EDUCATED ABOUT EDUCATION - Anarchist Pedagogies and Listening to Students

I have been thinking - and speaking - a lot this week about the nature of education. As I reach the end of my time at the school I am currently working in students are understandably asking me what I’m moving on to do. When I tell them I’m taking a break or, more fancy, a sabbatical, to undertake some research in Philosophy of Education they inevitably have asked me what I am researching. And when I explain the basic idea, they have further questions I have been more than happy to answer. I have also been interviewed by some scholars working at Stellenbosch University in South Africa about my writing on anarchist pedagogies which gave me lots to think about too. But the main stimulus has been the series of final lessons I have been having with some of my classes. Lessons that began with a simple question I asked a group of fourteen year olds I have taught for the last three years: if I had planned an ideal last lesson for you (an actual lesson aimed at teaching you something new) what would we be doing and how would we be doing it?

What struck me from their initial answers (watch a movie, do a Kahoot! quiz, go to the computer room so we can pretend to work but actually play Minecraft) was that none of these first offers were actual “lessons”. They were ways of avoiding lessons or maybe checking understanding from a previous lesson. But nothing new was being taught.

When I mentioned this to the class someone suggested going on a trip. This was much better, but I did point out that while learning would definitely occur on the trip it was interesting that so far the classroom or traditional teaching methods had not been chosen as a desirable possible venue or approach to learning. I asked them if it was meaningful that, given complete freedom, the best school lesson they could come up with was either no lesson at all, or learn somewhere else? Did that mean there was no ideal lesson that could be had in a school?

The students thought about it and then began offering some new suggestions. All of them involved wanting to know more about me as a person. The possible lessons ranged from learning my life story, to a session on the philosophy behind my tattoos, and, of course, because it is a word they have heard associated with me over the years, a lesson on the philosophy of anarchism. Some just wanted to know what I kept in the store cupboard behind my desk.

I found it interesting that once the emphasis on a lesson in school was added to the initial question suggestions became teacher-focused (me telling them something) or subject focused (philosophy) or both. The most seemingly creative topic, not based on me or my interests, was the request to learn “the philosophy of Shrek”. But even this stemmed from a previous set of lessons we had done on “pop culture and philosophy” and was following a pattern of lessons I had already given them the blueprint for. However, after several more “philosophy of…” type suggestions were made I pointed out that whatever the topic was no one had really discussed yet how best it would actually be taught. For example, I asked, a little tongue-in-cheek given the earlier desire to watch a movie and years of experience watching colleagues search desperately to find a YouTube clip that explained obliquely what they could explain themselves far more easily because they knew students were more likely to pay attention to a video than to their teacher: if I did tell you the story of my life would you rather I did it live, in person, here at the front of the room or if I showed you a video from YouTube of me telling the exact same story at the front of the room a day or two before? (Thankfully, my students said they would rather the live version “because we could ask you questions”. However, when I pointed out we could always pause the video for Q&A they couldn’t quite articulate why they would rather the live version but still insisted that they did.) After some thought the class agreed: the best sort of lessons were ones where they could choose what they wanted to learn, and the way they wanted to learn it, so they could learn about something they were genuinely interested in, in a way that worked best for them.

There was some dissent. A few students asked if they were best placed to decide what was and wasn’t worth learning because “what if we looked at something we were interested in but missed out something more important”? They thought a teacher making such choices would ensure nothing was left out. However, I pointed out to these students that every decision we teachers make about what we will teach a class means leaving out loads of other things we don’t teach. When I choose to teach a class about Islam in our Religious Studies GCSE, then that means I don’t teach them about Hinduism, or Judaism, of Buddhism, etc. And if I choose to teach them about Islam it means only teaching them those things about Islam contained on the exam specification. Things will be missed out. For example, we do not teach them about Muhammad’s Night Journey. There is always something omitted when time is finite. And GCSEs themselves are built on omission: students get to choose some subjects and drop others. The students I was talking to admitted to dropping art, geography, history… all subjects I told them there was lots of interesting things they would be missing out on learning by knocking off their timetable. And I reminded them that there would still be a teacher to offer advice about the projects they chose and help guide those choices to perhaps avoid total calamity.

This led to us considering the role of the teacher in such a class where students are choosing their own focus of learning and method of learning it. Expert knowledge of a general field was one use identified - being able to share, where relevant, pertinent information to help facilitate the student’s own work. Facilitation in general was the other key aspect of a teacher’s function, they decided. Helping students achieve what they were setting out to achieve. Importantly though, this was an inversely deferential relationship - the learning self-directed by the students themselves, not imposed upon them by a teacher, and the teacher there to help the student achieve a goal rather than tell them the goal they ought to be achieving.

I probed a bit and asked about high level work and difficult skills. What would stop such self-directed students from just producing the bare minimum or doing work that wasn’t particularly difficult? For example, I asked, would you write a detailed and lengthy essay on a particular topic if given the choice not to?

Students said that they would because it would be an essay about something they were interested in. And they can see the value in learning how to write a good essay so would want to develop that skill.

I then asked if we could expand the principle beyond a single lesson or project and imagine a whole course run this way? Taking the Philosophy or Religious Studies courses I taught, I said, would they find it better if I carried on as normal, setting specific tasks so specific topics could be learnt in specific ways or if, instead, at the start of the year I simply gave them some parameters: general areas of subjects they could explore and a set of skills they needed to work on. Then they would get to plan how to explore the subjects and develop the skills in a way that resonated with them, using me to help them. The class chose the latter instead of the former. When asked why they said it gave them more ownership over what they were doing and would keep them wanting to learn because they were being led by what interested them.

I was happy to tell them that they had sort of accidentally wandered into learning a bit about anarchism because they were basically describing anarchist pedagogy: horizontal instead of hierarchical, self-directed instead of imposed, a negotiated and consenting collaboration instead of an authoritative and coercive schooling. The conversation moved on but their thoughts left an impact on me. I had two other classes in the same year group later that week, also with final lessons, but was wary of trying to catch lightning in a bottle twice, let alone three times. Each group is different, with a different dynamic, but I was intrigued to hear their views about learning.

The second class took a different approach. We have spent a lot of time studying ethical theories this year and as soon as I opened my mouth and said “I was thinking about this being your last lesson and what we might do”, one student shouted out: “we should have a utilitarian vote!”

I asked what that would look like.

“A vote on what would make the most people happy.”

But once we agreed that if we really wanted to be happy most of us would want to be doing something outside of school and, unfortunately, we were limited to things we could do in the school, we realised the parameters of school were too restrictive for a truly utilitarian vote.

“We should do a deontological vote then, sir!” said another.

“What’s a deontological vote?” I asked.

“One that has lots of rules we have a duty to follow.”

The next third of the lesson was spent determining what the rules would be (only two things could be voted for; the thing with the greatest number of votes MUST be done; everyone only has one vote; Student A isn’t allowed to vote; Student B isn’t allowed to vote; the rules excluding students no longer apply; that being so, Student A still can’t vote, etc…) and then we realised we had a problem: what method would determine how we decided which two possibilities ended up in the final deontological vote? We needed a prior voting system! So the next third of the lesson was spent establishing how to decide what to vote on (we start with eight possibilities and have to whittle it down to two; Student C cannot be involved in this part of the process; the possibilities have to be realistic; Student D cannot be involved either; etc…) and then the eight possibilities to whittle down until we ended up in the final third of the lesson actually doing the deontological vote on what we would do between:

a) playing a game of “heads down/thumbs up”

and

b) discussing and voting on whether or not I was a good teacher

Each student had their vote and overwhelmingly (and surprisingly) elected to play the game rather than assess me. As it was a deontological vote, anyone who violated the rules had a serious sanction imposed on them and their vote was not counted. However, when asked how exactly we play “heads down/thumbs up” there was some confusion about exactly how many people would be “it” - three or five - and so another deontological vote had to be held on which number we should adopt. This time each vote had to be justified with reasons. Two votes before this exercise in informed-democracy was completed the bell rang and the lesson was over. It being a deontological vote, the two remaining students had to complete their vote (it was their duty!) and, had we any time left to play, we now knew the winning choice was three, not five. But, alas, democracy.

Still - another class given absolute freedom had chosen games instead of lessons and the self-imposing of rules and restrictions on themselves without any need for teacher coercion (even blocked and barred students A-D had agreed to their disenfranchisement). Interesting. By the time of my third final class in this year-group I decided to hone in a bit more:

“What do you think actually makes a good teacher?” I asked them.

This class had been spending the day before lobbying on our Teams page for me to stay on at the school and not leave them. Some of it was tongue-in-cheek but some was sincere. I had asked them whether they would still want me to stay if I did, but taught every other class in the school and never them, and they had kindly said yes, for the greater good of the school. If they wanted me to stay because they thought I was a good teacher, or were eager for me to leave because they didn’t, what was it they wanted in a teacher?

“Someone you can actually learn from” was in their list of attributes, but it was the eleventh thing they suggested after first listing:

Someone who is funny and you can talk to and have a good relationship with.
Someone who lacks hubris. (They genuinely said this, in those words!)
Someone who makes lessons fun and intriguing.
Someone who can control the class without being too strict.
Someone who can take a joke.
Someone (in specific reference to our Teams chat the day before) who won’t get angry when they get Rick-rolled (I didn’t. It made me laugh a great deal).
Someone who tells interesting stories about their lives.
Someone who doesn’t set essays every week.
Someone who lets you sit where you want and doesn’t give you detentions for sitting in the wrong seat.

The tenth showed their age, lack of maturity, and lack of understanding of the Equalities Act of 2010, but was the understandable result of feeling let down by too many teachers seemingly “abandoning” them: someone who doesn’t keep getting pregnant and leaving you.

After explaining why people need to be free to have children when they want without it compromising their financial security and discussing other Protected Characteristics from the Equalities Act, I asked why it had taken them so long to reach the quality of being “someone you can actually learn from” when that seemed like such an essential aspect of being a good teacher?

“Without those other things you won’t be able to learn from them” was the response. If I can’t get on with you and have a laugh, if I feel a power imbalance that allows you to act with impunity against me and which I see you freely abuse, if your lessons are dull and I don’t care about what we’re learning, if the behaviour of the class makes it impossible to learn because you can’t control it, if you’re free to laugh at me but I’m not free to laugh at you, if we don’t know about you and who you are beyond the classroom, if you set us the same work each and every week, if you put controlling where I sit above my enjoyment of the lesson then I will not be able to learn comfortably in that class.

Again - interesting. Not only do students feel they learn best when they have choice and autonomy over what they do and how they do it, but the sort of teachers they want are those who treat them like equals rather than like someone subservient and who prioritise nurturing student enjoyment and interest over control and coercion.

We debated and discussed the various merits and demerits of each proposed attribute but we had been late starting the lesson due to a House Economics competition over-running and soon the lesson was over. It had not gone unnoticed by me that all three of these lessons had not only offered great student insight and whole-class participation in interesting philosophical analyses of what a good lesson might be, how to make fair and democratic choices, and what makes a good teacher,, but there had been no behaviour issues at all through any of them, even from those students who might usually misbehave in a “normal” lesson. Because it was their lesson, and they had been given control of what we did, they were happy to engage. In the deontological vote lesson we had even willingly used the school’s “behaviour point” system to penalise those who broke the - self-chosen - deontological rules. Each lesson did seem to continue to prove the first group’s point.

Today I had the biggest challenge of all. The whole school were out at the cinema for rewards trips for every year group. I was left behind to babysit the students in Year 10 (15 year olds) who’s behaviour across the year was deemed so bad they were blocked from going on the trip. The worse behaved students in the year in my little classroom for two whole hours.

I had logged into my Netflix account to show them the movie V For Vendetta when I first saw my assignment. I have UCAS reports to write and assorted other jobs to finish before I leave. I’d stick a movie on, leave them to it and get on with my proper work. Except, as they walked in we started chatting a bit while I took the register and waited for stragglers. One of them asked the inevitable question about what I’d be doing when I left the school. As I started discussing anarchist pedagogies and the problem with discipline in schools and coercive education, others joined in with their own ideas and experiences of where school discipline had failed to meet their needs and turned them off education. Soon we were all talking about the nature of education, examination and schools, exploring alternative ways of assessing students and re-imagining some key school routines. All, except those who didn't want to chat, who happily read a book or got on with some other work (in other words: choosing what to do and how to do it). When I spoke to the students about the responses of other groups to the question of the perfect lesson they offered their own ideas - Hide and Seek; WWE wrestling; Build a car and use it to escape the school - and once again we saw no-one advocating any model of actual learning within the framework of a school lesson and all of them equating a “perfect” lesson with the total avoidance of what we do in schools.

At least one of them tried to make Hide and Seek more “academic” when I called them on this.

“It’s English revision, sir: Hyde and Seek. Like Jekyll and Hyde. Or RE, sir. Hide and Sikh.”

Fair play.

All I know is that I spent a pleasant and thought-provoking two hours with the so-called worst-behaved students in the year having a series of profound conversations about education, bullying, trauma, and school discipline without my having to ever raise my voice, issue a sanction or make a coercive threat. Motivated by genuine interest and free to express themselves and choose what we did, the whole group worked well together and learnt a lot. V for Vendetta was never even mentioned.

I guess the point of this lengthy last essay of the academic year before I take my summer break until September is just to record these wonderful explorations of education with students. It is a reminder to us all that whether we educate people in schools or outside of them, the students - those we intend to do the learning - are always the key people we need to be talking to and working with, in collaboration, to determine what ought to go on in any classroom that truly cares about educating and not simply coercing students into forced compliance. That education need not always be hierarchical and imposed but horizontal and self-directed. That schools might not always be the best places in which education happens and that, in fact, some of the norms of the school - perhaps far too many of them - actively get in the way of anything meaningful happening beyond rote memorisation and regurgitation of arbitrary information and that, if we want schools to be sites of authentic education, much work needs to be done to transform the school from what it is today.

I’ll certainly be taking some time away from them as I end this particular era of my educational journey and look forward to thinking a lot more about all this as I start my sabbatical. Who knows what the future will bring? There’s no external authority telling me what to do with my time or imposing any specific tasks. I just have this general topic in philosophy of education I want to explore and a self-selected and fluid end-goal I want to meet: an article or two? A book? I will be researching it myself, facilitated by those more knowledgable than myself when I seek them out for help. I will be defining my own success and setting my own timetable. I am eager to start and excited to work hard.

It seems I will be a one person experiment in the very anarchist pedagogy that first class proposed, bound as I am to the deontological decision I made (and, as the second class made clear, am duty-bound to observe), to step away from a successful career as the exact sort of “good teacher” suggested by the third class, and pursue this intrinsic, self-directed goal of educational exploration.

You learn a lot from your students, if you treat them like humans, like equals, and listen to them, taking their ideas seriously. I have learned so much over the last eleven years from the students at the school I am now leaving and will take the lessons they taught me into all of my future endeavours. I hope the next classroom I find myself in, wherever it ends up being, is just as educational.

Until September…

Author: DaN McKee

My book - AUTHENTIC DEMOCRACY: An Ethical Justification of Anarchism - is available HERE , from the publisher, and from all good booksellers. Read my Anarchist Studies journal paper on Anarchism and Character Education here. Listen to me on the Philosophy Gets Schooled podcast here. For everything else DaN McKee related: www.everythingdanmckee.com