CJE Volume 29, Number 4

Revue canadienne de l’éducation
Canadian Journal of Education
Volume 29
Numéro / Number 4
2006
Rédacteur
François Larose
Editor
Sam Robinson
Production Editor
Diane Favreau
Assistant to the Editor
Diane Favreau
Conseil aviseur de rédaction / Editorial Advisory Board
Lisa Loutzenheiser, The University of British Columbia, CACS/ACÉC
Cecila Reynolds, University of Saskatchewan, ACDE/ACDÉ
Robert Sandieson, The University of Western Ontario, CAEP/ACP
Janice Wallace, University of Alberta, CASWE/ACÉFÉ
Sharon Cook, The University of Ottawa, CAFE/ACÉFÉ
Matthew Meyer, St. Francis Xavier University, CASEA/ACÉAS
Kathy Sanford, University of Victoria, CATE/ACFE
Helen Raptis, University of Victoria CERA/ ACCE
Reva Joshee, Ontario Institute for the Study of Education, CIESC/SCÉCI
Virginia Stead, Ontario Institute for the Study of Education of the
University of Toronto, CCSE/CCÉE
________________________
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La Revue canadienne de l’éducation est répertoriée dans/
The Canadian Journal of Education is indexed in
Répertoire canadien sur l’éducation/Canadian Education Index, Canadian Magazine Index,
Index des périodiques canadiens/Canadian Periodical Index, Canadian Women’s
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Revue canadienne de l’éducation / Canadian Journal of Education
VOLUME 29
NUMBER / NUMÉRO 4
2006
Table des matières / Contents
Articles
923
L’implantation d’un nouveau programme cadre en Education physique
et sant é : L’exp é rience des enseignants en milieux francophones
ontariens
C. Beaudoin, P. Truel, et M. Mathias
949
L’importance de l’interactivité éducative dans les Discussions
Synchrones Numériques: Interactivité des enseignants-tuteurs
et etudiants dans les formations à distance
Alain Jaillet
975
First Nations Education and Rentier Economics: Parallels with
the Gulf States
John R. Minnis
998
First Nations Education: Financial Accountability and
Educational Attainment
Sheila Carr-Stewart
1019 Repositioning Identification: Reflections on a Visit to Historica’s
Heritage Fair
Lisa Farley
1039 Historial Empathy and Canada: A People’s History
Darren Bryant & Penney Clark
— iii —
Histoire de l’éducation / History of Education
1065
“Liberty of Trade from the Thraldon of the Autocrats”: Provision
of School Textbooks in Ontario, 1850-1909
Penney Clark
1097
Connections, Contrarieties, and Convolutions: Curriculum and
Pedagogic Reform in Alberta and Ontario, 1930-1955
Lynn Speer Lemisko & Kurt W. Clausen
1127
Fostering a Provincial Identity: Two Eras in Alberta Schooling
Amy von Heyking
1157
The Advent of a Public Pluriformity Model: Faith-based School
Choice in Alberta
John L. Hiemstra & Robert A. Brink
1191
Large-Scale Assessment Outcomes in British Columbia, 1876-1999
Helen Raptis and Thomas Fleming
1223
Arts-Based Educational Research Dissertations: Reviewing the
Practices of New Scholars
Anita Sinner, Carl Leggo, Rita L. Irwin, Peter Gouzouasis, & Kit Grauer
1271
When “History” Happens to Research: A Tale of One Project, Two
Researchers, and Three Countries in a Time of Global Crisis
Nathalie Piquemal & Sandra Kouritzin
Recensions / Book Reviews
1295 Raymond M. Hébert. (2004). Manitoba’s French-Language Crisis: A
Cautionary Tale
by Danièle Moore
1299 Michael D. Behiels. (2004). Canada’s Francophone Communities:
Constitutional Renewal and the Winning of School Governance
by Sylvie A. Lamoureux
1302 Thomas Bender, Philip; M. Katz, Colin Palmer, and the Committee
on Graduate Education of the American HIstorical Association.
— iv —
(2004). The Education of Historians for the Twenty-first Century
by Jim Handy
1305 John W. Friesen and Virginia Lyons Friesen. (2005). First Nations in
the Twenty-First Century: Contemporary Educational Frontiers
by Onowa McIvor
1309 Brian Noonan, Dianne Hallman, and Murray Scharf. (2006). A
History of Education in Saskatchewan: Selected Readings
by Helen Raptis
1313 Auteurs / Authors
Les opinions exprimées et les résultats de recherche transmis dans
la Revue canadienne de l’éducation n’engagent pas la Société
canadienne pour l’étude de l’éducation, les membres de leur Bureau
de direction et les membres de leur Conseil d’administration.
The opinions and findings expressed in the Canadian Journal of
Education are not necessarily those of the Canadian Society for
the Study of Education or their respective Directors and Officers.
—v—
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— vi —
L’IMPLANTATION D’UN NOUVEAU PROGRAMME CADRE EN ÉDUCATION PHYSIQUE ET SANTÉ: L’EXPÉRIENCE DES ENSEIGNANTS EN MILIEUX FRANCOPHONES ONTARIENS C. Beaudoin, P. Trudel, & M. Mathias Le but de la présente étude était de mieux comprendre l’expérience des enseignants d’éducation physique impliqués dans la mise en place du nouveau programme cadre « éducation physique et santé », depuis son lancement en septembre 1999. Le modèle de compréhension pour l’amélioration de la classe et de l’école développé par Fullan, Bennett, et Rolheiser‐Bennett (1990) a été utilisé afin de rendre compte de la complexité du processus d’implantation, dans quatre écoles secondaires francophones de l’Ontario. L’ensemble de nos résultats s’apparente aux conclusions d’autres études effectuées au cours de la dernière décennie au Canada et en Angleterre. Il est démontré que des changements essentiels doivent être apportés si les ministères de l’éducation provinciaux souhaitent pouvoir agir efficacement sur l’engagement et l’apprentissage des élèves. Mots‐clés : Réforme curriculaire ; Processus d’implantation ; Éducation physique et santé; expérience des enseignants The purpose of this study was to better understand the experiences of physical education teachers in implementing the new Physical Education and Health curriculum, since its launch in September 1999. The Comprehensive Framework for Classroom and School Improvement, developed by Fullan, Bennett, & Rolheiser‐
Bennett (1990), has been used to present the complex process of implementation in four francophone high schools in eastern Ontario. Results are showing similar conclusions to other studies done in Canada and UK during the last decade. It has been shown that essential changes, not related to teaching, need to be address if provincial ministries of education whish to have an impact on students’ engagement and learning. Key words : educational reform ; implementation process ; physical education and health curriculum ; teacher experience _________________ CANADIAN JOURNAL OF EDUCATION 29, 4 (2006): 923‐948 924 C. BEAUDOIN, P. TRUDEL, & M. MATHIAS Note: Bien que le masculine soit utilisé, les mots relatifs aux personnes désignent aussi bien les femmes que les homes. La santé occupe une place prépondérante dans nos sociétés et les institutions doivent constamment démontrer comment elles contribuent au bien‐être et à la santé de la population. En ce qui concerne les institutions scolaires, nous pouvons nous demander si les écoles parviennent à remplir cette mission. Une des questions auxquelles nous devons répondre est : Comment les curricula scolaires intègrent l’éducation à la santé dans les disciplines enseignées à l’école, et plus particulièrement l’éducation physique? Bien que la santé ait, implicitement, toujours fait partie des finalités, des objectifs généraux ou de thèmes transversaux de diverses disciplines scolaires selon les époques (e.g., Cogérino, 1999; Manidi & Dafflon‐Arvanitou, 2000; Martens, 1986; Mérini et al. 2004; Vigarello, 1997), un nouvel engouement pour la santé des enfants d’âge scolaire s’est imposé au Canada et ailleurs dans le monde (Puhse & Gerber, 2005). Au Canada, la vague de réformes scolaires amorcée dans les années 90 modifie tout le curriculum scolaire. L’ajout obligatoire du volet santé à la discipline de l’éducation physique et sportive (ÉPS) s’inscrit dans cette foulée d’initiatives visant à favoriser l’adoption d’un mode de vie sain et actif chez les jeunes. On observe, toutefois, en milieu scolaire, que le temps consacré à l’ÉPS n’est pas suffisant pour contribuer à cette nouvelle mission pour la santé des jeunes (Rivard, & Beaudoin, 2005; Ministère de la santé et des services sociaux, 1998). À cet effet, en Colombie‐Britannique, l’une des premières provinces canadienne à implanter un nouveau programme cadre d’éducation physique rapporte que la condition de l’ÉPS, depuis l’implantation de leur nouveau programme en 1995, n’a pas eu l’impact anticipé sur les enfants (Ministry of Education, Curriculum Branch, 2001). Ce constat est, entre autres, expliqué par la présence de plusieurs facteurs extérieurs à l’enseignant d’éducation physique tells que la durée des périodes d’enseignement, un manque d’équipements et la formation continue des enseignants. L’ÉPS est donc fragilisée parce que son temps d’enseignement est en compétition avec les autres disciplines enseignées à l’école et parce que des restrictions budgétaires engendrent des installations et équipements L’IMPLANTATION D’UN NOUVEAU PROGRAMME CADRE 925 sportifs souvent inadéquats. De plus, l’absence d’enseignants spécialisés en ÉPS dans plusieurs provinces canadiennes contribue à cette situation précaire (Rivard, & Beaudoin, 2005 ; Association canadienne pour la santé, l’éducation physique, le loisir et la danse, 2000). Ainsi, de manière à faire reconnaître l’importance de l’ÉPS à l’école, la Confédération des éducateurs et éducatrices physiques du Québec prenait la position suivante en 1994 « L’éducation physique est un champ d’études et une profession qui participe au développement de la personne par la mise en œuvre de pratiques corporelles et des connaissances s’y rattachant, dans le but de contribuer à son éducation, à sa santé et à sa qualité de vie dans tous les milieux et pour toute la vie » (Boileau et al., p. 18). Un ouvrage récent (Puhse & Gerber, 2005), dans lequel des chercheurs de 35 pays présentent le rôle et la place de l’ÉPS à l’école, illustre bien que le portrait de la situation canadienne est également présent dans d’autres pays. Les travaux de Brandl‐Bredenback et Rees (1996) en Allemagne et de Hardman (2003) aux États‐Unis, démontraient également que la réduction du temps d’enseignement et les coupures budgétaires sont des facteurs limitant à l’implantation de nouveaux programmes cadres d’ÉPS. Le cas de la province de l’Ontario, au Canada, sera traité dans cet article. Son nouveau programme cadre d’éducation physique, dorénavant intitulé « Éducation physique et santé » fut mis en place en septembre 1999. Ce nouveau programme a été développé pour chaque niveau du secondaire et a été mis en place à une année d’intervalle, commençant par la 9e année. Les buts du programme (Ministère de lʹéducation et de la Formation de lʹOntario, 1999) sont : 1)
2)
3)
De permettre aux étudiants d’acquérir des connaissances leur permettant de mieux comprendre l’importance de vivre une vie active et saine; D’offrir suffisamment de connaissances qui permettront aux étudiants de développer des compétences et de les transférer dans leur vie de tous les jours afin de prendre leur santé en main; et De permettre aux étudiants de devenir proactif dans la promotion de la vie active et saine chez les gens qui les entourent. 926 C. BEAUDOIN, P. TRUDEL, & M. MATHIAS Les enseignants sont donc amenés à développer des cours correspondant à quatre domaines d’apprentissage : a) activité physique, b) promotion de la vie active, c) promotion de la santé et d) habiletés personnelles et sociales. Pour chacun de ces domaines, le Ministère précise que l’élève devra développer des habiletés, des attitudes et des connaissances pour jouir d’un style de vie sain et actif et, s’engager dans la pratique régulière de l’activité physique tout au long de sa vie. Ainsi, pour chacun des domaines, des attentes libellées de la façon suivante « À la fin du cours, l’élève doit pouvoir … » et des contenus d’apprentissage sont spécifiés, afin de guider les enseignants dans la construction de séances journalières. Pour le domaine de l’activité physique, le programme vise l’amélioration, l’enchaînement et le transfert des habiletés motrices de l’élève, dans le contexte d’activités physiques variées et intéressantes. Pour le domaine de la promotion de la vie active, les cours traiteront de la participation active, du conditionnement physique et de la sécurité. Dans le cas du domaine de la promotion de la santé, les thèmes de la croissante et la sexualité, l’usage et l’abus de substances, la sécurité personnelle et la prévention des blessures et une saine alimentation, devront être enseignés aux élèves. Finalement, le domaine des habiletés personnelles et sociales réfère aux processus de prise de décision et de résolution de conflits, et l’acquisition d’habiletés sociales telles que l’écoute active, l’expression de ses émotions, le respect des autres et de l’environnement. Le nouveau programme cadre présente également une nouvelle grille d’évaluation du rendement de l’élève à partir de compétences qu’il devra atteindre selon des niveaux numériques (plutôt que l’ancien système de lettre). Ainsi, l’enseignant accordera le niveau 1 à un élève qui atteindra la compétence visée entre 50 et 59%, le niveau 2 pour 60 à 69%, le niveau 3 pour 70 à 79% et le niveau 4 pour 80 à 100%. Cette grille a été développée à partir de quatre compétences spécifiques que l’élève doit acquérir, regroupant toutes les attentes spécifiées dans chaque domaine d’apprentissage et permettant de rendre compte du rendement de l’élève. Ces compétences sont : a) la connaissance et la compréhension, b) la réflexion et la recherche, c) la communication et d) la mise en application. L’IMPLANTATION D’UN NOUVEAU PROGRAMME CADRE 927 Ce nouveau programme cadre offre donc une nouvelle structure d’organisation et de contenus d’apprentissage dans le but de répondre à la stratégie nationale d’améliorer la santé de la population et plus particulièrement celle de la jeunesse (Gouverneur général, 2002). Cependant, certaines données nous portent à croire que l’implantation d’un tel programme cadre peut s’avérer difficile. Par exemple, des tentatives d’intégrer quelques cours reliés à la santé à l’intérieur du programme d’éducation physique au secondaire ont, par le passé, généré des réactions négatives chez les jeunes. Ceux‐ci trouvaient qu’on leur volait du temps de jeu (Trudel, Boudreau & Proulx, 1994). Lors d’une étude pilote visant à se familiariser avec le contexte de l’éducation physique en Ontario francophone (Beaudoin, Trudel, Haman, Thom, & Jubinville, 2001), depuis la dernière vague de réforme, les enseignants interrogés ont précisé avoir reçu très peu de formation pour les aider à implanter le nouveau programme cadre. Finalement, le contexte politique de la francophonie en Ontario et les coupures budgétaires font en sorte que plusieurs enseignants ne voient pas d’un bon œil les changements à apporter pour implanter le nouveau programme cadre d’éducation physique et santé. L’objectif de la présente étude était donc de décrire et de mieux comprendre l’expérience des enseignants d’éducation physique impliqués dans la mise en place du nouveau programme cadre de la 9e année, depuis son lancement en septembre 1999. Pour atteindre cet objectif, différents modèles de compréhension et d’analyse d’implantation de nouveaux programmes scolaires ont été révisés. Le modèle développé par Fullan, Bennett, et Rolheiser‐Bennett (1990) a été retenu car, selon nous, il permet de rendre compte de la complexité du processus d’implantation du nouveau programme cadre en considérant que tout changement en milieu scolaire implique une interaction entre plusieurs entités telles l’origine du leadership, l’école, l’enseignant, la classe et les élèves. Le modèle de Fullan, Bennett, et Rolheiser‐Bennett (1990) Le modèle de Fullan et al. (1990), reproduit à la figure 1, présente les diverses composantes impliquées dans l’amélioration de la classe et de l’école. Ce modèle a été développé suite à l’observation de la difficulté de 928 C. BEAUDOIN, P. TRUDEL, & M. MATHIAS générer des changements de programme au sein de l’école, lorsque les initiatives viennent des instances supérieures telles que les ministères de l’éducation ou les conseils scolaires. Les principaux travaux à la base du modèle sont ceux de Rosenholtz (1989), Joyce et Showers (1988), Bennett (1987), et Joyce et Weil (1986). Figure 1. Un modèle de compréhension pour l’amélioration de la classe et de l’école (Fullan, Bennett, & Rolheiser‐Nemmett, 1990; A comprehensive framework for classroom and school improvement). Le modèle de Fullan et al. (1990) a donc été développé dans l’esprit d’aider à concevoir et implanter des changements au sein de l’école (Jewett, Bain, & Ennis, 1995). Le modèle comprend trois sphères (la classe, l’enseignant et l’école) qui fonctionnent ensemble et devront se coordonner pour engager tout le personnel de l’école dans les changements à produire. Chacune de ces sphères est composée de quatre L’IMPLANTATION D’UN NOUVEAU PROGRAMME CADRE 929 composantes qui interagissent également entre elles et affectent l’état global de la sphère. Voici un exemple : si de nouveaux éléments de contenu doivent être enseignés, l’enseignant peut faire appel à son répertoire et/ou consulter d’autres enseignants de son école. Du côté de l’école, la structure physique et les équipements peuvent limiter l’intégration de ces nouveaux éléments de contenu. En raison de cet enchaînement, l’engagement et l’apprentissage de l’élève ne seront pas optimaux. Le tableau 1 présente donc les trois sphères et une brève définition de chacune des composantes. Pour la sphère de l’école, il est important de mentionner qu’une modification a été apportée au modèle original. Au cours de l’analyse des données, il a été détecté que la première composante de la sphère, originalement nommée « collégialité », ne permettait pas de rendre compte de la situation de chaque école et des témoignages recueillis. Dans le modèle original, cette composante est définie comme étant la possibilité des enseignants de travailler ensemble pour le développement de buts communs. Alors, étant donné que la composante de collaboration était déjà présente dans la sphère de « l’enseignant » et qu’une quasi‐totale absence de collaboration est présente dans les témoignages des enseignants, nous avons cru préférable de modifier cette dernière afin d’intégrer leurs témoignages sur l’« Impact anticipé » du nouveau programme. Ainsi, comme la majorité des enseignants et des directeurs d’écoles faisaient part de leurs visions sur l’impact du nouveau programme, notre modification a permis d’intégrer ces témoignages au modèle. Récemment, Fullan (2001) rapportait, dans un de ses ouvrages sur la signification des changements en milieu éducationnel depuis 1975, une détérioration progressive des conditions d’enseignement au Canada et aux États‐Unis. Suite à l’analyse de plusieurs travaux (Goodlad, 1984; Hargreaves, 1994; Lortie, 1975; Rosenholtz, 1989; Scott, Stone, & Dinham, 2000), Fullan attribue cette situation aux résistances des enseignants et aux difficultés qu’ils rencontrent lorsque des changements de programme leur sont demandés. 930 C. BEAUDOIN, P. TRUDEL, & M. MATHIAS Tableau 1 Les trois sphères du modèle de Fullan et al. (1990) et leurs composantes respectives. LA CLASSE L’ENSEIGNANT L’ÉCOLE Contenu: la matière enseignée à partir du nouveau programme ÉP. Répertoire: connaissances de l’enseignant pour s’adapter au nouveau programme ÉP. (Collégialité) Impact anticipé: ce qui est anticipé d’arriver à la suite de l’implantation du nouveau programme ÉP. Stratégies d’enseignement: les diverses façons d’enseigner. Enseignant apprenant: démarches, pratique pour mieux comprendre le nouveau programme ÉP Buts partagés: interactions entre divers secteurs de l’école. Habiletés d’enseignement: les comportements de l’enseignant. Collaboration: partage de nouvelles idées avec collègues, entraide entre enseignants. Amélioration continue: actions entreprises ou à entreprendre pour répondre au nouveau programme ÉP. Modes d’organisation: les stratégies pour s’assurer le bon fonctionnement de la classe. Pratique réflexive: réflexion pour adapter ses séances ÉP au nouveau programme. Structure: aspects administratifs et équipements de l’école. À la lumière des travaux de Fullan et d’autres chercheurs sur l’implantation de nouveaux programmes à l’école, la problématique à la base de notre étude est des plus importantes. En effet, dans le contexte de la dernière réforme scolaire en Ontario, le nouveau programme cadre d’éducation physique et santé a été complètement révisé dans l’esprit d’intégrer la nouvelle mission de l’éducation à la santé et contribuer à l’amélioration de l’engagement des jeunes dans l’adoption d’un mode de L’IMPLANTATION D’UN NOUVEAU PROGRAMME CADRE 931 vie sain et actif. Aussi, les questions qui ont guidé notre étude sont : Est‐
ce que les écoles et les enseignants de notre échantillon vont rencontrer les mêmes difficultés identifiées dans les études précédentes ? Est‐ce que le phénomène de l’érosion de la profession dont discute Fullan, sera également présent chez les enseignants d’éducation physique des quatre écoles étudiées ? MÉTHODOLOGIE La présente étude est la première phase d’un programme de recherche intitulé « Vivre en Santé » et rapporte les résultats obtenus suite à l’analyse des données recueillies dans quatre milieux scolaires. L’approche qualitative s’est avérée très appropriée pour notre étude car elle a permis de répondre aux caractéristiques jugées essentielles pour la bonne conduite de notre recherche : a) la recherche est conçue dans une optique globale; b) elle permet d’aborder l’objet de l’étude de manière ouverte et large faisant appel à plusieurs acteurs concernés (i.e. les élèves, leurs parents, les enseignants d’éducation physique et la direction de l’école); c) elle inclut une collecte de données effectuée à l’aide d’une variété de méthodes engendrant des données qualitatives; d) elle se déroule dans le milieu naturel; e) elle donne lieu à une analyse de contenu détaillée des données recueillies et f) elle débouche sur une description et compréhension approfondie des composantes pouvant conduire à l’énoncé d’un modèle de compréhension des processus impliqués (Paillé, 1996). La stratégie retenue pour la présentation des résultats est celle d’études de cas car elle permet, selon nous, de mieux faire ressortir les différences et les similitudes entre les différents milieux étudiés. Contexte de la recherche Tel que déjà mentionné, le but de la présente étude consistait à acquérir une meilleure compréhension du processus d’implantation du nouveau programme cadre en éducation physique et santé, pour la 9eannée. Depuis plus d’une décennie, les élèves ontariens doivent compléter un seul crédit obligatoire en éducation physique au cours des cinq années d’études secondaires. Dans le cas des quatre écoles qui ont participé à la présente recherche, l’élève devait compléter ce crédit au cours de sa 9e 932 C. BEAUDOIN, P. TRUDEL, & M. MATHIAS année et par la suite, les cours d’éducation physique devenaient optionnels. Dans le but de représenter la diversité de la région d’Ottawa‐
Carleton, notre stratégie a été de recruter des écoles en milieu urbain et rural, dont le nombre d’élèves variait et où les enseignants et la direction avaient confirmé être impliqués dans une démarche de mise en place du nouveau programme cadre (voir tableau 2). Une deuxième école en milieu rural, ayant approximativement 300 élèves, avait également été recrutée, mais comme aucun cours d’éducation physique n’a été enseigné aux élèves de la 9e année lors de l’année scolaire 2001‐2002, nous avons dû la retirer de l’étude. Ce désistement représente une donnée intéressante sur la réalité des milieux scolaires francophones en milieu rural aux prises avec un manque de ressources humaines et matérielles pour administrer le nouveau programme cadre en éducation physique et santé. Tableau 2 Contexte des quatre écoles étudiées. L’ÉCOLE Milieu Nombre d’élèves Responsable École 1 urbain 300 Un directeur L’ENSEIGNANT 1 homme d’éducation physique Âge 50 ans Années d’expérience LA CLASSE École 2 urbain 1000 Une directrice 1 homme École 3 rural 800 Un directeur 2 hommes École 4 urbain 500 Un directeur 1 femme et 1 homme 34 & 40 ans 15 16 5 & 15 2 classes 1 classe de 5 classes mixtes garçons mixtes 36 & 42 ans 8 & 12 1 classe de filles et 1 classe de garçons 55 ans L’IMPLANTATION D’UN NOUVEAU PROGRAMME CADRE 933 Recueil des données La collecte des données a débuté en août 2001 et s’est poursuivie sur une période de quatre mois. Dans le but de saisir l’ensemble de la situation de chaque école et ne pas se limiter à un seul point de vue, trois méthodes de collecte de données ont été utilisées. D’abord, des entrevues individuelles semi‐structurées ont été réalisées auprès des enseignants d’éducation physique et la direction de chaque école. Ensuite, des périodes d’observation de séances d’éducation physique ont eu lieu afin de mieux comprendre le déroulement des activités journalières. Finalement, des groupes de discussion ont été conduits avec des élèves de la 9eannée, afin de recueillir leurs expériences des cours d’éducation physique et leur perception de ce que veut dire, selon eux, « être en forme et en santé ». Dans le cadre du présent article, seules les données des entrevues avec les enseignants et la direction des écoles, ainsi que les notes d’observation des séances d’éducation physique seront présentées. Le volume des données recueillies ne permettait pas de tout présenter dans un seul article. Chaque enseignant a accepté de participer à deux entrevues individuelles, en plus de permettre l’observation de trois à quatre de ses séances d’éducation physique. La première entrevue a eu lieu au cours du mois d’août afin de prendre connaissance de leur planification annuelle et des activités ou stratégies d’enseignement et d’organisation utilisées, dans le but de répondre plus spécifiquement aux exigences du nouveau programme cadre. Cette première entrevue s’est terminée avec l’établissement d’un calendrier pour les séances d’observation à réaliser. La deuxième entrevue a eu lieu après les séances d’observation et avait pour but d’effectuer un retour sur les séances observées, afin d’identifier les nouveautés implantées depuis l’arrivée du nouveau programme cadre et les aspects inchangés de leur enseignement. L’entrevue avec la direction de chaque école avait pour but de recueillir la perception de la direction sur le nouveau programme cadre et de documenter les démarches entreprises par l’école pour supporter l’implantation du nouveau programme. Les entrevues enregistrées ont été transcrites puis analysées à l’aide du programme informatique Nvivo. Les catégories du modèle de compréhension de Fullan et al. (1990) ont été utilisées pour classifier les 934 C. BEAUDOIN, P. TRUDEL, & M. MATHIAS informations recueillies. Cette stratégie d’analyse a permis de tracer le profil de la situation de chaque école. RÉSULTATS Pour chacune des écoles, une synthèse des commentaires exprimés par les enseignants et la direction de l’école, ainsi que les notes d’observation des séances d’éducation physique serviront à décrire les trois sphères (la classe, l’enseignant et l’école), et leurs composantes respectives. ÉCOLE 1 CLASSE Contenu: Faisant suite à l’arrivée du nouveau programme cadre, des cours de natation ont été ajoutés aux autres activités sportives courantes telles que le football, le soccer et le tennis. Stratégies d’enseignement: Quelques stratégies d’enseignement ont été développées depuis l’arrivée du nouveau programme cadre. L’enseignant parle de l’arrivée du papier crayon dans le gymnase, le carnet de l’élève et les tests écrits. Habiletés d’enseignement: Les habiletés courantes de l’enseignant n’ont pas changé avec l’arrivée du nouveau programme cadre. Lors des séances d’observation, nous avons pu noter que cet enseignant utilise des stratégies de supervision active, donne des rétroactions, encourage et stimule la participation de ses élèves et, réprimande ses élèves afin de limiter les comportements perturbateurs. Modes d’organisation: Selon l’enseignant, le nouveau programme cadre est beaucoup plus exigeant que l’ancien car il doit y avoir plus d’évaluation et moins de pratique. Cette nouvelle réalité l’a amené à travailler par stations afin que les élèves puissent développer différentes habiletés lors d’une même séance. ENSEIGNANT Répertoire: L’enseignant dit ne pas avoir acquis de nouvelles connaissances faisant suite à l’arrivée du nouveau programme cadre. L’IMPLANTATION D’UN NOUVEAU PROGRAMME CADRE 935 Enseignant apprenant: Mise à part l’atelier de départ offert en août 1999 par le Conseil scolaire, l’enseignant n’a pas reçu de formation supplémentaire pour l’aider dans l’implantation du nouveau programme cadre. Collaboration: Il est pour l’instant le seul enseignant d’éducation physique pour les groupes de la 9e année dans son école et aucune occasion de collaboration avec d’autres enseignants s’est présentée à lui. Pratique réflexive: Dans le but d’avoir une meilleure vision de l’ensemble des attentes à enseigner et à évaluer, cet enseignant a produit un tableau synthèse des attentes pour chaque domaine d’apprentissage. Ainsi, sur chacune de ses fiches de préparation les attentes du nouveau programme à atteindre sont mentionnées. ÉCOLE Impact anticipé: Selon l’enseignant « Le nouveau programme cadre est plus exigeant, amènera beaucoup plus de travail pour les élèves et risque de diminuer le taux d’inscription aux cours d’éducation physique pour la 10e et les autres années ». Buts partagés: Au moment des entrevues, l’enseignant a dit se sentir isolé dans son gymnase et ne voit pas comment il pourrait partager les buts de ses cours avec les autres enseignants de l’école. Amélioration continue: La direction de cette école a mentionné qu’elle trouvait l’enseignant motivé. Toutefois, comme l’enseignant a une très lourde tâche, elle se voit obligé d’embaucher des personnes non‐
qualifiées en éducation physique pour l’aider. Structure: En ce qui concerne la structure de l’école, la direction reconnaît que les horaires demeurent inchangés (période de 60 min. ), qu’un budget limité ne permet pas l’achat de nouveaux équipements et l’entretien de ceux déjà présents. La seule nouveauté fut le terrain de football et de soccer à l’extérieur de l’école. Toutefois, précise‐t‐il « Cette nouvelle installation était déjà planifiée avant l’arrivée du nouveau programme cadre! ». 936 C. BEAUDOIN, P. TRUDEL, & M. MATHIAS ÉCOLE 2 CLASSE Contenu: Pour cet enseignant, « mes cours sont maintenant plus axés sur la santé, avec plus de variété d’activités, les nouvelles compétences du programme cadre et plus d’habiletés à développer ». Ceci se traduit, entre autres, par l’ajout du jogging, des exercices d’étirement et des tests pour mesurer la condition physique des élèves. Stratégies d’enseignement: Cet enseignant s’est donné une stratégie d’enseignement afin de pouvoir couvrir toutes les attentes et les compétences mentionnées dans le nouveau programme cadre. Il accorde dix jours d’enseignement par activité sportive : cinq pour le développement des habiletés et cinq autres pour des pratiques et des jeux spécifiques. Habiletés d’enseignement: L’enseignant considère que ses habiletés courantes n’ont pas changé avec l’arrivée du nouveau programme cadre. Lors des observations en gymnase, il fut noté que l’enseignant utilise une stratégie de supervision active pour stimuler la participation des élèves. Il interagit souvent avec les élèves et plus particulièrement lorsqu’il tente de leur donner des rétroactions, les encourager et réprimander les comportements déviants. Modes d’organisation: L’enseignant ne dispose que de la moitié du gymnase pour dispenser ses cours et selon lui « la gestion du temps et de sa classe n’est pas facile » ; puis il ajoute « la venue du nouveau programme cadre n’a rien changé à cette situation ! » ENSEIGNANT Répertoire: L’enseignant dit ne pas avoir acquis de nouvelles connaissances faisant suite à l’arrivée du nouveau programme cadre. Enseignant apprenant: L’enseignant a reçu une formation initiale en août 1999, mais n’a reçu aucune autre formation depuis. Toutefois, de son point de vue, il faut trouver du nouveau matériel pour rendre les cours de santé plus intéressants. L’IMPLANTATION D’UN NOUVEAU PROGRAMME CADRE 937 Collaboration: Cet enseignant travaille avec ses collègues d’éducation physique afin de discuter des attentes du nouveau programme cadre. Pratique réflexive: L’enseignant considère que la nouvelle grille d’évaluation demande plus de travail afin d’évaluer les quatre nouvelles compétences du nouveau programme. Ainsi, au moment des entrevues, il travaillait sur le développement de nouvelles fiches d’évaluation pour les élèves. ÉCOLE Impact anticipé: La direction de l’école ainsi que l’enseignant sont d’avis que le nouveau programme cadre est plus exigeant et met plus de pression sur l’élève afin d’atteindre toutes les attentes. Buts partagés: L’enseignant d’éducation physique et les enseignants des autres matières à l’école tentent de travailler ensemble pour développer les mêmes compétences personnelles chez l’élève. Amélioration continue: La direction et l’enseignant sont d’avis que le plus gros problème à régler dans leur école est l’horaire du gymnase : « avoir la moitié d’un plateau avec des groupes de plus en plus grands est un défi de taille ». Le directeur mentionne que ce problème existe depuis plusieurs années et que la venue du nouveau programme cadre n’a pas résout cette difficulté. Structure: Pour ce qui est de la structure de l’école, la direction reconnaît que les horaires demeurent inchangés (période de 75 min.) et qu’un budget limité ne permet pas l’achat de nouveaux équipements et l’entretien de ceux déjà présents. ÉCOLE 3 CLASSE Contenu: Les nouvelles activités implantées faisant suite au nouveau programme cadre sont le camp de plein air à l’automne et les séances de conditionnement physique qui incluent le « physi‐test » canadien. Stratégies d’enseignement: Ces enseignants disent avoir développé diverses stratégies d’enseignement depuis l’arrivée du nouveau programme cadre. Ils parlent de modes d’évaluation plus structurés et 938 C. BEAUDOIN, P. TRUDEL, & M. MATHIAS centrés sur les nouvelles compétences et le développement des habiletés; de même que l’utilisation des devoirs à l’extérieur des cours. Habiletés d’enseignement: Les habiletés courantes des deux enseignants n’ont pas changé avec l’arrivée du nouveau programme cadre. Modes d’organisation: Ces enseignants doivent fonctionner avec un demi‐gymnase. Cette situation persiste depuis plusieurs années et génère des difficultés dans la gestion du temps et des élèves. ENSEIGNANT Répertoire: Les deux enseignants disent ne pas avoir acquis de nouvelles connaissances ou activités faisant suite à l’arrivée du nouveau programme cadre. Enseignant apprenant: Ces enseignants ont reçu une formation initiale en 1999, mais aucune autre depuis. Collaboration: Les deux enseignants expriment avoir un manque de temps pour collaborer ou discuter entre eux. Pratique réflexive: Les enseignants disent se limiter à implanter de nouvelles activités dans leurs cours, avant d’avoir fait une révision complète du nouveau programme cadre. Ils aimeraient éventuellement pouvoir utiliser d’autres stratégies d’enseignement afin de mettre plus d’emphase sur l’attitude, la participation et l’effort de l’élève. ÉCOLE Impact anticipé: Ces enseignants craignent que l’éducation physique reste marginale dans leur école. Par exemple, ils constatent que l’arrivée du nouveau programme cadre en éducation physique n’a pas eu d’impact sur la durée de leurs cours, alors qu’ils auraient aimé avoir une vingtaine de minutes de plus par semaine. Buts partagés: Les enseignants reconnaissent qu’aucun travail n’a été fait pour développer des projets communs avec d’autres enseignants de l’école. Amélioration continue: De leur point de vue, une réorganisation des horaires des cours d’éducation physique doit être faite afin de faciliter L’IMPLANTATION D’UN NOUVEAU PROGRAMME CADRE 939 l’utilisation des plateaux et l’utilisation de la nouvelle grille d’évaluation du rendement des élèves doit être révisée afin de faciliter l’évaluation de ces derniers. Structure: Puis en ce qui concerne la structure de l’école, la direction reconnaît que les horaires demeurent inchangés (période de 55 min. ), qu’un besoin d’achat de nouveaux équipements et l’entretien de ceux en place est présent et que la construction de la nouvelle salle de musculation aidera grandement à régler plusieurs difficultés exprimées par les enseignants d’éducation physique depuis plusieurs années. ÉCOLE 4 CLASSE Contenu: Des nouvelles activités physiques ont été ajoutées au programme courant afin de répondre aux attentes du nouveau programme cadre. Il s’agit de l’Ultimate frisbee et du Jour cardio. De plus, des nouvelles activités d’apprentissage de nature théorique ont été intégrées telles qu’un projet de recherche à la bibliothèque, des présentations orales avec le logiciel Corel et des mini‐conférences avec invités pour le domaine de la promotion de la santé. Stratégies d’enseignement: Les deux enseignants disent utiliser les mêmes stratégies d’enseignement de par le passé, sauf pour deux contenus de cours. Pour le Volley‐ball, ils regroupent leurs deux classes et forment des équipes mixtes. Ils disent « les élèves aiment beaucoup cette formule et ça a un grand impact sur leur motivation et le taux de participation ». L’autre activité est le Jour cardio où ils joignent à nouveau leurs deux groupes. Habiletés d’enseignement: Les habiletés courantes des deux enseignants de cette école n’ont pas changé avec l’arrivée du nouveau programme cadre. Modes d’organisation: Ces enseignants doivent fonctionner avec un demi gymnase depuis plusieurs années et constatent que la venue du nouveau programme n’a pas changé cette situation. 940 C. BEAUDOIN, P. TRUDEL, & M. MATHIAS ENSEIGNANT Répertoire: Les deux enseignants disent ne pas avoir acquis de nouvelles connaissances suite à l’arrivée du nouveau programme cadre. Enseignant apprenant: Ces enseignants ont reçu la formation initiale en 1999, mais aucune autre depuis. Toutefois, ils disent avoir consulté les manuels du Programme national de certification des entraîneurs dans le but de se mettre à jour dans l’enseignement de certaines activités sportives. Toutefois, ils soulignent qu’un manque de manuels et de ressources pédagogiques en français les prive d’innover davantage. Collaboration: Plusieurs occasions de collaboration ont été mises en place. D’abord, les deux enseignants font travailler leurs classes de filles et de garçons ensemble. Ils ont intégré des étudiants‐stagiaires de niveau universitaire. Pour les projets de recherche des élèves, ces derniers travaillent avec la biblio‐technicienne. Puis, pour les présentations orales des élèves, ils utilisent la grille d’évaluation que l’enseignant du cours de français a développée. Pratique réflexive: Les deux enseignants ont travaillé ensemble pour clarifier la nouvelle terminologie servant à l’évaluation du rendement des élèves et ont par la suite créé une nouvelle grille d’évaluation. ÉCOLE Impact anticipé: La direction de l’école mentionne que des difficultés administratives ont été identifiées suite au nouveau système de notation des élèves. De plus, comme des nouveautés étaient implantées par le Ministère à chaque année, le rythme des changements mettait beaucoup de pression sur le personnel administratif et enseignant. Buts partagés: L’enseignant du français et la biblio‐technicienne se sont joints aux projets théoriques du nouveau programme cadre. Amélioration continue: La direction de l’école et les deux enseignants sont d’avis que la mise en œuvre du nouveau programme cadre dépend beaucoup de l’amélioration de la qualité de l’enseignement, mais que les conditions nécessaires pour assurer une telle qualité n’est L’IMPLANTATION D’UN NOUVEAU PROGRAMME CADRE 941 malheureusement pas mise à la disposition des écoles dans le contexte actuel. Structure: En ce qui concerne la structure de l’école, la direction reconnaît que les horaires demeurent inchangés (période de 75 min. ), qu’un problème persistant de gestion de plateaux doit être corrigé et qu’un besoin d’achat de nouveaux équipements et d’entretien de ceux déjà présents doit également être comblé. DISCUSSION L’utilisation du modèle de Fullan et al. (1990) a permis d’effectuer une étude approfondie de la situation de chaque école. L’identification des composantes des trois sphères (la classe, l’enseignant et l’école) ont, entre autres, permis de constater que plusieurs difficultés et défis sont communs aux quatre écoles et sont de réelles barrières au processus d’implantation du nouveau programme cadre d’éducation physique et santé. Selon le modèle de Fullan et al. (1990), l’enseignant est placé au centre du modèle, comme il se retrouve également au cœur de l’action dans son école. Notre étude démontre que l’enseignant est souvent pris entre les restrictions ou les contraintes imposées par l’administration de l’école et son désir d’améliorer son enseignement en tenant compte d’une part des objectifs du programme d’éducation physique et, d’autre part, des attentes et demandes des élèves. Malheureusement, il semble avoir peu de moyens pour améliorer sa situation. Tous les enseignants nous disent : a) n’avoir acquis aucune nouvelle connaissance pour élargir leur répertoire; b) n’avoir reçu aucune formation supplémentaire, après l’atelier de départ en 1999; et c) avoir très peu et même parfois aucune occasion de collaboration avec d’autres collègues. La venue du nouveau programme cadre en Ontario ne semble donc pas avoir contribué à améliorer les conditions d’enseignement en éducation physique. En fait, les résultats de notre étude et ceux d’autres études canadiennes (Fraser‐Thomas & Beaudoin, 2002; Ministère d’Éducation de la Colombie Britannique, 2001; Melnychuck, 2000), permettent de constater que ce qui se passe en éducation physique ne semble pas différent de ce qui se passe dans le milieu de l’enseignement en général. L’analyse critique de la situation des enseignants réalisée par 942 C. BEAUDOIN, P. TRUDEL, & M. MATHIAS Fullan (2001) s’apparente donc à la situation des enseignants qui ont pris part à notre étude. Pour contrecarrer le phénomène de la détérioration de l’enseignement, Jewett, Bain et Ennis (1995) soulignent, entre autres, l’importance de « pouvoir continuer à apprendre ». Les enseignants que nous avons étudiés ont d’ailleurs souligné avoir besoin de temps supplémentaire et de nouvelles ressources francophones, pour s’investir davantage dans la tâche de planifier de nouvelles unités d’enseignement et d’apprentissage pour l’élève. Plus particulièrement pour le domaine d’apprentissage de la promotion de la santé, les enseignants expriment avoir besoin de formation continue. Finalement, la pratique réflexive des enseignants semble également être très limitée. Seulement les deux enseignants de l’école 4 nous disent avoir consulté de nouvelles ressources pour se mettre à jour. Ces personnes semblent particulièrement engagées à faire les efforts nécessaires pour implanter les nouveautés du programme cadre dans leur pratique quotidienne. Les autres enseignants rencontrés, semblent davantage adopter l’attitude que Faucette (1987) identifie comme « celui qui conceptualise ». Ces personnes ne vont pas automatiquement résister aux changements à apporter, mais auront davantage tendance à comparer leurs cours actuels avec les nouveautés à apporter, puis auront besoin d’information additionnelle, de temps et de support supplémentaire pour implanter ces changements dans leur pratique. Faisant suite à l’observation de la situation de la sphère de l’enseignant et sachant que l’état d’une sphère affecte les deux autres sphères du modèle, il n’est pas surprenant de constater les difficultés et les limites qu’éprouvent les enseignants au sein de la classe et de l’école. Voici donc le portrait d’une journée typique d’enseignement pour un éducateur physique. D’abord, comme la structure de l’école est inchangée, les horaires restent les mêmes, la durée des cours est toujours la même, aucun équipement nouveau est acheté et la gestion des plateaux restent aussi ardue (trois écoles sur quatre fonctionnent avec des demi‐gymnases car deux cours ont lieu en même temps). Les enseignants vont alors utiliser quelques nouvelles stratégies d’enseignement afin de pouvoir intégrer certains objectifs du nouveau programme cadre. Il s’agit de l’utilisation du papier crayon dans le L’IMPLANTATION D’UN NOUVEAU PROGRAMME CADRE 943 gymnase, des modes d’évaluation plus structurés, des devoirs à l’extérieur des cours et le regroupement des deux groupes en gymnase, afin de faire une utilisation optimale de l’espace, du temps et des équipements sportifs. Toutefois, dans un tel contexte, les enseignants font davantage part de leur limite, comparativement à leur goût d’innover. Le contenu des cours et leurs modes d’organisation ont donc très peu changé. Les écoles 1 et 3 ont ajouté une nouvelle activité physique, respectivement la natation et le camp de plein air, et l’école 2 tente d’intégrer un peu plus d’activités axées sur la santé et le conditionnement physique (i.e. jogging, étirements). Seule l’école 4 développe de nouvelles activités en collaboration avec les enseignants d’autres disciplines. De plus, sur l’heure du midi et en fin de journée, les éducateurs physiques sont également responsables de tâches telles que les activités dans le gymnase et les équipes sportives para‐scolaires. Ainsi, tel que démontré dans les travaux de Fullan (1990) et de Hargreaves (1994), la routine de ces enseignants demeure inchangée, alors que leur charge de travail s’intensifie année après année. D’autre part, la majorité des enseignants rencontrés disent souffrir d’un sentiment d’isolation et avoir très peu d’occasions de collaboration avec d’autres enseignants de la même discipline ou d’autres disciplines enseignées à l’école (à l’exception de l’école 4). Cette situation a également été observée dans les études canadiennes de Fraser‐Thomas et Beaudoin (2002) et de Melnychuck’s (2000). Selon les enseignants de notre étude et ceux des travaux mentionnés ci‐haut, ce sentiment d’isolation est créé par divers facteurs dont le manque de temps et la surcharge de travail. Il semblerait également que la possibilité de créer des occasions ou opportunités d’échange avec d’autres collègues à l’intérieur de la même école, comme avec des collègues d’autres écoles, ne fait pas partie de la culture actuelle mais que la venue du nouveau programme cadre amplifie le besoin à cet égard. Le rôle de l’école, selon Jewett, Bain et Ennis (1995), est aussi un élément important à considérer dans l’implantation d’un nouveau programme. Dans le cadre de notre étude, les directeurs rencontrés présentent l’école comme une entité ayant le potentiel d’aider sur les plans (a) de la planification des horaires des cours et la période de temps accordée à chaque matière enseignée, (b) des finances pour l’achat de 944 C. BEAUDOIN, P. TRUDEL, & M. MATHIAS nouveaux équipements, (c) de l’embauche de nouveaux enseignants à temps partiel ou à temps plein, et (d) de la création d’occasions de rencontre entre les enseignants pour le partage de buts communs à atteindre. Toutefois, nos résultats indiquent qu’aucun de ces aspects n’a pu être modifié suite à l’arrivée du nouveau programme cadre. Par ailleurs, la modification apportée au modèle original de Fullan et al. (1990) (cf tableau 1) a permis de mieux comprendre que les enseignants et les directions des écoles anticipent que le nouveau programme cadre soit plus exigeant et demande plus de travail à l’élève, et par conséquent, risque de contribuer à une diminution du taux d’inscriptions des élèves au cours d’éducation physique, lorsque celui‐ci devient optionnel. Une telle anticipation nous semble particulièrement inquiétante et contradictoire aux buts initiaux du nouveau programme cadre. Il faut alors retourner à la volonté de départ de cette vague de réformes où, tel que souligné par Boileau et al. (1994), un besoin de revitaliser les classes d’éducation physique et de leur donner un nouveau rôle pour contribuer à la santé de la jeunesse avait été identifié dans le but de solutionner, entre autres, le problème de désintéressement des jeunes à participer aux cours d’éducation physique. Ainsi, de tels résultats s’apparentent au rapport du Ministère de l’Éducation de la Colombie Britannique (Ministry of Education, Curriculum Branch, 2001) où des facteurs extérieurs à l’enseignant d’éducation physique n’ont pas permis d’avoir l’impact anticipé. CONCLUSION L’ensemble de nos résultats s’apparentent donc aux conclusions d’autres études qui ont été effectuées au cours de la dernière décennie au Canada (Fraser‐Thomas & Beaudoin 2002, Melnychuck’s, 2000, Ministère d’Éducation de la Colombie Britannique, 2001) et en Angleterre (Penney, 2001). En fait, notre étude permet de comprendre que les problématiques demeurent inchangées, tout comme les conditions d’enseignement de l’éducation physique. Ces résultats corroborent également la position que McKenzie et Sallis avaient déjà exprimée en 1996 : un nouveau programme cadre ne peu pas tout changer à lui seul! D’autres facteurs entourant l’enseignant, tells que le temps alloué à l’enseignement des cours d’éducation physique, doivent eux aussi être changés pour L’IMPLANTATION D’UN NOUVEAU PROGRAMME CADRE 945 permettre une implantation complète de nouveaux programmes cadres dans les milieux scolaires. Nos résultats démontrent que des changements essentiels doivent être apportés dans les trois sphères du modèle de Fullan et al. (la classe, l’enseignant et l’école), si les ministères de l’éducation provinciaux souhaitent pouvoir agir efficacement sur l’engagement et l’apprentissage des élèves. Du côté de l’enseignant, un besoin de formation continue et de temps additionnel de préparation, a clairement été identifié. Du côté de l’école, l’ajout de nouvelles ressources financières est nécessaire pour contribuer à l’amélioration des installations sportives et à l’ajout de nouvelles ressources pédagogiques. Les changements dans ces deux sphères pourraient alors supporter les enseignants dans la création de nouvelles unités d’enseignement et apprentissage, visant une amélioration de l’état de la condition physique et de la santé des élèves. Dans l’esprit d’aider les milieux scolaires à poursuivre leurs efforts pour implanter le nouveau programme cadre d’éducation physique et santé, et à avoir un réel impact sur la condition physique et la santé des élèves, d’autres études seront nécessaires. Le paradigme contemporain de la recherche‐action (Dolbec & Clément, 2000) offre des pistes de recherche fort intéressantes car il permet aux enseignants de prendre part à de tels projets en tant qu’« enseignant‐chercheur » pour contribuer à l’identification et à la compréhension des problèmes qu’ils vivent quotidiennement, mais également pour mettre en place des actions concrètes pour la résolution des problèmes identifiés. De plus, des études longitudinales manquent dans ce domaine et le contexte de la réforme actuelle est une occasion d’étudier le processus d’implantation d’un nouveau programme scolaire, sur une longue période. Ainsi, il nous apparaît que des études comme celles‐ci sont très importantes et peuvent apporter des recommandations pour éviter que des conclusions comme celle du Ministère d’éducation de la Colombie‐Britannique se reproduisent en Ontario francophone. NOTE DE L’AUTEUR Ce programme de recherche a été subventionné par le Ministère d’éducation de l’Ontario, grâce à un partenariat avec le Conseil des écoles publiques francophones de l’est de l’Ontario et l’Université d’Ottawa. 1
946 C. BEAUDOIN, P. TRUDEL, & M. MATHIAS RÉFÉRENCES Association Canadienne pour la santé, l’éducation physique, le loisir et la danse (2000). Physical Education 2000. Foundations, Guidelines and Learning Outcomes for the Future. Ottawa: Association Canadienne pour la santé, l’éducation physique, le loisir et la danse. Beaudoin, C., Trudel, P., Haman, F., Thom, & Jubinville (2001). La perception des enseignants du nouveau programme cadre en éducation physique et santé, dans les écoles secondaires francophones de l’Est de l’Ontario. 69e Congrès de lʹACFAS, Université de Sherbrooke, Sherbrooke, Qc, Canada. Bennett, B. (1987). The effectiveness of staff development training practices : A Meta‐
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L’éducation physique dans les écoles franco‐ontariennes. Revue de l’éducation physique, 35, 65‐77. Vigarello, G. (1997). L’éducation pour la santé. Une nouvelle attente scolaire. Esprit, 2, 72‐82. LʹIMPORTANCE DE LʹINTERACTIVITÉ ÉDUCATIVE DANS LES DISCUSSIONS SYNCHRONES NUMÉRIQUES Alain Jaillet Après avoir reposé le cadre de lʹapprentissage par problème dans lʹenseignement à distance, cette contribution étudie le poids relatif de chacun des profils étudiants (n=61) et enseignants (n= 49) dans lʹinteractivité nécessaire au processus dʹapprentissage dans trois formations. Si, à lʹinverse des solutions classiques dʹenseignement, la participation des étudiants est très importante, on relève de nettes différences en fonction des formations. La distance et lʹusage de la technologie, favorisent une interactivité écrale dans laquelle on va néanmoins repérer une structure différente en terme quantitatif selon que lʹon est tuteur ou étudiant. Si les enseignants sont fortement présents, les étudiants ne le sont pas moins et lʹobservation laisse supposer que lʹinspiration socioconstructiviste de ces dispositifs semble se manifester par la forte interactivité entre étudiants. Lʹétude se concentre sur les données objectives de trois formations différentes, enregistrées par le système informatique UNIV‐RCT. Mots clés : enseignement à distance, interactivité, tutorat, participation étudiante, discussion synchrone numérique. After defining the scope of problem‐based learning in distance learning, this contribution studies the relative weight of each student profile (n=61) and teachers (n=49) in the interaction necessary to the learning process. While students’ participation is considerable compared to classical teaching solutions, significant discrepancies can be reported according to the considered training. Distance and the use of technology favour a “screenal” (spoken writing via a screen) interactivity in which a different structure can however be identified in quantitative terms according to the status of the participant (tutor or student). Teachers are stongly involved, but so are students and we can assume through our observations that the socio‐
constructivist inspiration of these solutions seem to express itself in the strong interactivity between students. The study focuses on the objective data gathered from 3 different trainings, stored by the computing system UNIV‐RCT. Keywords: distance learning, interactivity, tutoring, student participation, digital synchronous discussion _________________ CANADIAN JOURNAL OF EDUCATION 29, 4 (2006): 949‐974 950 ALAIN JAILLET INTRODUCTION Dans le cadre de dispositifs dʹapprentissage par problème à distance, cet article sʹintéresse à la réalité des interactions entre étudiants et enseignants et les éventuelles différences induites par la nature des formations. Elle participe du programme «Université Virtuelle » volet recherche, du Contrat de Plan Etat Région (C.P.E.R.) 2000‐2006 de l’Université Louis Pasteur de Strasbourg. A lʹinstar dʹautres universités européennes, à Maastricht par exemple qui montre que de réels gain dʹapprentissage sont possibles avec lʹapprentissage par problème (Problem‐Based Learning) (Dochy, Gijbels, Segers et Bosche, 2003), ce programme vise à développer les recherches dans le cadre de la pédagogie universitaire. Comment, en changeant le scénario dʹenseignement, il est possible de modifier les postures des enseignants et étudiants. A une parole enseignante magistrale et omniprésente, il sʹagit de substituer une interactivité argumentative et cognitive entre enseignants et étudiants. On attend donc une forte participation des étudiants dans ces dispositifs avec en corollaire celle des enseignants en retrait (Duch, Groh et Allen, 2001 ; Guilbert et Ouellet, 2002). Le programme de recherche adopte un parti pris qui consiste, pour parvenir à ce rééquilibrage en matière dʹinteractivité, à utiliser les possibilités de communication qu’offre Internet dans des dispositifs de formation à distance. L’enseignant n’a plus face à lui des étudiants à qui il peut s’adresser oralement, il lui faut reconsidérer sa méthodologie pédagogique. Celle‐ci s’élabore selon un algorithme d’apprentissage (Jaillet, 2000) proposé à l’ensemble des enseignants par lequel le travail en commun entre étudiants est privilégié. L’enseignant ne joue plus la partition de l’apport de contenus mais celle de l’accompagnement des étudiants dans une dynamique collective de construction de ceux‐ci. Par ailleurs, pour éviter que l’enseignant n’occupe tout le champ de l’expression, le mode de communication privilégié n’est pas l’oral mais les conversations écrales. Autrement dit, les conversations numériques, forum et chats, par lesquelles les individus peuvent s’exprimer par l’écrit numérique en usant des registres langagiers oraux. Les interventions magistrales, les grandes explications par chat ne sont donc plus possibles. Il faut être concis, précis et non équivoque. LʹIMPORTANCE DE LʹINTERACTIVITÉ ÉDUCATIVE 951 ÉLÉMENTS DE CONTEXTE Dans le contexte universitaire français, il est très difficile d’envisager une dynamique de formation qui ne fonctionne que par des séances de travail de groupe. Pourtant, à la suite de nombreux travaux, des arguments suffisants devraient permettre lʹémergence de solutions de ce type (Johnson et Johnson, 1998). Une très forte suspicion jamais clairement exprimée entoure ces pratiques qui brisent avec la tradition magistrale. En dehors de quelques expérimentations parfois médiatisées, il est difficile de montrer dans la durée que cette option est réaliste. Dans le contexte français toujours, il sʹagit dʹen apporter les éléments de preuve sur des durées et des formations qui ne relèvent pas de lʹexpérimentation. Peut‐on mettre en évidence que lʹinteraction entre étudiant est une réalité manifeste et que celle‐ci sʹarticule avec celle qui sʹélabore avec les enseignants ? Pour le vérifier, lʹoriginalité de lʹapproche proposée, consiste à sʹintéresser à la structure des interactions verbales sans aborder les aspects liés aux contenus. Lorsquʹun enseignant dans un amphithéâtre classique occupe 99 % du temps de parole, cela ne signifie pas que lʹintégralité de ses propos sont focalisés sur ses contenus dʹenseignement, mais le fait quʹil ait autant de latitude de parole, indique quʹil est un enseignant de type magistral sans quʹil soit nécessaire de sʹintéresser à ses propos. A lʹinverse, le fait quʹun enseignant occupe 50 % du temps de parole laisse à penser que cʹest probablement moins le cas. Lʹobservation des postures révélées par le poids relatif des interventions des uns et des autres permet de dessiner les contours de la structure profonde de la pédagogie à lʹœuvre en se focalisant sur les volumes et les flux dʹinteractions. Deux aspects sont étudiés, fréquence et densité des interventions des étudiants et tuteurs. On peut se poser la question de la focalisation sur les interactions écrites synchrones. Dʹautres recherches sur les mêmes effectifs ont montré (Jaillet, 2003) que les échanges asynchrones entre participants oscillaient entre 5 et 15 % de lʹensemble des interactions en fonction des formations. Cela ne signifie pas quʹelles nʹont pas dʹimportance, mais que dans les scénarios pédagogiques mobilisés, elles participent marginalement des postures dʹinterventions des étudiants et enseignants. On attend du traitement des données collectées la mise en évidence de la très forte participation des étudiants et proportionnellement la plus 952 ALAIN JAILLET faible participation des enseignants‐tuteurs. Sans dévoiler immédiatement les résultats, on peut dire que lʹétude systématique de lʹensemble des interactions montre des résultats qui peuvent paraître à première vue contradictoires, puisquʹà la fois lʹexpression des étudiants dominent effectivement les interactions en fréquence de prises de ʺparoleʺ, alors que les tuteurs sont néanmoins très présents en considérant le volume totale de lʹexpression. Ces résultats se fondent sur des études longitudinales, systématiques à partir de formations fonctionnant depuis 3 à 4 années au moment de l’analyse. Ce nʹest donc pas lʹeffet nouveauté qui est relevé. Lʹétude sʹintéresse aux interactions entre participants à des formations à distance utilisant la plateforme d’enseignement à distance, UNIV‐RCT (anciennement ACOLAD) conçue pour inciter fortement au travail de groupe. Par ailleurs, comme cette plateforme sʹest élaborée autour dʹun programme de recherche sur les usages, elle est conçue pour garder la trace de toutes les actions, toutes les durées dʹusage, par un système qui assure une veille constante de lʹactivité de lʹutilisateur. Lʹensemble des réunions est donc enregistré et peut être traité. Evidemment, il nʹest pas impossible que dʹautres outils de communication soient mobilisés, mais le dispositif est conçu pour que cela ne soit pas nécessaire. Dans la pratique, il semble que lʹoutil se suffit à lui‐même, les étudiants nʹéprouvant pas le besoin dʹutiliser autre chose. Lʹautre approche de cette recherche concerne la mise en évidence de la très forte variabilité des comportements des étudiants en fonction de la nature des formations. Quel est lʹintérêt de lʹétude des éventuelles différences entre les formations ? Si comme nous lʹévoquerons, ces dispositifs de formation ont une inspiration socioconstructiviste, la quantité et la qualité des interactions doivent avoir une influence sur lʹémergence des connaissances. A lʹinverse, la tradition universitaire magistrale ne fait pas de différence dans le rapport pédagogique quʹa lʹenseignant avec ses étudiants. Quʹil sʹagisse dʹun amphithéâtre de Mathématiques ou de Philosophie ou de Droit, la parole de lʹenseignant domine. En est‐il de même dans un dispositif alternatif ? Avant de considérer que toute chose est égale par ailleurs, il convient de le vérifier. LʹIMPORTANCE DE LʹINTERACTIVITÉ ÉDUCATIVE 953 PROBLÉMATIQUE Lʹapprentissage par problème dans le contexte de lʹenseignement à distance avec les technologies, peut être une variable que lʹon injecte dans un dispositif universitaire pour tenter dʹune part dʹaugmenter lʹinteractivité entre étudiant et enseignant, cʹest‐à‐dire le réseau dʹactions et de réactions dépendantes et dʹautre part pour mettre en évidence ce que sont les interactions et la nature de celles‐ci en terme cognitif (Jaillet, 2004). En brisant le lien unique et obligatoire, entre l’enseignant et l’élève dans le processus de construction des savoirs, en institutionnalisant le groupe de pairs comme le cadre par lequel chacun doit se faire comprendre, il s’agit de décentrer le processus, selon un principe simple, rendre possible la remise en cause de l’autre, non pas dans ce qu’il est mais dans la pensée qu’il élabore (ce point est crucial, il ne sʹagit pas de conflit social, de bagarre, mais dʹinteractions de points de vue différents). Cʹest donc une tentative dʹopérationnalisation, quasiment expérimentale, des principes de Perret‐Clermont (1979) de conflits sociocognitifs. Puisque le statut de chacun est semblable en regard des apprentissages, les discussions, les demandes dʹéclaircissement sont possibles. A une proposition dʹun étudiant, un autre étudiant peut poser la question ʺque veux‐tu dire?ʺ obligeant ainsi le locuteur à se reprendre. En situation classique, l’enseignant a un statut différent. Il a le droit de faire préciser à un étudiant ce que celui‐ci exprime. Dans le contexte français, il est bien difficile et même impossible à lʹétudiant de demander à lʹenseignant de sʹexprimer différemment pour quʹil puisse le comprendre. On trouvera certainement un exemple ou lʹautre qui contredit cette affirmation, mais la visite de quelques salles de cours magistrales en France convainc rapidement de la prédominance du modèle. A lʹinverse dans la proposition de dispositifs à distance qui sont étudiés, on va nettement différencier la diffusion du savoir et lʹaccompagnement des étudiants dans le processus de maîtrise de celui‐ci. Le cadre du savoir, son organisation hiérarchique, ses postulats, démonstrations et exemples sont cristallisés, inertes, le plus souvent en dactylographie numérique ou plus rarement par des enregistrements audiovisuels. En principe, l’enseignant‐tuteur a donc un positionnement qui ne consiste plus à faire cours, mais à accompagner les groupes dʹétudiants dans la résolution de lʹapprentissage par problème et cʹest ainsi quʹils réalisent les 954 ALAIN JAILLET apprentissages nécessaires (Duch, Groh et Allen, 2001). En conséquence, les enseignants doivent être moins diserts, moins intervenants que les étudiants. Les rythmes des échanges s’en trouvent changés. L’enseignant ne peut plus intervenir par des propos logorrhéiques, mais par des interventions courtes. Par rapport à lʹenseignement classique, c’est donc une modification substantielle des échanges qui est attendue, dans laquelle on peut relever lʹimportance de la participation des étudiants alors que celle des tuteurs est plus en retrait. Il existe pour lʹinstant peu de travaux qui se focalisent sur la réalité de lʹinteractivité pourtant essentielle dans cette inspiration socioconstructiviste Ceux de Perraya et Dumont (2004) par exemple, constatent cependant quʹil est difficile aux enseignants et étudiants de réellement changer de comportement, même si une série de contraintes les y engagent. Selon leur conclusion, les pratiques des enseignants perdurent et le changement a du mal à se réaliser. Le but de cette recherche consiste à caractériser lʹinteractivité de chacun des profils en fréquence et en densité. A la différence de l’étude de Perraya qui procède de façon proche, ce n’est pas le mot qui est la base de calcul, mais le caractère informatique. En effet, le propre de l’écrale (écriture oralisée à l’écran) c’est d’utiliser abondamment des abréviations et les smileys qui remplacent certaines expressions linguistiques par des articulations de signes de ponctuations. Les étudiants utilisent volontiers ce type de signes et les enseignants ne les dédaignent pas. Compte tenu du contexte collaboratif du dispositif de formation, il est attendu une plus grande participation des étudiants que des tuteurs dans le processus interactif. Une des difficultés de lʹapprentissage par problème consiste à faire travailler des gens ensemble alors qu’a priori, il n’y a rien d’évident à ce qu’ils acceptent de se mettre dans une dynamique collective. Des recherches ont tenté de caractériser ce qui constituait le meilleur moyen d’appareiller les étudiants entre eux et ses effets (Depover, Quintin et De Lièvre, 2004). Dʹautres recherches ont mis en évidence que les activités de collaboration et de coopération nʹétaient pas systématiquement garantes de meilleures performances dʹapprentissage (Lefebvre et Deaudelin, 2001). La question récurrente à tout cadre collaboratif est l’implication personnelle de chacun, étudiant et enseignant. Les étudiants qui sont immergés dans un LʹIMPORTANCE DE LʹINTERACTIVITÉ ÉDUCATIVE 955 cadre collaboratif sont‐ils en fait faussement actifs et peu interactifs entre eux, comme le prétend (Arnaud, 2003) ? Si tel est le cas, alors lʹétude des interactions doit manifester une très faible participation des étudiants et de trop peu nombreux échanges. Les tuteurs ont‐ils une posture magistrale peu en rapport avec les nouvelles définitions des rôles quʹon leur assigne, comme on peut le penser à la lecture de Perraya et Dumont (2003) ? Dans ce cas, les propos des enseignants‐tuteurs doivent être dominants, occuper lʹintégralité du champ de lʹinteractivité. En se focalisant sur les discussions synchrones numériques (D.S.N.), il doit être possible dʹapporter des éléments de réponse tangible, y compris en se posant la question des différences éventuelles en fonction des formations. Ce point est crucial. Les études qui se focalisent sur les technologies ou sur les modalités de distance, considèrent trop souvent quʹun environnement technique en vaut un autre, tout comme une formation en vaut une autre. Si cʹest le cas, alors les trois formations étudiées doivent confirmer une unicité de manifestation. Il est apparu au cours de lʹétude quʹil était nécessaire de distinguer au moins une autre dimension dans cette problématique lié à la taille des groupes dʹinteraction : y a‐t‐il un comportement différent d’interaction lorsque l’on est en grand groupe (séminaire) et en petit groupe (équipe) ? ELEMENT DE CADRE CONCEPTUEL Lʹinteractivité, le cœur de la relation pédagogique L’interactivité éducative n’est pas une découverte de l’incursion du numérique dans l’enseignement. De manière générale, à la suite du courant de la nouvelle communication, on définit l’interaction comme « l’échange d’information … en termes de dialogues et d’actions pour deux interlocuteurs ou plus » (Brien, Bourdeau et Rocheleau, 1999). Tandis que l’interactivité « … est à la fois le caractère mesurable et le support de cette interaction ». Ce qui signifie que l’interactivité désigne à la fois le processus qui permet lʹinteraction et la mesure de lʹensemble. En son temps, Postic (1977) a étudié les systèmes classiques d’enseignement en présence qui s’appuient sur des interactions, autrement dit, des actions et réactions des élèves et des enseignants. Altet (1994) soulignera le poids du ʺdialogue pédagogique finaliséʺ qui sʹélabore sur la base dʹun contrat implicite : lʹenseignant sait ; les élèves apprennent. Tout le courant de 956 ALAIN JAILLET l’autoscopie (Linard et Prax, 1984) a tenté de rendre attentifs les enseignants à lʹinteractivité, qui concourre à leur professionnalité en terme de proxémie ou occupation de l’espace, de kinésie ou postures et gestes, et évidemment d’échanges verbaux. Cʹest quʹen effet, le métier dʹenseignant ne se justifie que parce quʹil y a interactivité. Par ailleurs, il semble que les situations dʹenseignement classique conditionnent une interactivité dépendante de la préoccupation quʹa lʹenseignant de progresser dans son programme (Sarrazy, 1999). Autrement dit, l’interaction permise, ne l’est que dans les limites étroites de ce que l’enseignant considère comme acceptable. Cependant, en changeant lʹapproche dʹenseignement et dʹapprentissage, en incitant au travail en groupe, il est possible de transformer cette tendance. Du point de vue de l’observation des élèves et donc de ce qui participe de leurs apprentissages, des propositions très intéressantes (Brossard, 1993; Roux, 2003) ont fourni des modèles possibles à l’interprétation de ce qui est observable en terme de comportements verbaux et non verbaux. En matière d’enseignement à distance, les dispositifs par visio‐conférence, audio‐conférence, ont montré leur limite, notamment parce qu’ils renforcent la parole, la gestuelle, le théâtre de celui qui est au centre de la télédiffusion au détriment de lʹidée d’interactivité avec les autres (Perin et Gensollen, 1992). L’utilisation du réseau Internet et la structuration d’un courant de recherche autour du Travail Collaboratif Assisté par Ordinateur (T.C.A.O.) a reposé l’étude sur les interactions verbales au centre des problématiques spécifiquement pour l’apprentissage avec ses nouveaux instruments (Henri et Lundgren‐Cayrol, 2001). Deux classes d’interactivité sont prises en considération : ‐ Celle qui organise les interactions asynchrones par le biais de forums d’échanges (Hert, 1999; Marcoccia, 2001). Il s’agit le plus souvent d’observer si les comportements d’interaction en différé et numérique diffèrent vraiment de situations d’interactions plus courantes. La réponse est plutôt banale. Dans les forums de discussion, il n’y a pas vraiment de différence. Au‐delà des échanges constructifs, les prises de paroles assurent un positionnement de pouvoir, tout comme les LʹIMPORTANCE DE LʹINTERACTIVITÉ ÉDUCATIVE 957 phénomènes de clans pro ou anti intervenants émaillent la vie de ces collectifs connectés. Des recherches se sont intéressées à l’utilisation de forums dans le cadre de formation (Martin, 2003), là au contraire, c’est plutôt une certaine neutralité qui émerge. Pour vivre heureux, vivons sans conflit, sans de trop grandes confrontations. Ce résultat est confirmé dans une autre recherche qui étudie les comportements des étudiants dans un forum. Karsenti et Fortin (2003) notent quʹil nʹy a pas de remise en cause dʹune proposition de lʹun dʹentre eux par une autre. Dans le contexte de notre étude, nous avons déjà signalé que les échanges sur forum étaient quantitativement faibles. Il existe une autre interactivité asynchrone par exemple, lorsqu’un étudiant dépose un document, et qu’un autre en prend connaissance et réagit soit par la modification de ce document ou bien en apposant un commentaire, il agit en structurant son propos qui n’est pas commandé par l’urgence du fil de la discussion. Dans ce cas là, il est possible de préciser encore le statut de l’échange puisque l’interaction n’est pas pilotée par les cadres sociaux de civilités, mais au contraire hyper focalisée sur le sujet traité. Il y a une différence sur ce registre entre le commentaire posé en dérivé d’un document, qui sera empreint de relations sociales, alors qu’un texte qui « répond » à un autre texte sera lui dégagé de relations sociales pour se concentrer sur le sujet et l’articulation des propositions. ‐ Celle qui permet les interactions synchrones (Georges et Leroux, 2001; Perraya et Dumont, 2003; Delium, 2003) qui le plus souvent sont possibles grâce à des logiciels de discussions par clavier (chat) plus ou moins élaborés ou alors des tableaux blancs qui permettent à la fois, le dessin, le schéma, l’affichage de documents et le dialogue écrit. Ou encore, les collecticiels synchrones qui permettent de concevoir des documents à plusieurs (Naveiro, Brézillon et, Souza, 2001), voire même dʹaccompagner lʹutilisation de logiciels professionnels en greffant des prothèses communicatives pour les collaborations distantes (Després et Leroux, 2003). Nous proposons de désigner ces possibilités des Discussions Synchrones Numériques (D.S.N.) et de qualifier la nature de la communication dʹʺécraleʺ, pour faire écho à Hert (1999) qui parle de quasi oralité de ces échanges écrits, par écrans interposés. Et ce sont ces 958 ALAIN JAILLET interactions qui font lʹobjet de lʹétude. Dans lʹinteractivité immédiate, les cadres sociaux des civilités sont omniprésents, comme cela a été mis en évidence (Jaillet, 2004). ASPECTS METHODOLOGIQUES Echantillon L’étude porte sur trois formations différentes qui n’en sont pas à leur première année de fonctionnement. Celle‐ci est rarement une année pertinente à étudier du point de vue d’un usage courant, tant les problèmes en tout genre viennent entacher son fonctionnement normal du point de vue technique et du point de vue des enseignants. L’autre variable étudiée concerne le statut des personnes qui interagissent, étudiants ou enseignants. Aucun des enseignants concernés n’est à sa première expérience de tutorat à distance. Pour ce qui concerne les étudiants, cʹest différent puisque pour tous, il sʹagit de la première expérience dʹune pédagogie par résolution de problèmes, qui plus est à distance. La formation ʺUtilisation des Technologies de l’Information et de la Communication dans l’Enseignement et la Formationʺ (UTICEF) est un D.E.S.S. qui existe depuis 2000 et concerne plus de 300 étudiants répartis sur toute la planète francophone. Elle concerne plutôt des professionnels de la formation et de lʹenseignement supérieur. Lʹéquipe dʹencadrement (Université de Mons, Université de Genève, Université Louis Pasteur Strasbourg) est constituée de spécialistes des technologies de lʹinformation et de la communication dans lʹéducation. Lʹobjet de cette formation est de former des spécialistes de lʹenseignement et de la formation à la pédagogie avec les technologies et notamment dans un contexte de distance. Par conséquent, ce sont des spécialistes de la pédagogie à qui il est demandé des efforts particuliers dans un nouveau contexte. La formation ʺActivités et techniques de communicationʺ est une licence professionnelle (LPATC). Elle existe depuis 2001 aussi bien tout à distance qu’en présentiel, et a concerné plus de 250 étudiants. Par différence par rapport à la formation précédente, ce sont des étudiants qui ont moins dʹexpérience et qui nʹont pas pour objet de devenir des spécialistes de la pédagogie. Lʹobjet de leur formation concerne la LʹIMPORTANCE DE LʹINTERACTIVITÉ ÉDUCATIVE 959 maîtrise dʹoutils techniques, et de compétences organisationnelles en production. La partie acquisition technique est très importante pour les doter dʹune solide culture informatique. La formation ʺDroit du multimédia et des Systèmes d’Informationʺ est un D.E.S.S. (MSI). Elle existe également depuis 2001 aussi bien à distance qu’en présentiel. Plus de 200 étudiants sont passés par cette formation. Ce sont des étudiants de la filière ʺdroitʺ, qui ne sont pas destinés non plus à la pédagogie mais qui ont par contre une certaine habitude à réaliser des études de cas à partir de la jurisprudence. Une promotion de chaque formation de septembre 2002/2003 constitue lʹéchantillon, ce qui représente un effectif total de 61 étudiants et 49 tuteurs. Ce sont des années complètes qui sont prises en considération avec pour les trois formations plus de 27000 connexions étudiant en plus de 16000 heures et plus de 330 000 messages d’interactions synchrones. Les interactions observées sont réalisées en petit groupe de 5 personnes au maximum et en grand groupe de 13 personnes au maximum. Les séquences en petits groupes correspondent au travail dʹéquipe le plus souvent sans enseignant tuteur alors que celles en grand groupe concernent lʹensemble des participants à un séminaire, avec la présence du tuteur probable. Tableau 1 Effectifs des formations étudiées en fonction des profils LPATC UTICEF MSI Tuteurs Etudiants 17 23 21 14 23 12 Recueil et traitement des données UNIV‐RCT a été conçue pour enregistrer toutes les actions des utilisateurs en bases de données. Ce qui permet de traiter lʹensemble des données et notamment les sessions dʹéchanges synchrones. Une session se définit a minima comme l’interaction entre deux personnes. Elle est prise en considération à partir du moment où deux personnes sont simultanément en présence dans le salon de D.S.N. (Discussion Synchrone Numérique), et s’interrompt dés lors qu’une seule personne 960 ALAIN JAILLET est présente. Les données à disposition permettent d’établir, dans les différents lieux de rencontre, quelle est la durée de lʹéchange, le nombre de messages réalisées par chacun défini par une entrée, la quantité d’informations échangée par chacun exprimée en nombre de caractères. Toutes ces données sont regroupées en fonction des lieux dʹinteraction, en précisant les durées cumulées, le nombre de sessions. Sur le plan des calculs, des moyennes individuelles sont réalisées puis regroupées en fonction des lieux équipes et séminaires et des profils étudiants et enseignants en fonction des formations. Cela permet de définir un ʺétudiant‐typeʺ, un ʺtuteur‐typeʺ. Cʹest‐à‐dire un prototype d’étudiant, de tuteur par formation qui va permettre les comparaisons. Enfin des ratios sont élaborés par formation et par profil, de sorte de pouvoir comparer la fréquence des messages et leur importance en quantité de caractères utilisés. Cela permet de déterminer la nature des interventions courtes ou longues. RESULTATS Données de cadrage Durée Le tableau 2 donne une indication des durées moyennes, maximales et minimales des séances de discussions synchrones numériques pour les trois formations et dans les deux lieux dʹinteraction. Tableau 2 : Durées des Discussions Synchrones Numériques Lieux et Séminaires formations LPATC Durée moyenne Durée minimale Durée maximale Séminaires UTICEF Séminaires Equipes MSI LPATC 56 mn 15s 1h 04 mn 1h 09 mn 48 mn 1h 02mn 1s 46mn 58s 31s 12s 15s 38s 14s 3h 35mn 30s 4h 44mn 16s Equipes Equipes UTICEF MSI 33s 3h 9h 11mn 5h 25mn 25mn 12s 43s 18s 25s 5h 54mn 37s LʹIMPORTANCE DE LʹINTERACTIVITÉ ÉDUCATIVE 961 Quantité Le tableau 3 indique le nombre total de sessions d’échanges synchrones en équipes ou en séminaires pour les trois formations. La première ligne indique les effectifs étudiants. La seconde indique le nombre total de sessions en groupe de séminaire ou en équipe. La dernière ligne précise le pourcentage moyen de sessions auxquelles lʹʺétudiant‐typeʺ a participé par formation. Tableau 3 : Nombre de D.S.N. et participation moyenne Lieux et formations Séminaires LPATC Effectifs 17 étudiants Sessions total 382 % de participation 61 Séminaires UTICEF Séminaires MSI Equipes LPATC Equipes Equipes UTICEF MSI 21 23 17 21 23 155 235 993 524 433 47 53 73 70 78 Données traitées pour comparaison Fréquence moyenne des interventions Lʹétude sʹintéresse à la moyenne des fréquences cumulées des interventions des étudiants et des enseignants dans les lieux équipes d’au maximum 4 étudiants, et séminaires d’au maximum 12 étudiants et un tuteur éventuellement. Pour obtenir cette fréquence, on calcule individuellement la participation en messages de chacun puis on réalise la moyenne cumulée, cela permet dʹobtenir la fréquence de lʺétudiant‐
typeʺet du ʺtuteur‐typeʺ. Ainsi, il est possible de déterminer qui des étudiants ou des enseignants produit le plus de messages en moyenne lors des interactions. 962 ALAIN JAILLET Tableau 4 : Fréquence moyenne des messages émis dans les différents lieux et formations par les deux profils en %. Tuteurs Etudiants LPATC UTICEF MSI LPATC UTICEF MSI Equipes 14,8 8,8 22 26,5 27,5 23 séminaires 33,2 26 23,3 8,5 7,5 8,8 Le tableau 4 se comprend ainsi, en LPATC les tuteurs sont les auteurs de 14,8% des messages lors des sessions en équipe, alors que la participation est de 26,5% pour lʹétudiant‐type. En séminaire, elle est de 33,2% du point de vue tuteur et seulement 8,5% du point de vue de lʹétudiant‐
type. La somme tuteurs et étudiants dans ce tableau ne peut évidemment pas faire 100 %. Il sʹagit dʹun ratio indicatif. A lʹexception de la formation MSI, l’effet de disposition du tableau fait ressortir l’opposition entre les tuteurs qui interviennent plus faiblement en équipe et les étudiants en séminaires, alors qu’à l’inverse, les tuteurs interviennent davantage en séminaire et les étudiants en équipe. Moyenne du nombre de caractères par message Pour avoir une idée de ce que représente cette information, le nombre de caractères de cette phrase est de 91. La moyenne du nombre de caractères permet de comparer le ʺpoidsʺ des interventions de ʺlʹétudiant‐typeʺ et du ʺtuteur typeʺ dans un même lieu et calculer le ratio expression étudiant sur expression tuteur. On procède en deux temps, en calculant le nombre moyen de caractères des messages par individu, puis ensuite une moyenne est élaborée pour définir un étudiant‐type, un ʺtuteur‐typeʺ par formation et par lieu. Ainsi, il est possible de mettre en évidence lʹéventuel différentiel dʹexpression entre étudiants et tuteurs. La comparaison peut se faire à deux niveaux, dans un même lieu pour chacun, et entre les deux lieux et ce par formation. LʹIMPORTANCE DE LʹINTERACTIVITÉ ÉDUCATIVE 963 Tableau 5: Moyenne du nombre de caractères par message en fonction des lieux, des formations et des profils UTICEF Equipes Séminaires Moyenne du nombre de Moyenne du nombre de caractères par message caractères par message Etudiant 39,48 32,92 Tuteur 44,10 48,36 Ratios 0.9 0.68 LPATC Etudiant 28,37 24,07 Tuteur 42,58 51,09 Ratios 0.66 0.47 MSI Etudiant 36,66 29,63 Tuteur 55,84 52,71 Ratios 0,65 0,56 Comparatif entre fréquence et poids des messages Pour comparer la fréquence et le poids des messages des différents profils, on établit le pourcentage de la production des tuteurs à partir de la totalité des caractères. Le poids des messages est mis en référence avec la fréquence. Il est ainsi possible de voir si en quantité de messages et en contenus de messages, la répartition entre étudiant et tuteur est homogène ou non. Pour le tableau 7, les pourcentages des messages étudiants et tuteurs sont calculés par rapport au total cumulé afin de rendre compte de lʹimportance totale de chacun. Il en est de même pour le nombre de caractères. 964 ALAIN JAILLET Tableau 6 Nombre de caractères en fonction des lieux et des profils dans les trois formations et pourcentage de la production des tuteurs UTICEF Equipes Total des caractères produits Rappel tabl.3 Moyenne des messages par catégories en % Séminaires Total des caractères produits Rappel tabl.3 Moyenne des messages par catégories en % Etudiants 1933138 27,53 515666 7,5 Tuteurs Pourcentage de caractères produits par les tuteurs 185342 8,8 233417 26 8,7 31,1 LPATC Etudiants 2860616 26,5 1013933 8,4 Tuteurs Pourcentage de caractères produits par les tuteurs 709007 14,8 975214 33,1 24,7 49 MSI Etudiants 1513652 23,0 461930 8,8 21,9 355634 23,3 43 Tuteurs 642115 Pourcentage de caractères produits par les 29 tuteurs DISCUSSION Première remarque à propos de la durée des D.S.N., celles‐ci sont plutôt homogènes. De lʹordre de lʹheure courte (moins dʹune heure) à longue (plus dʹune heure) (tableau 2). Cela masque cependant une diversité de pratiques. Lʹobservation de quelques unes des interactions les plus longues met en évidence que plusieurs intervenants se succèdent lʹun LʹIMPORTANCE DE LʹINTERACTIVITÉ ÉDUCATIVE 965 Tableau 7 Comparatif en pourcentage de la production de messages et de caractères en fonctions des variables formations et profils sans distinction de lieux UTICEF LPATC MSI % messages étudiants % caractères étudiants % messages tuteurs % caractères tuteurs 86,1 80 75,8 85,4 70 66,5 13,9 20 24,2 14,6 30 33,5 passant le flambeau à lʹautre et tissant ainsi un traitement du sujet qui sʹappuie sur les échanges précédents (en consultant lʹenregistrement). Cet usage est essentiellement dû à lʹorigine géographique des étudiants répartis sur lʹensemble de la planète et qui doivent jongler avec des fuseaux horaires différents. Cela explique pourquoi certains se connectent à un moment de la journée, engageant une discussion, puis sont rejoints par dʹautres qui reprennent le flambeau, jusquʹà lʹarrivée des prochains. Les sessions très courtes sʹexpliquent par de brèves mises au point ou lorsque les étudiants se donnent rendez‐vous dans un autre espace. Ce sont toujours des D.S.N. de régulation pour passer dʹun endroit à lʹautre. Deuxième constat, la quantité des sessions d’échanges synchrones est très importante (tableau 3). Pour chaque étudiant cela représente des centaines d’heures de travail en synchrone avec d’autres étudiants et tuteurs. Les formations classiques en présence, ne permettront jamais de faire interagir sur des périodes aussi longues et pour des durées totales aussi importantes des étudiants et enseignants entre eux. Quantitativement les D.S.N. en équipe sont plus importantes quʹen séminaires avec des rapports cependant très différents. Il est normal que les sessions en équipe soient plus nombreuses puisque, pour un 966 ALAIN JAILLET séminaire de 10 ou 12 personnes, il y aura trois équipes de 3 ou 4, et donc au total plus de sessions possibles en fonction du nombre d’inscrits. Ce qui est remarquable, c’est qu’en fait, les formations ne favorisent pas de la même façon les échanges dans les différents lieux. On devrait, en toute logique s’attendre qu’il y ait trois fois plus de sessions en équipe qu’en séminaire, puisquʹen général un séminaire est composé de 3 équipes. Or, pour la formation MSI, le rapport, obtenu entre le nombre de sessions en équipe sur séminaire, est plus faible (1,8), ce qui laisse supposer que les étudiants et le tuteur se retrouvent davantage en groupe de séminaires qu’en équipe. A l’inverse, la formation UTICEF (3,4) est au‐delà du rapport de 3. En conséquence on peut supposer que l’interaction en équipe est favorisée, alors que la formation LPATC est légèrement en dessous (2,6). Ces différences dans lʹimportance des échanges synchrones dans l’un ou l’autre lieu peuvent être la marque de spécificités pédagogiques. Ainsi, on observe également que le nombre de sessions par étudiants va être très hétérogène entre les formations et les lieux de regroupements. Derrière ces ratios, on peut expliquer les différences. Si l’on peut supposer un impact de l’approche pédagogique qui valorise les réunions synchrones, l’économie de chaque formation l’actualise de manière particulière. Autre élément remarquable, c’est la différence d’assiduité manifestée par les pourcentages de participation en fonction des formations et des lieux. L’assiduité est toujours plus forte dans les équipes que dans les regroupements en séminaire. Les formations de troisième cycle ont les décalages les plus importants. Synthétiquement, les étudiants d’UTICEF participent en moyenne à 47 % des sessions qui les concernent en séminaire, et à 70 % en équipe. Pour la formation MSI, les étudiants fréquentent en moyenne 53 % des sessions en séminaires et à 78 % en équipes. Alors que pour la formation LPATC, la participation n’est que légèrement plus faible en séminaire (61%) qu’en équipe (73%). Un tuteur présent et non envahissant. La deuxième partie de l’étude se consacre au poids des interventions des profils tuteurs ou étudiants. La première approche vise à vérifier notamment la persistance des résultats de Perraya et Dumont (2003) à propos d’une expérimentation de tutorat menée dans le cadre d’une LʹIMPORTANCE DE LʹINTERACTIVITÉ ÉDUCATIVE 967 formation partiellement à distance. Selon eux, environ 40 % des échanges étaient le fait des enseignants tuteurs. En cela, ils confortaient les résultats de Postic (1977) dans des situations de classes présentielles et même en situation universitaire tels que Mac Donald et Gibson (1998) l’avaient de leur côté mis en évidence. Lʹhypothèse qui semble se vérifier ici, considère quʹun environnement technologique qui hyper‐valorise les échanges synchrones par la spécification des lieux en fonction des tâches pédagogiques à réaliser, casse le cadre classique et permet à un nouveau d’émerger dans lequel les échanges sont beaucoup plus équilibrés. Fréquence moyenne des interventions des étudiants et des enseignants. Le tableau 4 met en évidence que les comportements de lʺétudiant‐
typeʺen terme de fréquences moyennes d’interventions sont assez proches d’une formation à l’autre, en équipe, 26,5% ‐ 27,5% – 23% et en séminaire 8,5% – 7,5% – 8,8%. Dans les lieux séminaires la participation plus faible de lʺétudiant‐typeʺest un effet normal, puisque les étudiants sont plus nombreux, donc les possibilités de paroles sont restreintes pour eux. De plus, explicitement, ces lieux en grands groupes sont des lieux de régulation d’abord du tuteur. Il est donc cohérent d’observer que les moyennes sont plus élevées pour les tuteurs que pour les étudiants. Au contraire les comportements du ʺtuteur‐typeʺsont plus hétérogènes en fonction de la formation. Ceux de la formation MSI sont très intervenants aussi bien en séminaires, 23,3% des interventions, qu’en équipe, 22%. Par contre ceux de la formation UTICEF se font discrets en équipes, 8,8% des interventions et trois fois plus en séminaire, avec 26% des messages. Le rapport est de deux pour la formation LPATC, dans laquelle les tuteurs interviennent pour 14,8% des messages en équipe et 33,3% des interventions en séminaire. Par rapport aux travaux de Perraya et Dumont (2003), de très nettes différences semblent sʹobserver. Les taux de participation en messages sont très nettement inférieurs aux 40 % repérés dans leur étude. Même pour les lieux et les formations dans lesquelles les enseignants sont très intervenants, ce seuil de 40 % nʹest pas atteint. D’où ces différences peuvent‐elles provenir ? Dans la situation observée au Tecfa à Genève, il s’agit dʹune formation hybride, à la fois en présence et à distance. En conséquence, il est imaginable que la participation du tuteur est forte, parce qu’il peut ainsi montrer que la 968 ALAIN JAILLET distance n’handicape pas sa participation dʹenseignant. A l’opposé, dans des formations très interactives et uniquement à distance, le tuteur nʹutilise quʹun seul mode. Mais sur le fond, on peut aussi considérer que les relevés du Tecfa ne sont qu’une autre occurrence d’étude. L’importance du contexte constitué par le dispositif est essentielle comme lʹont montré Kampulainen et Mutanen (1999). Moyenne du nombre de caractères utilisés par message par les étudiants et les enseignants Lʹinterprétation des résultats sʹintéressant au nombre de messages se complique lorsque lʹon se concentre sur la moyenne du nombre de caractères par assertion. Le résultat obtenu (Tableau 5) permet dʹobserver le poids des différentes interventions en fonction de ces variables. Premier constat, pour les étudiants le nombre moyen de caractères par message est toujours plus important en équipe quʹen séminaire et quelle que soit la formation. Deuxième constat, cela nʹest pas symétrique du point de vue des tuteurs en fonction des formations. Si les formations LPATC et UTICEF voient les nombres moyens de caractères par message produit par les tuteurs plus importants en séminaire quʹen équipe, cela nʹest pas le cas pour MSI. Troisième constat, dans tous les cas, lʹintervention des tuteurs est toujours beaucoup plus importante en nombre de caractères moyens que celle des étudiants. En équipe, la formation UTICEF est celle pour laquelle la participation des étudiants est la moins faible, par rapport aux tuteurs, en nombre moyen de caractères par message. Cʹest ce quʹexprime le ratio de 0,9 qui signifie que la moyenne des caractères par message dʹétudiant en équipe est seulement de 10 % inférieure à celles des tuteurs. Pour les autres configurations, le différentiel est très important. Par exemple, pour les séminaires en LPATC, les messages des tuteurs ont en moyenne plus de deux fois plus de caractères que ceux des étudiants. Dans le séminaire, il est normal d’observer cette domination du tuteur, puisque les explications, ou renvois qu’il fait, relèvent de la mise au point collective qui peut nécessiter plus d’occurrences pour s’exprimer. Par la suite (Tableau 6), si lʹon observe la totalité des caractères produits par lʹ ʺétudiant‐typeʺ et le ʺtuteur‐typeʺ, on observe nettement lʹimportance de ce dernier avec deux remarques. D’une part, il est LʹIMPORTANCE DE LʹINTERACTIVITÉ ÉDUCATIVE 969 confirmé les différences de comportement des tuteurs entre les lieux équipes ou séminaires, et les nettes différences également entre les formations, mais le fait a déjà été signalé. D’autre part, le caractère touffu des propos des tuteurs est une évidence qui est vraisemblablement la marque de fabrique de lʹenseignant. Ainsi, sʹil y a cohérence pour la formation UTICEF entre le pourcentage d’interventions des tuteurs (équipe 8,8% ; séminaire 26%) et le pourcentage de caractères utilisés pour ces interventions (équipe 8,7% ; séminaire 31,1%), pour les formations LPATC et MSI, c’est loin d’être le cas. (Tableau 3). Le plus gros différentiel s’observe pour les sessions d’interaction en séminaire. Pour la formation LPATC en équipe, le pourcentage dʹinterventions des tuteurs est de 14,8% alors quʹils produisent 24,7 % des caractères utilisés. Le déséquilibre est également très fort en séminaire avec 33,1 % des messages et 49 % des caractères. Pour la formation MSI, 21,9% des messages sont le fait des tuteurs dans les lieux équipes alors quʹils produisent 29% des caractères. La différence est beaucoup plus important en séminaire puisque leurs messages représentent 23,3% du total et le nombre de caractères 43%. En se focalisant sur le poids des messages, le comportement dʹenseignant que pointent Perraya et Dumont, semble se confirmer. Lʹenseignant‐tuteur est plus prolixe que lʹétudiant. Il a besoin de plus de caractères pour sʹexprimer. Cʹest le signe quʹil explique plus quʹil nʹinterroge. Cela nʹest pas tout à fait inattendu. Mais en observant les ratios entre ce que produisent les étudiants et les tuteurs dans chaque formation, lʹécart met en évidence la très grande diversité de pratiques. Importance de la participation des étudiants et des tuteurs A lʹanalyse de ces données, en étudiant lʹinteractivité du point de vue de la fréquence, il apparaît donc que la participation des tuteurs est plus faible que ce que proposent Perraya et Dumont par exemple. Par contre, lʹétude de lʹinteractivité du point de vue du volume montre que le tuteur est beaucoup plus prolixe que lʹétudiant. Selon le profil, il y a donc un renversement entre fréquence et densité des interventions. Cependant, en reprenant lʹensemble des données et sans distinguer les lieux (Tableau 7), les volumes des expressions des deux profils en caractères et en messages, on constate quand même que la place des tuteurs dans 970 ALAIN JAILLET lʹinteractivité est beaucoup plus limitée que le renversement observé à propos du volume spécifique à chaque lieu ne le laisse imaginer. Ainsi, au maximum les tuteurs sont responsables du quart des messages pour la formation MSI par exemple et du tiers du nombre de caractères utilisés. Que les enseignants interviennent, cela paraît normal dans des approches pédagogiques qui insistent sur lʹencadrement et lʹimplication du tuteur. Certes, en fonction des formations, des styles pédagogiques, lʹimportance des propos des enseignants‐tuteurs nʹest pas la même. Pour la formation UTICEF, dont finalement la spécialité dʹenseignement des tuteurs est la pédagogie et lʹusage des technologies, lʹintervention de ceux‐ci est la plus mesurée. Comme si, en quelque sorte, les pédagogues tentaient de limiter leurs interventions pour être le plus en phase possible avec le scénario pédagogique. Cette étude montre quʹil y a des différences, et que lʹon ne peut considérer quʹun contexte dʹétude vaut pour tous. CONCLUSION En matière d’enseignement à distance basé sur lʹapprentissage par problème, il faut accepter une rupture pédagogique, parce que celle‐ci existe. Quʹajouter de plus. Il nʹest pas possible à lʹenseignant de faire comme sʹil faisait sur la scène un cours devant 30 ou 300 personnes. Dans ce cas, lʹétude de lʹinteractivité montrerait quʹil est seul responsable en fréquence et en volume de tous les propos. Lʹinteraction serait même complètement déséquilibrée puisque dans ce cas, il occupe le champ verbal et les étudiants le champ kinésique. Dans le dispositif étudié, une des voies choisies est celle dʹun algorithme dʹapprentissage et dʹenseignement qu’ʺimposeʺ UNIV‐RCT, pour faire en sorte que l’étudiant interagisse principalement avec les autres étudiants. Cela nʹest possible que par la mise en place de procédures qui relèvent de lʹapprentissage par problème. Ainsi, le tuteur intervient en accompagnement. Son action ne peut être un cours magistral à distance, même sʹil est perceptible, uniquement par lʹétude quantitative des données, que lʹimportance des propos des tuteurs peut être parfois la marque de la magistralité qui sʹimmisce de nouveau dans lʹune ou lʹautre formation pour laquelle les enseignants ont encore du mal à assurer une LʹIMPORTANCE DE LʹINTERACTIVITÉ ÉDUCATIVE 971 transition pédagogique. Sur ce registre, une formation à distance nʹest pas équivalente à une formation à distance. Les différences sont sensibles et même si les participations des enseignants tuteurs sont importantes, les dispositifs à distance qui se basent sur lʹinteraction synchrone permettent aux étudiants dʹinteragir. Chacun ne travaille pas dans son coin. Comment, cependant rentrer dans des problématiques qui permettent de mieux comprendre la construction des savoirs dans ces contextes ? En pédagogie universitaire, il nʹest pas dʹusage de rentrer dans la dissection des échanges pour comprendre la genèse des apprentissages. Tout simplement parce que cela est difficile voire impossible. La distance permet, en imposant ses règles, de donner la possibilité de lʹétude des interactions. Lʹétude dans le détail de celles‐ci doit permettre de dessiner les contours de la genèse des apprentissages afin dʹobserver si lʹinspiration socioconstructiviste de ces dispositifs de formation à distance par lʹapprentissage par problème est une réalité ou non. BIBLIOGRAPHIE Arnaud, M., (2003). 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performance scolaire n’est pas liée à une mentalité de rentier, caractérisée par une absence de relation entre les efforts à faire en éducation et la récompense probable. Mots clés : économie de l’éducation, éducation et autochtones, éducation et développement, éducation comparée _________________ CANADIAN JOURNAL OF EDUCATION 29, 4 (2006): 975‐997 976 JOHN R. MINNIS In this article I compare select educational trends and patterns of First Nationsi education with that of Arab populations of the oil‐rich Gulf region. Drawing on pertinent literature, I focus on the links between the rentier nature of First Nations reserve economies, political decision‐
making, and educational outcomes and the Gulf region. Of concern is the persistently high level of educational underachievement common to First Nations populations and how this might be linked to the dependence on external rents. First Nations control the management and distribution of fiscal transfers that emanate from the Canadian government. As a result, political actors on reserves, much like government bureaucrats in the Gulf, manage and distribute the funds for education and other social services. Fiscal transfers and oil rents, despite emanating from different sources, constitute unearned income unrelated to domestic production. In the Gulf, extensive oil rents result in high per capita incomes, affluent lifestyles, and rapid modernization but also reinforce weak state institutions, authoritarian rule, and weak educational systems (Noreng, 1997). Referred to as rentier or distributive states, Saudi Arabia, United Arab Emirates, Bahrain, Qatar, and Oman have created extensive cradle‐
to‐grave welfare systems consisting of free education, subsidized housing, free medical care, and guaranteed public employment. Beblawi and Luciani (1987) were among the first economists to describe the negative effects of welfare capitalism on the social fabric of oil‐rich Gulf nations. They noted the disdain for work and lack of interest in formal learning. They introduced the term rentier mentality to refer to the disjunction in the popular mind between work and education and between income and reward. Further research by Amuzegar (1999), El Ghonemy (1998), and Mazawi (1999) reinforced the prevalence of the rentier mentality as a causal factor in the poor educational performance of Arab students. By no means, however, are the Gulf nations unique in this regard (Ross, 2001). With few exceptions, resource‐driven economies, whether they are mineral‐based or oil‐based, tend to be governed by autocratic elites, have weak civil societies, demonstrate high rates of illiteracy, and are prone to inter‐ethnic strife (Amuzegar, 1999). The balance of this article explores the possibility that First Nations FIRST NATIONS EDUCATION AND RENTIER ECONOMICS 977 persistently low educational performance may be similarly linked to the rentier nature of reserve economics. BACKGROUND Statistics indicate that despite quantitative improvements over the years, the record of educational achievement for First Nations people as well as Métis and Inuit continues to be much lower than that of other Canadians. According to Wotherspoon (2006, p. 673) about one‐third (35 per cent) of all Aboriginal people compared to 17 per cent for non‐
Aboriginals aged 25‐44 had not completed high school. About half (49 per cent) of young Aboriginals aged 15‐24 compared to 36 per cent of non‐Aboriginals in the same age group were not attending school. Data from other sources suggest that the drop‐out rate for Aboriginals before completion of grade 9 is about 20 per cent and 40 per cent before completion of grade 12, compared to 3 per cent and 16 per cent respectively for the non‐Aboriginal population (Macionis & Gerber, 2005). A 2000 report from Indian and Northern Affairs Canada (INAC) (2000, p. 14) estimated that it will take roughly 23 years for the proportion of Aboriginal high‐school graduates to reach comparable national levels. The situation has apparently worsened over the last four years. A 2004 Auditor General report states that it will now take 28 years for Aboriginals to achieve parity with non‐Aboriginals (cited in Wotherspoon, 2006, p.673). At the post‐secondary level, the number of Aboriginals attending university increased from about 900 in 1986 to 27,000 in 1996 (Hull, 2000). However, Aboriginal degree completion rates remain low. As a group, Aboriginals are far less likely to hold a post‐secondary qualification of any kind – 35 per cent compared to 52 per cent for the Canadian population – and most of these are community college credentials. The situation is most dire at the university level. According to Hampton (2000), most Aboriginal students drop out before the second year of university study. Schissel and Wotherspoon (2003) state that only 2.5 percent of on‐reserve Aboriginals hold an undergraduate degree or certificate compared to 15 per cent for non‐Aboriginals. 978 JOHN R. MINNIS The data indicate that large numbers of Aboriginal people are not acquiring basic academic skills. This situation is quite worrying given that the Aboriginal population is not only much younger than the Canadian population but is growing at a much faster rate. The median age of the Aboriginal population in 2001 was 25 years compared to 38 years for the non‐Aboriginal population. The Aboriginal birth rate is presently 1.5 times that of the Canadian population. A third of the Aboriginal population is under the age of 14 compared to 19 per cent of the non‐Aboriginal population. Holmes (2006, p. 4) estimates that in the next decade, more than 315,000 Aboriginal children will be born who will eventually go through the K‐12 system and potentially into post‐
secondary education. The cost of Aboriginal education is bound to increase because of the population growth rate alone. On reserves, First Nations governments will control and distribute these funds. According to INAC (2000), the cost of elementary and secondary education, minus capital and maintenance costs, amounted to $1 billion in 2000. The annual cost of post‐secondary education is rising and amounted to $287 million in 2000. In 2003, the most recent figures available, some 25,000 students at the post‐secondary level were funded through INAC totaling about $300 million (Malatest, 2004). About 69,000 students are presently enrolled in First Nations‐managed schools on reserves; an additional 46,000 are enrolled in provincial schools. Not surprisingly, expenditures for elementary and secondary education are among INACʹs largest departmental allocations to a single program representing over 21 per cent of budgetary funding. On the surface, educational underachievement does not appear to be caused by underfunding; however, it must be acknowledged that although the number of funded postsecondary students has grown dramatically from 3,700 in 1977, funding has not kept pace with demand particularly during the 1990s (Holmes, 2006, p. 13). The result is that some students are relatively well‐funded while many others are dependent upon loans, part‐time work, and parental support. FIRST NATIONS EDUCATION AND RENTIER ECONOMICS 979 THE PROBLEM Fiscal transfers amount to unearned income for, and not profit from, ownership of natural resources or industrial production. First Nations assert that their economic and social problems can be solved primarily through increases in federal expenditures. At the same time, they also demand less government oversight and argue for more authority over the way federal funds are allocated (Assembly of First Nations, 2004). The tendency to constantly rely on government funding is at odds with recent scholarship indicating that successful First Nations, whether as a result of gaming, resource extraction, or manufacturing can indeed make important contributions to local, regional, and national economies (Taylor & Kalt, 2005). With reference to American Indians, Anderson (1995) argued that economic productivity is significantly higher on reserves where a relatively large portion of the land is privately owned as compared to land held in trust or land that is tribally owned. Furthermore, tribal governments in the United States that are constitutionally constrained support more economic growth than tribal governments that can arbitrarily change the rules of the game and redistribute wealth. This story is not unlike that characteristic of First Nations reserve economics where individuals are forced to adapt to the incentives and constraints that exist. What are lacking on reserves are secure private property rights that create incentives to produce and expand wealth. Centralized political power in the hands of a few creates incentives for political leaders to pursue other peoplesʹ wealth (de Soto, 2000). The result is rent‐seeking. It would be misleading, however, to assume that First Nations possess the necessary institutional infrastructure and human resource capacity to completely act on their own behalf (Anderson, 1998). Most reserves are protected from seizure and therefore cannot be used for collateral. Surety bonding and the acquisition of capital investment are therefore constrained. As long as external agencies carry primary responsibility for economic growth, development decisions will inevitably reflect the goals of those agencies, not necessarily the goals of First Nations individuals (Chiste, 1999). Such factors create a 980 JOHN R. MINNIS development milieu similar to that found in the Gulf, but very different from that found on non‐reserve lands. On‐reserve economic development, as a result, tends to be reduced to an endless search for temporary jobs funded by First Nations, most of which are within the First Nations bureaucracy. This jobs‐and‐income approach is managed by political actors who are not above handing out contracts and jobs to family and kin (Allard, 2002). Thus, rent seeking solidifies the hierarchical relationship between the ʺhavesʺ and ʺhave‐
notsʺ as suggested in the work of Maxim, White, and Beavon (2003). The tendency is for political power to be held in perpetuity by elite groups supported by a steady flow of unearned income by way of fiscal transfers. The crux of the problem is that on reserves, political power is not only highly centralized but also fused with financial decision making. Few mechanisms within the reserve political system allow grassroots involvement or wholesale resistance to political decisions. Real power and authority under the Indian Act are vested in political offices, and whoever gets into office enjoys a wide range of discretionary powers not unlike that enjoyed by political leaders in the Gulf. The poverty and suffering on reserves, and the lack of economic development, are only partly caused by lack of opportunity or funding; such outcomes are the product of an antiquated system of political and economic decision making (Carstens, 2000). First Nations governments, much like their Gulf counterparts, have but one major responsibility, that is, to leverage as much money as possible out of the federal government to support on‐
reserve bureaucratic mechanisms designed to distribute the rents in politically appropriate ways. OLD THEORIES: NEW REALITIES Internal Colonialism Internal colonialism is a Marxist‐inspired theory that explains educational underachievement as an outcome of the deliberate subjugation of First Nations by the Canadian state. The colonization of First Nations, therefore, is an on‐going social and political process (Frideres & Gadacz, 2001). Advocates of this approach claim that the structure and content of Canadian schooling subjects First Nations to FIRST NATIONS EDUCATION AND RENTIER ECONOMICS 981 mainstream values and in the process, subordinates, and destabilizes efforts to establish Aboriginal institutions and knowledge systems (Bird, Lorraine, & McAdam, 2002). Further, colonization is assumed to have deepened rather than abated over the years and mainstream education, a major agent of colonization, is responsible not only for poor academic performance but also for creating an unequal socio‐economic relationship between First Nations and mainstream society, resulting in distrust and enmity. Attempts to reform mainstream schools and curriculum are thus nothing more than a covert strategy aimed at marginalizing First Nations values. Advocates claim that the only way to prevent further colonization is to reject Eurocentric knowledge and pedagogical practices completely. A central objective is the preservation of indigenous languages and cultures (Battiste, 2001; Calliou, 1999). The assumption that academic underachievement is caused by colonization is flawed from many perspectives. First, by defining reserves, of which there are over 2,000, as internal colonies, assumes that First Nations are politically powerless actors. Recent court decisions and employment equity practices have politically and economically empowered First Nations to an extent unimaginable ten to twenty years ago (Burtch, 2003). Second, demographic data indicate that First Nations are both a rural and an urban people with about 40 to 50 per cent now living off‐
reserve on either a permanent or semi‐permanent basis (Kerr, Guimond & Norris, 2003). Migration data show that both reserve and off‐reserve populations are increasing. Far from stationary, Canadaʹs First Nations people are highly mobile. In fact, 70 per cent of all Aboriginals (Indian, Métis, and Inuit) now live in towns or urban centres. And yet, only $7 million is spent annually servicing off‐reserve populations compared to $320 million for on‐reserve populations. This means that approximately 80 per cent of First Nations funding is going to 15 per cent of the total population. This not only signals an urgent need for the development of policy frameworks for urban Aboriginals, but also provides enormous potential for rent seeking (Belanger, 2005). Third, from a political perspective, First Nations reserves contain very few counterbalancing political structures. Major social and 982 JOHN R. MINNIS economic problems tend to be attacked through the singular field of politics, dominated by a small cabal of elected political leaders (Carstens, 2000). Those in political power also exercise control over band finances and dominate decision making pertaining to the distribution of fiscal transfers (Flanagan, 2000). To label First Nations as colonies is therefore misleading and ignores the autonomous decision‐making power (and rent‐seeking opportunities) that First Nations politicians possess. Neither can internal colonialism explain why off‐reserve students perform better than on‐reserve students in the trades and at the secondary and post‐secondary level (Schissel & Wotherspoon, 2003, p. 109). Also, many on‐reserve schools are now staffed with Aboriginal teachers and personnel who are brought up in the same culture as their students. Does this imply that First Nations teachers are colonizing First Nations students? Influenced by demographic shifts to urban centres, present trends, particularly at the post‐secondary level, indicate that First Nations are indeed moving toward, not away from, greater involvement in mainstream educational institutions (Hull, 2000). The shift in policy from federal to local control (ongoing since the early 1970s) has meant that the internal colonization process has fragmented and can no longer be claimed to be a significant factor in First Nations educational under‐
achievement. Cultural Discontinuity An equally dubious explanation for low Aboriginal academic achievement is the cultural discontinuity thesis. This perspective asserts that culturally based differences in the communications and learning styles of First Nations students’ home life, and the Anglo‐bureaucratic ethos of Western schools, leads to conflicts, alienation, and ultimately school dropout (Kanu, 2005). This approach understandably focuses on the process rather than the structure of education and concludes that making classrooms culturally appropriate will result not only in improved academic success, but will ultimately strengthen First Nations culture. To achieve this end, a concerted effort has been made to make schools and teachers culturally sensitive. Universities and colleges have made great efforts to help First FIRST NATIONS EDUCATION AND RENTIER ECONOMICS 983 Nations students adjust to city living and the culture of the university (Holmes, 2006). More First Nations administrators and teachers are employed in reserve schools. Professional and cultural counseling and support services are available at most post‐secondary institutions (Taylor, Crago & McAlpine, 2001). Community‐based teacher education degree programs have sprung up over the country in an attempt to reduce the cultural divide. Despite these widespread efforts, few empirical studies conclusively confirm that culturally appropriate pedagogical or structural reforms have substantially reduced the level of academic underachievement on or off reserve (Binda, 2001). Interestingly, studies by Ledlow (1992) and Brady (1996) suggest that social class variables, specifically the quality of home and family life, and the role of literacy in early socialization may have a greater positive effect on Aboriginal achievement than culturally appropriate interventions in the classroom. Moreover, Radwanski’s (1987) and MacKay and Myles’s (1989) research in Ontario indicate that First Nations culture in the typical Canadian classroom does not explain the high dropout rate. Unfortunately, Canadian scholars remain wedded to the cultural discontinuity thesis despite evidence suggesting that other theories may be equally plausible. The stress on difference recognition embedded in the cultural discontinuity thesis was understandably a natural pendulum reaction to the historical stress on assimilation so pervasive throughout most of First Nations post‐contact history. However, demographic and social forces, exemplified by the high inter‐marriage rates between First Nations and mainstream populations, are gradually undermining the notion of cultural difference. In their 1992 report, Clatworthy and Smith (1992) estimate an overall out‐marriage rate of 34 per cent for status persons and 62 per cent for off‐reserve status people. This pattern reflects a high level of cultural exchange and weakens assertions by cultural discontinuity theorists that ineffable cultural differences occur between First Nations and mainstream Canadian values. Cultural discontinuity also assumes that First Nations and mainstream cultures develop in relative isolation from one another, and that mainstream culture is essentially superior. Given these assumptions, educational success is assumed to be contingent on assimilating into the dominant culture. 984 JOHN R. MINNIS Research by Guimond (2003) suggests that persons of Aboriginal origin who report more than one ethnic origin outnumber those who report a single origin. This represents the cumulative effect of multiple generations of ethnic mobility. Interestingly, Guimond found that more than a third of persons of Aboriginal origin do not identify with any Aboriginal group. He refers to this as ethnic drift — the tendency for Aboriginals to switch identities. Individuals drift in and out of Aboriginal populations, bringing with them their own set of demographic and socio‐economic characteristics — mostly urban, lower fertility, and higher educational attainment. In addition, the shift from rural to urban areas, which is ongoing and dynamic, offers numerous opportunities for cultural exchange and the development of multiple identities. To quote Cairns (2000), ʺAboriginal societies, like all other societies, are penetrated societies. Their members live in many worlds at once, and relate to more than one communityʺ (p. 101). RENTS AND RENT SEEKING Definition The theory of rent dates to the classical eighteenth and nineteenth century economists Adam Smith and David Ricardo. Both defined rent as a distinct source of income. According to Smith (1974), ʺrent enters into the composition of the prices of commodities in a different way than wages and profit. High and low wages are the causes of high or low prices; high or low rent is the effect of itʺ (p. 249). Ricardo (1960) observed that rent was a reward for, and not profit from, ownership of natural resources. In making this distinction, Ricardo stated, “the laws which regulate the progress of profits and seldom operate in the same directionʺ (p. 270). To avoid misunderstanding, rent used in this context has nothing to do with rent, in the sense of rent for land or property. Rent strictly refers to financial income that is not matched by corresponding labour or investment. Rent‐seeking behavior aims at avoiding competitive or market pressures to bring about distortions in oneʹs own interest in the political sphere. More broadly, rent seeking is the process by which government officials prescribe and reinforce rules that give themselves discretionary FIRST NATIONS EDUCATION AND RENTIER ECONOMICS 985 control over the allocation of valued resources. Rent extraction occurs when government officials exercise this discretion for personal gain. Theoretically, rent seeking and corruption are often linked causally, although most economists believe that rent seeking, more often than not, is a cause of corruption, and not the other way around. Analysts who study the Gulf speak of rent‐seeking regimes where the defining characteristic of governance, the end to which all political activity seems to be channeled, is the creation and control of rent‐seeking opportunities (Gause III, 1994). In the Gulf, the national government is typically the principal recipient and dispenser of rents. Its responsibility is to manage the flow of rents and distribute them by means of outright grants, entitlements, contracts, licenses, or state employment. The political economy is, therefore, arranged as a hierarchy of rentiers with the state at the top of the pyramid, acting as the ultimate support of all other rentiers (Karl, 1997). SOCIAL, POLITICAL, AND ECONOMIC OUTCOMES IN THE GULF Despite enormous rents derived from oil and gas exports, rentier states have been unable to diversity economically and as a result, display a remarkably uniform developmental path (Gause III, 1994; Shafer, 1994). Analysts point to the following reasons. The steady flow of wealth prohibits the need for taxation on personal incomes. Oil revenues are owned by government. Thus the extraction of oil and gas is basically an isolated, capital‐intensive enterprise dominated by expatriate workers. The relationship between the citizen and the state is therefore fundamentally different from that found in non‐resource‐based societies. By exercising dominance over the economy, governments vest a wide variety of private interests in its stability, privileging its allies and punishing its opponents. In return for public acquiescence, governments are obliged to provide a wide array of services to citizens in the form of free education, health care, housing, and consumer subsidies. Peace and stability among these otherwise fragile states is maintained by the consistent use of various strategies, i.e., strong security services, political co‐optation, 986 JOHN R. MINNIS divide‐and‐rule measures, allowing token democratic participation, and providing free public services (Byman & Green, 1999). The dominance of external rents over time creates an extroverted economy. In his study of rentier states, Gunn (1993) found no nexus between production and income distribution because revenues accrue directly to the government from rents emanating from outside the country. This supports Beblawi and Luciani’s (1987) notion of a rentier mentality that implies a break in the work‐reward causation — where reward is not related to risk‐taking or the perceived need to work hard or compete. Other analysts have observed that rent seeking tends to produce an inverted pyramid of social classes (Noreng, 1997). In the Gulf, a large non‐productive, consumer‐driven, middle class dominates the social structure in the absence of a producer class. High levels of affluence create insatiable demands for foreign goods and products. Thus from a development perspective, the modern Gulf state demands those skills that can be attained only by accessing Western‐style training and education. PARALLELS WITH RESERVE ECONOMIES First Nations land and resource ownership is highly constrained by the effects of more than 200 years of British and Canadian colonial policy. Chief and Council (band) control the sale, lease, and use of reserve land even though it is deemed as collective property. As a result, individual band members possess little in the way of collateral that allows them the freedom to buy property on or off the reserve. Without collateral, it has proven difficult for band members to obtain sufficient start‐up capital to establish businesses (Flanagan & Alcantara, 2002). The lack of an integrated system of private property prohibits large‐scale economic development and further reinforces the fusion of political and economic decision making. As pointed out by the Royal Commission on Aboriginal Peoples (1996), the consequence is that a disproportionate amount of federal funding is directed toward welfare and remedial programs (social and family breakdown) relative to economic development. Through no fault of their own, First Nations as individuals have never enjoyed a workable system of property rights. This is not to FIRST NATIONS EDUCATION AND RENTIER ECONOMICS 987 suggest that reserve residents have no individual property rights whatsoever. In reality, the situation is much more complex. First Nations do indeed control much reserve land as collective property, but on some reserves individuals enjoy the benefits of customary rights and certificates of possession under the Indian Act (Flanagan & Alcantara, 2002). However, the numerous treaties, the many amendments to the Indian Act, and the necessity to rely on the courts rather than the political process to resolve land claims and other disputes have conspired to confine residents of reserves to a system of collective rights that constrains economic growth and diversification (Franks, 2000). In the Gulf, analysts note that rent seeking exacerbates political factionalism and systematizes patterns of patronage and cronyism. As a result, employment in the public sector is often created not to meet identified economic needs, but to provide jobs for friends and relatives (Devlin & Jewison, 1995). Mainly because reserves have not been the object of systematic economic study, it is not known to what extent patronage and cronyism are institutionalized. The political factionalism reported in the popular media over the years does indeed point to extensive inter‐family jealousies and political factionalism (for example, Cheney, 1998; Rabson, 2001; Redekop, 2001). Such cases must be judged on their own merits; however, it must also be acknowledged that political leaders on reserves, much like their Gulf counterparts, do possess broad discretionary control over spending. How might discretionary control over resources lead to rent seeking? Because the political elite on any reserve tends to control most aspects of reserve life, from the allocation of housing to who gets jobs and welfare, they are virtually unimpeded in using Band funds to reward those who provide political support. Similar conditions exist on many reserves where select occupations, such as elected office, are subject to salary grids that are insensitive to market conditions (Allard, 2002). Although not all First Nations leaders can be assumed to be predatory, what are the checks and balances to prevent them from being so? In addition, if leaders develop predatory as opposed to development aims, where are the collective actors within the reserve society to impose some domestic conditionality on how those in power exercise that power fairly and with a sense of accountability? The idea that the mere 988 JOHN R. MINNIS existence of rent‐seeking opportunities will be used for predatory purposes is consistent with the experience in the Gulf. Predation tends to occur as a consequence of the failure to adopt rules, clearly defined procedures, regulations, and appeal processes. If such conditions are in place, the probability of prolonged rent seeking is reduced (Ross, 2001) Increasing social stratification on reserves has led some analysts to comment on the increasing polarization between the haves and the have‐
nots. These groups are differentiated by educational attainment that creates a dual labour market where individuals are either limited in the band bureaucracy to low‐skill, low‐paying jobs, or high‐skill, high‐
paying positions (White, Maxim, & Beavon, 2003). In the absence of taxation and with traditional customs of sharing and redistribution no longer being practised on many reserves, there are few legal or normative mechanisms for redistributing wealth from the elite to the people (Allard, 2002). Commenting on the prospects for the success of First Nations businesses, Flanagan (2000) concludes, ʺas long as reserves are small, impoverished and supported by external funding they will be prey to factionalism, nepotism and wasteʺ (p. 107). Flanaganʹs view is supported by Cairnsʹ (2000) observation that more than 80 per cent of federal government transfers pay for costs associated exclusively with band administration. Perhaps the most important lesson for First Nations to be drawn from the Gulf experience is that rent seeking begets more rent seeking and does not enhance economic development. There is also a covariance of weak states with oil rents. That is, reliance on external rents tends to transform social and political structures so that formidable barriers to change are erected. Similar outcomes are evident within reserve economies. There is an over‐abundance of service sector employment, an absence of private sector enterprises or initiatives, low direct investment from outside firms, and reliance on the jobs‐and‐income approach. DISCUSSION Political leaders in both First Nations communities and the Gulf are failing to systematically address the notion that the causes of educational underachievement may in part emanate from the rentier nature of their FIRST NATIONS EDUCATION AND RENTIER ECONOMICS 989 dependence on external rents. In regard to First Nations, although it is true that political actors control educational policy and financing, they receive this money as part of a larger package from government, not through taxation of their members. The lack of taxation removes an important variable from the political equation: no legitimate basis exists for citizens to demand accountability from elected officials as there is in mainstream society. Moreover, without clear rules of accountability and transparent budgetary practices, First Nations citizens may not be as informed as they should be as to how their money is spent on education or any other social service. To prevent rent seeking from taking hold, reserve politics must be separated from the process of managing band money. Successful First Nations in the United States have achieved this by creating a development corporation with an independent board (Taylor & Kalt, 2005). Long‐term economic planning is left to the band while the Board’s responsibility is to conduct and manage business operations. Unless a clear separation of powers occurs, the risk of rent seeking rises sharply and ultimately, as experienced in the Gulf, stifles entrepreneurship and political participation. The lesson for First Nations is that the adjudication of disputes over resources should be separated from politics. If dispute mechanisms internal to a band are controlled politically, they are obviously subject to manipulation and this may enhance corruption and further discourage risk‐taking and joint economic ventures with outside agencies and firms. The lack of citizen involvement in First Nations politics creates a vacuum in terms of addressing educational problems and issues. An analogy can be drawn to mainstream society to illustrate this: if the Canadian high‐school dropout rate were as high as that of First Nations, it would result in an angry public reaction followed by hurried political efforts to find solutions. Clearly, Canada could not afford the resultant loss of taxes, diminished economic production, and increased costs in social assistance. How long would mainstream parents tolerate high attrition and dropout rates such that their children were denied the necessary skills and credentials to compete in a global economy? Paradoxically, the financial costs of First Nations underachievement will 990 JOHN R. MINNIS be borne by the Canadian taxpayer while the social and psychological costs will continue to be borne by First Nations themselves. Citizens of the Gulf region and the First Nations lay great stress on obtaining post‐secondary qualifications. In Canada, this may be due in part to the increase in entrepreneurial activity on reserves but is more likely linked to the availability of jobs in the social services that require professional certification, such as teaching and social work. The close correspondence between public sector jobs and higher education is a characteristic of rentier economies as noted by Altbach (1998). Once on the rentier path, First Nations will be constantly under pressure to create more jobs. Because well‐paid employment requires post‐high school training, keen competition occurs for Band sponsorship and educational funding. Given their control over funding and job creation, political leaders are free to offer financial support in return for political support. In the long term, no group or individual seeking funding for education can easily avoid rent seeking. Evidence from the Gulf suggests that once established rent seeking regimes tend to become autonomous and intensify. Despite quantitative improvements in educational participation, it is inevitable that the social returns to post‐secondary education will remain low for reserve residents as long as non‐completion rates are high. The result is that individuals, not First Nations, will benefit the most from educational funding. Because superior employment opportunities are found off‐reserve, urban centres (and urban reserves) will continue to pull post‐secondary graduates away from remote and under‐resourced reserves. Human capital is held by individuals, not collectivities, and resides in the community only as long as the individual stays there and capitalizes on the educational skills and knowledge he or she has acquired. This demands that the financial and other physical capital resources of the community to be both present and in motion for the community to develop economically. This is not the case for the majority of reserves. If educational under‐achievement is indeed a serious problem, many First Nations are not responding in a constructive manner. For instance, some have refused to participate in provincial testing that compares their educational achievement inter‐provincially and inter‐nationally. In FIRST NATIONS EDUCATION AND RENTIER ECONOMICS 991 Alberta, for example, First Nations were requested but refused to release information on test results, arguing that such disclosure would be harmful to their relations with government (cited in Cowley & Easton, 2004). At the national level, similar concern over the lack of First Nations accountability and transparency is reflected in the 2000 Auditor Generalʹs Report (INAC, 2000) which documented numerous reporting and accountability problems pertaining to the management of on‐reserve education. Sadly, the Auditor General concluded, ʺThe Department of Indian and Northern Affairs does not know how much money is spent by First Nations on educationʺ (p. 17). CONCLUSION With this article, I have attempted to reveal how the rentier nature of reserve economics affects political decision making which in turn may be linked to First Nations educational outcomes. The following questions are put forth to stimulate further investigation: ƒ
In reserve economies, where other dominant forms of wealth creation are absent, fiscal transfers provide the bulk of regular income. Because education is fully subsidized, to what extent are educational systems used by authorities as a means to distribute rents? For example, are funding opportunities and available jobs in education part and parcel of the reserve patronage system as they are in the Gulf region? ƒ
Both the Gulf countries and First Nations reserves have been transformed into consumer societies by virtue of their rentier status. If rent seeking is a condition for educational funding, how motivated will First Nations students be to achieve educational success? Will they be inclined to adopt an indifferent attitude toward education as is the case in the Gulf? ƒ
Dependence on unearned income allows those in power to dispense favors and rents to the people for the dual purpose of providing benefits and, in the process, buying off dissidents and managing the flow of rents. In the Gulf, such a rent‐seeking environment has created a situation in which citizens are constantly jockeying for the favor of the hand that feeds them. What are the personal experiences of First Nations students in this respect? 992 JOHN R. MINNIS ƒ
In rentier states, the nexus between work and academic achievement is made problematic in so far as education and training, indeed risk‐taking of any sort, is not strongly linked to future economic rewards particularly when those rewards are perceived to be external to the individual. In regard to First Nations students, is dropping out a rational response relative to the expected rewards and probable outcomes? Hopefully, within the context of renewed emphasis on First Nations economic development, the pitfalls associated with over‐dependence on external rents will be recognized and avoided. Perhaps a sensible place to start is for First Nations citizens to realize that development policies and outcomes have to represent their wishes and to ensure that their political masters are accountable to them. NOTES 1I use the term First Nation to denote an Indian tribal group that shares a common cultural heritage. Members of First Nations may reside on or off‐
reserve. There are over 2000 reserves in Canada and most are governed by a First Nation Band normally consisting of Chief and Council. The number of First Nations will presumably vary over time depending on population growth, migration patterns, success of land claims, and changes in federal government policy. First Nations people who are registered under the Indian Act fall under the legislative and administrative authority of the federal government. As a result, they are entitled to educational, social, and economic benefits. REFERENCES Allard, J. (2002). Big Bearʹs treaty: The road to freedom. Inroads, 11, 108‐169. Altbach, P. G. (1998). Comparative higher education: Knowledge, the university and development. Greenwich, CT: Ablex. Amuzegar, J. (1999). Managing the oil wealth: OPECʹs windfalls and pitfalls. London, UK: I. B. Taurus. Anderson, R. (1998). Economic development among the Aboriginal peoples of Canada: The hope for the future. Concord, ON: Captus Press. Anderson, T. L. (1995). Sovereign nations or reservations? An economic history of American Indians. New York: Basic Books. FIRST NATIONS EDUCATION AND RENTIER ECONOMICS 993 Assembly of First Nations. (2004). Federal Government funding to First Nations: The facts, the myths and the way forward. Ottawa: The Author. Battiste, M. (2001). Decolonizing the university: Indigenous contexts for academic freedom. In L. M. Findlay & P. M. Bidwell (Eds.), Pursuing academic freedom: ʺFree and fearlessʺ? (pp. 190‐203). Saskatoon, SK: Purich. Beblawi, H., & Luciani, G. (Eds.). (1987). The rentier state. London, UK: Croom Helm. Belanger, Y. D. (2005, May). The politics of accommodation in Winnipeg: The dynamics involved in developing a policy of Aboriginal inclusion. Paper presented at the Canadian Studies Centre, University of Edinburgh. Binda, K. P. (2001). Aboriginal education in comparative and global perspectives: What has research and practice done for Aboriginal education in Canada? Canadian and International Education, 30(1), 1‐16. Bird, J., Land, L., & MacAdam, M. (Eds.). (2002). Nation to nation: Aboriginal sovereignty and the future of Canada. Toronto: Irwin. Byman, D. L., & Green, J. D. (1999). The enigma of political stability in the Persian Gulf monarchies. Middle East Review of International Affairs, 3(19), 1‐20. Burtch, B. (2003). The sociology of law: Critical approaches to social control (2nd ed.). Scarborough, ON: Thompson‐Nelson. Brady, P. (1996). Native dropouts and non‐Native dropouts in Canada: Two solitudes or a solitude shared? {Electronic Version}. Journal of American Indian Education, 35(2), 1‐6. Cairns, A. C. (2000). Citizens plus: Aboriginal peoples and the Canadian state. Vancouver: University of British Columbia Press. Calliou, S. (1999). Sunrise: Activism and self‐determination in First Nations education. In J. H. Hylton (Ed.), Aboriginal self‐government in Canada (2nd ed., pp. 157‐186). Saskatoon, SK: Purich. Carstens, P. (2000). An essay on suicide and disease in Canadian Indian reserves: Bringing Durkheim back in. The Canadian Journal of Native Studies, 20(2), 309‐345. 994 JOHN R. MINNIS Cheney, P. (1998, October 28). How money has cursed Albertaʹs Samson Cree. Globe and Mail, p. A 4. Chiste, K. B. (Ed.). (1999). Aboriginal small business and entrepreneurship in Canada. Concord, ON: Captus Press. Clatworthy, S., & Smith, A. H. (1992). Population implications of the 1985 amendments to the Indian Act. Ottawa: Assembly of First Nations. Cowley, P., & Easton, S. (2004). Report card on Aboriginal education in British Columbia (2004 edition). Studies in Educational Policy. Vancouver: The Fraser Institute. Devlin, B., & Jewison, N. (1995). The development of public education and training in the state of Qatar. Working paper no. 8. The Centre for Labour Market Studies, Leicester University. de Soto, H. (2000). The mystery of capital: Why capitalism triumphs in the west and fails everywhere else. New York: Basic Books. El‐Ghonemy, M. R. (1998). Affluence and poverty in the Middle East. London, UK: Routledge. Flanagan, T. (2000). First Nations? Second thoughts. Montreal: McGill‐Queenʹs University Press. Flanagan, T., & Alacantara, C. (2002). Individual property rights on Canadian Indian reserves (Electronic Version). Public Policy Sources, 60. Vancouver: The Fraser Institute. Franks, C. E. S. (2000). Rights and self‐government for Canadaʹs aboriginal peoples. In C. Cook & J. D. Landau (Eds.), Aboriginal rights and self‐
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nges.pdf FIRST NATIONS EDUCATION AND RENTIER ECONOMICS 997 White, J. P., Maxim, P. S., & Beavon, D. (Eds.). (2003). Aboriginal conditions: Research as a foundation for public policy. Vancouver: University of British Columbia Press. Wotherspoon, T. (2006). Teachers’ work in Canadian Aboriginal communities. Comparative Education Review, 50(4), 672‐694. FIRST NATIONS EDUCATION: FINANCIAL ACCOUNTABILITY AND EDUCATIONAL ATTAINMENT Sheila Carr Stewart First Nations people have both a Constitutional and a Treaty right to education; however, the Crown’s jurisdictional obligations to provide educational services have not lead to similar educational opportunities and attainment achievement for First Nations students as compared to Canadian students in provincial schools. Canada’s Auditor General, in 2000, stated that Indian and Northern Affairs Canada could not demonstrate that it reached the objective to assist First Nations students on reserve in achieving their educational needs and aspirations. In 2004, the Auditor General noted a widening achievement gap.. Using statistical information from the Department of Indian Affairs and the Auditor General to consider educational financial accountability, the author argues that equitable financial resources are required to support First Nations students in band‐managed schools. Key words: educational administration, fiduciary responsibility, educational equity, school achievement Les Premières nations ont un droit constitutionnel et à la fois au plan constitutionnel et conféré par traité. Toutefois, les obligations de la Couronne en cette matière n’ont pas eu pour effet de susciter chez les élèves autochtones des possibilités éducatives et un rendement scolaire semblables à ceux des élèves canadiens dans les écoles provinciales. En 2002, la vérificatrice générale du Canada signalait que le ministère des Affaires indiennes et du Nord canadien ne pouvait démontrer qu’il avait atteint son objectif d’aider les élèves autochtones dans les réserves à combler leurs besoins et réaliser leurs aspirations en matière d’éducation. En 2004, la vérificatrice générale notait que l’écart en matière de réussite scolaire entre autochtones et allochtones allait en grandissant. Se servant de données statistiques provenant du ministère des Affaires indiennes et du Nord canadien et de la vérificatrice générale en vue d’analyser la responsabilité financière du gouvernement fédéral en éducation, l’auteure soutient qu’il faut des ressources financières équitables pour soutenir le travail des les Premières nations dans les écoles gérées par des bandes. Mots clés : administration scolaire, responsabilité fiduciaire, équité en matière d’éducation, rendement scolaire _________________ CANADIAN JOURNAL OF EDUCATION 29, 4 (2006): 998‐1018 FIRST NATIONS EDUCATION: FINANCIAL ACCOUNTABILITY 999 During the 1870s, representatives of the prairie First Nations and Her Majesty Queen Victoria met, discussed, clarified, and agreed to Treaties 1 to 7. The numbered treaties were contractual agreements between nations and stipulated the obligations and commitments of each party. Indian Affairs’ Annual Report to Parliament noted the numbered treaties focused on “important matters . . . related to reserves, schools, the amount of the money gratuities and annuities made or secured to the Indians” (Annual Report, 1877, p. xi). Cardinal (1969) argued: “To our people this was the beginning of a contractual relationship whereby the representatives of the queen would have lasting responsibilities to the Indian people in return for the valuable lands that were ceded to them” (p. 29). One of the Crown’s contractual obligations was the provision of formal education. Formal education “would not . . . deter” from First Nations’ traditional education (Cardinal & Hildebrandt, 2000, p. 31), but rather be additional to their “daily” life (Morris, 1880/1991, p. 193). For traditional education was A livelihood, that was taught . . . it revolved around survival of the people, and a lot of this livelihood was taught from the teaching of many generations, the teachings from Creation . . . .we had our own doctors, our own medicine people. There were a lot of teachings, lifelong teachings that were passed from generation to generation. (Cardinal & Hildebrandt, 2000, p. 11) In relation to the Treaty 6 discussions, Alexander Morris, the Crown’s treaty commissioner involved in the numbered treaty negotiations, commented, “I was agreeably surprised to find so great a willingness on the part of the Crees . . . to have their children instructed . . . the universal demand for teachers . . . [was] encouraging (Morris 1880/1991, p. 194). Furthermore, Morris wrote he was “glad indeed to find many [First Nations parents wanted] . . . to send their children to school” (p. 240). At the Treaty 6 meetings, Morris informed the Cree representatives “your children will be taught, and then they will be as well able to take care of themselves as the whites around them” (p. 213). Throughout the numbered treaty negotiations, formal education was highlighted as a preparation for “the future” and associated with opportunities, employment and prosperity for successive First Nations generations (pp. 268‐272). 1000 SHEILA CARR STEWART The written treaty documents all included a statement related to the provision of education; the wording varied in the specific treaty. Treaty 1 stated, “Her Majesty agrees to maintain a school on each reserve hereby made, whenever the Indians of the reserve should desire it” (Morris, 1880/1991, p. 315). Treaty 7, signed seven years later in 1877, stated: Her Majesty agrees to pay the salary of such teachers to instruct the children of the said Indians as to her Government of Canada may seem advisable, when said Indians are settled on their reserves and shall desire teachers. (p. 371) Ray (1996) has argued that the difference in the treaty education clauses signaled a “movement away from the policy of granting Native people a say in deciding when instruction should begin . . . and the government retained complete discretion in the matter” of education (p. 236). The Canadian government, on behalf of the Crown, has over the past century and a quarter controlled and set the parameters of formal education for First Nations students with little input from parents or First Nations’ communities. From the 1880s onwards, First Nations have demanded fulfillment of the Crown’s treaty commitments, often to little avail. The Canadian courts have, from time to time, rendered decisions in areas of dispute between the treaty partners and established the meaning given to the Crown’s treaty commitments. Furthermore, the courts have affirmed that each of the treaty partners negotiated in good faith and as evidenced in the 1996 Supreme Court of Canada decision in R. v. Badger: [I]t must be remembered that a treaty represents an exchange of solemn promises between the Crown and the various Indian nations. . . . [The Crown] always intends to fulfill its promises. (Cited in Elliott, 1992/1997, p. 45) This article, within the context of qualitative and quantitative methodology, focuses on the Crown’s treaty and constitutional obligation for the provision of educational services for First Nations students, specifically financial policies and practices, as one facet of a complex, multidimensional issue that affects the educational attainment level of First Nations students. Although the focus of the article is present‐day educational attainment levels, it is an historical issue that FIRST NATIONS EDUCATION: FINANCIAL ACCOUNTABILITY 1001 has been identified in numerous Special Parliamentary Joint Committees and a variety of reports. Research is focused on documentary materials available from (a) the federal Department of Indian and Northern Affairs Canada (INAC), (b) the office of Canada’s Auditor General, and (c) various statistical information. This material is used to compare the difference in educational attainment of First Nations’ and Canadian students in general. Financial resources, policies, and practices, it is argued, are systemic issues that hinder First Nations school effectiveness and account, in part, for the educational attainment gap evident between First Nations’ students and students attending other educational systems. Financial data relating to three specific First Nations schools are used with permission of the individual First Nations. The student and staff quotations used in this article are responses from surveys completed as a part of school effectiveness reviews conducted in First Nations schools in Saskatchewan. They are used with the permission of the specific educational entity or First Nation. A CONSTITUTIONAL RIGHT TO EDUCATION The 1867 British North America Act (subsequently repatriated as the Constitution Act, 1982) provided for the division of powers between Canada and the provinces. Constitutional jurisdiction for education was vested in the provinces: each province “may exclusively make Laws in relation to Education” (section 93) for all students within their provincial boundaries with the exception of First Nations children living on reserve. The Constitution vested responsibility for “Indians and lands reserved for Indians” (section 91(24)) in Canada and thus “exclusive legislative responsibility” in all matters relating to Indians was a federal responsibility (Borrows & Rotman, 1998, p. 500). The federal government used section 91(24) to enact the federal Indian Act, 1876 (p. 500), by which it defined the type and scope of programming and services provided for First Nations communities including educational services. The Constitution Act established two systems of education in Canada: one provincial the other federal. These two systems remained apart and isolated legally and organizationally and although educational programming was similar, educational policies and practices over the past century have fostered different levels of educational opportunities 1002 SHEILA CARR STEWART and educational attainment for students within the two systems. SYSTEMIC EDUCATIONAL INEQUALITIES Although Canada and the First Nations entered into an educational partnership through the treaties, quality educational services for First Nations students and equitable educational programming with that provided in provincial schools has not evolved. Unlike the provinces, Canada did not enact an education act, educational and professional regulations, any significant educational governance mechanisms, programming, or curriculum support initiatives. Rather, over the past century, Canada’s provision of educational services has been limited to sections 114‐122 of the Indian Act. The Act has been amended from time to time, though the last significant amendment was in 1951. Regardless of its constitutional and treaty responsibility to provide educational services, Canada was, historically, a passive bystander, as religious and missionary organizations undertook to establish and operate schools for First Nations people. Only after the schools were constructed did Canada contribute towards the cost. In 1881, Indian Affairs Annual Report noted, that “assistance [was] given by the Government of $100.00 for the purchase of glass, stone, &c., after the erection of a suitable school‐house” (p. xxx). By the mid‐1880s, $300 was allocated annually by Indian Affairs towards the cost of teachers’ salaries and school supplies if the school maintained an average attendance of 25 students. Religious organizations frequently supplemented the schools’ operation and also requested an increase in the level of funding, to little avail. The acting superintendent at Battleford, Saskatchewan, wrote to the Minister of Indian Affairs that “schools should be established on several reserves but the Government cannot expect to get capable teachers for $300 or less per annum” (Annual Report, 1880, p. 106), while Indian Affairs headquarters staff questioned whether the $300 granted to schools resulted in a “fair return for the expenditure” (Annual Report, 1884, p. 103). Miller (1989) suggested that the promise of education to First Nations developed in a chaotic approach with rudimentary efforts by Ill‐trained and worse paid missionaries who had far too many other duties to worry unduly about the abysmal attendance and poor academic showing of the students; a FIRST NATIONS EDUCATION: FINANCIAL ACCOUNTABILITY 1003 hodgepodge of schools . . . [to] which the government sometimes made small grants [towards teacher salaries]; and less frequently rarely contributed anything. (Miller, 1989, p. 175) Lack of funding and low educational attainment has been well documented in a variety of Parliamentary reports, Special Joint House of Commons and Senate Commissions, and other studies since Confederation. The authors of the 1921 Canada Census Study noted, “The Indians are only very slightly connected with the education efforts of the different provinces, the responsibility for their education lying with the Dominion and private denominational institutions” (Dominion Bureau of Statistics, 1926, p. 38). The Bureau’s study indicated that the inclusion of First Nations literacy statistics in the overall Canadian statistics was “most misleading” (p. 38) when Canada was compared to other countries, and stated: It is very clear the illiteracy of the Indians aught [sic] to be considered as a thing apart from the rest of the population . . . [for] taking the illiteracy of the population excluding Indians [would result in] a more accurate description of the true situation. (p. 38) A quarter of a century later, educational attainment levels had changed little. For example, the Member of Parliament from Yorkton stood in the House of Commons and offered a bleak description of Indian education: While there are 130,000 Indians in the country, our education and training of these people take care of only about 16,000. Of this number enrolled, only 883 reach grade 7, 324 reach grade 8, and seventy‐one reach grade 9. I notice in three of the provinces there are no grade 9 students. (Castledean, House of Commons Debates, 1946, p. 5489) In a study of the 1946‐1948 Special Joint Committee on the Indian Act and Educational Policy, McMurtry (1985) noted that many submissions presented before the Committee highlighted the lack of funding for on‐
reserve schools in comparison to the level of funding received by provincial schools. He wrote that Canada’s schooling for First Nations children was “notoriously under funded, [schools] poorly equipped and constructed, [and teachers were] paid less than their colleagues in neighboring public schools” (p. 61). 1004 SHEILA CARR STEWART In 1970, the Indian Chiefs of Alberta (1970), in Citizens Plus, a document presented to Prime Minister Trudeau, stated that their people, as an entity, had the least education of any group in Canada (p. 77). This dismal picture was re‐echoed three decades later by Canada’s Auditor General (2000) in the Report of the Auditor General, on Indian and Northern Affairs Canada’s (INAC) Elementary and Secondary Education Programs. The Auditor General stated: Indian and Northern Affairs Canada cannot demonstrate that it meets its stated objective to assist First Nations students living on reserve in achieving their educational needs and aspirations. (4‐5) The progress in closing the education gap for Indian students living on reserves has been unacceptably slow. At the current rate of progress, it will take over 20 years for them [First Nations students] to reach parity in academic achievement with other Canadians. (Auditor General of Canada, 2000, p. 4‐5) The comparative educational table identified by the Auditor General (2000, 4‐8) is listed by in Table 1. TABLE 1 Comparative Information on Education1 All other Indians Canadians Students eligible to attend elementary and secondary schools who are not enrolled. 20% N/A Dropout rate before completion of grade nine. 18% 3% Youth between 18 and 20 who left school. 40% 16% Youth between 18 and 20 who graduated. 30% 63% Population with at least high school education. 37% 65% Four years later, the March 17, 2004, National Post headline read “Education System Failing Native Pupils,” quoting secret Indian Affairs documents that, despite an expenditure of $1.7 billion, the education system “does not produce results” and “First Nations education must be FIRST NATIONS EDUCATION: FINANCIAL ACCOUNTABILITY 1005 re‐engineered to make further investment worthwhile, while closing the education gap between aboriginal students and the rest of Canada will require focused attention for at least a decade” (National Post, March 17, 2004, p. A4). In 2004, the Auditor General again reviewed Indian and Northern Affairs Canada’s Education Program and Post‐Secondary Student Support, noting: We remain concerned that a significant education gap exists between First Nations people living on reserves and the Canadian population as a whole and that the time estimated to close this gap has increased slightly, from about 27 to 28 years. (Auditor General of Canada, 2004, p. 1) Researchers can argue with statistics: 1. They do not account for the large numbers of First Nations students who as adults return to school a number of years later. 2. Education testing/standards are neither culturally nor linguistically appropriate for First Nations students and/or fail to provide a fair assessment of First Nations children’s abilities and achievements. 3. Cultural dissonance and socioeconomic factors are not taken into account. Nevertheless, such statistics are a major concern. Canada cannot continue to ignore the demands for quality education for First Nations students nor the multitude of reports and subsequent recommendations regarding the provision of educational services for First Nations children. It must be noted, that significant gains — increased numbers of First Nations students attending and graduating from high school and subsequently enrolling in tertiary educational institutions — have been made over the last 30 years, primarily resulting from the National Indian Brotherhood’s (1972) policy initiative on Indian Control of Indian Education, which was accepted in principle by the Department of Indian Affairs. However, many First Nations students do not receive equitable educational services demanded and provided for Canadian students in general who attend provincial schools. Differences in the level of educational services arise, in part, from the lack of educational focus within Indian Affairs, the inappropriateness of the Indian Act as a vehicle to deliver educational services, and the lack of financial and 1006 SHEILA CARR STEWART governance support for First Nations educational delivery of effective schools for First Nations students. EDUCATIONAL JURISDICTION The Indian Act, 1985, sections 114‐122, sets out the powers of the minister of Indian Affairs to enter into agreements on behalf of Her Majesty for education in accordance with this Act of Indian children, with (a) The government of a province; (b) The Commissioner of the Yukon; (c) The Commissioner of the Northwest Territories; (c.1) The Commissioner of Nunavut; (d) A public or separate school board; and (e) A religious or charitable organization. (Imai, 2004, p. 209) Section 114(2) authorizes the minister to “establish, operate and maintain schools for Indian children” (p. 209), and it is under this section of the Indian Act that First Nations manage schools on behalf of the minister. As a result of such agreements or arrangements, the percentage of First Nations students (living on‐reserve) attending various schools and/or jurisdictions in 2001‐2002 was 61 per cent First Nations, 36 per cent provincial, 1 per cent federal, and 2 per cent private/other (INAC, 2003a, p. 36). The Department of Indian and Northern Affairs (INAC) has primary, but not exclusive, federal responsibility for the delivery of a wide range of programs and services to First Nations people living on‐
reserves. First Nations communities, on behalf of the department, administer 85 per cent of the program funds allocated by Treasury Board for INAC’s services on reserve, including funding for education. Indian Affairs “acknowledges that this approach does not diminish its responsibility and accountability” for educational services (Auditor General of Canada, 2000, pp. 4‐5). Indian Affairs has developed generic funding agreement models for transfer of program funding, including education, to First Nations. There are three specific types of funding arrangements: Comprehensive Funding Arrangement (CFA), Alternative Funding Arrangement (AFA), and Financial Transfer Agreement (FTA). FIRST NATIONS EDUCATION: FINANCIAL ACCOUNTABILITY 1007 The wording in each of the agreements is similar and the duration of the agreement may vary from one to five years. The Financial Transfer Agreement (FTA) permits funds to be reallocated to address other priorities and in so doing permits a more flexible transfer of funds within the parameters of the agreement. The FTA “provides the First Nation with the greatest flexibility . . . in program design and delivery and the management of funds” and specifies that the First Nation be only required to maintain “minimum standards” (INAC, 2001, p. 11). Although flexibility is admirable, within the context of limited resources, moving funding from education to other areas of need limits the effectiveness of First Nations schools. An educational system that supported the provision of “minimum standards” would not, be acceptable to parents or the community within the provincial education system. Blue Quills Native Education Centre, which opened in 1971, was the first band‐administered school in Canada. In 2003, the Report of the Auditor General noted there were 614 First Nations in Canada (p. 5) and the Basic Department Data 2003 identified 496 First Nation‐managed schools across Canada in 2002‐2003 (INAC, 2004e, p. 41). The number of schools administered directly by a First Nation has increased by 33 per cent over the past seven years (p. 41) and 60 per cent of the total students funded directly or indirectly by INAC attended a band‐administered school, compared to 54 per cent in 1994/95 (INAC, 2004e, p. 34). The Aboriginal school population is the fastest‐growing segment of Canada’s school enrolment and band‐managed schools are the schools of choice for First Nations communities. The total number of First Nations students funded directly or indirectly by the Department of Indian Affairs in 2002/2003 was 119,859 (INAC, 2004e, p34). FINANCIAL ACCOUNTABILITY First Nations or their designates manage schools on behalf of the Crown; Indian Affairs “provides funding to band councils or other First Nation education authorities to support instructional services” (INAC, 2004a, p. 1). Of particular concern is the quality of educational services First Nations are able to provide for their students when the First Nation financial administration, for a variety of reasons, has been placed by 1008 SHEILA CARR STEWART INAC within the context of a financial recovery plan. The most severe mechanism in this process is Third Party Management — a third party is appointed by INAC “in the event of a default by the Council” (INAC, 2003a, p. 2) to manage the funding otherwise payable to the First Nation Council. Such intervention occurs under the following criteria: • the recipient community defaults on any of the obligations set out in the agreement; • the recipient’s auditor issues a denial of opinion or an adverse opinion; • the council has incurred a cumulative deficit equivalent to 8 per cent or more of the council’s total annual revenues; or • INAC has a reasonable belief, based on material evidence, that the health, safety, or welfare of the recipient’s community members is being compromised. (Auditor General of Canada, 2003, p. 8) Placing First Nations administration “into receivership . . . [is a process that] successive Auditor Generals have been pointing out [results in] . . . the reporting requirement of First Nations [being] more strenuous than the requirements imposed on any other form of local government” (Cuthand, 2004, p. 1). The current Auditor General, commenting on the use of Third Party management in one INAC region, stated the process: 1. Does not conform to competent hiring/selection practices (is not open and transparent). 2. Has often resulted in appointments of persons who had no intention of visiting the community whose financial practices they were supposed to rectify; and 3. Does not result in third party managers collaborating with chief‐and‐council and their administrative staff to establish an increasing administrative and financial capacity. 4. Lacks results‐based management and accountability framework. 5. Is not timely (intervention is not triggered early enough). 6. No comprehensive training program or capacity building is available to First Nations administrative units. Lacks dispute resolution mechanism. (Auditor General of Canada, 2003, pp. 4‐10) The cost to the First Nation for third party management fees (in the INAC regions reviewed by the Auditor General) varied from $195,00 to $312,000 per year — an amount taken from the First Nation’s overall FIRST NATIONS EDUCATION: FINANCIAL ACCOUNTABILITY 1009 budget. Added to the cost of paying for the external manager is the amount required to “pay back” the First Nation’s “deficit” (Cuthand, 2004, p. 1) Thus both the cost of the Third Party Management and the percentage of the budget covering previous years’ debt is taken in each subsequent years from a First Nation’s budget, including funds allocated to education. The 2003‐04 Estimates and Report on Plans and Priorities submitted by INAC to Treasury Board identified that 21 per cent of its overall budget ($1,127 million of $5,471 million) was designated for elementary/secondary education (2003c, p. 7) — the largest single program expenditure. Similarly, the education budget received by a First Nation is often the largest portion of its budget, so for those First Nations operating within an imposed financial recovery process, the largest claw back is from the education budget. It is this process that has dire results on the educational services provided for First Nations students. EDUCATION FUNDING The education budget for a band‐operated school is established in each INAC regional office through a variety of formulas/adjustment factors, which usually account for geographical location, grade levels taught (elementary and/or high school), and specific programming such as high‐cost special education. Funding is then calculated on a unit cost based on the number of students (units) enrolled in the school; this number is established through the Nominal Roll (an annual information database compiled each autumn that establishes an annual census of students whose education whether directly or indirectly is funded by INAC). INAC, therefore, controls the amount of funding any band‐
operated school receives by establishing the unit cost and determining the number of students eligible to be funded. This method is in contrast to funds INAC pays to provincial schools: the unit cost for the provincial tuition rate for First Nations students (who reside on reserve and attend provincial schools) is usually determined by dividing the number of students into the designated operating cost of the provincial school. Provincial schools complete the Nominal Roll and submit such to the appropriate INAC regional office.2 The Nominal Roll thus generates the student units and subsequently the educational budget for a particular school. For those First Nations 1010 SHEILA CARR STEWART schools situated on a reserve whose administration is under a financial recovery plan, a portion of the education budget is allocated or “clawed back” each year to the “debt recovery” process. The “removal” of funds from the education program can have a far‐reaching effect on children’s education. The reduction in educational funding due to “debt recovery” in three separate First Nations is illustrated in the Table 2: the specific financial and student enrolment is used with permission of the individual First Nations and their respective educational organizations. TABLE 2 Education Funding Clawbacks for Remedial Action Plans3 Nominal Roll/ Full‐Time‐ Equivalent Students Education Budget Funding Reduction/ Clawback per Student School A 750.0 $4.4 M $530.00 School B 360.0 $1.9M $660.00 School C 340.0 $1.9M $590.00 Although none of the above three schools incurred a deficit in their school operations, the First Nation’s overall financial status was considered in default and all programs administered by the First Nations were required to “contribute” to the overall financial recovery plan. Third‐party managers maintained that education is “just another program” and “what’s a couple of extra kids in each classroom?” (personal communication, 2004).4 The financial recovery procedures are viewed only through an economic lens — how much can be saved from any one program, and does not consider the adverse effects on the quality of education provided. The educational clauses in the Comprehensive Funding Arrangement are of themselves such generalities that reducing educational funding has little effect on fulfilling the Agreement requirements. INAC Educational Program Certification requires only that A statement signed by the principal of a band school certifying that, for the current FIRST NATIONS EDUCATION: FINANCIAL ACCOUNTABILITY 1011 school year, all classroom teachers and the principal possess teaching certificates that are current and valid in the province/territory and that the curriculum being used in the school in all grades meets basic provincial requirements. (INAC, n.d., p. 4) However, when the reduction of a schools funding is looked at through educational lens by students and teachers the effects become apparent. The following quotations are from School Effectiveness Reviews5 conducted in schools in which the First Nation’s administration was managed by a third‐party manager. Student and Staff Voice: We need way more books, paper, and stuff like that. There’s no erasers, no pencils. We need to improve the stuff in the science room. I would like to see the broken computers fixed. If I had money I’d buy some stuff for the school. We need newer books. Resources are needed. We need skill development programs for all grades. We require more library and resource materials. Lacking textbooks, videos, computers, etc. My teacher buys us books. The students share books, we don’t have enough readers for the whole class. There are no funds and no helpers for after school activities. These comments give a glimpse of the effects of financial recovery plan on First Nations schools. Reducing the educational budget results in fewer teachers being hired and/or beginning teachers at lower salary levels; lack of purchase of up‐to‐date curricula; limits to the educational programming provided within the school (although high‐cost special education funds are exempt from clawback, funds for regular and remedial programming are subject to reduction); and limits on school trips and extra‐curricula activities. The cumulative effect of reduced funding has long‐term affects on student attainment and is manifest in age/grade statistics. Thus, in one school there has been an 18 per cent increase in age/grade arrears in grades 1 and 2 when the age and grade for students is compared for two years before, and two years after third‐
party management was in effect. Teacher morale is also significantly affected by the consequences of 1012 SHEILA CARR STEWART educational funding clawback. Teacher layoffs, staff turnover, lack of teaching materials, old curricula resources, lack of school trips to supplement the curriculum, and the inability of teachers to attend professional development opportunities (usually offered by provincial school boards) take their toll on the staff. EDUCATIONAL ACCOUNTABILITY Accountability for financial management must be accompanied by accountability for educational programming by both First Nations and INAC. If INAC is committed to addressing the attainment gap identified by the Auditor General in both the 2000 and 2004 Report of the Auditor General, and in its own documents that state the high‐school graduation “gap between First Nations people and the rest of Canadians has not narrowed” (INAC, 2004d, p. 1), then INAC must be committed to “working with First Nations and other stakeholders [regardless of financial stability] to ensure the provision of quality education for First Nations learners” (INAC, 2004c, p. 1). The Basic Departmental Data 2003 identified a declining high school graduation rate over the past decade (2004e, p. 40) as indicated in Table 3. TABLE 3 Students Enrolled in Grade 12 or 13 Graduating 1995‐1996 to 2001‐20026 Year 1995‐96 1996‐97 1997‐98 1998‐99 1999‐00 2000‐01 2001‐02 Enrolment in Graduating Year Graduates Graduation Rate 5,909 5,618 5,948 6,038 6,463 7,062 6,706 2,001 1,785 1,975 1,939 2,072 2,168 1,983 33.9 31.8 33.2 32.1 32.1 30.7 29.6 FIRST NATIONS EDUCATION: FINANCIAL ACCOUNTABILITY 1013 EDUCATIONAL PARTNERSHIPS Educational innovation, accountability, and commitment of financial and human resources are required immediately if the growing educational attainment gap between First Nations and Canadian students in general is to be addressed. Across Canada, educational partnerships, innovative governance arrangements, and educational innovations are beginning to change the formal educational environment for First Nations students and subsequently to address and reflect the individual needs and aspirations of First Nations communities. In 1997, nine Mi’kmaq Chiefs and the Minister of Indian Affairs signed An Agreement with Respect to Mi’kmaq Education Nova Scotia, and subsequent provincial and federal legislation enabled the Mi’kmaq to opt out of the Indian Act and gain jurisdiction over primary, elementary, and secondary education programs and services. The agreement supports the delivery of culturally relevant curriculum, First Nations educational governance and administrative structures, and a fair, open and transparent educational regime with accountability mechanisms supported by appropriate INAC funding. Although the Mi’kmaq are the only First Nations to pursue such a comprehensive educational governance option, other First Nations across Canada are entering into agreements/partnerships that reflect their individual needs. In Saskatchewan, the Whitecap Dakota/Sioux First Nation and the Saskatoon Public School Division have entered into an agreement related to integrated professional development, student services, and curriculum development. In North Battleford, the public and separate school boards, the North Battleford Tribal Council, the Saskatchewan Department of Learning, and INAC have entered into a funding arrangement to establish Sakewew First Nations High School within the city for urban Aboriginal and on‐reserve students; the North Battleford Tribal Council administers the school while the staff are employed by the North Battleford Catholic School Board. In Edmonton, a similar high school, Amiskwacy Academy, has been established within the jurisdiction of the Edmonton Public School Board. These partnerships strengthen First Nations’ traditional educational practices and support academic achievement. They are significant steps; however, much more needs to be done, in the near future to address the level of 1014 SHEILA CARR STEWART First Nations education. CONCLUSION In 1972 the National Indian Brotherhood in its statement and aspirations for Indian Control of Indian Education stated: We want education to provide the setting in which our children can develop the fundamental attitudes and values which have an honored place in Indian tradition and culture . . . to give our children the knowledge to understand and be proud of themselves and the knowledge to understand the world around them . . . [and] to provide the training necessary for making a good living in modern society. (NIB, 1972, pp 1‐3) Three decades later, the fulfillment of these aspirations is still wanting. Educational attainment and equitable participation in Canadian society are significant issues, ones that have not gone unnoticed by the United Nations. The latter organization publishes an annual ranking of The Wellbeing of Nations, a survey that ranks 180 countries by measuring in terms of living conditions and the ecosystem (IUCN, 2001, p. 1). Whereas once Canada was ranked number 1 as the best place in the world to live, Canada has now “dropped to eighth place . . . one reason given for Canada’s fall are [is] the poor living conditions of Canada’s aboriginal peoples” (London Free Press, 2003, n.p.) — conditions that affect students educational attainment gap. Today, Canada is: “Committed to working with First Nations and other stakeholders to ensure the provision of quality education for First Nations learners that assists them to achieve their educational needs and goals” (INAC, 2004b, p. 1). It is a federal commitment that requires immediate, ongoing action and resources as well as public support if First Nations students are to receive quality educational opportunities that foster “pride in one’s self . . . and a means of enabling [First Nations communities] to participate fully in our own social, economic, political and educational advancement” (NIB, 1972, pp. 1‐3). First Nations, Canada, and the provinces must, despite Constitutional, cultural, and educational governance differences, work together to address the educational attainment gap between Canadian students in general and First Nations FIRST NATIONS EDUCATION: FINANCIAL ACCOUNTABILITY 1015 students and ensure all students are provided with quality educational opportunities regardless of educational jurisdiction and place of residence. The Aboriginal population is increasing as a portion of the total Canadian population. In Saskatchewan, it is estimated that, by 2016, Aboriginal students will represent 47 per cent of the province’s school‐
aged cohort (Tymchak & SIDRU, 2001). Canada cannot continue to ignore the educational attainment difference between Aboriginal and Canadian students in general. It is an individual and a national issue, which has applicability to other marginalized socioeconomic groups in Canada. NOTES 1 Auditor General, 2000, pp. 4‐8. In the Saskatchewan Region, INAC audits the Nominal Rolls submitted by band‐operated schools but not those submitted by provincial schools. 2
Enrolment and financial numbers have been rounded. 3
Basic Departmental Data 2003, p. 40. 4
Name withheld. 5
School Effectiveness Reviews are premised on commonly identified indicators of school and teaching effectiveness and provide stakeholders (staff, parents and students) an opportunity to become involved in thinking about their school and its future. Data is collected through surveys, interviews, focus groups and data analysis. 6
REFERENCES Annual Report. (1877‐1884). Ottawa: Maclean, Roger & Company. Auditor General of Canada. (2000). Chapter 4. Indian and Northern Affairs Canada, Elementary and Secondary Educatio (p. 4.3‐4.23). Report of the Auditor Genera. Ottawa: The Author. Auditor General of Canada (2003). Chapter 10 Other Audit Observations. In 2003 Report of the Auditor General of Canada. Retrieved August 11, 2004, from http://www.oag‐bvg.gc.ca/domino/reports.nsf/html/20031110ce.html Auditor General of Canada. (2004). Chapter 5. Indian and Northern Affairs Canada – Education Program and Post Secondary Student Support. In 1016 SHEILA CARR STEWART Report of the Auditor General. Retrieved November 24, 2004, from http://www.oag‐bvg.gc.ca/domino/reports.nsf/html/20041105ce.html Borrows, J. J., & Rotman, L. I. (1998). Aboriginal legal issues cases, materials and commentary. Toronto & Vancouver: Butterworths. Cardinal, H. (1969). The Unjust society: The tragedy of Canada’s Indians. Edmonton, AB: M.G. Hurtig Ltd.. Cardinal, H., & Hildebrandt, W. (2000). Treaty Elders of Saskatchewan. Calgary, AB: University of Calgary Press. Carr‐Stewart, S. (2001). A Treaty Right to Education. Canadian Journal of Education 26(2), 125‐143. Cuthand, D. (2004, February 28, 2004) “Auditor General knocks third‐party managers.” Saskatoon StarPhoenix. Saskatoon, SK., 1. Dominion Bureau of Statistics. (1926). Illiteracy and school attendance in Canada: A study of the census of 1921 with supplementary data. Ottawa: King’s Printer. Elliott, D. W. (1992/1997). Law and Aboriginal peoples in Canada. North York, ON: Capatus University Publications. Fiddler, M. (2004). Third party managers: Indian Agents in another form, or help where it’s needed? Retrieved August 11, 2004 from http://sask.cbc.ca/archives/third_party House of Commons Debates. (1946). Ottawa: King’s Printer. Imai, S. (2004). The 2004 annotated Indian Act and Aboriginal constitutional provisions. Toronto: Thomson Carswell. Indian and Northern Affairs Canada (2001). Overview of DIAND Program Data: Education. Retrieved June 25, 2004 from http://www.ainc‐
inac.gc.ca/pr/sts/ove_e.html Indian and Northern Affairs Canada. (2003a). Basic departmental data 2002. Ottawa: Minister of Indian Affairs and Northern Development. Indian and Northern Affairs Canada. (2003b). Financial Policies and Procedures Manual. Ottawa: Indian and Northern Affairs Canada. Indian and Northern Affairs Canada (2003c). 2003‐04 Estimates Report on Plans and Priorities. Retrieved October 23, 2005 from http://www.tbs‐
sct.gc.ca/est‐pre/20032004/INAC‐AINC/INAC‐AINCr34_e.asp. Indian and Northern Affairs Canada (2004a). Elementary/Secondary Education. FIRST NATIONS EDUCATION: FINANCIAL ACCOUNTABILITY 1017 Retrieved August 18, 2004 from http://www.ainc‐inac.gc.ca/ps/edu/ elem_e.html Indian and Northern Affairs Canada (2004b). Introduction. Retrieved June 25, 2004 http://www.ainc‐inac.gc.ca/ps/edu/rep03/intro_e.html Indian and Northern Affairs Canada. (2004c). Improvement in Educational Attainment. http://www.ainc‐inac.gc.ca/ps/edu/rep03/impr_e.html. Retrieved June 25, 2004. Indian and Northern Affairs Canada. (2004d). Definitions. http://www.ainc‐ inac.gc.ca/pr/pub/cana/def_e.html. Retrieved August 11, 2004. Indian and Northern Affairs Canada. Indian and Northern Affairs Canada. (2004e). Basic departmental data 2003. Ottawa, ON: The Author. Indian and Northern Affairs Canada. (n.d.). Comprehensive Funding Arrangement National Model for use with First Nations and Tribal Councils for 2004/2005. Retrieved June 25, 2004 from http://www.ainc‐
inac.gc.ca/pr/pub/compfn_e.html Indian Chiefs of Alberta. (1970). Citizens plus. Edmonton, AB: Indian Association of Alberta. “Canada falls to eighth in latest UN ranking.” London Free Press. July 5, 2003. Retrieved September 8, 2004 from http://www.canoe.com/NewsStand/ LondonFreePress/News/2003/07/05/127328.html McMurtry, J. (1985). The 1946‐48 Special Joint Committee on the Indian Act and educational policy. Unpublished master’s thesis, University of Alberta, Edmonton. Miller, J. R. (1989). Skyscrapers hide the heavens: A history of Indian‐White relations in Canada (Revised Edition). Toronto: University of Toronto Press. Morris, A. (1880/1991). The treaties of Canada with the Indians of Manitoba and the North‐West Territories including the negotiations on which they were based. Calgary, AB: Fifth House Ltd. National Indian Brotherhood. (1972). Indian control of Indian education. Ottawa: The Author. “Secret government documents education system failing Native pupils”. National Post. (2004, March 17), A4. Ray, A. J. (1996). I have lived here since the world began. Toronto: Lester Publishing 1018 SHEILA CARR STEWART & Key Porter Books. Treasury Board of Canada Secretariat. Indian and Northern Affairs Canada and Canadian Polar Commission (RPP 2003‐2004). Retrieved June 25, 2004 from http://www.tbs‐sct.gc.ca/est‐pre/20032004/INAC‐AINC/INAC‐
AINCr34_e.asp Tymchak, M., & Saskatchewan Instructional Development and Research Unit (SIDRU). (2001). SchoolPlus: A vision for children and youth. Regina, SK: Saskatchewan Instructional Development Research Unit. REPOSITIONING IDENTIFICATION: REFLECTIONS ON A VISIT TO HISTORICA’S HERITAGE FAIR Lisa Farley In this article, I offer a reading of the psychoanalytic concept of identification, with specific attention to its meaning in the context of children’s historical learning. In educational contexts, it is not identification but historical empathy that teachers and researchers typically regard as holding pedagogical status. Using examples from my visit to Historica’s 2004 Heritage Fair, I argue that identification is important for the way it marks the young subject’s ambivalent entry into a world of historical relations. A study of identification cannot advance historical consciousness, but it does highlight the senses of vulnerability and emotional conflict in trying to orient the self to a very old world and the losses this implies. Key words: historical empathy, children, elementary education, representation, Freud, Lévinas L’auteure propose ici une lecture du concept psychanalytique de l’identification en analysant plus particulièrement sa signification dans le contexte de l’apprentissage de l’histoire chez les enfants. Les enseignants et les chercheurs en éducation ont l’habitude d’accorder un statut pédagogique non pas à l’identification, mais plutôt à « l’empathie historique ». À l’aide d’exemples tirés d’une visite à la Fête du patrimoine 2004 de Historica, l’auteure soutient que l’identification est importante, car elle marque l’entrée ambivalente du jeune dans un monde de relations historiques. Une étude de l’identification ne peut faire progresser la conscience historique, mais elle met en lumière le sentiment de vulnérabilité et le conflit émotif qui surgissent lorsqu’on essaie de s’orienter dans un univers très ancien tout comme les pertes qu’implique cette démarche. Mots clés : empathie historique, enfants, enseignement primaire, représentation, Freud, Levinas _________________ CANADIAN JOURNAL OF EDUCATION 29, 4 (2006): 1019‐1038 1020 LISA FARLEY Recently I attended the National Heritage Fair, 2004, organized by a major historical institution in Canada, The Historica Foundation. The Fair was housed under the bright skylights of one of Montréal’s historic sites, Windsor Station, and contained hundreds of projects, organized by province and territory, displaying some aspect of Canada’s past. As I turned the corner into Newfoundland, one project in particular caught my eye. This project was called “St. John’s—City of Spirits.” The student researcher of this project told stories of ghosts that haunted old St. John’s. Rather than a series of events frozen in time, in this student’s representation, history was very much alive. At least two other projects studied ghosts as an entry point into history: one focused on a haunted Manitoba theatre known as “The Walker,” while the other focused on the ghosts of famous people in Ross Bay Cemetery, a graveyard in British Columbia. Other popular themes included family trees, heroes of war, and natural disasters as well as famous Canadian sports legends, inventors, and artists. One student displayed medals won by his great grandfather who fought in WWII. A student from Nunavut traced the ancestors on her father’s side. A student from British Columbia searched for her grandfather’s grave at Harling Point Cemetery. A grade‐five student from Winnipeg staged songs sung in the 1940s by youth protesting the inflation of chocolate bars from 5 to 7 cents. Still another student recreated the bloody scene of the Halifax explosion. I met a distant relative of Lucy Maude Montgomery from Prince Edward Island. For those of us in education, these examples are neither remarkable nor rare. Indeed, I expected that students would explore the most prominent aspects of Canadian heritage: ancient origins, decorated soldiers, natural disasters, death, royalty, and fame. In the months that followed my visit, I became increasingly curious about the meaning and significance of these representations for young learners. My curiosity arose in spite of a general agreement among educators that history education should be problem‐solving activity, not simply a matter of stargazing (Fertig, 2005). Still, I found myself wondering: How do we explain students’ identifications with the heroic and tragic narratives of history? What might identification have to do with the work of learning, even if it plays among history’s stars? REPOSITIONING IDENTIFICATION 1021 In psychoanalytic terms, identification is more than a daydream; it organizes ego boundaries through its relations with others. Identification, largely unconscious, does not want anything to do with reality. Thinking psychoanalytically on the conflict between the child’s unconscious and the “real world”, Julia Kristeva (2002) writes: The child’s unconscious forces us to confront another form of knowledge, an enigmatic knowledge that characterizes the fantasy and that remains resistant to ‘enlightenment,’ a knowledge that does not wish to be familiar with the real world through learning and adaptation to reality. Such knowledge staves off awareness. (p. 40, emphasis in original) Beginning with this difficult assumption, my interest is to explore how fantasies of identification may be the basis of historical learning, even as they resist pedagogical aims to enlighten. I ground my theoretical journey in my visit to Historica’s Heritage Fair in the summer of 2004. Using examples of student representations, I argue that the Heritage Fair is an important site of learning precisely because it holds off on education’s reality principle and the aim for “a rigorous conceptualization of history” (Britzman, 2000, p. 37). Like a good fairy tale, the Fair opens a space in which students experiment with a range of contradictory dynamics—from the wish for omnipotence to the fear of lost love—that constitute individuals’ emotional ties, or identifications, to the world. A study of identification cannot promise to heighten historical consciousness, but it can reveal the deepest senses of vulnerability and conflict that arise in trying to represent the world as historical, that is, before the time of the self. HISTORICA’S HERITAGE FAIRS The Historica Foundation of Canada, a charitable foundation, aims to “help Canadians come to know the fascinating stories that make our country unique” (Historica Foundation of Canada, 2005). Formerly a part of the CRB Heritage project, Historica was established as an independent foundation in 1999 to further its project of promoting public interest and awareness about Canada’s history. Part of this mission has been developed through educational initiatives, including the organization of local, regional, provincial, and national Heritage Fairs, which take place over the course of every year from February to July. Although these Fairs are not 1022 LISA FARLEY representative of how history is taught in classrooms across the country, they have become a popular nation‐wide educational initiative. Historica reports that approximately 200,000 Canadian students from 900 communities participate every year in Heritage Fairs across Canada. With the development of an on‐line showcase, Historica hopes to expand the already sizeable number of students who participate every year in these Fairs. One aim of the Heritage Fairs is to promote responsible citizenry through improving students’ knowledge of the diversity of Canada’s national history. It is presumed that in learning about Canada’s diverse history, democratic values such as respect, civility, and justice can be forged. To achieve these rather explicit democratic aims, Historica encourages students to make personal connections to the material. This is evidenced not only in the catchphrase from 2004: “Your Place in History,” but also in its description of what kind of learning is enabled through participation in the Fairs. As Historica puts it, “The Historica Fairs Program encourages students to explore Canadian heritage in a dynamic, hands‐on learning environment. Students use the medium of their choice to tell stories about Canadian heroes, legends, milestones, and achievements — and present the results of their research at a public exhibition” (Historica Foundation of Canada, 2005). In 2005, the Historica website featured an animated Sir John A. Macdonald who popped up to tell viewers, “History is good,” a theme that evolved a year later into a multi‐media website that features “intimate portraits” of Canada’s Prime Ministers (www.primeministers.ca). In this online archive, viewers can browse through a range of historical documents: audio commentaries, speech transcripts, instances of political satire, and personal photographs. Whether the focus is on history’s goodness or its intimacy, at the heart of the Historica is a rather explicit aim to excite the Canadian public, and students in particular, into developing meaningful connections to the nation’s past. And yet, despite its orientation to public education, Historica leaves under‐theorized the question of precisely what kind of learning it mobilizes. Despite Historica’s good intentions, history educator and theorist Peter Seixas (2002) suggests that heritage, REPOSITIONING IDENTIFICATION 1023 like myth, mobilizes strong feelings and ultimately precludes critical thought. He writes: Myths evoke strong feelings. They … reinforce collective identities, social values and moral orientations. But there is no way to challenge them. We don’t revise them on the basis of new evidence. The whole point of myths is to pass them on unchanged to the next generation. Heritage is similar. It involves myth‐like narratives in which people can believe deeply and faithfully. (p. 1) According to Seixas, heritage mobilizes historical attachments that are rooted in belief and feeling, as opposed to evidence and analysis. It neither questions the terms on which historical narratives are told nor how they should be judged from the perspective of the present. Of course, with the expansion of its website on Canada’s prime ministers, Historica has begun to represent at least some of the multiple and conflicting voices in political history and their relevance for present‐day issues and debates. And yet, I suspect that Seixas would remain wary of Historica’s Heritage Fairs, where mythic, heroic and tragic aspects of history dominate students’ representations year after year, almost without exception. In light of the critique of mythic history, two questions come to mind: What good are feelings if they do not advance historical consciousness? Is feeling the opposite of thinking? HISTORICAL EMPATHY AS AN INTELLECTUAL ACHIEVEMENT A well‐established discourse of educational research begins with these questions that ask what, if anything, is accomplished by having students to feel their way into others (Ashby & Lee, 1987; Barton & Levstik, 2004; Davis, 2001; Dickinson & Lee, 1978, 1984; Foster, 2001; Lee, 1984; Lee & Ashby, 2000, 2001; Seixas, 2000, 2002; Shemilt, 1984; Yeager & Foster, 2001). Within this divergent field, theorists have highlighted the pedagogical significance of empathy as a form of “historical understanding” (Lee & Ashby 2001, p. 25). As historical understanding, empathy has been distinguished from its less critical cousin, sympathy. Whereas sympathy refers to an emotional closeness or fellow feeling, empathy refers to a mode of understanding how people in past times and places may have felt and why they behaved the way they did, without presuming to share their purposes or confuse their feelings with one’s own. Historical empathy requires students to analyze evidence and 1024 LISA FARLEY entertain multiple perspectives in constructing explanations of past events; historical empathy does not depend on fellow feeling, or being “at one” with another. Yet, if the historical empathy literature makes a distinction between empathy and sympathy, sympathy is often used interchangeably with identification. And taken together, identification and sympathy are used to highlight the impulsive play of affect in representing history. As Peter Lee (1984) writes, “identification and . . . sympathy are signs of partiality, lack of detachment, or just plain bias” (p. 98). The problem with identification and sympathy, many theorists charge, is a failure to understand the difference between other people’s experiences and one’s own. To get at this collapse of difference and its risks, British history educator Denis Shemilt (1984) draws on R. G. Collingwood (1946) to describe a hypothetical notion of the historian as “psyche‐snatcher” (p. 41). This view of the historian is much like sympathy in so far as it refers to a collapse of the distinction between the self and other, and past events and present re‐constructions. The psyche‐snatching historian works on the assumption that one can inhabit, or snatch, the psychic realm of the other: perhaps the supreme example of “getting in the shoes of the Other.” Shemilt warns about the risk of assuming to take up such a position: “Should the historian make too many empathetic errors, history would be in danger of becoming, in Voltaire’s phrase, ‘a joke which the living play upon the dead’” (p. 41). At issue here is the risk of making too many mistaken assumptions about the motives and actions of others on the basis of ego projections. Psyche‐snatching is, then, both mistaken and deceptive because what one experiences is not the psychic state of the other, but rather the fears, worries, and pleasures of the self. Although psyche‐snatching points to the ethical risks of effacing the other’s difference, a handful of theorists come at the question from the other side. They argue that students can too readily take on the experiences of others at the expense of the self (Baum, 2000; La Capra, 2004). This observation is particularly important in encountering historical trauma because there is a risk of taking on others’ experiences to the point of repeating difficult emotions of aggression and victimization. Dominick LaCapra (2004) points to the risk of “becoming a REPOSITIONING IDENTIFICATION 1025 surrogate victim” (p. 77). From the other side, so to speak, A. Gard and P. Lee (1978) question whether it is desirable to identify with the aggressor: “Do we really want children to identify with Hitler . . . or become emotionally involved with him?” (p. 32, emphasis in original). At issue here are the risks of identifying so closely with the other that one loses a sense of the self and one’s critical faculties. Within this critical literature, there is, it seems to me, an implicit (or not so implicit) question of development for education: How can teachers help students graduate from sympathy to its more critical cousin of empathy? As a response, several studies have mapped out the increasingly complex ways in which historical empathy develops in children at various ages and grades (Ashby & Lee, 1987; Dickinson & Lee, 1984; Lee & Ashby, 2000; Shemilt, 1984). In mapping this field, developmental frameworks have provided educators with a heuristic tool through which to notice—and ultimately to encourage—students to move to higher levels of historical empathy. For instance, Rosalyn Ashby and Peter Lee (1987) have proposed a five‐tiered framework to outline characteristic qualities of students’ empathetic development. At the most complex stage, students have an understanding of the contingency of meaning and the ongoing need to construct, re‐construct, and critique historical knowledge. Although critical of categorizing children into developmental stages, Ashby and Lee assume that higher levels replace lower levels of thinking. In particular, students move from “the use of personal projection . . . based on stereotypical roles or conventional classification of situations” (p. 72) to contextual historical empathy. At this higher level, students demonstrate the capacity to construct plausible explanations for behaviour and events of the past, in the awareness that present interpretations are structured by the constructed (and often incomplete) nature of historical evidence. This developmental model provides a way of speculating on the level of empathy implied in the projects at the Heritage Fair. Levels II and III, what Ashby and Lee (1987) call, “generalized stereotypes” and “everyday empathy,” are perhaps most applicable (pp. 72‐74). In the former, children tend to engage the world in terms of binaries (i.e., good/bad). In the second, children tend to relate to others on the basis of their own projections of what a particular event might have felt like. To 1026 LISA FARLEY the extent that the majority of the projects at the Heritage Fair represented history in binary terms (disasters and victories, war stories and rescue stories, heroes and villains), they can be understood to operate at the level of “generalized stereotypes” (Ashby & Lee 1987, p. 72). Moreover, several student projects employed strategies such as role‐
play and the re‐enactment of past events, suggesting a level of “everyday empathy” (Ashby & Lee, 1987, p. 74). Some students wrote diary entries from the perspective of soldiers overseas. Others played the part of their chosen historical figure in mock interviews. Many dressed up in costumes relevant to the era of their chosen past. Of course, not all these projects indicated the same level of historical empathy. Indeed, the aforementioned discourse of historical empathy reminds educators that not all forms of relationality demonstrate a complex mode of engagement. That is, not all forms of relationality represent a student’s understanding of historical perspective, nor do all forms confront the learner with the social and political conditions that produced particular events. And so although it seemed quite clear that something had engaged the attention of the students at the Heritage Fair, there is still the question of what kind of engagement—what level of historical empathy—was achieved in this context. Representing Generalized Stereotypes and Everyday Empathy To illustrate the application of Ashby and Lee’s typology, I have considered one student project in particular. The project represented the experience of the student researcher’s great grandfather, a fighter pilot in WWII: “World War II—A ‘Great’ Grandfather’s Experience.” The display itself was decorated with rows of medals and pictures of the great grandfather, both as a young solider and as an older man. In the recent pictures, he posed dressed in his wartime garb. The student explained to me that his great grandfather had attended an earlier Heritage Fair, but he could not make the trip to Montréal. When I asked him how he came to make the project, he answered, “Well, I know I would have been so afraid to go to war.” To this he added, “He must have been afraid too. My great grandfather was brave to get Hitler out of Europe.” Our exchange ended at this point because the student researcher quite REPOSITIONING IDENTIFICATION 1027 suddenly turned around, sat down, and looked back toward his display. This abrupt end was just the beginning of my thinking about the meaning of identification and the significance of children’s efforts to symbolize their relationship to (past) others. The aforementioned framework of historical empathy can help educators decipher the kind of attachment implied in this student’s project. To the extent that medals and photographs showed a highly decorated soldier, both young and old, the project can be read as representing a heroic portrait of war experience. The student’s awe‐
struck comment about his great grandfather’s bravery added to this heroic image. The soldier’s heroism was pitted against a child’s fear. In these ways, this student provided a relatively uncomplicated view of historical experience. Educators may locate his display in Ashby and Lee’s (1987) level of “generalized stereotypes.” His initial comment about being afraid to go to war also indicates a level of “everyday empathy.” The student imagined, based on his own expectations and fears, what the other’s experience might have been like. To the extent that the majority of the students’ projects represented the heroic aspects of Canada’s heritage, they may be read on terms similar to the aforementioned project. Focusing on heroes or victims, victories or disasters, progressive or primitive ways of life, most projects offered a relatively uncomplicated view of historical experience. In this way, the Heritage Fair may be viewed as an uncritical pedagogical site that fails to promote a level of historical consciousness beyond merely stereotypes and fantasies. I might add that representing the mythic (or heroic) qualities of the “great” grandfathers of a nation does not invoke a rigorous understanding of the conditions that produce war, nor what it would mean to judge our beloved forefathers’ implication in the horrors of war itself. There is perhaps an imaginary safety in the easy answers that stereotypes provide. Despite this critical reading, I maintain that the Heritage Fair is an important site of learning, precisely because it does not require complex historical understanding. In this regard, I agree with Kieran Egan (1989) who suggests that the “mythic” and “romantic layers” of historical engagement are constituents of understanding even as they can function as obstacles to it (p. 282). The expression of these attachments is 1028 LISA FARLEY important, I think, because it allows children to work out in fantasy the internal conflicts that historical knowledge brings to bear. For instance, identification allows them to imagine being a hero of war and being too afraid to go, simultaneously. Taking off from Ashby and Lee’s (1987) typology of historical empathy, I wish to offer additional terms for understanding why students identify with the fantastic and heroic aspects of the past and, moreover, how identification enables learners to tolerate the force of knowledge that both precedes and exceeds the time of the self. Indeed, children learn to question the world not only from the adult who demands rigorous understanding, but also from fantasies that resist conscious thought. THINKING IDENTIFICATION THROUGH FREUD Freud (1921) defined identification as “the earliest expression of an emotional tie with another person” (p. 134). Through this emotional tie, the ego fashions a sense of self. As Freud (1921/1991) puts it: “Identification endeavours to mould a person’s own ego after the fashion of the one that has been taken for a model” (p. 135). Important for my analysis of the Heritage Fair are the two competing forces implied in identification: both the hostile wish for someone’s removal and a sense of susceptibility to the other, which is felt as a fear of lost love. In terms of the first aspect, Freud (1921/1991) explains: “[Identification] behaves like a derivative of the first, oral phase of the organization of the libido, in which the object we long for and prize is assimilated by eating and is in that way annihilated as such” (pp. 134‐135, emphasis in original). This first aspect can be understood in terms of incorporation, a fantasy of swallowing the other whom one would like to become. Through identification, the ego fulfills omnipotent fantasies by incorporating all the qualities of others it desires for itself (be it a lost and/or loved object). Like the relation between the fan and the superstar or role model, the ego takes on qualities of others that it wishes to have for the self. In the context of the Heritage Fair, the incorporative aspect of identification suggests that students’ interests in their chosen historical figure have less to do with history itself and more to do with the fulfillment of their own wishes. In this regard, another student’s project “St. John’s—The City of Spirits” provides further insight. The project REPOSITIONING IDENTIFICATION 1029 itself was decorated with cobwebs, gravestones, and skulls and photographs of haunted houses lined the panels of the Bristol board display. At the centre of the project was a miniature‐sized haunted house with tiny people living among ghosts. The historian, a grade‐six student, was herself dressed up as a ghost; she wore a white robe, white face, and painted red lips. As one of several adults and children who listened as she relayed spooky tales of the spirits of St. John’s, I was struck at first by the sense of wonder and awe that animated this young student’s narration. This sense of awe suggested to me that something deeply significant had engaged—or haunted—this student’s representation of St. John’s. Read through the lens of identification, educators can say that this student’s project fulfilled any or all of the following fantasies: to consume the past, to be watched over, to be watchful of others, to be invisible, to be seen, to escape death, and to participate eternally in the present. Educators can find similar wishes underneath the heroic narratives that dominated the Fair, even those that dealt with the more difficult side of human existence. For instance, one student represented her great grandfather’s experience as a prisoner of war under the Imperial Japanese army during WWII. After detailing the horrific conditions of prison life, she emphasized his mental strength and sense of hope that preserved his sense of humanity in the face of such atrocity. What these projects shared in common were identifications that fulfilled the wish to overcome great obstacles. That is, the students’ projects not only represented the goodness of history, but also indicated a wish on the part of students for the good to do away with the evil. Freud’s theory of identification deepens educators’ understanding of why students may so readily narrate the heroic aspects of historical experience. Through identification, the ego projects outward all that is bad (i.e. feelings of helplessness and fear) and takes in their place good or heroic images of the past. In his work on fairy tales, Bruno Bettelheim (1976/1989) explains why identifying with the fantastic qualities of others is an essential part of growing up. As he argues, such identifications do indeed involve internalizing to stereotypical extremes, but it is through these extremes that children can begin to formulate and imagine solutions for complex existential questions: “Who am I? Where did I 1030 LISA FARLEY come from? How did the world come into being? Who created man and all the animals? What is the purpose of life?” (p. 47). Educators can add complex questions of history and memory: What was life like before me? What will life be like after me? What were children like a thousand years ago? What will happen a thousand years from now? Is yesterday history? How did history happen? In Bettelheim’s view, the fantasies of identification are not obstacles to thinking, but the very means through which the ego learns to ask questions about the nature of time and of history.1 The questions raised in/through identification are a mediating space between an internal psychic reality of fantasy and the existence of the outside world. D. W. Winnicott’s (1971) theory of “transitional objects and transitional phenomena” elaborates the significance of this mediating space between internal and external reality (p. 1). Winnicott developed the concept of the transitional object from his observations of the relation between mother and child; he noticed that the transitional object enabled the child to tolerate the gradual separation from the mother while retaining a sense of closeness. Transitional phenomena, for Winnicott, are neither wholly internal nor external. They are “possessions” that carry internal fantasies (Winnicott, 1971, p. 9). The child uses a transitional object, usually a blanket or stuffed toy to retain an illusion of omnipotence in coming to accept the world (i.e. the mother) as existing outside of her or his control. In other words, the fur guardian accompanies a child on the journey of disillusionment; it creates the possibility for a child to tolerate and even take pleasure in the separate reality of the mother, someone with her own experiences and desires that do not always involve and may even oppose the child’s. The projects at the Heritage Fair served a similar purpose for students of history, except here, a relation to the past (or elder) replaced the relation to the mother. From this vantage, the students’ identifications with past heroes and/or ghostly figures can be viewed as a gradual acceptance of the world as an existence outside and before the time of the self. The Bristol board displays mediated both internal and external reality: at once the discovery of the world as already invented by others and the child’s representation of that world in an inventive way. Here, I am reminded of the students who studied inventions, such REPOSITIONING IDENTIFICATION 1031 as the snow mobile, as well as novelists or painters. Among the most popular were Canadian classics, such as Lucy Maud Montgomery and the Group of Seven. Like a child who takes a transitional object, these Winnicottian “possessions” allowed children to make something creative, and even pleasurable, from the difficult experience of trying to make a history for the self and having to encounter others who have “made it” already. THE SHADOW SIDE OF IDENTIFICATION Critiques of identification tend to swirl around the image of the ego consuming, or snatching of the other’s psychic difference (see Shemilt, 1984). Identification is also made from an underside, that is, from feelings of extreme dependence and vulnerability. This underbelly suggests that identification is not only a narcissistic bolstering of the ego, but also a sign of susceptibility to the other who challenges, or better, interferes with the ego’s sense‐making capacities. I begin this section with the following questions: What does this underside mean for understanding students’ representations at the Heritage Fair? How are students’ identifications articulating their susceptibility to actual others? And what does a discussion of susceptibility offer to conceptions of identification as both uncritical and unethical? Freud (1921/1991) gives a concrete example that illustrates how susceptibility is performed through identification. “A child who was unhappy over the loss of a kitten declared straight out that now he himself was the kitten, and accordingly crawled about on all fours, would not eat at table, etc” (p. 138). In citing this example, I would like to suggest that identification represents not only a means of engaging the world through wishful thinking (here, a wish for the kitten’s return or the ego’s wish to be sought out by others). Paradoxically, identification is, here, an unconscious acknowledgement of someone missing. Freud (1921/1991) cast this melancholic kind of identification in terms of a shadow: “The shadow of the object has fallen upon the ego…. The introjection of the object is here unmistakably clear” (p. 139). To introject the lost other is not just to consume something for the self; it is also to be affected by that Other’s absence. 1032 LISA FARLEY Writing over fifty years later, Emmanuel Lévinas (1978), a self‐
declared non‐Freudian, posits identification in terms that are strikingly similar to his adversary. He writes: “It is, as it were, a dual solitude: this other than me accompanies the ego like a shadow” (p. 88, emphasis added). This internalized shadow is a sign of the ego’s susceptibility, that is, a sign of being haunted by something other than itself. To return to Freud’s example of the kitten, identification can be understood as a response to the loss of that other, or perhaps to the otherness that is loss. Identification with the lost object implies that the ego has been affected by loss to the point of taking on qualities of the lost object (A. Freud 1967/1998). 2 There is, then, a dual logic of identification: the first is a defensive maneuver that involves taking in only those aspects of the other that gratify the ego, while discarding all that obstructs it. The second is a drive for a relation with the other who resides beyond the ego’s omnipotent grasp. Through identification, then, the ego both defends against the other and performs its vulnerability to the other who accompanies one “like a shadow.” The notion of subjectivity as affected, or accompanied by the shadow of another, is repeated throughout the body of Lévinas’s later work. In Otherwise Than Being, he uses a number of phrases to get at the susceptibility of subjectivity: “obsessed with responsibilities,” “accused in its innocence,” “a hostage,” “a traumatic effect of persecution,” “answering for everything and everyone,” “emptying itself of its being,” and “subjection to everything” (Lévinas, 1998, pp. 111‐117). These claims can be difficult to read when they are taken as moral imperatives, or directives, which is not how Lévinas intended them. On quite different terms, Lévinas is describing a particular quality of being that is always already ethically oriented for the other. Lévinas is helpful, then, for understanding why the little boy in Freud’s example would feel so susceptible for the lost kitten he may or may not have been responsible for losing. To suggest that responsibility is rooted in a radical susceptibility to the other challenges assumptions of the public character of responsibility. In his work, Lévinas bases responsibility primarily on the intimate quality of human relations: responsibility is prior to the knowledge one acquires about the other, and prior to the public REPOSITIONING IDENTIFICATION 1033 deliberation of meanings of historical representations. Significantly, Lévinas provides a lens through which to understand the self as a responsible subject, “accused in its innocence,” prior to the development of critical faculties, such as judgment and analysis (p. 112). For Lévinas, responsibility emerges from a pre‐linguistic, or we might say, pre‐critical experience of being. Levinas’s sense of responsibility is, then, something one feels before the decision to perform a duty and before the effort to strike just enough emotional distance in empathizing with others. It begins, but does not end with the surprising discovery of the self as always already constituted in relation to others. As Lévinas (1998) puts it, “I am ‘in myself’ through the others” (p. 112). It is on these terms that I think we can read identification not only as a narcissistic consumption of the past, but also as a sign of the vulnerability that constitutes being as responsible for others in times and places before the self. From a Lévinasian perspective, it is significant that the majority of the Heritage Fair projects could be traced back to an actual other, often a grandparent. Even projects that represented objects—such as the airplane, the iron lung, or snowmobile—were almost always attached to a grandparent or great grandparent who had benefited from a particular invention or who had owned an early model. Many students interviewed grandparents and proudly displayed pictures. I met a handful of grandparents who attended the Fair. It suddenly stuck me that the boy who spoke of his great grandfather and then turned away may have been missing his great grandfather’s presence at the National Fair. In this regard, students seemed to be responding not merely to abstract historical knowledge, but to actual others in the world. The palpable affect implied in the representations at the Heritage Fair was, I think, an expression of the intimate quality of the Lévinasian self/other relation. At the Heritage Fair, historical knowledge was animated not just by unconscious fantasies, but also by a kind of vulnerability to the demands of actual others, indeed elders, who could instruct, pass on their stories, and who would eventually pass away. REPOSITIONING IDENTIFICATION IN HISTORY EDUCATION My intention in this article has been to explore the dynamics of identification implied in students’ representations at the Heritage Fair. 1034 LISA FARLEY These dynamics represent both an incorporation of and a susceptibility to otherness. In exploring these dynamics, I have tried not to evaluate identification, or student responses against a pre‐given framework of historical empathy, although I recognize the importance of such frameworks for examining what kind of learning pedagogical initiatives such as the Heritage Fair mobilize. Indeed, developmental frameworks have themselves opened up a discussion of the unconscious aspects of identification in learning. And yet, such frameworks presume that unconscious modes of engagement, such as identification, must be harnessed by more sophisticated modes of understanding. Identification is not, to my mind, a stage that learners must out‐grow; it is, rather, an essential position that enables one to tolerate the difficulty of growing up into a very old world and the losses this implies. The difference between a level and a position is important here. Whereas the former invokes the image of a ladder with rungs that one must pass through in a normative and linear way, the latter suggests a teeter‐totter of positions that require each other in making knowledge meaningful. If developmental theory suggests that unconscious processes, such as identification, become less and less prevalent as conscious understanding improves, then psychoanalysis asks teachers to recognize “another form of knowledge” in unconscious processes that resist enlightenment (Kristeva, 2002, p. 40). Egan (1989) expresses a similar need to move away from developmental levels or foundations in theorizing learning. The metaphor of foundations is not right: These layers [the mythic and the romantic] are not left behind or beneath future developments in understanding, they are rather constituents of them…. Apart from being pedagogical good sense, it is a matter of courtesy to address things to students in the terms that they can best make sense of. (pp. 291‐292) I think the Heritage Fair makes “good sense” if we accept the idea that “mythic” and the “romantic” are essential positions of learning, even if they are not yet critical modes of understanding. Although teachers and researchers seem to agree that these positions do not yet constitute an ethical or critical engagement with history, what is a little less certain, though no less important, is the emotional significance of historical REPOSITIONING IDENTIFICATION 1035 knowledge, tinged with desires to replace elders and fears of losing them. What is needed in education are sites, like the Heritage Fair, where students can give expression to fantasies at play in trying to know historical realities, without too quickly turning to conventions that insist upon “premature explanations” or “wishes to enlighten” (Britzman, 2003, p. 138). Of course, history education needs very much to be about the critical examination of historical evidence. And I do agree that mythic and heroic narratives of history are problematic when they are accepted without question. Yet, I suggest that the reverse is also true: in asking students to give up the mythic and heroic too soon, we risk refusing a child’s questions. When it comes to students of history, especially young students, identification is an essential position of historical engagement, not a peripheral or lower level of understanding. In identifying with their chosen historical figure, the students at the Heritage Fair actually opened a space, not for rigorous understanding, but for reckoning with the force of a time before their own. NOTES 1
Egan (1979) made precisely this point in his text, Educational Psychology, just three years after Bettelheim’s. Egan argues that children must “begin at the outside limits and work in,” engaging “the exotic and bizarre” before grappling with ambiguities and ambivalences in between (pp. 30‐31). In a later discussion on the specific ways in which children develop historical understanding, Egan (1989) explains why history’s heroes are so attractive to young students. “Students associate with qualities such as courage, ingenuity, patience, power, etc. These are human qualities required to overcome the threats of the everyday world that bear down on students” (p. 285). Like Bettelheim, Egan argues that heroic identifications help children cope with feelings of helplessness and dependency that make growing up both tumultuous and ordinary. 2
Anna Freud (1967/1998) elaborated her father’s discussion of identification as a response to a lost object. In her analytic work, Ms. Freud (1967/1998) noted that people in the later stages of mourning had “typical dreams” wherein the dead person appeared in disguised form and tried to make her/himself noticeable to the survivor (p. 103). She describes this dream encounter as follows: “He [the lost other] searches for him [the survivor], or pleads with him, or beseeches him to come and stay; he expresses longing, or complains about being alone and deserted” (p. 103). Ms Freud argues that the typical dream stems from, “identification with the lost object,” that is hooked into a number of conflicting feelings. The mourner’s dream is as much about the wish to protect the lost other as it is about feelings of resentment for having been 1036 LISA FARLEY deserted. Also hooked into the dream are feelings of guilt for surviving. In surviving (and being able to dream at all), Freud suggests that the one in mourning tends to feel, “disloyal to the dead and [a] sense of guilt about this” (p. 104). I think that Ms. Freud’s discussion may shed light on Heritage Fair representations that were haunted by the dead: the spirits of St. John’s, heroes of war, spooky theatres, graveyards, and natural disasters. Much like the mourner’s dreams, I have begun to wonder if students’ representations of the dead were instances of identification with the lost object, whether the loss was actual or anticipated. Following Freud, I am suggesting a possible relation between the feverish desire to represent the dead, and to believe so faithfully in their stories as revealing something of the guilt and anxiety associated with surviving, and for young learners, the possibility of surpassing elders. It is important to keep in mind that in psychoanalytic terms, “surpassing” can mean something as simple (or not so simple) as traveling to Montréal without one’s “great” grandfather. REFERENCES Ashby, R., & Lee, P. (1987). Children’s concepts of empathy and understanding in history. In C. Protal (Ed.), The history curriculum for teachers (pp. 62‐
88). London, UK: The Falmer Press. Barton, K., & Levstik, L. (2004). Teaching history for the common good. Mahwah, NJ: Lawrence Erlbaum. Baum, R. (2000). Never to forget: Pedagogical memory and second‐generation witness. In R. I. Simon, S. Rosenberg, & C. Eppert (Eds.), Between hope and despair: Pedagogy and the remembrance of historical trauma (pp. 91‐116). Lanham, MD: Rowman & Littlefield. Bettelheim, B. (1976/1989). The uses of enchantment: The meaning and importance of fairy tales. New York: Vintage Books. Britzman, D. P. (2000). If the story cannot end: Deferred action, ambivalence, and difficult knowledge. In R. I. Simon, S. Rosenberg, & C. Eppert (Eds.), Between hope and despair: Pedagogy and the remembrance of historical trauma (pp. 27‐57). Lanham, MD: Rowman & Littlefield. Britzman, D. P. (2003). Theory Kindergarten. After education: Anna Freud, Melanie Klein, and psychoanalytic histories of learning (pp. 125‐48). Albany, NY: State University of New York Press. Collingwood, R. G. (1946/2005). The idea of history. Oxford, UK: Oxford University Press. REPOSITIONING IDENTIFICATION 1037 Davis, O. L., Jr. (2001). In pursuit of historical empathy. In O. L. Davis, Jr., E. A. Yeager, & S. J. Foster (Eds.), Historical empathy and perspective taking in the social studies (pp. 1‐12). Lanham, MD: Rowman & Littlefield. Dickinson, A. K., & Lee, P. J. (Ed.). (1978). History teaching and historical understanding. London, UK: Heinemann. Dickinson, A. K., & Lee, P. J. (1984). Making sense of history. In A. K. Dickinson, P. J. Lee, & P. J. Rogers (Eds.), Learning history (pp. 117‐153). London, UK: Heinemann. Egan, K. (1979). Educational development. New York: Oxford University Press. Egan, K. (1989). Layers of historical understanding. Theory and Research in Social Education, 17(4), 280‐294. Fertig, G. (2005). Teaching elementary students how to interpret the past. The Social Studies, 96(1), 2‐8. Foster, S. J. (2001). Historical empathy in theory and practice. In O. L. Davis, Jr., E. A. Yeager, & S. J. Foster (Eds.), Historical empathy and perspective taking in the social studies (pp. 167‐183). Lanham, MD: Rowman & Littlefield. Freud, A. (1967/1998). About losing and being lost. In R. Ekins & R. Freeman (Eds.), Selected writings: Anna Freud (pp. 94‐105). London, UK: Penguin. Freud, S. (1921/1991). Group psychology and the analysis of the ego. In A. Richards (Ed. & J. Strachey Trans.), Penguin Freud Library. Vol. 12. (pp. 91‐178). London, UK: Penguin. Gard, A & Lee, P. 1978. Educational objectives for the study of history reconsidered. In A.K. Dickinson & P.J. Lee (Eds.), History teaching and historical understanding (pp. 21‐38). London, UK: Heinemann. Historica Foundation of Canada. (2005). Retrieved December 4, 2006, from www.histori.ca Kristeva, J. (2002). Intimate revolt: The powers and limits of psychoanalysis. (J. Herman, Trans.). New York: Columbia University Press. LaCapra, D. (2004). History in transit: Experience, identity, critical theory. Ithaca, NY & London, UK: Cornell University Press. Lee, P. J. (1984). Historical imagination. In A. K. Dickinson, P. J. Lee, & P. J. Rogers (Eds.), Learning history (pp. 85‐116). London, UK: Heinemann. Lee, P., & Ashby, R. (2000). Progression in historical understanding among 1038 LISA FARLEY students ages 7‐14. In P. N. Stearns, P. Seixas, & S. Wineburg (Eds.), Knowing, teaching and learning: National and international perspectives (pp. 199‐222). New York: New York University Press. Lee, P., & Ashby, R. (2001). Empathy, perspective taking, and rational understanding. In O. L. Davis, Jr., E. A. Yeager, & S. Foster (Eds.), Historical empathy and perspective taking in the social studies (pp. 21‐50). Lanham, MD: Rowman & Littlefield. Lévinas, E. (1978). Existence and existents (A. Lingis, Trans.). Pittsburgh, PA: Duquesne University Press. Lévinas, E. (1998). Otherwise than being, Or, beyond essence (A. Lingis, Trans.). Pittsburgh, PA: Duquesne University Press. Seixas, P. (2000). Schweigen! die kinder!, or does postmodern history have a place in the schools? In P. N. Stearns, P. Seixas, & S. Wineburg (Eds.), Knowing, teaching and learning: National and international perspectives (pp. 19‐37). New York: New York University Press. Seixas, P. (2002). The purposes of teaching Canadian history. Canadian Social Studies, 36(2). Retrieved December 5, 2006, from http://www.quasar.ualberta.ca/css/Css_36_2/ARpurposes_teaching_can
adian_history.htm Shemilt, D. (1984). Beauty and the philosopher: Empathy in history and classroom. In A. K. Dickinson, P. J. Lee, & P. J. Rogers (Eds.), Learning History (pp. 39‐83). London, UK: Heinemann. Simon, R. I., Rosenberg, S., & Eppert, C. (2000). Introduction: The pedagogical encounter of historical remembrance. In R. I. Simon, S. Rosenberg, & C. Eppert (Eds.), Between hope and despair: Pedagogy and the remembrance of historical trauma (pp. 1‐8). Lanham, MD: Rowman & Littlefield. Winnicott, D. W. (1971/1999). Transitional objects and transitional phenomena. In Playing and reality (pp. 1‐25). New York, NY: Routledge. Original essay published in 1953. Yeager, E. A., & Foster, S. J. (2001). The role of empathy in the development of historical understanding. In O. L. Davis, Jr., E. A. Yeager, & S. J. Foster, (Eds.), Historical empathy and perspective taking in the social studies (pp. 13‐
21). Lanham, MD: Rowman & Littlefield Publishers. HISTORICAL EMPATHY AND CANADA: A PEOPLE’S HISTORY Darren Bryant & Penney Clark In this article, we examine the CBC/Radio‐Canada series, Canada: A People’s History, for its use of empathy, specifically with regard to its portrayal of Aboriginal people. We call the empathy promoted in the series, emotive empathy, and compare it to the concept of historical empathy constructed by researchers in history education. The emotive empathy employed in this series, while adequate for public audiences, is not sufficient for history classrooms because it lacks a cognitive dimension. We discuss implications for using the series, and by extension, other instructional resources, to promote the development of historical empathy. Key Words: history teaching, historical empathy, history and film, narrative strategies, Aboriginal representations Dans cet article, les auteurs analysent le recours à l’empathie dans la série Le Canada : une histoire populaire / Canada: A People’s History de Radio‐Canada / CBC, surtout pour ce qui a trait à la représentation des autochtones. Les auteurs qualifient d’empathie émotive l’empathie promue dans la série et la compare au concept d’empathie historique développé par les chercheurs qui étudient l’enseignement de l’histoire. L’empathie émotive utilisée dans cette série, bien qu’adéquate pour le grand public, ne l’est pas pour les cours d’histoire parce qu’il manque alors une dimension cognitive. Les auteurs analysent les implications de l’utilisation de cette série et, d’une manière plus générale, d’autres ressources pédagogiques par rapport à la promotion de l’empathie historique. Mots clés : enseignement de l’histoire, empathie historique, histoire et films, stratégies narratives, représentation des autochtones _________________ CANADIAN JOURNAL OF EDUCATION 29, 4 (2006): 1039‐1064 1040 DARREN BRYANT & PENNEY CLARK The scene opens with a brief view of pictographs and then pans out to large rocks pounded by waves. We hear chanting. We are told that Aboriginal inhabitants have made these pictographs. The image cuts to Newfoundland, 1829, and we see Shawnadithit (Nancy) the “last Beothuk” working as a scullery maid in the Newfoundland outport of Exploits Bay. She gazes at the camera enigmatically while the narrator tells us that she “held the key to a great mystery” (Vol. 1, Canada: A People’s History). This is the beginning of Canada: A People’s History, a 17‐episode, 30‐
hour epic television production by the Canadian Broadcasting Corporation (CBC) and Radio‐Canada, which first aired over the 2000‐
2001 and 2001‐2002 television seasons. The series traces Canadian history from a mythological pre‐history through to 1990. Its central purpose, according to Executive Producer Mark Starowicz (2003), is to show “Canada, through the eyes of the people who lived it” (p. 155). The series uses a narrative framework, presenting Canadian history through stories intended to encourage viewers to identify with people of the past. As Starowicz expressed it, “Empathy. That’s the key” (p. 154). In this article, we examine the concept of historical empathy, as constructed by researchers in history education, and compare it with the view of empathy explicated by Starowicz, which we call emotive empathy. We take the position that, although emotive empathy is a legitimate and even desirable goal for a public audience, it is inadequate in a history classroom. Then, with a focus on depictions of Aboriginal people in Volumes One and Two of Canada: A People’s History (CAPH), we examine the series for its usefulness in teaching historical empathy in secondary school social studies. Finally, we draw out implications for using the series, and by extension, other instructional resources, to promote historical empathy. CAPH was chosen for two reasons. First, it was developed not only for a public audience, but with the explicit intention that it “become part of the fabric of the education system” (Starowicz, qtd. in Cobb, 2000) and that it be used “in every school in the country” (Starowicz, 2003, p. 252). To this end, the series was offered at special rates to schools, and educational consultants developed resource packages to provide teachers with support to use the series for teaching Canadian history. Our second reason for choosing it was its deliberate focus on the HISTORICAL EMPATHY AND CANADA: A PEOPLE’S HISTORY 1041 promotion of emotive empathy in its viewers. The intention was to promote audience engagement through humanizing history, drawing upon the universal and enduring appeal of storytelling, and promoting a connection between the viewer and historical figures. HISTORICAL EMPATHY Over the past twenty years, scholars of history education in the United Kingdom, and then in Canada and the United States, have drawn attention to particular understandings, skills, perspectives, and attitudes that students require to engage effectively in historical investigation (Barton & Levstik, 2004; Davis, Yeager, & Foster, 2001; Portal, 1987; Stearns, Seixas, & Wineburg, 2000; Wineburg, 2001). Much of this research has coalesced around examination of students’ proficiency with “historical ways of making sense of what is learned” (Lee & Ashby, 2001, p. 47), separate from the substantive concepts of history. Peter Seixas (1996) has provided a framework that explicates these second‐order or procedural concepts, identifying them as significance, agency, empathy (which he groups with moral judgment), epistemology and evidence, continuity and change, and progress and decline. Historical empathy is the second‐order concept relevant here. The use of the term empathy in the scholarly discourse of history education has been fraught with controversy and confusion (Knight, 1989; Lee & Ashby, 2001). For some, the term empathy is a matter of identifying with people of the past, a state that is affective rather than cognitive. This notion of empathy should more accurately be called sympathy. This view calls on historical investigators to merely apply the understandings, beliefs, and experiences of their own worlds to interpret the experiences of historical agents and their worlds (Low‐Beer, 1989). It is evident in activities that call on students to consider what it might feel like to be a Roman soldier, a pioneer in Upper Canada, or a miner during the Klondike gold rush, and write a first‐person account of that individual’s experiences. As O. L. Davis Jr. (2001) points out, students rarely possess the contextual information or understanding to perform such a task with any degree of insight. Lacking these elements, they simply project their own feelings onto the historical actors and try to imagine what it would be like to be in the situation. Davis cautions that 1042 DARREN BRYANT & PENNEY CLARK this very limited notion of empathy “wreak[s] violence not only against empathy, but, also against the entire sense of history” (p. 3). We choose to label this notion, emotive empathy. Historical empathy, on the other hand, is in large part cognitive, although it may include elements of the affective. According to Peter Seixas (1996), historical empathy implies an understanding that “people in the past not only lived in different circumstances . . . but also experienced and interpreted the world through different belief systems” (pp. 773‐774). Historical empathy is not easy, as Ashby and Lee (1987) point out: Entertaining the beliefs, goals, and values of other people or – insofar as one can talk in this way – of other societies, is a difficult intellectual achievement. It is difficult because it means holding in mind whole structures of ideas which are not one’s own, and with which one may profoundly disagree. And not just holding them in mind as inert knowledge, but being in a position to work with them in order to explain and understand what people did in the past. (p. 63) In contrast to emotive empathy, historical empathy acknowledges the limitations of our ability to understand the past. It involves recognition that, because individuals are bound by space and time, we cannot fully understand historical agents, their circumstances and reasons for acting as they did, by applying contemporary beliefs, standards, and attitudes (VanSledright, 2001). Christopher Portal (1987) has illustrated the challenge of understanding even records that have been transmitted verbatim because historical context, cultural frames of reference, and the authors’ idiosyncrasies are not congruently transmitted. As Seixas and Peck (2004) put it, “artifacts can mislead us, if placed in contexts different from the lost worlds they once inhabited” (p. 111). Only a careful examination of a wide range of sources and perspectives that assess “the unique circumstances of the case” (Portal, 1987, p. 96) can account for (but never completely reconstruct) such knowledge. Practising historical empathy helps to fill some of the void. Historical empathy draws on all available evidence, including competing accounts, to consider alternative, and often contradictory, perspectives (Boix‐Mansilla, 2000; Davis, 2001). To develop historical empathy, students require a cocktail of critical skills such as the ability to weigh past meanings, perspectives, traces, accounts, and interpretations HISTORICAL EMPATHY AND CANADA: A PEOPLE’S HISTORY 1043 (Davis, 2001). Such analysis permits creative, inferential thinking to “bridge the gaps” in our limited knowledge of the past (Yeager & Foster, 2001, p. 14). Historical empathy therefore allows history students to understand how the point of view held by “historical agents would actually have affected actions in particular circumstances” (Lee & Ashby, 2001, p. 24). Thus, historical empathy develops explanatory prowess, whereas emotive empathy aims only to promote common perspectives through a sharing in the feelings of people of the past (Lee & Ashby, 2001). Portal (1987) points out that historical empathy necessitates understanding those with whom we may experience no emotive empathy whatsoever. He makes the point through the example of early contact between Aztec and Spaniards in which Motecuhzoma interprets the arrival of the Europeans as a “visitation of gods” and therefore orders a human sacrifice performed before the Spaniards, to whom the Aztecs offered blood‐sprinkled food. The Europeans were revolted. “The standpoint of Cortez’s party would not be hard for modern pupils to share (although the Spaniards were not particularly squeamish when it came to dealing with their own captives); the Aztec position will require more preparation” (p. 97). In such circumstances, understanding is cultivated from beyond our own perspectives and values. Historical empathy requires the insight of alternative explanations (Ashby & Lee, 1987). Historical empathy is atypical and counterintuitive for most students (Ashby & Lee, 1987; Lee & Ashby, 2001). It is rather the emotive form of empathy that students tend to apply and narratives exploit (VanSledright, 2001). Here history teachers must exercise caution because students tend, as if by default, to think counter‐historically to make sense of contexts that are completely unlike their own experiences (Ashby & Lee, 1987; Gardner, 1991). Students tend to “believe that they can ‘know’ the lives of people in the past in the same way they ‘know’ their contemporaries” (Boix‐Mansilla, 2000, p. 391). In this regard, Seixas (1994) found, upon examining students’ responses to the depiction of Aboriginal people in the film, “Dances with Wolves,” that students judged the plausibility of the filmic depictions through the lens of their own attitudes and concerns. The more the Aboriginal people seemed like 1044 DARREN BRYANT & PENNEY CLARK them, the more plausible they found them. Their working assumption was that people in the past were essentially the same as they were, an assumption that made it difficult for them to make sense of past values and actions. Figure 1 sets out distinctions between emotive and historical empathy. Emotive Empathy Historical Empathy Primarily affective domain Primarily cognitive domain Relies on limited sources of Uses multiple sources of evidence evidence Accepts evidence at face value Probes for context (motives of historical agents and their access to knowledge) Identifies with historical agents. Includes those with whom we Seeks to share their feelings, cannot identify, as well as those perspectives, values with whom we can Seeks to understand the past Recognizes that the passage of through a contemporary lens time limits the ability to understand historical agents’ actions because our access to information about the influences on those actions diminishes over time Figure 1 A Comparison of Emotive and Historical Empathy Tenacious research by Rosalyn Ashby and Peter Lee (1987, 2001) has identified several typical counter‐historical habits of mind: students understand through shared meaning by equating their own experiences with those of the past; students tend to view historical people as ignorant or mentally defective in comparison to contemporary people; students view change over time as progressive, improving on the way things were in the past; students explain behavior through stereotype or generalization; students cannot relate circumstances and decisions to HISTORICAL EMPATHY AND CANADA: A PEOPLE’S HISTORY 1045 beliefs, values, or conditions other than their own when they are able to see the past as unique. Given these findings, it is possible that an emotively driven narrative could actually exacerbate students’ dubious historical orientation. This is an area for further research. Given the distinction between emotive and historical empathy and the intuitive nature of students’ historical understandings, it is useful to ask whether narratives such as CAPH can be used to counteract students’ tendencies toward emotive modes of thinking. Hence, our discussion now turns to the aims that guided the production decision for CAPH to employ a story form framework. THE EPIC NARRATIVE STRATEGY IN CAPH “It is striking how tremendous the stories are. You donʹt need to be an expert in television to bring the stories to life. Itʹs like finding gold lying on the beach” (Starowicz, cited in Clark, 2002, n.p.). One of the appealing characteristics of CAPH is its use of a narrative approach to portray the sweep of Canadian history. A storytelling framework was chosen for the express purpose of cultivating imagination and emotive empathy. Stories, Starowicz believes, create a level of interest unattainable through other means. “There is a reason we tell stories. A hush falls on a room when someone says, ‘Let me tell you a story,’ or ‘Let me give you an example’” (Starowicz, cited in Clark, 2002, n.p.). Stories engage readers intuitively because stories evoke emotive empathy. In his 2003 book, Making History, which describes the process of production, Starowicz further explicates his rationale for using a narrative approach. His aim was to humanize history. Viewers would hear the actual words of both common and famous people, as recorded in extant documents, and spoken by actors in period costume. Events would also be recreated. The effect would be that of a story in which “the power of literature [would be imbued] with the authority of history” (p. 147). People of the past would have the emotional impact of characters in novels, and events would be displayed dramatically rather than through the more traditional didactic documentary approach. Story form would thus invoke the imagination and stir emotive empathy, the fundamental guide for Starowicz’s production decisions. 1046 DARREN BRYANT & PENNEY CLARK Canadian journalist Robert Fulford was one influence on the thinking of Mark Starowicz and his production team. Starowicz recounts hearing a Fulford lecture, “The Triumph of Narrative,” on CBC Radio. Fulford identified storytelling as the ultimate narrative device. Those who make news into narratives, and those who read or watch or otherwise absorb them, are appropriately responding to a human necessity. . . . Stories are the building blocks of human thought; they are the way the brain organizes itself. . . . Narrative gives us a way to feel empathy for others. (cited in Starowicz, 2003, p. 154) Elsewhere, Fulford (1999) notes that “by imitating our own life experience, narrative gives us a way to absorb past events on an emotional as well as an intellectual level” (p. 38). The question – Does it move the narrative forward? – became the selection criterion for inclusion in the program. For this reason, historians were not given screen time, although they did act as consultants on the script (with no guarantee their advice would be taken). According to Starowicz, “[Academic] history is essentially an analytical, not a narrative discipline. Narrative historians are a controversial minority. We need good storytellers” (cited in Clark, 2002, n.p.). The producers viewed interjection by historians to analyze evidence or suggest alternative interpretations as obstacles to the flow of the narrative. Gordon Henderson, a senior producer, commented in the video which describes the making of the series, “I would rather see the narrative driven; I’d rather see the story kept alive. We want to avoid history class. We want to keep telling stories” (Starowicz & Rinn, 2000, videorecording). In fact, the producers were dismissive of historians. Henderson says, “I think one of the really cool things about the series is that we don’t have historians that come on, analysts that come on, with a tie on, and a tweed jacket, and a bookcase behind explaining what we just saw, giving you perspective” (Starowicz & Rinn, 2000, videorecording). Starowicz (2003) refers to “snoring academics,” (p. 104) probably intending to refer to the audience rather than the historians. He added, “We are not interested in having a floating Supreme Court of historians passing judgments on events” (p. 121). The decision to use a story form framework creates potential for audience appeal as well as a possible platform for learning. This HISTORICAL EMPATHY AND CANADA: A PEOPLE’S HISTORY 1047 approach is endorsed by Canadian professor of education Kieran Egan (1986) who, in his argument for teaching through story form, explains that the organizing schemata of stories provide the most natural approach for structuring learning, a method that people find inherently interesting because stories rely on themes to which students can most easily relate. Egan (1999) believes that it is with the “transcendent human qualities . . . such qualities as courage, ingenuity, patience, power and so on that students associate” (p. 312). In a similar vein, Starowicz speaks of the importance of Shakespearean themes to develop a strong narrative. “It’s love, it’s hope, it’s failure, and that’s universal” (Starowicz & Rinn, 2000, videorecording). Both recognize that broad themes touch all humanity and therefore serve to connect audiences, or students, with the past. Egan and Starowicz both use dramatic tension as a device. Starowicz (2003) argues that contrasting themes such as “good and evil, love and hate, honour and betrayal” (p. 147) stir interest and create suspense. Likewise, Egan (1986) observes that “Embedded in the story or embodied by the story are conflicts between good and bad, courage and cowardice, fear and security and so on” (p. 26). These “binary opposites” (p. 26) parallel the manner in which children learn: first understanding, for example, cold and hot and then proceeding towards mediating positions such as warm. Indeed, for Egan, guiding students from the extremes of binaries towards moderating points defines learning. “Because our aim is educational . . . we should be seeking mediation of the binary opposites we start with” (p. 28). Although Egan encourages teachers to find binaries that will promote the greatest interest by being most dramatic in difference, the educational motive differs from television entertainment that aims to engage and thus to find conflicts that will hold viewer interest through several episodes. Just as Starowicz (2003) aims to tell “stories of ordinary men and women elevated to the extraordinary when caught in the churning current of history and confronted by” (p. 147) dramatic conflict and Shakespearean themes, so Egan (1999) argues that “We create a sense of the heroic when we emphasize those qualities that overcome the everyday constraints that hem us in” (p. 312). The heroic qualities of characters, given their 1048 DARREN BRYANT & PENNEY CLARK universal appeal, therefore serve to further promote empathy in the viewer for people of the past. Starowicz has thus recognized and applied the very attributes of story form that Egan views as holding great educational potential. For Starowicz, however, such themes and characterizations serve primarily as devices to drive the narrative through the evoking of emotive empathy. For him, “The drama of hope, and love, and war, and loss” (Starowicz & Rinn, 2000, videorecording) brings appeal across culture, location and time. But, for Egan (1986), story form helps us to “make sense of the world and experience ‘affectively’ no less than ‘cognitively’” (p. 29). Here Egan and Starowicz part. Egan endorses story form as a powerful strategy to move students along a path toward cognitive understanding; whereas Starowicz’s purpose is more limited. His intention is to evoke emotive empathy in his viewers as a tool to promote engagement with the story of history. To further elucidate the differences between the purposes of Starowicz and Egan, we turn to Seixas and Peck (2004), who point out that historical film, historical reconstructions and historical fiction are all designed to sweep their audiences into an apparent past. When successful, the audiences imagine . . . that they are experiencing history as historical people experienced it, that they have a direct window showing what the past looked like, felt like, and what it meant. . . . [S]chool history has a different objective and . . . it should come at history from an entirely different angle. While these genres aim to sweep students in, school history should provide students with the ability to approach historical narratives critically—precisely the opposite of being swept in. (p. 109) A focus on narrative, while engaging, suggests problems for students in cultivating historical empathy because it encourages them to access personal experiences rather than cognitive tools to make judgments. The other, and more central, problem with the decision to prohibit the intrusion of historians into narrative is that it avoids letting students in on the messiness of history. As Keith Barton (1996) reminds us, History isn’t a story; stories are simply one way of talking about the past, and any single story invariably involves selection, simplification, and distortion . . . . Much of the business of history, in fact, is argumentation over whose selective interpretation is best; presenting history to children as ‘a story’ independent of HISTORICAL EMPATHY AND CANADA: A PEOPLE’S HISTORY 1049 human intention is an unconscionable misrepresentation of how historical knowledge is created. (p. 403) He says that school history should not reinforce students’ existing view that history is a single, linear story. Historian Veronica Strong‐Boag, who was a consultant for the series, (although she probably does not wear a tweed jacket or tie), endorsed this view when she commented that she would have liked to see “the senior consultants, Ramsay Cook and Jean‐
Claude Robert, interviewed on air to give a sense that there’s a debate, say, about [native chief] Tecumseh. I think it’s gripping to know that people are willing to slash and burn in disagreement” (cited in Conlogue, 2000, p. R5). School history must acknowledge competing narratives. ABORIGINAL REPRESENTATIONS IN CAPH AND EMOTIVE EMPATHY In CAPH, the goal of evoking emotive empathy guided fundamental production decisions that had impact on the representation of Aboriginal peoples. In this section of our article, we will examine how CAPH addresses Aboriginal peoples in two periods: pre‐ and early contact. Pre‐Contact History: Aboriginal Storytellers As CAPH unfolds, it adjusts tactics used to describe the Aboriginal experience. Each tactic reflects the historiographic record of the period in question. In the pre‐contact period, the only sources of knowledge about Aboriginal people lie in oral history, in relics, and in other traces of the past such as pictographs. In this period, the tactic was to use Aboriginal storytellers, who transcend time, to relate mythological and traditional accounts of pre‐European Canada by speaking directly to the camera. Because direct interjection of expert authority had been rejected, viewpoints other than that of the storyteller‐narrator are absent. The strategy is well suited to the narrative story form structure. However, this decision limits opportunities for provoking historical empathy. This strategy results in some confusion. The series introduction indicates that “All the events portrayed in this history actually happened. All the people you see actually lived” (CAPH vol. 1). However, pre‐contact episodes depict no specific, named Aboriginal 1050 DARREN BRYANT & PENNEY CLARK person who is actually known to have lived. Instead actors play anonymous storytellers who relate accounts and myths taken from oral tradition. Given the opening claim, this strategy is confusing. Were the storytellers historical people who actually spoke these words? CAPH blurs the boundaries of historicity when the same storytellers appear later in early contact episodes. To which period do the storytellers belong? Did their ancestors pass along descriptions of early contact incidents as they had myth? Were these accounts then recorded by Europeans and put into the mouths of the earlier storytellers for narrative impact? Or, were they created by producers to fill a gap in the story? None of this is made clear by the narrator, who functions as a device to drive the narrative rather than providing academic commentary and analysis – the perceived enemy of storytelling. Starowicz (2003) indicated, “our series would use no historians on the air, because we wanted to stay ‘in the period.’ We wanted to write it as if all the incertitude of the moment were still alive, with the audience having no idea how things would turn out” (pp. 89 – 90). The goal of achieving emotive empathy for period characters serves to diminish the series’ explanatory power because primary sources are employed merely as props to support the narrative, rather than as evidence with potential to illuminate viewers’ understanding. For instance, in the first episode we see fur‐covered Aboriginal mourners, somewhere in northeast Labrador, placing a body into a grave. The narrator explains how the mourners placed stone spearheads into the tomb and laid a boulder on the body “as if to keep it there” (CAPH vol. 1). They raised the snout and tusks of a walrus over the grave while the narrator comments, “Little is known about who [the walrus hunters] were” (CAPH vol. 1). Yet, she provides the interpretation that “They left a sign that speaks to the ages. In the face of death the walrus hunters had affirmed that this was their place and that they would live on.” Is this consistent with the historical record? The narrator, concerned with driving the story, fails to describe what archaeologists have inferred from the artifacts these people left behind. It is difficult to accept “speaking to the ages” as the walrus hunters’ intention. Has more been made of the evidence? We cannot know because the storytelling approach prevents the narrator from explaining what archeologists and historians have to say. In HISTORICAL EMPATHY AND CANADA: A PEOPLE’S HISTORY 1051 presenting an implausible motive, certainly one not easily inferred from the relics featured in the episode, the narrator presents an incomplete portrayal and a puzzling interpretation. Although viewers may achieve a degree of emotive empathy for the walrus hunters, they are no closer to historical empathy. Viewers lack the contextual detail required to place themselves into the perspective of the walrus hunters because engaging experts who could propose alternative explanations does not fit the narrative structure. Historian Jonathan Vance (2000) points out that the reliance on actors and a narrator who tells, but who does not analyze, requires the viewer to take what is presented at face value. He uses, as an example, the case of John Jewitt, one of two English sailors captured by the Nootka at the turn of the nineteenth century, following the slaughter of their fellow crew members. Vance explains that there were two book versions of Jewitt’s story: one published in 1807 by Jewitt himself, and a second, “a much‐embellished 1815 version, probably written by Richard Alsop, a Connecticut millionaire with a taste for adventure” (n.p.). Vance notes that many of the events viewers see depicted in CAPH, such as a dance that preceded the massacre of crew members, and Chief Maquinna in irons, appear in the Alsop account, but are not in Jewitt’s original account of his adventures. Vance asks: “Did they actually occur, or were they products of Mr. Alsop’s fertile mind? Despite the credence the actor portrayal lends to the tale, we simply don’t know” (n.p.) The viewer, who is not informed of this discrepancy between the two accounts, or even that there is a second embellished account, assumes that the version of events presented on screen is well supported by historical evidence. Why not inform viewers of this controversy, so they can begin to see that historical accounts are contested and that what we call history may or may not have happened in the way we choose to think it did? Early Contact History: The Problem of Perspective In the early contact period, CAPH takes a different tack. Here the main sources of knowledge are European documentation. To propel the narrative, actors representing Europeans speak directly to the camera and utter words actually written by, or attributed to, their historical 1052 DARREN BRYANT & PENNEY CLARK counterparts. In contrast, Aboriginal individuals, including those whose existence is recorded, have no voice. When Aboriginal people do speak, it is either through the Aboriginal storyteller, or in non‐translated native dialect. For example, even though actors play the roles of the Iroquois chief, Donnacona, his sons Domagaya and Taignaogny, the Beothuk Shawnadithit, and the Nootka chief Maquinna, they speak only in Aboriginal languages. Possibly, this limited portrayal indicates ignorance of what Aboriginal Canadians actually said: we only know the perspectives attributed to them by Europeans. The primary sources represented in this period are European, such as the journals of explorer Jacques Cartier and Newfoundland merchant William Cormack. Therefore, viewers learn the opinions of Aboriginal peoples through interpretations offered by European characters and the voice of the narrator. The result is an empathetic distance from Aboriginal peoples and a sense of proximity to Europeans. The decision is odd. André Thevet, the French King’s cosmographer, recorded the last words of Donnaconna. Why not allow the elder chieftain to speak them? Perhaps Starowicz is attempting to be true to history: if we do not know the actual words of historical people, than the respective actors should not offer them. Yet, if this is the case, the principle is not applied consistently because the fictional storyteller device is used to provide native perspectives on contact. The most prominent example is the use of the Salish storyteller who, having earlier related a pre‐contact myth, relates an account of first contact with Captain Cook’s ship. The storyteller says, The people went out to the ship. They thought they was [sic] looking at fish come alive into people. They were taking a real good look at these white people on the deck there. One white man had a real hooked nose and one of the people said to another, “See he must have been a dog salmon, that one there, he’s got a hooked nose.” (Starowicz, 2000, CAPH, vol. 1) The storyteller goes on to relate: The people started talking our language to them, telling them to go around the sound to drop anchor. They were saying, “nu‐tka‐isim, nu‐tka‐ism” which means, you go around the harbour. Captain Cook says, “They’re telling us the name of the place is Nootka.” And that’s how Nootka got its name.” (CAPH vol. 1) HISTORICAL EMPATHY AND CANADA: A PEOPLE’S HISTORY 1053 The use of the storyteller device in this context is strange. When actors representing real people do not speak the words attributed to them by Europeans, why have fictitious characters relate such specific accounts? The strategy becomes confusing. Although earlier, the storytellers had related orally transmitted myth, what is the source of the account of Cook’s arrival in Nootka? Did a bilingual Aboriginal or Englishman, happening to be at Nootka, actually hear Cook’s words and those of the anonymous villagers and later relate them? This seems unlikely. Was this particular storyteller an actual person? Did Cook record an account of this interaction? The source is unclear. This situation leads one to conclude that this account was created by a scriptwriter; however, the narrator has assured viewers that all the people represented actually lived and the words spoken by them actually were uttered. How can students actually use such an account to understand early contact events if the account itself is dubious? How can even emotive empathy be cultivated if students cannot ascertain the origin of the perspective being relayed? The attempt to humanize the Nootka by relating villagers’ casual discussions could in fact produce the opposite reaction, calling into question the authenticity of the account or create empathy for a perspective not actually held at the time. Rather than fictionalizing accounts to fill gaps in the narrative and to create emotive empathy, the use of historians to analyze the available evidence would be helpful as a way to promote the development of historical empathy. By the end of episode two, all words spoken in English (or French in the French version) by historical characters have been uttered only by Europeans. Through European words we understand Aboriginal people during the contact era. All Europeans have names and identities and speak to us directly, but all Aboriginals who speak are anonymous and those with names do not speak. Lacking written sources that record Aboriginal people’s early words coupled with the determination to avoid use of historical interpretation may serve to limit viewers’ historical empathy by reducing the available strategies by which setting, motivation, and perspective might be understood. Although the storytelling strategy may drive the narrative, it is more likely to assist in the achievement of historical empathy for early European explorers and settlers who have left behind much documentation while undermining 1054 DARREN BRYANT & PENNEY CLARK the effort to build historical empathy for Aboriginal peoples for whom Europeans speak. The third phase of continuous contact, which we will not examine here, is handled much differently. Here Aboriginal peoples actually do speak to the camera in words that have been recorded in primary sources. Thus there is no need for the storyteller. Alternative perspectives, that might be provided by historians, are still avoided. Pre‐Contact The only Aboriginal people who speak are storytellers. Storytellers (a narrative device) are the only source of insight because of decision to exclude historians. Primary sources are treated like props – support the narrative but do not provide insight. The narrative neglects opportunities to build historical empathy. Early Contact - Emotive empathy is nurtured toward Europeans, who speak for themselves. - Understanding of, and empathy for, Aboriginal perspectives is mediated through Europeans because Aboriginal characters (e.g., actual named individuals such as Donnacona) speak in dialect. - Anonymous Aboriginal storytellers and European characters drive the narrative. Continuing Contact Aboriginals have acquired a voice. They speak for themselves in English and address the camera. Figure 2 Mediating Aboriginal Perspectives HISTORICAL EMPATHY AND CANADA: A PEOPLE’S HISTORY 1055 Aboriginal Peoples as Mysterious Holders of Mysterious Knowledge Engendering historical empathy for Aboriginal peoples may be further inhibited by the themes that drive the story of early contact: natives are mysterious and contact with them leads inexorably to conflict. If binary opposites obtain with regard to Aboriginal people in CAPH, they would be mystery / discovery and war / peace. These binaries place the theme of tension between Europeans and Aboriginal people at the centre of Canadian history; whereas another selection might drive inquiry towards a more complete understanding of the nature of Aboriginal society and culture. Kieran Egan (1986) suggests the binary of survival/loss for this purpose. Perhaps to convey the momentous challenge that Europeans encountered in exploring the New World, CAPH takes pains to emphasize the secretive nature of the land and the mysteries embodied in its inhabitants, who are the gatekeepers of the continent. The first episode refers to the mysterious nature of Aboriginal people no fewer than six times. In the opening sequence, the narrator discusses the “land of mystery” as viewers watch native peoples canoe past. This image is repeated in the next two episodes when the narrator refers to “the great river that unlocks its [the continent’s] secrets” and states that “the French need allies and teachers if they are to unlock the secrets of this land” (CAPH Vol. 2). The association of the mysterious land with Aboriginal people permeates the early contact narrative. Shawnadithit, who “stumbled out of a land of ghosts,” is deemed the holder of “the key to a great mystery” of not merely “the Beothuk [who] had always been mysterious” (CAPH Vol. 1) but, amazingly of Aboriginal origins. In employing the story of Shawnadithit to segue a discussion of Aboriginal migration from Asia, the series implies that the last living Beothuk held such insight. Reinforcing this image, CAPH depicts the Beothuk as stoically “proud and cautious” (vol. 1) in the face of distress. Problems for historical empathy emerge when peoples are represented stereotypically or as other than they were. LAND OWNERSHIP AND CONFLICT The binary opposites of war and peace, which centre on the theme of conflict, are used to promote the story’s narrative progression. In an 1056 DARREN BRYANT & PENNEY CLARK interesting manifestation of the theme of conflict, Starowicz and company explain the Aboriginal conception of land ownership in European terms. This strategy is engaging and promotes emotive empathy but does not serve to facilitate historical empathy in which students would come to understand the concept of property held by Aboriginal people at that time. In the first episode, the series attempts to establish that prior to European contact, Canada was already “a continent of nations.” The narrator explains that land was “claimed by hundreds of tribes . . . .They knew the land as their own . . . Canada” (CAPH vol. 1). A map of native regions with tribal groups labeled on specific locations accompanies the commentary. This serves to reinforce a European understanding of property that is delineated and claimed. The storyteller explains, “Nappi said, ‘here I’ll mark you off a piece of ground . . . .’ Then he said, ‘There is your land. . . . When people come to cross the line, take your bows and arrows and give them battle and keep them out. If they gain a footing, trouble will come to you’” (CAPH, vol. 1). Thus, CAPH establishes a strong conception of property, understood very much in European terms. (Again, this segment is problematic in that viewers do not know who the storyteller is nor the extent to which the related myth has been tailored to propel the narrative.) CAPH does not explain Aboriginal understandings of property. Many tribal populations made improvements to the land in which they lived, some groups used land only seasonally, and others used the land communally, having no sense of private property (Ray, 1997). CAPH does not explicitly explain differences from European conceptions of property and analyze the potential for conflict inherent in such differences. Rather, the conflict over property is conveyed through the lens of a European conceptual framework. Developing an understanding of Aboriginal property conceptions could permit students to empathize with their plight in a richer way, and more fully understand what led Europeans to make the claims that they did. The producers seem deliberately to embellish the concept of European‐Aboriginal conflict over property. For instance, in describing the meeting of Cartier and Donaconna, the narrator claims that “Cartier recognized an adversary when he saw one.” The series quotes Cartier’s HISTORICAL EMPATHY AND CANADA: A PEOPLE’S HISTORY 1057 interpretation of Donaconna’s behavior, “He pointed to the land all about as if to say that the region belonged to him. And we ought not to set up the cross without his permission” (CAPH, vol. 1). The narrator explains neither how Cartier, apparently having no translator, nonetheless understood Donaconna’s meaning, nor how Donaconna, without a European paradigm, would have understood the significance of the planted cross. TEACHING HISTORICAL EMPATHY Seixas (2002) points out that vehicles such as film, community commemorations, and popular music can “arouse interest, involvement, and imagination by propagating myth and heritage. They are often—
indeed almost always—more dramatically convincing, more appealing, more technologically current, or more persuasive than what can be offered up within the wall of a classroom” (n.p.). He goes on to say that schools must promote a critical engagement with the past. Teachers who use the series in class should consider the impact that a story‐like narrative has on historical understanding and whether, on its own, it can overturn students’ ahistorical approaches to history. This is especially true when considering the sensitive issue of how to represent Aboriginal people. It falls to the teacher who elects to use CAPH in the classroom to promote strategies that will help students progress from emotive to historical forms of empathy. Foster (2001) offers approaches to “translat[e] historical empathy into meaningful classroom practice” (p. 175). As a starting point, he suggests that a teacher pose a puzzling or paradoxical situation to which students may initially respond by sharing opinions and ideas. For example, after viewing CAPH to the end of Volume Two, the teacher might ask: Why did many Aboriginal groups respond to the disruptive arrival of Europeans by providing assistance in the European endeavour of exploration and conquest rather than by doing everything possible to inhibit their success? Students may hypothesize answers. However, before directly addressing the question, Foster advises that students form research teams to investigate relevant contextual information. In this particular context, this might include aspects of the economic bases of Aboriginal lifestyles and the appeal of the new, technologically 1058 DARREN BRYANT & PENNEY CLARK superior trade goods. Students should be introduced to a wide range of relevant primary and secondary sources to investigate the question. For example, students could explore internet resources such as websites of the Archaeological Survey of Canada or Musée McCord Museum, which provide visual traces as well as academic analyses. They should be encouraged to ask critical questions concerning the authenticity of the primary sources, and the validity of the interpretations in the secondary source analyses. For example, of secondary source analyses, such questions might include: Who created the source? For what purpose was it created? What perspective is taken? How does this impact the interpretation? Whose perspectives are omitted? Do other sources support this one? How do the authors’ purposes differ? What kinds of historical evidence are used in each case? Is it simply a matter of believing one or the other account? Is one account more credible than the other? What makes it so? By doing this, students will develop their analytical capacity and will come to view CAPH as only one source, and certainly not as an exact representation of what really happened. Teachers should also ask questions that invite students to probe their initial understandings. In addition, they should encourage students to ask which assumptions or biases influence their own interpretations of their sources. Students should then identify the sources that will be most fruitful for developing a thoughtful response to the question that has been posed and use those sources to construct a narrative account. As Foster points out, “Requiring each student to write a narrative account is an important, if difficult, final assignment for young people. Fundamentally, this requires students to marshal available evidence in order to construct an explanatory account out of past action—the ultimate task of any historian” (p. 177). Finally, students should be reminded that their conclusions should be regarded as tentative and may not be in agreement with those of classmates, or even historians. There should be discussion as to why this is the case. Foster notes, “Central to this discussion should be deliberations about the availability and reliability of evidence, how contemporary perspectives and ‘presentism’ may distort understandings of the past, and how new and emerging evidence might influence previous assertions about the past” (p. 178). HISTORICAL EMPATHY AND CANADA: A PEOPLE’S HISTORY 1059 Foster cautions that “engaging students in meaningful empathy inquiry requires considerable classroom time, energy, and resources” (p. 178). The role of the teacher in this process is, of course, crucial. An essential strategy for promoting historical empathy is to explicitly discuss its characteristics and how it differs from emotive empathy. CAPH provides a platform for such a discussion. Teachers can help students analyze segments to determine which form of empathy is being promoted. Where a segment appeals to emotive empathy, teachers can guide students to use their contextual research to rewrite the segment, applying the tools of historical empathy. Alternatively, by deliberately discussing the characteristics of historical empathy, students can themselves analyze the extent to which their perceptions are shaped by rich evidence and a range of perspectives or the extent to which emotive empathy has shaped their understanding. In this manner, the use of CAPH may involve a metacognitive exercise in which students analyze their own thinking. CAPH may then serve as a tool to practise historical criticism and as a means to shift student empathy from emotive to historical as students analyze their own viewpoints on the emotive – historical empathy continuum. CONCLUSION There has been a paucity of film resources available for use in teaching Canadian history. Canada: A People’s History is visually rich, portrays experiences of groups which have often been absent in the past, and makes extensive use of primary sources that do not seem to have been accessible before. It is no wonder that it is finding its way into the history classrooms of the nation. And so it should. However, it is crucial to remember that the job of the history teacher extends beyond mere engagement with historical narratives. The question here for history teachers is how to take the story of Canadian history, as presented through the medium of a television series, and use it most effectively in the context of a critical disciplinary approach to history. By relying on emotive empathy to drive the narrative, the producers risk diminishing its potential to promote the development of historical empathy. The decision to explicitly avoid the use of expert analysis to contextualize the story historically has made for an engaging 1060 DARREN BRYANT & PENNEY CLARK presentation, as intended by the producers. However, in the process, the problematic nature of historical sources is not made evident and alternative explanations for, and interpretations of, events and actions are not presented. There is the danger that students will interpret what they view as a faithful representation of what really happened. This is especially true when Aboriginal peoples are represented in the pre and early contact phases of Canadian history. Teachers who elect to use CAPH in their classrooms can do so most effectively by utilizing it as one of many resources, examining a range of perspectives, helping students to understand the different strategies and impacts of narrative approaches, and explicitly analyzing the manner in which emotive empathy shapes this historical account. Historical empathy provides the key to moving students beyond emotive empathy to a rich understanding of historical agents and the contexts in which they lived, while also recognizing the vast distance between them as historical investigators and the historical agents and events they are investigating. ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS The authors would like to acknowledge the helpful comments made by Peter Seixas and the four anonymous reviewers for CJE. This research was funded by a Small Humanities and Social Sciences Grant (UBC). REFERENCES Ashby, R., & Lee, P. (1987). Children’s concepts of empathy and understanding in history. In C. Portal (Ed.), The history curriculum for teachers (pp. 62‐
88). London, UK: Falmer. Barton, K. (1996). “Everybody knows what history is . . .” Research, instruction, and public policy in the history curriculum: A symposium. Theory and Research in Social Education, 24, 391‐415. Barton, K., & Levstik, L. S. (2004). Teaching history for the common good. Mahwah, NJ: Lawrence Erlbaum. Boix‐Mansilla, V. (2000). Historical understanding: Beyond the past and into the present. In P. N. Stearns, P. Seixas, & S. Wineburg (Eds.), Knowing, teaching, and learning history: National and international perspectives (pp. 390‐418). New York: New York University. HISTORICAL EMPATHY AND CANADA: A PEOPLE’S HISTORY 1061 Clark, P. (2002). Engaging the field: A conversation with Mark Starowicz. Canadian social studies, 36(2). Retrieved July 5, 2005 from http://www.quasar.ualberta.ca/css/Css_36_2/index36_2.htm. Cobb, C. (2000). CBC’s greatest story ever told. The Ottawa Citizen, 8 October, 2000. Retrieved July 5, 2005 from http://www.carleton.ca/ historycollaborative/press_reaction/ Conlogue, R. (19 October, 2000). The greatest story ever told. Globe and Mail, pp. R1, R5. Davis, Jr., O. L. (2001). In pursuit of historical empathy. In O. L. Davis Jr., E. A. Yeager, & S. J. Foster (Eds.), Historical empathy and perspective taking in the social studies (pp. 1‐12). Oxford, UK: Rowman & Littlefield. Davis Jr., O. L., Yeager, E. A., & Foster, S .J. (Eds.). (2001). Historical empathy and perspective taking in the social studies. Oxford, UK: Rowman & Littlefield. Egan, K. (1986). Teaching as story telling: An alternative approach to teaching and curriculum in the elementary school. London, ON: Althouse Press. Egan, K. (1999). Story forms and romantic perspectives: Alternative frameworks for planning in social studies. In R. Case & P. Clark (Eds.), The Canadian anthology of social studies: Issues and strategies for teachers (pp. 309‐318). Vancouver, BC: Pacific Educational Press. Foster, S. J. (2001). Historical empathy in theory and practice: Some final thoughts. In O. L. Davis Jr., E. A. Yeager, & S. J. Foster (Eds.), Historical empathy and perspective taking in the social studies (pp. 167‐181). Oxford, UK: Rowman & Littlefield. Fulford, R. (1999). The triumph of narrative: Storytelling in the age of mass culture. Toronto: House of Anansi. Gardner, H. (1991). The unschooled mind: How children think and how schools should teach. New York: Basic Books. Knight, P. (1989). Empathy: Concept, confusion and consequences in a national curriculum. Oxford Review of Education, 15, 41‐53. Lee, P., & Ashby, R. (2001). Empathy, perspective taking, and rational understanding. In O. L. Davis Jr., E. A. Yeager, & S. J. Foster, S. J. (Eds.), Historical empathy and perspective taking in the social studies (pp. 21‐50). Oxford, UK: Rowman & Littlefield. Low‐Beer, A. (1989). Empathy and history. Teaching history, 55, 8‐12. 1062 DARREN BRYANT & PENNEY CLARK Portal, C. (1987). The history curriculum for teachers. London, UK: Falmer. Portal, C. (1987). Empathy as an objective for historical teaching. In C. Portal (Ed), The history curriculum for teachers (pp. 89‐98). London, UK: Falmer. Ray, A. (1997). When two worlds meet. In C. Brown (Ed.), The illustrated history of Canada (pp. 17‐104). Toronto: Key Porter. Seixas, P. (1994). Confronting the moral frames of popular film: Young people respond to historical revisionism. American Journal of Education, 102, 261‐
285. Seixas, P. (1996). Conceptualizing the growth of historical understanding. In D. R. Olson & N. Torrance (Eds.), The handbook of education and human development (pp. 765‐783). Oxford: Blackwell. Seixas, P. (2002). The purposes of teaching Canadian history. Canadian Social Studies, 36(2). Retrieved December 4, 2006 from http://www.quasar.ualberta.ca/css/Css_36_2/ Seixas, P., & Peck, C. (2004). Teaching historical thinking. In A. Sears & I. Wright (Eds.), Challenges & prospects for Canadian social studies (pp. 109‐117). Vancouver, BC: Pacific Educational Press. Starowicz, M. (Executive Producer). (2000). Canada: A people’s history [Video‐
recording], vols. 1 – 2. Toronto: Canadian Broadcasting Corporation. Starowicz, M. (Executive Producer) & Rinn, L.O. (Producer/Director). (2000). Making history [Video‐recording]. In M. Starowicz (Executive Producer), Canada: A People’s History. Toronto: Canadian Broadcasting Corporation. Starowicz, M. (2003). Making history: The remarkable story behind Canada: A people’s history. Toronto: McClelland & Stewart. Stearns, P. N., Seixas, P., & Wineburg, S. (Eds.). (2000). Knowing, teaching & learning history: National and international perspectives. New York: New York University Press. Vance, J. (23 October, 2000). A. land of poor visibility. National Post. Retrieved December 19, 2006 from http://www.carleton.ca/historycollaborative/ press_reaction/ VanSledright, B.A. (2001). From empathetic regard to self‐understanding: Im/positionality, empathy, and historical contextualization. In O. L. Davis Jr., E. A. Yeager, & S. J. Foster (Eds.), Historical empathy and HISTORICAL EMPATHY AND CANADA: A PEOPLE’S HISTORY 1063 perspective taking in the social studies (pp. 51‐68). Oxford, UK: Rowman & Littlefield. Wineburg, S. (2001). Historical thinking and other unnatural acts: Charting the future of teaching the past. Philadelphia, PA: Temple University. Yeager, E. A., & Foster, S. J. (2001). The role of empathy in the development of historical understanding. In O. L. Davis Jr., E. A. Yeager, & S. J. Foster, (Eds.), Historical empathy and perspective taking in the social studies (pp. 13‐
20). Oxford, UK: Rowman & Littlefield. 1064 DARREN BRYANT & PENNEY CLARK This page intentionally left blank. “LIBERTY OF TRADE FROM THE THRALDOM OF THE AUTOCRATS”: PROVISION OF SCHOOL TEXTBOOKS IN ONTARIO, 1850‐1909 Penney Clark This article examines provision of elementary school readers in Ontario from 1850 to 1909. It traces the conflicts that arose due to the dual role of textbooks as economic commodity and democratic instrument of curriculum. It illuminates the strategies that three dominant stakeholders used in textbook provision to position themselves to best advantage in these conflicts: the Education Department, retail booksellers, and textbook publishers.. Key words: textbook publishing, school books, booksellers, political and economic contexts, curriculum history Cet article porte sur la fourniture de manuels aux écoles primaires de l’Ontario de 1850 à 1909. L’auteure relate les conflits qui ont surgi en raison du double rôle des manuels, comme objet de commerce et comme outil démocratique utilisé dans les programmes scolaires. L’article met en lumière les stratégies qu’ont utilisées trois catégories d’acteurs clés afin de se positionner au mieux de leurs intérêts dans ces conflits : le ministère de l’Éducation, les libraires et les maisons d’édition de ces manuels. Mots clés : édition de manuels scolaires, manuels scolaires, libraires, contextes politique et économique, histoire des programmes scolaires. _________________ Textbooks have always generated controversy because their presence in classrooms represents the final step in a unique journey in which the philosophy of equal educational opportunity and the capitalistic profit motive jockey for position at every turn. Textbooks, an instrument of curriculum, are intended to give students equal access to knowledge. At the same time, they are an economic commodity, representing a money‐
making venture. CANADIAN JOURNAL OF EDUCATION 29, 4 (2006): 1065‐1096 1066 PENNEY CLARK In this article, a historical narrative, I have traced how the tension between these two aspects of textbook provision resulted in sustained and acrimonious controversy during the period from 1850, when the Canada West Education Department established greater control over textbook provision through an Educational Depository, to 1909, when the entire contract for the printing of the Ontario Readers was removed from a Toronto‐based publisher “textbook ring” and awarded to a department store. I ask the question, “How did the place of the textbook as economic commodity intersect with its role as curriculum instrument in Ontario during the period, 1850‐1909?” To answer this question, I have drawn evidence from newspapers, booksellers’ trade publications, memoirs, testimony before the 1907 Ontario Text Book Commission, publishers’ celebratory histories, and the influential Canada Educational Monthly, a journal of commentary on education. I do not argue against the place of the textbook as economic commodity within a competitive marketplace. As this article will demonstrate, the greatest conflict occurred when the Ontario Education Department attempted to mitigate effects of the textbook’s place as economic commodity, exercising greater control over textbook provision at every stage: authorship, production, selection, sales, and distribution. During such times, publishing companies were permitted to form monopolies, parents paid exorbitant prices for their children’s books, physical quality was poor, and sales and distribution were controlled in ways that reduced sales opportunities for booksellers. I selected textbook provision dilemmas in Ontario, the English‐
Canadian province with the largest school population, for examination because it was the first province to authorize textbooks and, the site of the greatest opportunity for profit by publishers and booksellers. Other provinces typically used Ontario textbooks rather than develop their own. The focus of the article is on readers because, as one publisher testifying at the 1907 Ontario Text Book Commission put it, they were “the prize of all the school books,”1 meaning that they were the most lucrative. A reader, like other textbooks, is a book intended for use in schools. A reader differs from other textbooks only in terms of content. It is normally a collection of excerpts from previously published works; “LIBERTY OF TRADE FROM THE THRALDOM OF THE AUTOCRATS” 1067 whereas the content of other textbooks is presented in narrative form. This research stops at the classroom door. It is about clashes that occurred in the province of Ontario over how to provide textbooks for students. It is not about the content of the textbooks; nor, is it about how they were employed once they found their way into classrooms. THE NATURE OF TEXTBOOKS Textbooks have a solid bond with the state. All provincial governments in Canada have taken responsibility for their selection and authorization, and at times, even for their development. A textbook carries the imprimatur of authority. As such, it is deemed to contain legitimate knowledge between its covers, the approved version of the world considered acceptable for passing on to the youth of the nation. Textbook provision warrants scholarly attention for four reasons. First, textbooks in Canada have played a crucially important role in education because of their ubiquitous role in classrooms. Data from memoirs,2 interviews about students’ school experiences,3 and pan‐
Canadian classroom observations,4 combine to tell us that they have been central to instruction over time. In the period under discussion in this article, they enjoyed the status of de facto curriculum, because few other resources existed and teachers had neither the training nor the time to develop their own resources. They were, and for that matter continue to be, the most visible symbol of the education system and, therefore, for the public, a focus for their concerns about education. Textbooks give every student access to the same core of content, regardless of the additional opportunities that may be available to the fortunate few. Furthermore, student readers view the information within their covers as authoritative. As one textbook author put it, “God wrote them; or if He didn’t, He most certainly knew the authors.”5 Second, they are important as an economic commodity. Prior to the 1980s, textbooks were the financial mainstay of many Canadian publishers. Indeed, few Canadian publishers could have sustained their trade book publishing functions if not for their textbook divisions. The Canadian publishing industry has been likened by a publisher to a pyramid with publishing financially lucrative textbooks at the base, acting as an agent for books from other countries on the slope (and this is 1068 PENNEY CLARK done with textbooks, as well as trade books), and trade books at the apex, admittedly more prestigious, but not as great money‐makers.6 Third, textbooks are a unique artefact of print culture. They do not travel the typical route from author to publisher to point of purchase taken by other print materials. They are not as subject to publishing whims and vagaries because they normally have to undergo a rigorous selection process conducted by provincial departments of education. Finally, textbook content, textbook production, provincial approval processes, and even textbook sales and distribution are highly political; therefore textbooks have frequently been at the centre of controversy in Canada. The term political is used, not in the sense of provincial politics, but rather in the sense of accommodation to concerns of expedience, apart from explicit curricular and pedagogical goals. Political leaders and Department of Education officials have been criticized over many facets of textbook production, approval, and distribution procedures, including placing books “whose title to official favour is not that of merit”7 on authorized lists. Such controversial events are often clashes over power – who holds it, who exercises it, and who are its victims – and therefore, warrant examination. A textbook, then, is much more than a book that one might choose at random off a bookstore shelf. The factors concerning the nature of textbook provision are related in one way or another to a fundamental tension between the Department of Education’s fiduciary obligation to provide equal educational opportunity for students and the place of the textbook as an economic commodity. TEXTBOOK STUDIES In recognition of the important role that textbooks play in education, there is a rich history of textbook research in both Canada and the United States. These studies have primarily involved content analysis.8 The first major content analysis of textbooks in Canada was published by E. T. White of the Ontario Provincial Normal School in 1922.9 White examined Ontario textbooks to 1921 from the perspective of their usefulness for pedagogical purposes. Later studies in Canada most often focused on history or social studies textbooks, examining depictions of race and culture,10 gender,11 and class.12 Federal royal commissions have “LIBERTY OF TRADE FROM THE THRALDOM OF THE AUTOCRATS” 1069 conducted major textbook studies on at least two occasions. The 1970 Royal Commission on Bilingualism and Biculturalism compared depictions of Canadian history in the textbooks of Quebec and the other provinces, finding major differences.13 The 1970 Royal Commission on the Status of Women in Canada examined how women and girls were depicted in readers and other elementary school textbooks.14 Major studies in the United States have examined textbooks as cultural artifacts, exploring what they reveal about the cultural context in which they were constructed.15 Other studies have looked at the political and cultural contexts in which contemporary texts are produced and how they convey hegemonic ideologies.16 Recent international studies have compared conceptions of nationhood in textbooks and curricula of different nations.17 Other recent studies have examined conflicts over textbook content in the United States and other countries.18 Depictions of World War Two in Japanese and German textbooks have received particular attention.19 Philip Altbach pointed out in 1991 that “the research on textbooks is uneven. There is a considerable body of knowledge—mostly generated in the United States—concerning the detailed pedagogical aspects of textbooks, but hardly any research on the nature of textbook publishing.”20 Studies in the United States over the past 15 years have begun to look at textbook production as well as selection and provision to students. For example, in 1990 the National Society for the Study of Education devoted its eighty‐ninth yearbook to these topics.21 This work includes examination of the politics of textbook adoption.22 There has been little work of this kind in Canada. E. T. White’s 1922 study of Ontario textbooks, although primarily a content analysis, does include examination of the influence of anti‐American sentiments on textbook selection, the effects of a lack of textbook uniformity, the role of the controversial textbook depository, and the movement toward provision of free textbooks.23 The most notable exception, however, is Viola Parvin’s 1965 study of the authorization of textbooks in Ontario from 1846 to 1950. Parvin provides a comprehensive account of changing department of education policies regarding textbook authorization and resulting changes in relations between the department and publishers.24 1070 PENNEY CLARK Three histories of book production in Canada contain references to textbook production. In Book Publishing and Publishers in Canada Before 1900, H. Pearson Gundy analyzed the division of Canadian publishing activity into agency representation and educational and trade publishing, as well as the impact of imperial and dominion copyright legislation.25 George Parker’s seminal study, The Beginnings of the Book Trade in Canada, provides an invaluable record of textbook publishing26. This book was described by Francess Halpenny as “impressively document[ing] the organization of the trade, the emergence of the colonial and Canadian author, the means of bookselling, the technology of printing, the perils of copyright, and the builders of a national publishing industry.”27 The only other major study is Roy MacSkimming’s 2003 The Perilous Trade, which deals with the period from the Second World War to the present and has some information about textbook publishing derived from interviews.28 Several historians of education have examined aspects of textbook selection and provision in volumes on broader topics. In their study, Schooling and Scholars in Nineteenth Century Ontario, Susan E. Houston and Alison Prentice offer insight into Egerton Ryerson’s introduction of the Irish National Readers to the newly established school system of Canada West.29 Charles E. Phillips in The Development of Education in Canada and George S. Tomkins in A Common Countenance, two comprehensive books about Canadian educational history, offer insights into curriculum, textbooks, and the role of textbooks in classrooms.30 Several works by Bruce Curtis are relevant here. In his book, Building the Educational State, Curtis examines the establishment of the education system in Canada West, including textbook provision, from 1837 to 1871.31 In another study, Curtis contends that the importance of the Irish Readers, authorized in Canada West in 1846, lies, not in how they stratified school knowledge by creating a new class of literature devoted to pedagogical purposes, but rather in their usefulness in countering pernicious American influences.32 In a later study, he examined the 1866 introduction of the Canadian National Readers, arguing that it “took place in the context of a two‐fold (and still contested) process of norminalization of capitalist relations of production and a normalization of a particular kind of pedagogic relations of production.”33 “LIBERTY OF TRADE FROM THE THRALDOM OF THE AUTOCRATS” 1071 Curtis’s studies are from the perspective of the education system, examining the nature of textbooks as curriculum and the motives within the education system for the provision of particular textbooks to students. Three other case‐studies of textbooks in this period focus on the other side, that of the publishers. George Parker examines the relationship between Chief Superintendent of Schools, Egerton Ryerson, and the booksellers of Ontario.34 Linda Wilson Corman dissects the role of James Campbell, publisher and agent, in the provision of textbooks to Ontario students between 1858 and 1884.35 Oisin Patrick Rafferty analyzes the controversial 1884 decision by Minister of Education (and later Premier) George W. Ross to give a ten‐year exclusive contract for a new reading series to three prominent publishing companies, while reserving strict departmental control over content and composition.36 THE EDUCATIONAL DEPOSITORY VS. THE BOOKSELLERS Egerton Ryerson was appointed the first Chief Superintendent of Schools in Canada West in 1846. His immediate challenge was to bring uniformity to school books and to counter the insidious influence of American textbooks, which were prevalent in the schools. Having expeditiously taken care of this task through importation of the Irish National Readers at “nearly one hundred per cent below the retail selling prices of these Books to the British public,”37 he turned to the next task of efficient provision of the texts. In 1850, he established an Educational Depository with the intent of making it possible to purchase bulk orders directly from British and American firms, and then sell them, in turn, to school boards at low prices. This move constituted a threat to the retail booksellers’ profits. They had powerful support in the press, which objected to the government snatching profits from private enterprise. As the Canadian Literary News Letter put it in 1855, A public department has been reduced to the dimensions of a trading Concern, outrivaling every other competitor by the means of monopoly which it possesses. . . . [T]here are not so many industrial avenues open to our population that the Government can without serious injury place itself at the entrance of one to repulse honest and respectable persons who desire to enter.38 1072 PENNEY CLARK Early in the next year, the British Colonist opined: The Trade must be a very lucrative one for Dr. Ryerson, and we should say unhesitatingly that such a nice operation is very rarely to be met with. Really we believe that a very few years of the Monopoly will make the School Superintendent the richest man in the West.39 No evidence has come to light to support this rather libelous claim; nor is there evidence that Ryerson sued. He did, however, deny the charges, stating that “there is not a shadow of truth in your statement and insinuation!”40 The Booksellers, who formed an association in 1857, published a pamphlet in 1858 that railed against the unfair advantage the Depository afforded the government in the competition for textbook sales.41 In 1859, the association petitioned the legislature to abolish the Depository and its supposed iron grip over textbook provision; however, this request was to no avail. Although Ryerson was constantly under siege during his tenure as superintendent, his retirement in 1876 ushered in a period of increased controversy. The Education Department, under Adam Crooks, the first Minister of Education, was accused of collusion with the publishing companies which issued the texts required for departmental examinations, and individuals in the department were suspected of financial gain. Canada Educational Monthly emerged at this time as a source of both regular and harsh criticism of government textbook policies. Graeme Mercer Adam, an influential bookseller and publisher, began it in 1879, continuing as editor until 1884. He came to the task with extensive experience in the retail and wholesale book trades, as well as publishing. Adam experienced two major setbacks in his career. The second, in particular, may have contributed to his rather jaundiced view of the Education Department because it gave him firsthand experience with the effects on business of its sometimes arbitrary decisions. His wholesale firm, Adam, Stevenson & Co., went bankrupt in 1874, following the 1873 depression.42 Then, in 1883, he edited the Royal Canadian Readers for The Canada Publishing Company, which the Education Department rejected in the subsequent competition for authorization. Canada Educational Monthly was relatively successful. In December 1881, at the end of its third year of publication, Adam, in a self‐
“LIBERTY OF TRADE FROM THE THRALDOM OF THE AUTOCRATS” 1073 congratulatory comment, described it as having “established itself as a permanent and indispensable organ of the profession. It has now a fairly remunerative circulation, good advertising patronage, and a steadily increasing influence.”43 A perusal of the journal’s contents reveals contributions by a range of stakeholders in the education system, including school inspectors and teachers, as well as such luminaries as the pre‐eminent Canadian man of letters of the period, Goldwin Smith, and Principal George Grant of Queen’s University. The contents ranged from reprints of articles in other publications, extracts from university convocation addresses, speeches made at teachers’ conventions, letters to the editor, editorials by Adam, and announcements of events such as teacher retirements and teacher conventions. In the May/June issue of 1882, “An Old Headmaster,” in an overview of the journal’s offerings for the previous two years, gives it credit for the closing of the book depository. He concludes by saying: Through its career of the last three years, [CEM] has taken high ground, has temperately yet fearlessly handled abuses, and has provided for the more educated and more ambitious class of teachers such lessons of culture and guidance as have not been surpassed in any Canadian or American serial of its class.44 Adam did not view the department favourably even prior to the rejection of his edited textbook series in 1884. In an 1879 editorial, he pointed to a commercial unscrupulousness, in the matter of school books, utterly foreign to the experience and business methods of honourable men. That the Minister of Education has been wholly ignorant of the manner in which the authorized text‐books have of late years been manipulated in their presentation to the schools of the Province, it is almost impossible to believe.45 He accused school inspectors of promoting illegal text‐books in the schools, specifically, unauthorized texts written by the Senior Inspector of Schools, J. A. McLellan. “The grave impropriety of Dr. McLellan’s pecuniary interest in these books while holding his official position, is a circumstance which cannot be too strongly reprobated,”46 he stated in no uncertain terms. The commissioner appointed to examine this situation exonerated the department of any wrongdoing. 1074 PENNEY CLARK Following a petition from booksellers, Adam Crooks discontinued the practice of providing textbooks through the Educational Depository in 1877, although it continued to supply maps, globes, magic lanterns, apparatus for science experiments, and other teaching aids. In 1881, he dismantled it entirely. After an investigation into its operations, he had concluded that the majority of its textbook orders were from normal and model schools. Most of the common schools had continued to purchase their texts from booksellers, publishing was well established in the province, and the authorization of competing books kept prices firmly under control. Therefore, there was no longer a need for the depository, if indeed, there ever had been. Criticism of Dr. May, the Depository Superintendent, for “corrupt management” in February of that year may have contributed to its untimely demise. Dr. May was “the chief capitalist”47 in The Canadian School Apparatus Co. from which substandard supplies had been ordered for many years. According to Canada Educational Monthly, this company Was but an alias of Dr. May, and his establishment a back door for the Depository. That this official should for years be at once the requisitionist and the purveyor of the Depository, is a scandal that will ever adhere to the administration of the Department; while his transactions in the map and chemical trade, of an equally irregular character, are enough to demoralize the public service for all time.48 Canada Educational Monthly neatly encapsulated the issues around provision of equal educational opportunity versus textbook as economic commodity in the wake of this storm. Editor Graeme Mercer Adam pointed out that the “Minister has an unmistakable duty to perform, in seeing not only that the schools are provided with efficient text‐books, but that they are furnished at a price reasonably suited to the pockets of the people.”49 He was also aware that “some consideration, however, must imperatively be given to publishers’ rights and to authors’ royalties. The author of a good text‐book can scarcely be too‐generously dealt with; and manuals of a high character will not be forthcoming unless their writers are well paid for their work.”50 Furthermore, he advised Mr. Crooks to find authors outside the ranks of Department employees, so there would be no conflict of interest.51 “LIBERTY OF TRADE FROM THE THRALDOM OF THE AUTOCRATS” 1075 THE DEPARTMENT, PUBLISHER, AND BOOKSELLER TRIAD Toronto became the printing and publishing centre for textbooks in English‐speaking Canada in the latter half of the nineteenth century. Copp, Clark (1869), W.J. Gage (1880), and The Canada Publishing Company (1880)52 were prominent in publication of readers. These firms had, for all intents and purposes, a monopoly over authorized readers in Ontario, Manitoba, and the North‐West, as well as increasing dominance on the authorized lists in the provinces of the Atlantic region. The arrival of Thomas Nelson and Sons of Edinburgh at this time marked the first instance of the direct involvement of a foreign publisher in the Canadian school book trade. James Campbell, who had managed the American branch of the firm since 1854, was in Toronto by the late 1850s to act on Nelson’s behalf, as well as to establish his own wholesale book business. He continued to work for Thomas Nelson until the bankruptcy of his own firm in 1884, in the midst of a recession.53 Campbell, acting as Nelson’s agent, was able to get an adapted version of Nelson’s Royal Readers, originally published in Scotland, approved for Ontario schools in 1883.54 The same year, the Department of Education approved William Gage’s Canadian Readers, also originally published in Scotland. The Canada Publishing Company’s Royal Canadian Reading Series, the only series actually developed in Canada, was rejected. Here again, accusations of inappropriate pecuniary interest were made. Graeme Mercer Adam in Canada Educational Monthly charged that half the Central Committee who are entrusted with the judicial duty of recommending for authorization the text‐books to be used in the Province, have intimate trade relations with a certain publishing firm in Toronto, and are at the same time expected to give an unbiased judgment on the books they are called upon to appraise.55 Adam was referring to W. J. Gage. He was particularly harsh concerning the worth of the Gage readers. He declared that “it is difficult to speak with respect, as its reading matter is almost wholly unsuited to Canadian schools, and the effort to Canadianize it, editorially and mechanically, is, we say it advisedly, a disgrace to the house that has issued it.”56 The editor’s final judgment was that the series “is so objectionable as a whole 1076 PENNEY CLARK that only partisanship, or something worse than partisanship, could have allowed it to compete.”57 Adam demanded to know why the Royal Canadian Reading Series by The Canada Publishing Company was not chosen, neglecting to mention that he had edited that particular series. One possible explanation is that the department held the view that there was too close a connection between the firm of Thomas Nelson and Sons, as represented by James Campbell, and The Canada Publishing Company. Not only did Campbell’s son, William Campbell, manage The Canada Publishing Company, but James Campbell was a large shareholder. Therefore, if its series had also been authorized, Campbell would effectively have had two series competing against each other for sales. This may have been unacceptable to the department. All this became irrelevant in November of 1883, when George Ross was appointed Minister of Education. In an abrupt about‐turn, Ross announced that the department would develop a single authorized reading series called the Ontario Readers. This decision was likely made in response to the controversy over the choice of Nelson’s Royal Readers and Gage’s Canadian Readers earlier that same year under the administration of Adam Crook. It was also evidence of Ross’s desire to exercise greater control over the education system by eliminating teacher choice. This decision likely played a role in the bankruptcy of James Campbell & Son because its Royal Readers were a crucial source of income at a time of economic recession. Ross’s intention was to develop the Ontario Readers in‐house, causing Archibald MacMurchy, the new editor of Canada Educational Monthly, to refer darkly to “visions of fat things to departmental protegés, and no end of nice pickings to professional favourites of the Minister or needy hangers‐on of the party.”58 Ross hired three senior educators to write the series: John E. Bryant, E. Embree, and William Little.59 He later described them as “three men of well‐known ability and taste and with large experience as teachers. . . . One member of the committee was the holder of a degree from the provincial university, another an inspector of high standing, and the third a teacher of wide experience.”60 It is interesting to note his remark that “for nearly two years they devoted themselves almost continuously to the duty assigned to them.”61 Viola Parvin “LIBERTY OF TRADE FROM THE THRALDOM OF THE AUTOCRATS” 1077 contradicts this, pointing out that the readers were authorized on November 26, 1884, only one year and three days after Ross’s appointment.62 There is no indication of “fat things” going to these men as a reward for their labours, given that they “devoted themselves almost continuously to the duty assigned to them.”63 Parvin reports that Bryant was paid $2,780, Embree $750, and Little’s estate $1,500.64 Ross later discussed his practice of giving “a royalty of ten per cent on the retail price of each book, such royalty to be paid by the publisher”65 to textbook writers who were able to work “without disturbing their professional engagements.”66 This must have amounted to a fair amount overtime for some. A second prong of opposition was also founded in financial concerns. Many parents had purchased the new readers only months earlier. Public School Inspector, David P. Clapp, of Wellington wrote Deputy Minister Alex Marling, warning that “a row will ensue if any new change is made.”67 A year later, following the authorization of the new readers, the school trustees in London declared that they would continue to use the old readers “as long as allowed.”68 The new books were more expensive, costing an additional five cents. This was substantial at a time when a labourer could expect to make about $350.00 (US) per year.69 In a moment of irony, the new booksellers’ journal, Books and Notions, which had commenced publication in August 1884, commented in December of that year: “Of course, the labouring population throughout the country will not raise an objection if the price of this primer is advanced 100 per cent, as its increased size and beauty will render parents perfectly satisfied to pay all that is asked—and more too.”70 Money was also at the root of the booksellers’ concerns about the Ontario Readers. They were shackled with newly purchased, and now useless, inventories of the Gage and Nelson texts. In a letter to George Ross, bookseller, J. S. Robertson & Bros. of Toronto, pointed out that: booksellers in anticipation of a good demand for the New Readers, especially in a country like our own where one series was almost entirely adopted, bought largely, never for one moment supposing that in a few months these books 1078 PENNEY CLARK would probably be discarded. . . . As booksellers in an important centre we see perilous “rocks ahead.”71 It also appeared that the department was poised to reduce their customary discount of 30 per cent to 20. Books and Notions claimed that this was the government’s way of recouping the expenses of developing four different sets of readers over two years: . . . all the work has to be paid for. Who pays it? Is it the Government? Or is it the publishers who, as a business venture, prepared the several readers? Not by any means. The innocent consumer and the middle‐man pays all this enormous amount—for it is an enormous amount for such a result. . . . Never before in the story of book‐making was there any such well‐contrived plan to recoup the loss on this, the biggest blunder of the blundering Education office.72 Elsewhere, the journal declared, “[There is] no longer any need to take the far‐off trips to the South African diamond fields to make a fortune; only get into School‐book publishing in Ontario, and the diamonds will be found without the labour of digging.”73 Ross denied the charge, saying that “not one additional farthing was added to the price of the books as indemnity to the publishers whose books were cancelled.”74 The booksellers’ concerns were based on more than merely the immediate financial hit that they were facing. They saw, as Oisin Rafferty points out, “a thinly veiled attempt to form a textbook trust. . . . [and an] unholy alliance of publishing magnates conspiring with the education department to consolidate trade and restrict competition.”75 Ross’s way of proceeding in this instance represented a significant departure from the existing pattern of relationship between the Department of Education and free enterprise, represented by publishers and booksellers. Under Ross, the department maintained strict control over every aspect of textbook development, production, and provision. It chose the developers, retained ownership of the plates, maintained the right to inspect finished samples of the books, and fixed the selling price and bookseller discounts. It then granted three publishing companies— Thomas Nelson, Gage, and The Canada Publishing Company— exclusive rights to print the series for ten years. (Nelson subsequently sold its publication rights to Copp Clark for a payment of $3000 per year for ten years.76) This was a significant departure from previous practice, “LIBERTY OF TRADE FROM THE THRALDOM OF THE AUTOCRATS” 1079 where contracts were open for tender and often limited to one year at a time. A correspondent to Books and Notions explained the trade relationship between the booksellers and the publishers and Minister of Education: These publishers derive the sole benefit from the labours of the retailers. Here then is the position. The Minister of Education decrees what price, and who only shall publish them; the publishers then decree the wholesale price to the trade and we, the aforesaid trade, are given “Hobson’s choice,” that is sell them or see them go entirely into the hands of the dry goods or grocer men. Is not this a pleasant position to be placed? It seems to me akin to slavery, obliged to do our master’s bidding on our master’s terms.77 The booksellers were caught between the urgent economic demands of running a business and what they viewed as the capricious whims of politicians and educational bureaucrats, whose tax‐supported employment protected them from the realities of the marketplace. Their response was dramatic.78 On January 14, 1885, a “Red Letter Day of Bookselling [they] entered a strong protest against unfair division of profits on school books.”79 They demanded “liberty of trade from the thraldom of the autocrats, and compensation for the losses sustained in old useless Readers.”80 They formed the new Ontario Booksellers’ Association, and presented Ross with a petition signed by 614 booksellers from 432 locations in the province, asking that the previous discount of 30 per cent be reinstated.81 The booksellers had reason to take strong action. In February 1885, their journal estimated the profits to the publishers from the Ontario Readers as $32,243.73 per year. This seems a conservative estimate. The journal reports in its March issue that a legislator in a speech on the school book question had estimated the gross profits to be $369,376.00 over a ten year period, pointing out that the discrepancy is likely due to his omission of manufacturers’ profit. It concludes by saying that, “The only fault we have heard regarding our figures have been, that the profit is estimated too low. We knew this at the time, and so stated it, but desired to give the Publishers the benefit of any possible doubt.”82 The journal provides figures to indicate that the net profit to the publishers 1080 PENNEY CLARK per book was 40 cents, while the net profit to the retailer was only 27 cents.83 The 1884 contract was renewed for a second ten‐year term in 1896. There was a delay between the end of one contract and the start of the next because during the course of the first contract, a representative of the publishers had traveled to Britain and secured copyright permissions for many of the selections in the readers. Apparently, it had not occurred to Superintendent Ross to do this, and therefore, the readers had been published, and reprinted many times, without copyright permission. When the end of the ten‐year contract arrived, Ross had to either renew the contract with the copyright holders or develop completely new readers. He was not prepared to do the latter, so the contract was eventually renewed. When, in 1906, after 22 years, the contract again reached its end, it was renewed once more, this time for six months, to allow time for the newly appointed Text Book Commission to complete its work. This was a lucrative contract, indeed, and testimony to the commission reveals the depth of animosity it created among rival publishers. As Rafferty put it: Both the increased centralization of the department’s decision‐making and the rationalization of textbook publishing signaled a retrenchment of status inequality between local boards and the education department, and between booksellers and publishers, which resulted from the imposed limitations of the brokerage process itself. In the arena of business and government relations, the government was often viewed less as the legitimate guardian of the public interest, and more as a broker of business interests; and business was seen to be an enthusiastic collaborator with government in the project of shaping reform from above.84 THE 1907 TEXTBOOK COMMISSION REPORT The textbook question was a plank in the platforms of both Premier George Ross and Conservative Party Opposition Leader, James P. Whitney in the 1905 provincial election. When Whitney became premier, he appointed a commission to investigate issues related to price, physical quality, selection, and publication. The appointed Commissioners were Chairman, T. W. Crothers, a lawyer from the town of St. Thomas; the official examiner, John A. Cooper, a Toronto journalist; Alexander Clark Casselman, Secretary; and George Lynch Staunton of Hamilton, Legal “LIBERTY OF TRADE FROM THE THRALDOM OF THE AUTOCRATS” 1081 Counsel. The Committee’s work was very thorough. It summoned “representative teachers, inspectors, educationists, experts in every department of bookmaking (including two from the United States) and all persons publishing school text books for Ontario”85 to testify before it. There was widespread public interest.86 The list of 35 individuals who testified is impressive, indeed, including the presidents of Copp Clark, Gage, and The Canada Publishing Company, as well as representatives of other publishers, such as the Canada Book Company, Warwick Brothers and Rutter, and Morang; printers and booksellers, two school inspectors, two book binders, a high school principal and various employees of the Department of Education. The Commissioners traveled to the United States, where they visited many publishers, to investigate prices, methods of distribution, and the various steps in text‐book making. They even went so far as to chemically analyze the paper from which the books were made. The Textbook Ring The proof of a textbook ring was the most inflammatory commission finding. This evidence revealed the validity of the booksellers’ concerns about the “unholy alliance of publishing magnates,”87 against which they had protested in 1885. The textbook ring of Copp Clark, W. J. Gage and The Canada Publishing Company had managed to maintain a steadfast control over textbook printing for twenty‐three years. The presidents of all three companies testified; all admitted to collusion in the matter of copyrights for selections in the readers. They claimed that, during the term of the original 1884 contract, they assumed that the government owned the rights to these selections. When they discovered that this was not the case, they decided not to inform the government and to obtain copyright on their own, a ploy intended to give them crucial bargaining power when it came time to renegotiate the contract. Furthermore, the three companies agreed not to reveal to the government which specific selections each owned, making it more difficult for the government to negotiate a purchase of the copyright permissions. The point is made that the government could have purchased the copyrights much more cheaply and then put up the printing rights for open bid, thereby destroying the publishers’ ring. The three publishers also agreed to shut 1082 PENNEY CLARK out competition from other companies, or give them minor concessions to ward off undue interference. For example, they made a deal with Morang Educational Company for rights to publish one small primer text if it did not go after their contracts. What is especially interesting is the behaviour of William Gage. According to the commission report, he “induced one [British] firm to bring an action against the Minister of Education, so as to convince him of the importance of the copyrights. The action was only a ‘bluff’ action, but it apparently had its effect.”88 Testimony at the commission reveals that it was he who was most active among the publishers in intimidating the smaller publishers into accepting small contracts in exchange for not making a fuss about their exclusion from the more lucrative reader contracts. For example, Dan Rose, President of the Canadian Book Company, testified that Gage threatened to push him out of the publishing business if he exercised his right to publish certain sections of texts or certain entire texts. As with George Morang, he and Gage worked out a deal whereby he would accept small profits in exchange for not going after the business controlled by the ring.89 Edward S. Caswell, Publisher, Methodist Book Room, testified that Gage “came to us with the ultimatum that we were either to allow them—they would publish the book and set up their own plates or make terms with them.”90 These publishers were cautious about getting involved because of the possibility of being sued over copyright. Caswell was asked, “if you wanted to get what you considered the right of other publishing houses in this country to tender in open competition for the books published by the Government you had to do it with this sword hanging over you, that you might be sued? A.—yes.”91 Finally, it became apparent that significant shareholders in each company held important offices in at least one other of the three companies. There were earlier indications of this. In fact, sixteen years earlier, Books & Notions reported that “the personnel of one of the firms has by a recent transaction come to be made up chiefly of the members of the other two firms. This further consolidates the monopoly.”92 The Canada Publishing Company and Gage, in particular, had a close relationship. Both had their origins in R. & A. Miller, Booksellers and Stationers, which was established in 1844, and became Adam Miller & “LIBERTY OF TRADE FROM THE THRALDOM OF THE AUTOCRATS” 1083 Co in about 1874. This firm, in turn, was divided into two new firms in 1880: The Canada Publishing Company and W. J. Gage. The two firms had not been separated for long prior to their acquisition of the Ontario Readers contract in 1884. It does not seem surprising that they were willing to work so closely together, given their history.93 Physical Quality and Cost of the Readers George N. Morang of Morang Educational Company of Toronto provided compelling testimony to the Commission. He strongly criticized the physical quality of the 1884 Ontario Readers and declared that he could produce a much better quality series for less money, but was prevented from doing so by the powerful triumvirate.94 Even W. J. Gage, in a written submission to the Commission, offered the somewhat surprising opinion considering the source, that the Ontario Readers were “not books that a publisher would be proud of.”95 “The system adopted in Ontario has not encouraged authors and publishers to compete in the production of superior text books, with the result that many of the texts in use in our schools are inferior both educationally and mechanically.”96 He pointed to the system of open competition in the other provinces as being much superior. In its January 1907 report, the commission concluded that the books were generally of poor quality and proposed that greater attention be paid to size of type, quantity of information on a page, quality of illustrations and colour of paper. It warned that: It is clear that text book publishing in Ontario has fallen behind the times. Most of the books produced to‐day are no better than those produced twenty years ago . . . . The paper used in the Ontario books is not equal to that used in the United States, and is much inferior to that used in Great Britain. . . . The Department allowed slovenly work, and apparently the inspectors and teachers either hesitated to criticize or were unfamiliar with conditions elsewhere. We believe that just as good books may be produced in Canada as elsewhere if the authorities insist upon an equally high standard.97 The Commission also concluded that the prices of the readers were exorbitant. It recommended that if the Department could not find a satisfactory set of readers, it should publish them itself, sending the printing out by tender to one firm. 1084 PENNEY CLARK The response to the commission report was immediate. First, and even before the recommendations were released, textbook prices were drastically reduced, with the Ontario Readers dropping in price from $1.35 a set to $.49. Second, the Minister of Education appointed “a school man with expert knowledge of printing and binding to supervise the preparation (of a new set of Readers) and a committee of representative teachers to assist him with their advice and experience.”98 The “school man” was D. G. Goggin, who was at the time chairman of the committee on readers, and became head of the Ontario Textbooks Office when it was formed in 1912. Free Textbooks The Commission came out strongly in favour of free textbooks. A number of people testified in support. J. L. Hughes, Chief Inspector of the City of Toronto Schools, made a compelling case, reporting on the free textbook system in the city, which had been in place since 1892.99 He pointed out that provision of free texts was in keeping with the “general principle of free education”100 because financial constraints did not hinder school attendance, students learned to take care of property, students who did not have texts did not disrupt the other students’ schoolwork, and there were no worries about sanitation because books used by students with contagious diseases were destroyed.101 This recommendation was very much in keeping with the thinking in other jurisdictions. British Columbia, for instance, established a Free Text‐Book Branch in 1908, originally making free books available to elementary students, and by 1910, to secondary students as well.102 The booksellers were adamantly opposed to free textbooks; it had been an issue for discussion in their trade journal long before the textbook commission recommended the approach. They raised a number of objections, for example the unsanitary nature of used books and the possibility of spreading disease by touching them.103 This objection may have been designed to alarm parents in the hope they would protest the move. A second concern was that “it would create within the children a spirit of extravagance. . . . for as we all know, that which comes seemingly‐easy goes likewise.”104 A third concern was the cost to the public through taxes, for “the parent who has already provided his “LIBERTY OF TRADE FROM THE THRALDOM OF THE AUTOCRATS” 1085 children with books is to go on and bear the expense of providing other people’s children for all time to come on as long as the unhappy taxpayer lives.”105 Of course, the booksellers’ primary concern was their profits. Bookseller and Stationer declared that “School boards have no right to go into the book business and deprive the regular trade of their custom.”106 In 1901, booksellers were advised by their journal to “protest strongly against any further socialistic invasion of the book trade by municipal or Provincial authorities.”107 THE 1909 T. EATON COMPANY READERS In 1909, the province awarded the right to print the new Ontario Readers to the T. Eaton Company department store, retaining copyright as well as ownership of the plates. The company took up the task with enthusiasm, printing 509,000 copies of the books that year. From the perspective of the government, this was a prudent move because Eaton’s offered the lowest tender.108 This decision also allowed the government to move beyond accusations of being a pawn of the powerful textbook ring. For the T. Eaton Company, the contract provided a profitable way to keep the presses it already owned for printing its seasonal mail‐order catalogues busy during times of the year when its catalogues were not being printed. Because the company name was to be on the cover of the books, it also afforded an opportunity for some free advertising. In addition, the company fervently hoped that, when parents came into the stores to purchase textbooks, they would purchase other items as well. This contract, which merged the roles of publisher and bookseller, caused consternation among the booksellers. They suggested that its unfortunate effects be mitigated in two ways. First, they wanted the imprint of the Education Department placed on the texts instead of that of the Eaton’s department store. Second, they wanted the Education Department, rather than the store, to distribute the books. As their trade journal put it: In this reader contract the Education Department of Ontario, unknowingly it is true; placed in the hands of the T. Eaton Company a weapon more powerful and potent than any yet possessed by that or any other department store, to further cripple and maim the retail trade. . . . Every reader bearing the imprint of the T. 1086 PENNEY CLARK Eaton Co. will be an advance agent for the latter into every home which it enters.109 Their concern was that, because the books could be purchased for twenty per cent less at Eaton’s, parents would naturally want to purchase them there. Therefore, the less free advertising the department store could obtain by means of the books, the better. This concern really pertained only to urban areas because Eaton’s intended to charge postage to send the books to rural customers, thus, for the most part, eliminating its cost advantage over the retail booksellers. The department refused both requests. Dr. Pyne, the Minister of Education, offered the opinion that it was the usual practice for the publisher’s name to appear on books and that should continue to be the case. As for the idea of the department distributing the books, he had no intention of recreating the textbook depository.110 The price of school books had been an issue in the 1908 election and the government was not about to rouse the ire of the public by failing to provide them at an acceptable price now. And it was successful in this intent. A glance at the cover of the 1885 Third Reader in the Ontario Readers series shows a cost of 30 cents, while the Third Book in the 1909 T. Eaton Company series cost 14 cents. This feat proved the Globe wrong. In May 1908, it had predicted that “when the new readers are issued the children of this Province will not get their school readers at any lower rate than that which prevailed before the Whitney government acceded to power.”111 It went on to declare that the existing prices were “a remnant sale,”112 simply a means to get rid of the existing stock of readers before they were replaced by new readers. DISCUSSION AND CONCLUSION Two conclusions can be drawn from examination of controversies related to textbook provision: They are always political and they are always about money. Ensuring equal educational opportunity was the basis for establishing a public education system in Ontario and the provision of uniform and inexpensive textbooks a means of democratizing classrooms to attain that goal. At the same time, textbooks were produced by publishing companies and sold by booksellers as an economic venture. This mixture of bureaucracy, politics, and free “LIBERTY OF TRADE FROM THE THRALDOM OF THE AUTOCRATS” 1087 enterprise did not produce textbooks that were the least expensive or the highest physical quality.113 The Ontario Education Department spent the 59 years examined in this study, attempting to be the fulcrum, balancing a see‐saw of competing interests. School children and their parents, the intended beneficiaries of a commitment to equal educational opportunity, were at one end, and the publishers and booksellers, who expected to make a profit from the textbook as economic commodity, were an uneasy duo at the other. At some times the see‐saw balanced precariously. At other times, one or the other end landed on the ground with a resounding thud. Of the groups at either end of the see‐saw, parents with their children, and the booksellers, “the innocent consumer and the middle‐
man,”114 as the booksellers’ journal put it, wielded the least power. Parents and children were subject to the whims of the Education Department bureaucracy. Because children had to have the books, parents paid whatever was necessary to obtain them. Publishers and booksellers were in an interesting position with respect to this journey of textbooks to the classroom door. They operated on the fringes of the educational establishment. They were reactive, not proactive, interpreting Education Department decisions, rather than leading the way themselves. And yet, the publishers and the booksellers had to lay their money on the line, taking financial risks to publish the books, or purchase them with the intent to sell. The economic clout of the booksellers was not as strong as the publishers, particularly the oligopoly of powerful publishers, because they did not have the same access to profits. Their prosperity was dependent on the extent to which the Education Department bureaucracy chose to exercise control over textbook provision. When the department made the decision in 1850 to establish a textbook depository, it reduced the market available to the booksellers. In 1884, when Minister of Education, George Ross, granted printing rights for the Ontario Readers to three firms, instead of putting the contracts out to tender, he effectively gave Copp Clark (which purchased the rights from Nelson), Gage, and The Canada Publishing Company control over the trade for the next twenty‐three years. This decision paved the way for the three 1088 PENNEY CLARK favoured publishers to become mini despots, who took every opportunity to use their power to the detriment of parents, other publishers, and booksellers. The three fortunate firms set exorbitant prices for the books. They severely limited the access to profits of other publishing firms such as Morang and the Canadian Book Company. This triumvirate of publishers also exercised control over the fate of the booksellers in two ways. First, the booksellers’ profits were hugely affected by the size of the discount they could wrest from the publishers and the government. Second, the publishers determined the wholesale price at which the booksellers could offer the readers for sale. If the booksellers balked at prices set by the publishers, they could be bypassed and the books sold directly to establishments such as dry goods or grocery stores. This would not have happened if the Education Department had simply opened the contracts to tenders or even if it had chosen to spread the opportunity to print the books across a number of firms. The booksellers had every reason to call for, “Liberty of Trade from the Thraldom of the Autocrats.” ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS I would like to thank graduate students Phillip Hophan and Svetlana Trey for their invaluable research assistance. I would also like to acknowledge the comments of the anonymous reviewers for CJE. An earlier version of this paper was presented in Halifax at the 2005 annual conference of the Bibliographical Society of Canada. NOTES Legislative Assembly of Ontario, Report of Text Book Commission, 1907 (Toronto: L.K. Cameron, 1907), 193. 2Melinda McCracken, Memories are Made of This (Toronto: James Lorimer, 1975). 3Neil Sutherland, “‘The Triumph of Formalism’: Elementary Schooling in Vancouver from the 1920s to the 1960s,” in Children, Teachers and Schools in the History of British Columbia 2nd ed., ed. Jean Barman and Mona Gleason, 319‐342 (Calgary: Detselig, 2003). 4A.B. Hodgetts, What Culture? What Heritage? A Study of Civic Education in Canada (Toronto: Ontario Institute for Studies in Education, 1968). 1
“LIBERTY OF TRADE FROM THE THRALDOM OF THE AUTOCRATS” 1089 Lorne R. Hill, “Clio in the Classroom,” Books in Canada 9 (March 1980): 21. 6W. H. Clarke, William Henry Clarke, 1902‐1955: A Memorial Volume (Toronto: Clarke, Irwin, 1956), 7. 7“Editorial Notes,” Canada Educational Monthly 2 (January 1880): 58. 8 Rahima Wade, “Content Analysis of Social Studies Textbooks: A Review of Ten Years of Research,” Theory and Research in Social Education XXI (Summer 1993): 232‐256. 9 E.T. White, Public School Text‐books in Ontario (London: Chas. Chapman, 1922). 10 Garnet McDiarmid & David Pratt, Teaching Prejudice: A Content Analysis of Social Studies Textbooks Authorized for Use in Ontario (Toronto: Ontario Institute for Studies in Education, 1971); Timothy Stanley, “White Supremacy and the Rhetoric of Educational Indoctrination: A Canadian Case Study,” in Children, Teachers and Schools in British Columbia, 2nd ed., ed. Jean Barman and Mona Gleason, 113‐131 (Calgary: Detselig, 2003). 11 Penney Clark, “‘A Nice Little Wife to Make Things Pleasant’: Depictions of Women in Canadian History Textbooks Approved in British Columbia,” McGill Journal of Education 40 (Spring, 2005): 241‐265; Beth Light, Pat Staton and Paula Bourne, “Sex Equity Content in History Textbooks,” The History and Social Science Teacher 25 (Fall 1989): 18‐20. 12 Kenneth W. Osborne, “Hard‐working, Temperate and Peaceable:” The Portrayal of Workers in Canadian History Textbooks (Winnipeg, MB: University of Manitoba, 1980); Patrick Babin, “Bias in Textbooks Regarding the Aged, Labour Unionists, & Political Minorities: Final Report to the Ontario Ministry of Education” (Ottawa: University of Ottawa, 20 January, 1975). 13 Marcel Trudel and Genevieve Jain, Canadian History Textbooks: A Comparative Study, Royal Commission on Bilingualism and Biculturalism, Staff Study No. 5 (Ottawa: Queen’s Printer, 1970). 14 Canada, Report of the Royal Commission on the Status of Women in Canada (Ottawa: Information Canada, 1970). 15 Ruth Miller Elson, Guardians of Tradition: American Schoolbooks of the Nineteenth Century (Lincoln: University of Nebraska Press, 1964); Frances FitzGerald, America Revised: History Schoolbooks in the Twentieth Century (Toronto: Little, Brown and Company, 1979). 16 Jean Anyon, “Ideology and United States History Textbooks,” Harvard Educational Review 49 (August 1979): 361‐386; Suzanne de Castell, 5
1090 PENNEY CLARK Allan Luke, and Carmen Luke, ed, Language, Authority and Criticism: Readings on the School Textbook (London: Falmer, 1989); Joel Spring, Images of American Life: A History of Ideological Management in Schools, Movies, Radio, and Television (Albany, NY: State University of New York Press, 1992); Michael W. Apple and Linda K. Christian‐Smith, ed., The Politics of the Textbook (New York: Routledge, 1991). 17 Jason Nicholls and Stuart Foster, “Interpreting the Past, Serving the Present: US and English Textbook Portrayals of the Soviet Union During the Second World War,” In Understanding History: Recent Research in History Education, Vol. 4, International Review of History Education, ed. Rosalyn Ashby, Peter Gordon and Peter Lee 173‐187 (London and New York: RoutledgeFalmer, 2005); Hanna Schissler and Yasemin Nuhoglu Soysal, ed, The Nation, Europe and the World: Textbooks and Curricula in Transition (New York: Berghahn Books, 2005). 18 Gerard Giordano, Twentieth‐Century Textbook Wars: A History of Advocacy and Opposition (New York: Peter Lang, 2003); Laura Hein and Mark Selden, ed., Censoring History: Citizenship and Memory in Japan, Germany, and the United States (Armonk, NY: M.E. Sharpe, 2000); Joseph Moreau, Schoolbook Nation: Conflicts over American History Textbooks from the Civil War to the Present (Ann Arbor: The University of Michigan Press, 2003). 19 Gavan McCormack, “The Japanese Movement to ‘Correct’ History,” In Censoring History: Citizenship and Memory in Japan, Germany, and the United States, ed. Laura Hein and Mark Selden, 53‐73 (Armonk, NY: M.E. Sharpe, 2000); Teruhisa Horio, Educational Thought and Ideology in Modern Japan (Tokyo: University of Tokyo Press, 1988); Julian Dierkes, “The Trajectory of Reconciliation Through History Education in Post‐Unification Germany,” Ed. Lili Cole, Teaching the Difficult Past: Violence, Reconciliation and History Education (Boulder, CO: Rowman & Littlefield, in press). 20 Philip G. Altbach, “The Unchanging Variable: Textbooks in Comparative Perspective,” In Textbooks in American Society, Philip G. Altbach, Gail P. Kelly, Hugh G. Petrie, and Lois Weis, ed. (New York: State University of New York Press, 1991), 252. 21 David L. Elliott and Arthur Woodward, ed., Textbooks and Schooling in the United States, Eighty‐ninth Yearbook of the National Society for the Study of Education, Part I, 127‐145 (Chicago, IL: National Society for the Study of Education, 1990); Philip G. Altbach, Gail P. Kelly, Hugh G. Petrie, and Lois Weis, ed., Textbooks in American Society (NY: State University “LIBERTY OF TRADE FROM THE THRALDOM OF THE AUTOCRATS” 1091 of New York Press, 1991); John G. Herlihy. ed., The Textbook Controversy: Issues, Aspects and Perspectives (Norwood, NJ: Ablex Publishing, 1992). 22 Caroline Cody, “The Politics of Textbook Publishing, Adoption, and Use,” In Textbooks and Schooling in the United States, Eighty‐ninth Yearbook of the National Society for the Study of Education, Part I, ed. David L. Elliott and Arthur Woodward, 127‐145 (Chicago, IL: National Society for the Study of Education, 1990); Raymond English, “The Politics of Textbook Adoption,” Phi Delta Kappan (December 1980): 275‐278; Harriet T. Bernstein, “The New Politics of Textbook Adoption,” Phi Delta Kappan (March 1985): 463‐466; 23 White, Public School Text‐books, 1922. 24 Viola Parvin, Authorization of Textbooks for the Schools of Ontario, 1846‐1950 (Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 1965). 25 H.P. Gundy, Book Publishing and Publishers in Canada Before 1900 (Toronto: Bibliographical Society of Canada, 1965). 26 George Parker, The Beginnings of the Book Trade in Canada (Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 1985). 27 Francess Halpenny, “From Author to Reader,” Literary History of Canada: Canadian Literature in English, Vol. 4 (Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 1976), 389. 28 Roy MacSkimming, The Perilous Trade: Publishing Canada’s Writers (Toronto: McClelland & Stewart, 2003). 29 Susan Houston and Alison Prentice, Schooling and Scholars in Nineteenth‐Century Ontario (Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 1988). 30 C.E. Phillips, The Development of Education in Canada (Toronto: W.J. Gage, 1957); George S. Tomkins, A Common Countenance: Stability and Change in the Canadian Curriculum (Scarborough: Prentice‐Hall Canada, 1986). 31 Bruce Curtis, Building the Educational State: Canada West, 1836‐1871 (London, ON: Althouse, 1988). 32 Bruce Curtis, “Schoolbooks and the Myth of Curricular Republicanism: The State and the Curriculum in Canada West, 1820‐1850,” Social History XVI (November 1983): 305‐339. 33 Bruce Curtis, “Curricular Change and the ‘Red Readers,’” In Re‐
interpreting Curriculum Research, ed. G. Milburn,. I.F. Goodson, & R.J. Clark (London: Althouse Press, 1989), 42. 34 George Parker, “Egerton Ryerson and the Ontario Book Trade in the Mid‐Nineteenth Century,” Signum II (January 1975): 21‐38. 1092 PENNEY CLARK Linda Wilson Corman, “James Campbell and the Ontario Education Department, 1858‐1884,” Papers of the Bibliographical Society of Canada XIV (1975): 17‐52. 36 Oisin Patrick Rafferty, “Balancing the Books: Brokerage Politics and the ‘Ontario Readers Question,’” Historical Studies in Education 4 (Spring 1992): 79‐95. 37 E. Ryerson, “Selection and Recommendation of Text‐books for the Use of Common Schools in Upper Canada,” Documentary History of Education in Upper Canada 7 (Toronto: Cameron, 1906): 107. 38 “The Government Book Store, Toronto,” The Canadian Literary News Letter and Booksellers’ Advertiser 1 (June 1855): 3. 39 Cited in “Reply of the Chief Superintendent to Attacks Upon Himself,” DHEUC 13(1906): 315. 40 Ibid, 316. 41 Cited in Phillips, Development of Education, 252. 42 The firm had debts of $91,697 to the banks and other firms. Queen’s University, Douglas Library, Special Collections, Insolvent Act of 1869, Assignment notice of Adam and Stevenson, 11 November 1874; in Parker, Beginnings, 177. 43 Editor, “Another Stage Reached,” CEM 3 (December 1881): 510. 44 An Old Headmaster, “The Literature of Education: A Critique,” CEM 4 (May/June 1882): 215. 45 “School Book Editing and Authorship,” CEM 1 (April 1879): 227. 46 Ibid. 47 “The Education Depository,” The Canada School Journal VI (April 1881): 78. 48 “Editorial Notes,” CEM 3 (February 1881): 93. 49 “The Quarrel in the Book‐Trade,” CEM 2 (January 1880): 58. 50 Ibid. 51 In 1886, Adam co‐authored a book of his own: G. Mercer Adam and W.J. Robertson, Public School History of England and Canada (Toronto: Copp Clark, 1886). 52 Pat MacDonald, “Copp Clark Closes Doors and Opens Book Collection to the National Library of Canada,” National Library News 31 (June 1999). http://www.collectionscanada.ca/bulletin/. Accessed September 12, 2005. Copp Clark (now part of British‐owned Pearson Education Canada) began in Toronto in 1841 as a retail bookstore and printing company, owned 35
“LIBERTY OF TRADE FROM THE THRALDOM OF THE AUTOCRATS” 1093 by Hugh Scobie, a Scot. W.J. Gage & Co. Ltd., A Story of Sixty‐Five Successful Years, 1844‐1909 (Toronto: W.J. Gage, 1909). Gage began in Montreal as R. & A. Miller, Booksellers and Stationers. The firm expanded to Toronto in 1860. W.J. Gage became sole owner in 1880. It is now Gage Learning Corporation. The Canada Publishing Company was formed from the same company as Gage. 53 It is difficult to pinpoint the date James Campbell arrived in Toronto. His obituary in The Globe places it at prior to 1850, which is impossible. (“Death of Mr. James Campbell,” The Globe, 14 July, 1890). “Thomas Nelson & Sons’ 50th Anniversary,” The Publishers’ Weekly, 3 June, 1905 (No. 1740): P. 1553 puts it at about 1864, which seems too late. “The Late Mr. James Campbell,” Books and Notions VI (August 1890): 10‐11 places him in Toronto in 1860 or 1861. Corman (“James Campbell,” Papers) has him in Toronto in 1854, which doesn’t seem possible if he was also in New York that year. However, as Corman points out, his imprint is on the textbook, The Geography and History of British America, 2nd ed. by J. George Hodgins, in 1858, so he was likely in Toronto by that year. 54 Corman, “James Campbell,” Papers.. 55 “Unprofessional Conduct,” CEM 5 (July‐August 1883): 312. 56 “The Question of the School Readers,” CEM 5 (July‐August 1883): 309. 57 Ibid. 58 “The Department and the School Readers,” CEM 6 (December 1884): 509. 59 Text Book Commission, 26. 60 George W. Ross, The School System of Ontario (Canada) (New York: D. Appleton and Company, 1896), 166. 61 Ibid. 62 Parvin, Authorization of Textbooks, 68. 63 Ross, School System of Ontario, 166. 64 Parvin, Authorization of Textbooks, 66, 68. 65 Ibid., 167. 66 Ibid. 67 Letter from David P. Clapp to Alex Marling, January 1, 1884, AO, Education Dept. Records, RG 2‐13, #4. 68 “Letter to the Editor,” Books and Notions I (January 1885): 97. 1094 PENNEY CLARK Alan G. Green, Mary MacKinnon, and Chris Minns, “Dominion or Republic? Migrants to North America from the United Kingdom, 1870‐1919.” Unpublished paper, Departments of Economics, McGill and Queen’s, August, 2001, p. 29. 70 “The New School Readers,” Books and Notions I (December 1884): 80. 71 Letter from J.S. Robertson to George Ross, December 31, 1883, AO, Education Dept. Records, RG 2‐13, #4. 72 “The New Ontario Readers,” Books and Notions, I (January 1885): 92. 73 “No longer,” Books and Notions, I (January 1885): 92. 74 “The New Readers,” The Globe (15 January 1885). 75 Rafferty, “Balancing the Books”, 85. 76 Text Book Commission, 26. 77 “Correspondence,” Books and Notions II (October 1886): 45. 78 Rafferty states that 700 booksellers protested in Toronto on January 14th (p. 86). His reference is Books and Notions, which is (probably intentionally) ambiguous on this point. It seems unlikely that 700 booksellers would have made their way to Toronto in the middle of winter. And if they had done so, surely The Globe would have mentioned it the next day. It seems more likely that their “strong protest” was merely the signatures on the petition that was presented to Ross. The booksellers, as a whole, were not particularly politically active. J.J. Dyas, publisher of Books and Notions, chided them because the membership of the booksellers’ association stood at just over 100, instead of the 500, which he thought a more reasonable number. Books and Notions III (July 1887): 195. 79 “Meeting of Booksellers,” Books and Notions I (January 1885): 108. 80 “Fair Play to All,” Books and Notions I (February 1885): 108. 81 “The New Readers,” The Globe (15 January 1885). Books and Notions claimed that over 700 booksellers were involved in the protest, but according to The Globe, the petition had 614 signatures. 82 “Profits,” Books and Notions I (March 1885): 125. 83 “The Discount Question,” Books and Notions I (February 1885): 110. 84 Rafferty, “Balancing the Books:” 80. 85 Text Book Commission, 7. 86 “Cost of School Books,” The Globe, 12 July, 1906; “Text‐Book Commission,” The Globe, 21 July, 1906; “Books Have Acid Test,” The Globe, 27 69
“LIBERTY OF TRADE FROM THE THRALDOM OF THE AUTOCRATS” 1095 September, 1906; “Paid Big Price for Contracts,” The Globe, 26 October, 1906; “Give Everyone a Show,” The Globe, 9 November, 1906. 87 Rafferty, “Balancing the Books,” 85. 88 Text Book Commission, 11. 89 Ibid., 321‐332. 90 Ibid., 186. 91 Ibid., 192. 92“The labours,” Books and Notions VI (August 1890): 7. 93 In 1984 it was reported that, under a new corporate structure, Canada Publishing Corporation was to act as the holding company for Gage and other company divisions. It had been part of the Gage assets when Gage was sold in 1978. “Gage Restructures.” Quill & Quire 50 (August 1984): 22. 94 Text Book Commission, 126‐141. 95 Ibid., 372. 96 Ibid., 370. 97Ibid., 8. 98 D.J. Goggin, “Memorandum re School Texts in Ontario,” Quoted in William Leeds Richardson, The Administration of Schools in the Cities of the Dominion of Canada (Toronto: J.M. Dent & Sons, 1921), 188. 99 “Free Text‐Books and the Toronto Dealers,” Books and Notions VIII (July 1892): 6. 100 Text Book Commission, 115. 101 Ibid., 103‐115. 102 BC Dept. of Education, Annual Report, 1908 (Victoria, BC, Queen’s Printer, 1909); BC Dept. of Education, Annual Report, 1910 (Victoria, BC, Queen’s Printer, 1911). 103 “School Boards Selling Books,” Bookseller and Stationer XVIII (April 1902): 3. 104 “The Free Text Book Fad,” BS XVII (April 1901): 3 105 “The Fad of Free Books,” BS XVI (October 1900): 4. 106 Ibid. 107 “School Text Book Question,” Bookseller and Stationer XVII (March 1901): 3. 108 “Disastrous Policy Adopted by the Ontario Government,” Bookseller and Stationer and Canada Newsdealers XXV (May 1909): 28. 109 “Dr. Pyne’s ‘Red Herring’ Does an Injustice,” BSCN XXV (July 1909): 21. 1096 PENNEY CLARK “Disastrous Policy,” 29. “Fooling Parents and Children,” The Globe, 14 May, 1908. 112 Ibid. 113 It is highly likely that they were also not of the highest quality in terms of their content; but this study did not examine that question. 114 “The New Ontario Readers,” Books and Notions I (January 1885): 92. 110
111
CONNECTIONS, CONTRARIETIES, AND CONVOLUTIONS: CURRICULUM AND PEDAGOGIC REFORM IN ALBERTA AND ONTARIO, 1930‐1955 Lynn Speer Lemisko & Kurt W. Clausen To apply newer philosophical approaches in education, Alberta and Ontario experimented with dramatic curriculum and pedagogic reform during the progressive era, c. 1930 to 1955. However, by the mid‐1950s both provinces returned to more traditional disciplinary approaches. This comparative historical study reveals three conditions that affected reform efforts in the provinces: the need for appropriate teacher education and the development of appropriate supporting materials; the need for an understanding of the philosophical underpinnings of the reform approach; and the impact of the general social, political, and intellectual environment. Key words: progressive education, contexts of education, history of education, comparative history. Voulant mettre en place des approches philosophiques de l’éducation plus novatrices, l’Alberta et l’Ontario ont instauré une réforme pédagogique draconienne durant l’époque progressiste commençant vers 1930 et se terminant en 1955. Vers le milieu des années 1950 toutefois, les deux provinces sont revenues à des approches plus traditionnelles. Cette étude historique comparative met en lumière trois facteurs qui ont eu une incidence sur les efforts de réforme de ces provinces, à savoir le besoin de disposer d’une formation à l’enseignement appropriée et de matériel connexe pertinent, le besoin de cerner les fondements philosophiques des approches retenues pour la réforme et l’impact du contexte social, politique et intellectuel dans son ensemble. Mots clés : éducation novatrice, contextes pédagogiques, histoire de l’éducation, histoire comparative. _________________ CANADIAN JOURNAL OF EDUCATION 29, 4 (2006): 1097‐1126 1098 LYNN SPEER LEMISKO & KURT W. CLAUSEN Alberta and Ontario experimented with a number of dramatic organizational, curricular, and pedagogic reforms between c. 1930 and the mid‐1950s based on propositions put forward by the Progressive Education movement.1 Informed by progressive ideology, the Departments of Education in both provinces reorganized the grade‐level structure from two to four divisions and abolished most formal promotional examinations. Even more indicative of the influence of progressive philosophy, both jurisdictions introduced a child‐centred, subject‐integrated, activity‐based approach known as the Enterprise method. Equally significant, both Departments fused the content‐
centred courses History, Geography, and Civics into a new integrated course: Social Studies. Taught across all grade levels, this new subject emphasized development of cooperative, democratic behaviour and inquisitiveness through experiential learning.2 In short, although variations between the two provinces existed, both jurisdictions put forward a concept in curriculum creation that emerged from the same root desire that characterized the Canadian progressive education movement in general: the development of social skills and the individual was more important than amassing knowledge. By the mid‐1950s the progressive spirit to integrate subjects of the curriculum seems to have foundered in both provinces. In Alberta, for instance, the 1953 Department of Education Bulletin 2, issued to guide teachers in developing enterprises, no longer insisted on the integration of health and science in enterprises.3 The term enterprise did remain on the pages of curriculum documents for another generation, but interest in the deeply integrated approach waned during the 1950s and faded away in the early 1960s. The deepest division between the provinces can be found in their treatment of Social Studies. In Alberta, this integrated subject has continued to be part of the core curriculum at all grade levels, while in Ontario for the past fifty years it has been offered only to primary‐junior students. What were the similarities and differences between Alberta’s and Ontario’s experiences with these innovations? What helped and hindered these curricular and pedagogic reform efforts? And, why did they falter? To address these questions, we conducted a comparative historical study to demonstrate that appropriate teacher education, CONNECTIONS, CONTRARIETIES, AND CONVOLUTIONS 1099 appropriate funding, and development of appropriate supporting resources were required to ensure that implementation of the reform remained coherent with its underlying theory; that teachers, resource developers, and curriculum developers needed to thoroughly understand the philosophical underpinnings of the reform to ensure a coherent epistemological, pedagogical, and evaluation approach; and that the general social, political, and intellectual environment had a significant impact on each provinceʹs ability to engage in and maintain the reform effort. METHODOLOGY, DEFINITIONS, LIMITATIONS Canadian educational historians have provided insights into educational policy by examining particular instances of curricular and pedagogic reform efforts as they unfolded within specific regional and provincial jurisdictions (e.g., Hallman, 1992; Thomson, 2000). They have also drawn broader generalizations by referring to Canadian policy as a whole (e.g., Barrow, 1994; Titley, 1990). Rarer in number are comparative studies that examine similarities and differences in programmes and implementation among provinces. Such comparisons are necessary for the development of a more complex understanding of factors that have affected curriculum and pedagogic reform in Canada. Although George Tomkins (1986), for example, argued that a common set of ideas underpinned curriculum development in English Canada, one wonders if curriculum choices are or were ever guided by a shared set of assumptions, especially when considering the socio‐political and regional diversity of the nation and the fact that education is under provincial jurisdiction. Given the current trend toward the creation of common regional curricula, we feel it is important that Canadian educators develop not only an understanding of how unique educational circumstances have affected education in certain localities, but also an understanding of how similarities and differences appear between regions across Canada. By examining studies that compare and contrast provincial experiences in dealing with curricular and pedagogic reform, educators might come closer to comprehending whether Canadians have a shared conception of education and schooling. Based on this thinking, we designed this 1100 LYNN SPEER LEMISKO & KURT W. CLAUSEN study to compare the development and implementation of integrated programmes and pedagogy in Alberta and Ontario between 1930 and 1955. We selected this period because it was a time of intense curricular and pedagogic experimentation across Canada influenced by the Canadian progressive education movement, which, according to Patterson (1970), ʺrepresented a revolt against existing formal and traditional schooling [advocating] … freedom for the pupil to develop naturally; interest to serve as the motive for all work; the teacher to be a guide, not a task‐masterʺ (p. 373; see also Tomkins, 1986, p. 190). Although variations in ideology among Canadian progressive educators occurred, many endeavored to introduce child‐centred, hands‐on pedagogies and developed new programmes of study to provide schooling to closely match the needs and interests of children. In the first wave of curricular reform, educators added non‐traditional subjects: Agriculture, Health, and Civics. Later, progressive curriculum reformers designed programmes to integrate traditional and non‐traditional subjects like History, Geography, and Civics into the blended subject called Social Studies. In addition, they designed the project approach or “Enterprise,” to integrate Social Studies with Science, Health, and other subjects as necessary for a project. For our analysis, we use the effort that Canadian progressives made to integrate a variety of traditional subjects into a single subject or project as a marker of the flourishing or floundering of progressivism during this era. We selected Ontario and Alberta because these two provinces were considered educational leaders during various time periods. Ontario was the first Anglo‐Canadian province to develop and implement a centralized curriculum and pedagogy for publicly funded grade schools. We chose Alberta because, although other jurisdictions did experiment with progressive ideas and practices, ʺAlberta led all provinces in its enthusiastic acceptance of progressivismʺ (Tomkins, 1986, p. 194) and, according to Tomkins (1986) the curriculum revisions undertaken in this province between 1936 and 1940, were ʺthe high water mark in the acceptance of progressive educationʺ (p. 195). In comparing the two provinces, we reconstructed historical conditions through the examination, interpretation, and corroboration of CONNECTIONS, CONTRARIETIES, AND CONVOLUTIONS 1101 both primary and secondary source documents, including contemporary curricula, departmental annual reports, articles, letters, speech transcripts, minutes, as well as other historical studies. These data sources allowed us to recreate past events and circumstances in each province. In turn, we compared events in one province to the other to provide more complex insights into the factors that affected the development and implementation of the reformed programmes. EDUCATIONAL CIRCUMSTANCES AND ATTITUDES LEADING UP TO THE 1930s Comparing Circumstances In the first decade of the twentieth century, many outward aspects of the two provincial educational systems looked remarkably similar. In the programmes of study, this resemblance was not surprising: the original curriculum instituted for Alberta schools, on establishment of the province in 1905, was closely modelled on the Ontario system of “standards” (Alberta Annual Report, 1907, pp. 79 ‐ 109; von Heyking, 1996, pp. 33‐34). Like its eastern prototype, the purpose of the Alberta programme was to provide a sound basic schooling in the fundamentals and to prepare the small number of students who went on to high school for further academic study. As well, both Ontario and Alberta had developed strongly centralized Departments of Education to deal with the quite scattered and, in places, secluded populations. Lastly, both had a small but vocal intellectual community that argued for progressive educational reform. Despite these similarities, demographic differences existed between Ontario and Alberta that may have affected the way each jurisdiction perceived education. Ontario, for example, had undergone a lengthy period of land clearing and settling for over a hundred years, and by the turn of the twentieth century had developed several larger urban centres. Those who arrived in Alberta at this time, however, had a sense of being in a newly settled land, with a chance to re‐make society, and break free from outworn traditions (Byrne, 1991; Francis & Palmer, 1992; Palmer & Palmer, 1990). Although the provinces had some educational circumstances in common, this divergence in perspective may explain why a significant 1102 LYNN SPEER LEMISKO & KURT W. CLAUSEN difference in attitude toward curriculum and pedagogic reform developed. Educational Circumstances in Alberta Throughout the first three decades of the twentieth century, curriculum development was an ongoing project for the Alberta government. Although “some element of flexibility” (von Heyking, 1996, p. 35) had been included in the original programme of 1905, Alberta’s educational leaders were soon convinced that it did not meet the needs and interests of Alberta students. Health, Agriculture, and a new stress on Civics were added to the programme in 1910. However, these additions did not represent a profound change in attitude by the Department about what should be taught and learned. Our analysis found very little that reflected methods based on the newer child psychology models of contemporary educational reformers who advocated the education of the whole child through hands‐on or activity approaches (Alberta Annual Report, 1913, pp. 81 ‐ 158; von Heyking, 1996, pp. 46 & 48). After the Great War, the Alberta programme underwent a profound and sustained transition, evolving from a more traditional curriculum framework to one of the most progressive in Canada Following consultative discussions with a wide variety of stakeholder groups, the Department introduced a revised elementary programme (Grades 1‐8) in 1922 which contained modernized basic subject areas along with new ones; this included Citizenship, Industrial Arts, Hygiene, Physical Education, and Household Economics (Alberta Course of Studies, 1922; McNally, 1922, p. 28). Proud of what was perceived to be an innovative, child‐centred curriculum, Deputy Minister of Education, G. Fred McNally, reported that ʺrequests for copies [of the program] had been received from every province as well as from Newfoundland and the Yukonʺ (McNally, 1964, p. 63). Educational Circumstances in Ontario In contrast to the events unfolding in Western Canada, the focus of Ontario’s official curriculum policy changed little between the creation of the Ontario Department of Education in 1871 and the mid‐1930s. It adhered to a formalized, discipline‐based approach towards education CONNECTIONS, CONTRARIETIES, AND CONVOLUTIONS 1103 involving a great deal of rote‐learning, drill, and memorization (Curtis, 1988, pp. 107‐109). Under the direction of the Elementary or Secondary Education Branch, a few subject specialists sporadically updated guidelines that school inspectors then inforced to secure uniform standards throughout the province. In almost all cases, each discipline was closely tied to a specific textbook (Gidney, 1999, pp. 19‐21). Even with opposition from teachers’ associations, local authorities, and county inspectors promoting changes reflective of the Western reforms, no profound revisions were undertaken until the Conservative government was ousted from power in 1934.4 Although conditions between the two provinces seemed similar on the surface, the Ontario government did not experience a period of serious, concerted experimentation with or acceptance of innovative curriculum or pedagogy until the mid‐1930s, unlike its counterpart in Alberta, which began making serious changes a decade earlier. EDUCATORS AND REFORM POLITICS As the century progressed, political and ideological variations between Ontario and Alberta became more pronounced because shifts in provincial government parties and their links to the educational and intellectual communities affected their attitudes toward curricular and pedagogic reform. Alberta Progressive Educators and the UFA Many people who settled in Alberta were seeking a fresh start, believing they could reconstruct a more just society. From this desire grew a number of movements supported by ideologies that advocated deep social and political change. In their political rhetoric, the United Farmers’ Association (UFA) reflected these ideals. The UFA began a concerted effort directly after the Great War to improve and advance society through a cooperative, democratic process of social, economic, and political reform (Laycock, 1990, pp. 64‐65). Many members of the UFA, which formed the Alberta government between 1921 and 1935, believed that education contributed to the creation of democratic, cooperative citizens and the transformation of society (Patterson, 1968, p. 70). 1104 LYNN SPEER LEMISKO & KURT W. CLAUSEN The Great Depression of the 1930s only intensified the belief that social and economic change were necessary and that curriculum reform was an important avenue for such change. Many UFA members assumed that traditional education perpetuated and promoted an out‐
dated competitive economic system that had lead to the Depression. They argued that bringing about desired changes to the economic system required sweeping reforms to school curriculum. This faction within the organization received general support through a resolution passed at the 1934 UFA annual convention. It urged the Department of Education to develop a school program that suggested ʺthroughout the entire curriculum, the idea of the advance of society towards a new form of social organization in which the principle of a struggle for private profit shall be displaced by the principles of equity, justice, mutual aid and social well beingʺ (Patterson, 1968, pp. 70‐72.) These beliefs meshed well with American Progressive theories that many Alberta educational leaders advocated (Crawford, 1936; Newland, 1921). During the 1920s and early 1930s, a growing number of these educators had undertaken graduate studies in American universities, many attending Columbia and the University of Chicago, which were both considered hot beds of progressive education. Armed with new ideas about schooling in a democratic society, these reformers suggested that the elementary curriculum should be based on an activity or project approach and argued further that such socialized activity, with the integration of subject matter through large units of work developed around the genuine life interests and experiences of learners, would be ideal for the one‐room schools in Alberta (Patterson, 1968, pp. 92, 120‐
122, & 129‐130; von Heyking, 1996, p. 180 & 185‐186) . With the passing of the 1934 UFA resolution and general support of the UFA government, the Department of Education struck a curriculum revision committee composed of one school inspector, William E. Hay, and two normal school instructors, Donalda Dickie and Olive M. Fisher. The group met ʺfor the purposes of preparing an [elementary] activity curriculum to be introduced on a trial basis in the fall term of 1935ʺ (Patterson, 1968, pp. 121‐122).5 CONNECTIONS, CONTRARIETIES, AND CONVOLUTIONS 1105 Ontario: Changing Political Parties and Curriculum Reform Arguing against Ontario’s rather inflexible and centralized educational system, several teachers’ groups in Ontario pressured the Department for educational reforms to better serve society. Unlike the more radical UFA in Alberta, who openly consulted with a variety of voices within the educational establishment, the Ontario Conservative government tended to refrain from action unless they were directly and vocally petitioned from other levels of the hierarchy. Even then, historian W. G. Fleming (1972, pp. 2‐3) maintained that the upper hierarchy of the Ontario education system had become experts in actively turning a deaf ear to dissenting voices (see also Manzer, 1994; Mosely, 1968). The Ontario Education Association had long advocated the importance of student‐centred pedagogy. Although people from Ontario spoke on the subject rather frequently, the most vehement and memorable support for such approaches appears to have traveled to Ontario through circuit tours by progressive speakers and literature brought to the annual conventions.6 Despite this ferment, comments in newspapers and printed political debates throughout the 1920s and 1930s indicated that these ideas were already impacting educational reform in Alberta. These sources made scathing comparisons between the cutting‐edge of educational thought in the Western provinces and the mired conservatism of Ontarioʹs educational system (Patterson, 1970, pp. 377‐ 378).7 Demonstrating the difference in attitude, one of the members of the UFA Alberta government, C. L. Gibbs (1928), expressed the sentiments of many Westerners, expressing the hope that when the [Alberta] Department mountain had finished its labours there would not issue forth some little mouse, grey with Ontario dust and heavy with Ontario prejudice, but that we would have an Act that would really meet our particular needs and be in harmony with progressive ideals now becoming current in the educational world. (p. 3) By the 1930s, demand in Ontario for progressive reforms became increasingly vehement. The New Education Fellowship, a small but influential organization, pressured the Ontario Education Association for progressive reform. Eventually, an amalgamation of various teachers’ 1106 LYNN SPEER LEMISKO & KURT W. CLAUSEN federations, parent groups, trustees’ associations, and members of the Ontario Education Association itself formed the broad‐based Ontario Educational Research Committee. Describing it as “a membership reading like a Who’s Who of Ontario education at mid‐decade,” Stamp (1982) concluded that this committeeʹs main purpose was “to rip apart current curriculum and instructional practices” (p. 166). But, only when a new Liberal government ascended to power in 1934 under Mitchell Hepburn did the Department become more receptive to the calls for educational reform. Following remarkably close on the heels of the sweeping changes being broadcast from Alberta, the new Ontario Minister of Education, Leo J. Simpson, announced in 1936 that a committee would be appointed to create a new Programme of Studies for the elementary system. Whether influenced by his senior departmental officials, the continued pressure by the Ontario educational elite, or the example put forth from Alberta, Simpson insisted that the new curriculum would be based on more progressive methods.8 To facilitate this process, two men who were sympathetic to the progressive movement were appointed as co‐chairs of the programme committee: Thornton Mustard of the Toronto Normal School, and Stanley A. Watson, principal of Toronto’s Keele Street Public School. When they issued their final report, the new ideas in the curriculum reflected Alberta’s guidelines. In fact, the Alberta Supervisor of Schools, H. C. Newland (in Stamp, 1982) noted with glee, ʺThis is the first time on record that the good old province of Ontario saw fit to import an educational procedure from the Westʺ (p. 167). Although the American progressive movement appeared to heavily influence Alberta’s educational reform, committee members for the Ontario curriculum acknowledged Great Britain as the primary contributor to their revisions (Ontario Programme of Studies, 1937, pp. 5‐
6). This difference in influences (or at least the willingness to acknowledge the origins of influence) highlights the divergence in the political and ideological circumstances of the two provinces. Although similar ideas of educational reform influenced both provinces, Ontario, deeply steeped in traditional philosophic idealism, looked more toward Great Britain than the United States for intellectual leadership, and did not appear as deeply committed to social and political change. Alberta, CONNECTIONS, CONTRARIETIES, AND CONVOLUTIONS 1107 in contrast, experimented with more radical types of political parties and with ideas from American pragmatist philosophical approaches to education for a democratic society. This difference in general philosophical influence may have helped Alberta’s progressive curriculum reformers and hindered progressive educators in Ontario. COMPARING THE REFORMED CURRICULA When Alberta and Ontario unveiled their new elementary curriculum programmes, both documents had all the earmarks of a truly progressive spirit: integrated subject areas, the promotion of child‐centred, hands‐
on/discovery pedagogic approaches, and the abolishment of formal promotion examinations at the elementary level (Newland, 1937, p. 15; Ontario, Annual Report, 1938). However, clear differences existed between them in the degree of integration expected and the amount of direction in the documents to guide implementation of the programmes. Alberta Curriculum The Alberta elementary curriculum (1936) for grades 1 through 6 was ready for trial implementation in September 1935. This curriculum, which closely adhered to the project approach devised by the American progressive scholar W. H. Kilpatrick (1918), was the first official curriculum in Canada to whole‐heartedly advocate such a teaching method. Activities were to be directed toward the solving of selected problems in socialized projects labelled enterprises. Within an enterprise, this curriculum broke down traditional subject matter classifications, correlated, and consolidated many different learning units through socialized learning activities and experiences. School learning “embrace[d] not merely the knowledge and skills of the traditional school ‘subjects’, but also many appreciations, attitudes, ideals and incidental habits and abilities” (p. 4). The program also stipulated child‐centred pedagogy — that is, learning by doing, with the “things to do… …resid[ing] in the experience of the childʺ (p. 4). To ease the transition to the new approach, the finalized elementary program (1936) did not make the enterprise compulsory; it designated instructional materials in a dual manner: subjects (such as reading, arithmetic, science, art, and music), and enterprises (p. 5). Social Studies, 1108 LYNN SPEER LEMISKO & KURT W. CLAUSEN introduced as a new integrated subject, represented “a fusion of Geography, History and Civics” (Newland, 1936, p. 16). Suggested enterprises were listed alongside subjects in the program (1936), and teachers could “elect as much or as little of the enterprise work as they desire,” although teachers were encouraged to attempt at least one or two enterprises per year, to a maximum of six (p. 5). In 1940, after the new elementary program had been in place for several years allowing teachers to become familiar with its goals and approaches (Newland, 1940, p. 14), the Department issued a revised edition (1940) that involved ʺa further step … towards complete integration of the Program, with the result that the integrated part of the Program now includes History, Geography, Elementary Science, Health and Physical Education” (p. 27). Ontario: The Little Grey and Blue Books Contained in the small, grey‐covered booklet, the revised curriculum in Ontario entitled the Programme of Studies for Grades I to VI of the Public and Separate Schools (1937) soon became known as the “Little Grey Book.” Similar to the Alberta program, this curriculum advocated the development of socially desirable qualities and abilities, rather than amassing knowledge. The Ontario document stated that “any education worthy of that name must be planned in accordance with the best available evidence on the nature of the child’s development” (p. 5). It determined the function of the school to provide a “stimulating environment” which directed pupils’ natural tendencies “into useful and desirable attitudes” (p. 5). The document concluded: “[I]n short, the school must follow the method of nature, stimulating the child, through his own interests, into activities and guiding him into experiences useful for the satisfaction and development of his needsʺ (p. 6). Although Ontario reformers did not introduce the enterprise method in full‐blown description at all grade levels, they took what they considered to be revolutionary action to change the curriculum’s traditional fifteen‐subject arrangement. Reinforcing the importance of basic reading and inquiry skills, the authors fused the old disciplines into seven broad areas: Health, English, Social Studies, Natural Science, Arithmetic, Music, and Art. This new programme elevated the CONNECTIONS, CONTRARIETIES, AND CONVOLUTIONS 1109 conventionally fringe subjects of music, art, and physical education from the status of optional subjects or extracurricular activities to the importance of the traditional subjects. In addition, the curriculum committee introduced the integrated Social Studies (Ontario, Programme of Studies, 1941), using words and set‐
up almost identical to the Alberta Social Studies model: a mixture of geography, history, and civics, which was to represent 20 per cent of the time spent in school. Rather than the memorization of facts in a chronological fashion grade after grade, children developed desirable social attitudes and inquiring, well‐informed minds, interested in understanding their society. They worked their way outward through concentric circles of understanding. Beginning with a study of home and school, students then moved on to study the town, province, then country, followed by other countries, and ultimately to the comparison of ancient and modern social life (p. 60). Although this description seems more structured than that of the Alberta curriculum, teachers were instructed not to worry if students accumulated knowledge in an unsystematic way. Overall, the programme removed restrictions on teachers and pupils by providing latitude for selective emphases and variation in methods, at a teacher’s discretion. Outside a common core of knowledge, each student was encouraged to follow his or her “individual talent.”9 Obviously, this meant that a large part of the program was to be delivered using alternatives to the traditional formal lesson. However, when the “Grey Book” came out in Ontario in 1937, it gave little instruction on how to execute the integrated programme. Beyond general discussions of the importance of a unified curriculum, it provided no details about the workings of the project method, nor stipulated specific enterprise ideas. IMPLEMENTATION EFFORTS: ISSUES FOR TEACHERS Problems with the new programmes arose almost immediately in both provinces, particularly with the implementation of the new, activity‐
based pedagogy. The teachers of the new elementary curricula had great difficulty translating the suggested programmes into meaningful learning experiences. 1110 LYNN SPEER LEMISKO & KURT W. CLAUSEN Although the Alberta Department of Education made a significant effort to train teachers in the new approach through summer and normal school sessions, the curriculum developers complained that such efforts focused on pedagogical techniques rather than on the philosophy and theory of the approach. Consequently, in implementing the program, teachers often mistook “the means for the end and ... allowed the pupilsʹ activity to degenerate into purely mechanical exercises” (Alberta Annual Report, 1936, p. 52). In addition, many teachers believed that the program objectives were too vague. The document focussed mainly on attitudes, appreciations, and habits, leaving teachers with no clear idea of expected content knowledge outcomes. The Department’s annual reports included notes by school inspectors that, because teachers lacked an understanding of the theory of the activity approach, they tended “to define activity in terms of bodily movements” (Alberta Annual Report, 1938, p. 61). The school inspectors further concluded that enterprises often became “mere pleasant time‐filling activity” and even the skill subjects like arithmetic suffered with “far more movement, visiting and consultation than is necessary in a period devoted to mental activity” (Alberta Annual Report, 1941, p. 69). Alberta teachers also faced two new problems with the progressive program. With the abolishment of all but two formal promotional examinations, teachers were required to devise internal evaluation tools to place “pupils where they can work to best advantage” (Newland, 1937, p. 15). With program goals emphasizing habits, appreciations, and the creation of responsible citizens, teachers were “simply at a loss” (Newland, 1937, p. 15) about how to measure student achievement. And, with the new emphasis on student freedom and activity, discipline issues increased. The pages of the Alberta Teachersʹ Association magazine provide evidence of escalating anxiety, where hints for keeping discipline began to appear on a regular basis. In addition, beginning in 1945, the Chief Superintendent of Schools began to devote a section in the Department’s annual report to the observations of superintendents about discipline and control (Alberta, Annual Reports, 1945, p. 28; 1946, p. 31; & 1947, p.36; von Heyking, 1996, p. 262). In Ontario, the creators of the 1937 programme ran into similar roadblocks. Because the Department had responded to pressures from CONNECTIONS, CONTRARIETIES, AND CONVOLUTIONS 1111 various interest groups, its officials had expected that the document would be disseminated to a largely young, well‐educated generation of teachers who knew the scholarship surrounding its progressive spirit, and could apply the various approaches needed to reach its goals (Gidney, 1999, p. 32; Ontario Annual Report, 1937, p. 2). Instead, it was faced with numerous teachers who seemed to ignore many aspects of the reformed programme, and who complained that the curriculum documents did not include details about the workings of the project method or stipulate specific enterprise ideas. In explaining this apathetic reaction, Patterson (1990) referred to comments made by V. K. Greer, chief inspector of schools in Ontario: “Even though young teachers had received training at normal school which was intended for them for the new curriculum, many of them … lacked the courage to follow the new methods” (p. 106). The root of the problem was not necessarily a lack of courage, however. As in Alberta, the problem was related to the misunderstanding of or hostility toward the philosophy of the new method. Although progressive ideas in the form of Dewey’s pragmatic philosophy had been part of the theoretical discourse of normal schools in Ontario since 1907,10 such ideas were not adopted in practice. Although teachers had learned about pragmatic philosophy, the instruction in normal schools had left most teachers unable to internalize the philosophical assumptions of curriculum integration and the enterprise approach. Phillips (1957) concluded that these teachers adhered only to the external forms of the progressive approach, thereby losing the significance of such experiences. Many teachers thought of enterprises as the material objects produced in periods allotted to work with paper, paste, wood, and bits of metal. When these teachers ceased having their pupils engage in such nearly useless construction, or were told to do so, it appears that enterprise work fell off. (p. 465) Numerous archival records throughout the late 1930s displayed teachers’ apparent ignorance of progressive approaches or refusal to teach using any approach but traditional methods. In letters sent to the Department, some teachers asked for guidance in undertaking projects; others complained about the noise levels and lack of discipline associated with the activities. One rural teacher starkly submitted her 1112 LYNN SPEER LEMISKO & KURT W. CLAUSEN resignation, stating that having taught in the system for forty years she was not going to change now.11 Some members of the various grass‐
roots groups that had originally petitioned for the change also began to turn rather cold towards the new document, arguing that the method was lessening the emphasis on the three Rs, and weakening discipline and authority (Stamp, 1982). The immediate response of practitioners to the new Ontario program was unfavourable, if not hostile. IMPLEMENTATION EFFORTS: REPONSES FROM REFORMERS AND DEPARTMENTS OF EDUCATION Between the introduction of the new curricula and their eventual demise, progressive reformers in each province endeavoured to respond helpfully to the implementation problems. However, clear differences occurred in the depth and intensity of the help offered by each province. The Alberta Response Believing that appropriately trained educator were the key to proper implementation, Alberta reformers continued their effort to educate teachers in the goals and methods of the activity approach. Normal schools implemented a “new and dynamic type of instruction” to exemplify the new technique, and teachers were encouraged to attend summer school sessions and special programs at teachersʹ conventions to learn about the new method (Alberta Annual Report, 1940, p. 15). In addition, the Alberta Teachers’ Association established professional libraries in school divisions across the province and sponsored numerous local teacher study groups to examine progressive practice. Although these efforts certainly indicate a strong commitment to implementing the new program and pedagogy, von Heyking (1996) points out that ʺvarying degrees of support for the innovationsʺ (p. 192) occurred among those involved in these pre‐ and in‐service teacher education efforts. For example, a survey of staff at the Edmonton Normal School indicated that opinion among the faculty ranged from those who were completely committed to the deep integration of subject matter and emphasis on development of social attitudes, to those who were ʺsubject‐mindedʺ and regarded ʺthe enterprise as merely another, though important, addition to the battery of methods and techniques CONNECTIONS, CONTRARIETIES, AND CONVOLUTIONS 1113 employed by the progressive teacherʺ (Doucette, nd, np.) Although teachers may have received a reasonably sound education in the pedagogical techniques, they most likely received mixed and perhaps confusing messages about progressive philosophy and theory. The education programs for pre‐ and in‐service teachers apparently did not deal effectively with teachers’ tribulations in devising internal evaluation tools to measure student achievement. In 1943, the Department of Education, reacting to teachers’ continued difficulties with assessment, issued a Supplement to the elementary program of studies (1943) that “set out the minimum pupil attainments [sic] that parents, teachers and superintendents should expect to find in the average school” (p. 13). The Department hoped that these attainment targets would establish “a basis for comparing the work of schools in different parts of the Province” (p. 13). In 1946 and 1947, the Department, offering further assistance to teachers in assessing student achievement, introduced a province‐wide testing program that determined the level of essential skills among grade‐6 students. The Department hoped that this examination would maintain a “greater uniformity of standards throughout the province” (Alberta Annual Report, 1946, p. 65; 1947, p. 57). Because this assessment programme was contrary to the philosophy of the progressive programme and pedagogy, this standardized test of skills was incompatible with the theoretical approach that advocated for locally developed, context‐specific evaluation. In contrast, teacher education had enhanced teachers’ understanding that progressive practice used a wide variety of resource materials, reference books, and locally developed units. However, despite the efforts of teachers and education leaders to convince school boards to purchase necessary materials and equipment, school inspector reports into the 1940s indicated that the lack of appropriate resources was problematic (Alberta Annual Report, 1942, p. 29; von Heyking, 1996, pp. 263‐264). Hence, despite the fact that progressive theory advocated that teachers develop their own units and projects in relation to the particular needs and interests of their students, some members of Alberta’s Department of Education reasoned that it should assist teachers to develop classroom programmes by creating more child‐centred, user‐
friendly textbooks to match programme goals (von Heyking, 1996, pp. 1114 LYNN SPEER LEMISKO & KURT W. CLAUSEN 254‐256). Further, believing that “the lack of teacher reference materials geared particularly to our curricular outlines may have contributed in part to certain malpractices that have occurred within our Enterprise education” (Alberta Annual Report, 1947, p. 56), some members of the Department (1947) also recommended that the newly established Teachersʹ Service Bureau undertake the construction and distribution of “experimental resource units designed to be of direct assistance in handling the topics prescribed or suggested for general use at various grade levels” (p. 56). By 1948, the Bureau had begun the distribution of such resources at no charge, a practice that continued throughout the 1950s. Overall, despite the relatively intense professional development efforts, Alberta teachers remained generally ill prepared to implement progressive methods. In addition, as various curriculum committees tinkered with the course of studies and as the Department continued to centrally distribute resource materials and evaluation tools, the programs and practices actually in use in Alberta schools became an awkward blend of traditional and progressive approaches. The Ontario Response By 1941, the Ontario Department of Education realized that teachers were either not employing the new programme, or were doing so in a haphazard or formulaic fashion.12 According to R. M. Stamp (1982), educational leaders in the province may have employed ineffective implementation strategies. For example, little difference appeared at the Normal School level between the list of departmental summer courses before and after the introduction of the curriculum reforms. In fact, courses and examination papers did not particularly stress progressive techniques. Many public school inspectors echoed this lack of emphasis, repeatedly reminding teachers to drill, review, and test student knowledge in the core subjects. Although the Department advised inspectors to familiarize teachers with the new methodology, it gave few details concerning the fine points of the enterprise approach beyond what was found in the “Little Grey Book.” As related by Stamp (1982), at least one school inspector’s ultimate goal of the new education was CONNECTIONS, CONTRARIETIES, AND CONVOLUTIONS 1115 merely “to interest the child in his work, so that he wants to do what we want him to do” (p. 169). Nevertheless, the Ontario Department of Education took some action toward helping teachers implement the new curriculum. The chairs of the curriculum committee, Mustard and Watson, were sent on whistle‐
stop speaking engagements concerning the innovations. These engagements did not involve actual training sessions and no follow‐up information was supplied, leaving teachers with the impression that the new method was nothing more than a fad supported by slogans (Stamp, 1982, p. 171). To ameliorate implementation problems, the Department re‐struck the programme committee in 1941 with the goal of updating the curriculum to give teachers concrete guidance in realizing the goals of progressive education. To this end, a new section was added to the document entitled “The Enterprise Method,” embodying a truncated version of the techniques put forward in The Enterprise in Theory and Practice by Alberta progressive reformer, Donalda Dickie (1940). This section also advised teachers to organize informal meetings to discuss the enterprise approach. The Ontario curriculum committeeʹs only other addition to the programme was a response to media demands for assurance that the Department of Education was cognizant that schooling should reflect the effort to win the war and maintain the Canadian way of life. This addition, extolling the benefits of a democratic society, based on Christian ideals and its bulwark, the British Commonwealth, was repeatedly mentioned in several places: the preamble, the Enterprise, and the Social Studies sections. The Ontario Programme of Studies (1941) proclaimed that “national character” could be strengthened only through training students in the rights and responsibilities of citizenship, and concluded that democracy demands “the finest service of which [the child] is capable, and a willingness to make sacrifices for the common welfare” (pp. 5, 16‐24, & 71‐86). Beyond the whistle‐stop tour and curriculum additions, the Ontario Department of Education did not engage in further efforts to enhance implementation of the enterprise approach, although though the Depression had left many schools, especially in rural areas, woefully 1116 LYNN SPEER LEMISKO & KURT W. CLAUSEN short of materials needed as teachers’ aids, for professional development, or even books for the libraries (Patterson, 1990, p. 110). Although letters from teachers continued to arrive at the Department on a frequent basis, pleading for more concrete aid to understand the progressive techniques, the Department, perhaps distracted by the war effort, offered the same number of training sessions on the Enterprise method during the early 1940s as it had in the late 1930s. According to Fleming (1971, pp. 9‐11), enterprises were never evaluated or used for promotional purposes and only sparse records show that Ontario teachers actually used the approach at this time. Although both provinces endeavoured to respond helpfully to implementation problems, Alberta clearly made a more profound effort, going beyond making changes to the curriculum document. Nevertheless, Alberta’s approach did not prove to be any more successful in sustaining the progressive programme in the long run, as compared to Ontario’s approach. LONG‐TERM REACTIONS TO THE PROGRESSIVE CURRICULUM AND PEDAGOGIC REFORM Eventually, both Alberta and Ontario returned to a subject/discipline‐
based curriculum. Both provinces reacted, in part, to similar negative responses to the progressive programme that arose from the broader stakeholder community. However, particular local circumstances also affected the reaction of each Department of Education. Alberta Reactions Between 1945 and 1955, an increasing wave of scholarship turned against the progressive ideas embedded in the revised curriculum. Critics, like university professors H. Neatby (1953) and W. G. Hardy (1954), argued that the approach concentrated too much attention on the development of attitudes and behaviours and pleasurable activities and too little on the development of essential basic skills and intellectual rigour. These critics also argued that progressive education was amoral, irreligious, and un‐Canadian because it arose out of a materialistic and relativistic American social orientation. Alberta businessmen, politicians, and the general public took up many of these criticisms.13 Expressing CONNECTIONS, CONTRARIETIES, AND CONVOLUTIONS 1117 dissatisfaction with the programs and the approach, they were convinced that progressive education had led to falling academic standards. Caught up in the post‐war economic boom, parents and the general public were convinced that schooling should better enable students to participate in the economic opportunities at hand in Alberta; they argued that education should produce high quality technicians and professional people who were in high demand in Albertaʹs vigorous economy (von Heyking, 1996). Although Alberta did not experience a change in government during this time, there had been a change in personnel at the upper echelons of the Department of Education. H. C. Newland, a vehement anti‐
traditionalist advocate of the integrated progressive approach, had resigned as Deputy Minister, replaced by W. H. Swift, who took a more moderate position. Although Swift (1954) challenged Neatbyʹs more strident claims about the ineffectiveness of progressive education, he believed ʺThat in some degree theory and enthusiasm have outrun practice and practicability in instituting changesʺ (np). Under Swiftʹs leadership, the elementary curriculum committee once again revised the programme of studies in 1955 to re‐clarify program goals. Except for Social Studies, which has been retained as a compulsory subject in Alberta to the present, this committee dis‐integrated the course of studies to re‐emphasize content while attempting to retain child‐centred pedagogy. Ontario Reactions In 1943, shortly after the dissemination of the new programme of studies that included The Enterprise Method, the Ontario Liberals fell from power, replaced by a Conservative government under Col. George Drew. Rather than promoting a progressive agenda, the Tories focused on the promotion of an education system that included the inculcation of patriotism, Christian principles, self‐discipline, the nuclear family, and ethical values for freedom and democracy, re‐emphasizing basic reading and mathematical skills (Drew, 1943‐1944). The Department made no changes to the programme documents themselves, however, believing that another round of curriculum reform would have inserted unnecessary chaos during a time of great disruption for an 1118 LYNN SPEER LEMISKO & KURT W. CLAUSEN administration caught within the strains of an escalating and costly war effort. The true end of the first progressive era in Ontario can be linked to the cabinet shuffle of 1951, which resulted in a newly appointed Minister of Education. In this move, the progressive Dana Porter was replaced with a longtime Department and University of Toronto bureaucrat, William J. Dunlop. The complete antithesis of his predecessor, Dunlop put forward a paternalistic view of education. He maintained that it was the sworn responsibility of Ontario teachers to inculcate a uniform body of knowledge, promulgated by a centralized Department, based on the will of the populace and established thought (Foley, 1966). Dunlop repeatedly voiced his antipathy towards the 1941 programme of study, stating that he would not rest until “the last shreds of this so‐called progressive education are gone” because it merely encouraged “self‐
expression and day‐dreaming … to the exclusion of down‐to‐earth fundamentals” (Dunlop, 1953, p. 63). He found ample support for his continued battle against progressivism from Neatby’s (1953) hugely successful book So Little for the Mind. Following her recommendations, Dunlop’s plans included the subdividing of Social Studies into History and Geography and the return of Latin to the curriculum. Ontario’s mid‐century experiment with the integration of disciplines came to a grinding halt.14 Until the neo‐
progressive movement of the late 1960s, the Social Studies component of the elementary programme up to grade 6 was the only element of the progressive curriculum to survive Dunlop’s reactionary reforms. CHALLENGES TO CURRICULUM AND PEDAGOGIC REFORM The comparison of the curriculum reform paths taken by Alberta and Ontario reveals conditions that affected the development and implementation of curricula and pedagogy based on propositions put forward by the Canadian progressive education movement. In the Ontario example, the lack of appropriate education for both preservice and in‐service teachers in the new approaches hindered efforts to implement them. At the same time, the Alberta example demonstrates that, although efforts may be exerted to educate teachers, training in pedagogical techniques was practically useless because it was not CONNECTIONS, CONTRARIETIES, AND CONVOLUTIONS 1119 accompanied by an effort to help teachers internalize the underlying theory and philosophy. The Alberta example also demonstrates that despite a commitment to teacher education, differences in degree of support for reform among teacher educators gave teachers mixed messages about theory and philosophy. Our examination of the circumstances in both Ontario and Alberta indicates that teachers were not provided with either the education or the financial resources to develop appropriate teaching materials. As a result, teachers relied on materials that did not necessarily match the goals or pedagogy of the programme, or the needs of their particular students and projects. Without appropriate education, teachers had difficulty devising strategies to use available materials in ways that were authentic to the new approach. Added to this issue, Alberta and Ontario progressive reformers did not carefully consider the implications for assessment and evaluation that came with new curricula and pedagogical approaches. This failing implies that development and implementation efforts are hindered if a coherent approach to all aspects of an educational endeavour is not formulated, that is, a coherent epistemology, pedagogy, and evaluation. Without this coherence, the resulting programmes in both Alberta and Ontario almost necessarily became a strange patchwork of the traditional and progressive. This historical study suggests that differences in social and political circumstances and ideology both helped and hindered curricular and pedagogic reform. The Ontario example indicates that a changing political situation, with corresponding changes in ideology, had a dramatic effect on reform efforts: hindering, then helping, then hindering again, depending on the party in power and the minister in charge. The Alberta example demonstrates that the general attitude toward reform and the apparent ideological consensus among education reformers and political reformers proved helpful in the initial development and implementation. However, this example also demonstrates such a consensus, whether apparent or real, was difficult to sustain and that when it disintegrated, the curricular reform effort disintegrated along with it. 1120 LYNN SPEER LEMISKO & KURT W. CLAUSEN Taken together, this comparison demonstrates the connections, contrarieties, and convolutions of curricular and pedagogic reform that unfolded in the two provinces between c. 1930 and 1955. If educators were to use these past experiences to inform their current efforts to reform curriculum and pedagogy, they might attend to the conditions that affected these earlier reform efforts to ensure that implementation of the reform remained coherent with its underlying theory, including appropriate teacher education, appropriate funding, and appropriate supporting material. As well, such reformers need to ensure that the philosophical underpinnings of the reform approach are thoroughly understood by teachers, resource developers, and curriculum revisers to ensure a coherent epistemological, pedagogical, and evaluation approach. Moreover, the general social, political, and intellectual environments have a significant impact on how education reformers engage in and sustain the reform effort. NOTES According to Tomkins (1986) Progressive Education is a “loosely applied label, a complex reality that had both liberal and conservative dimensions” (p. 189). He describes certain sub‐divisions of the movement based on their dominant characteristics: (a) the “administrative progressives” and “educational scientists” who sought to centralize education for social control and social efficiency and (b) the “pedagogical progressives” – the group we have chosen to examine in our analysis. 2 Note the description of Social Studies in the Alberta Elementary Program of Studies (1936): ʺ[Social Studies is a programme] …where the child is granted a considerable degree of freedom to make decisions and to carry out his [her] own designs .… The Social Studies afford experiences in which the teacher progressively aids the pupil to develop an understanding of his relationships to others, and to adjust himself to living in a world of other youths and adults, things, institutions, ideas and aspirations.ʺ (pp.109‐110) 3 Statements in the Alberta Ministryʹs Bulletin 2 (1949, p. 16) show that health and science continued to be integrated into the enterprise program, while statements made in Bulletin 2 (1953, pp. 35‐6) indicate that there was no need to integrate these subjects. 1
CONNECTIONS, CONTRARIETIES, AND CONVOLUTIONS 1121 Although educational promoters outside of the inner circle of the Department (for example, the New Education Fellowship and the Ontario Education Association) strongly advanced certain reforms in the school system and local authorities and personalities like Toronto Superintendent James L. Hughes or Hamilton homemaker Adelaide Hoodless even managed to have certain innovations added to the curriculum through their sheer strength of will (Patterson 1974), Stamp (1982) points out that these new courses were merely piecemeal additions to the curriculum (pp. 164‐5) doing little to change the traditional, subject‐centred, teacher‐centred philosophy in the Ontario program. 5 Although this new curriculum was under development, an election occurred and the Social Credit came to power. This change did not affect the curricular reform in Alberta, and the new government, with William Aberhart as both premier and Minster of Education, continued to support progressive curricular reform. In fact, the curriculum revision of 1940 aimed at an even deeper integration of subjects. 6 As early as 1884, for example, the Ontario Teachers’ Association brought in the champion of child‐centred education, Colonel Francis W. Parker, to speak at their annual convention (Guillet, 1960, pp. 109‐110). For Parker’s ongoing connection with Canada, see Campbell (1975). 7 Although the United Farmers of Ontario did win one term in office, they seemed more devoted to extending and improving educational facilities in rural districts than to curriculum reform (Stamp, 1982, pp. 108‐109). 8 Both Simpson and his deputy Minister/Chief Director, Duncan McArthur, were well versed in the American, British, and Canadian innovations brought forth by the philosophy of progressivism. For their connection to the educational elite in Ontario, see Wood (1985). 9 A whole section was devoted to this aspect of education in both the Programme of Studies for Grades 1 to 6 (1941) and the Programme of Studies for Grades 7 and 8 (1942). 10 Of the four books listed in the first calendar of the Faculty of Education at the University of Toronto, established in 1907, two were written by John Dewey. Even the Ontario Teachers’ Manual on History of Education, published in 1915, makes mention of Dewey’s influence (Phillips, 1957, p. 426). 11 Various authors, “Correspondence to the Superintendent of Elementary Education,” RG‐2, P‐3, Box 244, File 4‐815/816, Archives of Ontario. 12 C. C. Goldring, superintendent of Schools for Toronto in 1937‐8, contradicts this statement, claiming that at least 85 per cent of public school teachers encouraged their classes to undertake enterprises. However, this was in 4
1122 LYNN SPEER LEMISKO & KURT W. CLAUSEN the most urban of school districts with access to more materials (Tomkins, 1986, p. 198). Further, even Goldring warned that he felt the enterprise was being used in an excessively formalized way, as product not process. 13 For examples, see editorial (1946) The Three Rʹs, Lethbridge Herald, re‐
printed in The Alberta School Trustee,16/9, p. 28; letter to the editor (November 1947) Calgary Herald, p. 20; author unknown. (1950) Not Enough Facts Taught in School. Alberta Home and School News, 5/9, p. 5; J. J. Brown (1951), Mr. Brown Looks at Education, Canadian Business, 24/11, p.49 cited in von Heyking, 1996, pp. 337‐339. 14 By 1942, criticisms of progressivism were becoming more pointed during the annual conventions of the Ontario Education Association. See 1943 speeches by Darcy Davidson of Ryerson Public School, Toronto; Dr. J. F. McDonald, the Inspector of Separate Schools for Ottawa; Dr. S. F. Maine of the University of Western Ontario; and the 1952 convention dedicated to rethinking the progressive model, in Guillet (1960). REFERENCES Alberta Department of Education. (1907). Annual Report of the Department of Education of the Province of Alberta 1906. Edmonton: Kingʹs Printer. Alberta Department of Education. (1913). Seventh Annual Report of the Department of Education of the Province of Alberta 1912. Edmonton: Kingʹs Printer. Alberta Department of Education. (1922). Part I and Part II of the Course of Studies for the Elementary Schools of Albert. Edmonton: King’s Printer. Alberta Department of Education. (1936). Program of Studies for The Elementary School Grades I to VI, 109‐110. Edmonton: Kingʹs Printer. Alberta Department of Education. (1937). Annual Report of the Department of Education of the Province of Alberta 1936. Edmonton: Kingʹs Printer. Alberta Department of Education. (1938). Annual Report of the Department of Education of the Province of Alberta 1937. Edmonton: Kingʹs Printer. Alberta Department of Education. (1940). Annual Report of the Department of Education of the Province of Alberta 1939. Edmonton: Kingʹs Printer. Alberta Department of Education. (1940). Program of Studies for the Elementary School Grades I to VI. Edmonton: Kingʹs Printer. CONNECTIONS, CONTRARIETIES, AND CONVOLUTIONS 1123 Alberta Department of Education. (1941). Annual Report of the Department of Education of the Province of Alberta 1940. Edmonton: Kingʹs Printer. Alberta Department of Education. (1942). Annual Report of the Department of Education of the Province of Alberta 1941. Edmonton: Kingʹs Printer. Alberta Department of Education. (1943). Annual Report of the Department of Education of the Province of Alberta 1942. Edmonton: Kingʹs Printer. Alberta Department of Education. (1946). Annual Report of the Department of Education of the Province of Alberta 1945. Edmonton: Kingʹs Printer. Alberta Department of Education. (1947). Annual Report of the Department of Education of the Province of Alberta 1946. Edmonton: Kingʹs Printer. Alberta Department of Education. (1949). Bulletin 2, Program of Studies for the Elementary School. Edmonton: Kingʹs Printer. Alberta Department of Education. (1953). Bulletin 2, Elementary School, Methods: The Enterprise. Edmonton: Kingʹs Printer. Barrow, R. (1979). The Canadian curriculum: A personal view . London, ON: University of Western Ontario. Byrne, T. C. (1991). Albertaʹs revolutionary leaders. Calgary, AB: Detselig Entrerises. Campbell, J. K. (1975). Colonel Francis W. Parker: The children’s crusader. New York: College Press. Case, R. (1999). Elements of a coherent social studies program. In R. Case, & P.Clark (Eds). The Canadian anthology of Social Studies. Vancouver, BC: Pacific Educational Press. Crawford, M. (1936). The school and the social order. The Bulletin of the School of Education Society, pp. 72‐122. Curtis, B. (1988). Building the educational state: Canada West, 1836‐1871. London, ON: The Althouse Press. Dickie, D. (1940). The Enterprise in theory and practice. Toronto: W. J. Gage & Company Limited. Doucette, A. (nd.). Attitude toward the Enterprise curriculum, np., nd, file 17.11, Doucette Papers, University of Calgary Archive. 1124 LYNN SPEER LEMISKO & KURT W. CLAUSEN Drew, G. (1943‐1944). Addresses & Addresses, 1943‐1944, Drew Papers, files 146, 146 (3b), 314 (3b), and files 249‐271, Archives of Ontario. Dunlop, W. (1953). OSSTF Bulletin. Publication of the Ontario Secondary School Teachersʹ Federation. Dunlop, W. (1952). Annual Report of the Ontario Minister of Education. Toronto: Queen’s Press. Fleming, W. G. (1972). Ontario’s educative society. Volume II: The administrative structure. Toronto: University of Toronto Press. Fleming, W. G. (1971). Ontario’s educative society, volume 3, Schools, pupils, and teachers. Toronto: University of Toronto Press. Foley, R. S. (1966). William James Dunlop: A brief history. Private publication, available in OISE library. Francis, R. D. & Palmer, H. (Eds). (1992). The prairie west. Edmonton: Pica Pica Press. Gibbs, C. L. (1928).Editorial. A.T.A. Magazine, 8, p. 3. Gidney, R. D. (1999). From Hope to Harris: The reshaping of Ontario’s schools. Toronto: University of Toronto Press Guillet, E. C. (1960). In the cause of education: A centennial history of the Ontario Education Association, 1861‐1960. Toronto: University of Toronto. Hallman, D. M. (1992). A thing of the past: Teaching in one‐room schools in rural Nova Scotia, 1936‐1941. Historical Studies in Education, 4.1, pp. 113‐132. Hardy, W. G. (1954). Education in Alberta. Articles published in a pamphlet by the Calgary Herald, n.d.; articles originally appeared in February 1954 in the Calgary Herald, the Edmonton Journal, the Lethbridge Herald, and the Medicine Hat News. Kilpatrick, W. H. (1918). The project method. New York: Teachers College, Columbia University. Laycock, D. (1990). Populism and democratic thought in the Canadian Prairies. Toronto: University of Toronto Press. CONNECTIONS, CONTRARIETIES, AND CONVOLUTIONS 1125 Manzer, R. (1994). Public schools and political ideas: Canadian educational policy in historical perspective. Toronto: University of Toronto Press. McNally, G. F. (1922). Annual Reports of the Alberta Department of Education. Edmonton: Kingʹs Printer. McNally, G. F. (1964). G. Fred. A memoir recorded and transcribed by H. T. Coutts and B. E. Walker. Don Mills, ON: J. M. Dent and Sons (Canada) Limited. Mosely, H. H (1968). The philosophy and operation of the grade 13 year. The Headmaster 3, p. 3. Neatby, H. (1953). So little for the mind. Toronto: Clark, Irwin & Company Ltd. Newland, H. C. (1921). The slave mind. The ATA Magazine, pp. 20‐22. Newland, H. C. (1936). Annual Report of the Alberta Department of Education. Edmonton: Kingʹs Printer. Newland, H. C. (1937) Annual Report of the Alberta Department of Education. Edmonton: Kingʹs Printer. Newland, H. C. (1940). Annual Report of the Alberta Department of Education. Edmonton: Kingʹs Printer. Ontario Department of Education. (1936). The Minister’s Annual Report. Toronto: The King’s Printer. Ontario Department of Education. (1937). Programme of Studies for Grades 1 to 6 of the public and separate schools. Toronto: The King’s Printer. Ontario Department of Education. (1938). The Minister’s Annual Report. Toronto: The King’s Printer. Ontario Department of Education. (1941). Programme of Studies for Grades 1 to 6 of the public and separate schools. Toronto: The King’s Printer. Ontario Department of Education. (1942). Programme of Studies for Grades 7 to 8 of the public and separate schools. Toronto: The King’s Printer. Palmer, H., & Palmer, T. (1990). Alberta: A new history. Edmonton: Hurtig Publishing. 1126 LYNN SPEER LEMISKO & KURT W. CLAUSEN Patterson, R. (1990). The Canadian experience with progressive education. In E. B. Titley, (Ed.), Canadian education: Historical themes and contemporary issues (pp. 95 – 110). Calgary, AB: Detselig Enterprises Ltd. Patterson, R. (1974). Profiles of Canadian educators. Toronto: D.C. Heath. Patterson, R. (1970). Society and education during the wars and their interlude: 1914‐1945. In J. D. Wilson, T. Stamp &. L. P. Audet (Eds.), Canadian education: A history. (pp. 360‐384). Toronto: Prentice Hall. Patterson, R. (1968). The establishment of progressive education in Alberta. Unpublished doctoral dissertation, Michigan State University. Phillips, C. E. (1957). The development of education in Canada. Toronto: W. J. Gage and Company Limited. Stamp, R. M. (1982). The schools of Ontario, 1876‐1976. Toronto: University of Toronto Press. Swift, W. H. (1954). Pendulum or synthesis? Address to the Edmonton teacher convention. Swift Papers, accession no. 69‐29, file 3/6/1, University of Alberta Archives. Thomson, G. E. (2000). A fondness for charts and children: Scientific progressivism in Vancouver schools, 1920‐50. Historical Studies in Education, 12, 111‐128. Titley, E. B. (1990). Canadian education: Historical themes and contemporary issues. Calgary, AB: Detselig Enterprises Ltd. Tomkins, G. (1986). A common countenance: Stability and change in the Canadian curriculum . Scarborough, ON: Prentice‐Hall Canada Inc. von Heyking, A. J. (1996). Shaping an education for the modern world: A history of the Alberta Social Studies curriculum, 1905 to 1965. Unpublished doctoral dissertation, University of Calgary. Wood, B. A (1985). Idealism transformed: The making of a progressive educator. Kingston & Montreal: McGill‐Queenʹs University Press. FOSTERING A PROVINCIAL IDENTITY: TWO ERAS IN ALBERTA SCHOOLING Amy von Heyking In this article, I analyse how schools in Alberta have defined the province’s identity and its role in Confederation. During two eras, the 1930s and the 1980s, social studies curriculum and teaching resources contained assertions of provincial uniqueness. In the late 1930s, the progressive curriculum implemented in Alberta’s schools represented the first time a strong provincial consciousness was evident. The resurgence of Western regionalism was reflected in reforms introduced in 1981. I note that schools have played a critical role in shaping a provincial, as well as national, identity. Key words: citizenship, curriculum history, history, regionalism Dans cet article, l’auteure analyse comment les écoles albertaines ont défini l’identité de la province et son rôle au sein de la Confédération. A deux époques, durant les années 1930 et les années 1980, les programmes de sciences humaines et les ressources pédagogiques complémentaires affirmaient le caractère unique de la province. En fait, on trouve dans le programme d’études novateur implanté à la fin des années 30 dans les écoles de l’Alberta le premier témoignage de l’affirmation d’une forte conscience provinciale. La résurgence du régionalisme de l’Ouest s’est reflétée dans des réformes annoncées en 1981. L’auteure note que les écoles jouent un rôle crucial dans la formation d’une identité à la fois provinciale et nationale. Mots clés : citoyenneté, histoire des programmes scolaires, histoire, régionalisme _________________ CANADIAN JOURNAL OF EDUCATION 29, 4 (2006): 1127‐1156 1128 AMY VON HEYKING If nations are “imagined communities” (Anderson, 1991, p. 6), then schools can play a critical role in shaping and transmitting a nation’s common memories, or myths, to the young. Historian Daniel Francis (1997) describes these myths as, “the images and stories that seem to express the fundamental beliefs that Canadians hold about themselves” (p. 10). Historians have recognized the importance of public schools in assimilating generations of immigrant children to English‐Canadian myths (Mazurek, 1999; Osborne, 2000; Prokop, 1989). For many ethnic minorities in Canada, citizenship classes in particular were exercises in “assimilation into the dominant culture which was defined largely in Anglo‐Canadian terms, centering upon command of the English language, loyalty to Canada as a nation of British heritage, commitment to Canada’s British traditions, and pride in Canada’s membership in the British Empire” (Osborne, 2000, p. 14). Studies of immigrant children in rural Alberta in the early twentieth century characterize schools as the most important social institution in introducing children to the social and political values of English Canada, particularly Protestant and capitalistic ideologies (Mazurek, 1999; Prokop, 1989). It seems reasonable, then, that schools and school content must have embodied a coherent and compelling definition of national identity. Yet historians such as Robert Stamp also suggest that schools across the country have failed to create a national consciousness. Indeed, some have pointed to the lack of a coherent national identity among Canadians throughout the twentieth century as proof that schools failed in the task of educating students for future citizenship (Bliss, 1991‐2; Granatstein, 1998). In 1970, a study of textbooks used in English and French‐Canadian classrooms, commissioned by the Royal Commission on Bilingualism and Biculturalism, reported that these teaching materials did not nurture a coherent sense of Canadian national identity (Trudel & Jain, 1970). The commission concluded that the texts reflected and deepened the “two solitudes” of English and French Canada by cultivating separate identities and loyalties. Over the years, several historians have blamed schools for the fact that Canadians cannot identify important people and events in their own history, are cynical about national unity, and are insufficiently loyal to the country (Bliss, 1991‐2; Granatstein 1998; Stamp, 1977). FOSTERING A PROVINCIAL IDENTITY 1129 In this article, I have examined the messages about citizenship and identity embodied in school curriculum and in authorized textbooks. Specifically, it is a case study of how schools in Alberta defined the province’s identity and its role in Confederation. I have focussed largely on the content of history, civics, and social studies courses, featuring history textbooks because history, as a school subject, seeks to define Canada’s identity through its stories about the past. School history creates the context in which Canadians negotiate their ethnic, regional, and civic identities. History courses also provide the focus for this study because they were an important vehicle for citizenship education (Osborne, 1996; Tomkins, 1986). In Alberta after 1935, history instruction was subsumed by social studies, a course that integrated history with the social sciences. I have also examined selections in readers for younger students because the stories and poems in the required readers, often the only history content young children received, contained powerful literary myths that were important in educating their imaginations. For the most part, I reviewed curriculum documents outlining the prescribed courses of study in history, civics, and social studies. Fifty‐
four textbooks or series of textbooks were examined, representing the required content of every elementary and secondary school course in Canadian history, civics, and social studies from 1905 to 1990 (see Appendix A). Following similar studies of curriculum documents and textbooks (Coman, 1996; Foster, 1999; Heathorn, 1995), Using content analysis, I considered the amount of coverage afforded a particular topic within a textbook, keeping in mind Coman’s (1996) caution: “counting words says nothing about those words, within a crafted text, might mean to a reader” (p. 330). Ultimately only my close reading and analysis of the language of the documents and textbooks provided suitable and sufficient information from which to draw conclusions. Cautions regarding the contestable nature of discourse analysis are, however, acknowledged (Gilbert, 1989). In this study, I analyzed the discourse of documents and teaching resources to determine the nature of the topics addressed and the extent to which they reflected elements of Western identity defined by scholars: resentment at the region’s lack of a political voice in the federal government; its willingness to experiment with alternate political parties 1130 AMY VON HEYKING or ways to influence governance; the literary images that have defined the province’s identity (Cooper, 1984; Francis, 1989; Smith 1981). In terms of the school’s emphasis on national or provincial identity, I have categorized the content of school history courses into four distinct patterns: pre‐1930s; the progressive education period from about 1935 to 1945; 1945 through the 1970s; and the 1980s. CURRICULUM AND TEACHING MATERIALS: PRE‐1930 In 1905, Alberta adopted the existing Ontario school curriculum. In 1912, the curriculum underwent limited revisions but this did little to create a uniquely made‐in‐Alberta curriculum. High‐school literature classes consisted entirely of British content. Like their peers in other provinces, the youngest children in Alberta used the Alexandra Readers for lessons in reading and history. Sheehan’s (1979) analysis of these readers concludes that although they included stories from all over the world, “it was the British Empire which was progressive, central to all action, the most enlightened of all civilizations and the British people themselves brave, intelligent, moral” (p. 79). This 1912 curriculum revision required Canadian history in the junior grades and British and Canadian history in high school. In line with Sheehan’s analysis, Tomkins (1986) concluded that in the early years of the Alberta’s history, schools reflected an Anglocentric understanding of Canadian identity common in other parts of English‐speaking Canada. (pp. 143‐147). In 1921, Albertans elected provincially the United Farmers of Alberta (U.F.A.). The U.F.A.’s emphasis on rural issues and its criticisms of traditional party politics and caucus secrecy appealed to many Albertans. In the midst of an unstable economic climate, schools of this era attempted to cope with sharp increases in enrollment and the expansion of vocational programs. A 1921 curriculum revision introduced new courses in manual training, domestic science, health, and physical training, and made some changes to existing academic courses. Formal history instruction was delayed until grade seven. Instead, young children took a citizenship course that emphasized historical stories about important figures in Canadian and British history. The high‐school history courses continued to include classical, medieval, British, and Canadian history. Although the national calls FOSTERING A PROVINCIAL IDENTITY 1131 during these years for a uniquely Canadian perspective on citizenship had an impact on school content in Alberta, largely evident in the increase in Canadian content in the school readers, the curriculum and texts continued to emphasize the importance of the British connection for Canadian nationhood (von Heyking, 2006). THE PROGRESSIVE EDUCATION ERA: 1935 ‐ 1945 Alberta experienced severe economic, political, and social challenges in the 1930s. The collapse of the agricultural industry brought on by depression and drought affected all sectors of the province’s economy. Per capita income fell from $548 in 1928‐9 to $212 in 1933 (Palmer & Palmer, 1990, p. 244). Because less income meant less spending, employees in all sectors of the economy were thrown out of work. Farmers left the southern and eastern parts of the province and went to the cities hoping for work or at least better access to relief. The economic hardship resulted in class conflict and increased discrimination against ethnic groups who were seen to be taking job opportunities from “real” Albertans (Palmer & Palmer, 1990, pp. 247‐52). Largely out of frustration with the ruling U.F.A. party’s inability to deal with these challenges, Albertans in 1935 elected a Social Credit government led by school principal and radio evangelist, William Aberhart. Politicians argued that Alberta students needed a school curriculum appropriate for life in the West. C. L. Gibbs, member of the Legislative Assembly and former teacher, said that he hoped a new curriculum would not look like “some little mouse, gray with Ontario dust and heavy with Ontario prejudice” (cited in Patterson & Card 1977, p. 92). Several years after its implementation, Andy Doucette (1948), a former school inspector and head of the Calgary branch of the University of Alberta, told an audience in Cayley, a small town south of Calgary, that the purpose of the progressive curriculum was to prepare Alberta children “for intelligent and effective living in our prairie society of warm summers, cold winters, infrequent Chinooks, high snow‐drifts, wheat and cattle‐raising, and group living on farms, in villages, towns, and cities” (n.p.). Calls for a more practical curriculum suited to life in Alberta coincided with education officials’ interest in progressive approaches to 1132 AMY VON HEYKING education. These officials accepted that schools should do their share in solving social problems. They believed that only new progressive pedagogical approaches would equip future citizens with the problem‐
solving skills that society required. In 1935, the Department of Education, under the leadership of newly appointed Supervisor of Schools, Hubert C. Newland, introduced progressive education to the schools of Alberta. Accordingly, despite its obvious American origins in the ideas of John Dewey and specifically in William Kilpatrick’s project method, the new elementary Programme of Studies (officially implemented in 1942) emphasized the unique local character of the new curriculum, a made‐in‐Alberta curriculum. Although the programme of studies here presented may be called an activity programme, nevertheless it is in no sense one which is borrowed from another system or applied without regard to the nature of the environment in which it must operate. Rather it is a home‐grown product carefully developed in the light of the needs, opportunities, and limiting conditions as they are to be found in and about Alberta children in Alberta schools. (Department of Education, 1942, pp. 22‐3) The elementary school curriculum was redesigned around the Enterprise approach. According to the Programme of Studies for Elementary Schools (1942), the enterprise was “a series of purposeful activities arising out of the pupils’ needs and interests and revolving about one central theme” (p. 33). Out of the chosen theme, for example “Food,” students would undertake activities that would lead to learning outcomes in the subject areas of social studies, science, health, language, and possibly several of the fine arts. The Programme defined social studies as those investigations “whose subject matter relates directly to the organization and development of human society and to man as a member of social groups” (p. 56). Because the function of all schooling, according to progressive educators, was to fit a child for social living, social studies was fundamental to the task of helping students understand the world in which they lived and who they were as citizens. For secondary school students, those in grades seven through twelve, the progressive revision was implemented from 1935 to 1938 and replaced history courses with social studies. FOSTERING A PROVINCIAL IDENTITY 1133 The course in Social Studies … will introduce to the pupils the problems of modern civilization in their historical and geographical setting. As its name implies, it is socially directed, dealing essentially with the “here” and “now,” and subordinating the “there” and “then.” It is in no sense an attempt to camouflage history, geography and civics. When the content of these formal subject categories sheds any light on the problems under study, it is then introduced. (Department of Education 1935, p. 28) Because learning was understood as an active process, social studies abandoned traditional topics of instruction in favour of a series of problems, the investigation of which formed the basis of each course. For example, grade‐seven students explored the problem of settlement in Canada, grade‐eight students, the problem of Canada’s membership in the British Empire. Grade‐nine students, in addressing the problems of the World of Today, examined the impact of science and technology on modern life. Senior‐high school students studied the economic and political problems of the ancient world as well as the twentieth century. It was expected that the student would, “relate his findings to present‐
day problems with a view to discovering how we may cope with these problems” (Department of Education 1939, p. 3). This progressive curriculum with its aim to prepare students for social life represented the first real attempt of Alberta educators to create a curriculum that met provincial needs and embodied a provincial identity. They were proud of their boldness in introducing the progressive revision. They defended it as more appropriate for Alberta than the traditional curriculum inherited from Ontario (von Heyking, 1998). The Department of Education commissioned instructors at provincial Normal Schools and teachers to write the texts for the new junior‐high school social studies program. Because this program was unique within Canada, existing textbooks from other provinces could not be authorized for use. William D. McDougall, with Gilbert Paterson, wrote the three texts used at this level: Our Country and its People, Our Empire and its Neighbors, and The World of Today. The content of the texts reflected the attempt of progressive educators to increase the relevance of the curriculum by addressing provincial concerns and stressing the province’s, even the “West’s,” distinctive identity. 1134 AMY VON HEYKING For example, Alberta’s political grievances vis‐à‐vis Ottawa appeared in school texts. Our Empire and its Neighbours equated the position of Canada’s prairie provinces with the agricultural south of the United States prior to the Civil War (McDougall & Paterson,1937, p. 118). After a brief examination of Canada’s industrial expansion, students were asked, “Would Canada be better off to‐day if there had been no tariff barrier to trade between Canada and the United States during the last fifty years?” (p. 145). The conclusion of the book made Alberta’s position very clear. But the eastern manufacturer has persuaded the Canadian government to place heavy customs duties on all such goods coming into Canada from abroad, thus raising the price of foreign goods and leaving the western farmer no choice in the matter. Under such conditions it might be expected that the Canadian government would regulate to some extent the prices charged for necessary implements of production, for winter clothing and other essential goods, but unfortunately no such safeguards have been attempted…. This “economic imperialism” (as it is sometimes called) of the East over the West has caused a great deal of discontent throughout Alberta, but because the population of the province is small, it has not very many members in the Dominion Parliament, and the East continues to control the government. (pp. 236‐7) In the grade‐seven social studies textbook, McDougall and Paterson asked students to debate the wisdom of giving so much Western farmland to the C.P.R., to discuss whether Montana might be a more natural trading partner for Alberta than Ontario, and to decide whether every farmer should belong to a cooperative buying and selling organization (McDougall & Paterson 1938a, pp. 142, 155). The wealth of the East was attributed to the growing number of consumers in Western Canada: “In the East, manufacturing increased apace, for the West offered a new and ever‐extending market” (p.151). And although the text acknowledged the importance of Eastern Canadians in building and even financing the development of the prairies, students were asked to discuss, “In what ways has eastern Canada received a handsome reward for the money invested in the West?” (p. 153). FOSTERING A PROVINCIAL IDENTITY 1135 The textbooks of the 1930s also presented students with detailed explanations of cooperative organizations: their histories, their purposes and their benefits, particularly for Western farmers. In Our Country and its People, students were asked to “make a cartoon showing the unfortunate position of the farmer when he is selling and buying” (McDougall & Paterson 1938a, p. 115). The authors briefly outlined the history of cooperative organizations in Canada, such as the Grange, the farmers’ cooperative established in Eastern Canada in the 1870s, lamented its failure in the 1890s, and said that “the value of cooperation has to be learned slowly, and sometimes painfully, by most people” (p. 114). The lessons from this failure, however, provided the basis for the success of the Wheat Pool, the farmers’ “greatest and most successful achievement” (p. 115). The World of Today included the story of the Wheat Pool as well as a detailed explanation for the development of grain growers’ organizations in all three prairie provinces (McDougall & Paterson 1938b, pp. 80‐8). McDougall and Paterson identified these cooperative efforts as unique Western examples of solutions to economic problems that might serve as lessons for others. After outlining the apparent failures of federal initiatives to deal with the worst effects of the Great Depression in Western Canada, they also described the rise of new political parties that might provide interesting alternatives: the Progressives, the C.C.F., and Social Credit (pp. 313‐8). The texts also stressed the important contribution of Alberta’s natural resources to the economy of the entire British Empire, however sometimes supported by false statistics. Alberta’s gas wells represented “the largest supply of gas within the British Empire” (McDougall & Paterson 1937, pp. 221‐2). Other fuels were also important: “Alberta stands first among the provinces of Canada in coal area and production; indeed, approximately seventy‐two per cent of the coal resources of the British Empire lie within the province” (McDougall & Paterson 1937, p. 217). It was, however, as a grain supplier that Alberta was particularly celebrated: “Alberta flour mills have reached a capacity far beyond the needs of the province, and most of the flour produced is exported.… And so it is that hard wheat grown on the sunny prairie‐land of Alberta may finish up as a slice of toast (perhaps with New Zealand butter and Australian jam) on the breakfast table of an English family” (McDougall 1136 AMY VON HEYKING & Paterson 1937, p. 232). At every opportunity, the texts stressed the unique contributions of Alberta and its resources to the Empire. Historian R. Douglas Francis (1992) emphasizes the central role of imagery in the art and literature of the prairie region in the creation of a sense of regional identity (pp. 36‐8). Because the readers used in Alberta classrooms in this period were published in Toronto and used across Canada, few of these images or myths were evident in literary selections. The Sixth reader in the Highroads to Reading series included some stories about Western Canada, including the “Chinook,” a weather phenomenon well known to the people of southern Alberta. However, the story was described solely in terms of its impact on British Columbia (pp. 320‐2). Only in a poem in this reader, “The Prairie School” did Alberta school children get glimmerings of the literary images of the prairies as a place of boundless space and endless opportunity: The sweet west wind, the prairie school a break in the yellow wheat, The prairie trail that wanders by to the place where the four winds meet – A trail with never an end at all to the children’s eager feet. The morning scents, the morning sun, a morning sky so blue, The distance melts to meet it till both are lost to view In a little line of glory where the new day beckons through – And out of the glow, the children: a whoop and a calling gay, A clink of lunch‐pails swinging as they clash in mimic fray, A shout and a shouting echo from a world as young as they! (p. 70). FOSTERING A PROVINCIAL IDENTITY 1137 Significantly, McDougall and Patterson attempted to incorporate literary images of the prairies in their social studies textbooks. In contrast to the common view of the Canadian landscape as a northern wilderness, they emphasized the boundless space of the prairies. Beyond the Great Lakes a new land has opened out, differing in many ways from the valley of the St. Lawrence. An immense plain, flat, almost treeless, it stretches far as the eye can see, wide as any ocean. The sky is unbelievably clear, the air is keen with the freshness of wide open spaces. Beyond this seemingly limitless region there rises the barrier wall of the Rockies, pink at sunrise, blue at night. (McDougall & Paterson 1938a, p. 117) The progressive curriculum revision of this period was significant because it represented the first time texts asserted a distinctively Alberta perspective of the country. In its interpretation of the development of Canada, in its presentation of Canada’s contemporary economic issues, and even in some sense in its descriptions of the region’s landscape, the curriculum presented students with an understanding of what it meant to be a Western Canadian and an Albertan. CURRICULUM AND INSTRUCTIONAL RESOURCES: 1945 – LATE 1970s National images and priorities regained prominence with the Second World War. In 1946, the Department of Education provided optional and mandated units in Canadian geography, history, and citizenship. The social studies courses from grades seven to twelve were redrawn to put issues within a Canadian context or to clarify Canada’s role in world issues. The textbooks used until the late 1970s emphasized the development of a unique national, as opposed to provincial, identity. For example, University of Toronto historian George Brown’s (1942) text, Building the Canadian Nation, used in Alberta classrooms in the 1940s and 1950s, told students that every province, every section, every community has its own history, deserving of careful and appreciative study. Nevertheless, the fact that Canada exists today is proof that there is a Canadian history which is greater than the sum of these 1138 AMY VON HEYKING particular histories. It is with this deep conviction that this book has been written. (p. v) Throughout the 1950s and 1960s, the Alberta social studies curriculum was dominated by historian Arthur Lower’s interpretation of the evolution of Canada from colony to nation and his thesis that Canadians were shaped by the common experience in a northern wilderness (Chafe & Lower, 1948). By the 1960s, however, it was apparent that placing these texts in the schools was not sufficient to guarantee the creation of a coherent national identity among Canadian youth. A. B. Hodgetts (1968) published his indictment of Canadian history teaching, What Culture? What Heritage? In it he concluded that “most Canadian studies, as currently prescribed and taught, do not … encourage an understanding and appreciation of a great many aspects of our cultural heritage” (p. 75). His study and the work of T. H. B. Symons and the Commission on Canadian Studies (1975) resulted in the establishment of the Canada Studies Foundation and a determination on the part of educators to increase Canadian content in all provincial curricula. What happened in Alberta is an interesting illustration of how provincial identity redirected this attempt at nationalizing school content. CURRICULUM AND INSTRUCTIONAL MATERIALS: 1980s In 1971 Albertans elected a new Progressive Conservative government. Under the leadership of Premier Peter Lougheed, the province battled the federal government under Prime Minister Pierre Trudeau’s Liberals on issues such as official bilingualism and freight rates, but particularly for control of increasing resource revenues. Under the terms of the federal equalization program, the province had become a “have” province in 1967. The Lougheed government’s increase in the energy royalty rates and a sharp increase in world oil prices brought an enormous amount of money into the provincial treasury throughout the 1970s (Richards & Pratt, 1979). The province used the money to diversify the provincial economy and to invest in the Heritage Savings Trust Fund, established in 1974. The amount of money flowing into the province and some of the province’s spending decisions, such as acquiring controlling interest in Pacific Western Airlines, raised the ire of FOSTERING A PROVINCIAL IDENTITY 1139 the federal Liberals. The National Energy Program introduced in 1980 was sold to residents of Central and Eastern Canada as a “made in Canada” energy policy that would secure the country’s energy self‐
sufficiency and ensure reasonable consumer energy prices. To Albertans it was widely unpopular; it was seen as an exploitive grab of Alberta’s constitutionally guaranteed resource revenues to solve the financial crisis the Liberals had themselves created (Bunner, 2003). Historian John Herd Thompson (1998) describes this period as the nadir of Alberta’s relationship with Ottawa. Although the central Canadian media accused Albertans of pandering to American interests and enriching themselves at the expense of the country, Albertans responded by defining the interests of the “New West” within Confederation. Thompson points to the outpouring of scholarly material about the prairie region – its history, politics, and culture – as an indication of the strength of its regional identity (pp. 176‐7). Indeed, he argues that “only in the last two decades of the twentieth century has this regional identity been honed to such anguished perfection that it co‐
exists, uneasily, with the nationalist aspirations of the nineteenth century” (p. ix). In the late 1970s, a number of factors came together: tension between Alberta’s provincial government and Ottawa; a new sense of regional consciousness supported by scholarship; and a provincial government willing to use the power, money, and institutions at its disposal to nurture its vision of the “New West.” When these factors coincided with the celebration of Alberta’s seventy‐fifth anniversary and federal financial support for new school resources, the result was a new social studies curriculum imbued with a strong sense of Alberta’s identity and its place within Canada. In 1975 the federal government, under a plan called the Canadian Content Project, provided funds to education ministries to create classroom resources with significant Canadian content (Tomkins,1986). In Alberta, several of these resources, really teaching kits, had already been produced when the provincial government announced the creation of the Alberta Heritage Learning Resources Project in November 1977. This project set aside $8,387,000 from the Alberta Heritage Savings Trust Fund for the creation of classroom materials for teachers to support new 1140 AMY VON HEYKING programs in social studies, language arts, and science (Alberta Education 1977‐8, p. 24). These resources. created by local writers and educators under the supervision of the provincial Director of the Curriculum Branch,3 reflected the Canada Studies as defined by the Symons Report. This new provincially directed program subsumed the earlier national initiative and resulted in a plethora of resources for Alberta teachers. Under the auspices of the Alberta Heritage Learning Resources Project, every school in the province received a wall‐size relief model of the province and a teacher’s manual with ideas for its use with students. With the Department of Geography at the University of Alberta, the Curriculum Branch produced a Junior Atlas of Alberta and accompanying Teacher’s Guide intended for use with students in grades four to six. These resources gave students detailed information about Alberta’s physical and human geography and provided them with an excellent opportunity to learn about their natural and human environment. To answer the call for more Canadian content in schools, the new social studies curriculum was developed in the late 1970s and officially implemented in 1981 (Alberta Education, 1981). To support this program, the Curriculum Branch produced sixteen multi‐media kits, called KanataKits, for use in grades one through twelve. Although this curriculum and the resources developed to support it contained ample Canadian content, many of the required topics asserted the province’s uniqueness within Canada. For example, the new curriculum required Alberta students to examine old and new examples of the political subordination of the West. For example, grade‐six, students considered to what extent governments should help people meet their needs and researched the building of the Canadian Pacific Railway (Alberta Education, 1981, p. 50). The authorized teaching resource outlined the positions of the two major federal political parties, the resistance of Native groups that culminated in the Northwest Rebellion of 1885, the use of Chinese labour, and the impact of the railway on settlement of this region (Alberta Heritage Learning Resources Project, 1980b). Students learned about the complexity of the issue and all the people it affected before determining just whose needs were served in this case. They then used the insights gained from this research to answer the required inquiry question: “What implications can be drawn for government FOSTERING A PROVINCIAL IDENTITY 1141 involvement in a contemporary issue (e.g., proposed northern pipeline) on the basis of historical precedents (e.g., building of the C.P.R.)?” (Alberta Education, 1981, p. 51). Students were expected to clearly demonstrate sensitivity to the needs of that region and its people in reaching their conclusions, implying that little such sensitivity had been shown in the past. In grade ten, students spent one‐third of the social studies course studying the issue of Canadian unity to answer the question: “To what extent are the competing forces of provincial autonomy and federal centralization of power compatible with national unity?” (Alberta Education 1981, p. 76). Although teachers addressed Quebec separatism in the course, five of the seven regional issues were examples of conflict between the federal government and Westerners: the Riel Rebellions, health care coverage in Saskatchewan in the 1960s, the monetary policy of the Social Credit government of the 1930s, bilingualism, and resource control in the 1970s and 1980s. The 1870 Riel Rebellion, for example, was defined as an example of federal‐provincial conflict in the West rather than a cultural conflict (Alberta Education, 1981, pp. 76‐7). One of the required texts for the course provided an overview of both Riel uprisings and concluded: In many respects, the Riel uprisings were early examples of “western alienation”, the feeling that the interests of westerners are often different from those of Ontario and Quebec. Since Central Canada holds so much political power, westerners often feel that the Canadian government neglects the West, and forces “Eastern” policies upon it. A century later, these issues are still very much alive. What examples can you give from recent years that show this to be true? (Kirbyson, 1977, pp. 77‐
8) The curriculum did not include only a litany of Western grievances against the federal government. In the spirit of the “New West,” children were also assured that Alberta was an integral part of Canada. The curriculum portrayed the West, not as a region onto which the federal government imposed its priorities, but as a region essential to the survival of the nation. Students spent the entire grade‐four year examining the province’s resources, its history, and its ties to the rest of 1142 AMY VON HEYKING Canada and the world (Alberta Education, 1981, pp. 34‐5). The teaching resources provided guiding questions to help children consider their feelings about the province: “Are you proud to be associated with Alberta?” “What is the nicest thing about Alberta?” and “Where is the most beautiful place in Alberta?” (Dueck, 1979, p. 40). Considerable information about resources such as water, minerals, animals, and plants was provided. Inquiry projects directed students through the process of searching and drilling for oil, and then transporting and refining oil. Contemporary issues formed the basis of the unit as children were asked, “What does Alberta do with the oil and gas that she produces? Why is this important to Alberta? Do you think it’s fair that the oil companies have to share some of their profits (the money they make) with the Alberta Government?” (Dueck, 1979, p. 237). The final third of the year involved examining the competing values of self‐sufficiency and interdependence to answer the required social issue: “How should Alberta share its resources?” (Alberta Education, 1981, p. 38). The same issue was revisited in grade five within the context of a study of Canada’s physical geography and industries. One of the final activities in the authorized teaching unit required students to decide how the money in the Alberta Heritage Savings Trust Fund should be spent. Students were asked, “Are we willing to share our money with the poorer regions of Canada?” (Wray, 1979, p. 123) Regardless of students’ answers to the question, the consideration of these issues pointed out Alberta’s unique position within Confederation. Scholars have identified images of the West in prairie literature and art that have been central to the creation of the region as a “region of the mind” (Francis, 1989; Friesen 1999; Harrison, 1977; Stiles 1990). Few of these images were incorporated into school content until 1981, largely because little Western Canadian literature was included in the curriculum. In the 1980s, however, texts and supporting resources featured many samples of Western Canadian literature. For example, the Alberta history kit for grade four contained primary documents, reminiscences, and poetry that reflected familiar regional myths of endless space and unlimited rewards for those willing to work hard (Alberta Heritage Learning Resources Project, 1980a). These literary images or myths were also evident in another group of supporting FOSTERING A PROVINCIAL IDENTITY 1143 resources for social studies in grades four through six: the Alberta Heritage Books for Young Readers (Mitchner, 1979‐1980). Of the nine books produced in this series, five recounted the history of the province. These books embodied images of Alberta that historians and literary scholars have identified as central to a Western Canadian regional identity. They celebrated the independent spirit of Westerners, their freedom from the social constraints of the old world, and the rewards for those who worked the land (Francis, 1989; Stiles, 1990). For example, the hard life of ranchers is described in a story in the reader, From the Ground Up. Although Gordie Herr, the featured rancher, recognized the uncertainty of the industry, he emphasized the importance of the freedom of his life saying, “I like the life that ranching offers my family. You are your own boss, nobody to answer to” (Chevraux, 1979, p. 25). Agricultural innovators were celebrated for their contributions to the technological progress of the province and their ability to overcome the limitations of an often hostile environment (Stiles, 1990, p. 34). The Pages of the Past celebrates the achievements of hard‐working and innovative Albertans such as Charles Noble, “the man who wouldn’t quit” and eventually realized his dream of producing a plough blade that cut the roots of weeds but left stubble intact and thereby stopped wind erosion” (Bohnec, 1979, pp. 91‐2). Although this particular book recognizes that Alberta had challenges ahead, such as resource conservation, it concluded with a powerful, and lengthy, evocation of what it meant to be an Albertan in the twentieth century. The myths of individualism and reward for hard work are prominent. Alberta is a lone Indian on a horse at the top of a hill. It is a settler beating at a runaway prairie fire, or building a shanty of sod. It is a section‐man laying track for a railroad. It is a teacher giving English lessons to children from countries far away. It is a farmer running a combine late at night, or a brave man capping a burning oil well. Alberta is a land of promise that has been fulfilled – the promise of golden grain, of sweet‐scented lumber, of sleek cattle, and oil and gas. It is a land of promise that gives according to the effort of each person. Above all else, Alberta is people …. It is every Albertan who gave the sweat of his or her brow to make the promise come true. It is a tribute to people 1144 AMY VON HEYKING who were, and who still are, brave enough to follow a dream. (Bohnec, 1979, p. 70) The literary selections in these resources emphasize time and again the values of freedom, individualism, persistence, and initiative and their importance in the success of the province. In 1979 the Alberta Heritage Learning Resources Project also created a set of twelve anthologies (ten in English, one in French, and one in Ukrainian) of Western Canadian literature for students in grades seven to twelve. This series, Western Canadian Literature for Youth, supported existing required materials for language arts and English courses that had Canadian, but not enough Western Canadian literary content (Ford, 1979). The anthologies included selections by writers such as Margaret Laurence, Sinclair Ross, Susan Musgrave, and Barry Broadfoot. Alberta writers were prominently featured: Edward McCourt, Rudy Wiebe, W. P. Kinsella, W. O. Mitchell, Sid Marty, Hugh Dempsey, Tony Cashman, and Grant MacEwan, along with numerous other Albertans whose letters and memoirs were drawn from newspapers and community histories. The collection, Panorama, for example, celebrated the natural landscape of Western Canada. The note to students reminded them that the “great outdoors of Western Canada has given its people suffering and joy, poverty and riches, toil and relaxation. Always remember: it is your heritage. Love and preserve it!” (Ford, 1979a, p. 5). Selections described mountains and seascapes, but many were about the prairies, and the myths of endless space; honest labour figured prominently. A series of poems fostered an appreciation for the rural landscape of the southern part of the province: “A Young Farmer,” “Prairie at Evening,” “Field in the Wind,” “Telephone Poles,” “The Gopher,” “The Prairies,” “My Prairies,” “Prairie Impression,” “Prairie Season,” “Haying Time, 1953,” “Prairie Gold,” and “Harvest Time.” These anthologies were dominated by selections that celebrated Western Canadian images of space, rural life, boundless opportunities, tolerance, and hard work. Students reading them were left with little doubt about the legacy they received from those who preceded them on the land and the responsibility they inherited. Sara Carsley’s poem, FOSTERING A PROVINCIAL IDENTITY 1145 “Pioneers of the West,” included in the anthology Road to Yesterday (Ford, 1979b), made these challenges very clear: League after league, they saw the empty plain, The sad‐eyed oxen at the plough, its trace Scarce visible on the prairie’s giant face, The sod‐built hovel, cowering in the rain. With searing loneliness, toil, hunger, pain, Our fathers fashioned in this desert place A glorious heritage for all their race, A golden empire, robed in golden grain. We will remember, valiant Pioneers. Freely you gave us; freely will we give To troubled men, the burdened, the oppressed, Rich gifts of comfort, peace, and sunlit years, That happiness may bloom and freedom live In this dear land wherein your ashes rest. ( p. 165) In the 1980s, political, social, and ideological factors came together in Alberta to create a school curriculum and teaching resources that embodied very powerful messages about the province’s role in the country, about its identity. CONCLUSION Historians have emphasized the importance of regional identities in the political culture and historical development of English Canada. For example, David Bercuson (1980) warned that, certainly in the case of Western Canada, the process of assimilation should not be confused with Canadian nationalization. He suggested that given the strength of the unique regional identity of the West, we should examine more closely the complex process of assimilation and seek to determine to what extent institutions could nurture different, even competing, loyalties (pp. 121‐
6). Political scientist Barry Cooper (1984) asserted that for Western 1146 AMY VON HEYKING Canadians, Canada is a kind of administrative body rather than a source of pride or identity. He insisted that “regional identity is at the heart of Western political consciousness” (p. 213). But despite thirty years of research into Canada’s regional identities, the role of schools in defining and transmitting myths and images central to these local identities has not been addressed. In this study, I have examined how schools in Alberta defined the province’s identity and its role in Confederation. I have analyzed the content of history, civics, and social studies courses to conclude that in two eras of Alberta’s curriculum history, curriculum and teaching resources asserted the province’s uniqueness. Political scientists identified distinctive elements of prairie political culture: resentment at central Canada’s control of government policies, and, experimentation with a variety of ways to influence government (Smith, 1981). These elements were addressed in the social studies program and school textbooks of the progressive period, about 1935 to 1945. They represented the first time a strong provincial consciousness was embedded in school curriculum. Again in the 1980s, the political and economic issues that defined the province’s identity were embodied in school curriculum and teaching resources. So too were the literary images that dominated this identity: wide open spaces, the independent spirit of Albertans, freedom from constraints of an old world, the opportunities and rewards for those willing to work hard. Clearly, Alberta’s provincial identity has been forged over decades through the experience of its people but also through public institutions such as schools. NOTES 1 Following Apple (1991, 2004), I recognize that curriculum and the textbooks produced to support programs are not the product of a public consensus about what it means to be Canadian or Albertan. School content, represented in curricula and textbooks, is “official” knowledge and therefore the reflection of dominant values of privileged groups. It is socially constructed and imposed on children for a specific purpose: to inculcate them to specific values and to a specific vision of their country and region. The extent to which teachers and children interpret, negotiate, and perhaps even undermine those official FOSTERING A PROVINCIAL IDENTITY 1147 messages is beyond the scope of this paper, a continuing methodological challenge to the curriculum historian. 2 Kliebard (1995) has well documented in an American context the variety of educational reforms and ideas that historians describe as progressive. His distinction between the various strands of progressive ideologies and reforms – social efficiency, social meliorist, developmentalist – is useful for understanding the impetus behind reforms to Canadian schools, school systems, and school programs. For example, social efficiency progressives in British Columbia were instrumental in reorganizing school divisions and imposing large‐scale assessment in the name of progressivism in the 1920s. In Ontario, the progressive emphasis on child‐centred education appealed to education officials influenced by pastoral pedagogy (Cavanagh, 2001). In Alberta, progressive education was largely associated with social meliorists such as Chief Superintendent of Schools, Hubert C. Newland, and child developmentalists such as Donalda Dickie, Normal School instructor and author (Coulter, 2005). As a result, curriculum and pedagogical reforms were the focus of their attentions. Although they, like other Alberta educators, emphasized that the new progressive curriculum was designed in Alberta for Alberta’s children, it obviously drew heavily on the experience and ideas of American educators. Many Alberta progressives did graduate with degrees from American universities such as Columbia and Stanford with leading researchers and writers in the progressive movement. There were close ties among Canadian and American progressive educators through organizations such as the Progressive Education Association. Although virtually every Canadian province implemented progressive curriculum reforms in the name of increased relevance for children, only Alberta’s program embodied specific messages about the province’s regional uniqueness and only its classroom resources reinterpreted the nation’s history to reflect the province’s political and economic grievances (see Patterson 1986a, 1986b). 3 Osborne (1996) provides an excellent analysis of the Canada Studies Foundation and its commitment to education about Canada’s “limited identities.” (pp. 50‐51). REFERENCES Alberta Education. (1977‐78). Annual report. Edmonton: Alberta Education. Alberta Education. (1981). 1981 Alberta social studies curriculum. Edmonton: Curriculum Branch, Alberta Education. 1148 AMY VON HEYKING Alberta Heritage Learning Resources Project. (1979). Canadian families: Do we know each other? Edmonton: Curriculum Branch, Alberta Education. Alberta Heritage Learning Resources Project. (1980a). Alberta’s people: How should we adjust to change? Edmonton: Curriculum Branch, Alberta Education. Alberta Heritage Learning Resources Project. (1980b). Canada’s railroads: Whose needs are served? Edmonton: Curriculum Branch, Alberta Education. Anderson, B. (1991). Imagined communities: Reflections on the origin and spread of nationalism (rev. ed). London, UK: Verso. Apple, M. (2004). Ideology and curriculum (3rd ed). New York: RoutledgeFalmer. Apple, M. (Ed). (1991). The politics of the textbook. New York: Routledge. Bercuson, D. (1980). Regionalism and the ‘unlimited identity’ in western Canada. Journal of Canadian Studies, 15(2), 121‐126. Bliss, M. (1991‐2). Privatizing the mind: The sundering of Canadian history, the sundering of Canada. Journal of Canadian Studies, 26(4), 5‐17. Bohnec, R. (1979). Pages from the past. Edmonton: Alberta Education. Brown, G. W. (1942). Building the Canadian nation. Toronto: J.M. Dent & Sons Limited. Bunner, P. (Ed.). (2003). 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17. Chafe, J. W., & Lower, A. R. M. (1948). Canada – A nation and how it came to be. Toronto: Longman, Green & Co. Chevraux, S. (1979). From the ground up. Edmonton: Alberta Education. Coman, P. (1996). Reading about the enemy: School textbooks representation of Germany’s role in the war with Britain during the period from April 1940 to May 1941. British Journal of Sociology of Education, 17(3), 327‐340. Cooper, B. (1984). Western political consciousness. In S. Brooks (Ed.), Political thought in Canada (pp. 213‐38). Toronto: Irwin Publishing. FOSTERING A PROVINCIAL IDENTITY 1149 Coulter, R. P. (2005). Getting things done: Donalda J. Dickie and leadership through practice. Canadian Journal of Education, 28(4), 669‐699. Department of Education. (1935). Programme of studies for the intermediate school. Edmonton: The Author. Department of Education. (1939). Programme of studies for the high school, Bulletin III. Edmonton: The Author. Department of Education. (1942). Programme of studies for the elementary schools. Edmonton: The Author. Doucette, A. L. (1948). In defense of newer education. Box 2: Public Addresses, Doucette Papers, University of Calgary Archives. Dueck, K. (1979). How should Albertans use their natural resources? Social studies teaching unit project. Edmonton: Alberta Education. Ford, T. M. (1979). Western Canadian literature for youth. 12 volumes. Edmonton: Alberta Education. Ford, T. M.. (Ed). (1979a). Panorama. Edmonton: Alberta Education. Ford, T. M. (1979b). Road to yesterday. Edmonton: Alberta Education. Foster, S .J. (1999). The struggle for American identity: Treatment of ethnic groups in United States history textbooks. History of Education, 28(3), 251‐278. Francis, D. (1997). National dreams: Myth, memory and Canadian history. Vancouver: Arsenal Pulp Press. Francis, R. D. (1989). Images of the west. Saskatoon: Western Producer Prairie Books. Francis, R. D. (1992). In search of a prairie myth: A survey of the intellectual and cultural historiography of prairie Canada. In G. Melnyk (Ed.), Riel to reform: A history of protest in western Canada (pp. 20‐42). Saskatoon, SK: Fifth House Publishers. Friesen, G. (1999). The West. Toronto: Penguin Books. Gilbert, R. (1989). Text analysis and ideology critique of curriculum content. In S. de Castell, A. Luke, & C. Luke (Eds.), Language, authority, and criticism: Readings on the school textbook (pp. 61‐73). London, UK: Falmer Press. Granatstein, J. L. (1998). Who killed Canadian history? Toronto: Harper Collins. 1150 AMY VON HEYKING Harrison, D. (1977). Unnamed country: The struggle for a Canadian prairie fiction. Edmonton: University of Alberta Press. Heathorn, S. (1995). “Let us remember that we, too, are English”: Constructions of citizenship and national identity in English elementary school reading books, 1880‐1914. Victorian Studies, 38(3), 395‐427. Highroads to reading, Book VI. (1932). Toronto: W.J. Gage & Co., Limited. Hodgetts, A. B. (1968). What culture? What heritage? A study of civic education in Canada. Toronto: Ontario Institute for Studies in Education. Kirbyson, R. (1977). In search of Canada. Vol. II. Scarborough, ON: Prentice‐Hall Canada Ltd. Kliebard, H. M. (1995). The struggle for the American curriculum, 1893‐1958 (2nd ed). New York: Routledge. Mazurek, K. (1999). Passing fancies: Educational changes in Alberta. In T. W. Harrison & J. L. Kachur (Eds.), Contested classrooms (pp. 3‐20). Edmonton: The University of Alberta Press and the Parkland Institute. McDougall, W. D. & Paterson, G. (1937). Our empire and its neighbours. Toronto: The Ryerson Press. McDougall, W. D. & Paterson, G. (1938a). Our country and its people. Toronto: The Ryerson Press. McDougall, W. D. & Paterson, G. (1938b). The world of today. Toronto: The Ryerson Press. Mitchner, E. A. (Ed). (1979‐1980). Alberta heritage books for young readers. 9 volumes. Edmonton: Alberta Education. Osborne, K. (1996). Education is the best national insurance: Citizenship education in Canadian schools, past and present. Canadian and International Education, 25(2), 31‐58. Osborne, K. (2000). Public schooling and citizenship education in Canada. Canadian Ethnic Studies 32(1), 8‐37. Palmer, H., & Palmer, T. (1990). Alberta: A new history. Edmonton: Hurtig Publishers Ltd. Patterson, R. S. (1986a). The Canadian response to progressive education. In N. Kach, K. Masurek, R. S. Patterson, & I. Defaveri (Eds.), Essays on FOSTERING A PROVINCIAL IDENTITY 1151 Canadian education, (pp. 61‐77). Calgary, AB: Detselig Enterprises Limited. Patterson, R. S. (1986b). The implementation of progressive education in Canada, 1930 to 1945. In N. Kach, R. S. Patterson, I. Defaveri, & K. Masurek (Eds.), Essays on Canadian education, (pp. 79‐96). Calgary, AB: Detselig Enterprises Limited. Patterson, R. S., & Card, B. Y. (1977). A Socio‐historical view of changing social values in western Canada with special reference to education. In R. A. Carlton, L. A. Colley, & N. J. MacKinnon (Eds.), Education, change and society: A sociology of Canadian education (pp. 89‐104). Toronto: Gage Educational Publishing Limited. Prokop, M. (1989). Canadianization of immigrant children. Alberta History, 37(2), 1‐10. Richards, J., & Pratt, L. (1979). Prairie capitalism: Power and influence in the NewWest. Toronto: McClelland & Stewart. Sheehan, N. (1979). Character training and the cultural heritage: An historical comparison of Canadian elementary readers. In G. Tomkins (Ed.), The curriculum in Canada in historical perspective (pp. 77‐84). Vancouver: Canadian Society for the Study of Education, University of British Columbia. Smith, D. E. (1981). Political culture in the West. In D. J. Bercuson & P. A. Buckner (Eds.), Eastern and western perspectives (pp. 169‐82). Toronto: University of Toronto Press. Stamp, R. (1977). Canadian education and the national identity. In A. Chaiton & N. McDonald (Eds.), Canadian schools and the Canadian identity (pp. 29‐
37). Toronto: Gage Educational Publishing. Stiles, J. A. (1990). Descended from heroes: The frontier myth in rural Alberta. Alberta, 20(20), 27‐46. Symons, T. H. B. (1975). To know ourselves: The report of the commission on Canadian studies. Ottawa: Association of Universities and Colleges. Thompson, J. H. (1998). Forging the prairie west. Toronto: Oxford University Press. Tomkins, G. (1986). A common countenance: Stability and change in the Canadian curriculum.. Scarborough, ON: Prentice‐Hall Canada Inc. 1152 AMY VON HEYKING Trudel, M., & Jain, G. (1970). Canadian history textbooks: A comparative study. Studies of the Royal Commission on Bilingualism and Biculturalism, 5. Ottawa: Queen’s Printer. von Heyking, A. (2006). Creating citizens: History and identity in Alberta’s schools, 1905 to 1980. Calgary: University of Calgary Press. von Heyking, A. (1998). Selling progressive education to Albertans, 1935 to 1953. Historical Studies in Education/Revue d’histoire de l’education, 10 (1&2), 67‐ 84. Wray, R. (1979). Should Canada’s regions share their natural resources? Social studies teaching unit project. Edmonton: Alberta Education. FOSTERING A PROVINCIAL IDENTITY 1153 Appendix A Textbooks and Teaching Resources Reviewed Before 1930s The Canadian readers. (1922). 5 volumes. Toronto: W.J. Gage & Co., Ltd. Clement, W. H. P. (1898). The history of the dominion of Canada. Toronto: The Copp, Clark Company, Limited. Duncan, D. M. (1913). The story of the Canadian people. Toronto: The MacMillan Company of Canada, Limited. Grant, W. L. (1923). History of Canada (new and revised edition). London: William Heinemann. Jenkins, R. S. (1912). Canadian civics (Alberta edition). Toronto: The Copp Clark Company, Limited. McCaig, J. (1927). Studies in citizenship. Toronto: The Educational Book Co., Limited. McIntyre, W. A., Dearness, J., & Saul, J.C. (1908). Alexandra readers. 5 volumes. Toronto: Morang Educational Company Ltd. Wallace, W. S. A new history of Great Britain and Canada. Toronto: The MacMillan Company of Canada, 1925. Progressive Curriculum (1935 to 1945) Highroads to reading. (1932). 7 volumes. Toronto: W.J. Gage & Co., Limited. McDougall, W. D., & Paterson, G. (1938). Our country and its people. Toronto: The Ryerson Press. McDougall, W. D., & Paterson, G. (1937). Our empire and its neighbours. Toronto: The Ryerson Press. McDougall, W. D., & Paterson, G (1938). The world of today. Toronto: The Ryerson Press. Schapiro, J. S., Morris, R. B. & Soward, F .H. (1938). Civilisation in Europe and the world. Toronto: The Copp, Clark Company Limited. Scott, F. R. (1938). Canada today. London: Oxford University Press. 1154 AMY VON HEYKING Seary, V. P., & Paterson, G. (1934). The story of civilization. Toronto: The Ryerson Press. 1945 to 1970s Baker, L. D. & Brown, J. M. (1961). Civics and citizenship: A sourcebook for schools (Alberta edition). Regina, SK: School Aids and Text Book Publishing Company Ltd. Brown, G. W. (1942). Building the Canadian nation. Toronto: J.M. Dent & Sons Limited. Brown, G. W., Harmon, E., & Jeanneret, M. (1950). The story of Canada. Toronto: The Copp Clark Publishing Co. Limited. Chafe, J. W. & Lower, A. R. M. (1948). Canada – A nation and how it came to be. Toronto: Longman, Green & Co. Cornell, P., Hamelin, J, Ouellet, F. & Trudel, M. (1967). Canada: Unity in diversity. Toronto: Holt, Rinehart and Winston of Canada Limited. Dickie, D. The great adventure. (1950). Toronto: J.M. Dent & Sons Limited. Hardy, W. G. (1964). Our heritage from the past. Toronto: McClelland and Stewart Limited Publishers. Herstein, H. H., Hughes, L. J. & Kirbyson, R. C. (1970). Challenge and survival: The history of Canada. Scarborough, ON: Prentice‐Hall of Canada. Lawrence, B., & McInnis, E. (1955). Canada in the modern world. Toronto: J. M. Dent & Sons (Canada) Limited. McDougall, W. D. (1952). The commonwealth of nations. Toronto: The Ryerson Press. McDougall, W. D. (1946). Our provincial government. Edmonton: Department of Education. McDougall, W. D., & Finn, T. G. (1955). Canada in the western world. Toronto: W.J. Gage and Company Limited. Moir, J. S. ,& Farr, D. M. L. (1969). The Canadian experience. Toronto: The Ryerson Press. Moore, E. (1968‐1973). People and places in Canada series. 10 vols. Toronto: Holt, Rinehart and Winston of Canada. FOSTERING A PROVINCIAL IDENTITY 1155 Taylor, G., Seivereight, D. J., & Lloyd, T. (1958). Canada and her neighbours (rev. ed.). Toronto: Ginn and Company. Tomkins, D. M. (1966). Discovering our land. Toronto: W.J. Gage Limited. Wiley, W., Hacker, C., & Thomas, G. (1970). Canada: This land of ours. Toronto: Ginn and Company. Willows, D. C., & Richmond, S. (1970). Canada, colony to centennial. Toronto: McGraw‐Hill Co. of Canada. 1980s Alberta Education & University of Alberta Dept. of Geography. (1979). Junior atlas of Alberta: Our place on earth and how we live. Edmonton: Curriculum Branch, Alberta Education. Alberta Heritage Learning Resources Project. (1980a). Alberta’s people: How should we adjust to change? Edmonton: Curriculum Branch, Alberta Education. Alberta Heritage Learning Resources Project. (1980b). Canada: A meeting of cultures? Edmonton: Curriculum Branch, Alberta Education. Alberta Heritage Learning Resources Project. (1980c). Canada’s railroads: Whose needs are served? Edmonton: Curriculum Branch, Alberta Education. Alberta Heritage Learning Resources Project. (1979a). Canadian communities: The same or different? Edmonton: Curriculum Branch, Alberta Education. Alberta Heritage Learning Resources Project. (1979b). Canadian families: Do we know each other? Edmonton: Curriculum Branch, Alberta Education. Alberta Heritage Learning Resources Project. (1980d). Provincial resources: How should they be shared? Edmonton: Curriculum Branch, Alberta Education. Alberta Heritage Learning Resources Project. (1979c). Three Alberta communities: What can we learn? Edmonton: Curriculum Branch, Alberta Education. Baldwin, D., & Odynak, E. (1985). Canada’s political heritage: Conflict and change. Edmonton: Weigl Educational Publishers. Buchignani, N., and Engel, J. (1984). Cultures in Canada: Strength in diversity. Edmonton: Weigl Publishers Ltd. 1156 AMY VON HEYKING Campbell, A., & Fretts, D. (1985). Canada in the world: Choosing a role. Edmonton: Weigl Educational Publishers. Coull, A. B. (1980). Albertans all: Teacher’s guide. Edmonton: Alberta Education. Dueck, K. (1979). How should Albertans use their natural resources? Social studies teaching unit project. Edmonton: Alberta Education. Ford, T. M. (1979). Western Canadian literature for youth. 12 volumes. Edmonton: Alberta Education. Kirbyson, R. (1977). In search of Canada. Vol. II. Scarborough, ON: Prentice‐Hall of Canada Ltd. McDevitt, D. J., Scully, A.L., & Smith, C.F. (1979). Canada today. Scarborough: Prentice‐Hall. Mitchner, E. A. (Ed). (1979‐1980). Alberta heritage books for young readers. 9 volumes. Edmonton: Alberta Education. Mulligan, V. B. (1984). Teacher guide for cultures in Canada. Edmonton: Weigl Publishers Ltd. Odynak, E. S. (1984). Canadian families. Edmonton: Weigl Educational Publishers. Schemenauer, E. (1988). Special Canadian communities. Edmonton: Weigl Educational Publishers. Wray, R. (1979). Should Canada’s regions share their natural resources? Social studies teaching unit project. Edmonton: Alberta Education. THE ADVENT OF A PUBLIC PLURIFORMITY MODEL: FAITH‐BASED SCHOOL CHOICE IN ALBERTA John L. Hiemstra & Robert A. Brink Four typical arrangements for relating faith to schooling were developed in Canada during the nineteenth century. All resulted from compromises between the assimilating traditions of Christian Constantinianism and Enlightenment liberalism. These arrangements only reluctantly accommodate the religious diversity within society. Although scholars classify Alberta’s system as non‐sectarian public schooling with minority denominational districts, evidence suggests the advent of a new pragmatic pluriform public school system. This new system contains many types of school authorities and structures; all but one permit some form of faith‐based schooling. A broad spectrum of faiths is expressed within these school authorities. Key words: school choice, religion, pluralism, public policy, social cohesion La relation entre la confession religieuse et l’éducation a donné lieu à quatre types d’aménagements au Canada au cours du XIXe siècle. Ils étaient tous le résultat de compromis entre les traditions assimilatrices du constantinisme et du libéralisme du siècle des Lumières. Ces aménagements répugnaient à accorder une place à la diversité religieuse au sein de la société. Bien que les chercheurs qualifient le système d’éducation publique de l’Alberta comme non sectaire avec des districts pour certaines minorités confessionnelles, les faits observés semblent indiquer l’émergence d’un nouveau système d’école publique pragmatique et pluriel. Ce dernier regroupe de nombreux types d’administrations et de structures scolaires ; tous sauf un permettent une forme ou l’autre d’éducation confessionnelle. Un vaste éventail de confessions religieuses sont exprimées au sein de ces administrations scolaires. Mots clés : choix d’école, religion, pluralisme, politiques publiques, cohésion sociale. _________________ CANADIAN JOURNAL OF EDUCATION 29, 4 (2006): 1157‐1190 1158 JOHN L. HIEMSTRA & ROBERT A. BRINK Canadian arrangements for resolving the role of faith in schooling have shifted significantly and decisively in recent years. Quebec and Newfoundland, for example, have dramatically reduced the role of religion in their overall school systems. At the same time, Ontario broadened funding for its Catholic separate schools, while essentially prohibiting the teaching of religion in public schools and refusing to publicly fund faith‐based and other independent schools. In contrast, Alberta has opened so many new opportunities for faiths and other philosophies to play various roles in its school systems that the overall system no longer fits any existing classification of faith and schooling. This article demonstrates that Alberta’s school system now constitutes a distinctive new model: a pragmatic pluriform public school system. Using 2001‐2002 data from Alberta Learning,1 we have examined two dimensions of the Alberta system. First, Alberta’s school system has evolved into a system of systems. Eight distinct types of school authority are legally permitted to run schools.2 By examining faith‐based schooling within the public sector systems, we have considered the types and extent of faith‐based plurality allowed within these school authorities, that is, public, separate, charter, francophone, and co‐
operatively federated school authorities. We have analyzed the types of structural arrangements used within these authorities that allow faith‐
based schooling, such as religion courses, alternative programs, ‘de facto reserved’ schools, ‘de jure reserved’ schools, and Hutterite schools. We then examined faith‐based schooling in independent school authorities, home education, and First Nations on‐reserve schools. We briefly describe the kinds of faiths that parents have chosen to express in the schooling of their children in all eight types of school authority. In this study, we have used concepts such as religion, spirituality, and faith interchangeably. By faith‐based, we mean more than the traditional sense of a connection between a school, program, or authority, and a particular church, denomination, or sect. A faith‐based school or school program is operationalized as schools or authorities that publicly self‐identify themselves as religious, openly affiliate with a religious group, or are run by, or exclusively serve, a religious group or society.3 The evidence of schooling being faith‐based varies from mandating religious observances, displaying symbols, offering religious THE ADVENT OF A PUBLIC PLURIFORMITY MODEL 1159 courses, to allowing faith to be integrated or permeated throughout the curriculum and practices of the school. Although religious diversity in Alberta’s school system has become significant, Alberta is not Canada’s Bible belt. Albertans are the second most likely to say they have “no religion” on surveys and Albertans attend religious services at among the lowest rates in Canada (see Bibby, 2002; Clark, 2003; Statistics Canada, 2003). THE DEVELOPMENT OF A NEW FAITH‐AND‐SCHOOLING REGIME Historically, the British North American colonies, and later the Canadian provinces and territories, experienced intense struggles over the place of faith, church, and state in schooling. The Constitution Act 1867 gave the provinces jurisdiction over education, enabling them to develop their school systems in response to local conditions and in accordance with their own public philosophies. The struggles over schooling between proponents of liberal enlightenment thought and supporters of various strands of Christianity during the course of the nineteenth century produced four distinct models of relating state, church, and faith to schooling (Manzer 1994, p. 33).4 The current state of Alberta’s school systems suggests the advent of a fifth model. This model is new not only because it respects a broad range of faiths within schooling but also because it does this through a wide variety of systems and mechanisms. The significance of Alberta’s new model is best portrayed against the backdrop of the four historic school regimes developed in Canada. Each of these models was forged during the nineteenth century conflicts of two historical traditions that sought hegemony in schooling—the historic Christian Constantinian tradition and the competing Enlightenment rationality tradition (see Hiemstra, 2005). Both traditions presumed that the state could legitimately establish and advance a preferred religion and/or philosophy to unify the state. The Christian Constantinian tradition wanted an established church to play the role of producing and propagating basic beliefs for unifying the state. In contrast, the Enlightenment rationality tradition sought to replace the established church by establishing a democratic common school to propagate rational, scientific values and so ensure social and political uniformity. This clash over the means for producing social uniformity and political 1160 JOHN L. HIEMSTRA & ROBERT A. BRINK unity—an established church or established public school—masked the two traditions’ deeper agreement over the legitimacy of a state establishing a single hegemonic and assimilating institution to propagate national values for unifying the state. Using Manzer’s (1994) typology, we present the four Canadian regimes that resulted from the clash of these two traditions. Before proceeding we added two additional observations to Manzer’s description of these models. First, Manzer notes that the Enlightenment rationality tradition helped shape each model, but we add that this worldview was also propagated within and through the resulting schools. Second, Manzer’s models fail to adequately include independent or private schools. Independent schools, and especially faith‐based independent schools, are important to include in these models precisely because many were formed to challenge the belief, among other things, that states may establish a single common school system to impose one worldview on all citizens. Manzer’s first model, the non‐sectarian public school regime, reflects a strict liberal understanding of the separation of church and state. This regime gives a government department rather than an ecclesiastical body authority over local, often board‐run schools. Clergy are forbidden to play any authoritative role within the school systems, e.g. as teachers, trustees, or inspectors. Churches are prohibited from sectarian engagement with schools, e.g. instruction in religious dogma or creeds. Beyond prescribing a strict separation of church and state, Manzer’s account of this model should be supplemented with the observation that its proponents clearly sought to impose liberalism through the common schools as a neutral basis for public life. When blended with Christianity, liberalism was styled as a superior type of “non‐sectarian Christianity” that ought to be taught in the non‐sectarian public schools (Manzer, p. 55). British Columbia adopted this regime in 1872 while Manitoba replaced its earlier dual confessional school system with this regime in 1890. The second typical arrangement, non‐sectarian public schools with minority denominational districts, was developed in Upper Canada, later to become Ontario, the product, Manzer argues, of “substantial compromises” (p. 65) between liberals and religious conservatives. Like the first regime, this model features public schools that are funded and THE ADVENT OF A PUBLIC PLURIFORMITY MODEL 1161 indirectly controlled by government. These schools taught the individualist and rationalist values of liberalism and, at least originally, incorporated non‐sectarian Protestant practices. This model differed from the first, however, in that separate denominational schools were also permitted for Catholics and given public funding. These schools operated under strict supervision of the majority‐controlled government education department, however, which ensured that curriculum and texts, testing and inspections, and teacher training and certification in Catholic schools were checked by majority Protestant and liberal values. The North‐West Territories switched to this regime in the late nineteenth century and it was formally passed on to Alberta and Saskatchewan when they became provinces in 1905 (pp. 54‐59). The third type of regime, de jure non‐sectarian, de facto reserved public schools, was produced as a compromise between liberalism and religious communities in the three Maritime Provinces. They prohibited sectarian practices in public schools, such as “teaching denominational doctrine and using denominational prayers and books” (p. 57). Alongside the expression of mainstream liberal values, the non‐sectarian Protestant morals of the majority were also permitted in these schools. In practice, however, compromises were worked out with Roman Catholic minorities so that schools were de facto reserved for them when they were concentrated in isolated geographical regions. These schools were permitted to engage in sectarian practices, e.g. employing members of religious orders, wearing religious garb, and holding Catholic religious exercises before or after regular school hours (pp. 57‐59). Manzer’s fourth model is the concurrent endowment of confessional systems. This regime rejects the central liberal premise that the state should control schooling and instead gives ecclesiastical authorities primary control over school administration and curriculum (p. 53). It still bears the imprint of the competing Christian Constantinian and Enlightenment rationality traditions, however, in that it gave schools only to the dominant Christian communities. Two versions of this regime emerged in Canada. After 1867, Quebec developed the dual confessional school system in Montreal and Quebec City where the non‐
governmental Council of Public Instruction was divided between Catholic and Protestant committees, each operating on an equal footing. 1162 JOHN L. HIEMSTRA & ROBERT A. BRINK The Council was given power to make all important educational decisions. Manitoba and the North‐West Territories also initially adopted this regime. The second version of this regime, the multi‐denominational school system, was developed by Newfoundland and entrenched in the Canadian constitution when it became a province in 1949 (p. 54). This regime was more generous, at least to Christian groups, because it gave significant jurisdiction over education to a variety of churches, including Roman Catholics, Anglicans, Methodists, Salvation Army, Seventh Day Adventists, and Pentecostal Assemblies. Each of these four regimes, to a greater or lesser extent, embodies the hegemonic claims shared by the two contending traditions: the state should either establish churches to run schools or directly establish common schools. In either case, schools are given the role of producing and propagating the beliefs required to achieve national unity. The thrust towards an assimilating role for schools in each regime negates or minimises school choice for minority groups. In contrast, Alberta has significantly altered its former non‐sectarian public schools with a minority denominational districts model and developed a new pluriform public model that no longer seems to assume that a common school system and single ideology must be imposed to unify the political community. Although Alberta practices this in an ad hoc and pragmatic manner, its pluriform public system allows the expression of a wide variety of faith‐based, philosophical, and cultural approaches within schooling. Although elements of Alberta’s system occur in other provinces, none has created both the breadth of systems and diverse types of faith‐
based schooling that distinguish Alberta’s system from the hegemonic and assimilating character of Canada’s historic school regimes. This is evident on a number of fronts. First, in the former North‐West Territories, Roman Catholic separate and public schools received full legal and funding status. This system was continued when Alberta and Saskatchewan became provinces in 1905. Although Alberta and Saskatchewan currently share this model with Ontario, Manitoba dropped support for Catholic schools in 1890 and Quebec and Newfoundland and Labrador removed constitutional protection for denominational schools in 1997. Quebec turned its Catholic public THE ADVENT OF A PUBLIC PLURIFORMITY MODEL 1163 schools into predominantly linguistic schools and Newfoundland adopted a primarily non‐sectarian provincial school system. Both provinces still allow religious courses and practices to be offered in public schools on parental request. The remaining provinces offer only partial public funding to Catholic schools, and then only as independent schools. Although in recent decades, Ontario extended public funding to Catholic high schools, it also made teaching religion in public schools illegal. Over half of Alberta’s public school boards operate faith‐based Hutterite schools, a practice begun in 1918 and also adopted by Manitoba and Saskatchewan. Third, although most provinces have legally recognised independent schools, Alberta was first to offer partial public funding to them in 1967. Today, five provinces partially fund independent schools, including Manitoba, Saskatchewan, Quebec, and British Columbia. Fourth, many provinces have operated alternative programs in their public systems since the 1970s, but only Alberta permits faith‐based alternative programs. Saskatchewan allows a partially analogous associate school arrangement, that enables faith‐
based independent schools to operate in contractual partnership with a public school system. Fifth, francophone schooling is offered and fully funded in most provinces today and some operate as francophone Catholic schools in Alberta and other provinces. Sixth, Alberta is the only province to allow charter schools to operate alongside other types of school systems. In this article, we document the structure and nature of diversity within Alberta’s pluriform public model. This system of systems approach offers opportunities for diverse faith communities to express their beliefs within their children’s schooling (for an overview of the results, see Table 1). We argue that these developments amount to a type of public pluriformity in schooling that no longer, at least officially, requires the provincial school systems to assimilate children into a single official religion or public ideology. 1164 JOHN L. HIEMSTRA & ROBERT A. BRINK Table 1 Alberta Students Receiving Faith‐based Schooling by Type of School Authority, 2001‐2002 Type of School Authority: •
De facto reserved public schools •
De facto reserved Hutterite public schools •
De jure reserved public schools •
Alternative faith‐based programs in public systems •
Religion courses in all types of public schools All Non‐Catholic Public Boards •
Roman Catholic public schools All Public School Boards •
Roman Catholic separate districts •
Roman Catholic alternative schools •
Protestant separate districts All Separate Denominational Boards Charter School Authorities Francophone School Authorities Co‐operatively Federated School Authorities Independent (Private) School Authorities Students enrolled in type of faith‐based schooling Total students in type of school authority % of the authority’s students in faith‐based schooling 450 450 100% 3,109 3,109 100% 661 2,959 22.3% 5,886 unknown n/a unknowna n/a n/a 10,106 406,305 2.5% 7,701 7,701 100% 17,807 120,483 414,006 120,483 4.3% 100% allb unknown 100% 180 6,314 2.8% 120,663 126,977 95.3% 0 c 1,656d 2,870 3,279 0% 50.5% 1,868 4,024 46.4% 17,908 28,851 62.1% THE ADVENT OF A PUBLIC PLURIFORMITY MODEL Home Education and Distance Learning Aboriginal On‐Reserve Schools Total students in all types of RC schooling Total students in non‐RC faith‐
based schooling Total students enrolled in this type of school authority 1165 unknowne 13,07 n/a unknownf 8,556 n/a 131,488g 27,718 n/a n/a n/a n/a 159,206 588,563 27.1% a
No data exists on the number of ‘regular’ public schools using faith-based
courses or practices.
b
All alternative schools in the Roman Catholic systems are faith-based,
including the Jewish school(s) adopted by Calgary Catholic after being released
by the Calgary Board of Education.
c
Charter schools are the only type of school authority legally prohibited from
expressing religion, although some argue that religion-like characteristics are
present in some charter schools.
d
This number includes only students attending francophone schools specifically
identified as faith-based and excludes schools operating under Catholic
francophone districts when the individual school does not itself claim a faith
identity.
e
Home schooled students are counted by the Alberta government with the
authority under which they have registered and will only have been counted,
therefore, as receiving faith-based schooling if this authority or program is
officially identified as faith-based.
f
No data is available for faith-based practices in the category of Aboriginal onreserve schools.
g
The Catholic student total includes: separate Catholic districts (120,483),
Greater St. Albert Catholic [Public] Schools (7,701), Catholic students in St.
Paul’s co-operatively federated system (975 elementary and about 250
secondary), Catholic Francophone authorities (1,656), and Catholic independent
schools (423).
PUBLIC SCHOOL BOARDS Public school boards are only one of four types of school authority recognised by Alberta. Historically under the North West Territories ordinances, the first school established in a local district—whether Protestant or Catholic—was designated the public school. If members of 1166 JOHN L. HIEMSTRA & ROBERT A. BRINK the minority faith, limited to either Catholics or Protestants, met legal criteria, they were entitled to establish a denominational separate school in the district. The vast majority of public schools became non‐sectarian protestant schools. After the 1960s, the majority of Albertans tended to view these schools as secular. In 2001‐2002, however, faith‐based practices, observances, and/or courses were offered in public boards under six different structural arrangements. Religion Courses in Regular Public Schools Any public school in Alberta is legally entitled to offer courses about and/or in religion. Alberta Learning has approved three courses about religion for teaching in any high school: Religious Ethics 20, Religious Meaning 20, and World Religions 30. Designated as optional courses, local boards can prescribe these religion courses in their schools. Alberta Learning’s Policy 1.2.2 (2003) also allows local school authorities to develop religious studies courses which reflect “particular views and belief systems” (Alberta Learning 2003a, January) for junior and senior high schools. These courses may teach a particular religion but at least 20 per cent of their content must address the comparative study of world religions. Although this option has primarily been utilised by Catholic and independent schools, public school authorities may also use, or approve the development of, these courses. A local public school board can also “prescribe religious exercises for its students,” if students are permitted to opt out (School Act s. 50(1)). Divergent practices have developed across the province. Calgary Board of Education, for example, adopted a policy officially banning prayer, while Edmonton Public Schools’ board leaves this choice to individual schools. Catholic Public Schools The second structural arrangement allowing faith within a public school is the Catholic public school district where Catholics were the first to establish a school in a district. This option is impossible to use today because all districts now have public schools. Only one public district is Catholic today. The Greater St. Albert Catholic Regional Division was formed in 1995 with the amalgamation of existing Catholic public THE ADVENT OF A PUBLIC PLURIFORMITY MODEL 1167 districts in St. Albert, Morinville, and Legal, all founded as Catholic public districts in the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries. It has with 7,701 students in 16 elementary schools and one high school. De facto Reserved Public Schools for Geographically Concentrated Faith Groups Faith‐based schooling also occurs in public school systems when a board establishes informal, ad hoc arrangements with a geographically concentrated religious minority group to provide faith‐based schooling tailored to that group. The Neerlandia Public Christian School, founded by a Calvinist Dutch farming community, has operated as a Christian public school since 1917 (Navis & Siebring‐Wierenga, 1985, p. 714). Although it has operated as an alternative school since 1996, it maintains the character of a de facto reserved public school. Public school districts with high geographic concentrations of Mennonites have created three other faith‐based de facto reserved public schools. In total, 450 students receive faith‐based schooling in de facto reserved public schools. De facto Reserved Hutterite Public Schools A very unique form of de facto reserved schools is the Hutterite Colony schools, currently run by 24 of Alberta’s 42 public districts. Hutterites are followers of the European Anabaptist reformer, Jakob Hutter, who started a separationist form of Christian living in 1528. They are Christian pacifists who reject most contemporary fashions, reject private property by living on communal farms where they hold all things in common, and believe in the full separation of church and state (Janzen, 1990; see Hostetler, 1974). After facing difficulties in their latest location of the United States during WWI for speaking German and refusing military service, the Hutterites began moving to Canada in 1918 (Janzen, 1990, p. 9). The first Hutterite colony school in Alberta opened the same year. Historically, the government resisted direct legislative involvement with Hutterite schools, leaving each school district to accommodate the Hutterites through local agreements (Janzen, 1990, p. 148). A remarkably consistent pattern emerged. Public boards generally operate one school on each colony which they reserve exclusively for Hutterite students. These schools are small, ranging from 4 to 49 students and averaging 20.3 1168 JOHN L. HIEMSTRA & ROBERT A. BRINK students per school. Hutterite Colony schools are taught in English by certified public school teachers who are most often not Hutterite. These schools are faith‐based in the sense that they exclusively serve a single faith community, do so in accord with that group’s views of separation from secular society, and allow before‐ and after‐ school classes in religion and German (Janzen, 1990). Male colony leaders teach these extra classes, and the materials used for German language instruction include “stories with strong moral messages, biblical scriptures, and Hutterite martyr ballads and other hymns dating back to the 16th and 17th centuries” (Hofer, 1998, p. 27). Hutterite children generally receive schooling up to the eighth or ninth grade because Hutterite convictions lead parents to withdraw them at a young age. A total of 153 Hutterite colony public schools educate 3109 students. De jure Reserved Public Schools Another structural arrangement allowing forms of faith‐based schooling to occur in public schools is unique to Alberta’s Northland School Division. This division with only 26 schools, which covers over half of the geographical area of Alberta, primarily serves Aboriginal students. A Board of Trustees runs the district while each school also has a Local School Board Committee. The local board committee retains the power to “request the board to institute religious instruction” (Northlands School Division Act, 2000) and to nominate the teacher. This de jure protection for faith in particular schools is backed up by the right of local board committees to withdraw their school from the division if they feel inadequate provision for religious education has been made (Chalmers, 1985, p. 18). In 2001‐2002, two of Northland’s 26 schools opted to open with prayer and two offered Roman Catholic religious instruction. Three additional schools offered religious instructional programs in 2004‐2005 (Annette Ramrattan, Superintendent of Schools, Northland School Division No. 61, personal communication, June 13, 2005). An estimated 661 students received faith‐based schooling in de jure reserved public schools. THE ADVENT OF A PUBLIC PLURIFORMITY MODEL 1169 Alternative Faith‐Based Programs Within Public Systems A new type of arrangement allowing faith‐based schooling in public systems is the alternative program. This arrangement constitutes a distinctive form of de jure reservation of schools for faith‐based groups, in this case for minorities generally dispersed over a vast city or region. The first wave of faith‐based alternative schools was started by the Calgary Board of Education (CBE) in 1978, with, eventually, two Jewish, two Logos Christian, and the Plains Indian Cultural Survival School. By 1983, however, a newly elected majority on CBE’s board opposed faith‐
based alternatives and terminated the board’s contracts with two Jewish and two Logos schools. Initially, Edmonton Public Schools (EPS) was not particularly hospitable to faith‐based alternative programs. In October 1975, EPS adopted the Talmud Torah School, a Jewish day school that had been operating as a private/independent school since 1912. This school had been started by Russian Jews who had fled persecution and were deeply committed to transmitting “the values, traditions and beliefs of their religion” to their children (Sweet, 1997, pp. 68). Although EPS officially considered it a “language school,” Talmud Torah is described as “a Hebrew language school with a religious component” (Sweet p. 241). In the middle of Calgary’s widely publicized conflict over religious alternatives, EPS adopted a policy excluding faith as a basis for alternative schools (Hop, 1982, p. 170). THE EDMONTON MODEL: THE BLOSSOMING OF ALTERNATIVE SCHOOLS Ironically, Edmonton Public Schools has now gone the furthest of any provincial public system in using alternative faith‐based programs. By 2001‐2002, its policy had been reversed, allowing alternative programs in the areas of language and culture, subject matter, teaching philosophy, and religion (Edmonton Public Schools, 2001b). Edmonton Public ran alternative linguistic, academic, sports, girls‐only, arts, and faith‐based programs (Martin & Hiemstra, 2002). Faith‐based alternative programs included eight Logos Christian programs (1,297 students), Edmonton Christian School (1,009 students), Millwoods Christian School (613 students), and Christian‐based programming for home education. Other 1170 JOHN L. HIEMSTRA & ROBERT A. BRINK cultural and language alternative programs also include religious or spiritual dimensions, e.g., Talmud Torah School and Aboriginal programs running in a variety of schools for different age groups. The Aboriginal programs often ensure “spirituality is a vital part of every day” (Amiskwaciy Academy, n.d.). Some bilingual language programs—
16 French, 4 Arabic, 11 Chinese (Mandarin), 5 German, 1 Hebrew, 1 Spanish, 4 Ukrainian programs—teach their second language in a “way that children can be introduced to another countryʹs culture” (Edmonton Public Schools, 2001a). The Arabic language program in Killarney Junior High, for example, offers an Islamic Studies Course (see Holubitsky, 2001) and students have opportunities to participate in “Killarneyʹs Muslim Club activities” (“Arabic Program” n.d.). Edmonton Public’s alternative school practice has been dubbed the “Edmonton Model.” Time magazine called it “the most imitated and admired public system in North America” (Catto, 2003, p. 82). This model grew out of key internal policy changes, including the elimination of school boundaries allowing student movement between schools, the introduction of site‐based management, and opening up parental choice of programming (Dosdall, 2001). External historical factors encouraging the creation of this model were the 1988 amendment to the School Act s.16 (1a) overtly allowing religious alternative programs, unique district leadership, and competitive pressures brought on by the introduction of Charter school legislation in 1994. FAITH‐BASED ALTERNATIVES IN PUBLIC SCHOOLS ACROSS THE PROVINCE Today, most Alberta public boards offer some type of alternative programs and 10 of the 42 offer one or more faith‐based alternative program. Elk Island Public Schools Regional Division, for example, offers numerous faith‐based options utilised by 1,349 of its 16,244 students. In March 2004, the Calgary Board of Education (CBE) loosened its prohibition against faith‐based schooling when it adopted recommendations to introduce “curriculum related to world religion” (Calgary Board of Education, n.d) in high schools and to study the introduction of world religions in early grades. Even though CBE still refuses to “offer religious based alternative programs” (Calgary Board of THE ADVENT OF A PUBLIC PLURIFORMITY MODEL 1171 Education, n.d.), it officially funds the Salvation Army Children’s Village, a school “motivated by Christian values and beliefs” and run for children with “emotional and behavioural difficulties” (Salvation Army, Alberta and Northern Territories Division, n.d.). In 2001‐2002, 5,886 students attended faith‐based alternative programs in public schools. When students in other faith‐based arrangements within the otherwise secular public districts are added, the total in faith‐based public schooling increases to 10,106. Another 7,701 students attended faith‐based schools in St. Albert’s overtly Catholic public division (Greater St. Albert Catholic Schools, 2007). SEPARATE DENOMINATIONAL BOARDS Separate denominational boards constitute a second type of public sector school authority that is constitutionally protected under the Alberta Act, 1905. Roman Catholic minorities opened the vast majority of separate denominational schools in the North West Territories, and later in Alberta. When Protestants were minorities in a district, they were entitled to open Protestant separate schools. Today, 17 of Alberta’s 18 separate denominational systems are Catholic and one is nominally Protestant (St. Albert Protestant Schools, 2007). Roman Catholic Separate Districts Alberta law requires separate schools to have a denominational character, including offering formal religious education (Feehan, 2004). Although practices vary from district to district and school to school, common themes and emphases appear in Catholic schools. The Alberta Catholic School Trustee Association (ACSTA) says that in Catholic schools teachers work at “integrating faith into every instruction plan in every program” (ACSTA 1996a). ACSTA refers to the Vatican II [1965] document Gravissimum Educationis: “What makes the Catholic school distinctive is its attempt to generate a community climate in the school that is permeated by the Gospel spirit of freedom and love”(ACSTA, 1996a). Furthermore, Catholic schools offer religious education (ACSTA, 1996a). ACSTA argues that schools and boards are meant to be Catholic, even on the administrative level (see ACSTA 1996a, pp. 4‐5; ACSTA, 1996b; Ksiazek 1995). For the above reasons, many Catholics argue that 1172 JOHN L. HIEMSTRA & ROBERT A. BRINK even school buildings ought to be separate (Howell & Olsen, 2002). Catholic boards legally may choose to hire only Catholic teachers and demand they conduct themselves in ways consistent with Catholic doctrine and moral teachings.5 How Catholic schooling actually works in practice varies, depending on trustees, principals, teachers, and parents (see Clement, Doyle, & Mackie, 1994; Heustis, 2001; Unland, 2000). Catholic Alternative Schools A number of Catholic separate districts run alternative programs. These schools offer programs based on forms of plurality that crosscut but do not compete with the Catholic faith. Calgary Catholic, for example, runs alternative fine arts, language, and Aboriginal programs. An exception to the crosscutting plurality, however, occurred when Calgary Catholic partnered with two Jewish alternative schools after Calgary Board of Education (public) cancelled their contracts in 1983. Protestant Separate Boards The St. Albert Protestant School District is the sole surviving Protestant separate board. Although it now offers secular education, it runs two Logos Christian Education Programs that school 180 students (St. Albert Protestant Schools, 2002). In 2001‐2002, Alberta’s Catholic separate denominational schools enrolled 120,483 students. When 180 students receiving faith‐based schooling in Logos Christian programs in St. Albert Protestant District are added, a total of 120,663 students received faith‐based schooling in separate denominational districts. CHARTER SCHOOL AUTHORITIES AND SPIRITUALITY Charter Schools constitute a third type of public sector school authority. In 1994, the School Act was amended to define charter schools as “a public school that provides a basic education in a different or enhanced way to improve student learning” (Alberta Learning, 2002a, p. 1). The government wanted only a small group of charter schools stressing a unique aspect of pedagogy, curriculum, or another focus to stimulate improvements in mainstream public and separate schools. Critics argued that charter schools were a strategy to marketise and privatise education THE ADVENT OF A PUBLIC PLURIFORMITY MODEL 1173 (Kachur, 1999; Robertson, Soucek, Pannu, & Schugurensky, 1995; Taylor & Benton‐Evans, 2002). Structurally, however, charter boards must be non‐profit and independently audited (Alberta Learning, 2002a, p. 3). They are eligible for the same per pupil funding from the province as other public schools but may not charge tuition fees (Alberta Learning, 2002a, pp. 1‐2). Charter schools cannot deny access to any student. They must be operated by boards that ensure they comply with “charter board policies and the terms of the charter, as well as provincial legislation, regulation and policies” (Alberta Learning, 2002a, p. 3). Charter schools are the only category of school explicitly prohibited by the School Act from being “religious in nature” (Alberta Learning, 2002a, p. 2). They are included in this study because several existing charter schools clearly demonstrate the difficulty of fully excluding religion from schools that celebrate distinct cultures. The Mother Earth’s Children’s Charter School in Stoney Plain Alberta, for example, opened in September of 2003 to provide traditional Aboriginal education. The school’s website denies it is religious, although its mission includes having students “discover the gifts given to them by the Creator and to foster a balance of their Spiritual, Intellectual, Physical, and Emotional selves” (Mother Earth’s Children’s Charter School, n.d.b). The website further states, “Smudge and prayer will take place in each classroom each morning to begin the day with positive energy” (Mother Earth’s Children’s Charter School, n.d. p. a; also see Holubitsky, 2003). This case illustrates how the wholism of Aboriginal worldviews can conflict with the Western bias that assumes certain areas of life can be free from religion (Vandevelde, 2000). In the same vein, the Almadina Charter School, established in Calgary in 1996 as an ‘English as a Second Language’ (ESL) charter school serving a predominately Arab and Muslim new‐immigrant community, has raised public questions about its religious character. In his study of the school, R. J. Angus (2000) found many parents do see the school as Muslim, but he concludes that this is a mistaken belief and that ESL is the real basis of the school (p. 85). Ten charter schools educated 2,870 students in 2001‐2002, but none officially offer faith‐based schooling. 1174 JOHN L. HIEMSTRA & ROBERT A. BRINK FRANCOPHONE SCHOOL AUTHORITIES AND FAITH The regional francophone school authority is a fourth type of public sector school authority overtly recognised by the Alberta government. Notably, francophone school authorities are fundamentally different from the French immersion programs offered in 174 public, separate, and independent schools in 2002‐2003 (Alberta Learning, 2003d) because French immersion is designed for non‐French students. In Mahe v. Alberta (1990), the Supreme Court of Canada ordered Alberta to provide first‐language francophone communities with parent‐controlled French schooling where numbers warranted. The intent of the regional francophone school authority structure created in 1993 is to “provide a schooling experience built around francophone language, culture and community” in order “to help correct the linguistic and cultural erosion suffered by students and the community” (Alberta Learning 2001, p. 11). Although the province funds them, additional federal funding is also available. Significantly, francophone authorities are legally entitled to determine the denomination of their schools, and they may govern both denominational and non‐denominational schools (Alberta Learning, 2001, p. 36; also see Alberta, 2000, s.199). Of the five francophone authorities, three overtly refer to the Catholic character of their system.6 However, not all schools within a Catholic francophone authority explicitly state their commitment to Catholicism in their published mission and vision. Furthermore, because other options do not exist for non‐Catholic francophone students, the Catholic francophone schools welcome students of other faiths. The schools typically allow students to be exempted from their 80 to 120 minute‐per‐week Catholic religion courses (École des Beaux‐Lacs, n.d.). In 2001‐2002, seven of the sixteen schools representing 1,656 of 3,279 students in Alberta’s five Francophone divisions overtly mention Catholicism in their mission or vision. Six additional schools that do not claim a Catholic identity operate within a division that does. COOPERATIVELY FEDERATED SCHOOL AUTHORITIES Although not mentioned in the School Act, a fifth type of school authority that has evolved in Alberta essentially constitutes a co‐
THE ADVENT OF A PUBLIC PLURIFORMITY MODEL 1175 operative federation of public and separate school authorities. The St. Paul Education Regional Division is the only case. Instead of amalgamating with equivalent boards in geographically distant communities, the St. Paul [Catholic] public district, Glen Avon Protestant Separate, and the County of St. Paul federated as a joint board composed of these three parties. In 1995, St. Paul Education Regional Division ran dual track French/English Catholic schools, a single track Protestant Elementary school, a four‐track Protestant/French, Protestant/English, Catholic/French, Catholic/English high school, eight county schools, two Hutterite and one Mennonite school (see Feehan, 2003). Since 2000, however, some of the co‐operating boards have questioned whether their Separate Protestant and Public Catholic constitutional rights are properly protected in the existing co‐operative federation. A solution is being designed that would reconstitutionalize this arrangement by protecting the right to preferential hiring, designate schools as Catholic, Protestant, or other, and set out guidelines for supervising each type of school (Feehan, 2003). In 2001‐2002, 975 students attended St. Paul’s three Catholic schools, 510 attended the Protestant separate school, 35 attended the two Hutterite schools, 98 a Mennonite School, and another 1,972 students were schooled in secular public schools. Catholic students make up 55‐60 per cent of the shared high school’s 434 students and can access specially tailored Catholic programs (J. Champagne, personal communication, July 2003). Thus, a total of 1,868 students received faith‐based schooling in this co‐operative federation of public and separate school authorities. INDEPENDENT OR PRIVATE SCHOOLS AND FAITH Although not considered a public sector school authority, the government has officially recognised and partially funded independent or private school authorities. Over 250 private school authorities exist, although the vast majority operate only a single school. In 2001‐2002, they educated about 4 per cent of Alberta students. Only 107 of Alberta’s 327 independent schools were faith‐based. The others were either Early Childhood Services or kindergartens, special needs, philosophical, or academic schools (Private schools belie stereotypes, 2001). Various other 1176 JOHN L. HIEMSTRA & ROBERT A. BRINK independent schools are aimed at Aboriginal students, particularly young adults wanting to complete high school.7 On average, the Association of Independent Schools and Colleges in Alberta (AISCA) reports that most independent schools receive approximately 40 per cent of the overall per‐pupil funding given to the public sector authorities (AISCA, 2005). Faith‐based independent schools understand the role of faith in schooling in a variety of different ways, ranging from religious observances, morality, religion courses, to permutation and the integration of faith and schooling. In 2001‐2002, fourteen of the 107 faith‐
based independent schools belonged to the Calvinist‐oriented Prairie Association of Christian Schools, also known as Christian Schools International (PACS, 2005) and served 3,150 students. The Association of Christian Schools International, an evangelical grouping, lists 22 schools with a total of 5,845 students (ACSI n.d.). Three schools enrolling 1,218 students were members of both associations. The Alberta Provincial Accelerated Christian Education Association, using a conservative Christian program of studies designed in the United States, has seven member schools with 1,157 students (see ACE, nd.). There are 11 Seventh Day Adventist Schools with 776 students, five Lutheran schools with 641 students, six non‐PACS Calvinist schools with 1,237 students, two Mennonite schools with 214 students, and nine other Protestant schools with 1,164 students. There are three independent Jewish Schools (451 students), two Islamic Schools (1,002 students), and a Punjabi Cultural school (Sikh) (34 students). Interestingly, there are also seven independent Catholic schools (e.g. Bosco Homes Society for Children and Adolescents) with 423 students (see Catholic Canada, n.d.; Gonzalez, 1999). In additional to the above schools, which are accredited and receive partial public funding, a number of independent schools are classified by government as registered and are neither funded nor accredited. They still must allow monitoring by the Minister (see Alberta Learning, 2002b, pp. 3‐5). The ten registered schools that are faith‐based are Mennonite and educate 367 students. Finally, Early Childhood Services (ECS, or kindergarten) may be run separately from existing schools. Ten of these free‐standing ECS THE ADVENT OF A PUBLIC PLURIFORMITY MODEL 1177 programs are faith‐based, independent schools. They educate another 233 students in Mennonite, Salvation Army, and Khalsa (Sikh) schools. In 2001‐2002, 17,908 of the 28,851 independent school students received a faith‐based schooling. Thus, 32.7 per cent of Alberta’s independent schools deliver some form of faith‐based schooling to 62 per cent of the independent school students. HOME EDUCATION, DISTANCE LEARNING, AND FAITH The government recognises home education, an education program offered to a student by a parent, as an official part of the Alberta school system. In 1988, the School Act was amended to clarify the legal status of home schooling and to enable parents to affiliate with the local school board or an authority outside their home district. Since 1983, the government has offered per‐pupil grants for home education, which are generally split between the family and the affiliated board (Wagner, 1998, p. 219). To complicate matters, however, home education may also be delivered as blended home education. For example, home education can be combined with a school‐provided program delivered and evaluated by a teacher employed by a school board or accredited private school or with an “on‐line program,” that is, “a program offered by a school delivered electronically at a school site or off‐campus, under the instruction and complete supervision of a certified teacher of a board or accredited private school”(Alberta Learning, 2003c). The majority of parents choosing home education do so, at least in part, for religious reasons. Gerald Hiebert, president of the Alberta Home Education Association, noted in 2000 that “Parents practising fundamental and evangelical religions are by far the largest group to opt for home schooling” (“Number of Alberta’s,” 2000). A recent study of home education in Canada (Van Pelt, 2003) confirms this observation, showing that just over 83 per cent of home schooling parents chose “Protestant Christian” as their religious preference. An additional 9.5 per cent were Roman Catholic while a smaller percentage preferred Buddhist, Jew, Latter‐Day Saint, Muslim, and New Age (p. 40). Remarkably, several public school boards register and offer resources for faith‐based home education. The Edmonton Public Schools’ Argyll Centre, for example, offers faith‐based home education programs 1178 JOHN L. HIEMSTRA & ROBERT A. BRINK on the internet (Edmonton Public Schools, 2001‐2002), as does the Pembina School District’s Alberta Distance Learning Centre (Alberta Distance Learning Centre, n.d.). Catholic home schoolers can turn for services to agencies, such as, the St. Gabriel Cyber school, a joint initiative of St. Albert, Red Deer, and Medicine Hat Catholic Boards with 184 students (St. Gabriel Cyber School, n.d.), or the School of Hope, a Catholic distance learning program serving 1,792 students. In 2001‐2002, 13,076 students received home education either exclusively or as blended home education (Alberta Learning 2003c). These students are counted as receiving faith‐based schooling only if they registered with a faith‐based school in this study because provincial statistics place these students under the school authority with which they registered. ABORIGINAL ON‐RESERVE SCHOOLS AND FAITH Schooling of Aboriginal students in Canada has a complex and often sad history. In particular, the damage done by residential schools, often run by churches and religious orders, is well documented (Miller, 2001). There are 44 First Nations, in three treaty areas, within Alberta. They are divided among 124 reserves across the province (“First Nations,” 2001). In 2001‐2002, 48 federally funded schools for Aboriginal students on reserves in Alberta educated over 8,500 students. The local First Nation band council operates these schools on reserves under the legal auspices of the Department of Indian and Northern Affairs Canada (Krasaukas, 2004). The federal government has exclusive right to legislate for Indians under the Constitution Act, 1867, S91 (p. 24). The provisions for the schooling of Aboriginal peoples, set out in the subsequent Indian Act 1876, allowed for Protestant and Roman Catholic schools on reserves (s. 118, 120, 121) and offered parents limited religious choice. The majority of a band could “determine the religious denomination of teachers in the reserve school, but the religious minority may establish a separate school if the minister approves” (Bezeau, 2006, chap.5, n.p.). Today, most reserve schools are non‐denominational (Chalmers 1972). The First Nations students attending off reserve schools under provincial jurisdiction in 2001‐2002 are included in the numbers for the THE ADVENT OF A PUBLIC PLURIFORMITY MODEL 1179 above seven authorities. The Edmonton Public School Board, for example, estimated in 2002 that between eight and ten thousand Aboriginal students attend its schools (Simons, 2002). Some attend faith‐
based alternative programs. Edmonton Catholic also runs a number of programs aimed at Aboriginal students, such as Ben Calf Robe School (see Hryciuk, 2001). The remaining 8,556 Aboriginal students attended on‐reserve First Nations schools in 2001‐2002. Although most are nondenominational schools, several offer elements of faith‐based schooling according to traditional Aboriginal spirituality as well as various Christian views. CONCLUSION The Alberta school system has become structurally pluriform, a system of systems that includes eight categories of school authority. Out of three million citizens, 551,156 Alberta students attended schools run by school authorities fully recognised and fully funded by the province, including 414,006 students in public schools, 126,977 with separate denominational school boards, 3,279 in francophone schools, 2,870 students enrolled in charter schools, and 4,024 students studying under the co‐operative federation of public and separate school authorities. Another 20,842 students attended independent schools qualifying for partial funding, while 13,076 students received partially funded home education. Finally, another 8,556 Aboriginal students attended federally funded, First Nations schools on reserves across Alberta. This pluriformity of structures is deepened further by several mechanisms that some systems use to enable further faith‐based school choice. Although this choice often occurs in an ad hoc manner, forms of faith‐based schooling may be practised legally in all types of authorities except charter schools. In addition to this structural pluriformity, Alberta’s school system also features a plurality of faiths expressed alongside other types of diversity. Currently, Alberta schools allow Aboriginal, Protestant, Catholic, Jewish, Muslim, Hindu, Sikh, as well as other faiths and philosophies to offer forms of faith‐based schooling. In 2001‐2002, 159,206 Alberta students received some form of faith‐based education in Alberta. Of these, 131,488 participated in Catholic programs.8 A further 27,718 students attended non‐Catholic faith‐based schools and programs. 1180 JOHN L. HIEMSTRA & ROBERT A. BRINK Overall, 27.1 per cent of Alberta’s students received some form of faith‐
based schooling. Alberta’s 1905 model of non‐sectarian public schooling with minority denominational districts has been transformed gradually to better accommodate the diversity living within the province. As a result, the system can no longer be characterised by its former thrust to assimilate citizens into one or two approved faiths or philosophies. Indeed, Alberta’s system uses elements of, and mechanisms from, all four of Canada’s historic models of organising faith, church, state, and schooling. The result constitutes a new pragmatic pluriform public model. Reasons for the development of this model are neither immediately transparent nor simple. Future studies should examine the influence of Alberta’s early multicultural diversity on the ability of its dominant Anglo‐Protestant community to fully shape the school system in the assimilating directions it sought during the late nineteenth and early to mid twentieth century. Changes within the dominant liberal public philosophy within Canada, such as “ethical liberalism” (Manzer. 1994, p. 14) and the “choice enhancement state” (Koyzis. 2003, p. 60), seem to have led some to increasingly question the use of state power for imposing a single worldview on all citizens through common schools. Furthermore, the Alberta government’s commitment to a competitive market model for schooling may, in our view, have unintentionally opened up windows for increased faith‐based school choice. Finally, the peculiar characteristics of Alberta’s original denominational school settlement, whereby some public schools became Catholic and some separate schools became Protestant, made it functionally difficult to impose a secular public system on all when this became an increasingly popular option in the 1970s. The legal reality of Catholic public schools and Protestant separate schools may have served to retain the legal degrees of freedom in Alberta needed to introduced mechanisms for faith‐based school choice in public schools, when the drive to fully secularise diminished during the 1990s. The meaning of the advent of a pragmatic pluriform public model in Alberta is also complex and raises difficult questions. Should religious plurality and organisational pluriformity be properly considered THE ADVENT OF A PUBLIC PLURIFORMITY MODEL 1181 political or social benefits, or are they problems that threaten social cohesion and therefore need to be overcome? May a state use coercive and assimilatory mechanisms in school systems to generate social cohesion within a religiously, philosophically, and culturally plural society? Because increasing numbers and types of religions and philosophies are found within Canada, is a pluriform public model for schooling the most tolerant and just means of accommodating this plurality? What are the educational conditions required for the peaceful coexistence of citizens in a diverse state? What is the significance of educational plurality for traditional Canadian conceptions and practices of multiculturalism, minority rights, religious freedom, and so on? How will a pluriform public model impact on educational administration, pedagogical and curricular development, school law, and Charter rights? Is the pragmatic character of Alberta’s public pluriformity an advantage or disadvantage? Do issues of financial fairness, administrative plurality, and parental control over the fundamental direction of their schools require further principled elaboration and development of this model? The advent of increased faith‐based school choice within Alberta’s new pluriform public system should push these and other questions onto the priority list for future research and study. ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS Special thanks to Gerda Kits for research assistance and critical comments on early drafts of this paper and to Lisa DeMoor for assisting with research and editing. This research was funded in part by the Aid to Small Universities Program of the Social Sciences and Humanities Research Council of Canada. NOTES 1 Unless otherwise noted, we have drawn data for this study from “Student Population by Grade, School and Authority, Alberta: 2001‐2002 School Year,” Information Services Branch, Alberta Learning, 2003. Faith‐based components of schools were analysed using published, internet, and limited personal‐interview data. 2 The Alberta School Act defines school as “a structured learning environment through which an education program is offered to a student by: a board, an operator of a private school, an early childhood services program private operator, a parent giving a home education program, or the Minister.” 1182 JOHN L. HIEMSTRA & ROBERT A. BRINK Alberta. (2000 s.1(1y)). 3 Although we argue that religious or equivalent philosophic worldviews shape the practices of all schools, faith‐based schools are identified in this study as schools that specifically profess a religious faith. See Bezeau’s (1995) similar typology, chapter 3, p. 27. 4 5 On employment practices of denominational schools see Casagrande v. Hinton (1987); Caldwell v. Stuart (1984); Daly v. Ontario (1999); and Glenn and de Groof (2002 p. 173) 6 See Conseil Scolaire Catholique et Francophone du Sud du l’Alberta . 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inac.gc.ca/ab/fna/fna1_e.html Glenn, C., & de Groof, J. (2002). Finding the right balance: Freedom, autonomy and accountability in education (Vol. 1). Utrecht: Lemma. Gonzalez, R. (1999, July 12). Bosco Homes realize a dream: School to serve needs of emotionally disturbed youth. Western Catholic Reporter. Retrieved July 8, 2003, from http://www.wcr.ab.ca/news/1999/0712/boscohomes 071299.shtml Greater St. Albert Catholic Schools. (2007). “A Welcoming Christ‐Centred learning environment.” Retrieved January 16, 2007 from http://www.gsacrd.ab.ca Heustis, M. E. (2001). The role of parents in enhancing Catholic schools: Fostering Gospel values and Christ‐centred community, Unpublished Master of Religious Education Thesis, Newman Theological College Edmonton, AB. Hiemstra, J. L. (2005, Fall). Calvinist pluriformity challenges liberal assimilation: A novel case for publicly funding Alberta’s private schools, 1953‐1967. Journal of Canadian Studies, 39(3), 146‐173. Hofer, S. (1998). Hutterites: Lives and images of a communal people. Saskatoon, SK: Hofer Publications. Holubitsky, J. (2001, May 27). Islamic studies course for Grade 7 to promote deeper understanding. Edmonton Journal, p. B3. Holubitsky, J. (2003, February 19). Aboriginal charter school opens doors to all in September Edmonton Journal, p. B3. Hop, D. J. (1982). The development of private schools in Alberta. Unpublished MA Thesis, University of Calgary. Hostetler, J. A. (1974). Hutterite society. Baltimore, MD: Johns Hopkins University Press. THE ADVENT OF A PUBLIC PLURIFORMITY MODEL 1187 Howell, D., & Olsen, T. (2002, December 3). Board rejects Catholic‐public school: Mixing Catholic and non‐Catholic students called detrimental to religious education. Edmonton Journal, p. B1, B7. Hryciuk, D. (2001, November 26). Native school program a hit: But it’s facing the axe as province trims budget. Edmonton Journal, p. B1, B5. Janzen, W. A. (1990). Limits on liberty: The experience of Mennonite, Hutterite, and Doukhobor communities in Canada. Toronto: University of Toronto Press. Kachur, J. L. (1999). Privatizing public choice: The rise of charter schooling in Alberta. In T. W. Harrison & J. L Kachur (Eds.), Contested classrooms: Education, globalization and democracy in Alberta (pp.107‐122). Edmonton, AB: University of Alberta Press. Koyzis, D. T. (2003). Political visions & illusions: A survey & Christian critique of contemporary ideologies. Dowers Grove, IL: InterVarsity. Ksiazek, K. (1995). Catholic education in Alberta: Theological foundations for a Catholic organizational culture. Unpublished Master of Religious Education Thesis, Newman Theological College, Edmonton, Alberta. Krasaukas, A. (2004). A preliminary view of governance in the field of Aboriginal education in Ontario. In R. C. Flynn (Ed.), Law in education: Help or hinderance? Proceedings of the 14th Annual Conference of the Canadian Association for the Practical Study of Law in Education (CAPSLE), Jasper, Alberta, April 27‐30, 2003, Toronto: CAPSLE. Mahe v. Alberta [1990] 1 S.C.R. 342. Manzer, R. (1994). Public schools and political ideas: Canadian educational policy in historical perspective. Toronto: University of Toronto. Martin, L., & Hiemstra, J. (2002). Who gets a voice in a ʹdistrict of choice?ʹ: Albertaʹs ʹalternativeʹ schools challenge independent Christian schools. Christian Educator’s Journal 41(3), 18‐20. Miller, J. R. (2001). The state, the church and Indian residential schools”. In M. Van Die (Ed.), Religion and public life in Canada: Historical and comparative perspectives, pp. 109‐126. Mother Earth’s Children’s Charter School. (n.d.a). Cultural context. Retrieved November 20, 2006, from http://www.meccs.ca/whce.htm Mother Earth’s Children’s Charter School. (n.d.b). Mission. Retrieved November 20, 2006, from http://www.meccs.ca/abmv.htm 1188 JOHN L. HIEMSTRA & ROBERT A. BRINK Navis, E., & Siebring‐Wierenga, J. (Eds.). (1985) A furrow laid bare: Neerlandia district history. Neerlandia: Neerlandia Historical Society, AB. Northlands School Division Act, R.S.A. 2000, c. N‐5, s9(1)(a). “Number of Alberta’s home school students grows.” (2000, April 17). Canadian Press NewsWire, p. n/a. Parkland School Division. (2003). Maranatha Alternative Program (MAP). Retrieved December 7, 2006, from http://www.psd70.ab.ca/psd/content/ edservices/programsofchoice/map.shtml Prairie Association of Christian Schools. (2005). Home. Retrieved November 20, 2006, from http://www.paocs.ca/ Private schools belie stereotype. (2001, July 5). The Globe and Mail, p. A8. Robertson, S., Soucek, V., Pannu, R., & Schugurensky, D. (1995, March). ‘Chartering’ new waters: The Klein Revolution and the privatization of education in Alberta. Our Schools/Our Selves, 7(2), 80‐106. Salvation Army, Alberta and Northern Territories Division. (n.d.). Children’s village. Retrieved December 7, 2006, from http://ab.salvationarmy.ca/calgary/youth.html Simons, P. (2002, March 26). Rising native student numbers strain city schools. Edmonton Journal, p. B1, B6. St. Albert Protestant Schools. (2007). District Programs. Retrieved January 16, 2007, from http://www.spschools.org/programs/main.htm St. Albert Protestant Schools. (2002). Logos Christian education. Retrieved November 20, 2006, from http://www.spschools.org/programs/ logos/main.htm St. Gabriel Cyber School. (n.d.). Why St. Gabriel Cyber School. Retrieved November 20, 2006, from www.stgabe.com/Why Statistics Canada, Census Operations Division. (2003). 2001 Census: Analysis series: Religions in Canada. (Catalogue No. 96F0030XIE2001015). Retrieved November 20, 2006, from http://www12.statcan.ca/english/census01/products/analytic/companion
/rel/pdf/96F0030XIE2001015.pdf Sweet, L. (1997). God in the classroom: The controversial issue of religion in Canada’s schools. Toronto: McClelland and Stewart. THE ADVENT OF A PUBLIC PLURIFORMITY MODEL 1189 Taylor, G., & Benton‐Evans, R. (2002, May 10). Accommodating market pressures through alternative programming: Prospects and potential problems for Edmonton Public Schools. Paper presented at School Choice: Public Education at a Crossroads Conference, University of Calgary. Unland, K. (2000, Oct 21). The cross in the classroom: Separate schools attract non‐Catholics in search of a warm, caring, Christian environment. Calgary Herald, p. O10. Van Pelt, D. (2003). Home education in Canada: A Report on the Pan‐Canadian Study on Home Education 2003. Medicine Hat, AB: Canadian Centre for Home Education and Home School Legal Defence Association of Canada. Vandevelde, G. (2000). Native self‐government: Between the spiritual fire and the political fire. In J. H. Olthuis (Ed.), Towards an ethics of community: Negotiations of difference in a pluralist society (pp. 186‐200). Waterloo, ON: Wilfred Laurier Press. Wagner, M. G. (1998). The Progressive Conservative government and education policy in Alberta: Leadership and continuity. Unpublished doctoral dissertation, University of Alberta, Edmonton. 1190 JOHN L. HIEMSTRA & ROBERT A. BRINK This page intentionally left blank. LARGE‐SCALE ASSESSMENT OUTCOMES IN BRITISH COLUMBIA, 1876‐1999 Helen Raptis & Thomas Fleming For over 20 years, educators and administrators across North America have heatedly debated the value of large‐scale student assessment. Throughout the history of schooling in British Columbia, large‐scale student assessment outcomes have traditionally served to inform broader societal goals. Realistically, “assessment of” group learning (as opposed to classroom‐based “assessment for” individual learning) will continue as the government’s key focus. We also raise several unanswered questions such as the scope of assessment practices that include only numeracy and literacy or the achievement of elementary versus secondary students between 1976 and 1999, questions to move the decades‐old debate beyond its current stalemate. Key words: history, education, testing, achievement Depuis plus de 20 ans, pédagogues et administrateurs de tous les coins de l’Amérique du Nord débattent avec passion de la valeur des épreuves communes. Tout au long de l’histoire de l’éducation en Colombie‐Britannique, les résultats des épreuves communes ont servi à réaliser des objectifs sociaux plus vastes. En fait, l’évaluation des apprentissages d’un groupe (par opposition à l’évaluation de l’apprentissage de chacun au sein d’une classe) va demeurer une priorité pour le gouvernement. Les auteurs soulèvent en outre plusieurs questions laissées jusqu’ici sans réponse, tels l’éventail des pratiques d’évaluation portant seulement sur le calcul et la littératie ou le rendement scolaire des élèves du primaire comparé à celui des élèves du secondaire entre 1976 et 1999, autant de questions qui peuvent faire avancer le débat vieux de plusieurs décennies au‐delà de l’impasse actuelle. Mots clés : histoire, éducation, épreuves, réussite scolaire. _________________ CANADIAN JOURNAL OF EDUCATION 29, 4 (2006): 1191‐1222 1192 HELEN RAPTIS & THOMAS FLEMING During the past two decades, education systems around the world have experienced unprecedented increases in reform initiatives (Calderhead, 2001; Holt, 2001; Massell, 1998), largely dependent upon large‐scale student assessment programs serving as the “vehicle of choice” for promoting accountability within public schools (Earl & Torrance, 2000, p. 114). Some educators and researchers favour the use of large‐scale assessments, arguing that these tests can “enhance learning within and across systems of education” (Plomp & Loxley, 1994, p. 176) by enabling policy‐makers at all levels to assess their systems and to initiate reforms and policies based on the practices of higher achieving jurisdictions (cf. Beaton, Martin & Mullis, 1997; Schmidt & Burstein, 1993; Schmidt & McKnight, 1998; Stigler & Perry, 1998). Others have opposed large‐scale testing practices, asserting that they have negatively impacted teachers and children in schools. Some researchers argue that increased large‐scale testing has narrowed the curriculum by overemphasizing performance in mathematics and reading, while marginalizing all other curricular subjects (Nichols & Berliner, 2005; Pedulla et al., 2003, Volante, 2004). Still others contend that large‐scale assessments may encourage people to contemplate change, but insist that rarely do test results increase opportunities to implement reform (Firestone, Mayrowetz, & Fairman, 1998). In 2002, for example, Amrein and Berliner (2002) found no evidence that high‐stakes testing led to improved test scores. More recently, Nichols, Glass and Berliner (2006) studied 25 American state‐wide accountability systems and discovered no relationship between early accountability pressure and later non‐ethnic cohort achievement in math and reading at the fourth and eighth grade levels. In the words of Clarke, Harris, and Reynolds (2004), “despite the dramatic increase in education reform efforts in most countries, their impact upon overall levels of student achievement” has not been “as successful as anticipated” (pp. 2‐3). Curiously, contemporary debates over the value of large‐scale student assessment continue to rage as if assessors were unaware that most provincial governments across Canada have administered large‐
scale student assessments since the late nineteenth century. In British Columbia, large‐scale assessment of students’ learning began in 1876 and has continued almost uninterrupted until today. In light of this long‐
LARGE‐SCALE ASSESSMENT OUTCOMES IN BRITISH COLUMBIA, 1876‐1999 1193 term commitment to testing, this research study addressed the following questions: a) When and why did the B.C. government become interested in measuring student achievement? b) How has the B.C. government measured student achievement from 1876 to today? c) What purposes have large‐scale government assessments served? d) What have we learned about the assessment of student achievement after over a century of large‐scale government assessments? That is, are there any discernable long‐term trends in student achievement? METHOD Although the scholarly literature chronicling the history of educational achievement in British Columbia is sparse, sufficient archival files exist (in the form of assessments, result data, and related documents) from which to reconstruct our testing past. Data for this study were obtained from records in the British Columbia Archives and the B.C. Ministry of Education. Of particular value in this regard are the student achievement data published as part of the Annual Reports of the Public Schools. We examined and analyzed these reports for the period 1876 to 1999. In addition, the B.C. Ministry of Education provided access to 16 boxes of files containing tests, results, and reports from 1925 to 1972. These data reside in the B.C. Ministry of Education storage warehouse and have not yet been transferred to the B.C. Archives. Supplementing these reports were tests and results data for the Provincial Learning Assessment Program (PLAP) from 1976 to the late 1990s. These data enabled us to track student performance during the last quarter of the twentieth century. Finally, we interviewed several education ministry officials to obtain information that could not be derived from the documents. Historical research differs from experimental approaches in that historians are involved in discovering data as opposed to generating it. When data sources are incomplete or unavailable, scholars can construct only a partial picture from existing sources. For various reasons, British Columbia’s historical record concerning test outcomes is far from complete. Prior to the establishment of the provincial archives, materials were not always carefully preserved. Likewise, educational materials were not always perceived as valuable and were discarded for reasons of space, collection priorities and, sometimes, indifference. Therefore, the 1194 HELEN RAPTIS & THOMAS FLEMING portrait presented here is, at best, a representative and composite portrait from a somewhat fragmented archive. Because we sought principally to identify broad achievement trends among the general student population, the following analysis does not describe the impact of testing on teachers and children, a topic discussed in the secondary literature. Nor does it examine the outcomes of specific sub‐populations, such as boys compared to girls, urban and rural students, minority, aboriginal, or grade‐12 exit or scholarship exams. Analyses of achievement results for these specific sub‐populations promise interesting findings; we anticipate undertaking such research to provide some useful comparative data in the future. STUDENT ASSESSMENT IN BRITISH COLUMBIA, 1876 – 1999 The province of British Columbia began administering large‐scale student assessments in 1876. Since that time, there have been four testing “eras” which we have termed the “Departmentals” Era (1876‐1924); the Standardized/ I.Q. Testing Era (1925‐1972); the Provincial Learning Assessment Program (PLAP) Era, (1976‐1999); and the Foundation Skills Assessment (FSA) Era (1999‐today). The following discussion describes and summarizes the historical record of these testing eras. The “ Departmentals” Era, 1876‐1924 With the 1876 establishment of Victoria High School, the only institution of higher learning west of Winnipeg, the province needed to implement a means of determining who was, and was not, worthy of admission into this citadel of knowledge (Annual Report of the Public Schools of British Columbia, hereafter, ARPS, 1874, pp. 21‐22). Following the lead of other Canadian jurisdictions, particularly Ontario, B.C.’s government implemented its first large‐scale examinations, the “departmentals,” also known as the junior matriculation exams. These high school entrance exams – held in March and July – were comprised of problem‐solving questions and/or open‐ended essay questions in four subjects: arithmetic, spelling, English grammar, and geography. Based on these exams, 31 boys and 23 girls, mostly from Victoria, were admitted to the inaugural high school class. (See Appendix, Table 1) For high school admission, the province ruled that the aggregate of a pupilʹs marks “must amount to at LARGE‐SCALE ASSESSMENT OUTCOMES IN BRITISH COLUMBIA, 1876‐1999 1195 least 60% of the total mark assigned for all the subjects of examination [of which] at least 30% must be obtained in each subject” (ARPS, 1889, p. vii). Because of the importance placed on reading and writing as a prerequisite for all further study, candidates who failed to gain 50 per cent of the questions in the grammar paper were refused admission, a situation that enraged social reformers who viewed this as an unnecessary stumbling block for those students who were not necessarily linguistically inclined. By the early 1900s, local community leaders, politicians, and educators were beginning to despair over how few students were able to pass the high school entrance exams. In 1876, 160 students wrote the exams and only 43 per cent passed. By 1910, although the number of students who wrote the exams had increased to 1,928, still only 55 per cent passed (or 1,051 students) (ARPS, 1910). Pressured by the employment demands of an expanding economy in 1911, the Education Office prepared different exams for candidates in urban and rural schools to increase pass rates. In 1918, regulations were relaxed to allow pupils in “cities of the first and second class” to be promoted to high school on the recommendations of teachers and principals.1 All others were required to sit the exams until 1922 when the top 60 per cent of pupils in schools of seven or more divisions (grades) could be promoted by their schools on their principals’ assessment (Johnson, 1964, pp. 68‐
69). For most youngsters prior to the Great Depression, these high school entrance exams were, as one observer put it, “the only graduating exam they would write, the only certificate of achievement in school that they would get” (Cochrane, 1981, p. 57). One Ontario schoolmistress, upset with government exams and the memory work they encouraged, spoke for many other teachers across the country when she complained: I taught arithmetic, I taught grammar, I taught spelling, and history, and geography and science, and if I taught Johnny and Mary and Peter, it was purely coincidental. On or about the 24th of May I divided my class into the sheep and the goats. I was sure that the sheep would pass and so they took their lessons from 9:00 to 4:00, but the goats came at 8:00 and we dr‐i‐l‐l‐ed spelling and grammar and arithmetic for an hour, and from 4:00 till 5:00 we drilled again. Of course, we called it review, but it was nothing short of cramming and resembled 1196 HELEN RAPTIS & THOMAS FLEMING the stuffing of a Christmas turkey. If I could pour enough facts into their heads and they could hold those facts long enough to regurgitate them on the examination I had achieved my purpose. (cited in Cochrane, 1981, p. 58) The Education Office generally disapproved of allowing unprepared students to write exams, prompting teachers to “hold back” students until they were reasonably sure they could pass. Of 908 Vancouver pupils “in the senior grade” who were eligible to write the 1914 high school entrance exam, only 320 (or 35 %) did and, of these, 263 (or 82%) passed, a sterling result compared to the province as a whole (ARPS, 1914, p. A42). Although government officials sometimes protested the practice of “holding back” students, as well as the “mental indigestion” and “lack of power to do independent thinking” that resulted from teachers dictating notes and providing students with summaries of text‐
books, the importance that government and everyone else placed on the departmentals virtually ensured that teachers would “teach to the test” and only advance their best candidates for examination (ARPS, 1914, p. A42). This essentially “Darwinian” view of schooling – in which only the best were selected for promotion to high school and eventual admission to the professions – ruled the day until the mid‐1920s, when both British Columbia’s social context and educational thought shifted profoundly. What conclusions have we drawn about student achievement during the “Departmentals” Era, from 1876‐1924? First, usually fewer than half of the students who wrote the high school entrance exams in the early decades of such testing actually succeeded in passing them. The lowest pass rate was recorded at a mere 41 per cent in 1890‐1891 and again in 1894‐1895. Over time, however, greater numbers of students wrote the exams, and although increasing numbers of students were promoted into high school over time, this did not mean that students were more successful in passing the exams. Indeed, the highest pass rate (71%) occurred in 1877‐1878. In 1922‐23, when 93 per cent of the students who wrote the entrance exams were promoted to high school, 36 per cent were promoted on recommendation of their school staffs and only 56 per cent actually passed the government‐set exams. More revealing still is the finding that the “average” pass rate over the era was roughly 55 per cent (ARPS, 1922‐23). In short, high school departmental exams were LARGE‐SCALE ASSESSMENT OUTCOMES IN BRITISH COLUMBIA, 1876‐1999 1197 considerably more illustrative of what students “didn’t know” rather than of what they did know. These findings prompt an interesting question. Of the students who entered high school in British Columbia during this era, what percentage eventually obtained a high school graduation diploma? A study of this nature would no doubt reveal some interesting findings about student success rates over a considerable length of time. The Standardized/ I.Q. Testing Era, 1925‐1972 In the mid‐1920s, as a modernizing provincial economy and new educational ideas promoted greater access and higher levels of learning for all the province’s children, the departmental exams fell out of favour. By the early twentieth century, standardized intelligence (I.Q.) testing was being heralded throughout the Western world as a more objective instrument for assigning student grades – despite early opposition (Cubberley, 1934). According to American historian Gerard Giordano (2005), educators initially embraced the new, more “scientific” approach as a means of elevating “the lackluster status of their occupation” (p. xvi). For administrators, it provided a means of ensuring that teachers followed the curriculum at all grade levels (Giordano, 2005, p. 26). Most instrumental in bringing British Columbia’s open‐ended, subject‐focused “departmental” exams to a close was the 1925 publication of Harold Putman and George Weirʹs (1925) mammoth Survey of the School System, a report to government that advocated revolutionizing the structures used to direct and assess provincial schools. Dismissing the high school entrance exams as an anachronism, or a “Moloch,” to whom students were needlessly sacrificed, Putman and Weir recommended that the province adopt a regular program of standardized testing to obtain a more accurate assessment of students’ scholastic abilities. In their view, the “departmentals” were an “outgrowth of an educational system essentially Prussian, rather than British, in spirit” (Putman & Weir, 1925, p. 259). The commissioners argued that if the “traditional written examinations were an accurate test of intelligence or educational achievement, a strong defense for retaining them as an integral part of the provincial school system could be offered” (p. 260). As evidence this was not so, they pointed to wild 1198 HELEN RAPTIS & THOMAS FLEMING fluctuations in annual failure rates and concluded that there was “no valid reason why 75% of the pupils who enter grade one should not pass directly from grade six without the necessity of undergoing an examination ordeal” (cited in Johnson, 1964, p. 106). The Commissioners also noted the high costs of the examination system, stating that in 1924, “the total cost of the examination of teachers and high school entrance classes was $25,373,” with only $10,899.33 being recouped from the candidates (Putman & Weir, 1925, p. 261). During the mid‐1920s, the social moment was right for discussion about educational change. The enormous urbanization and industrialization that marked the province’s growth in the early decades of the twentieth century made new demands on schools to prepare ever‐
increasing numbers of students for trade and commerce. As cities and towns swelled with new buildings, streets, and immigrants, few of the myriad jobs associated with this new economy seemingly required the expertise in Latin, British history, or other classical subjects that a formal high school education bespoke. British Columbia had entered a new age characterized by energy, ambition, and industry (Reksten, 2001). This new era called for a new view of schooling and a new curriculum that would more practically prepare as many students of the general population as possible with knowledge and skills that were relevant to the realities of learners’ lives (Putman & Weir, 1925, p. 82). If school goals were to meet the needs of changing times, then it was necessary to change the instruments used to assess student performance. As one of Canada’s first surveys of a provincial education system, the Putman and Weir Commission proposed that students be promoted by subject on the recommendation of principals and their staffs – a practice already well underway in some schools since 1921 – and that the Department of Education’s junior matriculation exams be replaced by a high school accreditation system. Featuring prominently in this new and progressive assessment scheme was the application of intelligence (I.Q.) tests, which were gaining support throughout Western education systems. Putman and Weir suggested that the provincial school inspectorate could still be charged with assessing the overall effectiveness and efficiency of the system through school visits, as it had in the past, but such visits could be augmented by the use of I.Q. and LARGE‐SCALE ASSESSMENT OUTCOMES IN BRITISH COLUMBIA, 1876‐1999 1199 other standardized tests (Putman & Weir, 1925, pp. 239‐45). As part of the Commission, University of Toronto’s Dr. Peter Sandiford was hired to assess B.C. students’ mental capacities which were reported by ethnicity, a reflection of nativist sentiments prevailing at the time. Satisfaction with Sandiford’s work led the Commissioners to recommend I.Q. tests as the means by which educators could compare students’ intellectual potential with their subject‐specific achievement and rates of progress, the ultimate goal being to bridge the gap between students’ predicted capability and actual, subject‐specific achievement. Mirroring educational developments in other jurisdictions, provincial policy‐
makers hoped that the new tests would help to narrow the capacity‐
achievement gap and would eliminate the “age‐grade retardation” that resulted from “holding students back” until they were considered capable of passing the matriculation exams. As historian Brian Simon (1974) notes, British policymakers at the time were also eager to implement assessments “which could allow for disadvantages attendant on poor home background, poor schools or teaching, and this ruled out testing mere attainment in favour of seeking to gauge ‘capacity and promise’” (p. 235).2 Records from the I.Q. testing era suggest that, in addition to I.Q. testing, British Columbia’s education department introduced standardized, multiple‐choice style tests in the 1920s and used them extensively for multiple purposes until 1972. Tests were developed in many areas of the curriculum, including mathematics, geography, handwriting, languages, physical education, science, spelling and commerce. First, government officials compared outcomes on various standardized subject‐area tests with students’ mental and chronological age as measured by standardized I.Q. tests. Gaps between mental ability and students’ subject area progress could thereby be identified and responsibility could be attributed to various factors, including poor teaching, poor placement, or other organizational factors that encouraged the worrisome and costly problem of student “age‐grade retardation.” Government officials then alerted teachers to students who were age‐grade “retarded” and encouraged school staffs to provide such learners with appropriate remediation. In addition, government also communicated provincial and district averages so that individual school 1200 HELEN RAPTIS & THOMAS FLEMING staffs would know where they stood compared to other schools. During this era, student outcome data were also used to compare British Columbia’s student achievement to that of American learners for whom the standardized exams had originally been normed. Finally, such data enabled officials to compare rural averages with urban results and, from time to time, to compare the relative achievement of boys and girls. Between 1925 and 1972, 34 different types of I.Q. test forms were administered to students across grades one to eleven in British Columbia (see Appendix, Tables 2 to 11). In 1948 alone, public schools enrolled 137,000 students, of which 40 per cent (or 56,000 students) wrote I.Q. tests, 55 per cent (77,000) wrote subject‐specific exams and only 5 per cent (7,000) were spared the testing ordeal (Figures calculated from Conway, 1949, p. 64). What conclusions can be drawn about student achievement testing in British Columbia from 1925 to 1972? First, the multiple‐choice format of I.Q. type testing instruments used during this era differed markedly from the format of the “departmentals,” which generally consisted of open‐ended, essay‐type and problem‐solving questions. Second, during the half century in which these tests were popular, youngsters in British Columbia tended to outperform their American counterparts in most examination subjects except language arts and languages. Third, some assessment instruments obviously occupied a privileged place in the hierarchy of tests. For example, during this era far more I.Q. type tests were administered than subject‐specific tests. This practice was likely due to the desire of government officials to identify students whose subject area scores were not in line with their “potential” capabilities, as determined by I.Q. tests. One of the main aims of policymakers who advocated the use of I.Q. testing was to signal age‐grade retardation to teachers and inspectors who were then expected to provide remediation so that as many learners as possible could succeed and contribute to the province’s economic development. Appendix Tables 4, 6, 7, 9, and 11 also illustrate that many curricular subjects (including history, science, languages, physical education and commerce) were clearly under‐assessed during this era, and that some subject areas were completely un‐surveyed (such as art, music, industrial arts). These findings prompt an intriguing and important question: Why LARGE‐SCALE ASSESSMENT OUTCOMES IN BRITISH COLUMBIA, 1876‐1999 1201 were certain types of tests and certain subject areas perennially considered to be more important for government to test and measure? Likewise, who determined such priorities in assessment and upon what criteria? The Provincial Learning Assessment Program (PLAP) Era, 1975‐1999. By 1972, the I.Q. assessments so highly favoured during the previous era had fallen from grace, largely as a result of changing social and political views.3 Although criticism had dogged I.Q. testing since its inception, 1960s civil rights protests over the importance of social equality moved the topic of educational testing from the confines of “academic debate” to the “center of public controversy” (Giordano, 2005, p. 146). With the 1972 election of the New Democratic Party in British Columbia, education minister, Eileen Dailly, phased out the use of I.Q. assessments and entrusted local authorities with responsibility for curriculum development and assessment initiatives (ARPS, 1972, pp. D33‐35). However, after a three‐year testing hiatus, marked by considerable public and professional opposition, Dailly proposed in 1975 a new testing initiative that differed appreciably from what had constituted testing over the previous century. Instead of focusing on student achievement, the new province‐wide assessment program initially took aim at two larger targets – informing the public about global achievement and assisting curriculum committees, as well as teachers, in improving courses in reading, writing, literature and oral communication. Curriculum design and professional development for teachers, along with providing ideas for research and resource allocation, had emerged as the government’s new assessment focus (Dept. Assessing Language Arts, May 1975, p. 1). Gone was the old‐fashioned emphasis on large‐scale measures of student achievement or the diagnostic assessment of individual students. A new era of “program evaluation” in education and, indeed, in other ministries of government was dawning. For a century, provincial education officials had focused on measuring individual students’ inadequacies. Now educational government was taking a page from corporate practices of the day by assessing the adequacies of its own programs and support services rather than that of students in the system. 1202 HELEN RAPTIS & THOMAS FLEMING Following a change in government that saw the restoration of the Social Credit Party, the new education minister, Dr. Patrick McGeer announced the ambitious “Provincial Learning Assessment Program” (PLAP) in October 1975 that was also generally “programmatic” and “public” in emphasis. The new, multi‐purpose program that had initially been conceived under Dailly’s tenure, would, inter alia, evaluate student progress over time, account to the public for the strengths and weaknesses of the K‐12 system, provide individual districts and schools with performance data, support curriculum change and educational research, and provide management information for resource allocation (British Columbia Ministry of Education Records, Box 307‐04‐145/89‐
1839‐25). From 1976 to 1999 as part of the PLAP, the provincial government tested various areas of the curriculum on what was initially intended to be an alternating four‐year cycle. The 1976 language arts assessment alone produced over 100 recommendations relating to curriculum development and how reading and writing should be taught. “The fundamental purpose of the program,” the Ministry advised, “is to facilitate educational decision‐making in areas such as curriculum development, fiscal management, teacher education and research” (Dept. Assessing Language Arts, May 1975, p. 1). Subjects examined during this era included: language arts, science, mathematics, social studies, physical education, and French (see Appendix, Tables 12 to 17). With new assessment purposes came new formats and new approaches. Although the multiple‐choice format was retained for most assessments, some test questions – in modern languages and language arts to name two – became more open‐ended and essay‐type. In addition, unlike exams of the previous era, students’ PLAP outcomes were not assessed relative to students’ overall intelligence scores, nor were they compared to norms from other learners’ scores from other districts or other countries. At the exam preparation stage, government officials enlisted the services of various individuals from the field (generally teachers and professors) to constitute “Interpretation Panels.” Based on the provincial curriculum, these panels determined what knowledge and skill levels could be expected of learners at various grade levels. The panels could then evaluate students’ average test scores (or LARGE‐SCALE ASSESSMENT OUTCOMES IN BRITISH COLUMBIA, 1876‐1999 1203 mean percentage correct) relative to standards they had set. From our reading of the PLAP era data, we have decided that the most illustrative way to present these data is within their subject areas, comparing the results (both mean per cent correct and interpretation panel judgments) across grade levels. Achievement outcomes from the Provincial Learning Assessment Program, (Appendix, Tables 12 to 17), reveal several interesting trends. First, over the years from 1976 to 1999, British Columbia’s elementary learners proved generally more successful at meeting the interpretation panels’ expectations than their secondary counterparts, except in the areas of social studies and physical education (see Appendix tables 12 to 17, judgment column). Why this appears to be the case is a question that clearly merits further research. Another broad trend revealed by the data is that some subject areas have been assessed far more frequently than others. For example, during the PLAP era more language arts assessments were administered than assessments in any other subject area, prompting the question as to why this was the case. Likewise, as witnessed during the I.Q. testing era, some subject areas were under‐represented (such as social studies, see Table 15) and several (such as fine arts or industrial arts) were not assessed at all. Additional research might reveal why some subject areas held more prominence during the era of the Provincial Learning Assessment Program. The Foundation Skills Assessment (FSA), 1999‐present During the latter half of the 1990s, parental pressure, as well as requests from various district administrators, caused government to reconsider the adequacy of the PLAP (J. Mussio, personal communication, June 13, 2006).4 In 1999, the provincial government added to its regimen a new testing program, known as the Foundation Skills Assessment (FSA). Once per year, students in grades four, seven, and ten write a standardized, province‐wide examination in the areas of literacy (reading comprehension and writing) and numeracy. According to the B.C. Ministry of Education website, this annual ritual provides a snapshot of students’ academic skills (see Foundation Skills Assessment website, http://www.bced.gov.bc.ca/assessment/fsa). Families receive their individual child’s standings reported with the following 1204 HELEN RAPTIS & THOMAS FLEMING descriptors: Meeting Expectations; Exceeding Expectations; Not Yet Meeting Expectations. School, district, and province‐wide scores are reported on the Ministry website. And although the FSAs were never meant to supplant the PLAP, provincial authorities have not administered any PLAP exams since 1999, reflecting their belief that the FSA is a more reliable indicator of an individual student’s ability because it measures fewer skills in more depth, with more items. With the introduction of the FSA, breadth of curricular coverage was traded for more information about individual cases. (Barry Anderson, personal communication, June 12, 2006).5 Although the FSAs are too recent to determine broad trends in overall student achievement, their format is notable when considered in historical perspective. Beginning in 1876, the testing programs have generally focused on assessing students’ subject‐specific performance. Today’s FSA tests, however, focus on two areas: literacy and numeracy, which are considered to be “foundational” to all other learning. The reason for this narrowed focus is certainly worthy of future inquiry. CONCLUSION The results of this research are significant for several reasons. First, this historical review of large‐scale provincial testing adds a new dimension to a contemporary debate that has been largely ahistorical. Although the stand‐off between the critics (cf. Nichols, Glass, & Berliner 2006; Volante, 2004) and advocates (cf. Schmidt & McKnight, 1998; Stigler & Perry, 1998) of large‐scale testing drags on, this historical research study sheds new light on the purposes and outcomes of government‐initiated, large‐
scale testing over time. Indeed, over the past 130 years, large‐scale government assessments have generally acted as accountability mechanisms serving broad societal goals. In this regard, government has been mainly interested in the assessment of group learning and not in the assessment for individual learning – the latter has been generally left to the classroom teacher. Furthermore, this research clearly demonstrates that large‐scale assessment is a well‐entrenched and traditional government practice in the province of British Columbia and, as such, forms part of what U.S. historians David Tyack and Larry Cuban (1995) refer to as “the grammar of schooling,” (p. 85) that is to say, part of the LARGE‐SCALE ASSESSMENT OUTCOMES IN BRITISH COLUMBIA, 1876‐1999 1205 core organizational structures, rules, and practices that endure over time. Large‐scale testing is anything but new. It pre‐dates by a century ideological shifts within government that have become associated with testing and accountability in recent popular and scholarly literatures. The historical record should serve to inform recent critics of large‐scale testing that this enduring “grammar” has long been embodied in the foundations of public schooling and, therefore, prevents anti‐testing reforms. Despite the continuity of large‐scale assessment, however, the means of assessing student achievement have been anything but static. Instruments, purposes, and reporting formats have changed significantly over this time and four discernible testing epochs can be identified between 1876 and 1999: the “departmentals” era from 1876 to 1924; the standardized/ I.Q. testing era from 1925 to 1972; the Provincial Learning Assessment Program era from 1976 to 1999; and the Foundation Skills Assessments from 1999 to today. These changes have reflected broader societal shifts over time. During the first era, the favoured approach to testing was on open‐
ended, essay‐type or on problem‐solving exam questions, requiring learners to use subject matter knowledge to make connections, develop generalizations, and support solutions. Although initially, candidates who failed to gain 50 per cent of the questions in the grammar paper were refused high school admission, this practice was dropped by the 1890s with the broadening of the list of examinable subjects. Furthermore, few students were permitted to write the exams and of those who wrote, not many succeeded. These approaches were appropriate for their time, as turn‐of‐the‐twentieth‐century Canadian policy‐makers were preoccupied with nation‐building when most citizens supported themselves through farming. Government used assessment instruments as a means of selecting the gifted few learners who would continue their studies and enter the traditional professions of teaching, law, and medicine. During the second era, from 1925 to 1972, the most popular assessment instruments were multiple‐choice, IQ‐type tests that facilitated the marking of exams for vastly increased numbers of students who were now being assessed due to newly imposed 1206 HELEN RAPTIS & THOMAS FLEMING mandatory school attendance laws. Using standardized tests, government officials predicted students’ intelligence at various points of their education and, by comparing I.Q. scores to students’ subject‐
specific test results, they determined situations in which students were “age‐grade” retarded. Armed with this information, teachers then provided remediation activities for learners who were not “living up to their potential.” I.Q and subject‐specific scores also helped efficiency‐
conscious administrators to direct pupils toward the career choice that best fit their capabilities, thus facilitating students’ transitions from school to work.6 This test‐type reflected societal concerns of the time about Canada’s capacity to compete in an increasingly industrial world (Dunn, 1979, p. 236). Overall, students in British Columbia tended to do well relative to American norms, with the exception being in the language arts and languages. Test types during the third era of assessment (PLAP) tended to be multiple‐choice, but over the years, more open‐ended formats were also introduced. These tests reflected government’s interest in determining how well students performed as a whole to inform revisions to provincial programs and curricula. Results from the tests administered during this era were never revealed directly to students or teachers. Still reeling from the protests that arose through the human and civil rights movements of the 1960s and 1970s, governments proceeded cautiously and reported only aggregated data that would assist government to revise its own practices. Interestingly, during the PLAP era, elementary students tended to perform closer to expert panels’ standards than did secondary students, except in the areas of social studies and physical education. This finding is certainly worthy of future inquiry, particularly in light of recent World Bank allegations that both secondary and tertiary education have been neglected over the past few decades due to an emphasis on primary education (World Bank, 2002, 2005). Because the province continues to administer Foundation Skills Assessments (FSAs) today, it is premature to assess any long‐term trends arising from the FSAs. However, the current testing era attributes prominence to numeracy and literacy as “foundational” to all other learning. Why numeracy and literacy have been attributed such prominence is certainly worthy of future scholarly inquiry. It is also LARGE‐SCALE ASSESSMENT OUTCOMES IN BRITISH COLUMBIA, 1876‐1999 1207 curious to note that the PLAP has not been administered since the introduction of the FSAs in 1999, despite the fact that the FSA was not meant to supplant the PLAP but to augment it. From these analyses, it is also apparent that certain kinds of knowledge have dominated the testing agenda from time to time. From 1925 to 1972, the majority of government‐administered assessments were I.Q. tests, with mathematics exams following in prominence. Since 1976, on the other hand, language arts and literacy assessments have dominated the provincial testing agenda rendering these skills as a kind of proxy measure for all other learning — perhaps not unlike the I.Q. scores of yesteryear. Today’s FSAs measure literacy and numeracy implying that these are foundational to learning in other un‐tested subject areas. The assumption that the FSAs are valid “proxy” measures of all learning is an assumption that has neither been challenged nor debated but is certainly worthy of future scholarly inquiry.7 Although these broad trends are important in themselves, they prompt further questions about the performance of constituent groups that comprise the general provincial population. What assessment trends might be identified or confirmed by examining specific sub‐populations such as minorities, girls compared with boys, urban learners compared to those in rural settings, or, for that matter, grade 12 learners’ results on exit and scholarship exams? How can we explain historically why provincial officials have preferred to assess certain subject areas over others? All these questions are worthy of consideration in any agenda for further research. Predicting the future is fraught with danger, particularly in human endeavors such as public policy‐making. Nevertheless, we would be remiss in concluding a study on what has been learned from 130 years of large‐scale testing without a brief discussion of possible future directions. This research has indicated that, historically, testing developments in British Columbia have been similar to initiatives elsewhere in the western world (cf. Simon, 1974, in Britain and Giordano, 2005, in the U.S.A.). With more than 35 American states now having introduced more authentic, performance‐based measures, it would be tempting to predict that Canadian provinces will soon follow suit and relegate paper and pencil measures to the dustbin of passé pedagogy. 1208 HELEN RAPTIS & THOMAS FLEMING Indeed, various researchers have begun to advocate for reform of large‐
scale assessments in order to support classroom learning (cf. Chudowsky & Pellegino, 2003; Ungerleider, 2007; Volante, 2005). Nevertheless, the history of testing in British Columbia suggests a different future. Over the past 130 years, testing purposes have varied considerably, reflecting different government concerns, from nation building to maintaining international competition in industry, to informing curricular reform. What has remained relatively constant over time has been the use of paper and pencil instruments focusing largely on basic academic skills. A second area of constancy has been the divide between government‐initiated testing and teacher‐designed, classroom‐based testing. Although this research has not determined the reasons prompting such constancy, paper and pencil assessments of basic skills have most likely prevailed due to their low costs and ease of administration when compared with more authentic, performance‐based approaches. Indeed, we were able to discern only six occasions when more performance‐based approaches were used – and then abandoned – over the entire 130‐year period under examination. Based on past trends, a more likely future scenario is a continued focus by government on paper and pencil approaches to assess foundational academic skills. Classroom‐based, teacher –generated tests, on the other hand, will likely continue to diversify, moving toward more authentic, performance‐
based approaches. ACKNOWLEGEMENTS The British Columbia Ministry of Education supported this research. In particular, we would like to thank Barry Anderson, Donna Coward, Gerald Morton, and Nancy Walt. We are enormously grateful to Dr. James Gaskell, formerly of the B.C. Ministry of Education who provided us with his complete set of PLAP instruments and achievement reports. We presented an earlier version of this paper at the 2006 Canadian Society for Studies in Education conference in Toronto. The authors also thank Charles Ungerleider, Ruth Childs, and four anonymous CJE reviewers for their helpful feedback. NOTES Cities designated as first class had populations greater than 10,000 inhabitants. Second class cities had populations greater than 5,000 inhabitants but fewer than 10,000. 1
LARGE‐SCALE ASSESSMENT OUTCOMES IN BRITISH COLUMBIA, 1876‐1999 1209 For another perspective on the goals of I.Q. testing, see C. Ungerleider 2
(1987). 3 I.Q. tests are still used in British Columbia to determine eligibility for services for students with special needs. 4 Dr. Mussio served as the director of the Ministry of Education Assessment Branch at the time when the FSA was introduced. 5 Dr. Anderson is the most senior Ministry of Education employee and has served as lead director of the Assessment Branch and the Information Branch. 6 For discussions of the impact of the mental hygiene movement on education, see Cohen (1983) and Thomson (2006). 7 Literacy and numeracy have not always had such prominence. During the departmentals era, for example, government assessed subject areas individually, reflecting an assumption that each discipline had different demands that could be mastered by the willing student. This view was somewhat akin to Gardner’s current notion of multiple intelligences. During the I.Q. era, reformers downplayed this view and promoted intelligence as something unitary, innate, and immutable to be represented by one omnibus (I.Q.) score. Although this notion fell out of favour by the 1970s, we believe that it has resurfaced in the form of omnibus literacy and numeracy scores assessed by the FSAs. REFERENCES Primary Sources: British Columbia Archives, GR 0452, Box 1, File 7, Letter 366 and Box 2, File 3, Letter 71. Government of British Columbia, Annual Reports of the Public Schools, 1876‐1999, Victoria, BC: Government of British Columbia. Government of British Columbia, B.C. Ministry of Education, Records: Boxes: 307‐04‐145/ 89‐1839‐25; 307‐04‐143/ 89‐1839‐23; 307‐04‐146/89‐1839‐26; 304‐04‐145/89‐1839‐25; 307‐04‐143/89‐1839‐26; 307‐04‐140/ 89‐1839‐20; 307‐04‐142/89‐1839‐22; 307‐04‐143/ 89‐1839‐25; 307‐04‐1461/ 89‐1839‐26; 307‐04‐1451/ 89‐1839‐25. 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LARGE‐SCALE ASSESSMENT OUTCOMES IN BRITISH COLUMBIA, 1876‐1999 1213 APPENDIX “Departmentals” Results: Data for this table were derived from the Annual Reports of the Public Schools of British Columbia, for the years 1876 to 1924. Table 1. Student Achievement during the “Departmentals” Era, 1876‐19241 Date 1875‐1876 1876‐1877 1877‐1878 1878‐1879 1879‐1882 1882‐1883 1883‐1884 1884‐1885 1885‐1886 1886‐1887 1887‐1888 1888‐1889 1889‐1890 1890‐1891 1891‐1892 1892‐1893 1893‐1894 1894‐1895 1895‐1896 1896‐1897 1897‐1898 1898‐1899 1899‐1900 1900‐1901 1901‐1902 1902‐1903 1903‐1904 1904‐1905 Number of students who wrote H.S. entrance exam 160 101 129 34 Not recorded in annual reports Not recorded Not recorded Not recorded Not recorded Not recorded Not recorded 225 282 279 378 402 523 596 485 516 620 686 Not recorded Not recorded 873 1101 1056 1068 Number & percentage who passed H.S. exam Grand Total & percentage who went on to high school 68 (43%) 50 (50%) 106 (71%) 20 (59%) Not recorded Number & percentage recommended for high school 40 56 71 80 78 99 122 (54%) 143 (54%) 114 (41%) 203 (54%) 228 (57%) 257 (49%) 245 (41%) 264 (54%) 287 (56%) 290 (47%) 400 (58%) 238 610 503 (58%) 496 (45%) 574 (54%) 604 (57%) 1214 HELEN RAPTIS & THOMAS FLEMING 1905‐1906 1906‐1907 1907‐1908 1908‐1909 1909‐1910 1910‐1911 1911‐1912 1912‐1913 1913‐1914 1914‐1915 1915‐1916 1916‐1921 1921‐1922 1922‐1923 1923‐1924 1924‐1925 1217 1330 1383 1675 1928 1782 2189 2440 3124 3366 3440 No reports 4231 4939 Not recorded Not recorded 766 (63%) 652 (49%) 965 (70%) 971 (58%) 1051 (55%) 1029 (58%) 1484 (68%) 1420 (58%) 2062 (66%) 2394 (71%) 2450 (71%) 2168 (51%) 2788 (56%) 2887 3568 1417 (33%) 1791 (36%) 1895 2130 3585 (84%) 4579 (93%) 4782 5698 Standardized/ I.Q. Testing Era Results: Data for Tables 2 to 11 were derived from B.C. Ministry of Education Records, Boxes: 307‐04‐145/ 89‐1839‐25; 307‐04‐143/ 89‐1839‐23; 307‐
04‐146/89‐1839‐26; 304‐04‐145/89‐1839‐25; 307‐04‐143/89‐1839‐26; 307‐04‐140/ 89‐1839‐20; 307‐04‐142/89‐1839‐22; 307‐04‐143/ 89‐1839‐25; 307‐04‐1461/ 89‐1839‐26; 307‐04‐1451/ 89‐
1839‐25. BC Archival records drawn upon in this paper are from GR 0452, Box 1, File 7, Letter 366 and Box 2, File 3, Letter 71. We thank Barry Anderson, Donna Coward, Deanna Miller, Gerald Morton, and Nancy Walt for access. Table 2: I.Q. Outcomes During Standardized/I.Q. Testing Era, 1925‐19722 TEST & DATE GRADE(S) BC NORM US NORM 1925 ‐ Pintner‐
1 31.4* 28.0 Cunningham Primary Mental Test 2 41.9* 41.0 1925 – National I.Q. 3 53.2* 43.0 Test 4 76.8* 66.0 5 93.9* 86.0 6 105.3* 104.0 7 122.7* 120.0 8 141.1* 131.0 1925 ‐ B.C. 9 75.0 85.0* LARGE‐SCALE ASSESSMENT OUTCOMES IN BRITISH COLUMBIA, 1876‐1999 Intelligence Test 1945 Progressive Achievement Test B 1946 Otis 10 11 10 87.4 100.9 12.2* 109.0* 120.0* 10.6 8 Mean Mental Age 14‐2.1* 105.0* 9 mo. ahead of US
105.2* US not reported 1946 – Reading & Scholastic Aptitude 11 1947 – Henmon Nelson 1948 – Metropolitan Achievement Test A 8 1948 – Metropolitan Achievement Test T 1215 7 7 12 BC not reported BC 4.5 mo. ahead of US* BC above US* 99.6 BC below US 1948 – Henmon‐
8‐12 BC not reported Nelson B BC below US 1949 – Iowa Work 8 BC not reported Study Skills O BC below US 1958/9 Metropolitan 8‐12 BC not reported Achievement Test T BC 2‐14 months ahead of US* 1958 Metropolitan 7 BC not reported Achievement Test A BC 1‐15 months ahead of US* 1962 Henmon‐Nelson 8 110.8* 1965 Iowa Workstudy 8 BC not reported Skills O BC above US* *Thirty‐four general I. Q. assessments were administered. British outperformed United States’ norms on 22 out of 34 tests. US not reported US not reported US not reported US not reported US not reported* US not reported* US not reported* US not reported US not reported US not reported US not reported Columbia students 1216 HELEN RAPTIS & THOMAS FLEMING Table 3: Arithmetic Outcomes during Standardized/I.Q. Testing Era, 1925‐1972 TEST & DATE GRADE(S) BC NORM US NORM 1925 ‐ BC Test of 3 26.72* Not reported Fundamentals in Arithmetic 4 39.69* Not reported 5 35.44* Not reported 6 55.12* Not reported 7 62.94* Not reported 8 70.76* Not reported 1925‐ Woody‐McCall 3 15.5* 7.3 Test of Arithmetic 4 17.4* 13.5 5 21.4* 18.2 6 25.2* 22.7 7 26.9* 26.1 8 30.3* 28.0 1925 – Holz Algebra 10 24.36* 23.6 Test 1945 Progressive 8 2.7% below US Not reported* Achievement Battery norms 1947 – Arithmetic 6 Not reported Not reported* Computation and Reasoning 1964 – Stanford 9 Reasoning: 1.8 Not reported Arithmetic Test L years above US* Computation: 1.1 years above US* *Sixteen arithmetic assessments were administered and British Columbia students outperformed United States’ norms on 14 out of 16 tests. LARGE‐SCALE ASSESSMENT OUTCOMES IN BRITISH COLUMBIA, 1876‐1999 1217 Table 4: Geography, History & Social Studies Outcomes During Standardized / I.Q. Testing Era, 1925‐1972. TEST & DATE GRADE(S) BC NORM US NORM 1925 ‐ BC Geography 7 Not compared to ‐ Test US 8 Not compared to ‐ US 9 Not compared to ‐ US 10 Not compared to ‐ US 11 Not compared to ‐ US 12 Not compared to ‐ US 1925‐ BC Test in 7 Not compared to ‐ History US 8 Not compared to ‐ US 9 Not compared to ‐ US 10 Not compared to ‐ US 11 Not compared to ‐ US 12 Not compared to ‐ US 1925‐ BC Test of 6 Not compared to ‐ Geography US 7 Not compared to ‐ US 8 Not compared to ‐ US 1925 – BC Test in 8 Not compared to ‐ History US 1953 – BC Test of 10 Not reported Not reported Social Studies BC outperforms US* *Nine assessments were administered in geography; 7 in history and one in the combined area of social studies. British Columbia students outperformed United States’ norms on one of 17 tests. 1218 HELEN RAPTIS & THOMAS FLEMING Table 5: Handwriting Outcomes During Standardized/I.Q. Testing Era, 1925‐1972. TEST & DATE GRADE(S) BC NORM US NORM 1925 – BC 2 42.0* 38.0 Handwriting Test 3 49.0* 42.0 4 53.0* 46.0 5 59.0* 50.0 6 62.0* 54.0 7 63.0* 58.0 8 66.0* 62.0 1949 – BC 5 39.0 50.0* Handwriting Test 7 47.0 58.0* 1952 – BC 7 48.0 58.0* Handwriting Test 8 48.0 62.0* *Eleven handwriting assessments were administered. British Columbia students outperformed United States’ norms on seven out of 11 tests. Table 6: Languages Outcomes During Standardized/I.Q. Testing Era, 1925‐1972 TEST & DATE GRADE(S) BC NORM US NORM 1925 ‐ Henmon Latin 10 85.4 104.00* Test 11 128.3 132.50* 1925 – Henmon French 10 86.49 91.0* Test 11 135.75 149.50* 1950 – BC Spanish Test 10 Not reported Not reported* 11 Not reported Not reported* 1950 – BC German Test 10 Not reported Not reported* 11 Not reported Not reported* *Eight languages assessments were administered. British Columbia students failed to outperform United States’ norms on any of the eight tests. LARGE‐SCALE ASSESSMENT OUTCOMES IN BRITISH COLUMBIA, 1876‐1999 1219 Table 7: Physical Education Outcomes During Standardized/I.Q. Testing Era, 1925‐1972 TEST & DATE GRADE(S) BC NORM US NORM 1955 – BC Test of 10 Results not Physical Education reported *One physical education assessment was administered and no comparison was made with United States’ norms. Table 8: Language Arts Outcomes During Standardized/I.Q. Testing Era, 1925‐1972 TEST & DATE GRADE(S) BC NORM US NORM 1925 – Thorndike‐
6 49.07* 47.9 McCall Silent Reading Scale 1925 ‐ Ayres‐Burgess 3 42.64 50.0* Test in Silent Reading 4 43.77 50.0* 5 50.29* 50.0 7 53.3* 52.8 8 58.2* 58.1 1945 – Progressive 10 Not reported Not reported* Achievement Battery 1946‐ Reading 11 Not reported* Not reported Comprehension Test BC 9 months above US 1947 – BC Intermediate 6 Not reported Not reported* language arts Test 1950 – BC language arts 4 Not reported Not reported* Test 1973 – Stanford 6 Not reported Not reported* language arts Test *Eleven language arts assessments were administered. British Columbia students outperformed United States’ norms on five out of 11 tests. Table 9: Science Outcomes During Standardized/I.Q. Testing Era, 1925‐1972 TEST & DATE GRADE(S) BC NORM US NORM 1925‐ Ruch‐Popenoe 10 38.93* 34.70 Test in General Science 11 41.94* Not reported. 1948 – BC Test of 8 Grade 9.2* Not reported. General Science *Three science assessments were administered. British Columbia students outperformed United States’ norms on three out of three tests. 1220 HELEN RAPTIS & THOMAS FLEMING Table 10: Spelling Outcomes During Standardized/I.Q. Testing Era, 1925‐1972 TEST & DATE GRADE(S) BC NORM US NORM 1925 – BC Spelling Test 2 72* 73 3 85* 73 4 81* 73 5 81* 73 6 86* 73 7 82* 73 8 87* 73 1928 – Metropolitan 7 Not reported* Not reported Achievement Test BC 4.5 months ahead of US norms *Eight spelling assessments were administered. British Columbia students outperformed United Statesʹ norms on eight out of eight tests. Table 11: Commerce Outcomes During Standardized/I.Q. Testing Era, 1925‐1972 TEST & DATE GRADE(S) BC NORM US NORM 1968 – BC Typing Test 11 22.8 wpm Not reported 12 29.8 wpm Not reported *Two assessments in commerce were administered. No comparisons were made with United States’ norms. Provincial Learning Assessment Program Results: Data for Tables 12 to 17 were derived from Dr. Jim Gaskell’s collection of PLAP assessments and reports, 1976 to 1999. We thank Dr. Gaskell of the BC Ministry of Education for access. Table 12: Literacy Outcomes During the PLAP Era, 1976‐1999 TEST & DATE 1976 – BC English language arts Assessment 1977 – BC Reading Assessment 1978 – BC Assessment of Written Expression 1980 – BC Reading Assessment 1984 – BC Reading Assessment 1988 – BC Reading & Written Expression GRADES 8 & 12 JUDGMENTS* Gr. 12 > Gr. 8 8 & 12 Gr. 12 > Gr. 4 4,8 & 12 Gr. 4>Gr. 8 > Gr. 12 4,8 & 12 Gr. 4 > Gr. 8 > Gr. 12 4,8 & 10 Gr. 4 > Gr.8 + Gr. 10 4,7 & 10 Gr. 4 > Gr. 7 + Gr. 10 LARGE‐SCALE ASSESSMENT OUTCOMES IN BRITISH COLUMBIA, 1876‐1999 1221 Assessment 1993/4 – Provincial Gr.K‐3, 4‐7, 8‐10 & 11‐12 Gr. K‐7 > Gr. 8‐10 + Assessment of Gr. 11‐12 Communication Skills 1994 – Writing for Specific 11 n/a Audiences and Purposes 1998 – BC Assessment of Gr. 4, 7 & 10 Gr. 10 > Gr. 4 & Gr. 7 Reading Comprehension & First Draft Writing *Symbol (>) indicates that grade level has more successfully met expectations than other grade levels. Nine literacy assessments were administered. Students in elementary grades were assessed more favourably than secondary students in five out of nine tests. Table 13: Numeracy Outcomes During the PLAP Era, 1976‐1999 GRADES JUDGMENTS TEST & DATE 1977 – BC Math Assessment 4, 8 & 12 Gr. 12 > Gr. 4 1981 ‐ BC Math Assessment 4, 8 & 12 Gr. 4 > Gr. 8 > Gr. 12 1985 – BC Math Assessment 4, 7 & 10 Gr. 4 > Gr. 7 + Gr. 10 1990 – BC Math Assessment 4, 7 & 10 Gr. 7 > Gr. 10 > Gr. 4 1995 – BC Math Assessment 4, 7 10 & 10A Gr. 4 > Gr. 7 > Gr. 10 > Gr. 10A Five numeracy assessments were administered. Students in elementary grades were assessed more favourably than secondary students in four out of five tests. Table 14: Science Outcomes During the PLAP Era, 1976‐1999 TEST & DATE GRADES JUDGMENTS 1978 – BC Science Assessment 4, 8 & 12 Gr. 4 + Gr. 8 > Gr. 12 1982 – BC Science Assessment 4, 8 & 12 Gr. 4 > Gr. 8 + Gr. 12 1986 – BC Science Assessment 4, 7 & 10 Gr. 4 > Gr. 10 > Gr. 7 1991 – BC Science Assessment Gr. 3‐5, 6‐8, 9‐10 Gr. 10 > Gr. 4 > Gr. 7 1995 – BC Science Assessment 4, 7 & 10 Gr. 4 > Gr. 10 > Gr. 7 Five assessments in science were administered. Students in elementary grades were assessed more favourably in four out of five tests. 1222 HELEN RAPTIS & THOMAS FLEMING Table 15: Social Studies Outcomes During the PLAP Era, 1976‐1999 TEST & DATE GRADES JUDGMENTS 1977 – BC Social Studies 4 & 12 Gr. 12 > Gr. 4 Assessment 1989 – BC Social Studies 4, 7 & 10 Gr. 10 > Gr. 7 + Gr. 4 Assessment 1996 – BC Social Studies 4, 7 & 10 Regular Program Students > Assessment Sub‐Populations (ESL worst) Three assessments in social studies were administered. Students in elementary grades were assessed more favourably in none of the three tests. In two out of the three tests, secondary students were assessed more favourably. Table 16: Physical Education Outcomes During the PLAP Era, 1976‐1999 TEST & DATE GRADES JUDGMENTS 1978 – BC Physical Education 3, 7 & 11 Gr. 11 > Gr. 3 + Gr. 7 One assessment in physical education was administered. Students in secondary grade were assessed more favourably than elementary students in this one test. Table 17: French Immersion Outcomes During the PLAP Era, 1976‐1999 TEST & DATE GRADES JUDGMENTS 1987 – BC French Immersion 4 & 7 Gr. 4 > Gr. 7 Assessment One assessment in French immersion was administered. Students in primary grade were assessed more favourably than intermediate students in this one test. ARTS‐BASED EDUCATIONAL RESEARCH DISSERTATIONS: REVIEWING THE PRACTICES OF NEW SCHOLARS Anita Sinner, Carl Leggo, Rita L. Irwin, Peter Gouzouasis, & Kit Grauer With this review, we explore the practices of arts‐based educational research as documented in dissertations created and written over one decade in the Faculty of Education, University of British Columbia. We compile and describe more than thirty dissertations across methodologies and methods of inquiry, and identifiy three pillars of arts‐based practice – literary, visual, and performative. In this review, we trace the beginnings of a new stream of practice that is interwoven in some of these dissertations and underpins many of them: the methodology of a/r/tography. Four attributes underpin this collection of dissertations: a commitment to aesthetic and educational practices, inquiry‐laden processes, searching for meaning, and interpreting for understanding. Keywords: arts‐based educational research, arts and education practice‐based research, a/r/tography Les auteurs explorent les pratiques ciblées et analysées dans les recherches en éducation axées sur les arts, notamment dans les thèses réalisées au cours d’une décennie à la Faculté des sciences d’éducation de l’University of British Columbia. Ils ont compilé et décrit plus d’une trentaine de travaux faisant appel à diverses méthodologies et protocoles de recherche et identifié trois grands axes en matière de pratiques axées sur les arts – littéraire, visuel et de performance Dans ce tour d’horizon, les auteurs retracent les débuts d’une nouvelle approche qui apparaît dans certains des travaux et qui sert même de fondement à un grand nombre d’entre eux : la méthodologie de l’a/r/tographie. Cet ensemble de travaux présente quatre caractéristiques communes : une importance accordée aux pratiques esthétiques et pédagogiques, des processus axés sur la recherche, une quête de sens et un souci d’interprétation en vue de comprendre. Mots clés : recherche en éducation; arts; pratiques enseignantes; recherche axée sur les pratiques; a/r/tographie. CANADIAN JOURNAL OF EDUCATION 29, 4 (2006): 1223‐1270 1224 SINNER ET AL INTRODUCTION This review explores the practices of arts‐based educational research as documented in dissertations created and written over the past decade in the Faculty of Education at the University of British Columbia (UBC). We have compiled and analysed more than thirty dissertations, completed between 1994 and 2004, for comparison of methodologies and methods of inquiry. From this analysis, we trace the beginnings of a new stream of practice that is interwoven in these dissertations: the methodology of a/r/tography. A/r/tography may be described as a localized methodology, which continues to evolve from artful processes being developed by a small but growing group of education researchers and their graduate students at the University of British Columbia1. Although dissertations are the focus of this paper, other studies and projects preceded, paralleled, and have followed these dissertations and have thus had an impact on the evolution of a/r/tography. Nevertheless, dissertations have been pivotal to the development of a/r/tography in and through time. In short, a/r/tography is a hybrid, practice‐based form of methodology. To be engaged in the practice of a/r/tography means to inquire in the world through an ongoing process of art making in any art form and writing not separate or illustrative of each other but interconnected and woven through each other to create additional and/or enhanced meanings. A/r/tographical work is rendered through the methodological concepts of contiguity, living inquiry, openings, metaphor/metonymy, reverberations, and excess which are enacted and presented or performed when a relational aesthetic inquiry condition is envisioned as embodied understandings and exchanges between art and text, and between and among the broadly conceived identities of artist/researcher/teacher. A/r/tography is inherently about self as artist/researcher/teacher; yet it is also social when groups or communities of a/r/tographers come together to engage in shared inquiries, act as critical friends, articulate an evolution of research questions, or present their collective evocative/provocative works to others (Irwin, n.d.). Irwin’s definition may serve as a guidepost for the reader as we explore the evolution of arts‐based educational research at UBC because ARTS‐BASED EDUCATIONAL RESEARCH DISSERTATIONS 1225 the intent of this article is to review the work of new scholars as evidenced in their dissertations and to share what we have learned about engaging in arts‐based educational research and inquiry. As a survey of a specific body of academic research, this article is not a critical review, nor a comparison to other such collections. We offer an introduction to the collection and a description of our experience, which helped foster a climate of inclusion that encouraged the development of scholarship in promising and innovative ways. The conditions that facilitated the emergence of arts‐based dissertations and more recently a/r/tographic dissertations at UBC began with a shift in thinking, an experience that resonates within the wider academic community. As Butler‐Kisber (2002) suggests, a shift is underway in the academy as more and more arts‐based works are accepted as doctoral submissions, and “increasingly, graduate students are looking for arts‐based expertise, and departments are grappling with how to support and evaluate the work” (p. 229). This shift was witnessed within our faculty; our review serves as an account of how the mentorship of new scholars engaged in this area of research has evolved into a community of arts‐based practice. In an effort to increase communication between individuals and institutions interested in arts‐
based research, and/or specifically our experience, we have listed the dissertations mentioned in this article on our a/r/tography website. In this collection, research is rendered in alternative formats to evoke or provoke understandings that traditional research formats cannot provide. Furthermore, artistic and pedagogical processes within these formats bring forth forms of inquiry in and through time that merit our attention. Moving beyond traditional text‐based dissertations to embrace the complex discourses possible within the arts generates a new system of exchange where arts‐based educational research unfolds as a provocative mode of inquiry. Arts‐based research design begins by envisioning a research approach, engaging in inquiry (questions emerge over time), selecting sources of information and ideas, and then offering interpretations with “intellectual openness and creativity” within practice, in essence, portraying new understandings textually, visually, and/or performatively (Finley, 2003, p. 283). Recognizing the necessity of a methodology being practice, process, and product is a key principle of 1226 SINNER ET AL arts‐based educational research, similar to Genette’s (1999) suggestion that aesthetic relations in works of art are both object and action at the same time. This denotes the purpose and relevance of arts‐based educational research and highlights why this collection of dissertations indeed prefaces a new era in academic research. The academy possesses an opportunity to guide practices of arts‐based educational research in ways that address critical concerns of rigour, validity, contribution to the field, and dissemination to a broad audience, and in so doing, make possible even greater openings for all scholars in the future. In light of this opportunity, questions guiding this review included: What do arts‐
based methodologies/methods consist of? What is the range of arts‐based methodologies/methods applied in this collection? What is the relationship between arts‐based methodologies/methods and social science methodologies / methods? BACKGROUND In the 1970s, educational researchers began using the practices of artists and arts critics to conduct educational research (for example, Eisner, 1976; Greene, 1975; Grumet, 1978; Vallance, 1977). With the introduction of aesthetics, arts‐based forms of educational inquiry were formulated, and by the 1990s had grown to include narrative writing, autobiography, dance and movement, readers theatre, multi‐media, hypertext, visual arts, photography, music, poetry, and creative non‐fiction (among others). Arts‐based research incorporates the processes, forms (or structures), and approaches of creative practices in academic scholarship. Therefore, arts‐based research draws from the creative arts to inform and shape social science research in interdisciplinary ways, thus redefining methodological vehicles in the field of education. Developing from the work of Canadian and American scholars such as Thomas Barone, Cynthia Chambers, Ardra Cole, John Dewey, Rishma Dunlop, Elliot Eisner2, Susan Finley, Maxine Greene, Gary Knowles, Claudia Mitchell, Lorri Neilsen, Joe Norris, Jane Piirto, Celeste Snowber, and Sandra Weber, arts‐based research is a rapidly growing field in education3. Arts‐based researchers in education contend that the creative arts are a mode of inquiry and representation that provides significant perspectives for making decisions regarding pedagogical theory, policy, ARTS‐BASED EDUCATIONAL RESEARCH DISSERTATIONS 1227 and practice. Although arts‐based research has developed significantly in the past decade and is being adopted into many fields of study across the academy, including medicine (Lazarus & Rosslyn, 2003), commerce (Gibb, 2004), science (Scott, 2006), and engineering (Penny, 2000), there are aspects that demand attention. There continue to be tensions in the academy concerning arts‐based inquiry: what constitutes artful expression and how expert one must be in an art medium to render research through the arts (Piirto, 2002). Efforts to define the merits, qualities, and methods of creative scholarship have raised questions of rigour and theorization of such research, and this debate continues among scholars interested in arts‐based inquiry. An evolving understanding of what is arts‐based educational research within our community of practice emerged through artful inquiries by students and faculty that would later become a/r/tography (for example, Irwin, 2004; Irwin & de Cosson, 2004). This methodology matured from the interchange of ideas, art practices, and lived experiences between a core group of faculty members and their graduate students. Through ongoing collaboration, a/r/tography took shape with contributions from members of this group of artists, researchers, and teachers engaged in educational inquiry. By honouring individual undertakings, a culture of receptivity began to pulsate and soon formed as an enclave of like‐minded practitioners interested in pursuing inquiry through the arts and education. From this dynamic space of experimental research, the genesis of a/r/tography culminated in the terminology and set of concepts that first appeared in academic literature in 2003. A/r/tography has been applied in a number of recently completed arts‐based dissertations, and it represents a uniquely arts and education practice‐based methodology. Whereas arts‐based research can apply to any discipline and is often used in conjunction with other forms of research (such as ethnography), arts‐based educational research is an extension that recognizes the specific contribution arts‐based research can make to education. A/r/tography is a hybrid of these broadly understood forms of research, a methodology that begins from the practices of artists, researchers, and educators, who, through ongoing inquiry in and through time, share their processes of inquiry as well as the products that are derived from those inquiries. The emphasis on 1228 SINNER ET AL inquiry in and through time may be different than the inquiries used in arts‐based research or in arts‐based educational research because they are often defined within a limited space and time with an emphasis on an interpretation of data. A/r/tographers may emphasize visual inquiry, performative inquiry, narrative inquiry, or musical inquiry, among others, yet they may also use other forms of qualitative research within their work such as oral histories or autobiography. Yet fundamentally, a/r/tography acknowledges the practices of artists, researchers, and educators as places of inquiry and uses those practices to create, interpret, and portray understandings. MODE OF INQUIRY Borrowing Finley’s (2003) framework for a systematic review of “emergent practices and methodologies,” we assembled dissertations completed in our faculty “that provide both theoretical discussions about arts‐based research methodologies and examples of arts‐based inquiries” (p. 281). The rationale for undertaking our review was to locate the dissertation collection in the broader literature and practice of arts‐based educational research, to summarize the different research inquiries, and to document the conceptual frameworks underpinning these dissertations in terms of the emerging methodology of a/r/tography. As many relevant dissertations as possible were considered to minimize bias and ensure the review was transparent. We undertook a comparative analysis of more than thirty completed arts‐based dissertations to identify, describe, and document the practices of graduate students engaged in arts‐based educational research. Arts‐
based dissertations were recorded as an annotated list that includes the following information: titles, authors, specific methodological approaches used in the research, the study focus, number of participants, and outcomes (see Summary). From an analysis of one aspect of these dissertations, arts‐based practices, an interpretation of trends may serve as a guide to enter into the breadth of this collection. The results provide a description of how doctoral students utilized practices and processes of arts‐based research, how graduate students theorized arts‐based educational research, and how their studies connected with arts and learning environments and curricula as well as other disciplines. ARTS‐BASED EDUCATIONAL RESEARCH DISSERTATIONS 1229 Although there are no comparable examples of analysis in the field of education that document a body of graduate student arts‐based research, these dissertations “create new sets of questions that go beyond our current approaches to inquiry into the practices, consequences and theories of education” (Fox & Geichman, 2001, p. 47). Although this review confirms there are overarching methodological trends and generalizations of the methods of practice, to categorize arts‐based dissertations further is an ongoing challenge because “arts‐based inquiry cannot be governed by pre‐established rules and cannot be judged according to predetermined criteria. Those rules and categories are in part what the work itself is looking for” (Diamond, 1998, p. 392). Arts‐
based educational research occupies a liminal space between long traditions of research, often understood in terms that have been defined, shaped, and governed by scientific approaches, and even longer traditions of artful practice that have been explored, composed, and inspired by artists. Arts‐based educational researchers are always seeking to understand the parameters of “good art” and “good research,” and they are never satisfied with any checklist, template, or formula. Instead, each new arts‐based educational research project is informed by past projects, but is always also seeking to extend the possibilities of what constitutes both research and art. This process is creative and emergent, a dynamic process of inquiry. To document the divergent approaches within this collection, we first organized this review as a linear discussion of the “typical parts” of arts‐based dissertations, and then explored each part in greater detail (Kilbourn, 2006, p. 529). At the same time, we introduced shifting terminology, for example, “practices” rather than “methods” is used because the arts‐based practices of artists and educators and their forms of inquiry inform the process of doing research. Practices may involve a range of activities at the centre of research, such as customary approaches to art‐making, creative rituals, original performances, as well as a subjective position of intuitiveness and responsiveness. In contrast, methods suggest a more traditional research orientation involving “data generation techniques and procedures, the selection of data sources, and sampling,” often resulting in a sequential step‐by‐step approach to inquiry (Mason, 1996, p. 19). 1230 SINNER ET AL Interspersed in this discussion are textual and visual representations drawn from dissertations to demonstrate how these arts‐based dissertations are different in form and content from traditional qualitative dissertations (see Figure 1). Within the limits of this article, we include singular examples from individual dissertations to illustrate the kind of research that has taken place. Although this approach to profile arts‐based research may be limited, we seek to communicate an overview of practice in this review and invite readers to access dissertations on our website to appreciate the complexity of each work more fully. As we frame our analysis within a historical perspective, we recognize that we present a specific viewpoint that shapes our interpretations of these dissertations. We acknowledge that others may interpret this collection in ways that generate different understandings. REVIEWING ARTS‐BASED DISSERTATIONS EDUCATIONAL RESEARCH To enter this collection, we begin with an overview of arts‐based educational research in the Faculty of Education at UBC. Although arts‐
based dissertations were written before 1994, a trend began developing in the mid‐1990s whereupon the arts as a form of inquiry were recognized (rather than being limited to the arts as an object of study) with the first dissertations completed in 1997. Arts‐based research emerged from three different areas of the arts: visual arts (Lackey)4, drama (MacArthur)5, and literary arts (Rasberry). For example, MacArthur researched educators’ understanding of vocation, and composed a readers theatre to represent her research. Rasberry, who engaged in an ethnographic research project in a Language Across the Curriculum class, wrote poetry as a significant way to express his research understandings. Clearly, arts‐based research was already part of the research interests and areas of expertise of some faculty. For the next two years, arts‐based dissertations contributed to further diversify research practices across departments. In 1998, Hurren’s dissertation incorporated original poetry, visuals, and narratives to explore the geography curriculum. Penberg’s (1998) dissertation functioned on two ARTS‐BASED EDUCATIONAL RESEARCH DISSERTATIONS 1231 levels, as a multimedia presentation that incorporated hypertext, still Figure 1: Miller (2002), page 221. 1232 SINNER ET AL and video images, and sound on a CD‐Rom, and as an arts‐based representation of the educational experiences of urban youth engaging in the arts. Penberg’s dissertation creatively used the resources of multi‐
media to produce what he called an “abecedarian” of educational experiences. His dissertation is an innovative documentary that capitalized on his long artistic and professional commitment to video production. Dunlop (1999) challenged known conventions of fact and fiction in research by producing a novel as a dissertation. Beer’s (1999) dissertation focused on narrative portraits of three visual artists, which, along with an analysis of artworks, generated a greater understanding for artists‐pedagogues, a thread that would later emerge in the methodology of a/r/tography. In 2000‐2002, a series of dissertations incorporating the literary arts formed the first pillar of arts‐based practice within the Faculty. These dissertations began with a particular methodological lens of narrative inquiry and creatively used the literary arts of poetry, fiction, drama, life‐
writing, and creative non‐fiction to research complex lived experiences in innovative ways. The literary arts as a site of arts‐based research at UBC was firmly established with works by Ashworth, Chapman, Crook, Haskell, Hayward‐Kabani, Laroche, MacPherson, Michals, Thompson, Toulouse, and Vellani. Although these dissertations have a strong literary focus, a shift was beginning in methodological orientation, with more graduate students electing to adopt a multiple methods approach by blending one or more aspects of text, visual, and performative arts in their dissertation, regardless of their specific area of study. Expanding the parameters of arts‐based dissertations by adopting multiple arts‐
based methods were researchers Fisher, Gaylie, Gill, Miller, Norman, Pryer, and Renner. For example, Fisher wrote a sequel to the popular film The Matrix as part of his examination of the study of fear. Gaylie included her poetry in an examination of the value of writing poetry in an inner city school. Gill created a collage of historical documents, visual art, poetry, and creative non‐fiction in her exploration of cultural identities in Canada. During 2002‐2004, a second pillar of arts‐based practice emerged in the faculty with a cluster of visual arts dissertations. These dissertations established the role of Art Education as a site of arts‐based educational ARTS‐BASED EDUCATIONAL RESEARCH DISSERTATIONS 1233 inquiry, with key a/r/tographic dissertations by de Cosson (2003, see Figure 2), Springgay (2004) and Darts (2004). de Cosson’s seminal research demonstrates the core tenets of a/r/tography, and his articulation and application of a/r/tographic renderings to inquiry as an artist, researcher, and teacher makes his dissertation a forerunner in design, form, and content6. At the same time that de Cosson’s dissertation was completed, a/r/tography evolved in part through ongoing efforts of arts‐oriented faculty and graduate students who together voiced a series of creative concepts and practices. Springgay’s dissertation furthered the dialogue of a/r/tography by moving beyond art education to the contemporary philosophical literature on embodiment, engaging in the work of Derrida, Merleau‐Ponty, and Nancy. This was followed by Darts’ dissertation, an example of a/r/tography applied to a community of practice within a high‐school setting where students engaged in questions of social justice. The third pillar of arts‐based practice centres on performative dissertations that emerged more gradually over the course of the decade. According to Finley (2003), performative arts‐based research emphasizes form, function, and action, and in performative texts, “research creates a specialized (open and dialogic) space that is simultaneously asserted for inquiry and expression” (p. 287). Following MacArthur in 1997, Fels (1999) explored drama as a method of inquiry in science education, blurring understood divisions of art and science. Dissertations by Linds (2002) and Lee (2004) challenged conventional understandings of identity for students and teachers through drama and music respectively. Lee’s dissertation in music education used creative non‐
fiction and autobiographical approaches in an arts‐based education research frame. Her stories of musicians’ identities were rooted in interviews with musicians who decided to enter the music teaching profession and grew into creatively narrated stories of the hardships that her participants had as they struggled with the potential loss of their lifelong, musical identities (see Figure 3). In 2004, Kirkland’s dissertation troubled the academy in both form – a fairytale within a play, and content – incest as a site for educational inquiry. This dissertation included both literary and performative practices, such as songs (double‐
click on the sound icon to play a song from Kirkland’s 2004 dissertation): 1234 SINNER ET AL Wave Sound
As a collection, these dissertations are not only innovative, but push the boundaries of scholarship within the confines and context of one institution in ways that were inconceivable in the past. Unpacking the methodological frameworks of the dissertations in this collection grants insight into the decision making of graduate students in their research processes. We now address each step of research design to articulate how practices emerged in the course of their arts‐based educational inquiry. PRACTICES OF DISSERTATIONS ARTS‐BASED EDUCATIONAL RESEARCH Traditions of inquiry in qualitative research have generated distinct methodologies, or ways a researcher “conceptualizes the research process” (Creswell, 1998, p. 254). As inductive research, arts‐based educational inquiry utilizes the elements, processes, and strategies of artistic and creative practices in scholarly investigation. Similar to Finley’s (2003) review of literature, our review of practice reveals that “explorations of questions such as these have brought forward an array of new forms of [dissertations] chosen for their unique qualities for communicating about research” (p. 283). In particular, we suggest that this collection of dissertations demonstrates four attributes: commitment for aesthetic and educational practice, inquiry‐laden processes, searching for meaning, and interpreting for understanding. Commitment to Aesthetic and Educational Practices In this collection, the researcher’s commitment to aesthetic and educational practices, whether explicitly or implicitly stated, provides ARTS‐BASED EDUCATIONAL RESEARCH DISSERTATIONS 1235 Figure 2: de Cosson (2003), page 125. 1236 SINNER ET AL Figure 3: Lee (2004), page 2. the basis for envisioning the research approach and determines the design, conduct, and rendering of their research. Arts‐based dissertations in this collection are encounters with one or more ARTS‐BASED EDUCATIONAL RESEARCH DISSERTATIONS 1237 expressive elements. For example, a/r/tography draws upon many theoretical lenses, including philosophy, feminist theories, and contemporary art criticism, to conceptualize the methodology of a/r/tography, “with an attention to the in‐between where meanings reside in the simultaneous use of language, images, materials, situations, space and time” (Irwin & Springgay, in press). These arts based educational researchers show a commitment to an artistic form (or more) and an educational practice, and use this commitment to imagine, conduct, interpret, and assess their studies. This commitment was essential to their success because it assured an attention to qualities, perceptions, and insights throughout the process. Inquiry‐laden processes Dissertations in this collection share a core feature: research is an inquiry‐laden process focussed on opening up spaces to trouble and address differences through creative acts. All these arts‐based educational researchers are committed to traditions and practices of social science research, but their unique contributions to research methodologies include their commitment to creative ways of knowing and researching as a journey of transformation. They are seeking to spell out in theory and practice how poetry, drama, fiction, visual art, and performance all contribute to ways of knowing and becoming, to conceptions of epistemology and ontology. Their inquiry grows out of emergent questioning that often takes the inquirer into rhizomatic terrain (Irwin, Beer, Springgay, Grauer, Xiong, & Bickel, 2006). Questions lead to interventions, inquiries, possibilities, and inevitably, situations emerge, unfold, or are recognized. Through the generative rhizomatic relational nature of questions and situations, a/r/tography moves in different directions simultaneously yet continues to explore a line of inquiry. In this sense, a/r/tography may be a methodology of situations: situations that constantly teach educators to trouble and address difference while being committed to aesthetic inquiry. Research inquiries often emerge from professional, educational, and/or personal lives of the researchers. Questions of concern documented in this collection are wide ranging and may be described as encapsulating the researcher’s lingering curiosity of being‐in‐the‐world, 1238 SINNER ET AL with inquiry most frequently centred around general themes of self identity (Renner, 2001, see Figure 4), socio‐cultural landscapes (Toulouse, 2001), or embodied experience (Linds, 2002). Arts‐based researchers are often interested in “verities of the human condition: love (Lee, 2004); death (Dunlop, 1999); memory (Norman, 1999); suffering (MacPherson, 2000); power (Chapman, 2001); fear (Fisher, 2003); loss (Crook, 2001, see Figure 5); desire (Pryer, 2002); hope (Thompson, 2001); and so forth” (Dissanayake, 2003, p. 15). Although these research inquiries are grounded in theory, such arts‐based research is sometimes characterized as ambiguous because of the emotive qualities evident in the questions asked at the outset, which are then expressed as sensorial, emotional, and/or intellectual processes of coming to know throughout the inquiry. Based on this collection, the significance of the research inquiry to the field of education may be explicitly stated or not stated at all. If the significance is not stated, the researcher may intend that the audience create meaning from their own situated perspective. Openness is a cornerstone of strong arts‐based research. In this way, arts‐based research encourages more dynamic knowledge construction in the academy as the significance is not always bound by the researcher. In a/r/tography, research questions emerge and change over time through a perspective of living inquiry. Leggo (2004) describes living inquiry as a dynamic state of “learning to live poetically,” where “I am trained in the traditions of human science research, and as a poet I am always seeking to understand the ways that poetry opens up possibilities for knowing and being and becoming” (p. 29‐30). Researchers situating their research questions in their living inquiry are engaged in “research that matters to them but that also matters for others” (Chambers, 2004, p. 7). As evidenced in Springgay’s (2004) dissertation (see Figure 6), an ethic of caring inherent in questions of / in / through inquiry shapes the relationship between the researcher and participants and/or the researcher and broader social contexts in new ways (Finley, 2003). ARTS‐BASED EDUCATIONAL RESEARCH DISSERTATIONS Figure 4: Renner (2001), page 8.
1239 1240 SINNER ET AL 139 Oh, oh. How violent was Laurie? Some people would hit after an insult like that. “Don’t even think about it,” Betsy said sharply. “If you lay a friggin’ hand on me I’ll plow you.” “I’m not going to hit you,” Laurie said. “I’m not going to hit you. I’m just so mad at you.” “Why?” Betsy sounded less angry now, and more curious. “Because you’re the only one of us who has any brains. Because you’re the only one of us who could really set the country on its ear. You’d be the first one in the whole Clan for fifty years to do something famous. And you’re going to throw it all away because you won’t go to school!” I stayed frozen on the porch. I didn’t want to walk into that argument, and I was too fascinated to step away. “I go to school,” Betsy said sharply. “Not enough to pass.” “Okay, not enough.” “Just go, Betsy,” Laurie said. “The secret of getting through high school is to go every day and hand in your assignments. That’s all you have to do. Nothing else makes much difference But go.” “What makes you the big expert?” I could hear the bitterness oozing over the words. “Failure makes me the big expert,” Laurie said and her voice was sad, full of hurt and lost dreams. “Failure makes me the expert, Betsy.” There was silence, and I slipped quietly off the porch and out of the yard. “She was like a big fist,” I said to Granny that night when she was having her bedtime cup of tea and I was putting my books away. “Why is she so hard on Betsy?” Figure 5: Crook (2001), page 139. ARTS‐BASED EDUCATIONAL RESEARCH DISSERTATIONS 1241 Figure 6: Springgay (2004), p 99. 1242 SINNER ET AL Engaging in arts‐based educational research often means that researchers are immersed in a journey of discovery, of learning about themselves as well as learning about themselves in relationship to others. In much of the arts‐based educational research discussed in this article, there is no simple distinguishing between the researcher and the research. In effect, there is an organic and lively relationship where the researcher and the research are part of an intricate dance that is always evolving. In other words, arts‐based educational research is a creative process that is tentative and frequently tension‐filled, but often transformative and tensile. Searching for meaning Sources of information and ideas in arts‐based dissertations often come from specific practices within the arts themselves such as creating an original work of art, working collaboratively within a community of practice, drawing on lived experiences of self and participants, and/or exploring alternate sources such as popular culture. Each occasion represents an active search for meaning. Although most researchers selected sources to answer a specific research question (see Figure 7), an arts‐based researcher may or may not seek to answer a specific research question. Instead, sources may generate even more questions and take new and unexpected directions in the course of inquiry, often making sources both the process and product of arts‐based research. For example, the creation of a painting may serve as the primary source of data for an inquiry, and the same painting may then be exhibited as a means of sharing research understandings. Traditional sources like interviewing may generate an in‐depth analysis from which an arts‐
based rendering such as a play is written. Although these approaches are very different and rely on divergent sources, both constitute arts‐
based research. Arts‐based research must demonstrate that artful expression is at the heart of inquiry. Practices applied to the dissertations in this collection are best described as unfolding with select sources that often redirect the research agenda toward a more spontaneous, perhaps intuitive reflexivity (see Figure 8). Such art practices may be described as “the ARTS‐BASED EDUCATIONAL RESEARCH DISSERTATIONS 1243 Figure 7: Lackey (1997), page 54. 1244 SINNER ET AL Figure 8: Darts (2004), page 30. ARTS‐BASED EDUCATIONAL RESEARCH DISSERTATIONS 1245 Figure 9: Fels (1999), page 7. 1246 SINNER ET AL artist’s way … of looking at what turns up from beneath, that of involuntary wondering or ‘epiphanic’ memoir … that produces ‘a genuine shift of consciousness that alters one’s sense of being’” (Van Halen‐Faber & Diamond 2002, citing Salvio, p. 259). All arts‐based researchers create textual, visual, and/or performative works of art; all dissertations in this collection utilize one or more art form. Literary texts include stories, novels, plays, poetry, diaries, journals, letters, as evidenced by researchers like Rasberry (1997), Laroche (2001) and MacArthur (1997). Visual arts include painting, photography, sculptures, fibre, drawing, film, multimedia, as well as architecture and historical artefacts. Miller (2002), Springgay (2004), and Darts (2004) exemplify the visual arts in their dissertations. Performative works include drama, musical compositions, dance, as well as culturally based performances of rituals. Fels (1999, see Figure 9), Gill (2004), and Linds (2002) offer exemplars of performative dissertations. By making art, researchers generate sources of information and understandings for their inquiry, but art may be only one of several sources of information and ideas in arts‐based dissertations (see Figure 10). The dissertations examined in this article reveal that arts‐based researchers frequently utilize multiple methods from the social sciences, in addition to art making, to understand the complexity of their topic and ultimately to search for meaning. Qualitative strategies such as narrative inquiry, ethnography, hermeneutics, and action research are commonly found in this collection along with works of art. Although many of these dissertations include techniques such as interviewing, field observations, member checks, and triangulation, these strategies are separate from the process of art making but may provide the impetus to make art. In this collection, sources of information were also drawn from existing scholarly works, other fields of study such as the social, natural, or human sciences, or contemporary culture. Such sources bring an interdisciplinary perspective and layering of knowledge to arts‐based educational research. Vellani’s (2002) dissertation documenting the living traditions of Indian Ismailis over several generations, and Fisher’s (2003) engagement in contemporary culture through the science fiction movie, “The Matrix,” are two examples (see Figure 11). Arts‐based researchers frequently respond artistically to lived experiences that ARTS‐BASED EDUCATIONAL RESEARCH DISSERTATIONS 1247 Figure 10: Haskell (2000), page 45. 1248 SINNER ET AL Figure 11: Fisher (2003), page x. ARTS‐BASED EDUCATIONAL RESEARCH DISSERTATIONS 1249 emerge from a community of inquiry and/or from self‐reflection. It is unusual in these arts‐based dissertations to find participants as the only source of experiential information. In fact, the most common source is the researcher. As Chambers (2004) suggests, “the presence and significance of the narrative I … does not mean that the I is necessarily the subject of the text” (p. 1). However, the presence of the researcher must be “felt” in research involving the arts, explicitly revealing “the intersection of a researcher’s life with that of those researched” (Cole & Knowles in Neilsen, Cole, & Knowles, 2001, p. 215). The methods of a/r/tography further bridge the collaborative potential of researcher and participants by facilitating the formation of communities of practice. Communities of practice may emerge in formal learning sites, such as elementary classrooms, or informal learning sites, such as community‐based artists. For a/r/tographical communities, this means the community of practice is flexible (even interdisciplinary) and may cross over several disciplinary units (for instance, artists, musicians, actors, dancers, and educators who reside in different academic units and who work together as a/r/tographers). Community members, as well as academic members, bring their curiosities, concerns, and motivations to the community of a/r/togaphic inquiry. Moreover, as a/r/tographers engage with artistic forms of inquiry, they begin to create situations for further inquiry. For example, sharing an exhibit of artworks derived from a/r/tographic inquiry in more than one setting brings forward an awareness of various audience responses that may inform the inquiry in rich and often unanticipated ways. A/r/tography, and arts‐based research in general, is fundamentally concerned with sharing lived experiences because collaboration represents a potential to include voices in research that may not otherwise be heard. Interpreting for understanding Interpretations emerge from inquiry, as a researcher explores, assesses, or develops relationships between theories, concepts, and lived experiences (see Figure 12). Interpretation in arts‐based research contributes to knowledge in the field of education because the “experience of the artist [as] the core element in the creation of new 1250 SINNER ET AL Figure 12: Pryer (2002), page 226. ARTS‐BASED EDUCATIONAL RESEARCH DISSERTATIONS 1251 knowledge and the potential for new understandings is further enhanced through research projects that may take varied forms such as exhibitions, performances, and publications” (Sullivan, 2005, p. 191). In interpretations, arts‐based researchers demonstrate “sensitivity to the connection between method and meaning,” in a “self‐conscious method” that “shows an awareness of the relationships between the conceptual and methodological moves” and “an awareness of the bearing of those moves on the overall integrity of the work” (Kilbourn, 2006, p. 530). As Kilbourn (2006) suggests, “writing that is self‐conscious tends to reflect the layers and complexity of the process of a dissertation as it unfolds from conceptualization to finished product” (p. 531). Dissertations in the collection reported in this article indicate a tendency towards methodological pluralism and/or hybridity in the interpretation stage (Sullivan, 2005). Most graduate students drew upon multiple methodologies and methods in the course of their arts‐based inquiry. Kincheloe (2005) describes this process as entering “into the research act as methodological negotiators … defending what we assert we know and the process by which we know it” (p. 325). Pluralism and hybridity offer researchers a way to broaden and deepen methodological design, strengthening interpretation and ensuring a rigorous engagement with sources throughout the inquiry process. The interpretive methods most commonly applied by graduate students include narrative inquiry, ethnography, hermeneutics, action research, performative inquiry, and/or a/r/tography. In a/r/tography, knowing emerges from being engaged with art making and teaching/learning through living inquiry. As Irwin, Beer, Springgay, Grauer, Xiong and Bickel (2006) state, “this active stance to knowledge creation informs a/r/tographers’ practices making their inquiries emergent, generative, reflexive and responsive (p. 71). Interpretations in a/r/tography are based on a reflexive and reflective stance to analysis. In such cases, interpretation often generates “unfinished stories” that are ongoing and form the researcher’s living inquiry (VanWynsberghe, 2001, p. 733). Based on a review of this collection of dissertations, diverse arts‐
based research shares a critical outcome. Many graduate students stated that engaging in an arts‐based inquiry was a transformative experience for their participants and/or for themselves, as researchers. Experiential, 1252 SINNER ET AL intellectual, and/or social transformations are central in these dissertations. From the transformative process of art making, new understandings contribute to theory development in the field of education. This suggests that arts‐based educational research is inherently complex and requires different forms of assessment than traditional research. For example, rather than a focus on traditional notions of rigour, some arts‐based researchers promote the value of attending to vigour. Readjusting the focus of evaluation in this way is not intended to establish a binary opposition that pits one concept or approach against another. Arts‐based researchers do not discount the significance of many kinds of evaluation, but they are careful to expand the notion of evaluation as a kind of assessing or grading to attend to the root of evaluation as valuing. The question shifts from ‘Is this good arts‐
based research?’ to ‘What is this arts‐based research good for?’ The evaluation of the knowledge generated in arts‐based research includes a critical investigation of the craft and aesthetics of artistic practices; a creative examination of how art evokes responses and connections; a careful inquiry into the methods that art uses to unsettle ossified thinking and provoke imagination; a conscientious consideration of the resonances that sing out to the world from word, image, sound, and performance (Leggo, in press). Individual doctoral graduates included in our review have disseminated their research in numerous peer‐reviewed journals and international and national academic conferences. A number of these dissertations have received academic awards of excellence, including Darts (2004), de Cosson (2003), Dunlop (1999), Norman (1999), Pryer (2002), and Springgay (2004). As Conle (2003) notes of arts‐based educational research, the “main curricular event” is the presentation to an audience: Its curricular function seems to be particularly aimed at an audience’s reception of data presented through performances, images, or artistically conceived texts. Creators of such works hope to change members of the audience through the experience of data crafted into various art forms, for example, into plays. Curricular and research functions are still closely connected. (p. 4) ARTS‐BASED EDUCATIONAL RESEARCH DISSERTATIONS 1253 Willis (2002) suggests, “heightened engagement” with arts‐based research by readers / viewers can generate “a strong critical reaction” (p. 11). In this collection, there are a number of dissertations that generate a controversial response when read and/or viewed. We invite your comments about this collection. EDUCATIONAL SIGNIFICANCE Arts‐based educational research dissertations are an opportunity to reconsider the imaginative possibilities between and within theory and practice. Based on this collection, there is no one way to do arts‐based educational research. Arts‐based research has diverse voices, combined with a great range of interests and variety in research, and perhaps most importantly, many dimensions of creativity that bring different perspectives to the field of education, in which representation and engagement with knowledge offer new flexibility in understanding and conducting research. The findings in this review correspond with Sullivan’s (2005) position that builds “on [his] argument that promotes art practices as research in institutional settings,” where “both the artworld and the academy can be seen as critical sites where the individual and cultural significance of the visual arts has the potential to be fully realized” (p. 220). Although we take very seriously questions about the quality of the diverse kinds of art included in dissertations, we have begun to address the questions in new ways. Instead of asking, “Is this good art?,” we are now asking, “What is this art good for?” In this approach we are not seeking to be coy, but rather to challenge common and simplistic conceptions of “goodness” in artistic expression. Scholars who are also artists and educators wrote many of the dissertations included in this review. For example, Crook (2001) was already a well‐
known Canadian writer when she began her doctoral studies and although Dunlop (1999), Rasberry (1997), and Norman (1999) brought to their doctoral research life‐long commitments to creativity, they still decided to hone their skills for writing poetry by registering in courses in Creative Writing. As Irwin (2003) suggests, “cultivating an appreciative way of knowing is an act of cultivating an aesthetic way of knowing, an aesthetic that values sensory awareness, perceptual acuity, attunement, wonderment, novelty and emergence” (p. 63). Borrowing from Sanders 1254 SINNER ET AL (1999), arts‐based dissertations are a “process of constructing alternative forms of (re)presentation [as] an ongoing palimpsestic process … of (re)imagining, (re)presentations and critical reflections” (p. 555, 559). In this way, these dissertations demonstrate how creative practice can be integral to engaging in research in the academy today. This collection provides a description of how doctoral students (in conjunction with their mentors) interrogated their research through the embodied processes inherent within artistic scholarship, and how arts‐
based dissertations often “cross boundaries” by joining “things together that don’t normally go together” (Fox & Geichman, 2001, p. 40). The evolution of a/r/tography is particularly important in this collection because it also emphasizes an action‐oriented form of living inquiry that stems from continuous reflection upon action within the roles of artist, researcher, and teacher. The value of this collection resides in the questions raised and the discussions these researchers provoke in the broader academic community as their research generates different perspectives on policies, practices, and experiences. The attributes they share include the commitment for aesthetic and educational practice, inquiry‐laden processes, searching for meaning, and interpreting for understanding. Each attributes may be seen as a springboard for beginning to engage critically with the work while also learning to appreciate its qualities. As Van Halen‐Faber and Diamond (2002) say, arts‐based educational research opens researchers to “imaginative experience” which then renders the research with “explanation and commentary” (p. 252). There is an invitation in this collection to continue to open spaces by raising critical questions about arts‐based educational research in the field of education. The integration of the arts blurs the traditional format of dissertations, performatively, textually, and visually, and can productively disrupt the protocols and procedures of the academy. Based on this collection, arts‐based researchers continue to devise original ways to render academic research so that researchers may muse on the aesthetics, consider the ambiguity, and reside in the divergence such dissertations generate as they are dis/located in their understanding of what is research. A review of dissertations in this collection suggests the complexity of arts‐based research arguably demands great ARTS‐BASED EDUCATIONAL RESEARCH DISSERTATIONS 1255 attentiveness to complexity. This growing body of arts‐based educational research presents possibilities, challenges, and interpretations that trouble the understood framework of qualitative research. Arts‐based educational inquiry requires a certain state of mind, an artful ‘dwelling,’ an ever‐present meditative, imaginative, creative process of meaning making and interpretive activities rooted in perception and language (Heidegger, 1926/1996). The growing acceptance of arts‐based educational research is evident in the number of arts‐based educational research courses offered at post‐
secondary institutions, the acceptance of arts‐based educational research by major granting agencies, and the increasing number of peer‐reviewed journals including research about, or dedicated to, arts‐based research in the field of education. We may speculate that, given the availability of new media technology, further shifts may occur in the modes of expression available to arts‐based researchers when creating dissertations and disseminating research in the future. As Sullivan (2005) states, “the digital world is proving to be an especially rich setting in which newer conceptions of theory and practice in the arts are being explored” (p. 188). As evidenced in this collection, expressive strategies not only reshape educators’ understanding of research inquiries, but their perception of what they define as research. Fox and Geichman (2001) remind educational researchers to ask themselves, “Do our graduate students really extend beyond us? What is the distance between our students’ work and our own? How fast do our graduate students become expert researchers?” (p. 39, 43). Arts‐based research is a process that takes time. Creating a nascent space for a local methodology like a/r/tography to develop requires an academic culture where risk‐taking is encouraged, nurtured, and promoted through the ongoing commitment of a core group, or colony, of arts‐based researchers (Mullen, 2003). In our case, this space was collaboratively created by a small group of researchers and graduate students in the Faculty of Education at the University of British Columbia over the course of a decade. It is through such processes that arts‐based methodologies may develop fully as innovative ways of researching across the academy, in many fields of inquiry, collectively serving to guide the next generation of educational scholars. 1256 SINNER ET AL ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS We would like to thank the anonymous reviewers for the helpful comments on an earlier draft of this article. We gratefully acknowledge financial support of this research through the Hampton Fund Research Grant Program of the University of British Columbia. This review of practice is part of a larger, two‐
year research project entitled Arts‐based Research in Education: Contentious Compromise or Creative Collaboration? Summary of arts‐based educational research dissertations in the Faculty of Education, UBC 1994 – 2004 Author/ year Forms of Inquiry Study focus Participants New Understandings Dialogue reveals possibilities of teaching as leading; implications for the development of educational leaders Greater understanding of artist/pedagogues; increasing role for artists in community‐based sites Ashworth, J.E. (2002) Narrative inquiry; hermeneutics Educational leadership Seven adult educators, including author Beer, R.S. (1999) Narrative portraits; analysis of artworks Multicultural; environmental art education Three visual artists Chapman, V.L. (2001) Post colonial auto‐
ethnography; poetry, writing, visuals Body self‐
knowledge; and counter remembering Author Awareness of the use of power in education; colonizers/disci‐
plinary mechanisms; ethics of caring for ARTS‐BASED EDUCATIONAL RESEARCH DISSERTATIONS Crook, M. (2001) Narrative inquiry; novel High school students’ experiences of learning and their lives in school Focus groups of high school students; conver‐sations with parents, teachers, community workers de Cosson, A. F. (2003) Journaling; auto‐
ethnography; a/r/tography Process of living an artistic inquiry Author Darts, D. (2004) A/r/t/ography; action research; hermeneutics; visual ethnography Art education; socially engaged students Thirteen high school students; author Nature of teachersʹ lives through artistic production Author; informed by experiences of students Dunlop, R. (1999) Research as novel / literary narrative 1257 the self Research generated a novel that takes students’ concerns and weaves them into a story that illustrates how teens in northern, rural communities experience learning. Self as a site of research; the need for a whole body/mind/spirit connection for a grounded artistic understanding To understand the role that art education might play in the development of socially engaged high school students Explores the role literary fictions play in everyday life and in educational processes Fels, L. (1999) Performative inquiry Teaching and learning of science education through drama and Author; informed by pre‐service teachers Explores the possibility and power of performative inquiry as a research tool and 1258 SINNER ET AL storytelling Fisher, R.M. (2003) Performative postmodern methodology; playwriting Educational leaders and leadership from a fearless standpoint Gaylie, V.A. (2003) Narrative inquiry; poetry; field study Arts and creative based techniques give voice to those previously silenced Author; exploratory‐ informed by characters of sci‐fi movie, “The Matrix” Author; informed by inner city high school students Gill, H. (2004) Narrative inquiry; storying Questions multi‐
culturalism and identity in spaces of difference Author; informed by author’s personal and familial stories learning vehicle in science education Explores is “What is the ‘Fear’ Matrix?” This question has curricular and pedagogical relevance, especially for educational leadership development When students are permitted to express themselves creatively they will explore their lives and language with empowerment and critical depth Experiments with nonstructure and typography to actively decolonize, deconstruct/re‐
construct imposed academic and social identities through “transculturality” Haskell, J.G. (2000) Enactive inquiry; prose Embodied awareness in an outdoor activity education program Author’s experiences ‐ informed by a group of high school students Juxtaposes encounters in the outdoors with enactive theory to move beyond traditional representation‐
alist models of ARTS‐BASED EDUCATIONAL RESEARCH DISSERTATIONS Hayward‐
Kabani, C. (2000) Auto‐ biography; currere Search for authentic curriculum; enable young children to navigate society Author Hurren, W. J. (1998) Narrative inquiry; poetry and visuals An exploration of geography curriculum, poetics, and embodied knowledge Author Kirkland, K.H. (2004) Narrative inquiry; mythopoetics (fairy tale within a play). Exploration and analysis of mother‐son incest as a site for educational inquiry Author; informed by personal and social perceptions of taboos Lackey, L.M. (1997) Open‐ended interviews; visual data; field notes; participant observations; critical qualitative research Visual art programs and art education practices in two community recreation centres Author; informed by art instructors, staff and admin‐
istration of recreation centres; observations of adult and child classes 1259 cognition Through living the curriculum, the author formed a foundation for understanding and tolerance in the classroom and beyond Explores transformation of geography curriculum and inclusion of embodied approaches to (re)writing the world of curriculum theory (and dissertations) Need to re/collect difficult subjects in order to transform lived experiences of learners and find new ways of being and becoming Informal institutional practices, tacit messages act to contravene a formal arts policy to increase recreational arts programming; maintains the status quo 1260 SINNER ET AL Laroche, L. (2001) Conceptual analysis, autobiography Imagining science education detached from a mechanistic worldview Author; exploratory and informed by author’s experience of teaching elementary science Lee, K.V. (2004) Narrative inquiry (short stories) Musiciansʹ identity shifts as they transform into school‐
teachers Nine: eight participants and the author Linds, W.S. (2002) Performative inquiry; poetry, prose Drama workshops adapt Theatre of the Oppressed for high school students, teachers and community Author; informed by teaching experiences MacArthur, S. (1997) Interpretive inquiry; drama; reader’s theatre Teaching as a vocation expressed in different textures, tones of ideas, feelings, imaginings Author; informed by autobio‐
graphical writing of teachers Possibilities for re‐
imagining school science curriculum by moving it deeper into the re‐
enchanted world, step by step, nonlinearly Some musicians could overcome conflict through the story writing process; mentorship by a school advisor who is also a professional musician is critical Coming to know one’s identity‐in‐
process as a drama facilitator enables the interpretation, interrogation and transformation of how one becomes facilitator The call of teaching emerges from a polyphony of voices; explore this research space with whatever questions or answers intuited among the threads Michals, E. (2000) Performative inquiry; Drama as an instructional Twenty‐eight: twenty‐six Our narratives influence how we ARTS‐BASED EDUCATIONAL RESEARCH DISSERTATIONS Miller, L.A. (2002) journaling; video Narrative case study technique for the English as a Second Language (ESL) learner grade five and six students; teacher; author Exploring the experiences of young women participating in a public art performance project Ten: seven women and three local organizers 1261 understand and learn; our physical experiences, our stories and our ways of understanding are integrally intertwined Art educators should provide learning environments where learners/ participants can find their own ideas and voices, and express themselves meaningfully Norman, R.A. (1999) Autobiography; poetry, stories Autobio‐
graphy as research through performance and reflection Author; informed by women writers Penberg, D. (1998) Multimedia narrative; hyper‐
texted with text, still and video images, and sound Representing the educational experience and world views of urban youth Nine: eight youths and author Pryer, A.C. (2002) Hermeneutics; memoirs, autobiographical writing, visuals Meditates upon the concept of non/dualistic pedagogy; Author, informed by literature and personal experiences Demonstrates how some specific strategies for autobiography in education may be employed in the classroom Multiple media as a way to evoke experience and create multiple images of youth; situates youth as rich and insightful sources of knowledge Enters less examined non‐
dualistic pedagogic sites – Zen arts, popular 1262 SINNER ET AL erotics of teaching & learning culture, family, ritual, dis/ embodiment as a legacy of childhood sexual abuse Enacts writing to learn (about writing and teaching and researching); writing as a location to become curious about the performative nature of learning Rasberry, G.W. (1997) Narrative inquiry; poetry Learning as an interpretive location for the making of poetry and pedagogy and research Author, informed by pre‐service secondary school teachers Springgay, S. (2004) A/r/tography Student’s body knowledge expressed in creating and interrogating visual art and culture Sixteen: thirteen secondary students; teacher; pre‐
service teacher; author The student’s art and their conversations suggest knowledge with, in, and through the body is open, fluid, and formed in relation to other bodies Thompson, J.K. (2001) Ethnography; narratives; multi‐site case study How high school students interact with and construct meaning from their experiences with music Sixty‐eight high school students located in six schools in Canada and Britain Investing adolescent interpretations of music with narrative significance may provoke music educators to consider how music education could be broadened Toulouse, P.R. (2001) Lived experiences; poetry; photos Examines the living teachings of the people of Author; informed by member’s of First Nation Exemplifies research that is reflexive and respectful of First ARTS‐BASED EDUCATIONAL RESEARCH DISSERTATIONS Vellani, A.M. (2002) Narrative and hermeneutical inquiry 1263 Sagamok First Nation community community Nationʹs protocols beyond the colonial gaze; moves towards recovering indigenous knowledge Historical narrative journey of a community of “travellers,” the Indian Ismailis Author; informed by cohorts of conver‐
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Arts‐based training in management development: The use of improvisational theatre. The Journal of Management Development, 23(8), 741 – 750. Gill, H. (2004). Im‐person‐ating identity in spaces of difference. Unpublished doctoral dissertation, University of British Columbia, Vancouver, Canada. Grumet, M. (1978). Songs and situations. In G. Willis (Ed.), Qualitative Evaluation (274 – 315), Berkeley, CA: McCutchan. Haskell, J. G. (2000). Experiencing freefall: A journey of pedagogical possibilities. Unpublished doctoral dissertation, University of British Columbia, Vancouver, Canada. Hayward‐Kabani, C. (2000). Living curriculum with young children: The journey of an early childhood educator. ʹThe tangled garden.ʹ Unpublished doctoral dissertation, University of British Columbia, Vancouver, Canada. Heidegger, M. (1926/1996). Being and time (J. Stambaugh, Trans.). New York: State University of New York Press. Hurren, W. (1998). Line dancing: An atlas of geography curriculum and poetic possibilities. Unpublished doctoral dissertation, University of British Columbia, Vancouver, Canada. Irwin, R. L. (n.d.). A/r/tography. Retrieved on January 8, 2007, from: http://m1.cust.educ.ubc.ca/Artography/ Irwin, R. L. (2004). A/r/tography: A metonymic métissage. In R. L. Irwin & Alex de Cosson (Eds), A/r/tography: Rendering self through arts‐based living inquiry (pp. 27‐40). Vancouver, BC: Pacific Educational Press. Irwin, R. L. (2003). Towards an aesthetic of unfolding in/sights through curriculum. Journal of the Canadian Association for Curriculum Studies, 1(2), 63 – 78. Irwin, R. L., Beer, R., Springgay, S., Grauer, K., Xiong, G. & Bickel, B. (2006). The rhizomatic relations of a/r/tography. Studies in Art Education, 48(1), 70 – 88. Irwin, R. L. & de Cosson, A. (Eds.) (2004). A/r/tography: Rendering self through arts‐based living inquiry. Vancouver: Pacific Educational Press. 1266 SINNER ET AL Irwin, R. L. & Springgay, S. (in press). A/r/tography as practice based research. In M. Cahnmann & R. Siegesmund (Eds.), Arts‐based inquiry in diverse learning communities: Foundations for practice. Mahwah, NJ: Lawrence Erlbaum. Kirkland, K. (2004). A grim fairy tale: A mythopoetic discourse on taboo, trauma and anti‐oppressive pedagogy. Unpublished doctoral dissertation, University of British Columbia, Vancouver, Canada. Kilbourn, B. (2006). The qualitative doctoral dissertation proposal. Teachers College Record, 108(4), 529 – 576. Kincheloe, J. (2005). On to the next level: Continuing the conceptualization of the bricolage. Qualitative Inquiry, 11(3), 323 – 350. Lackey, L. (1997). Pedagogies of leisure considering community recreation centres as contexts for art education and art experience. Unpublished doctoral dissertation, University of British Columbia, Vancouver, Canada. Laroche, L. (2001). ʺYou were a star once, werenʹt you?ʺ Nonlinear steps into the reenchantment of science education. Unpublished doctoral dissertation, University of British Columbia, Vancouver, Canada. Lazarus, P., & Rosslyn, F. (2003). The arts in medicine: Setting up and evaluating a new special study module at Leicester Warwick Medical School. Medical Education, 37(6), 553 – 559. Lee, K. (2004). Riffs of change: Musicians becoming music educators. Unpublished doctoral dissertation, University of British Columbia, Vancouver, Canada. Leggo, C. (in press). Astonishing silence: Knowing in poetry. In A. L. Cole & J. G. Knowles (Eds.), Handbook of the Arts in Qualitative Social Science Research (17 pp.). Thousand Oaks, CA: Sage Publications. Leggo, C. (2004). The curriculum of joy: Six poetic ruminations. Journal of the Canadian Association for Curriculum Studies, 2(2), 27 – 42. Linds, W. (2002). A journey in metaxis: Been, being, becoming, imag(in)ing drama facilitation. Unpublished doctoral dissertation, University of British Columbia, Vancouver, Canada. MacArthur S. (1997). Following unnamed rivers and ruminating on teaching as a vocation. Unpublished doctoral dissertation, University of British Columbia, Vancouver, Canada. ARTS‐BASED EDUCATIONAL RESEARCH DISSERTATIONS 1267 MacPherson, S. (2000). A path of learning: Indo‐Tibetan Buddhism as education. Unpublished doctoral dissertation, University of British Columbia, Vancouver, Canada. Mason, J. (1996). Qualitative researching. London, UK: Sage Publications. Michals, E. (2000). Kneading narratives, communities and culture: Recipes, reflections and revelations. Unpublished doctoral dissertation, University of British Columbia, Vancouver, Canada. Miller, L. (2002). Constructing voices: A narrative case study of the processes and production of a community art performance. Unpublished doctoral dissertation, University of British Columbia, Vancouver, Canada. Mullen, C. (2003). Guest editor’s introduction: A self‐fashioned gallery of aesthetic practice. Qualitative Inquiry, 9(2), 165 – 181. Neilsen, L., Cole, A., & Knowles, G. (Eds.). (2001). The art of writing inquiry. Halifax, NS: Backalong Books. Norman, R. (1999). House of mirrors: Performing autobiograph(icall)y in language/education. Unpublished doctoral dissertation, University of British Columbia, Vancouver, Canada. Penberg, D. (1998). Abecedarian: A multimedia education story. Unpublished doctoral dissertation, University of British Columbia, Vancouver, Canada. Penny, S. (2000). Agents as artworks and agent design as artistic practice. In K. Dautenhahn (Ed.), Human cognition and social agent technology (pp. 395 – 414). Philadelphia: John Benjaminis Publishing. Piirto, J. (2002). The question of quality and qualifications: Writing inferior poems as qualitative research. International Journal of Qualitative Research in Education, 15(4), 421‐445. Pryer, A. (2002). Meditations on/in non/dualistic pedagogy. Unpublished doctoral dissertation, University of British Columbia, Vancouver, Canada. Rasberry, G. (1997). Imagining the curious time of researching pedagogy. Unpublished doctoral dissertation, University of British Columbia, Vancouver, Canada. 1268 SINNER ET AL Renner, P. (2001). Vulnerable to possibilities: A journey of self‐knowing through personal narrative. Unpublished doctoral dissertation, University of British Columbia, Vancouver, Canada. Sanders, J. (1999). Dissertation as performance [art script] (take three). Qualitative Studies in Education, 12(5), 541 – 562. Scott, J. (Ed.). (2006). Artists‐in‐labs: Processes of inquiry. Vienna: Springer Verlang. Springgay, S. (2004). Inside the visible: Youth understandings of body knowledge through touch. Unpublished doctoral dissertation, University of British Columbia, Vancouver, Canada. Sullivan, G. (2005). Art practice as research: Inquiry in the visual arts. Thousand Oaks, CA: SAGE Publications. Thompson, J. (2001). ʹI feel therefore I amʹ: Selected British and Canadian senior high school studentsʹ conceptions of music and music education. Unpublished doctoral dissertation, University of British Columbia, Vancouver, Canada. Toulouse, P. (2001). Bimaadziwin (the goodlife): Sharing the living teachings of the people of Sagamok Anishnawbek. Unpublished doctoral dissertation, University of British Columbia, Vancouver, Canada. Vallance, E. (1977). The landscape of the “Great Plains Experience”: An application of curriculum criticism. Curriculum Inquiry, 7(2), 87 – 105. Van Halen‐Faber, C., & Diamond, C. T. P. (2002). Depths of (un)knowing: Arts‐
based spinning and weaving. Curriculum Inquiry, 32(3), 251 – 266. VanWynsberghe, R. (2001). The ‘unfinished story’: Narratively analyzing collective action frames in social movements. Qualitative Inquiry, 7(6), 733 – 744. Vellani, A. (2002). Pirbhaiʹs blessings: A narrative quest towards a pedagogy of virtues. Unpublished doctoral dissertation, University of British Columbia, Vancouver, Canada. Willis, P. (2002). Don’t call it poetry. Indo‐Pacific Journal of Phenomenology, 2(1). Retrieved February 12, 2007, from www.ipjp.org/april2002/Willis.pdf ARTS‐BASED EDUCATIONAL RESEARCH DISSERTATIONS 1269 NOTES A/r/tographical dissertations have been completed at other Canadian and American universities in recent years, A/r/tography has also been cited and used as a methodology by arts researchers in Europe and Australia. 2 The term arts‐based educational research (ABER) originated with Elliot Eisner. During the 1970s and 1980s, Eisner and his graduate students engaged in a wide‐range of arts‐based research at Stanford. By the late 1980s – early 1990s, the basis of their work provided a rationale for ABER, and through their efforts, arts‐based educational research gained credibility within qualitative inquiry. 3 A listing of key publications, exhibitions and or performances may be found on the a/r/tography website: http://m1.cust.educ.ubc.ca:16080/Artography/a_b_r.php 4 To download a full dissertation from the A/r/tography website may take a few minutes depending on the file size and your internet connection. Dissertations may include images, video and/or audio files; some files are in excess of 19MB. 5 Although dissertations are public documents available from ProQuest (http://proquest.com/products_umi/dissertations/), only dissertations for which we received the author’s consent were included on the a/r/tography website. 1
6 A/r/tographical work is rendered through the broadly defined concepts of contiguity, living inquiry, openings, metaphor/metonymy, reverberations, and excess which are enacted and presented/performed when a relational aesthetic inquiry approach is envisioned as embodied understandings and exchanges between art and text, and between and among the broadly conceived identities of artist/researcher/teacher. A/r/tography exists in an interdisciplinary space, the ʹunnamed somethingʹ or ʹwithoutʹ, which constitutes a new field of study for our community of practice. This condition of ʹwithoutʹ illustrates the shaping of inquiry imbued with discomfort and struggle opening up new understandings. 1270 SINNER ET AL It is important to note that researchers do not delimit a/r/tography by restricting interpretations of identities, or the application of diverse and multiple theoretical frameworks to the concepts. We recognize that a/r/tography is susceptible to critique from more traditional perspectives in the academy because of this openness, but this flexibility may be viewed as a core strength of a/r/tography, allowing a/r/tographers to draw upon the strengths of multiple fields of study. WHEN “HISTORY” HAPPENS TO RESEARCH: A TALE OF ONE PROJECT, TWO RESEARCHERS, AND THREE COUNTRIES IN A TIME OF GLOBAL CRISIS Nathalie Piquemal & Sandra Kouritzin1 In this article, we have examined how historical events shape the research process, even when research is carefully planned and rigorously executed. Through an examination of our experiences conducting international data collection during a three‐year SSHRC funded period in which the War on Terrorism and the War in Iraq began, we suggest that social context affects all aspects of every research project, from planning, to funding, to data collection, analysis, and dissemination. History, particularly significant world events, should be re‐examined and redefined so that it is no longer understood as a variable that affects poorly planned research, but rather as an integral part of the research design and process. Key words: international education, mixed methods, foreign language Dans cet article, les auteurs examinent comment les événements historiques transforment le processus de recherche, même lorsque la recherche est soigneusement planifiée et rigoureusement exécutée. Par le biais dʹune recherche subventionnée par le CRSH et au cours de laquelle commença la guerre au terrorisme et la guerre en Irak, les auteurs font un examen de leur propre expérience de la collecte de données internationales, faite durant une période de trois ans. Ils suggèrent que le contexte social influence tous les aspects de la recherche, de la planification jusquʹaux résultats, de la collecte des données à leur analyse et à leur diffusion. Ils affirment que lʹhistoire devrait être réexaminée et redéfinie de telle manière quʹelle ne soit plus considérée comme une variable mais plutôt comme une partie intégrante du plan directeur de la recherche et de son contenu. Mots clés: éducation internationale, méthodes mixtes, langue étrangère _________________ CANADIAN JOURNAL OF EDUCATION 29, 4 (2006): 1271‐1294 1272 NATHALIE PIQUEMAL & SANDRA KOURITZIN The respondent survey, or questionnaire, seemed the most comparable way of looking at countries, for example, attitudinal comparisons. We learned about its problems. First, the assumption is that individuals are differentiated, separate from the group or system, and have acquired values, attitudes and other attributes that differ from others. This is widely disputed. Values, for example, are often not acquired characteristics of individuals that influence their behaviour but, rather, emanate from the system (such as an ideology), or from situation (such as crises). Second, it is likely that social development or a culture determines individual differentiation, which defines the ʹnormalʹ distribution, or bell‐shaped curve, of individual characteristics found in some countries. (Teune, 1990, p. 54). However, probably no theory that deals with a social/psychological phenomenon is actually reproducible, insofar as finding new situations or other situations whose conditions exactly match those of the original study, though many major conditions may be similar. Unlike study of a physical phenomenon, it is very difficult to set up experimental or other designs in which one can re‐create all of the original conditions and control all of the extraneous variables that may impinge upon the social/psychological phenomenon under investigation. (Strauss & Corbin, 1990, p. 250) All researchers, qualitative, quantitative, or those (such as ourselves) using both quantitative and qualitative methodologies, set themselves the goal of collecting data that accurately represents a situation or social phenomenon. In quantitative research, researcher concerns with the scientific ʺholy trinityʺ of reliability, validity, and generalizability (e.g., Kvale, 1995, p. 20) are the means by which researchers establish control (or at least theoretical control) over the accuracy, stability, and consistency of the research process, and thus establish a kind of control over the research findings. In qualitative research, researchers begin with similar concerns, but over time notions of reliability, validity, and generalizability have been reworked or replaced by notions of dependability, expanding concepts of validity, conceptions of resonance, and discussions about reflexivity and representation vis‐à‐vis the role of the researcher and her or his power/influence in the research situation (e.g., Lather, 2001). Such concerns expressed by both quantitative and qualitative researchers have been raised before even considering, much WHEN “HISTORY” HAPPENS TO RESEARCH 1273 less negotiating, the complexities of cross‐cultural research and the potential impact of current world events on international research. In this article, we explore the implications of current and significant world events on the research design and process, with special attention to questions such as those of power and agency, latter‐day military and linguistic colonialism. Our aim in this article is not to re‐tred the well‐
known path from what one of our anonymous reviewers has referred to as “naïve empiricism” to a more nuanced sense of the machinations of power, politic, and pandemic, but rather to tell the tale of how two researchers, already somewhat familiar with the argument in the post‐
structuralist, post‐modern research literature, found themselves caught up and trapped by it through forces beyond their control. We are these two researchers, Sandra and Nathalie. Because we were doing both quantitative and qualitative research, we looked at all the biases and threats to validity, reliability, and resonance in both qualitative and quantitative research. One frequently cited variable is referred to as the ʺhistory effect,ʺ a threat to internal validity in which other events coexisting with treatment or events intervening between two treatments in a time series research design significantly impact the research results (see below). The history effect is normally described as local, temporary, and confined to a particular population, location, or individual. In this article we explore, by contrast, lasting, even permanent, effects on research data caused by world events as they become a part of recorded history, events that ʺmake historyʺ or ʺgo down in history,ʺ but which intervened in a multi‐year, international research project. Constrained by grant proposal stipulations, programmes of research such as ours may be vulnerable to the extraordinary events, in this article referred to as ʺhistory,ʺ that construct our ordinary research lives. We use specific examples of world happenings and political unrest to examine how any particular point in history can have multiple impacts on research. It is not the particular events we recount that are of importance, nor the fact that the events precipitated crises, but rather we emphasize the momentary interruptions, and the realization that the contexts for the researchers and the researched are constantly evolving and responding, influencing the perceptions and positionalities of both. 1274 NATHALIE PIQUEMAL & SANDRA KOURITZIN At the same time, we thank the reviewers of this manuscript for pointing out to us the contradictions between our research voices and our argument, between standard definitions of history and a specific research definition of history, and for helping us to further reveal ourselves. Given debates like those mentioned above, researchers, such as ourselves, engaged in cross‐cultural, international, comparative research are faced with a tremendously complicated task (Oyen, 1990). In our SSHRC‐funded study of ʺsocial‐suggestive normsʺ (Miele, 1982, p. 18) in language teaching and learning in France, Japan, and Canada, we considered how to be flexible enough to accommodate both the opportunities and constraints imposed by the roles of languages and cultures, (e.g., Kouritzin, 1999), the complex negotiation of researcher identities in countries where we did not reside, and the multiple sites and contexts in which we would be collecting data. We focused particularly on context and site, given that ʺsocial suggestive normsʺ were defined as the social and historical norms, institutional and economic influences, perceptions of pedagogical practice, public attitudes, perceived opportunities for multilinguals, collective values, and perceptions of governance and administrative structures on foreign language learning, which we thought was a fairly comprehensive description of context. Already personally and professionally familiar with the contexts of education in both France and Japan, we also familiarized ourselves with the historical influences on education in each country, as well as any recent educational policy change or innovation dealing with languages. The French Minister of Education, for example, acknowledged that France could not participate in the emerging globalized EU economy through the medium of English or French only: ʺTout montre que lʹavenir de notre pays et des jeunes Européens impose la maîtrise dʹau moins deux langues vivantes étrangères en plus de la langue maternelle,ʺ (Lang, 2001, p. 10), while Ministries of Education in both France (Ministry of Education, France, 2001) and Japan (Mombusho, 1998) introduced foreign language teaching in primary classrooms, with the intent of creating global citizens. In terms of research design, we were cognizant that critiques of international quantitative research are often directed toward developing WHEN “HISTORY” HAPPENS TO RESEARCH 1275 a research design and research instrument(s) in one country for testing or implementation in another. We therefore included international students and participants in our survey and interview construction, and used focus groups so that we could address (to the best of our ability) issues and ideas cross‐culturally. We were also cognizant that international qualitative data involves translation, complicated issues in research ethics (e.g., Piquemal, 2001), intercultural understanding, significant knowledge of multiple contexts and history, and cross‐
validation or triangulation (Benjamin, 1968; Easterby‐Smith & Malina, 1999; Ember & Ember, 2001). As Bertaux (1990) writes: In the classic paradigm of comparative research, the goals of cross‐national or cross‐cultural projects are ultimately theoretical. Comparisons ʹallow variables to varyʹ, to use a vocabulary which is heavily biased but has become universal. What in a given country, or culture, is taken for granted does not apply, does not exist, or exists differently in another one. The variation that is thus introduced helps greatly in determining what is linked to what, what is produced, with which effect, and how powerful are the consequences of a societyʹs main structural features whose considerable consequences, precisely because they are structural, invariant, are too easily forgotten. (Bertaux, 1990, p. 166) To be safe, we therefore planned for mixed method research (i.e., quantitative survey, qualitative interviews, and document analysis), “a type of research design in which qualitative and quantitative approaches are used in its type of questions, research methods, data collection and analysis procedures, and/or inferences” (Tashakkori & Teddlie, 2003, p. 711; see also Creswell, 1994, pp. 173‐192). We constructed a survey using the most rigorous means possible to ensure that cross‐cultural viewpoints were included from the outset. We distributed the surveys widely within our sample population in each country, collecting a total N in excess of 7000. We used the surveys to construct culturally appropriate, open‐ended interview protocols and questions, following which we interviewed 125 people from each of five sample populations in each country. In terms of research design, we felt comfortable that we had tackled the holy trinity, and ensured significant controls over the data collection. Although we were not planning to make claims in terms of generalizability (random sampling was simply not possible), we had sufficient numbers of 100 per cent samples of certain populations that we 1276 NATHALIE PIQUEMAL & SANDRA KOURITZIN felt we would be able to make some significant comparisons, which could later lead to claims. In short, we were covered in terms of the principles of cross cultural measurement described by Ember and Ember (2001): we understood that our measurement was indirect; we reflected the cultural context and purpose of the study; we aimed for reliability, precision, validity, and explicitness, and we used multiple methods (p. 39). Despite our planning, our careful adherence to research design considerations and our rigor, we were, as it turns out, unprepared for what happens when history happens to research. The effects of history in a quantitative research paradigm we were prepared for; Capital H History, also known as significant current events, we were not. HISTORY EFFECTS History is normally viewed as a confounding variable, a threat to validity in experimental research that may cause failure to eliminate a rival hypothesis, thereby leading to poor conclusions (e.g., Graziano & Raulin, 2000, 190‐191). Silverman (2001, pp. 9‐13) suggests that in designing research projects, social science researchers must ensure that they consider and account for historical, political, and contextual effects on the research design. He suggests that historical sensitivity in thinking through the research topic would enable researchers to take into account ʺrelevant historical evidenceʺ (p. 9) thus preventing researchers from falling into the trap of viewing social phenomena through the filter of present day thinking (see also Marshall & Rossman, 1995, pp. 89‐90), and thus producing social science research which is what Kouritzin (2000) has referred to as ʺcontemporaneously groundedʺ (p. 15). Similarly, Silverman (2001) warns researchers against failing to grasp the politics behind the way a problem is formulated in the social sciences, by which he means failing to understand that there are official explanations of social problems or questions that are important for attracting funding from granting agencies, but which also may start researchers on research based on false assumptions. He refers to this as political sensitivity. Finally, Silverman posits that contextual sensitivity must be developed, in which researchers ask questions differently, avoiding ethnocentrism. Failure to develop historical, political, or contextual sensitivity would, apparently, seriously undermine the reliability of a study. WHEN “HISTORY” HAPPENS TO RESEARCH 1277 In this article, we use Silvermanʹs position as a starting point, arguing that researchers do not cultivate historical, political, or contextual sensitivity at the beginning of a research project, but rather these questions must be considered throughout the research process. In this article, we have considered historical and political sensitivity, illustrating how we struggled to understand how ʺhistoryʺ happens to research through our own research experiences and contributions of our research participants. A RESEARCH MOMENT: DOES HISTORY AFFECT WHAT IS FUNDED AS RESEARCH? In the summer of 2001, we decided to collaborate in seeking funding for an international comparison of social suggestive norms (Miele, 1982) in foreign language teaching and learning in a Western Canadian, a Japanese, and a French university, guided by the following three questions: (a) What are the social‐suggestive norms that encourage or discourage foreign language learning in Canada, France, and Japan? (b) How do national, regional, or local policies and/or strategies in promoting the learning of foreign languages compare with one another, and how have these impacted or been impacted by social‐suggestive norms? (c) What conditions and strategies are transferable to the Canadian context that might promote the learning of foreign languages for all Canadians? We decided to use our educational experiences and professional contacts in Japan, France, and Canada to plan and execute data collection across multiple sites over a three‐year period. Our research proposal, including both qualitative and quantitative methodologies, was in draft form on September 11, 2001, when three jet airliners hit their American targets, and the world was introduced to Al Quaeda, Osama bin Laden, and the growing obsession with terrorists living among us, terrorists posing as students, who were concealing their identities by learning to speak English, taking flying lessons, and engaging in American cultural pursuits, leading to concerns about terrorists who were home grown. On October 15, 2001, we submitted our research proposal to SSHRC program on Initiatives in the New Economy. 1278 NATHALIE PIQUEMAL & SANDRA KOURITZIN Given our junior positions in the academy, and given that our proposal did not address a current “hot topic at the time of writing, we were prepared not to receive funding for the research proposal, but reasoned that we would get some good feedback from the SSHRC grant reviewers to resubmit successfully the following year. Then, slowly through the fall and winter of 2001, it was revealed that a lack of Arabic‐
English translators to read intercepted messages was at least partly responsible for the failure of US intelligence to issue prior warnings for the attacks. Media reports cited the low number of Arabic speaking employees in the federal system, and the fewer still who were fluent in Arabic, and working for the CIA. In the months after 9/11, talk show and water‐cooler conversations focused on the role of linguistic and cultural understanding in global conflict, often drawing [unwarranted and unfair] parallels to Japanʹs attack on Pearl Harbour and the controversy over whether or not American intelligence authorities had or had not broken the Japanese communications code, and whether or not there had been sufficient expertise in Hawaiʹi to understand the Japanese language. In March 2002, we learned that our research proposal was funded at the level we requested, over $160,000, a very large amount of money for young, untenured, assistant professors. Reviews of the grant identified our proposal as an important topic, a well thought out plan, and, although none of the reviewers cited events intervening between the time we submitted our research proposal and the time they adjudicated it as affecting their judgments, it is hard to imagine that the multiple legends that began to surround the events of 9/11 did not influence the peer review process. We also became aware that foreign language learning had developed into a hot topic for our colleagues, and that our own identities as language teachers and international researchers had morphed us into the Cinderella story of the faculty. It is possible that History began to affect our research project from the beginning. We cannot cite evidence, yet our lived experiences of having our research proposal funded suggested that a cataclysm in world events partially enabled us to carry out a research project without being subject to the normal constraints of limited time and money. This is not to argue that our research design was ineffective, nor that our WHEN “HISTORY” HAPPENS TO RESEARCH 1279 proposal was weak, but rather to raise the question ʺwould the reviewers have been as easily convinced of the urgency of the research were it not for the events of history, and the aftermath of media attention?ʺ In medical research, it is a common‐place, at least among lay‐people, that funding is directed toward hot topics, diseases, or issues that have an impact on a large number of lives, often within the demographics of the powerful.2 The questions that get asked, and those chosen by funders to be worthy, result from political forces and motivations because the answer to ʺwhat is important research?ʺ is ʺwhatever the public wants/needs to know.ʺ Social suggestive norms in the form of historical and social influences, public attitudes, and institutional or economic factors smudge the lines between interested research and non‐interested research, and continued to have an unpredictable and unexpected impact on our data collection and findings throughout the research process. A RESEARCHER MOMENT: WHEN HISTORY AFFECTS THE RESEARCHER/S (SANDIE) My primary concern before flying to Japan for data collection was the murmuring about pandemics which began with the SARS outbreak. Fearing that our flight might originate in Toronto, the centre of Canadian SARS, I arranged to leave on the first flight out of Winnipeg, one not coming from Toronto. On March 21, 2003, in the wee small hours of the morning, I boarded a plane from Winnipeg to Vancouver, just hours after the Americans attacked Iraq. By the time the flight landed in Vancouver, our airline announced that anyone holding tickets for that day was permitted to exchange them for a time later in the year. Already traveling, I continued to Osaka, then on to Okinawa, from Vancouver. Data collection took me from Okinawa, where 80 per cent of the American bases in Japan are located, to Akita, a fairly remote northern city, to Fukuoka, the original target for the bomb which hit Nagasaki, to Tokyo, the seat of government, to Osaka, where I collected data at a university famous for its connections to the West, for its commitment to Christianity, and for upholding the principles of peace and justice. Visiting classrooms to explain the research project, and to distribute surveys, I found myself answering pointed questions from students who 1280 NATHALIE PIQUEMAL & SANDRA KOURITZIN first wanted to make sure I was not American, and second wanted to know how Canada had managed to keep from joining the coalition forces. The university students whom I encountered did not endorse their governmentʹs decision to support the United States, even as they were aware that the American military presence in their country compromised their ability to make independent decisions. They were, it appeared, particularly interested in Canadaʹs political position because of Canadaʹs proximity to American military installations, and what they perceived to be our shared cultural assumptions. During the opening months of the war in Iraq, discussions about the war dominated, leading to conversations about American global proprietary interests, English as a global lingua franca, English as a colonizing language, and English linguistic imperialism. Because I am Canadian, I also found myself under suspicion about SARS. Trying to remain on schedule with data collection, I traveled extensively, adhering to a demanding regimen of 14 hour days, seven days a week, carrying cases filled with the surveys, forms, envelopes on one arm, and my luggage on the other. It was only a matter of time before I came down with a barking seal cough and a high temperature. Coupled with my Canadian passport and the fact that I had entered SARS‐free Japan after the outbreak in Canada, I found that at times I could not gain an audience with administrators who were concerned that my symptoms resembled those of SARS. In short, there were student populations I wanted to survey, but I could not negotiate access to students or classrooms because of the pandemic. On the good side, I also frequently got a seat to myself on busy trains once my travel companions realized I was Canadian. A RESEARCH MOMENT: WHEN HISTORY AFFECTS THE RECRUITMENT PROCESS (NATHALIE) It was in the early afternoon of a week day in February 2003. I was walking back from my lunch break to the University of Paris IV (Sorbonne) ready for what I hoped would be a productive data collection afternoon. I had planned to administer a significant number of surveys to first, second, and third year university students enrolled in foreign language classes. I had arranged to meet with three classes that WHEN “HISTORY” HAPPENS TO RESEARCH 1281 afternoon which, according to my calculation, would amount to about 400 surveys minus a probable return rate of 30 to 40 per cent. I had two months to gather 2000 surveys from various universities and I had a pretty tight schedule. As I got closer to the university, I came across a demonstration against President Bush and the war in Iraq. Because it was quite a big crowd that had taken over the entire street and most of the sidewalks, I had to slow down quite a bit, which caused me to worry that I might miss my appointment with my first class. I did not want to miss an opportunity to “get the data.” I finally arrived at the university and ran to the class from which, to my surprise and disappointment, students seemed to be walking away. I waited a few minutes and asked a student who wasn’t rushing away as fast as the others if the class had been cancelled. The student looked at me and seemed surprised by my question. He said Well, they are all out in the street demonstrating against Bush and the war in Iraq. That’s where I’m going too. I don’t think anyone is going to show up. This is a really big deal, you know. This demonstration is coordinated internationally. Today, there will be students demonstrating against the war in Iraq in many different parts of the world. (personal communication, author’s translation, February 2003) I responded to him as politely as I could while trying to hide my disappointment at the thought that I was about to miss an opportunity to gather a couple of hundred surveys. Paris IV is a big university and there were going to be about 200 students in one of the classes. I had only two more days scheduled in Paris after which I had to travel to another university in another part of France. I told the student, “Of course, I understand, thank you.” As I watched this student join his contingent for this political action, I thought back to the moments in my student life when I chose to skip a class to become part of a public body that had chosen to express a voice against some political decision. The classroom was not where life was unfolding back then nor that day. As I could not really picture myself running after students with my surveys in the streets of Paris, I walked back to the demonstration and enjoyed the expression of this public socio‐political energy. I wondered what kind of impact this political event would have on my data collection. Quantitatively, I was confident I would still be able to reach my quota by 1282 NATHALIE PIQUEMAL & SANDRA KOURITZIN perhaps contacting another university or re‐scheduling meetings with these classes at a different time, provided that history would “leave my research alone” (Indeed, I eventually returned to Canada with substantial data, though not quite as substantial as I had originally planned). I wondered, however, whether such an event in which students participated actively, would affect the data qualitatively. Perhaps students might respond differently on issues related to social‐
suggestive norms in foreign language learning after having gone through the experience of taking a stand on issues related to international relationships and political decisions. I reminded myself, did our study not focus on, among other things, social and historical norms, institutional and economic influences, collective values in relation to perceptions of foreign language learning? If so, could we not, should we not recognize that when history happens to research, research data themselves are informed, changed, and perhaps even validated by this history? This seems to suggest that research involving human participants is a social process influenced by historical, public, and political forces, such as demonstrations against the war in Iraq, that have the potential to create, shift, or affect a political consciousness that may result in changes in public and personal perceptions on many different issues, including perceptions of foreign language learning. A RESEARCHER MOMENT: WHEN HISTORY RECONSTRUCTS RESEARCH (SANDIE) Shortly after I traveled back to Japan for the second time on March 1, 2004, the country was abuzz with the situation faced by the Imperial family. Princess Masako, the wife of the Crown Prince, had borne one daughter, and then suffered a miscarriage. In ten years of marriage, she had produced no other heirs, and she had not been seen in public for nearly a year. Her husband, the Crown Prince, pled her case to the nation, explaining that she was exhausted from living within the constraints of the Imperial Household, and by the public nature of her role. He reminded Japan that Princess Masako had been a diplomat before marriage, that she was fluent in German and French as well as English, and that she had looked forward to international travel and WHEN “HISTORY” HAPPENS TO RESEARCH 1283 diplomacy. After marriage, however, she had traveled outside the country only once, and her talents as a polyglot were being wasted. Media reports, especially editorials and opinion pieces in English language dailies like the Asahi or the Mainichi, openly speculated on whether or not the Crown Prince would divorce her. At least in their interviews with me, women interviewees found the situation faced by Princess Masako compelling, perhaps because I was Western and accustomed to news of divorce, perhaps because I was a career woman who found herself similarly occasionally trapped by my assigned identity position in Japan, perhaps because it was a convenient segue into discussing how they had themselves given up careers and study to be wives and mothers. Particularly during the preamble to an interview when participants explained their rationale for participating, interviewers often cited Masako‐sanʹs roles as princess and mother, versus her role as a diplomat. There appeared to be tremendous sympathy for her situation, and identification with her situation, particularly among the women participants who had quit their own careers after getting married to focus on child‐rearing. Because of the demographics of power in Japan, therefore, this particular news story affected my sample groups differentially; although administrators, government leaders, and businessmen (all male) were not affected at all, female language teachers, female students, and housewives were. Whether the media attention linking Princess Masakoʹs language abilities with her unhappiness with her constraint influenced volunteer participants by encouraging them to volunteer (the topic and sample questions were displayed on the call for volunteers), or whether they were simply influenced to answer the questions with reference to Princess Masako is impossible to determine, but there is no question that the story did affect the consciousness of participants. Some participants made comparisons between themselves and her situation, and assumed that I would also be aware of the story and all its details, meaning that I did indeed have to ʺstay on top of it.ʺ In response to question such as ʺDoes the media affect peopleʹs attitudes toward foreign languages in Japan?ʺ and ʺCan you name three well‐known Japanese people who can speak more than one language?ʺ comments ranged from the oblique ʺyou know, [the Royal family] situationʺ to ʺthe mass media coverage 1284 NATHALIE PIQUEMAL & SANDRA KOURITZIN [about Princess Masako] influences Japanese peopleʺ to an indirect criticism in ʺ[the former Emperor] spoke French but no English; [the current Emperor] speaks English but no French….very surprising,ʺ implying sympathy with Princess Masako who comes out well because she is ʺa polyglot.ʺ Substantive portions of the interview data would not be interpretable for a researcher unfamiliar with that particular moment in Japanʹs history, when and how it occurred, the likely consequences it will have over time, and why it impacted different categories of interviewees differently. A RESEARCH MOMENT: WHEN HISTORY INTERROGATES DATA COLLECTION (NATHALIE) The second stage of data collection, which involved semi‐structured interviews of 125 participants in each site on language learning beliefs, attitudes, and motivations, aimed at teasing out some of the trends and contradictions revealed in our surveys. As I began these interviews in March 2004, the Ministry of Youth Education and Research in France published a research report ranking seven European countries according to their abilities to learn foreign languages (Ministère de lʹEducation Nationale, 2004). This study, conducted in 2002, evaluated the level of competence in English of 15 and 16 year‐old students across Europe. It was made clear in this report that French students came last. Because this report was presented and discussed in many circles, both academic and non‐academic, a large portion of the population had come to know about these findings. As a result, rarely did an interview go by without the respondent making a pointed remark on French people’s ability and willingness to learn foreign languages. To interview questions such as, “Do you think that speaking more than one language is important?” “How would you describe French people’s level of competency in a foreign language at the end of high school?” “How is learning foreign languages encouraged in France?” responses pointing to these recent findings included responses ranging from “Did you read the report that says that we are the worst in Europe?” to “Obviously if we are that bad, this means that it is not a priority in France,” responses which were often accompanied by a sarcastic sometimes bitter laugh. Would the WHEN “HISTORY” HAPPENS TO RESEARCH 1285 respondents’ judgments have been as severe had these reports ranking France last not been published at that time? The extent to which this news release had an impact on the participants’ responses points to the need for different ways of analyzing data as well as different ways of theorizing about data analysis. We wondered how these comments may affect the comparative dimension of our analyses. Indeed, the French educational system mandates that study of two foreign languages is required in both junior and senior high school, a factor that we identified as a strength and reason for further investigation in our research proposal particularly in contrast to Canadian language policies. As well, recent initiatives aimed at integrating foreign language learning in elementary classrooms in France have been identified as positive, yet reactions of the respondents to the publicly released news of the country’s ranking seemed to momentarily overpower and hide some of the positive thoughts that were briefly expressed about these initiatives. Indeed, most participants recognized that the study of a foreign language in elementary schools and the study of two foreign languages in junior and high schools were among the most positive government initiatives, these positive remarks were almost systematically followed by expressions of discouragement and hopelessness because these participants almost never failed to mention the Ministry’s report. Had these interviews been conducted prior to this news release, participants’ responses might likely have been more positive. We, therefore, have to address the following questions in our data analyses: Is this negative perception of French people’s ability to perform well in a foreign language something permanent, which would make it a relevant descriptor when defining national and comparative portraits? Or, rather, is this perception only temporary, meaning essentially related to current events, in which case comparative analyses will have to reflect the extent to which history might have conditioned the participants’ responses? A RESEARCH MOMENT: RESEARCH DATA WHEN HISTORY ʺINTERRUPTSʺ Fifty of the 125 participants who were interviewed in each country were students, many of whom had participated in demonstrations or protests 1286 NATHALIE PIQUEMAL & SANDRA KOURITZIN against the war in Iraq. Although at the time we wrote our research proposal, we believed that we would be positioned somewhat neutrally, given the statistical and large‐scale nature of our research methodology, we had not anticipated the extent to which we would be positioned politically. After collecting the surveys during a time of world crisis, we both felt that politically something was happening to our research, although we could not identify its specificity, significance, or relevance. We therefore decided to add a question to our interview protocol, that we thought might address the potential impact of history happening to research: “How have recent world events (like SARS, the Iraq war, the war on terrorism) affected your feelings about learning foreign languages?” Upon reflection, the simple fact that we decided to ask such question seems to suggest that our research was not only politically motivated by the general state of the world (purpose, significance, and potential implications as outlined in the research proposal) but was politically interrupted, altered, and influenced by sudden current events in the general state of the world. To the question, “How have recent world events (like SARS, the Iraq war, the war on terrorism) affected your feelings about learning foreign languages?” many participants responded that these events did not affect them at all, which caused us to wonder how educational institutions such as universities are positioned (and position students) with regard to world events. However, some students contended that not learning foreign languages could potentially further complicate and worsen international relationship, making connection to the need for language education. Specifically, quite a few participants specifically suggested that the war in Iraq could have been avoided or “better handled” had the two parties (or at least the one who is in power and about to invade) sought to understand each other’s worldviews and values. This type of understanding, the participants contended, can only happen through foreign language learning. The following questions arose: Did the war in Iraq affect our research methods? Furthermore, did the war in Iraq, affect the respondents’ responses? If so, are the data we gathered much different than if they had been collected at a time that was not so historically/politically charged in terms of the divisions between the haves and the have‐nots, and the visibility afforded globally WHEN “HISTORY” HAPPENS TO RESEARCH 1287 by news media that provides daily evidence of the injustices wreaked upon nations and peoples by other nations and peoples? If data gathered are politically charged, does this mean that notions of validity and generalizability are context dependent, meaning dependent upon current fluctuations and interruptions in political, social, and economic forces? DISCUSSION History as Process and Product Over the three year period of data collection, our beliefs about research were profoundly affected. In the beginning, we had held to the argument that research, carefully conceived, and incorporating many careful triangulation elements, can produce a stable portrait of the social fabric, that: A piece of research will be highly valued if it is so clearly reported that somebody else can do the same thing again and obtain the same results. Accurate reporting of a piece of research is therefore not just a matter of good manners: the practical possibility of repeating the research means that it is open to a test of reliability. (McDonough & McDonough, 1997, p. 65) By contrast, at the end of the research project, we were convinced that no matter how carefully research in the human sciences is planned and executed, it may not necessarily adhere to the values of reliability or validity. It may pass tests of reliability, but it would not be reliable over a century, perhaps not over a decade. Put another way, in response to Ember and Emberʹs (2001) argument that, ʺIf a test is supposed to measure some enduring characteristic of an individual, it should give approximately the same result when that individual is tested again,ʺ (p. 127), we suggest instead that what appear to be enduring characteristics of individuals are likely to be threatened by sudden events that may lead to their developing different senses of positionality in the world. Individuals are shaped by social phenomena, and social phenomena are fundamentally unstable. These research moments suggest that history does affect both the process and the products of the research. History, along with 1288 NATHALIE PIQUEMAL & SANDRA KOURITZIN maturation, repeated testing, and attrition, is often listed as one of the major confounding variables that may affect research data, potentially leading to erroneous analysis and interpretation. Particularly in quantitative inquiry, history is generally referred to as a factor, a disturbance that may affect internal validity, leading to such admonitions as: “During the course of the study, many events that are not of interest to the researcher can occur and possibly affect the outcome. In general, threats to internal validity due to history are greatest with longer times between pretest and posttest measurements” (Graziano & Raulin, 2000, p. 191). Our research moments, in contrast, suggest that although history does alter data, careful research design cannot predict, eliminate, or minimize the effect. We instead suggest that rather than looking at history as a threat to validity, it might be more appropriate to consider history as contributing to knowledge production in a way that enhances relevance and meaningfulness. Such approaches would then acknowledge that research, whether quantitative or qualitative, involving human participants is historically and socially bound. Holding a vision of research free of historical disturbance as a utopian principle is unrealistic, and even unattractive. This view of research as contemporaneously grounded divorces research from the historical forces that shape the questions asked, the research funded, the way data are collected or analyzed, or the way those who answer the research questions are regarded. Although divorcing research from history may be tactical for researchers concerned with the agendas of academic enterprises, and although it may be expedient for some engaged in knowledge production or consumption, it is not without its own severe limitations in terms of knowledge stability. Moreover, our concerns may not be limited to social research; in medical research for example, who is to say whether or not clinical cancer drug trials administered to carnivorous, obese, car‐obsessed North Americans have any relevance at all to devout, ambulatory, vegetarian monks in the Himalayas? In short, the question that we are raising is whether history should be/may be looked at as a temporary variable that produces undesirable effects that may be/should be controlled through additional methodological measurements, or whether history should be/may be WHEN “HISTORY” HAPPENS TO RESEARCH 1289 looked at as a permanent, though evolving variable, that researchers may learn to rely on and take account of, and that produces effects that are an integral part of knowledge production and data interpretation. We suggest the latter: that history is a process and a product. History affects the political position of the researcher and the positions of the interviewees, while current events produce both the questions researchers ask and the answers given. History is a process that may affect many aspects of any research project, and it is a product, at this point, a mostly undocumented and unrecognized portion of the results of any and all research projects. In fact, history is an underlying determinant of human perception, the force at work in producing power relationships. History is not a fixed variable; there is nothing vary‐able about it. As I (Sandie) have argued in another context, ʺwind speed is variable. The colour of one’s socks is variable. Power relations which begin work on individuals during early childhood are notʺ (personal research journal). The course of history and even specific current events determine who holds health, who has wealth, who asks questions, who funds the answers, who ʺcountsʺ as researchable, and who does that counting. Positionality Because our study focused on contextual influences on foreign language learning in Canada, France, and Japan, we initially regarded positionality as a key concept, considering that we needed to recruit participants who could reflect opinions from various socio‐economic, political, educational, and cultural positions within the social fabric of each nation. From those positions, the respondents were asked to speak, among other things, about their own perceptions of the social value of foreign language learning, with special attention to the incentives and disincentives in social contexts that encourage or discourage foreign language learning, including social and historical norms, institutional traditions, pedagogical practices, and innovation. What we did not consider was that the extent to which the various social positions our respondents occupied might shift as the respondents re‐positioned themselves socially and politically to the sudden world events. 1290 NATHALIE PIQUEMAL & SANDRA KOURITZIN Indeed, during the course of our data collection, we came to realize that the respondentsʹ answers to our questions about foreign language learning were significantly influenced by the sudden historical crises much of the world was experiencing, and that the events unfolding locally, nationally, and internationally gave us a shared context that determined how we approached our roles in the research project. In turn, this led us to understand that our data resembled detailed snapshots of the highs and lows of bull and bear markets, but without capturing an image of general tendencies of the stock market over an extended period of time. The highs and lows of individual stocks within the stock market cycle produce bull and bear runs; it is only the long term investor who can attest to the general tendency of the markets to increase. In fact, it is only the investor with a truly long term outlook who will acknowledge that stock markets themselves are a historically recent innovation, and that they are artifacts relevant only to this particular period in time. By contrast to Graziano and Raulinʹs (2000) suggestion that ʺthreats to internal validity due to history are greatest with longer times between pretest and posttest measurementsʺ (p. 191), we suggest that threats to excellence in knowledge production due to history are greatest with shorter times between pretest and posttest measurements. Qualitative research cannot be seen as a short term investment. All research results must be viewed as contemporaneously grounded events on which the effects of history are paramount. With such an orientation, it also becomes apparent that knowledge, once produced, is not fixed. It is inherently unstable, mutable, and historically contestable. In short, we became aware that, although we had planned our research to take into account various social and cultural positions in each country, we did not (and indeed could not without the gift of clairvoyance) locate our research project within the larger social and cultural conversation in which history produces those social and cultural positions, and in which any effort to control for the effects of history could be seen as a barrier to good research, rather than an indication of having produced it. WHEN “HISTORY” HAPPENS TO RESEARCH 1291 CONCLUSION We suggest that the research process produces particular results because the process itself is a political process. It is one thing to be a feminist, critical theorist, post‐structural, post‐colonial scholar, but what does that mean in the context of doing research that is further complicated by the struggles of women, questions of power and agency, or latter day military and linguistic colonialism? And, when data collection is profoundly affected by events, how could history not impact the research findings? History affects researchersʹ relationships with participants. It affects how researchers present ideas. It affects respondentsʹ interpretations of questions. It affects respondentsʹ answers to questions. It affects the way in which researchers view the results, analyze the results, and write up the results. ʺHistoryʺ as a variable is a polyvocal research participant. In terms of our specific research project, this led us to wonder about the role of education in facilitating the emergence and the expression of political consciousness. Although we cannot advocate that universities should become an arena for political sparring, when we reflect on many of the written comments that students made on their surveys or those documented in our interviews, we realize that many of the concerns expressed relate to the perceived lack of teaching focus on current world events, leaving students to feel that what they learn in foreign language classes did not make enough room to explore the role of languages in international relationships, as well as who they were and how they were positioned in an increasingly globalizing world. This could also explain why most of the respondents responded to the question about how recent world events affected their feelings about learning foreign languages with surprise, often stating that they did not see the connection between the two: How indeed is language learning/education positioned with regard to world events? We came to reconsider current events only as history by reflecting on the intersection of qualitative and quantitative data in our research project. Although there have been many discussions about the limitations of quantitative inquiry as mainly preoccupied with methodological rigor – discussions that suggest the need for more interpretive methods grounded in the socio‐historical contexts of inquiry 1292 NATHALIE PIQUEMAL & SANDRA KOURITZIN – much of the focus of such debates revolves around an “either/or” paradigm, meaning that research is either scientifically based, grounded in traditional objective methods, or interpretive, inherently shaped by the social, cultural, historical, and ethical contexts in which the inquiry is taking place. At a time when the field is deemed to be awakening to multiple paradigms of inquiry, we find, rather paradoxically, that a great deal of the dialogue within colleges of education is characterized by a simplistic either‐or mentality. This mentality pits quantitative and qualitative research against each other without informed exploration of the substantive historical and intellectual traditions behind the methodological frameworks, focusing instead on straw men erected to dramatize the shortcomings of the opposing methodology. The debate often becomes a shallow one in which those defending traditional quantitative methods argue issues of rigor, validity, and generalizability, while those defending qualitative methods argue issues of meaningfulness, relevance, and sensitivity to individuals and contexts. (Paul & Marfo, 2001, p. 538) One response to the either/or paradigm of quantitative and qualitative research has been to advocate for the need to engage in mixed method research, combining qualitative and quantitative methodologies and longitudinal and cross‐sectional research. Our experiences tell us that mixed method research too has its limitations, especially in terms of comparison, as history affects the research. There may not be any solution but there is a need to document the historical context of the research not only as the researchers are collecting and analysing data, but also at the moment when they are writing up the data. Accordingly, we suggest that research should be subjected to the scrutiny afforded by poststructural worldviews to take into account issues of historical power, and those of historical positionality, to engage in a constantly metamorphosing contextual struggle, balancing the context with the data, with research/ed positions, and to do so without viewing history as a disturbance, and we suggest that it is valuable to do so without trying to develop and apply yet more tests or criteria to establish reliability, validity, and credibility. ACKNOWLEDGMENT We thank the Social Sciences and Humanities Research Council of Canada (SSHRC), Initiatives on the New Economy, and the University of Manitoba SSHRC WHEN “HISTORY” HAPPENS TO RESEARCH 1293 grants program for funding the research on which this article is based. We also thank our colleagues and participants for their input and support. NOTES 1 The names should be read as equal authors as this paper was written with equal collaboration. 2 For example, one of the authors has a son who has an illness which is rare, often fatal in its acute phase, almost unheard of, and therefore unfunded. REFERENCES Benjamin, W. (1968). Illuminations: Essays and reflections (H. Arendt, Ed., & H. Zohn Trans.). New York: Schoken Books. Bertaux, D. (1990). Oral history approaches to an international social movement. In E. Oyen (Ed.), Comparative methodology: Theory and practice in international social research (pp. 151‐171). Thousand Oaks, CA: Sage. Creswell, J. W. (1994). 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Comparing countries: Lessons learned. In E. Oyen (Ed.), Comparative methodology: Theory and practice in international social research (pp. 38‐62). Thousand Oaks, CA: Sage. Recensions / Book Reviews Raymond M. Hébert. (2004). Manitoba’s French‐Language Crisis. A Cautionary Tale. Montreal & Kingston : McGill‐Queen’s University Press. Pp. 293. ISBN : 0‐7735‐2708‐7 (cloth); 0‐7735‐2790‐7 (paper) Danièle Moore, Professeure associée, Faculté dʹéducation, Université Simon Fraser À travers le récit socio‐historique de la grande crise linguistique qui a traversé la Province du Manitoba entre mai 1983 et février 1984, c’est un portrait de l’histoire canadienne, ses déchirements et ses élans que nous fait vivre l’auteur dans cet ouvrage. Car cet ouvrage n’est pas le simple déroulement d’un écheveau historique compliqué, pour aborder la question du statut du français dans une Province canadienne. Raymond Hébert réussit le tour de force de nous faire vivre par son récit l’histoire, souvent tragique, d’une Province et d’un peuple, dans le double mouvement d’une contextualisation minutieuse des évènements relatés, et d’une analyse rigoureuse dont la portée dépasse le local et le national, en offrant un cadre compréhensif pour les situations de conflit linguistique en contexte minoritaire. L’ouvrage se présente en une introduction et dix chapitres, accompagnés de remarquables appendices (reproduisant des documents d’archives, comme des extraits de La Gazette de Manitoba de 1874), de notes extensives, d’une bibliographie et d’un index précieux. L’ouvrage est construit en deux temps. Les huit premiers chapitres posent de manière méticuleuse les jalons socio‐historiques du débat linguistique autour du statut du français au Manitoba, de 1870 à la crise de 1984. Les deux derniers chapitres proposent des cadres explicatifs appuyés sur différents modèles théoriques issus des sciences politiques et sociales, comme celui de la personnalité autoritaire (d’abord développé dans les travaux d’Adorno et collègues sur l’antisémitisme aux États‐Unis,
CANADIAN JOURNAL OF EDUCATION 29, 4 (2006): 1295‐1312 1296 RECENSIONS EN LIGNE/BOOK REVIEWS ONLINE pour tenter d’expliquer pourquoi certains individus sont potentiellement ouverts à accepter des idées racistes). Il n’est pas possible de rendre justice, en l’espace de quelques lignes, à la richesse et la densité du portrait historico‐politique retracé dans ces huit premiers chapitre. Disons simplement que le premier, intitulé French Language Rights in Manitoba, 1870‐1976 (pp. 3‐25), en balayant cent ans de l’histoire du Manitoba, pose avec fermeté les premières bornes de l’étude et donne le ton de l’ouvrage, en adressant d’emblée la question des « droits » linguistiques des Francophones, autour d’évènements (The Manitoba Act de 1870 ou l’abolition des écoles bilingues en 1916) et de personnages clefs (Louis Riel, ou Georges Forest). Le chapitre deux (pp. 26‐49) se concentre sur les quatre années (The Lyon Years, 1977‐1981) marquant l’évolution du combat pour les droits francophones, tandis que le chapitre trois (pp. 50‐71) aborde les deux années qui suivent, jusqu’en mai 1983, moment où Trudeau annonce, trop prématurément, le Manitoba bilingue. Les chapitres suivants déroulent l’écheveau des évènements, débats et controverses qui ont dévoré l’opinion publique et déstabilisé le gouvernement provincial du Manitoba jusqu’à la crise de la langue française de 1984. Le chapitre neuf, intitulé The Language of Bigotry, Reason and Unreason in the Language Debates (pp. 199‐208) interroge l’alliance inquiétante des Conservateurs et de l’Extrême droite dans la lutte contre le français et le bilinguisme, et le développement de discours xénophobes chez les deux parties. Là encore, le texte est appuyé sur une solide connaissance du déroulement des faits, et de leurs implications sociales et politiques pour l’avenir de la Province. On apprend par exemple l’implication du Ku Klux Klan et d’autres groupes antisémites et racistes, et on voit comment les discours diffractent et reconstruisent les identités, en déviant subrepticement la polémique politico‐linguistique qui se transforme en discours nationaliste d’exclusion où les « autres » sont tout à la fois francophones, étrangers, socialistes, communistes, subversifs et « non‐légitimes ». Raymond Hébert nous invite à démonter les mécanismes d’une société qui prend forme à travers sa (ses) réalité(s) conflictuelle(s), définissant les rôles et les places de chaque groupe dans la structure sociale, dans un double mouvement de politisation et de polarisation des identités. Le dernier chapitre Explaining the Crisis : Symbolism, Status, and Right‐Wing RECENSIONS EN LIGNE/BOOK REVIEWS ONLINE 1297 Authoritarianism (pp. 209‐221) est certainement l’un des plus stimulants de l’ouvrage. L’auteur y retient deux voies d’analyse pour expliquer le heurt des idéologies dominantes concernant la question française. La première, inspirée de la sociologie de Breton (the Status/Symbolism Model, p. 209), interroge les dimensions symbolico‐culturelles de la représentation de la société et de la nation, en lien avec le statut attribué. Inspirée du travail d’Altemeyer, la seconde développe un examen critique de la relation entre l’autoritarisme et l’ethnocentrisme, appréhendée au travers du double prisme historique et social qui explique, par exemple, l’évolution située de catégorisations telles que « Canadiens » ou « Manitobains » dans le contexte local. L’auteur montre, par exemple, que si l’opposition aux propositions gouvernementales paraît, à première vue, transcender les frontières ethniques, une analyse plus fine des phénomènes saisit une dynamique nationalitaire sensiblement différente, ancrée dans l’histoire des communautés et l’allégeance à des formes contractuelles tacites de coopération dans un environnement hostile (the « Prairie compact »), favorisant le gommage des différences linguistiques et ethniques et l’adoption symbolique de l’anglais comme langue commune. L’opposition francophone à l’assimilation, et l’exigence du droit historique à la différence (en tant que co‐fondateurs de la Province) marque une différenciation des formes de la mobilisation autour de la lutte pour les ressources et du partage d’un destin commun, et souligne de ce fait les contours et les frontières identitaires et symboliques entre les groupes. L’ouvrage de Raymond Hébert est remarquable à plus d’un titre. Il prend la forme d’une narration, de « l’intérieur », le narrateur étant lui‐
même Franco‐Manitobain, et développe un cadre écologique pour la compréhension des tensions culturelles, sociales, religieuses et linguistiques qui ont pu mener à un état de crise pour les populations et les instances qui les gouvernent. La notion de contexte prend ici son sens plein, en ce qu’elle permet de penser les liens entre des évènements sociaux et les circonstances de leur développement historique. Les cadres ainsi définis sont largement (re)construits par les acteurs, « ordinaires » et politiques, dans leurs actions (actes de défiance, actes législatifs), dans leurs discours, et dans leurs représentations. Ces effets de 1298 RECENSIONS EN LIGNE/BOOK REVIEWS ONLINE (ré)interprétation sont largement tributaires des idéologies linguistiques (language ideology), elles‐mêmes enracinées dans des espaces historico‐
sociaux qui favorisent une vision ancrée dans (ou agissant en réponse à) l’expérience d’une position sociale spécifique, l’exercice du pouvoir, et la reproduction des relations de domination/ subordination (voir Woolard & Shieffelin 1994 : 58). La question identitaire, si elle n’est pas abordée en ces termes par l’auteur, traverse en filigrane l’ensemble du texte. Posé essentiellement sur l’étude d’un corpus de textes écrits (archives, textes législatifs, articles de presses etc.), l’auteur présente un ensemble de discours qui soutiennent, confortent, ou déplacent les relations entre les hommes, et les langues en contact. Peu d’entretiens ont été conduits, et quand ils l’ont été, ils donnent voix aux politiciens plutôt qu’aux acteurs « ordinaires » du changement social. On souhaiterait que Raymond Hébert, dans un proche avenir, puisse offrir à ses lecteurs une autre aventure de l’envergure de celle‐ci, et donne à entendre ces autre voix. On souhaiterait par exemple comprendre comment les frontières de groupe se définissent, se mettent en place ou se défont, lorsque les auto‐ et hétéro‐catégorisations d’appartenance se fondent sur des différenciations plus floues, fragmentées, et potentiellement évolutives. Extraordinairement documenté, clairement écrit et accessible, l’originalité majeure de l’ouvrage est l’importance accordée à la localisation du contexte de l’évènement relaté, tout en s’attachant à rendre compte des relations sociales, linguistiques, culturelles, religieuses qui l’ancre. La richesse des documents d’appui qui ont servi à l’analyse (l’auteur note en introduction avoir dépouillé l’équivalent de 25 boîtes d’archives), et la diversité des points de vue dont le livre se fait l’écho font de l’ouvrage une contribution majeure pour l’étude et la compréhension des relations sociales et de la gestion des conflits linguistiques en milieu minoritaire. Au travers du récit d’un parcours singulier, l’auteur saisit ici une dynamique nationalitaire sous sa variante historique, et tresse une tapisserie complexe, dont les multiples fils se déroulent au fil des pages. On ne peut aussi que se réjouir que l’auteur ait choisi l’anglais comme langue d’écriture d’un ouvrage portant sur la question linguistique du français dans une Province comme le Manitoba. On ne peut en effet s’empêcher de considérer l’importance d’un tel RECENSIONS EN LIGNE/BOOK REVIEWS ONLINE 1299 ouvrage dans le dialogue nécessaire entre les différentes communautés linguistiques qui forment le Canada. RÉFÉRENCE WOOLARD, K., & SCHIEFFELIN, B. (1994). Language ideology. Annual Review of Anthropology, 23, 55‐82 _____________________________ Michael D. Behiels. (2004). Canada’s Francophone Communities: Constitutional Renewal and the Winning of School Governance. Montréal and Kingston, ON: McGill‐Queen’s University Press. 438 pages. ISBN: 0‐
7735‐2586‐6 (cloth); 0‐7735‐2630‐7 (paperback) Sylvie A. Lamoureux, doctoral candidate, Department of Curriculum, Teaching and Learning, Ontario Institute for Studies in Education of the University of Toronto I must admit that I was a little apprehensive about reviewing a book on constitutional renewal and school governance. My apprehension lay not with the subject per se, but in reading an historical analysis of constitutional renewal. As a Franco‐Ontarian who lived firsthand the linguistic educational battles of the late 1970s and early 1980s; as an educational professional during the struggle for and the implementation of school governance in Ontario’s francophone community; and, as a qualitative researcher working with linguistic minority communities, particularly Canada’s francophone minority communities, I have a vested interest in the topic. However, from the first lines of Professor Behiels’ acknowledgements, my apprehension was lifted and I felt compelled to read on. In the first line of his introduction, Professor Behiels writes “this study is a descriptive analysis of Canada’s francophone minority communities’ quest for renewal and regeneration through constitutional reform and the winning of school governance” (p. 1). There can be no more succinct description of this book. Professor Behiels has chosen to divide his work into eight chapters, which follow a foreword by Senator Serge Joyal and an introduction by the author. His analysis of micro‐
1300 RECENSIONS EN LIGNE/BOOK REVIEWS ONLINE constitutional, macro‐constitutional, and mega‐constitutional debates, campaigns, and negotiations follow what he has identified as the four phases leading up to the achievement of school governance in Ontario, Manitoba, and Alberta. The first chapter is dedicated to the first phase, that is, the rebuilding of Canada’s francophone communities outside Québec, both at the provincial and national levels. It follows Canada’s francophone minority communities during the late 1960s to the late 1970s, and the creation of the Fédération des communautés francophones et acadiennes du Canada (FCFA). The second phase, Canada’s francophone minority communities campaign for the constitutional recognition of their education rights, is analyzed in chapter 2. Professor Behiel’s analyzes the collaborative work needed by these communities to succeed in their first mega‐
constitutional campaign, which resulted in the development of article 23 of the Canadian Charter of Rights and Freedoms. In this chapter, he highlights both the negotiations within the francophone communities, and the negotiations by the francophone communities. The next three chapters deal with the third phase, which Professor Behiels describes as a time of regeneration for Canada’s francophone minority communities. Each of these chapters follows the separate but coordinated micro‐constitutional campaigns for school governance by francophone groups in Ontario, Alberta, and Manitoba respectively. The fourth phase is a look at the mega‐constitutional campaigns for further protection and clarification of educational rights for Canada’s official language minority communities, during the two unsuccessful rounds of constitutional negotiations from 1987 to 1992. Chapter six is dedicated to the Meech Lake Constitutional Accord. Chapter seven looks at the Charlottetown Consensus Report. Professor Behiels states that during this time Canada’s francophone minority communities were successful in promoting and defending a pan‐Canadian linguistic and cultural dualism, in opposition to the Québec/Canada dualism promoted by both the federal government in power at the time and Québec. In his final chapter, Behiels restates how work at both the political and judicial level was necessary by provincial and federal francophone minority organizations, as well as determined parents and community RECENSIONS EN LIGNE/BOOK REVIEWS ONLINE 1301 leaders, to achieve their success with the Charter of Rights and Freedoms, and full school governance, thanks in great part to the Supreme Court justices “broad, liberal purposeful, and remedial” (p. 326) interpretation of minority language education rights. He then goes on to explore the future for Canada’s francophone minority communities, using the premise that the “past is prologue” (p. 325), in part by highlighting the works of noted scholars in this field, such as Angéline Martel, Pierre Foucher, Rodrigue Landry, and Serge Rousselle. Professor Behiels’s analysis of the question of school governance for Canada’s francophone minorities is detailed at both micro and macro political levels, allowing educators a truly insider view of the players themselves, all the while encouraging the reader to see to keep the broader picture in mind. He expertly shifts between emic and ethic perspectives, allowing the reader to follow the threads through the tapestry of debates in question. His writing is engaging and accessible. His analysis detailed. As stated by Senator Joyal in the preface to this book, Professor Behiels “describes the tug‐of‐war between minorities and provincial governments; the crucial financial support provided by the federal Court Challenges Program, and the generous ‘remedial’ interpretation of section 23 of the Charter by the Supreme Court” (p. ix). I had considered myself well read on the subject of French language minority school governance in Canada. However, as I made my way through the book, I felt a deeper sense of clarity and knowing, having the impression of seeing at once behind the scenes and the different stages where the drama was unfolding. Professor Behiel’s work allows the reader a critical look at the players and the events. His work on this question is complete and comprehensive – I would even dare say impressive. The publication of this work is timely. As educators mark or prepare to mark the tenth anniversary of the implementation of French‐language school governance in Ontario, Manitoba, and Alberta, and prepare for an important turn‐over of educational leadership in these communities, this book will remind some and inform others of just how it came to be. This book will prove both interesting and important to those interested in Canada’s francophone minorities, language policy, and school governance, as well as those responsible for the development and 1302 RECENSIONS EN LIGNE/BOOK REVIEWS ONLINE implementation of educational policies, regardless of their field of study. Furthermore, the notes and bibliography assembled to realize this work will prove extremely useful to researchers in a variety of disciplines, interested in language policy, school governance, constitutional debate, and education of minorities. _____________________________ Thomas Bender, Philip M. Katz, Colin Palmer and the Committee on Graduate Education of the American Historical Association. (2004). The Education of Historians for the Twenty‐first Century. Urbana and Chicago, IL: University of Illinois Press, 2004, 222 pages. ISBN: 0‐252‐02898‐8 (cloth): 0‐252‐07165‐4 (paperback). Jim Handy, professor and Director of Graduate Studies, Department of History, University of Saskatchewan The title of this work is a bit of misnomer; it is almost completely concerned with the education of PhD candidates in US universities, not the much broader question of educating historians. Nonetheless, as a survey of current practice and an assessment of some of the problems apparent in PhD programs in History in the United States, this is a valuable study. Many of its findings and concerns are of value outside of the study of History, almost equally relevant to other disciplines in the Humanities and Social Sciences. The book was commissioned by the American Historical Association in response to a perceived problem in graduate education in History: an overabundance of PhD candidates in relation to the number of jobs in the US research universities. It draws mostly on an extensive survey of over 100 History departments in the United States, a survey of graduate students, some site visits to Departments of History in various universities, and various publications of the American Historical Association and the US government. The problem, as expressed in the book, is that job openings for PhD students in History are not currently keeping pace with the number of students graduating with a PhD from US universities. The roots of this discrepancy lie not with a decrease in the number of jobs available but RECENSIONS EN LIGNE/BOOK REVIEWS ONLINE 1303 rather with a substantial increase in the number of PhD graduates during the 1990s. This fear seems slightly overblown. Figures indicate that although there were a number of years during the 1990s when graduates exceeded jobs, this followed a period in the late 1980s when jobs outreached supply; in the last few years of the 1990s and in 2000‐
2001 (the last years cited in the book) the difference moderated and a quick look at the ages and retirement prospects of existing faculty indicate that demand will increase. Even discounting this fear, a problem persists. Most Departments of History still train their PhD candidates as if they were going to find jobs in research universities; most students also expect to find jobs in that sector. In reality, figures indicate that a much higher percentage of the graduates will find employment in colleges focusing on undergraduate education with limited emphasis on research or outside of universities altogether (public history, government employment, private research, etc.). As an earlier study cited in this book indicated, “the training doctoral students receive is not what they want, nor does it prepare them for the jobs they take” (Golde & Dore, 2001, p. 5, cited on page 21). The authors of The Education of Historians argue that doctoral education needs to pay more attention to instructing students in teaching and exploring ways to prompt them to make their research and writing more accessible and meaningful to wider audiences. According to a survey of current students in doctoral programs, 84 per cent were drawn into the discipline by a desire to teach but most feel that they are not being adequately trained to do so. The authors are particularly disturbed that only about 15 per cent of the PhD programs specifically provide any instruction in teaching. To address the concern about the ability of PhD graduates to communicate their work to a wider audience, the study explores the way comprehensive “field” examinations are used and the nature of dissertation research. Although they don’t question the need or value of the field preparation itself, they do argue that the goals of field preparations are rarely clearly articulated and suggest that this vagueness has led to a dissonance between the role they might perform and the current situation in many institutions. The authors urge more innovation, more breadth, more diversity, and more cross disciplinary 1304 RECENSIONS EN LIGNE/BOOK REVIEWS ONLINE exploration in fields. In terms of dissertation research, they suggest that there is too much pressure to specialize and concentrate too early in doctoral degrees — a practice they call “premature professionalization” — and they question the continued emphasis on the monograph as the most important achievement of historical research. As the director of Graduate Studies in a History Department, I found much of this book to be interesting, thoughtful, and useful. Some of their specific recommendations—which take up chapter 3 of the study—
address issues that graduate programmes in History deal with continually (how to integrate students more fully into the life of the department, how to balance depth with breadth in the degree itself, how to reduce termination rates, etc.) and their survey of current practice is also very useful. There are, however, many ways in which the Canadian experience differs substantially from that in the United States: the discrepancy between jobs and graduates is not so clear; Canadian institutions are not as clearly divided between research institutions and undergraduate colleges; and the increasing disparity in graduate funding between private and public institutions that worries the authors is not apparent. As well, although this study addresses the nuts and bolts of doctoral programmes in History well, there is little exploration of the intellectual challenges facing the discipline, challenges that need to be addressed in preparing a new generation of historians. This, no doubt, is partly a reflection of the nature of the study, relying as it does on mostly quantified evidence from surveys or the type of brief anecdotal responses that such surveys most often solicit. Nonetheless, a more determined attempt to link these two broad aspects of the challenge facing graduate education in History would have made this study much more useful and important. There is clearly room for it in a relatively short work encompassing only 138 pages of text. REFERENCES Golde, C., & Dore, T. (2001). At cross purposes: What the experiences of today’s doctoral students reveal about doctoral education. Philadelphia: Pew Charitable Trusts. _____________________________ RECENSIONS EN LIGNE/BOOK REVIEWS ONLINE 1305 John W. Friesen and Virginia Lyons Friesen. (2005). First Nations in the Twenty‐First Century: Contemporary Educational Frontiers. Calgary, AB: Detselig Enterprises Ltd. 224 pages. ISBN: 1‐55059‐293‐9 (paperback). Onowa McIvor, doctoral student, Department of Language and Literacy Education, Faculty of Education, University of British Columbia. A sense of apprehension immediately exists anytime an Aboriginal person picks up a book about Aboriginal issues written by non‐Native authors. Friesen and Friesen do not position their authority to write on such issues until the end of the book where an affiliation to the University of Calgary is revealed but there is no mention of a First Nations affiliation or connection.1 The authors state the primary aim of the book is to highlight several key educational frontiers identified by Indigenous leaders and educators who wish to define and resolve these issues on their own terms (p. 8), a risky undertaking for non‐Native authors, to say the least. Early in the book the authors set up an ‘us/them’ (First Nations/non‐First Nations) dichotomy, indicating that their principally intended audience is for non‐
Native Canadians, relieving them of some of the pressure of potential ridicule from First Nations readers. The authors provide a good overview of Canada’s colonial history in relation to Aboriginal peoples, presenting an important and sometimes missing contextual backdrop for the discussion of contemporary Aboriginal education for the mainstream reader. They overview First Nations history since the European invasion and the mass immigration of the last few centuries touching on issues such as the Bering Strait controversy; the fur trade; the introduction of horses, guns, and disease; the effects of the completion of the railroad; the formation of treaties and reserves; concepts of self‐government; and the historical development of church‐run schools. They also mention and briefly explain such pivotal publications as ‘the White paper’, ‘the Red paper’, the Hawthorn report, the Meech Lake Accord, and the Royal Commission on Aboriginal People. Besides the several‐century long, brief history of First Nations issues, the most important contribution of this book is arguably its centralizing 1306 RECENSIONS EN LIGNE/BOOK REVIEWS ONLINE of the issue of spirituality in Aboriginal education. An important acknowledgment of First Peoples’ traditional approach to education through spirituality and worldview (which is inextricable) and European attempts to educate Aboriginal children through their own imported religions, is offered. By starting the discussion of Indigenous education with the history of state‐endorsed, church‐run schools for Aboriginal children in Canada, they immediately solidify the link of Aboriginal schooling to religion and spirituality. An in‐depth and sophisticated analysis of similarities, differences, and relevant historical events between First Nations spirituality and Christianity is the main strength of this book. The authors go on to argue that one of the main reasons schools are failing Aboriginal children is a lack of spirituality and connection to their own worldview in the classroom (p. 172). This may well be the link mainstream educators and policy makers are missing. This argument, however, is ironically followed by the apparent Christian bias of the authors, as they exclaim their horror that Christmas is no longer welcome in Canadian classrooms (p. 172). Although the authors’ views are often quite balanced, they do lean towards more conservative and mainstream points of view which can reinforce the perpetuation of stereotypes and common misconception that First Nations people drain the system and live on the generosity of taxpaying citizens. For example they claim that, “Most reserve income… is generated off‐reserve by nonNatives” (p. 25). Normalizing and justifying such views can be dangerous for all Aboriginal citizens, let alone school‐aged children whom Friesen and Friesen are presumably out to protect. The authors close several chapters by encouraging the public to become better informed and influence government to take more responsibility, but then continue with their contradictions and put the responsibility to initiate and carry out change entirely back on Aboriginal people (p. 91, p. 149, p. 150). Although this is a refreshingly non‐patronizing stance, it also dangerously implies the alleviation of responsibility on the mainstream public of their role in addressing the damage they and their forbearers were a part of instilling on Aboriginal people Other than a short chapter near the beginning of the book that introduces the Aboriginal schooling run by the churches, the writers do RECENSIONS EN LIGNE/BOOK REVIEWS ONLINE 1307 not exclusively focus on elements of education until the last quarter of the book. Although readers might view a large part of the book to be off‐
track from the discussion of education, Friesen and Friesen respectfully honour the wholistic worldview of Aboriginal people by tackling many facets of First Nations realities rather than immediately narrowing on one aspect, namely formal education. The direct aspects of education the authors tackle are curricular reform and teaching strategies. They offer practical tips to educators, some of which may be helpful but others of which are over‐generalizing and stereotypical such as ‘children may not share the same sense of time’ or ‘may not look their teachers in the eye’ (p.195). The tips provided are best taken with a dose of critical thinking and would most likely be useful to those with little‐to‐no prior experience or knowledge of First Nations communities. In addition, the tips provided are more specifically relevant to those working on‐reserve in rural or remote areas as opposed to the urban situation, which is vastly different. The authors exhibit many contradictions in their arguments, where the reader is left to wonder if they are trying to please too many different audiences or if they are unclear themselves on their stand on certain issues. For example, they are both advocates for and then later somewhat dismissive of subjects such as oral tradition (p. 42, p. 45) and maintenance of Aboriginal languages (p.148, pp. 176‐177). However, many of their arguments are backed with relevant literature and draw on respected, contemporary First Nations authorities on education (Battiste & Barman; 1995; Binda & Calliou, 2001; Brant Castellano, Davis, & Lahache, 2000; Haig‐Brown, 1988; Long & Dickason, 2000). This book would be most useful to those who were very new to First Nations issues combined with an interest in issues pertaining to Aboriginal education. Some readers may be attracted to this book over those written by First Nations educators because it could be perceived as less intimidating or more palatable for those unfamiliar with First Nations issues and want an “in” that will not be too jarring for an initial look. Anyone interested in Aboriginal education, who has not considered the important contribution that First Nations spirituality could make, may also want to consider reviewing this text. However, accessing some of the classic Aboriginal education texts (referenced 1308 RECENSIONS EN LIGNE/BOOK REVIEWS ONLINE above) written by Aboriginal scholars themselves is strongly encouraged to provide perspective and balance to this text. Although some of these First Nations authors may have a personal bias of their own, it would be important to balance the views in this book with an exploration of the academic literature produced by the contemporary leading First Nations education scholars. Due to the ambitious nature and broad undertakings of this book, it has the danger of reading a bit thin. It does, however, provide a comprehensive overview and an abundance of references to orient the new reader to First Nations history, contemporary issues, and discussions of education. NOTES 1 In one of their previous publications, Friesen and Friesen (2002), reveal their near 15‐year work history with the Stoney people in southern Alberta as Minister of the United Church and Director of Christian Education respectively. REFERENCES Battiste, M., & Barman, J. (1995). First Nations education in Canada: The circle unfolds. Vancouver, BC: University of British Columbia. Binda, K. P., & Caillou, S. (Eds.). (2001). Aboriginal education in Canada: A study in decolonization. Mississauga, ON: Canadian Educators’ Press. Brant Castellano, M., Davis, L., & Lahache, L. (Eds.). (2000). Aboriginal education: Fulfilling the promise. Vancouver, BC: UBC Press. Friesen, J. W., & Friesen, V. L. (2002). Aboriginal education in Canada: A plea for integration. Calgary, AB: Detselig Enterprises Ltd. Haig‐Brown, C. (1988). Resistance and renewal: Surviving the Indian residential school. Vancouver, BC: Tillacum Library. Long, D., & Dickason, O. (Eds.). (2000). Visions of the heart: Canadian Aboriginal issues (2nd ed). Toronto: Harcourt Canada. _____________________________ Brian Noonan, Dianne Hallman, and Murray Scharf. (2006). A History of Education in Saskatchewan: Selected Readings. Regina, SK: Canadian Plains RECENSIONS EN LIGNE/BOOK REVIEWS ONLINE 1309 Research Center and the University of Regina. 235 pages. ISBN: 0‐88977‐
190‐1 Helen Raptis, professor, Department of Curriculum and Instruction, Faculty of Education, University of Victoria. While reading A History of Education in Saskatchewan, I was alarmed to learn from Dianne Hallman’s chapter that graduates of the University of Saskatchewan’s College of Education are “[n]o longer required to take history of education courses” (p. 149). As Hallman notes, teachers entering the profession therefore “may be temped to reconstruct the past as a simpler, happier time.” Because such an idealized view of education could not be further from the truth, I recommend that all preservice teachers pick up a copy of this very accessible, comprehensive, yet remarkably slim edited volume. The editors have achieved their stated goal of assembling a “collection of voices from various quarters,” which they divided conveniently into three themes: building the state, schooling and culture, and teachers and teaching. In section one, (Building the State), chapter one (Historical Overview) and chapter two (Towards a New Day) focus on the development of larger school governance units, an administrative reform effort undertaken by most educational jurisdictions in North America throughout the first half of the twentieth century. Although the chapters are complementary, some parts do overlap. Among the four chapters of section one, the two that stood out for me were Noonan’s, tracing the establishment of separate schools, and Lyons’, illustrating Henry Janzen’s influence on curriculum reform. The level of tolerance and co‐operation demonstrated in Saskatchewan is noteworthy particularly for educators and historians from British Columbia, where minimal recognition of independent schools occurred only as late as 1977 and where relations between government and the Teachers’ Federation are best described as acrimonious. In particular, Janzen’s impact on curriculum development clearly demonstrates how history continues to shape educational contexts: we are truly products of our past. 1310 RECENSIONS EN LIGNE/BOOK REVIEWS ONLINE As some contributors have noted, the co‐operative tradition that so notably characterizes education in Saskatchewan may be due to the province’s sparse resources and culturally diverse, geographically scattered citizenry (see Gallén’s chapter 10 in particular). Section two (Education and Culture) develops the cultural theme in two ways. In chapters five to seven, Littlejohn, Denis, and Milner trace the struggles of First Nations, Métis, Francophone, and Mennonite communities to preserve their cultural and linguistic rights while striving for equality of educational opportunity. These three chapters are a must‐read for anyone young enough to believe that a culturally and linguistically diverse student body is a relatively new phenomenon. Chapters eight and nine tackle culture more broadly by examining education beyond schooling. Lyons’ and Lyons’ chapter clearly illustrates that the Saskatchewan Arts Board was created to provide adult education in the province and, although this occurred “beyond the walls of formal institutions”, (p.136) it was still linked to the province’s Department of Education, and to the government’s strategy for improving society. In chapter nine, Hotslander chronicles the work of Annie Hollis and the farm movement, illustrating how the province influenced education and how conceptions of education shaped the province in the early twentieth century. Section three, (Teachers and Teaching) takes us to the world of the practitioner. Chapters 10 and 12 complement each other well, focusing as they do on the lives of early twentieth‐century women teachers and probing such issues as entry to and exit from the profession, living conditions, workload, and teaching philosophies and practices. Although Hallman touches briefly on the concepts of formalism and progressivism in chapter 11, I found myself wondering why a full chapter was not devoted to the impact of such ideologies on Saskatchewan. In light of the extensive coverage historians have accorded these topics, such an omission seems odd. A History of Education in Saskatchewan closes with two chapters that examine more contemporary (post 1960s) developments in special education policy (chapter 13) and curriculum change (chapter 14). These are valuable components of the collection because the developments portrayed continue to impact teachers and children in Saskatchewan RECENSIONS EN LIGNE/BOOK REVIEWS ONLINE 1311 today. Robinson’s closing chapter on curriculum change in the 1980s nicely complements Lyons’ chapter on Henry Janzen and curriculum reform from the 1940s while illustrating Janzen’s continuing legacy. Like most edited volumes, A History of Education in Saskatchewan is sometimes uneven in the quality and style of the articles. Some overlap in content and formatting differences are a little problematic — but not overly so. These matters, in addition to a few typographical errors, can easily be overcome with editing for a future, updated volume. One of the main points that the reader takes away from this volume is that Saskatchewan’s unique cultural and demographic context have had a profound impact on both historical and more recent educational developments. Yet, in several respects, education in Saskatchewan has closely mirrored developments elsewhere. Two examples are worth mentioning. The first is in chapter 5 (First Nations and Métis Children), where it states that “one of the first joint school agreements in the country was signed in 1952 in Saskatchewan” (p. 78). In British Columbia, for example, the first agreement was signed at Ashcroft in 1949, actually pre‐dating the 1951 changes to federal legislation by two years. In addition, the curricular reforms taking place in Saskatchewan in the 1980s (Chapter 14) were similar to those in other provinces. For example, in 1977 British Columbia’s education minister Patrick McGeer unveiled a core curriculum that bears remarkably close resemblance to Saskatchewan’s as described in this chapter. More significantly, perhaps, these two examples highlight a general gap in the literature pertaining to First Nations schooling and curricular reform in the post‐World War II era. Overall, A History of Education in Saskatchewan is a timely and accessible collection that ought to be in the hands of every provincial educator. The fact that this will not likely happen because University of Saskatchewan teacher education graduates are no longer required to take a history course should raise serious concerns for teacher educators, education officials, and historians across the country. NOTES 1 British Columbia Archives GR 1955 – Indices to Laws, Statutes and Orders‐in‐Council, 1872‐1981. Order‐in‐Council number 441/49. 1312 RECENSIONS EN LIGNE/BOOK REVIEWS ONLINE 2 BC Ministry of Education, Guide to the Core Curriculum, Victoria, BC: Ministry of Education, 1977. _____________________________ Auteurs / Authors
Charlotte Beaudoin est Professeure, Ecole des sciences de l’activité physique/
School of Human Kinetics, Universite d’Ottawa.
Robert Brink is studying secondary education at the University of Alberta
and completing an MA in political theory at the Institute for Christian
Studies, Toronto. He is interested in the implications of religious and cultural
plurality for liberal democracies.
Darren Bryant, a humanities teacher, studies educational change and
reform as a doctoral candidate in the Faculty of Education at the University
of Hong Kong where he also serves as Research Associate in the Primary
English Assessment for Learning (PEAL) project.
Sheila Carr-Stewart is a professor and Head of Department of Educational
Administration, College of Edeucation at the University of Saskatchewan.
Her research interests include legal and organizational aspects of First
Nations education in Canada and comparative Indigenous educational
administration, educational leadership, and community involvement.
Penney Clark is a professor in the Department of Curriculum Studies,
Faculty of Education, University of British Columbia. Her research interests
include curriculum in historical and political contexts and students’
historical consciousness.
Kurt W. Clausen is a professor in the Faculty of Education at Nipissing
University. His research interests include the history of educational
leadership, the historical development of curriculum in Canada, and the
contextual analysis of education policy documents.
Thomas Fleming teaches educational history in the Faculty of Education
at the University of Victoria. His research interests lie in school leadership
and he is completing a history of the principalship in British Columbia.
Lisa Farley is a postdoctoral fellow at the University of Ottawa. Her
research draws on psychoanalysis to explore the conflicts of historical
learning and representation, specifically in the context of childhood.
CANADIAN JOURNAL OF EDUCATION 29, 4 (2006)
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Peter Gouzouasis is a professor in Music Education at The University of
British Columbia. His research interests include music acquisition and
learning, a/r/tography and arts-based approaches, and new media.
Kit Grauer is a professor and Chair of Art Education at the University of
British Columbia. Her interests include arts-based and image-based
research, international issues in art education, teacher education and art
curriculum and instruction.
John Hiemstra is a professor of political studies at The King’s University
College, Edmonton. His research on faith and public life centres on issues
arising from the interplay of diversity, political philosophy, and public
policy.
Rita L. Irwin is an Associate Dean of Teacher Education, and Professor of
Art Education and Curriculum Studies in the Faculty of Education at the
University of British Columbia. Her research interests include artful inquiry
in teaching and learning, cultural studies, teacher identity, and a/r/
tographic practice. She is also the current President of the Canadian Society
for the Study of Education.
Sandra Kouritzin is a professor of teaching English as a second language in
Curriculum, Teaching and Learning at the University of Manitoba. Her
research focuses on international and national contexts of langauge
teaching.
Carl Leggo is a professor at the University of British Columbia where he
teaches courses in writing. He is the author of four books: Growing Up
Perpendicular on the Side of a Hill, View from My Mother’s House, Teaching to
Wonder: Responding to Poetry in the Secondary Classroom, and Come-By-Chance.
Lynn Lemisko is a professor of curriculum studies (social studies education)
at the University of Saskatchewan. Her research interests include the
history of curriculum and educational reform, literacy and social studies,
citizenship education, and education for social justice.
Michelle Mathias, Ma. Sciences de l’activité physique, Etudiante Faculté de
médicine, Université d’Ottawa; troubles alimentaires chez les jeunes
femmes.
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CANADIAN JOURNAL OF EDUCATION 29, 3 (2006)
John Minnis is a professor of Sociology at the University College of the
North. His research interests include the sociology and economics of
development with special focus on sub-Saharan Africa and the Gulf states.
Recently, his interests have shifted to the role of education vis-a-vis socioeconomic development of Canadian Aboriginals and the Maori of New
Zealand.
Nathalie Piquemal is a professor in cross-cultural education at the
University of Manitoba. She works in the area of cross-cultural, Aboriginal,
and International education.
Helen Raptis is an historian of education in the Faculty of Education at the
University of Victoria. The focus of her research interests is on cultural
diversity and schooling.
Anita Sinner is a doctoral candidate in Curriculum Studies at the University
of British Columbia. Her research interests include arts-based inquiry,
teacher education, auto/biography, and new media.
Pierre Trudel, Ph.D., Ecole des sciences de l’activité physique, Université
d’Ottawa; pédagogie du sport et sport scolaire.
Dr. Amy von Heyking is a professor, Social Studies Education, in the
Department of Elementary Education at the University of Alberta,
Edmonton. Her areas of research include history of Canadian curriculum
and history teaching and learning. Her recent book Creating Citizens: History
and Identity in Alberta’s Schools, 1905 to 1980 (University of Calgary Press,
2006) is a history of citizenship education in Alberta schools.
Politique rédactionnelle / Editorial Policy
La politiqe rédactionnelle pour la Revue canadienne de l’éducation peut
se voir au site web: http://www.scee.ca/RCE/General.htm
The Editorial Policy for the Canadian Journal of Education can be found
on the website at: http://www.csse.ca/CJE/General.htm
CANADIAN JOURNAL OF EDUCATION 29, 4 (2006)
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