teachers. As we examine the other texts used in presenting subjects to students, it will become apparent that, in the rationale and general objectives sections of the syllabuses, there is a general pattern in leaving explicit attention to language to the English syllabus. In these sections, the nearest that the documents for other subjects get to addressing the detail and complexity of language issues is in general reference to ‘communication’, usually without further explication.

The language and literacy demands of the classroom Procedural knowledge and discipline Researchers in the social literacies tradition have suggested that the literacy demands of the classroom may be more related to the teacher maintaining discipline in class and to procedural knowledge, than to elaborating the complex linguistic skills involved in deploying a range of literacy repertoires (Street & Street, 1991; Bloome, Pluro & Theodorou, 1989). Analysing in particular the video data on the classroom experience of one Year 11 student at a Queensland high school would suggest similar findings in this context. The English lesson, for instance, opens with a great deal of procedural instruction in which the various curriculum documents are considered to be rule-governed sources of procedure and action. The teacher indicates, both verbally and visually, the pages of the document to which she wants students to attend, and provides both a ‘gloss’ and a series of instructions that they are to follow. This can be seen as inculcating the notion that texts are ways of punctuating the time flows of the school day, dividing up tasks and constituting order in the chaos of classroom life: literacy in this process is reified and the implicit learning is about how to address texts as authorities. The dialogic model of language outlined above would suggest a more creative and dynamic view of learning, and one could envisage ways in which this is made explicit in English classes, as in Fairclough’s notion of ‘Critical Language Awareness’ (CLA) (Fairclough, 1995). Nevertheless, it is possible to analyse from this perspective the actual language interactions and uses of literacy in the classrooms that were videotaped. The writing that Nilesh engages in during the English lesson appears to be different from either the teacher’s implicit notion of procedural display or the principles of CLA. Judging from the video evidence, the genre in which Nilesh is engaged appears to be a complex mix of spoken and written; notetaking and discursive writing; text reading, talk and writing. Quite how Nilesh learned to handle this genre is not apparent from the context, but experience elsewhere would suggest that he and the others with whom he is interacting learned ‘on the job’. If this is so, then yet again we find the strange contrast between the overt literacy demands of the curriculum — concerned with formal writing for assessment and the acquisition of different genres — and the implicit demands that a ‘social literacies’ viewpoint brings to light — for mixed and partial forms where writing, reading and oral language interweave to construct distinctive genres. In the 1987 Queensland Senior English Syllabus, genres are described as ‘cultural activities’ or text types, and it is recognised that these may be ‘non-literary’ as well as literary, including ‘news

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reports, recipes, business letters, sports commentaries and debates’. All of these, as well as the literary genres referred to — ‘the novel, the sonnet, the one-act play and the short story’ — are complete, wholistic forms based on known conventions into which the writer inserts his or her particular text. But the present activity, where Nilesh is trying to cope with the actual literacy demands of the classroom, is a more hybrid form. He has an exercise book open and holds his pen over a blank page; his companions also have textbooks open (probably the text of ‘The Tower’, on which they are working in this lesson) and refer backwards and forwards between this, their conversation and the occasional writing in the exercise books. There is a lot of physical handling of the various material forms — the exercise books, the textbooks — and reading from them or writing in them. At one point, Nilesh takes out a folded sheet from the exercise book, lays it out ,writes on it, then folds it and puts it back, returning to the reading and writing. This may be a timetable entry, and he may be switching between different literacy tasks, further adding to the complexity of the literacy demands of this particular classroom. Similarly, a girl near him moves between speech, reading text and writing; she says that they ‘have to read’ the text and, as they talk about it, asks ‘Did we make it up?’ implying a need to be ‘true’ to a source in what they write themselves. There are, then, underlying conventions and beliefs that order the writing practices, but it is difficult from observation alone to discern a clear pattern as to when particular students choose to write or to read or to speak, and how these acts relate to broader meanings. Indeed, this is further proof of the significance of distinguishing between literacy events and literacy practices, in the way outlined earlier. Observation from the video can indicate the literacy events in which pupils are engaging, but in order to understand their meanings we need recourses to deeper, less-observable processes, the cultural models that give meaning to such events, the literacy practices of which this event is a particular instantiation. Observation, interviewing and general questioning, in addition to text analysis, could begin to establish the practices to which particular events relate; unlike genres, such practices are not pre-given, but emerge out of such ethnographic-style enquiry. The process of engaging in a mix of oral and written activities, that observation of the video foregrounds, is not attended to in this classroom, and it appears uncertain how students are meant to learn to do this or how it relates to the product that will be cross-marked. These are hidden dimensions of the language and literacy demands of the curriculum that a social literacies and an ethnographic perspective highlight. Their implications for curriculum and for teacher training are probably significant, and may suggest limitations in the view of language offered by the syllabus statements and the school policy. Differences between subjects As with the syllabus statements, so the classroom experience reveals considerable differences between the literacy demands of different subjects. The process of interacting between speech, writing and reading — the ‘mix’ of communicative practices (Street & Street, 1991) — varies from one lesson to another. The Economics lesson appears strikingly different from the English lesson, in its discursive character. This may be, of course, a function of the specific lesson, and one would need to observe a range of such lessons across different subjects to be able to make significant generalisations. The present comments, then, are intended to be indicative of the kinds of things to look for in such a broader piece of research: it fulfils the functions that Mitchell (1984) describes for the ‘case study’. Rather than applying ‘enumerative induction’, as in much scientific and statistical research, as a means to generalising and for establishing the ‘representativeness’ of social data, Mitchell advocates what he terms ‘analytical induction’: ‘What the anthropologist using a case study to support an


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argument does is to show how general principles deriving from some theoretical orientation manifest themselves in some given set of particular circumstances. A good case study, therefore, enables the analyst to establish theoretically valid connections between events and phenomena which previously were ineluctable’ (Mitchell, 1984, p. 239). In the present context, the case studies of different subject lessons can point to such theoretical connections as those between subject lessons and discourse styles, literacy demands and power/knowledge, and writing as rules against writing as resource. Following is a brief examination of some of these connections as they emerge from the lessons that were recorded for this project. Subject lessons and discourse styles The most immediate difference between the English and the Economics lesson, in terms of their communicative demands, is that the latter mostly consists of sole and silent writing, whilst the former involved considerable noise, discussion and collaboration around both writing and speaking. The teacher in the Economics lesson begins by telling the students to open the books on pages 5 and 6 and, in classic procedural style, she displays the open pages in her own book, and instructs them to read these two pages and then to answer the questions at the end, putting headings on the page in their exercise books. The rest of the class is conducted in relative silence as the students read, write and occasionally whisper to each other: a very different discursive situation than in the other lessons on the video and, again, a set of communicative norms to be learned. Nilesh spends quite a lot of time just looking around, holds his pen in his mouth, apparently thinking, occasionally shows a piece of text to a fellow student and nods, and then sets about writing. He draws lines down and across the blank page of the exercise book with a ruler and places his writing within these margins, also attending to the other layout instructions regarding headings, underlining and paragraphing. Whilst the students write in their exercise books, the teacher moves around the room, commenting on what the students produce. After looking at what Nilesh has written, she addresses the whole class, reminding them of the question about ‘how people respond to adverts’. Nilesh continues to write steadily, and produces far more text in this lesson than he did in the more interactive and more oral English lesson. The teacher eventually calls ‘Time’ and proceeds to go through each of the questions in turn, reading them out, asking a student to give his or her answer, and then writing on the board a blend of their terms, of those in the book and of her own. To the question ‘How do companies acquire capital?’, Nilesh writes ‘Going Public, listing themselves on the Stock market’, against which the teacher writes a tick. To the question ‘How does advertising help a company keep its prices down?’ Nilesh has written ‘Through advertising a company shows consumers a reason to buy its products and as these products must be well priced to attract consumer attention’. But he has then crossed out this sentence and replaced it with ‘Increasing sales and stimulating demand’ which he squeezes in to the space left at the end of the line after the question. This correction probably came from observing what the teacher wrote on the board. The teacher has given it a tick. Nilesh is learning here about correction, including self monitoring and linking other texts — the textbook, the teacher’s writing on the board — with his own. Again, it seems likely that he has learned this ‘on the job’, and certainly by this stage the teacher appears to assume that she can take such procedures for granted. As researchers and teachers interested in the literacy demands of the classroom, we might ask how and when such things are learned. Power/knowledge In the present context, neither form nor content appear to be approached in such a provisional or critical way. The ‘facts’ of economic life are presented as data to be learned. ‘Competition’, for

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instance, is presented in the textbook as a list of facts and events in which parties juggle for technical efficiency, and everyone benefits. This process is as much one of co-operation as of conflict: ‘Think of the thousands who co-operate in society simply by opening their shop on time’, a statement that is evidently required as answer to the question posed at the end: ‘How much do people within society co-operate?’. As with the language and literacy practices, there is no scope for argument or disagreement, such as a critical perspective on economic competition might provide with its attention to issues of poverty, hardship, corruption and exploitation as outcomes of the free market. The discourse style is rather that of certainty and categoricals — present-tense generalisation being the dominant form — ‘Consumers compete’, ‘In a competitive environment there is greater efficiency’, ‘There is a high degree of co-operation’. No qualifiers, little hedging and categorical modality are the rule, and Nilesh shows he has learned this by the register in which he writes his response to the questions: ‘Companies decide what prices goods are sold at’ (no space here for debating regulation, the role of government etc.); ‘The higher price paid for a good or service, the higher the profit’; ‘Capital is a Company’s tools, machinery etc.’ (no admission here of the Marxist view of capital as dead labour whose real cost is disguised by money exchange). The reference to Marx here raises the shadow of his concept of the ‘fetishism of commodities’ in the real relations of production: according to this theory, the power dimension of control over workers’ labour is hidden behind the appearance of surface forms and representations. As suggested above, the lexical choices involved in labelling Economic theory and the question of who has the power to make such choices could be a significant part of how the linguistic dimension of Economics is addressed. Students could be asked to identify and debate, for instance, how the forms of language employed in the textbook and in the classroom, the relations around texts, and the semiotic resources of exercise book layout, textbook display and use of the board by the teacher, all collude to disguise the real relations of power. Language and literacy may be seen, in analogy, with the fetishism of commodities in economic terms, as fetishes whose external form hides from view internal relations of power. Power over the definition and representation of knowledge in the classroom becomes evident if we adopt a more critical stance with respect to both the form and the content of lessons (Fairclough, 1995). The lessons for those interested in the literacy demands of the classroom is that these demands include power relations and are not simply neutral, technical or efficiency driven; and that the epistemological presuppositions that underpin the subject content of lessons is not divorced from the linguistic forms in which the lessons are ‘delivered’. Writing as rules and writing as resource The point about power, the issue of different demands of different subjects and the procedural nature of linguistic practice are all reinforced by an examination of the IPT lesson. In the IPT lesson, too, the style and surface appearance of the classroom discourse are strikingly different from those of other lessons and subjects. Again, too, these differences may be a product of individual sessions, of individual teachers or of more general features of the subjects themselves. Further research would be needed to establish valid generalisations, but the case-study approach can suggest questions which such research might address and which would be missed were other more ‘neutral’ approaches to language and literacy adopted. The evidence here, for instance, suggests scope for further exploration of the distinction drawn above between writing as a set of rules imposed from outside, and writing as a resource over which learners themselves can have some command. In this lesson, the students are all seated at video screens, with written texts in front of them as before, but alongside a keyboard on which most of the writing takes place. The teacher again is at the front of the class, but his interaction with the students is very different from either of the other


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lessons. He appears to interact with the students more than other teachers have, raising points, asking questions, getting responses to which the students themselves have some input, rather than simply repeating the textbook phrases. What is particularly interesting here, though, is the attention to meta-linguistic usage. The teacher provides explicit commentary on the importance of breaking up a program into parts and labelling them, using paragraphs and sentences. Sections, for instance, are called ‘modules’ and, if they become too long, the writer should break them up. The screen itself provides some guidance on this, since only a certain number of lines can be seen at one time. The teacher asks how many this is, and links it to the issue of why it is important to break up text. The focus is on the reader’s capacity to make sense of complex written data. It would be interesting to know whether similar lessons have taken place in other subject classrooms and, in particular, whether the English class attended to writing genres and meta-linguistic terminology. Perhaps the novelty of computer processes and the language associated with them leads to more explicit attention than in other subjects. In Economics, for instance, it appears to be assumed that students know the everyday meanings of words such as ‘competition’ and ‘co-operation’, and that the lesson simply elaborates on these, whereas in the IPT context the teacher assumes everything has to be explained and justified. Writing instructions on the computer is, of course, described as a ‘language’ and, at times, it is as though the students are engaged in second-language learning, including issues of layout and procedure as well as of lexicon and syntax. The first part of the lesson involves a mix of oral language and print, the teacher writing on the board a model of programming layout and also referring to the textbook, whilst at this stage the students mainly talk, watch the teacher and read from the board. This appears to create a relaxed and interactive atmosphere in which students respond easily to questions, and their discourse is less formal and forced than in the other lessons. A closer linguistic analysis of the respective lessons would be needed to establish this argument more systematically and, again, further research is required. In the second part of the lesson, students begin to write on their screens. Again, the teacher is concerned that they explicitly attend to layout and ordering of written data, giving an example of labelling and indexing from a procedure called ‘day’. Here the days of the week are given a number and are written out in list form, with systematic orthographic and punctuation signs. Nilesh produces these on his screen but also writes in hand in a book under the heading ‘procedures’. He underlines technical terms — ‘modules, sub-programs, sub-routines’ — and draws diagrams showing program name, module name and a flowchart. The teacher walks around and discusses what students have written in a discourse style that remains provisional and problem solving: ‘Actually, what you can do with the main program …’ The discourse is mitigated and dialogic, rather than directive and categorical. The teacher also hands out considerable praise — ‘excellent, bravo, jolly good’. The rules of this particular game appear to be there to help achieve a task, and can be manipulated according to needs of the moment, whereas in both the English and the Economics lessons the rules — whether of language, layout or subject content — appeared given and constraining from on high. The student’s role was simply to learn them, and the teacher’s role was to deliver. It is ironic that the IPT class, which might seem from outside more technical and rule-governed, appears to offer greater scope for manipulation and control. Perhaps this is why boys are described as doing better in these subjects than in traditional English classes, if we accept that socialisation encourages them generally to prefer control to passive production. Whatever the reasons, one effect of the attitude to computing language in this classroom seems to be that students internalise the language and procedures so that their output is a mix of the technical forms provided and of their own register. Nilesh, for instance, writes of ‘Procedures’: Long and complicated programs should be busted up [my italics] into more manageable and smaller sections called modules …’

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Nilesh, then, is employing a range of writing strategies, some requiring more precision than others, according to context; some for his own benefit as aide memoire and some more formally to hand in for assessment. How he learned this repertoire is not immediately clear, although the IPT lesson gives an example of initial learning on task that may be also applicable in the other cases. It does appear that the IPT teacher is more explicit about meta-linguistic usage and layout, which may be a function of the relative newness of his subject, of its own linguistic demands or of his own teaching strategy. In the other lessons, explicitness about language appears more to do with procedures and acquisition of rules than with manipulation and internalisation.

Future directions We can conjecture a connection between these features of the writing process — learning writing as a set of rules and as a resource — but further research would be necessary to test the hypothesis. A strength of the present data, however, is that it enables us to view aspects of the language and literacy processes of the classroom that less ‘social’ or process approaches might miss, and to suggest areas for further research that might yield greater insights than texts alone can provide. The present analysis from a social literacies perspective would suggest that such research might fruitfully pursue a number of questions raised here, through indicative case studies: the relationship between the writing demands of different subjects and the nature of that subject’s epistemological assumptions, and the question of how, through linguistic amongst other means, power is exercised over that knowledge; the relationship between subject lessons and discourse styles and the issue of how students learn to switch between the different discourse demands of their courses; and the implications of approaching writing as a set of rules to be delivered and received, as against writing as resource. These, then, are some of the theoretical and methodological issues raised by the data that force us to elaborate on what we mean by the ‘literacy demands of the curriculum’ and of the classroom. What those demands are and how we can observe and analyse them depend upon how we conceptualise language and literacy, and the methods we employ for observing and analysing them.

JOY CUMMING

14

CHAPTER

GRIFFITH UNIVERSITY

Avoiding the traps: Literacy demands as cognitive demands

Introduction Completion of senior schooling is an increasing expectation for all students. Changing job opportunities, the nature of work and economic imperatives are all factors in increased student retention. Increased retention and the resultant diversification of the student cohort is driving reconsideration of the nature of senior schooling and the relevance and appropriateness of school curriculum for all students. However, despite many innovations to vary the nature of programs in order to introduce vocationally oriented courses, and to accredit alternative certification procedures, many students in Australia still undertake traditional academic senior school studies, and aspire, consequentially, to university studies. Awareness of issues related to the heterogeneity of the student cohort in senior schooling and to their traditional patterns of subject enrolment is an underlying influence on the discussion in this chapter. Through this awareness, a concern with literacy demands of the curriculum in senior schooling becomes a concern in the success or failure of the student, a concern with how well students can meet these literacy demands in order to enter and cope with studies and to emerge with meaningful outcomes rather than disaffection with education. This analysis follows a student in final year of high school through four different subjects in one day. Lesson durations ranged from 40 minutes to one hour and 10 minutes.

Information-processing theory and cognitive theories of knowledge This chapter explores the literacy demands of curriculum in classrooms in senior schooling from the perspective of information-processing theory (Case, 1985, and others) and cognitive theories of knowledge construction and application. Information-processing theory hypothesises that, at any given time, individuals have limitations on their cognitive processing capacity. While some consider such capacity to change with age development, this aspect of the theory is not relevant. Processingcapacity limit at any one time is the key construct, as the resource available to deal with information transfer, retrieval and storage in long- and short-term memory and for active processing: in lay terms, thinking and enacting. The phenomenon of a limited capacity is known to all: thinking preoccupied with one activity makes it difficult to accommodate other activities, or to maintain concentration during distractions. Effortful and conscious processing is regarded as cognitively demanding. Conversely, activities that are well-practised and automatised (Case, 1985) can be undertaken with little cognitive demand, allowing other uses of freed cognitive capacity. This analysis also draws upon theories of knowledge formation and application. Knowledge in this chapter is theorised to have several forms: domain knowledge, strategic knowledge and metacognitive knowledge. Domain knowledge is the knowledge of a discipline area or activity. It incorporates declarative long-term memory knowledge (Anderson, 1976; 1990), such as memorised spellings, syntactical rules for sentence construction, and word meanings. Strategic knowledge is knowledge of processes and approaches. For example, for a critical essay, a student needs domain

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knowledge about syntactical rules and so on, as previously described, and domain knowledge about essay genre and expectations of audience. The student also needs strategic knowledge to determine the relevant domain knowledge, to integrate this knowledge, to identify the relevant information regarding the novel, and to synthesise all of these in order to produce the required essay. This strategic knowledge incorporates higher-order cognitive processing (Sternberg & Detterman, 1986). For novices, strategic knowledge requires conscious processing. As expertise develops, more components of strategic knowledge become procedural or automatised, and hence less effortful. This allows further enhancement of domain and strategic knowledges, and hence the furthering of expertise. Much of the research on expert–novice differences in problem-solving shows that experts can have difficulty explaining some of the decisions they make, since the patterns of problems and appropriate responses have become highly automatised and unconscious. The third knowledge explored is meta-cognitive: ‘awareness and monitoring of one’s own cognitive state or condition’ (Ashcraft, 1994, p.77). In education, meta-cognition is sometimes referred to as ‘learning-how-to-learn’. At the simplest level, if educational material needs to be memorised, the student needs consciously to direct attention to the rehearsal of the information. In the total educational environment of school, however, meta-cognitive knowledges need to be much broader for a student to be successful. The student has to monitor time on task, time management in preparation of assessment, and selection of appropriate domain and strategic knowledges for different components of schooling, including different teachers’ expectations. For the expert student, these metacognitive knowledges are well-developed and of low cognitive demand. However, many students may not progress beyond novice status for all of their schooling. Theories of information processing and knowledge are compatible with concerns for sociocultural influences on student success. Affective and cultural factors will influence cognitive demand. To undertake schooling in a second language in which less knowledge has been automatised, makes heavy cognitive demands. To undertake schooling where expected and realised prior domain and strategic knowledge are culturally different requires more active transfer and make greater metacognitive demands on students as they endeavour to bridge the gap. When the gap becomes too large, or when assistance is not provided to bridge the gap and allow bicultural understandings, students may stop trying. Similarly, work on situated learning theorises that knowledge is contextualised, and is different for different contexts. Familiarity with context means less effortful processing. However, knowledge still needs to be stored within the individual and activated by the individual. It does not exist extant to the individual. Processing capacity and theories of knowledge must still underpin all theories of the nature of learning. A major focus of educational research in the future, and indeed of research in all areas, will be the merging of biological and cultural knowledges (Griffiths, 1999).

Implications of cognitive demand theories for literacy demands Application of the lens of cognitive demand theory to authentic daily school practices allows domain, strategic and meta-cognitive knowledge expectations of senior schooling to be identified. Prior literacy domain and strategic knowledge expectations of different contexts and meta-cognitive demands can be explored as the student in senior school switches between subjects (what some call different codes) and between the processes of discipline-based learning in school and of ‘doing school’. Conversely, questions can be asked about how the development of these knowledges is being structured, ‘scaffolded’ (Brown & Palincsar, 1989), in the learning environment and through the

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language and literacy of learning in the classroom. Quite often, learning appears to be expected to occur by osmosis; sufficient proximity to information will lead to its absorption. Cognitive and information-processing theories indicate that most of what is learnt is achieved by effortful attention, and therefore needs to be structured by the instructor and the learner.

Peter’s day at school The start of the day Peter, a high-achieving 16-year-old, studies an academically oriented program with an emphasis on Mathematics and Science. In this chapter, the literacy demands of, and across, the subjects Mathematics C, Mathematics B, Physics and English are examined. Mathematics C is usually selected by students confident in mathematics. The choice of both Mathematics C and Physics for study in senior schooling indicates that Peter is serious about science studies, and may pursue a science or engineering course of study at university. He would proceed directly into these courses on completion of Year 12, hence the discipline demands of subjects such as these, as preparation for higher education courses, are high.

Cognitive literacy demands Mathematics C In the following text from the lesson, the teacher talked through solutions to homework problems on solving equations for parabolas and ellipses. The teacher used an overhead transparency (OHT) with a prepared, handwritten solution, uncovering lines of solution as she proceeded. Correction of the homework problems took the first 30 minutes of the lesson. The teacher talked through solutions using OHTs for nearly all of that time. Little student input occurred, although students on a few occasions asked for clarification of points. The literacy demands at one level require reading, writing, listening and viewing. Peter viewed OHTs prepared by the teacher, including diagrams and mathematical equations; read textbook problems and his own work; copied notes from the OHT; and wrote corrections on his own work. He did not speak to the teacher during these 30 minutes, and made very few comments to his neighbour. The visual literacy demands, teacher-written and textbook, and Peter’s own work, were extremely discipline-based: mathematical diagrams, tasks and terms. In order to be able to comprehend this work, Peter needed strong prior domain knowledge of vocabulary, conventions of writing equations, techniques for solving routine questions, number facts (for cancelling out terms), algebraic representation, and knowledge of the format of mathematical task expectations in the textbook. If at this point in his studies Peter did not have the mathematical literacy to automatically decode this domain knowledge, his capacity to succeed in comprehending the entire lesson would be very limited. The strategic knowledge that Peter requires is both mathematical and literate. In mathematical terms, Peter has to be able to relate the various components of his knowledge to complete the required tasks. In literate terms, Peter has to be able to follow strategically the teacher’s dialogue, a literacy demand that also requires meta-cognitive strategies. As the following Mathematics C transcript excerpt shows, Peter has to listen to, and distinguish between, guidance and exposition on domain, strategic and meta-cognitive knowledges, in conjunction with the dialogues for ‘doing’ school.

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A first point of interest for literacy demands relates to the act of transcription itself. As transcribed, when the teacher said ‘x squared’, I, as a person with mathematical expertise, heard and wrote the symbolic expression ‘x2’; ‘twenty-six six’ as ‘26.6’; ‘four a x’ as ‘4ax’; and so on. This automatic conceptualisation of a heard phrase in context as a visualised mathematical symbol, with embedded relationship properties, is a component of expertise. Peter probably hears in the same way. However, all students may not, and hence transcription is in English ‘prose’. Hearing the words in mathematical terms is the first major aural demand on the students. T:

... Now where am I up to. On to twenty-six six now. Probably where we have a little bit more important things to go through here. Okay. This one here is a parabola (reference to equation in written problem). You have to recognise it as a parabola. The way to do that of course is to look at the x squared and the y squared. In this particular case, only the y is squared and the x is not. With the parabola you also have to realise which way they are oriented. If it’s y squared equals four a x, the parabola is oriented this way or this way (making visual direction sign with hand over the OHT). If it’s x squared equals four a y it’s going to be concave upwards or concave downwards and you have to recognise that and apply the appropriate formula. (55 seconds of lesson, 125 words, more than 2.2 words per second). So what I did there, I got a sketch of it (pointing to visual representation). Oriented like this because of the fact y is squared and x. Secondly, no longer has vertex at origin. What tells you the vertex is no longer at origin? The m and n. This guy (pointing to right hand side of the equation) and this guy (pointing to left hand side of the equation). In fact, the vertex is at n and m. ‘n’ because that’s the x, that comes first when you write a point, ‘m’ because that’s the y and it comes second when you write a point. So don’t do what I did first when I looked at this example, I automatically wrote m n because that’s how the letters come in the alphabet, but when you have a close look at it, it should actually be written n m. Don’t fall into that trap. Look at your diagram and use it (60 seconds of lesson, 140 words, more than 2.3 words per second).

Throughout the first half of the lesson, she speaks at a rate of approximately two words per second. The class has a high percentage of students with a language background other than English; approximately 70 percent students from Asian backgrounds who are stereotyped as being ‘good’ at mathematics and as conscientious students. The teacher switches at a rapid rate from classroom procedure, ‘on to 26.6 now’, to meta-cognitive strategy building, ‘probably where we have a little bit more important things to go through here’, to mathematical strategy (requiring domain knowledge mixed with meta-cognitive), ‘you have to recognise it as a parabola. The way to do that of course is to look at the x-squared and the y-squared’. The discipline-specific vocabulary and spatial and conceptual relationships of the teacher’s language are very high. The student still allocating processing capacity to the meaning of ‘parabola’ would have problems. A student unfamiliar with the term may not be able to distinguish it aurally. The aural literacy demands of the homework revision seem higher than the mathematical demands of the work. Peter’s role is to listen and sort the various statements into the appropriate receptors for building his knowledge and expertise. If Peter is not mathematically proficient, he needs to listen more and, ironically, more ably. One other aspect of the teacher’s dialogue is intriguing and, undoubtedly, if deconstructed by Peter in the same way, would also have a significant impact on the way in which Peter forms his mathematical knowledge. “... don’t do what I did first when I looked at this example ... don’t fall into that trap ...”


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This is the only time the teacher provides Peter with a reason for learning this mathematics other than for ‘doing’ mathematics at school. The purpose constructed here is about doing mathematics to complete exercises correctly. Who is setting the ‘trap’? The book author? Assessors? Potential external examiners? Unfortunately, this aside by the teacher, expressed as part of her ongoing dialogue, identifies mathematics as for ‘doing school’; it situates Peter’s learning in this framework, and in processing and knowledge transfer terms, reinforces mathematics as a discipline divorced from real applications. For the remainder of the lesson, the teacher continues with new work, introduced briefly the previous day, on Argand diagrams and complex numbers. This is presented in similar format and speed to the previous revision. In a very brief period, the teacher provides four different diagrams and four different terminologies for working with complex numbers. Peter and his classmates must first be focused and attending, and then comprehending and integrating visual, oral and written literacy demands. They have to copy the information, which requires them to decode (recognise), store in working memory and represent information — acts that could occupy all processing capacity. The expectation then hints that they will follow through memorisation of the information themselves. Theories are growing, however, that information that is not rehearsed can pass in and out of working memory without being stored. The act of a single copying does not create memory except for exceptional learners. If this analysis appears critical of the instruction, it is not intended. Firstly, the school and students in general are successful in this academic environment and, secondly, sufficient rehearsal of problem types is found to be a significant factor in the development of expertise (Hembree, 1992). However, consideration of all that has taken place does lead to interesting new ways of thinking about classroom literacy demands. The need to listen, read and write in mathematical and meta-cognitively literate ways at the appropriate level of the discipline content is obviously very high in the classroom. Perhaps the teacher was confident of the capability of the students to follow her explanation. What is not known is the students’ capability to apply all of the information in their own next work. In the syllabus documents that underpin this school mathematics curriculum, an expectation is stated that teachers will accommodate diversity of language backgrounds of students. For many teachers, this may mean using simpler, more childlike language, with more talking around a subject in general terms. The teacher in this class has not chosen this approach. Her general language always relates to approaches, strategies and meta-cognitive aspects. Her remaining language is very specific in its use of appropriate mathematical terms. For students with language backgrounds other than English, this may be the better approach. The mathematical terms and concepts have specific meanings and usage, and direct reliance on highly technical language may lower the language demands. Finally, scaffolding of knowledge development is intended through the dialogue. The teacher comments ‘again, you have to know the formulae’, ‘not some magical thing I know you guys don’t know. It’s either there in your text or the sheets’. The teacher talks through the development of expertise. The question arises as to whether an approach that tells appropriate strategies through oral presentation will provide sufficient scaffolding for students to comprehend, reconstruct and apply strategies as appropriate. The teacher said ‘you have to know ...’, that is, to memorise, but does not provide reinforcement on how the students will memorise. The students listen, but do they hear? Transition A English followed the fast-paced, linguistically and cognitively packed Mathematics C class. Peter and most students made the transition to ‘doing English’, and adjusted to the language style and expectations of the teacher. How readily can they really drop the context and work of the previous

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70 minutes of Mathematics, and start to construct new knowledges in English? What impact does this have on their previous 70 minutes of work? English While the teacher organised the class, Peter talked to a friend who was scanning pages of a magazine in the manner of a sophisticated adult reader, looking forward and backward, reading sections briefly, moving on. He identified a page of interest and showed Peter. Together, they explored a page with half a dozen visual images and associated paragraphs of text. The friend lightly ran his finger down the centre of one paragraph as he read aloud with emphasis. Peter responded enthusiastically to the magazine information, which was on computer software and hardware. This few minutes of authentic interaction has a literacy sophistication, quite different from the ensuing English class. One suspects, in fact, that the discussion was staged for the video camera as the two students wish to have on record their capabilities as literate adults, and to not be seen as defined by school English. Those concerned with the engagement of boys and literacy may heed this as a caution. The lesson was on the structure and genre of the short story, although the teacher did not indicate this focus to the students in the clear, and discipline-related, terminology of the Mathematics lesson. The following transcript reflects the first 10 minutes of instruction in the lesson. The teacher talked slowly and clearly, stressing many words in each sentence. T:

We’re going to read, talk about short stories. You’re going to present a short story to the class, you’re going to write about a short story and you’re going to write your short story. So it’s a fairly intensive unit, but it’s one we do (inaudible word), so there’ll be a lot of group monitoring by yourselves and a lot of monitoring by me as well to make sure that that occurs, and I don’t think it’s a problem if you can’t. This is what I want you to do for the first lesson. I’m going to ... this is the part where I’m going to do the talking and I know I don’t want to sound like a record today, but I assure you that I won’t talk for too long. I’m going to put you into groups and this is the butcher’s paper so that you can keep track of what you do and I’m going to ask you to perform certain tasks. So I’ll give you your butcher’s paper first. H... would you like to come out and get pens? Take them around to tables. (Student distributes marking pens to tables, throwing from a metre onto desks.) And C... would you please go around and give each person paper? Pass them around. Giving people a couple of colours. A couple of colours and paper. While we’re waiting for that to come around. Now. Okay. Each group has a piece of paper. Now before we write on paper you’re also going to write into your workbook. I’m going to give you the headings that I want you to comment on. Pass rather than throw objects like that. (to students passing the pens) So, open up. As well as having butcher’s paper in front of you, open up your exercise books. Now I’m going to give you several headings. First you need to write your name on the bottom of the sheets. Now just one below the other, I want you to take down these. ‘Title’ is the first. Just one below the other. It’s just a list of features I want you to consider as a group and individually. So, the second point. What did you project after the opening sequence. Did it in fact happen? (Teacher is writing these statements in chalk on the blackboard as she speaks, students copy.) Let’s put that in brackets. The third is number of characters.

The English lesson is notably different from the Mathematics lesson, in lack of use of disciplinespecific terminology. The terms underlined are the only terms that are non-general language.


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The teacher structured the lesson for students by using advanced organisers, but at a procedural level rather than domain or strategic knowledge. The teacher circulated among the tables, talking with each group as they addressed the questions. Even when the teacher was present, Peter’s group continued to function as it did previously. While the teacher elicited answers to the questions from some members of the group, she did not shape these answers. In their responses, the students’ level of language modelled that of the teacher. On one occasion, with Peter’s group, strategic scaffolding on reading skills was provided for one student. The teacher asked ‘what do you notice about the story?’: S1: T: S2: T:

The writer used a lot of big words. But you don’t have to follow every one to get meaning. You extend vocabulary by reading and getting meaning from context. If you don’t know all the words it doesn’t matter. Exactly, if you read for the overall meaning, if you miss one or two words it doesn’t matter too much, but often you find you’ve predicted the meaning by the end.

The students wrote responses to questions and later presented information about their group’s stories to the class. Their written and oral work was not amended by the teacher, little structuring of language development occurred in contrast to the mathematical literacy of Peter’s previous class. Everyday language had to be translated by students into a domain-specific task. Finally, no discussion occurred on transfer and purpose of the activity, apart from the explicit reference to a ‘fairly intensive unit’ as part of ‘doing English’, and an implicit reference to assessment in the students’ own short story writing. Transition B Mathematics B After English and then a lunch break, Peter had his Mathematics C teacher for Mathematics B. Mathematics B is a moderately difficult subject taken by a broader ability spectrum of students. The teacher’s language focus in Mathematics B was different from the Mathematics C class, presumably to account for the more diverse learning group, although once again the group of students was predominantly from language backgrounds other than English. She talked slightly slower, and more around the concepts, reducing the use of specific subject terminology. For example, the strategic advice ‘to actually separate your variable from your constant is one of the best things you can do’ was a more elaborated and more general language form than similar strategic advice in Mathematics C. One wonders how well second–language learners cope with the linguistic form of the transcript sentence when it is presented orally. While the change in language by the teacher is to structure more slowly to assist less able learners in Mathematics, for second-language students that outcome might not eventuate. Throughout this lesson Peter worked from a textbook. Peter’s friend and neighbour from English conscientiously copied Peter’s working into his own workbook. At one time, the teacher asked Peter’s friend a question regarding work on the whiteboard. His answer indicated that he had no depth of understanding of the work. Peter was coping well with the literacy and cognitive demands of the Mathematics B classroom, and was succeeding in his mathematics study. His friend was not, and had developed his own coping strategy to succeed in participation in schooling. In the following sample of Peter’s work, he demonstrated fluent mathematical writing, using the appropriate structure. He was a fluent reader of the mathematical and other literacy demands of the

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textbook. The information–processing theory implication is that Peter has stored ‘knowledge in large units that can be accessed rapidly’ (Mayer, 1992, p. 413), freeing his processing capacity to cope with the new information and the literacy demand of its development and delivery.

Transition C The students ambled into the Physics class in a more casual and less timely manner than for other classes of the day. Not only was this the last lesson of the day, the students were obviously very comfortable with the Physics teacher. In the previous hours of class activity, students had made little verbal input into the class activities, apart from those requested of them. Peter and his peers automatically adjusted their reactions and responses in accord to an effortless retrieval of stored knowledge of their teachers and the teachers’ enactments of teaching their subjects. In terms of information-processing theory, all students by the senior years of schooling have developed a stored repertoire of ‘doing school’, and deliberately opt to accord with or act against this. The competing cognitive demand relates to the subject discipline. Unfortunately for many students, the former demands override processing capacity for the latter. Peter and similarly successful students can reverse the emphasis. In terms of ‘doing school’ expectations, the greatest transition in expectation occurred, surprisingly, given its traditional associations, in the Physics lesson. Throughout the class, the interactions between the Physics teacher and students reflected adult societal interactions. The adaptability of students in meeting this changed oral social literacy demand highlights the intelligence and school knowledge that all students demonstrate.

Physics The following verbal and written interactions occurred approximately half-way through the 40-minute lesson. The transcript occupies just under seven minutes of the lesson. This is the entire dialogue of that time period. The timing sequence is provided to show how rapidly the ideas move. Ignoring the allocation of less than 45 seconds to reading of the text chapter, for those who had nothing else to do, this instructional sequence presents different literacy demands from other classes. The teacher spoke at the rate of one-and-a-half words per minute. The literacy emphasis in the instruction was particularly visual processing, ‘reading’ or viewing the terse Physics terminology and diagram written on the blackboard. The teacher did not explain further. The only strategic advice


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provided by the teacher, a diagram with a visual mnemonic, was offered to students, but ‘you don’t have to do it if you don’t want to’. The teacher’s explanations were brief and mostly in response to questions raised by students; that is, guided by students’ need to know and therefore interacting with knowledge schema that the students had already activated. The number of questions indicated an active engagement with the subject domain, as well as activation of stored social/learning knowledge that an appropriate response would be provided. Students’ questions were called out from all parts of the classroom, and for the first time the limited English language structures of some students was revealed. (Times indicated represent number of minutes from start of lesson) 17:36 T: While waiting, people, you can read the next chapter. We are talking about work and energy; the next chapter, work and energy. (Students copying their practical experiment results into table.) 18:00 T: B.. Either read it quietly or write. Nothing to do, read it, the next chapter. 18:19 T: Okay. (Teacher at the blackboard and erasing previous writing. Student queries information just erased but not answered by teacher.) 18:40 (The teacher wrote in chalk on the blackboard.) Work (Energy) Principle definition, units 18:55 T: Copy down, people. (The teacher drew diagram on right hand side of board, wrote brief definitions on left.)

19:30 (Teacher wrote two sample ‘work’ problems on the board, each of two lines.) 20:10 S: What is n, m, j? (The student’s accent indicated a language background other than English.) 20:12 T: Joules, newtons, metres. They’re the units. 20:18 S: What’s the meaning diagram? (sic) 20:22 T: Oh, if you want to find out the force on its own, it’s work over displacement. If you want to find displacement on its own, it’s work divided by force, if you want to get work on its own, it’s force by displacement. (The teacher pointed rapidly to relevant sections of the diagram.) 20:38 S1: Aaah S2: Genius. 20:43 T: Ah. One extra advantage. You don’t have to have to do it if you don’t want to. 21:03 T: There’s my first example. (Students still copying from board.) 21.12 T: Example number two.

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(Teacher wrote two more lines on blackboard. Students still copying. A student corrected teacher’s mistake.) 21:43 S: Sir, I think you have a mistake. T: What have I got down. S: What ‘is’ the ... T: Have to ‘are’ ... 22:10 T: First one’s straightforward. Second one isn’t. (Student required clarification of handwriting, teacher read phrase aloud.) 22:38 T: Three minutes. Pushes against the wall for three minutes. At one thousand Newtons. That’s heavy stuff. (Students still copying.) 23:02 S1: What is is (sic) ‘Brian’? T: Brian exerts a force of a thousand Newtons. S1: Who’s Brian’s this? (sic) S2: Brian! (indicating this is the name of a student in class.) T: Bionic Brian. Working out in the gym. (Teacher in arm pumping action.) S: I thought Brian was the name of – 23:18 T: What happens is, he gets hold of the wall. He’s going to push for three minutes on this wall at a thousand Newtons. That’s pretty hard. The wall does not move. How much work does he do? (Teacher demonstrated pressing against a wall.) S: None. 23:29 T: He’s got sweat pouring out of him! S1: Sir, what’s the work done? T: You’ve got a bit cruel on him. S2: Yeah, but the wall didn’t move, sir. S3: Nothing’s done. 23:38 (Teacher erased work off top of blackboard. Drew small stick figure. Started substitution of values in mathematical equation.) 23:49 T: Okay Here’s poor old Brian. W=Fxd Now, you know the books sometimes say d for displacement and use x for vertical height. So it’s a one thousand and the wall doesn’t move, so it’s zero. So he’s done no work. 24:19 T: Next one. Work against gravity.

In his oral language, the teacher used humour, well-known to activate learning engagement, and modelled practical examples to activate engagement. As students focused on a task, competing demands on information-processing capacity were reduced. Although simple demonstration with real-life connotations were provided, for example, pushing against the wall, the teacher still did not provide a purpose or transfer for the work outside of ‘doing Physics’ at school, and, in particular, ‘doing Physics problems’. The absence of questions from students indicates that the students readily recognised the term ‘work’ as representing a specific Physics concept with associated definitions and formulae, rather than associating the word with general, real-life interpretation. Any students who may not have made this important distinction were not making their confusion public. There may have been such students in the class who were therefore not coping with the literacy demands of learning Physics.


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The Physics class developed domain knowledge in the discipline, and required students to engage in reading and writing standard Physics information. The language apart from this was of a general form and conversational, but very limited in demand. The focus on simple written and visual text, the precedence of the class structure and responses to student enquiries provide a literacy context for subject development which emphasises the domain knowledge and physics literacy. The Physics lesson demonstrates the diversity of styles that can be used to instruct. The degree to which all students could cope is not known, but the absence of distracting language for both first and second speakers of English provided an environment that made the least listening literacy demands, while allowing the greatest opportunity for student oral and learning-focused engagement. For the most part, Physics knowledge was transformed into visual symbolic and semiotic forms, rather than oral or written text.

Conclusions The literacy demands of senior schooling, when viewed from a cognitive perspective, are extremely high. Students need to gain access, with minimum effort, to much stored knowledge, and many different domains of knowledge related to specific subjects, to specific classrooms, to social interactions and then to general roles as school students. Such actions are needed in order to meet, cope with and develop further the reading, writing, listening, speaking and viewing demands of each curriculum area. While these classrooms may be viewed as traditional, the ways in which we frame and scaffold learning in any context will make similar demands. Classroom talk is generally advocated as invaluable in modern instructional style: teachers and students should talk about conceptual issues, about the subject, about reasons for study, about strategic approaches and about meta-cognitive aspects of learning. This type of talk, at least from the teacher’s perspective, occurred in many classes. Yet, when we examine the literacy demands that such talk places on students, clearer frameworks in the way in which talk is constructed and occurs may be desirable. The first framework is that the building of common understandings of discipline-specific terminology is necessary. When these understandings have been developed and stored so that students can gain access to these effortlessly, and use domain terms fluently, the demands of the discourse of the discipline can be reduced. Hence, the use of apparently terse and multisyllabic language with specific meaning may be easier to understand than general language that talks around the discipline. This would appear to be true for social science disciplines such as English, as well as the subjects more traditionally considered to have high technical language demands, such as Mathematics and Physics. While there needs to be an emphasis on talk to develop understanding, it is also important that adequate domain, strategic and meta-cognitive knowledges have also been developed and stored. The students need to activate these knowledges rapidly in an intense literacy environment, in order to succeed. This activation and application underly subject-specific literacies. A major issue for teachers, then, is how to ensure that the common understandings are developed, and how to ensure that fluency occurs for the students. This, in itself, will require more literacy demands, and probably more talking. It may be helpful, however, to delineate more clearly instructional components that will focus on developing such fluency from the components that assume the fluency. Teachers need to consider the ongoing role they play in checking for understandings of specific terminology, monitoring fluency, and assisting in the ways of gaining such fluency. Teachers may seek advice from students about how this can best occur for individuals and groups of students.

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Similarly, teachers vary in how they provide strategic and meta-cognitive structure for students. In this chapter, such structuring was found to occur as by-products of a focus on problem solution. The strategic and meta-cognitive structures were not a clear focus in themselves, and many students who could not decode the teacher talk, regardless of language background, may dismiss or ignore these components as asides, since the students focus on what they consider to be most difficult and important; for example, the mathematics content. The Mathematics and Physics teachers modelled their own strategies implicitly, and through oral language tried to explain this modelling. Interestingly, the Mathematics and Physics teachers also modelled the correct writing techniques of their discipline: the Mathematics teacher always wrote balanced equations and made sure these were ‘tidied up’; the Physics teacher modelled the structure of a table of data and content, for students to copy and complete. The same explicit degree of oral or written modelling was not apparent in English. This may be an issue for further consideration, as it would seem that teachers across all subjects and at all levels of education should see themselves as responsible for ongoing student literacy development. The third interesting outcome from the analyses in this chapter was the relatively minor role the print medium played in the literacy demands of the classrooms. Within the classrooms students had to be able to read and write the appropriate terminology of the subject disciplines, the algebraic and symbolic forms for the Mathematics and Physics, and relatively simple statements for the English class. The students had to read the short stories in English but, again, the linguistic demands were not high. Reading of textbook material and explanations were not a high priority in the classrooms, although textbooks were present in the Mathematics and Physics classes. In the classroom activity in Mathematics and Physics, teachers acted as translators or go-betweens for the students and the textbooks. Both the Mathematics and Physics teachers made comments that put their signature on the content of the textbook for students. In both classes there was an expectation also that students would have the literacy skills and the domain knowledge to read the relevant material in the textbook outside of the classroom. The classroom focus was on activity related to engaging with the discipline content of the textbooks, reading and doing exercises were activities set for homework. In the Physics class, it was difficult to determine whether reading the next chapter was a reward for early completion of work, or a punishment. The import of not reading explanatory text in the textbook for eventual student success is not known, but does not appear to be significant. This subservient role of the textbook is very important, given the considerable amount of research on literacy across the curriculum that has focused on the language of textbooks and textbook problems. In the introduction to this chapter, a concern for the success of all students was raised. The focus of this chapter has shown that listening demands in a context requiring rapid activation of various knowledges may be the highest literacy demand placed on students. The demands related to switching from procedural, domain, strategic and meta-cognitive knowledges, and relating and applying these in order to succeed, are very high. The less able the students are in their work, the more they need to be able to distinguish and interpret these demands. The question for teachers to ask is whether students who are less successful in school achievement may be less able to listen, to distinguish the focus of talk and action, and to build bridges between the knowledges they already have and those being newly introduced. The oral emphasis of classrooms and instruction means there is a need for more research on listening for learning. Alternatively, we need to shift to less oral forms of instruction. Less successful students may also be less adaptable to the ways of their teachers and subject specificities. Or, lack of success may be due to lack of surety of domain knowledge, and to meta-cognitive awareness in


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order to simply make sense of what is happening around them in which they are meant to participate. Some students may remain novices forever, and the use that can be made of the literacy of the classroom and subject to have a real impact on such a state needs to be examined. However, two final observations emerge from the analytical focus of this chapter. The first observation is that most students who manage to continue to at least senior schooling exhibit incredible cognitive capacity in so many ways. They are extremely flexible in adapting to the different literacy and other expectations that are placed upon them. They can ‘do’ mathematics, ‘do’ English, ‘do’ secretarial studies, with all that such contextual engagement requires. They can ‘do school’ well, and some knowledges are clearly very well stored and integrated. Some students, of course, regardless of their academic capabilities, opt not to ‘do’ the context of school so well. This may be because they have not developed the flexibility and patience required, or because they have chosen not to participate in activities for which they do not see relevance. This is the final observation of this chapter. Regardless of our theoretical orientations and disciplinary backgrounds, all educators are concerned with making education ‘happen’ for students. The education we want to make happen should be of use, directly or indirectly, to meet the demands of their future lives. Peter may or may not be an enthralled student, but he sees a link between success in academic study and the career he chooses for the future. He chooses to, or is able to focus his processing capacity on, his academic work, and this in turn leads to further success. Teachers and researchers should be exploring the literacy connections that are most effective in helping students to see also the links between the academic work and present and future applications in the world surrounding school, the transfer, the sense of purpose. This may be the most important literacy demand of all for the future of education and the success of future generations of students. We need to avoid the trap of artificial parameters when there is a world to be engaged.

JAY LEMKE

15

CHAPTER

CITY UNIVERSITY OF NEW YORK

Multimedia literacy demands of the scientific curriculum

Introduction Close examination of records of student participation in the post-compulsory science curriculum, including videotapes, student notes, teacher handouts, overhead transparencies and textbook selections, suggests that the maximal literacy demands of the scientific curriculum arise from the need to integrate specialised verbal, visual and mathematical literacies quickly and fluently, in real time. The resulting ‘multi-literacies’ co-ordinate meaning-making activity across multiple media, modalities, semiotic systems and hybrid genres of communication and representation. After outlining theoretical issues and useful methodologies for analysing such complex multi-literacy practices, and describing in some detail a number of representative examples, this chapter considers the implications of these literacy demands for curriculum design, pedagogy, assessment and research.

Multiple perspectives on multiple literacies Students in the final years of the secondary curriculum must meet stringent demands for mastery of multiple literacies at an advanced level. From close examination of the records of classroom literacy activities in this study, I conclude that, not only must students master each separate disciplinary and media literacy at a high level, but they must also learn to co-ordinate and articulate multiple literacies simultaneously. In fact, this multi-literacy is itself the primary tool they need for learning; how well they master it may well be decisive for their academic success. Nowhere is this more clearly demonstrated than in the scientific curriculum. ‘Scientific literacy’ can mean two quite different things: a familiarity with basic scientific facts and concepts, or the ability to use the complex representational apparatus of scientific reasoning, calculation and practice. Professional science today, as in the past few centuries, makes extravagant use of not only a technical verbal language, but also of mathematical, graphical, diagrammatic, pictorial and a host of other modalities of representation (Lemke, 1998a). What is special about the use of these multiple modalities in natural science, and to only a slightly lesser degree in mathematics itself, is that scientific concepts are articulated across these media of representation. What it means to be able to use a scientific concept, and therefore to understand it in the way that a scientist does, is to be able to juggle fluently with its verbal, mathematical and visual–graphical aspects, applying whichever is most appropriate in the moment, and freely translating back and forth among them. A more critical analysis suggests that it is only in the integration of these various aspects that the whole concept exists. Unless one is among the last of the living Platonists, it is clear that there are no Ideal concepts independent of all possible representations. We can no longer see each possible representation as some partial shadow of an Ideal; there is no transcendental concept to guarantee the unity of all representations a priori. So we do not have so much an exact translatability among

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verbal statements, mathematical formulas and visual–graphical or material–operational representations as a complex set of co-ordinating practices for functionally integrating our uses of them (cf. Lynch & Woolgar, 1988; Lemke, 1998a). And these co-ordinating practices must be learned in each case as a difficult and specialised form of multi-literacy. Hopefully, it does not seem too radical at the opening of the computer era to speak of the ability to make and interpret meaning with symbol systems other than written language as quite literally ‘literacies’. Efforts to define literacy today show that there are no principled distinctions between the use of one sort of symbol system and another (Lemke, 1989a). Language can take its material form in acoustic signals, in printed orthographies, in manual signing, in glyphs and pictographs, or in Braille. It’s a good bet that we can’t ever make meaning in a way that activates only one semiotic system (language, writing, depiction, gesture, voicing etc.) at a time, even if we mobilise some unintentionally. This is one reason there are always more possible meanings in what we say, write, draw or do than we can ever control. What then do we see through this semiotic lens when we look at the literacy activities of a student on a typical day in an advanced Chemistry and later an advanced Physics class? In how many ways is he making meaning directly related to learning chemistry and physics? How many systems of signs does he need to be able to interpret? How many material channels carry symbolically coded information to and from him? In how many kinds of culturally normative, meaning-making practices does he participate at the demand of the taught curriculum? Just for starters, one such student had to interpret a stream of rapid verbal English from his teacher; the writing and layout information on an overhead transparency; writing, layout, diagrams, chemical symbols and mathematical formulas in the open textbook in front of him; the display on his handheld calculator; more writing, layout, diagrams, symbolic notations and mathematics in his personal notebook; observations of gestures and blackboard diagrams and writing by the teacher; observations of the actions and speech of other students, including their manipulation of demonstration apparatus and the running by-play commentary of his next-seat neighbour. In fact, quite often he had to integrate and co-ordinate most of these, either simultaneously or within a span of a few minutes. There is no way he could have kept up with the content development and conceptual flow of these lessons without integrating, almost constantly, at least a few of these different literacy modes. Literacies are always active constructions, whether in interpretive processes or in producing new text. The student recorded in this data did not just listen, look and read. He also wrote words, chemical formulas and mathematical expressions in his notebook, drew diagrams, did calculations on paper and on his calculator, used a ruler to underline headers in his notebook and to mark off episodes of the lesson and its content, annotated handout sheets from the teacher, consulted with his neighbour, leafed back through his notebook and forward in the open textbook, wrote assignments in his diary, spoke publicly to the class and privately to the teacher, and used the spectrograph at the front of the room. He asked and answered questions, deciphered and solved problems, transformed information from one format to another ... and occasionally put his head down on the table he sat at or got up for a stretch. If all these activities sound easy, remember that in each case many of the words are new or unfamiliar, the meanings being made are about strange matters of which he has no personal experience, the diagrams and graphs and formulas may bear only an outline resemblance to any he has seen before, the problems are difficult for his current level of mastery, the subject matter is abstract, and the problems of mutual co-ordination and calibration of all these channels and literacies and activities are very substantial indeed.

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Ethnographic and semiotic approaches to discourse and multimedia analysis In Talking science (Lemke, 1990), I argued that a large part of learning the conceptual content of science is learning to talk its specialised language and to use that language in meaningful ways. Even in the early days of that research, the complex integration of speech, gesture and diagrams which teachers used to communicate science to students (for example, Lemke, 1987) and the significant relations between written text and spoken discourse in the classroom was recognised (Lemke, 1989b). Today, I realise more clearly that even the verbal discourse of the classroom itself is often not fully comprehensible without co-reference to visual, gestural or mathematical representations. Nonetheless, even in science classes, most of the conceptual information available takes the form of language — spoken and written. Consequently, the first priority for any analysis of the literacy demands of the curriculum is a rich and diverse repertory of analytical techniques for text and discourse meaning. Recently I have more extensively reviewed the techniques personally used and recommended (Lemke, 1998c) for linguistic discourse analysis. For the analysis of presentational meaning, the primary tool is thematic analysis (Lemke, 1983; 1990; 1995). Its premise, derived from my own work analysing classroom science discourse and professional science discourse (Lemke, 1990), is that we make meaning by invoking, linking and modifying relatively predictable and standardised constellations of semantic relations among specific units. Each such constellation can be called a thematic formation, and these formations are close kin to what are today often called ‘concept webs’, in pedagogical terminology. What is distinctive about thematic formations is that they are not about concepts but about language, about semantic units; and they are intertextually valid: the same ones recur from text to text and from discourse to discourse. This means that we often find only partial instantiations of these abstracted patterns of meaning, a few pieces of the puzzle requiring us to go elsewhere in our experience to complete the picture that a few words can only, but very definitely, suggest to us. Teachers are masters of these canonical discourse formations, while students are trying to piece them together. Teachertalk and textbook text try to be as explicit and complete as they can, but it is just not in the nature of normal discourse to lay out complete formations. We present them piecemeal, and students must always learn to assemble them from the partial statements they hear and read (see Lemke, 1990 for extensive examples).

Multi-literacy demands in Chemistry and Physics class This section provides some detailed accounts of how multiple literacies were integrated on one particular Tuesday by a single student (pseudonymously known as John), in several episodes across his Senior Chemistry and Senior Physics (Year 12) classes.

9:14 am ‘Skills testing’ John is sitting at the end of the second-from-front row of table-desks used by students in this Chemistry class. His teacher, (pseudonymously) Ms Cramer, has lost no time getting down to the first order of business: letting students know exactly what they will be responsible for on the upcoming basic laboratory skills test. She has distributed a review sheet to everyone, containing 35 specific items in


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six different categories, and she is rapidly quizzing students on selected items (using the IRF or triadic dialogue procedure; cf. Lemke, 1990). John has the sheet in front of him, pen in hand, and is listening to her questions, other students’ answers and her confirmations of whether they’re correct, while annotating his copy of the sheet with notes such as ‘read’, ‘Pb Cu Zn Ag ...’, ‘LEOA GERC’, and at the bottom ‘conc – acid 20mins’. At first sight, John does not seem to be doing anything very complex, but in fact he is co-ordinating: (1) a complex listening skill that requires him to synthesise, from at least three different utterances by two parties to a dialogue, one single correct proposition, (2) reading and interpreting the genre of an outline-format text in which he must infer the semantic relations between a header such as ‘Identifying’ and an item under it such as ‘precipitations and saturated solutions’, (3) writing elliptically in a way addressed to and recoverable by himself additional information he extracts from (1) and decides is not adequately represented in (2). As though this were not enough, both the students and Ms Cramer are at various times during their review dialogue using complex gestures to indicate operational procedures, such as how to position your viewing eye in sighting for a measurement, or how to hold a piece of apparatus properly. Later, when John wants to decipher his annotations in relation to the layout of text on the review sheet, he will have to reconstruct meanings such as the fact that ‘read’ written next to ‘burette’ means he’s responsible for being able to read a quantitative measure from a burette rather than that he needs to read the discussion of burette in the textbook. He uses visual notations such as a multi-line-spanning curly bracket to indicate that his notation ‘Units for all’ means that for items 1–9 he needs to know the units of measure that are customary for each measuring instrument listed. When he writes ‘Pb Cu Zn Ag ...’ he is translating automatically the teacher’s spoken English names of these chemical elements into their standard chemical symbols, which in cases such as ‘Pb’ for ‘lead’ have no phonetic or orthographic relation to their English names. When he writes ‘LEOA GERC’ he is reminding himself of mnemonic acronyms for what happens at the anode and cathode of an electrochemical cell, and his notations at the bottom of the page summarise a short statement by Ms Cramer about how long you should flush concentrated vs. dilute acids from your skin after an accidental spill. In all this substantial amount of written technical information, there are only three complete normal English sentences, all minor addenda to the main body of information. The teacher has written a peculiar curriculum genre that begins a sentence, erects a colon, and adds in indented, outline format various further dependent clauses and multiple lists of alternative clause-elements, in such a way that a practiced reader could construct a great many independent sentences from this verbal matrix. This is an advanced literacy skill for reading. It is required by the specialised conventions of an unusual genre of writing that is probably not actually taught in the preparatory curriculum. Except for its rapid pace, this first episode was relatively minimal in its literacy demands on John. Things soon become still more complicated.

9:38 am The uses of salts Ms Cramer is projecting an overhead transparency (OHT) on the screen at the front of the room; it lists in a column down the left side 13 formulas for chemical compounds, all of them the salts of common acids and bases (when an acid and base neutralise each other what’s left is water and their compound salt). John’s task at this point is to complete as much as he can of an empty table, of which the Salts form the first column, their Uses the second, and their Scientific Names the third. After a while, Ms Cramer will start asking students for answers and filling in the table by writing on the blank space of the transparency. What does John do?

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First, he copies all the formulas for salts just as they are onto the OHT. This is as low a level of literacy demand as he will have in this class. It is in itself no small feat, given the complexity and unfamiliarity of a symbolic notation which criterially distinguishes upper vs. lower case letters, subscripts vs. on-the-line numbers, and the use of a raised dot before showing linked water molecules bonded weakly to the salt proper (hydrates). But John has spent months learning to be at home with this particular literacy. He proceeds to confer with his neighbour, Nick (pseudonym), about the answers. He flips through his textbook briefly, then sees that Nick has his own textbook open in his lap and has turned to a page that contains most of the answers (Wilbraham et al., 1987, p. 458), also in a table. After a few minutes he opens his own book to this page and begins to work rapidly by himself. Table 19.1 in the book is a little different from the one Ms Cramer is constructing. It also uses three columns, but the first is the Name, then the Formula, then Applications. The salts are not in the same order as on the OHT and in his notebook, and there are more salts in the book. John has to match the formulas to identify the relevant row of the table, being careful not to confuse many that are identical except in one small detail (a letter, a number); he can then copy items from corresponding columns. What he has written in his notebook under Uses, however, does correspond exactly to what’s under Applications in the book. In some cases he is simplifying, taking one item instead of two, or shortening a phrase to a word. And in this he must make a judgment that he is conserving what’s essential. Ms Cramer begins her discussion of the table with the class long before John is finished. Now he must again listen to questions, answers and evaluations of answers, sometimes involving disagreements and questions, extract key words as well as names, and write these in his notes. He is now co-ordinating: reading the book, interpreting and, at a couple of points, participating in the oral discourse, reading what Ms Cramer has written on the OHT and his note-taking. For each there are specialised genres: the triadic dialogue genre of the discourse, the table genre of the book, OHT and notes. If you think this is trivial and easy to do, do try it. Both John and Ms Cramer had lapses during this multi-literacy process. Ms Cramer, in preparing the OHT, had miscopied one of the hydration coefficients from the textbook. John has carried over her mistake, not only in column one, but has consequently misnamed the compound in column three (copper sulfate hepta — vs. penta- hydrate). Even his misnaming was a literacy achievement, however, since Ms Cramer, in speaking of this compound, abbreviated the name and omitted the ‘hydrate’ part, and John took the ‘heptahydrate’ from another compound in the list which had the same (in this case correct) hydration coefficient, expressed as a number. John had also already written ‘antacid’ as the Use for sodium bicarbonate, and when he catches Ms Cramer saying it’s used in cooking, he writes ‘cooking’ in his notes, but in column three under the Name, not in column two with ‘antacid’. Small lapses, but indicative that co-ordinated multi-literacies suh as these push the limits of our information-processing capacities at the rate at which this lesson was paced. The initial judgment of Ms Cramer’s pacing here was that it was admirable in terms of covering a lot of simple material quickly. It compared favourably with the slower pace of both John’s other teachers that day (in Mathematics and in Physics). But now I am no longer so sure. Her pacing was appropriate, but perhaps not as ideal as first believed. Ms Cramer did not slow down much later in the lesson, when new and difficult conceptual material was being presented. Teachers are under pressure to cover an over-stuffed syllabus before an unforgiving examination, so leeway in pacing may be minimal. It is the curriculum that is often at fault. After a short break, Ms Cramer leads the class through a progressively more complex series of concepts and examples in acid-base chemistry. The multi-literacy demands here reach very high


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levels, in which there needs to be simultaneous attention to and co-ordination of literacies of interpretation and production for several specialised genres of classroom discourse, textbook reference, OHT interpretation, note-taking, calculator calculations and chemistry problem-solving. The following episode is representative of the maximal multi-literacy demands on John in this class.

10:08 am ‘What is the pH ...?’ Ms Cramer puts up OHT number 5, indicating that we are moving on to the next chemistry problem, one that will prepare students for the concepts of ‘equivalents’ and ‘normality’. The OHT presents a simple statement of a problem: 5.15.0 mL of 1.0M NaHC03 are added to 30 mL of 0.8 M H2SO4. What is the pH of the resulting solution?

During this lesson, John is co-ordinating listening to and participating, somewhat unofficially (he murmers answers in a non-public voice, is not called on to answer officially), in the discussion, using his calculator, writing the problem format and answers in his notebook, and conferring with Nick. What adds to the literacy demands at this point is not the number of different channels and specialised genres he must cope with, but the complexity of integrating verbal, chemical–symbolic and mathematical meaning systems across genres that depend as much on visual layout as on linguistic syntax or vocabulary meanings for their sense. (See Figure 1.) Figure 1. John’s notes ‘Problem No. 5’ 5. 15.0 ml of 1.0M NaHCO3 are added to 30 ml of 0.8 M H2SO4. What is the pH of the resulting solution? 0.024

0.015

H2SO + 2NaHCO3_

Na2SO4 + 2CO2 + 2H2

0.015 0.0075

No. of moles of NaH CO3

No. of moles of H2SO4

Excess H2SO4 Total volume

= = = = = = = = = =

H2SO4_ 2H+ + SO42moles H+ [H+]

= = =

=

0.0165 x 2 0.033 m — v 0.033 ——– 0.045 0.73

= =

-log [0.73] 0.13

=

pH = -log[H+]

MV 1 x 0.15 0.15 moles MV 0.8 x 0.03 0.024 moles (0.024 - 0.0075) 0.0165 45 ml 0.045 L

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The complexity of this episode is not at all atypical. It runs through most of John’s Chemistry lesson. Nor is it a peculiarity of Ms Cramer’s teaching style. We will find it again in John’s Physics class this afternoon, and with several additional semiotics and genres and specialised literacies, which he needs to integrate and co-ordinate in order to make sense in today’s other science class.

Interlude: math and lunch Chemistry class was pretty much a non-stop, information-processing workout this morning for John. It is followed for John on Tuesdays by Senior Mathematics B. Today, they are discussing the use of public surveys as a context for using the mathematics of elementary statistical distributions. They don’t really get to the distributions, and this particular lesson is more about social science research methods than about mathematics as such. The pace is very slow, when compared with what John has just been through in Chemistry. The literacy demands are not simple, but they are relatively minimal when compared with much of the rest of John’s day. The chapter will skip over this period; it is not typical of the teaching of secondary school mathematics at an advanced level. John got off very easy today for well over an hour in Math. He then had another hour for lunch. John needs this break. But soon lunch is over and now it’s time for Physics.

1:40pm ‘Energy levels’ It’s the beginning of the lesson. John is listening to his Physics teacher, Mr Phillips (pseudonym), reminding the class about different ‘ways to excite electrons to higher states’. John can make sense of this in terms of a particular thematic discourse formation of physics, in which ‘higher’ in this verbal context means ‘higher energy’ and ‘excite’ means ‘give energy to’ the electrons. John here needs a sense of ‘higher’ as ‘quantitatively greater’, but it may be combined with the sense of ‘higher up’ on a diagram of potential energy, itself modelled after higher in altitude above the surface of the Earth (and so higher in gravitational potential energy). He needs to know that gravity and altitude are just analogies in discourse about electrons (whose potential energy in an atom is electromagnetic, not gravitational). Issues of quantity and spatial representation of energy in diagrams are about to become very relevant for John. If he hasn’t been half-thinking about these matters from the start, he will soon need to be doing so. John watches Mr Phillips do a demonstration in which a glass tube filled with hydrogen gas has an electric current run through it and glows with emitted red light. He and Nick comment to each other about the demonstration as it takes place. Mr Phillips explains what is happening in terms of electrons and energy levels, and how the light from the tube can be analysed spectrographically to find the numerical values of the energy levels of electrons in hydrogen atoms. At about 1:50 pm he tells them that in physics we use ‘mathematics to simplify data’ about these energy levels, and he writes Bohr’s formula on the blackboard: En = Ei - Ei /n2

The teacher dictates notes and John begins to write. In his notebook, he first uses a ruler to create a heading ‘Energy Levels of Hydrogen’ with widely spaced words and double-ruled underlining, centered on the page. There is no syntactic or textual link of this heading to what follows it, but its meaning relationship as a context for what follows it is critical and demonstrates John’s literacy about the visual semiotics of page layouts. John writes ‘Bohr — found energy levels for hydrogen can be calculated using ...’ and he underlines ‘Bohr’ once and writes the formula on a separate line, followed, as Mr Phillips does, by ‘where’ and three lines defining, with equals signs, symbols in the


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formula as equal to word phrases such as ‘ionisation energy’. He is now integrating and co-ordinating: listening to Mr Phillips, reading from the board and writing using the literacies of visual page layout, verbal language and mathematical formulas. Nothing in this as yet involves numbers or quantities; everything could be read out in standard English, though probably John would read it as Mr Phillips does, using English syntax (mostly) but substituting the names of mathematical symbols for English words. This is itself still another specialised literacy, like reading chemical formulas out loud, knowing how to translate them automatically between read-out symbols and word-like names, or speaking numbers like ‘oh-point-oh-one-five’ or ‘zero-point-zero-fifteen’. This is the literacy we use to make sense of: ‘Ee-en equals Ee-aye minus Ee-aye over en-squared’, which can usually be done successfully only by visualising the symbol pattern of the corresponding algebraic equation (and so, for example, distinguishing whether the ‘over-en-squared’ modifies only ee-aye, or all of ee-en minus ee-aye). Also used here is the specialised, mathematical–visual-display genre pattern for a formula, with its specification of variables by ‘where’ or ‘in which’ statements. John soon hears Mr Phillips ask the class to find the numerical value of Ei, the ionisation energy for hydrogen, and he turns to his textbook and mobilises the literacies needed there (Storen & Martine, 1987, p. 548) to locate the not very visually prominent value of 13.6 eV. He then takes up his calculator and begins to put in values of n, starting with 1, 2, 3. Here, he briefly gets ahead of Mr Phillips’s work at the board, which fixes the results of his question-and-answer discussion with other students, and to which John is also listening. The answers are on the next page of the textbook, along with two complex energy-level diagrams. Mr Phillips is putting a similar, simplified diagram on the board and John is copying it into his notebook. Mr Phillips also introduces a second version of the diagram and draws it, as well as explaining the relationship between the two versions and dictating what the students should write in their notebooks in between the two to explicate this relationship. John writes: ‘OR — If we take the zero of energy as ionization energy:—’ below the first diagram and directly above a revised version of the Bohr equation, and then next below it, the second diagram. Here we see diagrams and equations introduced as textual elements linked by the English conjunction ‘or’, and introduced by a colon. Doing this requires an integrated and genuinely multimedia literacy, as well as a multi-semiotic one and a multi-genre one. In order to confirm the point about integration, note that not only are diagrams and formulas treated as quasi-linguistic elements of the text, but each diagram consists of not just visual elements (lines, angles, shadings), but also contains numerical labels and even labels such as ‘n=2’ which are mathematical formulas (and equivalent to English sentences), as well as one label ‘ionization’, which is an English word forming an integral part of a diagram. Language, visual depiction and mathematics are fully integrated here in a multi-semiotic genre that is a composite of, or perhaps better a hybrid between other genres (expository text, graphical diagram, mathematical derivation). Perhaps the preparatory curriculum has explicitly taught these separately as pure idealised genres, but how far has it taken students toward understanding what happens in these very common hybrids? Classroom discussion; teacher exposition; blackboard and notebook mathematics, writing and diagrams; numerical calculations on paper and with a calculator; and a few odd gestures of significance. Integrated by their simultaneity and timing, by their visual juxtapositions, by their syntactic and semantic relationships, by their operational sequences (write, draw, calculate, write) and linkages. Write in English, write in mathematics, integrate these on the page and in inner speech. Make sense, multiply, simultaneously, inter-operably. And don’t forget the demonstration, the way the wires and apparatus were connected, what you saw and how it was linked invisibly to what Mr Phillips was saying at certain precise moments. Those words are the only link between the demonstration and the writing on the board, in the textbook, in your student notebook. A chain of connections that will have to be reversed when the student goes up later and operates the apparatus.

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2:06 pm ‘Absorption spectra’ It was diagrams and mathematical formulas that mainly integrated with language in the previous episode. In this one and the next it is gestures and mime that require additional, hybrid multiliteracies on John’s part. At the blackboard, Mr Phillips is gesturing in the space of a diagram of the apparatus of an absorption spectrograph. John has copied this diagram into his notes. He must learn about the processes that take place here, the dynamics of what happens in this apparatus, by watching the movements of Mr Phillips’s hands as he narrates the workings of the machine. A static diagram cannot easily show these processes, only parts and places (though arrows are sometimes used to imply process through movement). John understands the relations of the parts of the apparatus fairly well, because Mr Phillips also narrated their functional relationships as he drew the diagram, from the right side to the left side, element by element, working his way backwards from the outcome (what the students can see looking into the eyepiece of the apparatus) to the source of what they see. Gesture, diagram and language interpretation must fuse seamlessly to make these meanings. Now John sees Mr Phillips come forward toward the rows of seated students and stand in place, continuing his exposition, with occasional questions to students. He is explaining how an absorption spectrum looks. It consists of vertical lines, and he draws these lines in the air with vertical downward gestures of his raised hand. He goes back to the blackboard and John sees him draw a very simple schematic, a long rectangle of chalk and vertical white chalk lines inside it. But John hears him say as he draws the rectangle that it is ‘a spectrum of colours’ from ‘red ... to blue’ and sees him point to the left end when he says red, the right when he says blue. The lines are described as ‘dark’ against the rainbow background of this spectrum — exactly contrary to the black chalkboard background and the white lines he has drawn. But John understands this, and more so when he sees a second rectangle, also with lines, but labelled as an ‘emission’ spectrum and hears Mr Phillips saying ‘most of you expected to see’ something like the bright emission lines (diagram 2), but what we do see are the dark absorption lines (diagram 1). Mr Phillips goes on to talk about how the Earth’s atmosphere imposes absorption lines on the spectrum of the sun’s incoming light, and how we have to learn to ‘match up’ the emission spectra (like that of the hydrogen tube at the start of the class) and the absorption lines, and he mimes holding glass-plate spectrographs by their ends and putting one on top of the other, superposing them in the air by imagination, just where he had previously drawn the individual imaginary spectral lines with his raised hand. Language, diagrams, gestures, pantomime — all working together to make meanings that are quite different from what they might seem to mean in isolation. Each modifying and even reversing the meaning values of the others, in combination. Interpretable and able to be written only through specialised multi-literacy skills.

2:50pm ‘Laser’Light As a final example, and one in which there is no role for the notebook, and not even a diagram, but a pure interaction of language and gestural pantomime, including whole-body motion, consider how John learns about the principle of the laser. Mr Phillips is standing just in front of the first (empty) row of student desk-tables, at the opposite end of the room from where John is sitting. John sees his hands cupped together to form a sphere,


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then the hands move a foot to the left and cup together to make another sphere. Then back to the first, and one hand and Mr Phillips’s gaze make a sweeping gesture from one to the other; then Mr Phillips begins to walk to the left, repeating these gestures and walking down toward John’s end of the room. Fortunately, Mr Phillips is also talking and John is not deaf. The cupped hands are atoms, the sweeping hand a photon, emitted by the first, travelling to the second, absorbed there, re-emitted after a while, passing on down through a ruby crystal, producing a ‘snowball effect’ of more and more photons of exactly the same energy. Mr Phillips says he’s going to add more complexity to the picture now. An atom ‘might shoot out a photon in this direction’ — gesture away from the axis of the room-sized, imaginary ruby crystal toward the students — ‘or in this one’ — gesture back toward the blackboard — ‘or ...’ — oblique gesture. How do we get the laser beam then? He walks back and forth between the ends of his now lasing imaginary ruby crystal, describing the mirrors he gestures into being at each end, but saying they differ in reflectivity and transmissivity, to build up and maintain the avalanche of photons, while letting some out in the form of the laser beam. John has seen mimes like this before; he has seen diagrams of atoms and crystals, of photons being absorbed and emitted by atoms. He can use the visual literacy of these past diagrams, together with his literacy in pantomime and his verbal discourse literacy in atomic physics to synthesise a model of how a laser works. Mr Phillips also uses gestures in a less pantomimed way. Gestures segment and emphasise elements in his speech stream, and co-ordinate the timing of his words with other motor actions visible to the students. A gesture underlines ‘most of ’ when it’s important. A gesture reinforces ‘organises’ and seems to be iconically corralling together something. John is also used to incorporating this kind of information in making sense in physics class. Mr Phillips will go on to demonstrate a laser, to dictate notes to the students about lasers, to give them information on a hand-out sheet. John will retrospectively integrate these other media of information with his first impressions gained from the pantomimed and narrated explanation.

Conclusions: Curricular, pedagogical and research implications It is hoped that this chapter has made at least a credible prima facie case for the centrality of multiple, integrated and co-ordinated specialised literacies across different media of communication and semiotics of representation in the post-compulsory scientific curriculum. That the importance of hybrid multi-media genres and their associated genre-specific literacies are shown, even without considering video or computer-based multimedia. The chapter has attempted to focus on the maximal literacy demands of the curriculum, and found that demand peaks when more different media, semiotics, genres and specialised literacies must be co-ordinated and integrated at a relatively rapid pace. In order to be successful in the post-compulsory scientific curriculum, students must become relatively fluent in these multi-dimensional, multi-modal literacies. Many students do not. The pace of curriculum delivery is not just a function of pedagogy. Teachers may talk, write, draw, mime, gesture, show and calculate faster or slower as a matter of individual style. What matters more is how much pressure they are under to present how much conceptual and factual content, in a fixed number of contact hours with students like John. What matters to John is how new and unfamiliar each communication is; how much redundancy with previous learning there is; how much he can count on what he already knows to help him take each next step. Too many steps, each too big, all to be taken too quickly, will lead to a stumble — or to dropping off the pace, and

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maybe even out of the race. Students like John are doing pretty well, but how many others never entered the post-compulsory curriculum, particularly in scientific and technical subjects, because they felt they were already past the limits of their ability to handle the multi-literacy as well as the content demands of the prior curriculum? Multi-literacies and hybrid genres should be taught. That is, both teachers and students should be made aware of their existence: what they are, what they are used for, what resources they deploy, how they can be integrated with one another, how they are typically formed, what their values and limitations are. This is not so much a matter of adding a whole new strand to the curriculum as it is of foregrounding and thematising what is already in the curriculum, getting teachers and students to pay attention to what was formerly taken for granted. Doing so would help teachers plan for redundancy and for pacing, it would help students see more clearly what is expected of them for success, it would enable all of us to take a reflexive look at these genres and multi-literacies, and to evaluate them critically and thoughtfully. It would also add real substance to otherwise rather nebulous prescriptions for more emphasis on ‘meta-cognition’. Most of what meta-cognitive practices must attend to, or at least the parts that are accessible to examination and revision, are precisely the ways in which we make meaning with real genres deploying the semiotic resources of language, image, quantity, relationship, gesture and action. Finally, we come to the need for careful further research into the multi-modal literacies and genres of each specific curriculum subject at each grade level. This is beginning to be done in many places today with regard to the simplest forms of reading and writing, but with still far too narrow and idealised a view of what literacy-in-practice actually involves. Literacy in the real world, as in the advanced curriculum, is always multiple and integrated. We never read without some visual images or kinesthetic modelling; we don’t use mathematics or diagrams without language intervening. Writing is always a visual meaning system as well as a linguistic one. We always create styles and emphases and organisational cues through visual as well as verbal means. Sometimes these are very simple, but often they can be amazingly complex. The scientific and technical curriculum is a good place to begin the work of specifying relevant multi-literacies in detail. Its genres are so specialised and unfamiliar except to experts, that their multi-literacy demands tend to stand out. We need research to support curriculum design that will also tell us more generally what these relevant literacies and genres are, across semiotic modes of representation and across channels of communication, for all curriculum subjects. We need even more basic research on how people in fact integrate very different media. What have been the origins and histories of these hybrid genres? What educationally useful alternatives may have been lost or missed? What are the general functional bases for the very possibility, the almost universally felt desirability, of integrating different modalities? How have the different modalities of representation co-evolved with one another culturally and historically in the various disciplines? How is spoken language itself already pre-adapted to be integrated with gesture, and writing visually integrable with diagrams? There can be no doubt that, as computer-assisted education becomes more and more widely available, in the home as well as in the school, issues of teaching and learning through integrated multimedia will become even more important (cf. Lemke, 1996, 1998b). If nothing else, computer media will spawn new hybrid genres (for example, hypertexts, interactive media, three-dimensional scientific visualisations, dynamic simulations) that will require the development of still more multiliteracies. Research will need to continue to analyse these as they arise, and must help to keep the curriculum prepared to make use of them, and help to keep teachers and students up-to-date in their abilities to meet the total literacy demands not just of the post-compulsory curriculum, but of careers and lives in the 21st century.

Reflections

INDIANA STUDY GROUP

16

CHAPTER

A critical commentary

ommentaries are important. They set things in context and help readers to remember the quest. In that spirit, we wish to tell readers that this volume is first and foremost a research study intent upon finding ways to make education — specifically post-compulsory education in Australia — more effective. Given the wide variety of subject areas covered in post-compulsory education (everything from English to Rural Science), the wide variety of teachers and teaching styles, and the wide variety of students being served, the study provides rich insights into the literacy–curriculum relationship. We know of no other study like it. Because these experts from Australia, the United Kingdom and the United States of America couldn’t go to the field, the lead researchers and designers of the study brought the field to them, and we benefit from their insights and the multiple perspectives they offer. This chapter is meant to serve as a study of the study that is reported in this volume. As members of the group charged with writing this overview, we began by reading and re-reading each chapter, and then moved into the task of creating a one-page summary of each one. Once we had created summaries of the 15 chapters, we looked across them for patterns and anomalies. One pattern we identified early on was not surprising, nor unexpected. It reflected the wide variety of literacy demands made on students and the multiple conceptions of literacy in classrooms that the authors of this volume studied. Such variation can be attributed to the dozens of different courses being offered in the rural and metropolitan schools of New South Wales and Queensland, as well as to variation in individual teaching styles and in the diverse ways in which teachers conceptualise their roles in the classroom. A second pattern we identified reflected common issues and concerns that were reported by the researchers who analysed the data. Given the diversity in courses, schools and teachers, this pattern was somewhat surprising. Our subsequent attempts to investigate this anomaly in light of our own experience with, involvement in, and thinking about how to create more effective schools for the 21st century led to conversations to which we found ourselves coming back again and again. These conversations supplied the foundation for this chapter, which is framed around the common concerns identified by the experts in their findings. They include knowledge issues, teaching issues and curriculum issues. For our study group, this was an inquiry project that involved not only many hours of solitary reading and summarising, but also many hours of collaborative discussion as we critiqued, extended and synthesised our thoughts. This chapter provides an opportunity for us to share these common issues and concerns, and to invite a larger group of educators into our conversations. To this end, we pose needed conversations that need to be sustained over time. Since the common issues and concerns focus on knowledge, teaching and curriculum, there is no doubt in our minds that they merit further exploration by those who are interested in charting a course for future reform in Australia and the rest of the world.

C

Knowledge: issues from the study Researchers in this study reported that, across a wide variety of courses, knowledge was generally not perceived as something that is socially constructed. This would have required that meaning was derived not only from the material presented in class, but also from a transaction between what was

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presented, the personal meanings students brought to the situation, and the social contexts and cultural norms of the classroom. Instead, they found that knowledge was perceived as ‘ready-made’ information to be learned (Chapter 10), or as a set of data to be memorised with no questioning or critical analysis of content (Chapter 13). Cambourne (Chapter 7) noted the existence of ‘correct forms of knowledge which exist independently of the knowers and learners … In these classrooms the role [of literacy] became that of a conduit for facilitating the flow of information from an authoritative source to the students’ minds’. Knowledge was also seen as a pre-packaged set of facts in Agricultural Science and Biology lessons analysed by Wilson (Chapter 10), who decided that the vocabulary used in these lessons determined the amount of emphasis placed on conceptual knowledge, thinking and communication. In a 26minute segment of the lesson, Wilson identified 48 concept-label words used by the teacher. These words were not used in daily speech or in other academic subjects. According to Wilson, students concluded that these words had single, fixed meanings, and that the text was the authority for these meanings. She saw this emphasis on nomenclature as a product of viewing science as a collection of ready-made factual products to be received and internalised by students. Concept labels appeared to be accompanied by the uninterrogated assumption that there is a ‘correct’ meaning associated with each label, and that there is one-to-one correspondence between the object and its label. This orientation supports the notion that students must learn the body of ‘ready-made’ science before they can use their intellectual processes to reason like real scientists.

A needed conversation: Seeing knowledge as socially constructed After analysing literacy practices in post-compulsory classrooms, a number of the researchers concluded that students did not construct knowledge as often as they received ready-made knowledge. The teacher or textbook was the repository of this ready-made knowledge, and the students simply had to learn the factual information on which they would be tested. Students assumed roles that related to the kind of knowledge that mattered in their classrooms. In many cases, this meant that students were test-takers, test-markers and responders to teacher-initiated questions. Several researchers concluded that the ways in which knowledge was defined in the classrooms they studied limited certain types of learning and participation, as well as the access teachers had to student displays of learning. Members of our study group wondered how these learning engagements would look if learning were situated in contextualised events that allowed students to make personal sense and gave teachers the maximum opportunity to observe displays of their learning. The potential for such maximisation is created when teachers and students engage in collaborative talk (Wells & Chang-Wells, 1992) and joint problem solving. Collaborative talk helps teachers and students develop a sense of belonging to a ‘community of literate thinkers’ (Wells & Chang-Wells, 1992). These authors caution that the goal of education must be for students to go beyond the knowledge they have appropriated from their culture, in order to solve new problems. If this is to occur, teachers must provide opportunities and encouragement for students to engage in their own constructive efforts. Teachers must appreciate that allowing students to engage in dialogue with them and with peers provides opportunities for joint problem solving.

A needed conversation: Interrogating knowledge Researchers found that, in schools across New South Wales and Queensland, knowledge was generally perceived as a set of facts to be learned, with no questioning or interrogation of these facts or of the positions of the people who collected them. This occurred across the curriculum in such diverse

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courses as Legal Studies, English, Economics and Science. Instead of dwelling on the problems of this uncritical stance in enacting the curriculum, we believe there is more to be gained from considering how critical discussions might be built into the current curriculum. For example, Legal Studies courses could be ideal places for beginning critical discussions that examine how class topics are affected by issues of politics, economics, class, gender and culture. Even traditional textbooks could be catalysts for lively discussions if students and the teacher were to interrogate the ideology of the authors and decide who ‘wins’ and who ‘loses’ if the authors’ perspectives are accepted as true. Once teachers and students start to interrogate the knowledge presented in their courses, they can move into other forms of critical discourse. Literacy can then be used as a way for students to understand themselves and their culture, with an orientation toward social action, equity and justice (Shannon, 1995).

A needed conversation: Deconstructing classroom inequities One group of findings reported various types of inequalities that were present in classrooms. Davies (Chapter 6) observed a Health and Physical Education class in which a few female students were being co-operative, focusing on the lesson. They supported the authoritarian male’s position as teacher, and helped to direct the learning of the class. Meanwhile, the males separated themselves from the female students and teacher, and resisted the feminist values in the lesson. Since the teacher did not create a social space that was equitable for all students, there were several silent females who remained on the fringe of the lesson. Christie (Chapter 9) identified another inequality present in many classrooms. The instance she observed was in a Biology class, where students were asked to explain in written form ‘how the reproductive strategies of the red kangaroo are suited to the Australian environment’. Since the teacher did not give students an overview of this genre of writing, Christie concluded that some students would be unable to complete the task in an appropriate manner. She pointed to this as an example where those equipped by prior life experience and opportunity would be successful, while those who lacked such experience were denied access. Similar incidents where students were asked to complete assignments with no help on how to do so were prevalent in many of the researchers’ analyses. We suggest that teachers consider using demonstrations, discussions of the strategies or steps that might be useful in accomplishing these assignments, and rubrics of what should be included in quality work. Knowledge of these strategies could put those students who haven’t already attained such expertise on a more equal basis with others in the class.

A needed conversation: Fostering student voice In a Year 11 English class, Christie observed a lesson where students were asked to analyse, develop an opinion and write an argumentative paper on ‘How do role models on television influence children’s socialisation?’ The teacher spent a lot of time talking about his own views about the negative influences of popular films and TV programs. By expressing these strong moral imperatives, it became almost a subversive act for students to express an opinion contrary to the teacher’s. If the intent of the course is to build students’ capacity to analyse issues, take stands on issues and then argue for their stands in writing, then it is essential to enact teaching strategies that foster building these capacities in students. This means creating the time and opportunities for teachers to become more skilled facilitators who encourage the articulation and development of student voices and perspectives, even unpopular ones.


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From these few examples, we hope to stimulate thinking about different ways in which teachers and curriculum planners might move toward integrating critical analysis and conversations into the current post-compulsory curriculum. A question that might begin the conversation is: ‘How can we begin the process of transforming our classrooms into places where we and our students regularly deal with issues of ethics, power, politics, diversity and social justice?’

Teaching: issues from the study Two main teacher roles were identified by the experts who studied the Australian data. The first role was that of a ‘more capable other’ and the second was as a manager or controller. The teachers who adopted the role of more capable other were characterised as having high levels of personal interaction with students. Street (Chapter 13) gave an example of a teacher of Information Processing and Technology who assumed that everything needed to be explained to his students. This teacher appeared to interact with the students more than others, raising points, asking questions, getting responses to which the students themselves have some input, rather than simply repeating the textbook phrases. Crawford et al. (Chapter 4) described a teacher who took on a similar role in a Mathematics class. The teacher communicated his belief that the student was capable of succeeding in the engagements at hand, even though he had trouble initially. When the student needed to modify what he was doing, ‘the teacher took up the role of more capable other’ by providing information and by illustrating the process involved in working the mathematical problems. Similarly, Wyatt-Smith (Chapter 11) observed a Marine Studies teacher using a pattern of talk– demonstration–guided application. Students received feedback during the hands-on practice. In contrast, there were many more instances where teachers adopted the role of manager or controller. For example, Street (Chapter 13) observed that the teacher’s two primary roles in the English classroom he analysed were to maintain discipline and to give instruction on procedural knowledge. Kress (Chapter 3) also noticed this predominant focus on procedures in the English class tapes he analysed. Cambourne (Chapter 7) described the tremendous power and control held by a Legal Studies teacher who called the shots on who would read, who would speak and what the content would be. He also pointed out how compliant the students were — a theme noted by many of the authors in this volume. Christie (Chapter 9) summed up this phenomenon with her observation that ‘while English as a school discipline is often publicly “talked up” for its commitment to the development of capacity in students to express independent opinion, it is in practice often quite authoritarian about the capacity it affords students to express unpopular views’.

A needed conversation: Teaching for diversity and difference One of the important facets of our ongoing conversation about teaching relates to culture. Too often, we have concluded, culture is only discussed in global terms such as ethnicity and race. Unfortunately, much of the professional conversation about the interface of culture in schooling happens at this global level. Cole (1996) defines culture as everyday experience. Cole believes in a diversity model of education that supports the expression and exploration of difference at a deep structural level, where difference

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sets up tension and propels learning. A diversity model of education changes how we think about teaching. Diversity and difference are seen as possibilities rather than problems. Several of the researchers in this study espoused a diversity model of education, but found few examples in the classrooms studied. Lemke’s (Chapter 15) focus on literacy as a semiotic system and the need for students to develop competencies in multiple literacies is another theoretical construct important to a diversity model of education. His work highlighted the notion that students need to develop and use different interpretive systems. He argued that the development of these systems would be strongly impacted by the culture of the student. As we read the 14 analyses which make up this volume, we saw little evidence of culturally relevant teaching (Ladson-Billings, 1994). What we saw in the Australian classrooms was a pull toward consensus and conformity that far outweighed any consideration of diversity. The educational system seemed to work against diversity and difference by narrowing the acceptable knowledge outcomes. Teachers appeared to be preoccupied with working through texts and preparing students for tests. Curriculum documents and assessments represent some sort of agreement about the knowledge and skills students should learn. They categorise learning into discipline strands, and reduce the real world into what are thought to be manageable chunks, inevitably leaving many kinds of knowing and doing outside the parameters of school. Teachers are expected to take up the particular goals outlined in their curriculum guides, and students are expected to pass specific tests. With these common elements of schooling comes an unavoidable measure of conformity. At its worst, all students are taught the same things in the same ways, because education operates on the commonsense notions that sameness is equitable, and that systematic assessment is the best way to track student achievement. Ultimately, the question of diversity is a question of what we value. What these studies show is that cultural orientation is routinely overlooked in many post-compulsory classrooms. We view this as unfortunate, and encourage others to join us in exploring new ways in which to envision teaching and learning.

A needed conversation: The role of inquiry in teaching We argue that questions drive enquiry, and that enquiry should drive teaching. Teachers who are enquirers see themselves as learners who share many characteristics and needs with their students. They know that nothing is more powerful than authentic questions. They compel learners (large and small, old and young) to gather new information and to create personal theories. Learners working to understand the ambiguities in their own lives and knowledge are far more invested than learners who are following a pathway laid down by someone with a different set of cognitive and social experiences. Learners following their own questions have to assume responsibility for constructing their own understandings. They know that the goal is not to arrive at the final authoritative answer to their question, but rather to achieve a temporary understanding that can change in the future, given new experiences and information (Short et al., 1996). The point is that an inquiry into schools, and not by the teachers and students in schools, may change only the written curriculum and supporting documentation, not the knowledge or teaching practices of the individuals who work within the context. Teachers who are involved in inquiry may begin to change their ways of interacting with students. They may also begin to understand the dynamics of the process, and to develop the ability to release


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their hold on all the authority for the curriculum. This makes more space for students to make choices and to be engaged in meaningful processes of learning. At the same time, teachers are able to support students in using language and literacy for more purposes and with more people.

Curriculum: issues from the study A third commonality reported in a number of chapters in this book was a tendency for teachers to regard textbooks and tests as ‘the curriculum’. For example, Crawford et al. (Chapter 4) reported that the English teacher they observed could be seen as handing over to the workbook and printed test the role of authority on the content of English. The teacher spent the period managing testtaking and test-marking procedures, while expecting students to obtain content information from their workbooks on their own. In addition to identifying and examining the literacy demands of post-compulsory curriculum, the researchers in this volume also uncovered a hidden curriculum. According to this unstated curriculum, students were required to memorise authoritative knowledge (usually presented via textbooks), to accept this knowledge as ‘truth’ that was not open to interrogation or debate, to speak only when called on by the teacher, and to passively and compliantly repeat this routine day after day. This appears to be counter-productive — especially in context of the 21st-century world in which these students are living. At the same time, however, the researchers also uncovered a powerful local resource that holds promise for school reform — the teachers themselves. Throughout these chapters we were introduced to teachers who demonstrated high levels of personal interaction with their students, and who encouraged collaboration. How can educational reform build on their strengths? When teachers talk to other teachers on a regular basis, the potential arises for making visible implicit, unconscious theories and beliefs about learning and teaching. This is a first step toward unmasking the hidden curriculum — making it explicit, public and open to examination and interrogation.

A needed conversation: Curriculum as conversation Carolyn Burke (Harste, Short & Burke, 1988) says that the function of curriculum is to give perspective. Too often, teachers get caught up in the day-to-day operation of schools, and forget where they are headed. To ‘think curriculum’ is an opportunity to think about what we value and, in the process, to answer for ourselves the age-old question, ‘What knowledge is worth teaching?’ The authors in this volume have both implicitly and explicitly answered this question. The answers that they provide go well beyond specific concepts to be transmitted in order to address principles or ideas that ought to govern instruction. For example, Winograd (Chapter 8) argued that literacy should involve real-life issues, and that reading and writing should be viewed as tools that help us to solve real-life problems. Davies (Chapter 6) wanted to see teachers and students acting on a commitment to hear every voice, to value and build from the diversity of possible positions and lived experiences; to be responsible social agents. These answers are very different from those of traditional curriculum experts. Hirsch (1987), for example, has gone to great lengths to identify what he considers to be key concepts that everyone should know. He views such concepts as ‘common knowledge’, and their absence in curriculum as enough to cause a breakdown in society as we know it. More recently, Applebee (1996) has argued that Hirsch’s approach to curriculum development reflects a fundamental misconception about the

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nature of knowledge and learning. Curriculum developed in this manner teaches traditions rather than how to participate actively in knowledge construction and learning. In order to redress this situation, Applebee asks us to think of curriculum in terms of what conversations we wish our students to engage in. He argues that, by thinking of curriculum in these terms, we invite students to explore past conceptions as well as to participate in current debates — debates which reflect the vitality of the discipline and its relevance for life. Real knowledge, he argues, arises from participation in conversations that matter and ‘are themselves embedded within larger traditions of discourse that we have come to value, such as science, the arts, history, literature, and mathematics’ (p. ii). In our work in schools and in teacher education, we have found Applebee’s view of curriculum to be liberating. Instead of transmitting facts, we begin by thinking about what conversations we want learners to engage in with us. In the process of exploring a topic such as ‘What does it mean to think mathematically?’ students explore old answers as well as current thinking. They are invited into the conversation as participants, rather than made to feel as outsiders, mere spectators of a sport they probably can’t play. Curriculum as conversation invites students in, allows them the opportunity to explore multiple perspectives.

A needed conversation: Multiple ways of knowing Currently, post-compulsory curriculum is organised around the disciplines. Students take a variety of classes such as English, Art, Physics, Physical Education and Legal Studies, as we attempt to provide them with access to multiple ways of knowing about the world. Each discipline has its own vocabulary, methods of inquiry and tools for operating on a specific area of interest. Cumming (Chapter 14) noted that the students she observed appeared to move easily from one disciplinary class to the next, adjusting to the language and ways of doing things without much difficulty. This flexibility may be a valuable characteristic to develop in young learners, but the equally important skill of synthesising what can be known through the application of multiple disciplines was seldom practised in the classes analysed in this study. Thus, the curriculum never delivered on its promise of creating individuals who can think clearly about real-world experiences that inevitably cut across disciplinary boundaries. It seems that, in the rush to prepare students with multiple ways of knowing, educators ignored the importance of processes that weave across the disciplines and force the evaluation of what each discipline can contribute. As language educators, we are keenly interested in how language is used to learn, but we also believe that we need to start talking about the role of sign systems other than language. Like Kress (Chapter 3), we believe the semiotic perspective is helpful, in that it enables us to recognise that meaning-making goes on in multiple sign systems, and that different sign systems provide different ‘affordances’. For example, art expresses feelings and social commentary better than mathematics does. Mathematics expresses relationships and patterns better than drama does. Drama expresses human interaction and story better than photography does. And so on. As humans, we have developed multiple sign systems because we are cognitively complex individuals who live in multi-dimensional cultures and contexts. We have invented a variety of modes of representation that focus on different aspects of our world, and require different performance skills. Lemke (Chapter 15) argued that we cannot make meaning in a way that activates only one sign system (language, drawing, gesture, music etc.) at a time. Rather, we weave together ‘multiple literacies’ whenever we learn, especially in the study of a discipline such as science. In order to understand a science concept as a scientist does, a student must be able to deal flexibly with its verbal,


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mathematical and visual–graphic aspects. Lemke also suggested that the integration of multiple literacies is what makes conceptualisation possible, for the different perspectives provide a more complete view of any complex phenomenon. It makes a difference how educators think about literacy. Is it one thing that develops across the disciplines, or is it multiple and likely to develop differently in different disciplines? What happens to literacy development when individuals have different first languages? How does access to different sign systems affect learning? What new hybrid genres (that is, hypertexts, interactive video and virtual reality), will develop as computers become a more prevalent part of teaching and learning? In our study group discussions, we agreed that thinking about multiple sign systems has changed us as teachers. We no longer assume that our students learn only through language; we are more conscious of their use of multiple sign systems. We also attempt to develop their skills (and our own) in using sign systems other than language. In order to do this, we have to converse with teachers in other disciplines, talking about what the students have learned in art or drama class that might help them to explore a new concept, and finding out how they are handling conceptual development through multiple systems in science or math. Like Lemke, we believe that students should realise that they make meaning with many semiotic resources, such as language, image, quantity, relationship, gesture and action. Like Street, we believe that these resources are drawn from cultural systems of meaning laced with messages about gender, class, race and power. We are trying to be more conscious of these embedded messages ourselves, so that students see demonstrations of critical thinking where we critique the layout of a text, the choice of visual images, the tone of voice or other cues with encoded meanings. As Lemke explains, we are trying to ‘pay attention to what was formerly taken for granted’, to educate our students and ourselves about the multiple systems of meaning involved in literacy.

Conclusion It is important that we recognise the breakthrough this volume represents, and that we compliment the many persons involved who made it happen. It is our hope that this study and our work leads to sweeping educational reform in post-compulsory education in Australia. This is not a job for tinkers. It involves reform of basic educational policy. We’re convinced that we can’t change classrooms without changing schools, and we can’t change schools without changing the superstructures within which those schools are embedded. Classrooms and schools that attempt to operate on a new vision of literacy, learning and education become compromised out of existence over time, subtly and notso-subtly, through constant and consistent pressure to conform to the more dominant systems of policy that are in place. True reform has to change these basic policies on language, learning and education. This volume is one piece of the pie. As the editors make clear, the second piece of the pie involves acknowledging educators and the fact that they have significant contributions to make. We join with Cumming and Wyatt-Smith in arguing that researchers and educational administrators need to work in conversation with teachers, students and parents if they are going to get beyond offering fragmented bits of advice to schools. This means that educators need to be supported in terms of professional development, in regard to their undertaking their own inquiries, and in the creation of new public policy on language, learning and education. It is only in the collective that meaningful and much-needed educational reform of the type called for in this study will happen.

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Members of the Indiana Study Group who participated in the preparation of this report include Dr Beth Berghoff (Indiana University–Purdue University, Indianapolis (IUPUI)), Dr Cynthia Brabson (Indiana University, Bloomington (IUB)), Dr Patricia Teft Cousin, Dr Jerome Harste, Dr Christine Leland (IUPUI) and Dr Mitzi Lewison (IUB). As a study group, we are devoted to supporting each other’s writing and research efforts, as well as to taking on group projects that support these goals. One of the unique things about our study group is that each of us is currently involved in both teacher education and school reform. Prior to coming together, each of us had reformed our own teaching and had worked with individual teachers in reforming their teaching and their classrooms. During the past five years, each of us has extended this work by attempting to work with groups of local teachers to affect systematic change in individual schools, individual institutions and entire school districts. Because we are a thought collective, each of us is going to list herself or himself as first author on our résumé when citing this chapter. Readers should cite the Indiana Study Group as the author of this chapter, but feel free to footnote the authorship in an order of their choice.

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Index

academic literacies 149–50 Agricultural Science classes discourse styles 100–1, 102–3 literacy demands 90, 108–10, 111–13 pedagogic discourse 100–1 syllabus 107 Anglo-American Dartmouth Seminar on English Teaching 4 assessment 141–4, 144–5 theory 117–18 Barker, R.G. & Associates 74, 75, 76 Bernstein, Basil 14, 15, 18, 31, 46, 95 Biological Science classes discourse styles 103 literacy demands 110–11, 113–14 styles of discourse 101–2 syllabus 107 blackboard, reading from 132–4, 134 Business Studies classes, use of texts 137–8 Chemistry classes assessment in 141–4 reading from the blackboard 132 writing in 138 circumtextual framing 14, 16, 19 classrooms, discourse 61–71, 81, 118–19 cognitive demands 157–69 and literacy demands 158–9 computer-assisted education, and multimedia literacy 180 computer literacy 148 critical-cultural approach, to literacy education 3–5, 5 curriculum Agricultural Science 107 Biological Science 107 as conversation 187–8 delivery, pace 174, 179–80 disciplines and 188 drama 26–7 English 161–3 Film/TV 27 issues 187–9 literacy demands 107–11, 114, 116, 146–56, 161–3

multimedia literacy demands 170–80 science 170–80 and valid knowledge 47–8 as social design 26–8 see also post-compulsory education demands see literacy, demands Design Fundamentals classes, literacy demands 16–17 Design and Technology classes, literacy demands 13–14 dialogic language 149 directed reading activities 80–1 disciplines, as basis of curricula 188 discourse in classrooms 61–71, 81, 118–19, 151–6 see also SF register theory in post–compulsory education 94–103 see also evaluative talk discursive practice see discourse Dixon, J. 4 domain knowledge 157, 158 and mathematics 159 and Physics 167 down time 145 drama, curriculum 26–7 drama classes 22, 23, 24, 29, 30 drawing, as a mode of representation and communication 21–2, 24 Economics classes assessment in 143–4 blackboard notes 134 discourse styles 152–3 power and knowledge 153–4 writing in 139–41 empowerment, of students 20 English classes cognitive literacy demands 161–3 discourse styles 27–8, 98–100, 103, 119–25, 151–2, 153 evaluative talk in 119–25 language matters 46–58 literacy and 39–40, 40–1 literacy demands 15–16, 29, 30, 89–90, 90–1 reading of texts 134–7 curriculum, literacy demands 27–8 episode analysis 76

ethnography, perspectives on literacy 32–41 evaluative talk 117–30 event maps 35, 36–7 English class 42–3 extended metaphor 52–3 extratextual framing 14–15 Film/TV classes 21, 25, 29, 30 curriculum 27 first-order meanings 50, 54 formative assessment 117–18 frameworks, literacy education 3–5 framing 12–20 and control 18–19 genre-based approach to literacy education 5, 95 gesture, as a mode of representation and communication 21–2 growth and heritage approach, to literacy education 3–4 Halliday, M.A.K. 150 SF grammar 95–6 Hasan, Ruqaiya 5, 50, 53–4 Health and Physical Education classes, discourse styles 61–71 Heap, J. 7, 32, 118 hermeneutic dialectic process 79 Information Processing and Technology see IPT information-processing theory 157–8 instructional registers 97–8, 98–9, 100, 102 see also SF register theory interactional perspectives, on literacy 32–41 International Multiliteracies Project 5 intertextual framing 16, 24 intratextual framing 16 IPT classes, discourse styles 154–6 Kentucky Education Reform Act (1990) 85 KERA see Kentucky Education Reform Act knowledge construction 82, 183 curriculum and 47–8

200


interrogating 183–4 issues 182–5 and learning 153–4 in science 104–15 social construction 183 see also domain knowledge; metacognitive knowledge; procedural knowledge; propositional knowledge; strategic knowledge learning 80–1, 82 Legal Studies classes, literacy and learning 72–83 literacy approaches 3–8 defining 2–3, 22–3, 32, 61, 88–9, 104–5, 115, 146 demands 29–30 Agricultural Science 108–10, 111–13 Biological Science 110–11, 113–14 Design Fundamentals classes 16–17 Design and Technology classes 13–14 dialogue and 17–18 English classes 15–16, 29, 30, 89–90, 90–1, 161–3 framing 12–20 implications of cognitive demand theories 158–9 Mathematics classes 17–18, 35–9, 40–1, 159–61, 163–4 Physics classes 164–7 post-compulsory curriculum 26, 84–92, 107–11, 146–56 in senior schooling 167 English classes and 39–40, 40–1 ethnographic perspectives 32–41 future directions 6 and learning 73–5, 83 practices 148–9 theory 117 understanding of teachers 29 Marine Studies classes evaluative talk in 125–8 styles of discourse 125–8 Mathematics classes cognitive literacy demands 159–61, 163–4 literacy demands 17–18, 35–9, 40–1 teaching strategies 168 use of textbooks 132–4

writing in 138–9 meanings 50, 53–8, 57–8 see also metaphor; shared meaning meta-cognitive knowledge 158, 168 metaphor 48–50, 50–1 see also extended metaphor multi-literacy see multiple literacies multi-media see multimedia multi-modal communication 21–6 multimedia literacy, and science education 170–80 multiperspectival approach, to acculturation 7 multiple literacies 148, 179–80 in science education 170, 172–9 New Literacy Studies 5, 147–8 New South Wales, Securing their future 87–8 NLS see New Literacy Studies orders of meanings 57–8 see also first-order meanings; secondorder meanings PE see Health and Physical Education pedagogic discourse 95 evaluative talk in 119–28 see also discourse, in post-compulsory education Physical Education see Health and Physical Education Physics classes cognitive literacy demands 164–7 teaching strategies 168 post-compulsory education literacy demands 84–92, 107–11, 146–56 pedagogic discourse 94–103 procedural knowledge, teacher display of 120–5, 151–2 propositional knowledge, teacher display of 120–5 reading from the blackboard 132–4 of texts 132–8, 144 regulative registers 97, 97–8, 98–9, 100, 102 see also SF register theory running data records 35–6

scientific literacy 8, 104–5, 115, 170–80 defined 170 scientific understanding 105–6 second-level analysis 76, 77 second-order meanings 50, 54 Securing their future (NSW) 87–8 semiotics 23–5, 38, 172 SF grammar 95–6 SF register theory 96, 97–102 passim shared meaning 106–7 situated literacies 32, 34 skills approach, to literacy education 3–4 social literacies 147–9 specimen records 75 speech, as a mode of representation and communication 21–2 strategic knowledge 157–8, 168 and mathematics 159 student-cam methodology 9, 61–2, 94–5 students empowerment 20 interaction with teachers 63–71 symbolic articulation 54–7 systematic functional grammar see SF grammar teachers discursive style 61–71 passim display of knowledge 120–5, 151–2 ideological predispositions 81–3, 184 and literacy demands 13–14 pedagogic discourse, and framing 16, 17–18 power and ubiquity 79–80 understanding of literacy 29 teaching 80–1, 82, 185–7 for diversity and difference 185–6 English 48–54, 57–8 issues 185–7 strategies 168 see also discourse television see Film/TV terminological confusion 3 textbooks, role of 168 third–level analysis 76, 78 TV see Film/TV unilateral demand 16–17

Sadler, D.R. 117–18 scientific knowledge see knowledge, in science

writing 138–41, 144, 154–6

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