Being Critical of Pedagogy
What is it? What is it not?
SHILPA JAIN

Shilpa Jain is a learning activist for Shikshantar in Udaipur, India. She hopes to continue researching and activating the link between learning and social-political-economic transformation, and the role of children, and youth in these learning processes. Shilpa has a B.A. magna cum laude in Political Science and Women’s Studies from Harvard University.

Over the last several months, I have been thinking a lot about ‘pedagogy’: What is it? What is it not? In what settings does it appear? And in which settings do people learn and do without it?

As far as I can understand, we label ‘pedagogy’ as the practices and behaviors of what we call a ‘teacher’. Our major reference point for the term ‘teachers’ is those who work within a system of education, i.e. schools, universities and colleges. In other words, when most children or young people are asked, “Who is your [favorite/best/worst] teacher?”, they know to reply with the name of a person who leads the classes in their school. For most of us, this reference point dominates our understanding of ‘teacher’ while we are in school, and even when we are out of it (i.e., “Which teacher had the most impact on your life?”)

But then, at some point, many of us also create a different reference point for ‘teacher’: those people in our lives, from whom (or because of whom) we feel we have understood some important value, or discovered a hidden potential, or been able to see the world – or ourselves – differently. Many things may distinguish these ‘teachers’ from those described above, but perhaps the most obvious difference is that they have not taken this label upon themselves. Rather, it is what we ascribe to them and their place in our lives – usually after the fact, while reminiscing or reevaluating an experience. At the same time, these ‘teachers’ may never have considered us their ‘students’. Again, it is likely to be we who have taken on this identity, based on how we feel we have ‘studied’ and understood something (or ourselves) with, from or because of them.

I’ll try to clarify this distinction with a personal example. Mrs. Perkins was my favorite teacher in elementary school. She read wonderful stories to us; she rarely scolded anyone; she let us do creative projects and was generally warm and kind. I do not remember any of the content of Mrs. Perkins’ teaching, but I do remember her demeanor. If I concentrate deeply, I can think of two or three other teachers in my formal schooling, who I remember fondly – again, not because of the content of their classes, but rather because of the warm environment they created (at least for me).1 In contrast, my grandmother, who has never been to school, is currently my most favorite teacher (although she would probably laugh if I called her this in public). But from her, not only am I learning Udaipur’s local language, Mewari, but also discovering wonderful folk tales with powerful meanings, family customs, local festivals and new spiritual beliefs. Of late, she has been sharing with me her understanding of daily living practices (cooking, cleaning, growing food, wearing clothes, etc.) that are in balance with nature. In addition to all of this ‘content’, we are building a friendship of respect and love that will last our lifetimes.

Clearly, there are many differences between my grandmother as my ‘teacher’ and Mrs. Perkins as my teacher. Not the least of which is that, unlike Mrs. Perkins, my grandmother cannot rank, evaluate, reward, punish, control or judge the extent of my learning and/or the extent to which I follow her ‘teachings’. But more than that, I submit, is how each experience differs in its impact on my life, what it has meant for my own sense of place and work, and sense of self. Though I have nice memories of Mrs. Perkins as a person, I would not describe her as my ‘teacher’, for she made little difference in how I see the world, both from within and from with out.

With all of this in mind, I turn to pedagogy and, specifically, critical pedagogy. If I understand correctly, this term refers to “the art of teaching in a way that critically questions the dominant social, political and economic system, its institutions, processes, and attitudes”. It calls to attention certain injustices and exploitations, and hopes to lead students to raise questions, make demands, challenge wrong-doings, and ultimately change the system. This all sounds good, especially when we consider the severity of the crises we are facing today, which are clearly caused by a particular model of Progress and Development.

But the difficulty I have with critical pedagogy is that it ultimately traps one in the same mechanisms and processes that one is being critical of. For example, who controls the process and content of critical pedagogy? The teacher(s). S/he determines what one needs to be critical of, where it is ‘right’ (and where it is ‘wrong’) to be critical, to what extent one should be critical… With pedagogy, it is assumed that young people are lacking info-knowledge; they are ignorant; and this ‘deficiency’ is something only the teacher can remedy through his/her teachings. As occurs with television and video games, young people serve as passive consumers of teachers’ ideas, experiences and info-knowledge – although they may be radically critical of the dominant system. Students may ask questions, but the questions are framed within the teacher’s reference points and are typically answered by the teacher. Or the teacher knows the end point of the conversation and works to lead the students to it.

In this way, critical pedagogy is quite reminiscent of the Socratic method. And if we seriously consider this similarity, we begin to realize how critical pedagogy works against the principles of critical thinking. As soon as one begins to see her/himself as Socrates – that is, as the keeper and disseminator of the ‘truth’ – s/he is participating in a kind of propaganda and thought-control, and is thereby replicating a major part of the dominant education-economic-political-social system.2

Again, one might say, “Well, what’s wrong with this? Clearly, the system is terrible. It is hurting human beings and all forms of life. It is leading to war, violence, hatred, greed, etc. Why shouldn’t a teacher use critical pedagogy to teach his/her students to understand and challenge this? Their teachings may lead to real change in society.”

I have several responses to this assertion. The first is whether thought-controlling means (no matter how good their intentions) can lead to freely thinking ends.3 As soon as critical pedagogy is placed in the dominant education system, it must conform to the hidden curriculum: controlling students through testing, ranking, punishment, rewards, competition and hierarchies (whereby they learn total deference to experts and professionals).

The hidden curriculum also means dividing knowledge into discrete disciplines, separating human beings from nature and from manual labor, and breaking intergenerational bonds of learning. Therefore, although critical pedagogy may offer youth strong critiques of the nation-state, mass media and market economy, unless it simultaneously challenges the rest of the hidden curriculum, it will be helping to foster the attitudes, desires and mindsets that fuel and expand the very institutions it is critiquing. For example, it is ironic to launch a critique of the thoughts/actions of scientists (or presidents or movie stars), while still expecting students to defer to the teacher’s thoughts and actions.

A second response to critical pedagogy is whether a critical perspective towards the dominant system can even be taught. Over the last several months, Shikshantar has been collecting young peoples’ stories of resistance and unlearning, the stories of how they came to challenge the dominant model of progress and its many manifestations: technology, nationalism, particular gender relations, religious constructs, etc.4

What has become clear to us, from writing our stories and reading others’ stories, is that there was rarely any connection between schooling/teaching and resistance (except when the negative effects of schooling were resisted). Rather, the stories seem to indicate that young people needed and created a diversity of experiences – doing and learning in a variety of contexts, with a myriad of people – to pursue their questions, unveil their confusions, and find clarity about the dangers and fallacies of the dominant economic-political-educational system.

This calls to mind the much larger question of whether questioning, meaning-making, creating, dreaming, etc., can ever really be taught. Does pedagogy, critical or otherwise, make these processes possible? Can you teach anyone to ask questions, or make meaning, or interpret their experiences? Or are these natural human instincts, all part of what we call human learning and human doing, part of the great mystery of the human mind and heart?5

I would like to replace pedagogy, the art of teaching, with the age-old arts of sharing and learning together… In sharing, you offer your ideas, your beliefs, your talents, your experiences, to others. Typically, this is done freely, with little expectation of reward or punishment for doing so. You may share orally or visually, using expressive forms like film, paintings, writing or theater. The key to sharing, though, is the vulnerability and humility involved. As the sharer, you have to be open to any response, mainly because there is no guarantee of what the other person (the share-ee) will feel about what you are sharing. They are free to listen to you, appreciate you, discuss with you, reject you, opt out of the experience, etc. Of course, as the sharer, you will likely be lively, kind, interesting, friendly – which those rare teachers in schools also can be. But the difference is, in sharing, both people get to make the choice of how to engage with each other; it is a mutually decided-upon interaction (which is untrue in schools).

Moreover, sharing builds upon our natural human instincts for questioning, meaning-making, interpreting, wondering, in community, together. As a sharer or as a share-ee, you are actively learning and contributing in all regards. You can nurture spaces and relationships where these instinctive actions can happen openly and dynamically, or you can (re)produce spaces and relationships in which they are suppressed or controlled. You can create environments, through your being and doing, which can make it easier (or more difficult) for people to express their curiosity, to explore their questions, to make mistakes, to take risks, etc. But ultimately, the tasks of doing, of learning and understanding, are up to the share-ee, just as they have been upon the sharer.6

To figure out the difference between teaching and sharing, you would have to ask:

• Have you both entered into the relationship with your own consent and interest?
• Does one person have the power to reward or punish the behavior of the other person in the course of the interactions?
• Does one person have the power to rank or evaluate the other?
• Does one person have more control in determining the course of activities?
• If so, does the other person have the option to leave?
• Am I open to any questions? Am I asking questions too?
• Am I ready, hoping and willing to be surprised by what comes out of our interactions?
• Am I hoping to learn something from the other person as well?

Personally, it has taken me some time to understand this difference between critical pedagogy and sharing. I used to expect people to believe me, to agree with me, as I ‘taught’ them about the destructiveness and dehumanization of this model of Education and Development. I saw my role with children and youth as ‘facilitating’ their understanding of this ‘truth’. But as I reflected on my experiences, I have realized that ‘teaching’ (i.e., informing or guiding) cannot be the path by which self- and systemic-change will happen. If I know this from my own experience, why would I expect it not to be true for others as well?

Deep learning, the kind that leads one to self-change and systemic action, begins from within and seeks out spaces and relationships in which to manifest. But pedagogy, of any kind, necessarily begins from the outside. And when it operates within a deficit-oriented culture of schooling (of which the mass media is a part), it ensures that power over learning remains out of young peoples’ hands. Yet, it is this power – of asking questions and interpreting and making meaning and making choices — that is needed for facing the crises before us and for generating creative new possibilities for living together.

I have found that sharing opens up different kinds of opportunities for self-understanding and co-creation. By nurturing spaces and relationships, through which we can share our different frames for viewing the world, we can better see the blocks in our perceptions – the boxes of rationality, neglect or disregard we have created. We stop trying to be ‘right’ or ‘the best’ and instead try to listen and understand. We then are able to share in different peoples’ realities, their multiple worlds and multiple truths. This helps to create lively communities of learning, in which we find friendship and support for deepening and heightening our thoughts and actions.

I have been trying this process with children, youth and adults over the last several months, often with quite in-depth learning and growing for me and the others involved. Indeed, sharing as a mind-frame and process has proven itself much more palpable to me than critical pedagogy, because I have not had to sacrifice the means for the ends. Being a sharer has made me vulnerable, which has kept me honest. It ensures that I help to nurture an open space in which learning – not pedagogy – is central.

1. Note: I have chosen to focus on the best case scenarios, which the reader should see as exceptions, not as the rule. Of course, this means ignoring 95% of my experience with school/college teachers. But by looking at my best experiences, I can prove my point without being dismissed as “only focusing on the bad” and “not considering good teachers.” I share my experience with good teachers, because they still demonstrate the difference between system-ascribed teachers and personally-ascribed teachers, as well as the difference between pedagogy and sharing.

2. In “From Pedagogy for Liberation to Liberation from Pedagogy”, Dana Stuchul, Gustavo Esteva and Madhu Suri Prakash convincingly show how Paulo Freire, one of the world’s most well-known critical pedagogues, reproduced much of the colonization and oppression he professed to be against. The full article is available at www.swaraj.org/shikshantar/ls3intro.htm.

3. I take this lesson from Gandhiji, among others, who reminds us that unjust and violent means can never lead to just or peaceful ends. Incidentally, I think Gandhiji makes another valuable contribution to the discussion about critical pedagogy vs. sharing and co-learning, in his reminder to “be the change you wish to see in the world.”

4. Some of these examples can be found on our website www.swaraj.org/shikshantar/stories_resistance.html

5. I thank Munir Fasheh, whose articles not only condemn schooling as anti-learning, but also share insights into natural learning, especially as demonstrated by his mother. See the Shikshantar website for some of his work.

6. My inspiration for this thought comes, in part, from the spirit behind Open Space Technology. This powerful method of organization has one distinctive natural law, the Law of Two Feet. It states that each person is responsible for their own learning and contributing, and for judging the extent of their learning and contribution. Therefore, it is up to them to use their two feet to go where they can do this best.