Before Enlightenment, chop wood carry water
After Enlightenment, chop wood carry water
Kia ora tatou
Nō Ōtautahi ahau
Ko Aoraki te maunga
Ko Waimakariri te awa
Ko Ngāti Pākehā te iwi
Ko Ngā Hou e Whā, ko Ngā Wai o Horotiu ngā marae
Ko Matheson taku whānau
Ko Murdoch Matheson te tangata
Ko Jack Matheson tōku matua
Ko Ann Rule tōku whaea
Kei Tāmaki Makaurau taku kāinga ināianei
Ko Lexie Matheson taku ingoa, he tangata whakawahine ahou
In 1964, as a young student completing teacher training, I was taken aside by a rather scary lecturer who gave me some advice. He said ‘you can teach the same year 40 times or you can teach 40 different years’. Times were different then but the essence of what he said remains true today except that, in my view, the years become minutes, and we teach in the moment, knowing that every group is different and that every student is a human being worthy of the love and support that everyone has a right to in a compassionate world.
They also have a right to get what they pay for: a quality education.
As an educator, I bring my personal philosophy with me: fulfil expectations, exceed expectations and add a ‘wow!’ factor.
Anything less is inconceivable.
After a couple of years in the classroom, I overheard a colleague trying to explain the difference between primary and secondary school teachers. She said ‘We teach children, they teach subjects’. Mental note to self: never lose sight of the fact that, throughout, the student – the client – must always be at the heart of the process. Only when an individual relationship is fully established can truly effective content delivery begin and an engagement with learning take place.
In the spirit of life-long learning, Sensei Troy Ballantyne (4th dan black belt) reminded me at a recent Seido Karate grappling and ground wrestling workshop that there are three phases to learning and that each is expressed in a different way. The first phase is imitation, the second is ownership and the third happens when we know our material so well that we can break from what we have learned with integrity and create new, and conceivably better, paradigms that are uniquely our own.
He called the third phase ‘breaking’.
I didn’t argue with him.
My karate certainly has me in Phase One, but my innovative learning philosophy suggests I spend most of my time as an educator in Phase Three.
In 1970 I took up my first principal’s post. I struggled with multi-class teaching, rural living, a multicultural dynamic, representative sport and, it’s fair to say, I was floundering. Two things happened to change that.
The first was a visit from then Rural Advisor Howard Wilson who opened my eyes to student-centred learning by introducing me to Bruce Hammonds, and the second was a five year old boy telling me he hated school. When I asked him if he could tell me why so I could fix it for him, he told me ‘coz it’s not like home’.
This was astonishing.
It was the first time I truly understood that schools – and other man-made learning institutions – are, in the main, alien places for learners, and that only those with the life skills that suit them to institutional learning will ever succeed in them. It explained in part why I struggled at school and, from that moment on, I set my sights on developing modes of working that dismantled the negative effects of this alienation. I called it ‘learning for everyone’ and redefined my role, not as teacher, but as learning facilitator. This was my first attempt at dismantling the negative power of the role. This was my first experience of ‘breaking away.’
Learning, in all its guises, is my absolute joy.
Learning is an act of conscious doing.
Learning is an act of unconscious engagement.
Learning is being.
Engaging in the process of learning, no matter what your perspective, means taking action, even if the action taken is one of silent reflection.
To take action of any sort is to take a risk and taking risks has consequences.
The most serious negative by-product of engaging in an act of learning is failure, or worse, humiliation; the positive outcomes are increased self-knowledge alongside personal and community enrichment.
My theatre mentor Raymond Hawthorne often reminded me that, as artists, we have the right to fail. I have expanded on this concept and now believe we have somewhat of an obligation to try to fail. It’s only by really pushing the envelope that we make discoveries that are truly life changing and as long as the risks are mitigated by the two promises (make a positive difference and do no harm), then this mechanism has great potential for expanding on existing educational paradigms.
The final ingredients in this philosophical recipe are instinct, intuition, entertainment and, of course, leadership.
Instinct is an innate behavioural response to a unique, yet frequently unpredictable, set of circumstances. The response, though immediate, is based on prior experience, prior reflection, existing knowledge and intuition.
Jung defined intuition as thoughts and preferences that come to mind quickly and without much reflection or, as he later suggested, actions without deduction or reasoning.
As interactive participant learners we live in the moment, and our actions, as regards students and the delivery of content, must allow for an intuitive subjectivity which at times may seem unreasoned but which, in retrospect, frequently turns out to be the key to success for the learner.
These decisions are often made in the instant and can be described as a sublime assessment of all the factors present, whether tangible or not.
The choice of metaphor, the decision to respond with a smile, to stay to discuss something when other pressures tell you to be somewhere else, are often the moments that mean most to the student and enable trust to be established and key learning to take place.
Jung goes on to say that the use of intuition allows participants to bring forth ideas, images, possibilities, ways out of a blocked situation, by a process that is mostly unconscious and that the extraverted intuitive type, the natural champion of all minorities with a future, orients to new and promising but unproven possibilities. How often in learning situations do we find ourselves in just the set of circumstances Jung describes,and how often does a response ‘just come to us’?
To illustrate, I recall a day within the last year where I had a class at 8am. The students were quiet, attentive, engaged and productive. A colleague lost her mother during the day and I stepped in to take the same group at 4pm. This time they were excitable, volatile, more interactive and opinionated but equally productive. I was reminded that time of day can initiate different responses from participants and that we must instinctively and intuitively be ready for this.
For as long as I have been associated with education I’ve heard the debate about teachers as entertainers, learning as entertainment. For me, being a good ‘teacher’ is primarily about being a sublime communicator, and the range of tools we have at our disposal to fulfil this obligation are endless. I taught fractions to 25 special education kids on the netball court of an area school 50kms from Taumarunui by engaging them in a re-enactment of a minor battle fought by Joan of Arc at La-Charité-sur-Loire. The odds were uneven, hence the relationship to fractions, and the by-product was a new engagement with history.
I am committed to Participant Learning, the term I use to define my philosophy and practice.
Participant learning has five key aspirations:
- that the notion of participant learning remains pragmatic and flexible;
- that excellence and originality in communication is indispensable;
- that content remains rich, relevant and volatile;
- that excellence, innovation and suitability drive methods of delivery;
- that learning can be painless, capricious and fun.
All of these aspirations insist that learning should be enjoyable, fun even, and my role as entertainer is written into this at every step.
Kipling said that if history were taught in the form of stories, it would never be forgotten and I tend to agree with him. Our lives are unfolding narratives and our fascination with each other makes the interconnection of our narratives both commonplace and essential.
Most entertainment is an engagement of participants with a narrative, and most interactive learning is driven by the same imperative: get buy-in from the participants. What makes the participant learning model unique is that it relies solely on the engagement of those participating, the human ingredient that can’t be replicated by technology. Technology provides us with amazing tools that we make increasingly supportive of learning but, as long as the human being provides the mode of delivery, then we should be evolving those tools that the human provides that as yet haven’t been replicated by technology. Our ability to communicate, human to human, remains our sole greatest asset and we should not exclude our capacity to entertain, to improvise, to interact through humour and to be compassionate from this vital mix.
Sound leadership is critical to my success and I have had the good fortune to be trained in leadership through the Excelerator programme at The University of Auckland as part of my master’s degree, working primarily with Jolene Francouer, Director of Leadership Programmes at Excelerator. Jolene’s philosophy is summed up in her statement: For me, real and powerful leadership is when people think and talk together in a way that reveals new opportunities that they care about and are courageous enough to act on.
I couldn’t agree more!
My leadership style is a balance of Trait and Process leadership methods and the principles that inform my leadership are a desire to:
- inspire and set an example,
- know myself well and constantly seek self-improvement,
- be content rich,
- seek and take responsibility,
- make sound and timely decisions,
- know my students and colleagues and look out for their well-being,
Communication is the key and, as Mahatma Gandhi said, We must become the change we want to see in the world and as Ralph Waldo Emerson added do not follow where the path may lead, go instead where there is no path and leave a trail.
From time to time, as a senior, I get to assist junior students in a karate class. It’s not easy.
I am in awe of one of my instructors who specialises in teaching kata. Her classes are not compulsory so she never knows in advance what grade her students will be, what gender, how many, what disabilities or injuries or the age range. She finds out when we go onto the floor. Each grade has at least one kata and some up to three so teaching us can be a challenge, as she may be working on up to 15 separate activities at any one time. Her subject knowledge is sublime, as is her technique; she individualises her instruction without personalising it, she is generous and funny and works us really hard. I asked her how she managed it and her response was simply to say mostly I just get on with it. I know my subject and my people and I just get on with it.
She is my sensei and I am her student which is important to my understanding of the term ‘teacher’ at its most profound.
Without consultation, sensei and student choose each other and neither can ever fully articulate why. It just happens.
My sensei has dozens of karate students whom she instructs but I consider myself her ‘student’ in the broadest sense of the word and she is my sensei. I know others feel the same. It’s personal for me but possibly not for her. I have learnt not to question her but to simply accept what she says. She is my instructor in all things and has a right to comment on anything and everything I do. Sometimes she does, sometimes she doesn’t. In return she cares for me in the same way. If I am in need, it is her responsibility to look out for me which she does. Sometimes she just lets me struggle and that, in it’s own way, is also good for me. After all, if I fall down she won’t always be there and then I must get up on my own. Sometimes not engaging is the hardest, but best, action to take.
It’s all to do with respect and I have learned that, beyond the European concept that respect needs to be earned, is the Asian understanding of respect without question. My Chinese and Korean students often text or email me and begin by saying ‘Hi Lexie, I am Suzy, I am your student …’ For a long time I would smile at the ‘I am your student’ phrase until I realised that the student was actually telling me that I had a special responsibility to them as their chosen sensei. This new understanding has changed my response to those, and all, my students. Sensei is used to show personal and professional respect and the two characters that make up the word (the same in both Japanese and Chinese) can be translated as born before and imply respect based on wisdom gained from experience and age. I would add instinct to this mix.
To be a sensei is to be chosen to perform the most exciting and responsible function in the world!
The National Scientific Council on the Developing Child reminds us in their 2010 working paper Persistent Fear and Anxiety Can Affect Young Children’s Learning and Development: Working Paper No. 9 that for young children who perceive the world as a threatening place, a wide range of conditions can trigger anxious behaviours that then impair their ability to learn and to interact socially with others.
I can’t deny that this was my experience of both primary and secondary school and I have seen ample evidence that life-long fear and anxiety can serious affect a student’s capacity to achieve and we are suddenly back to alien places and negative power dynamics.
For this reason I work to dismantle power structures and to minimise situations that could disempower students who may have these issues. My learning environment is relaxed and fun, I promote an egalitarian equality and encourage self management of time-keeping and the classroom use of learning technology. I would rather a student arrived late than not at all, as the building of good attendance habits starts with the student feeling that university is for them and that the learning environment exists to enable them to study and feel safe.
In a fear free learning environment students are more likely to engage, take risks, speak out and adopt humour and riposte as secure tools for learning. The use of humour is a vital component of my work and, when in lecture situations, I aim to ‘get a laugh’ every three minutes. At worst, it gives me a feel for how the lecture is going. At best, it creates a sense of unity, of harmony and shared enjoyment.
In 1974 I had the privilege, as a senior teacher with a Form II class, of a visit from Glen Olsen, senior inspector of schools for the Taranaki Education Board. Glen was both feared and revered as an insightful but blunt man, a workbook and records tyrant, with a history of reducing teachers to tears. I did not look forward to his visit one bit.
I was, by this time, totally committed to student-centred learning and had a non-traditional classroom with few desks, bean bags, communal study areas, specialist reading spaces, art all day, music, screens, dividers and colour everywhere. My timetable was determined by the students, who knew what was expected and negotiated times when they would undertake tasks … so there were kids tie-dying at 9am and others doing maths at 2.30pm. It freed me up to manage individual programmes and to be available when and where necessary and it allowed the students complete ownership of their learning. One very bright lad was reading James Joyce’s Ulysses, I have to say without much help from me!
I thought Glen would be with me for maybe a day but he stayed for two. I hardly saw him and, when it was all over, I got him his cup of tea in the staffroom and waited for the explosion (he wasn’t known for his patience with all this newfangledry). I placed my records, workbook and registers in front of him but he brushed them aside saying I only look at them if there’s something wrong and proceeded to tell me he’d just had the best two days of his life in a classroom and he had no idea how any of it had happened. I could have told him but chose not to as it seems more appropriate at the time to maintain the mystique and get out as quickly as possible.
To me, teaching is an art.
It’s a performing art, a visual art, a martial art, a multi media form of self expression, it’s sublime communication and reflection and it’s all about us. As Rabbi Hillel said 2,000 years ago If I am not for myself, who will be for me? If I am not for others, what am I? And if not now, when?
I have been privileged in my working life to have had three careers, the most important in teaching, a second in event management and the performing arts and, finally, in local government. In each I have gained skills and experience that have enriched my ability as a communicator and enhanced my content, experience and knowledge. The 300+ live theatre productions I have been part of as producer, director actor and writer, the years in television and film, the 2000+ events I have staged (some for audiences of over 100,000 and others for less than twenty), the experience of senior management in local government, as well as my having taught at all levels of the education system find me writing this for you in 2011.
It is all in the narrative …
In Seido karate we respond to every instruction with the word ‘osu’. It reinforces the no-quitting spirit. It’s a shortened form of oshi shinobu which means patience. We say it all the time, on entering the training hall, on greeting fellow karateka, on being given instruction, on the 64th press up, we say it so often that I sometimes find myself saying it outside the dojo, to students and to colleagues. It’s a fascinating word because the one thing you can’t do with it is use it to say ‘no’.
Thank you for taking the time to read my narrative.
Osu!
Nana korobi ya oki
Fall down seven times, get up eight.
dykiegirl 