Subject English and the contestation of knowledge

Terry Locke in dialogue with Claudia Rozas

Stanza I: Terry Locke

"...every evasion of quantifiability and commodifiability is a victory against assembly lines, authorities, and over-simplifications".

Rebecca Solnit (2021): Orwell's Roses

This stanza began as a response to Claudia's "invited commentary" on Aotearoa's two-curriculum phenomenon, which appeared in the latest issue of the New Zealand Journal of Educational Studies (see https://link.springer.com/article/10.1007/s40841-024-00338-2). It might be thought of as a Part 3 to my AEC opinion piece: “By their objectives ye shall  know them: Part 2” (https://aecnz.substack.com/p/by-their-objectives-ye-shall-know-803). Orwell's ghost still hovers and I'm still putting in a plug for Rebecca Solnit.

To start off I want to celebrate the publication by Otago University Press of Koe: An Aotearoa ecopoetry anthology, edited by Janet Newman and Robert Sullivan. It is worth celebrating for a range of reasons. We live in a country which is blessed by an amazing poetic tradition. And, of course, we all recognise that the heart and soul of any English curriculum is a focus on poetry – the one textual form where all answers to a multiple-choice question are likely to be arguably correct, at least in classrooms where argument is permitted. Finally, the book reminds us that if there is a "sea of troubles" we should all "take arms against"; it is the climate crisis and environmental degradation. If there is knowledge we might view as indispensable to our children and their future, there is more than enough in these topics alone.

Claudia entitled her commentary, "How to win a curriculum war". It is a provocative title and reminded me of the title of a book I edited in 2010 entitled Beyond the Grammar Wars. Antagonism and factionalism are not new to our subject. We owe Claudia a debt for the way she has drawn attention to a range of issues regarding subject English. However, I need to say from the outset that I don't believe that there is a curriculum war raging at all. There is no war raging in Oceania either, the imagined context of Orwell's 1984. What is happening, however, is an unprecedented attempt to undermine democratic process, consultation, collaboration, and delegation of authority via the centralising of power and control in a cabinet that appears to be drunk with power. I find myself comparing it to the actions of the Lange government in the 1980s; however, the suppression of dissent and the systematic disempowerment of people in all sorts of roles either via sacking or silencing is something I have never experienced before.

The rich traditions of subject English

I have enjoyed conversations with Claudia about the composition or construction of English as a subject for many years now. In her commentary she mentions a knowledge of its rich traditions as helpful to any debate regarding the construction of an English curriculum. In this section I want to offer a fairly widely accepted version of these traditions, in part to address the issue of "content". Over the years, we have both felt that some kind of evacuation of content has occurred in subject English in Aotearoa. I think we would also agree that this has made the subject vulnerable to those with fixed (and, I would argue) problematic views on what its content should look like, i.e. the NZI sect and its devotees. How this evacuation of content occurred is something I will address in a later section.

Here is a description of these traditions taken directly from my (2015) book on Developing Writing Teachers (pp. 119-20), written more with writing in mind that reading. (Claudia makes a telling point in suggesting that the MAG re-writers are inclined to be more interested in the  "receptive elements {access to, and appreciation of, quality literature} rather than the productive or creative elements of the subject.")

The following categorization is one I have used and found useful over the years. The discourses (in brief) are as follows:

• Cultural heritage: There is a traditional body of knowledge (including a canon of precious texts and specialist literary, disciplinary and grammatical knowledge) which is to be valued and inculcated as a means of “rounding out” learners so that they become fully participating and discriminating members of a discipline or culture.

• Personal growth: Related to what is sometimes called “progressive” English, this discourse argues that it is valuable to engage with literary (canonical and popular) and other texts because this facilitates the personal, individual growth of learners, for whom the acquisition of certain cognitive, cultural and linguistic competencies will play a central role in their ongoing task of making sense of their world.

• Rhetorical or textual competence: At its worst, this version promotes decontextualized skills acquisition. At its best, however, the discourse puts a value on the mastery of the forms and conventions of a range of textual practices or genres, including but not privileging literary genres. Pedagogically, it can be connected with various genre approaches (see, for example, Cope and Kalantzis, 1993) and with rhetorical framings of the literacy and writing (see, for example, Andrews, 2011; Bakhtin, 1986).

• Critical practice: Often called “critical literacy”, this discourse puts a value on encouraging language-users to see themselves as engaged in textual acts which are part of a wider set of discursive practices that actively produce and sustain patterns of dominance and subordination in the wider society and offer members of society prescribed ways of being particular sorts of people. Critical literacy and critical language awareness “involved such things as explicitly identifying how particular linguistic and semiotic choices position writers and readers in terms of their views of the world, social roles and social relations” (Ivanič, 2004, p. 238).

Each of these discourses, I would argue, offers teachers of writing a particular position or stance in respect of what writing and writing pedagogy are about. These positions (schematized in table below), if they are taken up by teachers, can be expected to impact upon both understandings of what writing is or should be, and pedagogical practice (including formative and summative assessment).

There are a number of the ironies associated with the MAG rewriters' claims to have provided English/literacy teachers with a "knowledge-rich" curriculum. One irony, as I argued in my own rewrite of their glossary of terms, is that their rewrite is arguable "knowledge-impoverished". Another irony, germane to this discussion, is that English has always been incredibly content-rich, for such reasons as:

• The number of distinct traditions (we might term these discourses) that contribute to it. In 2003 I published an article entitled: "13 ways of looking at a poem: How discourses of reading shape pedagogical practice in English".  In it, I argued for the potential richness of a secondary literature class when the teacher draws on a range of discursive traditions in designing question cues that their students might apply to the reading of a specific poem. In this case, the reading prompts were based on cultural heritage, personal growth and critical literacy discourses. I made the point that the richness of the traditions that have contributed to subject English enable teachers to be eclectic in respect of their pedagogy. (In her commentary, Claudia suggested that I pointed out the "limits" of critical literacy in this article. Actually that was not the case. My most systematic critique of critical literacy is in a chapter to be published this year (Locke, 2024) which I shared with her a few months ago.

• ·      The variety of disciplines that contribute to it:  There is widespread recognition that English in Anglophone contexts (like French in Francophone contexts, and so on) is an unsatisfactory name for the subject. My own preference would be that we call it "Textual and Literary Studies". The disciplines that contribute to its content include literacy criticism of various sorts, media studies, socio-linguistics, applied linguistics, critical theory (including critical discourse analysis).  I distinguish these from disciplines which contribute to its pedagogy, which include cognitive psychology, socio-cognitive theory and socio-cultural theory.

• ·      The variety of literary texts available for study, especially for teachers in Aotearoa, who have never had to work with prescribed texts. This frees teachers to tailor their book buying to the school's clientele.

• ·      The variety of non-literary texts available for study. A teacher doing a unit on ecopoetry might incorporate the study of non-fictional genres such as the nature-trail pamphlet, letters to the editor, editorials and submissions.

Based on what I know of the MAG rewrite of the English curriculum, this potential for a content-rich enacted curriculum at school level is likely to be severely circumscribed.

Constraints on English departments developing a content-rich, comprehensive English scheme

These have been in place since  English in the New Zealand Curriculum (1994). As a teacher involved somewhat indirectly in the development of this curriculum, I was aware that the developers had access to material on critical literacy and the option was there to have it included in the 1993 version. This never happened and consequently little professional development occurred in relation to this "cell" of the table above (see Sandretto, Shafer & Locke, 2023). That was a highly significant constraint, and only began to be remedied with the legitimate curriculum refresh, Te Mātaiaho.

As mentioned in By their objectives ye shall know them: Part 2 on this site, the Achievement Initiative which dictated the structure of the 1994 and subsequent curriculums was couched in the language of competencies, some of which was deficient in its own terms. The discourse of competencies was conducive to a repurposing of education to meet the needs of the economy and its preferred workforce. The workforce was deemed to need skilled people and skilled people they would have.  In a single stroke, the focus went on to the “Rhetorical or textual competence” discourse of English, but at its worst in its focus on discrete, atomised skills. There was inevitably a kind of slippage that occurred as a result of the focus on PCKs (Pedagogical Content Knowledge). Pupils were expected to be able to do certain things, but what did they need to know to be able to do it? Generally speaking, teachers provided answers to this question on the basis of their own professional content knowledge.

Over the years, in many forums and writings, I have identified the introduction of the New Zealand Qualifications Framework (NZQF) in 1991 as the single-most powerful constraint on school-based curriculum design ever. By the time Unit Standards were being introduced later in the decade and the NCEA was being foreshadowed, the idea of a syllabus had been abandoned. For all its shortcomings, the advantage of a syllabus was that it offered a version of what coverage might look like in a subject like English. It also offered coherence – the basis for exploring the relationship of parts to a whole. Content was spelled out. Teachers were split on the merits of the NCEA (see Locke, 2005). Many left.

Last year I published a chapter entitled "Developing English teachers knowledge in New Zealand: The battle for professional knowledge" – another military metaphor.  It's a more detailed account of what I am referring to in this stanza, and was based on a qualitative case study seeking the views of the six colleagues responsible for the pre-service education of prospective English teachers in Aotearoa in 2023 across six campuses. In summarising what they had to say I was both impressed and humbled by the insight and perspective they brought to their comments.

In the course of the chapter, I referred to the important work Claudia had done in her doctoral study (2020) on Curriculum, equity, and the educated ideal in secondary English classrooms. Reporting on her findings, she suggested that “students in low decile schools have fewer opportunities to engage with complex content in secondary English classrooms” (p. 114). (She alludes to this research in her commentary.) A number of colleagues in my chapter made a similar point that:

the NCEA enabled some teachers to play it safe and lower their expectations – to develop programmes of “low-risk” standards that allowed students to gain credits but didn’t offer a rich and demanding experience of English, with teachers “compensating for students’ apparent [my emphasis] lack of ability as readers and writers”. One respondent suggested that the structure of the NCEA was conducive to mediocrity – “credit attainment rather than critical growth”. Another commented: “In many courses, students study a single written text or may never read a novel or play and that’s a real shame”.  (p. 115)

For the record, acknowledging the constraints imposed by the NZQF in this way in no way suggests that its introduction signalled the death knell of inspirational teaching. I have added a second category of references below, as a tribute to some of the inspirational teachers I have worked with in various research projects.

A digression on knowledge

Knowledge matters and is easily politicised, especially when factions spring up that attempt to argue that they have access to knowledge that is of a superior variety. The Greeks called the study of knowledge creation epistemology. Plato is known for a number of things, including his suspicion of poets and his inclination to favour oligarchies. As an epistemologist, he avoided drawing the conclusion that humankind was doomed to make the best of the knowledge produced via the information processed through sensory engagement with the environment. To avoid this fate, he imagined a super realm of pure ideas independent of humans – a kind of epistemological upper house. (To the extent that I understand Rata and McPhail's theory of knowledge, I think of them as neo-Platonists.) I have never understood how one might access this world of pure forms.

Plato's pupil Aristotle was an empiricist; he believed that all knowledge is based on experience derived from the senses. I'm in this camp (another military metaphor). That doesn't mean I think of myself as brainless body awash with information derived from the senses. Rather I think of the body-brain as a single, complex processing machine with spiritual tendencies.

Are plants and animals knowledgeable? Without question, though as Robin Wall Kimmerer  (2020) points out, we have to develop certain antennae to hear what they are trying to communicate to us. Our dog Roxy can discriminate between the sound of our car and other cars coming up the driveway. She also knows when we are going away and leaving her behind. She feels sad and communicates this with her eyes.

Because we have become used to knowledge as a thing communicated by written language and other systems of linguistic codification, it's possible to forget that there is such a thing as pre- or non-linguistic knowing. We have kereru where we live. I know that a kererū is nearby because of the sound of its flight. There is no word for this sound that I am aware of. Can concepts be non-linguistic? I think so. The example that comes to mind is the concept of "danger". The rabbits on our property have something like a concept of "danger" in their psychological wiring. Anyone who has seen a rabbit on full alert will know what I mean.

Though I think we have been tyrannised by linguistically codified knowledge, as a poet I have had a long love affair with words. So much so that I hate to see them misused and abused. Māori people had a rich, complex and evocative language before Europeans arrived on our shores, speaking what they considered to be a superior language. These early explorers would have scoffed at the idea that one might conduct scientific inquiry via Māori language. (Over 200 years later, there are still inhabitants of these islands who hold this quaint, old-world, i.e. European superstition.)

The Māori people have gifted me the words kererū and piwakawaka, which to my ears are far more phonaesthetic that the literal words English settlers came up with: wood pigeon and fantail. They also gifted us the word kawakawa, which references a native tree species on our property. Their study of the various properties of kawakawa and its usefulness, for example, as an anti-inflammatory, is just one example of their engagement in plant medicine (or in disciplinary terms, "herbalism".) What I draw from this is that written language is not a requirement for the development of disciplinary knowledge. Of course, once Māori had access to written languages such as English, but not restricted to it, these became a means for them to formalise Mātauranga Māori in printed texts.

At the grand old age of 78, it is abundantly clear to me that I am a Pakēhā by virtue of a process of what I am going to term indigenisation. I makes me sad when Elizabeth Rata uses this term to describe what has been happening at the university which employs her. She is applying to this term the connotation of something being taken away or threatened. But of course, nothing is being taken away – nothing is being threatened.

My preferred term is decolonisation which has two prongs. The first opens up a space where certain discourses associated with European intellectual traditions are freely contested (e.g. the invention of private land title). The second opens up a space where non-Māori can be enriched by what Mātauranga Māori has to offer. Subscribing to certain discursive habits of mind and behaviour drawn from te ao Māori does not make me a Māori. But it enriches my identity and my connection to Aotearoa which is my place to stand.

Meanwhile at the Ministry of Thought

In a key section of her commentary,  Claudia applies the phrase “knowledge-rich capture” for  the political machinations which led to the MAG-driven 2024 curriculum – which I’ve been calling a knowledge-impoverished rewrite. There is a danger in this, because the more people who describe it as "knowledge-rich", even ironically, the more likely it is that people will believe it.

Claudia does us a favour by engaging with the intellectual tradition which lurks behind the epithet "knowledge-rich". In critical literacy terms, she helps us deconstruct it. For example,  in attempting to make sense, firstly, of Michael Young’s writing, which she cites as both acknowledging the “political nature of knowledge production” (therefore "provisional”) while at the same time “transcending its historical production”, she draws attention to its contradictions. We’re back with Plato, with his desire for “forms of knowledge” that are “inherently better” by virtue of some kind of transcendence. You can’t have it both ways. Really, all human knowledge is a creature of time and space, and thereby provisional. And what a blessing that is! Imagine if phrenology was still with us as a respected discipline rather than a discredited science used to justify racism.

She then references Rata and McPhail’s (2020) “Curriculum Design Coherence Model” which she indicates as likely to inform the 2024 curriculum – a good bet given Rata’s role in all of this. This model, she suggests:

works to reveal the disciplinary structure of subjects, to identify subject concepts, and to establish a relationship between propositional or conceptual knowledge and procedural or applied knowledge. The Years 7 to 13 English curriculum will be an attempt to capture and draw a line around English knowledge. To do this work, the model assumes a largely neutral view of knowledge and is concerned with content all students have a right to access in school and may only access at school.

Here's the word "capture" again. For my part, I suggest that there is a difference in meaning between "propositional" and "conceptual". I also see little merit in distinguishing between "conceptual" and "applied" knowledge.  In the writing of poetry, which may disappear under Rata's watch, a concept I use frequently in my teaching is "line-break". An associated proposition with this concept is the declarative sentence: "The line is the basic structural unit in poetry." In teaching the writing of poetry, I would use a range of activities to stimulate and guide writers in thinking about what line-breaks are and when to use these in non-metrical verse (another concept).

Let's not kid ourselves that there is anything remotely "neutral" in this "view of knowledge". On the contrary, it is clear that the MAG writers have very firm views on the proper content of an English curriculum. It has nothing to do with students' rights at all, though they might claim that it is. It is actually about power and control over children's thought and learning. Be assured that the exercise of this control is certain to reduce the scope of the English curriculum. It certainly won't draw on the rich traditions of content represented by the table I provided above.

Coda: Claudia is right to alert readers to the dangers of "scientification" (sometimes termed "scientism" in the scholarly literature). I'm sure Guy Claxton will have helpful things to say about nonsense expressions such as "science of learning". There is no basis for the view that creativity in the arts and creativity in the sciences have separate origins (Root-Bernstein, 2003 is good on this). Instead of the "science of learning", the conversation needs to be re-oriented to "the craft of teaching". All teachers know that effective teaching is both an art and a science.

References

These matter because they challenge a writer to be up-front re their positioning and their qualifications. Teachers don't have easy access to academic literature and may suspect that it is likely to be unreadable. It should not be. If you would like a copy of any of the below, email me. I'm happy to get it to you.

Andrews, R. (2011). Re-framing literacy: Teaching and learning English and the language arts. New York, NY: Routledge.

Bakhtin, M. (1986). The problem with speech genres (V. McGee, Trans.). In C. Emerson & M. Holquist (Eds.), Speech genres and other late essays: M. M. Bakhtin (pp. 60–102). Austin, TX: University of Texas Press.

Cope, B., & Kalantzis, M. (1993). The powers of literacy: A genre approach to teaching writing. Pittsburgh, PA: University of Pittsburgh Press.

Kimmerer, R. W. (2020). Braiding sweetgrass: Indigenous wisdom, scientific knowledge and the teachings of plants. UK: Penguin Books

Ivanič, R. (1994). I is for interpersonal: Discoursal  construction of writer identities and the teaching of writing. Linguistics and Education, 6(1), 3–15.

Locke, T. (2003). 13 ways of looking at a poem: How discourses of reading shape pedagogical practice in English. Waikato Journal of Education, 9, 51-64.

Locke, T. (2005). Talking across the divide: English teachers respond to the NCEA. Waikato Journal of Education, 11 (2), 113-136.

Locke, T. (2015). Developing writing teachers: Practical Ways for Teacher-Writers to Transform their Classroom Practice. New York, NY: Routledge.

Locke, T. (2023). Developing English teachers knowledge in New Zealand: The battle for professional knowledge. In A. Goodwyn, J. Manuel, R. Roberts, L. Scherff, W. Sawyer, C. Durrant & D. Zancanella (Eds.), International perspectives on English teacher development: From initial teacher education to highly accomplished professional (pp.105–119). New York, NY: Routledge.

Locke, T. (2024, in press). Transitioning from critical literacy to the ecocritical. In A. Goodwyn, C. Durrant, M. George, J. Manuel, W. Sawyer, & M. Shoffner (Ed.), English language arts as an emancipatory subject: International perspectives on justice and equity in the English classroom. London/NY: Routledge

Rata, E., & McPhail, G. (2020). Teacher professional development, the knowledge-rich school project and the curriculum design coherence model. In J. Fox, C. Alexander, & T. Aspland (Eds.), Teacher education in globalised times: Local responses in action (pp. 311–329). Springer.

Root-Bernstein, R. (2003). The art of innovation: Polymaths and universality of the creative process. In L. Shavinina (Ed.), The International handbook on Innovation (pp. 267–278). Oxford, England: Elsevier.

Rozas Gómez, C. (2020). Curriculum, equity, and the educated ideal in secondary English classrooms. (Unpublished doctoral dissertation). University of Auckland, Auckland.

Sandretto, S., Shafer, D., & Locke, T. (2023). The fate of critical literacy in an age of standards-based hegemonies: The New Zealand context. In A. Goodwyn, J. Manuel, R. Roberts, L. Scherff, W. Sawyer, C. Durrant & D. Zancanella (Eds.), International perspectives on English teacher development: From initial teacher education to highly accomplished professional (pp. 226–240). New York, NY: Routledge.

Accounts of inspirational secondary English teaching

Locke, T., & Kato, H. (2012). Poetry for the broken-hearted: How a marginal Year 12 English class was turned on to writing. English in Australia, 47(1), 61–79.

Locke, T., & Harris, S., (2011). Literature in multicultural classrooms: What motivates students to engage? New Zealand Journal of Educational Studies, 46(1), 5–22.

Locke, T., & Cleary, A. (2011). Critical literacy as an approach to literary study in the multicultural, high-school classroom. English Teaching: Practice and Critique, 10(1), 119–139.

Sturgess, J., & Locke, T. (2009). Beyond Shrek: Fairy tale magic in the multicultural classroom. Cambridge Journal of Education, 39(3), 379–402.

Stanza II: Claudia

I am pleased for Terry’s engagement with my commentary. I read his response as an example of the ‘push and pull’ of curriculum, and I’ve learnt to be grateful for the wrestling.

To be fair, I understand why Terry bristles in his response given the prickly tone in parts of my commentary. In which case, it seems important to give this prickliness some context. The first and most important context is that my published piece in the NZJES is an edited version of a short essay I wrote specifically for secondary English teachers. The original essay was neither prickly in tone nor did it blame teachers for what had happened. What I did wish to do was to invite teachers to engage intellectually rather than emotionally to the proposed curriculum changes (even if their initial shock was very understandable). Importantly, I wanted teachers to have a sense of how we got to this current situation and to understand that moving forward (and ‘winning the war’) requires thoughtful engagement with the type of meanings being contested. Now is the time to read more, think more, and know more.

Why then, the change in tone in the published piece? To give an English teacher response: it comes down to audience and purpose – the second context. The NZJES is an academic education journal mostly read by those engaged in scholarship. For this piece my intended audience is the academic educational left (me included), who in my view have been fast to dismiss critiques of contemporary curricula and slow to properly engage with broader questions of curriculum. It feels uncharitable to write such a sentence but it’s difficult to ignore the pervasive sense that everything was fine until the knowledge-rich curriculum came along.

In fact, Terry is one of the few early and consistent critics of both our outcomes-based curriculum and the NCEA for their effects on literature and poetry in secondary English classrooms. His extensive work has influenced my thinking and how I came to meet Terry in the first place. In previous chats between us, he has compared advancing his critiques to ‘whistling in the wind.’ He is not wrong and that is my point.

International critiques of the then ‘new curricula’ (trans-national, OECD-infused, outcomes and competency-based, ‘third way economies’ focused etc.) have been circulating for some time. One line of critique, addressing one aspect of curriculum is the lack of specificity in relation to content and knowledge. Education faculties in Aotearoa NZ have tended to either dismiss or only passingly engage with these critiques. In the intervening years (over a decade!) the knowledge-rich schools project has been filling that void. It was only when the previous Labour government set about ‘refreshing’ the curriculum that we started to think about giving teachers more guidance about they might teach. That the original edict for the refresh was “nothing left to chance” says something about the state of things.

For subject English, knowledge and content matter because the lack of specificity in our current curriculum has led to high degrees of variability in access to content across demographic groupings. It also matters because the notion of knowledge in English is not straightforward or as easily delineated as it might be in other subjects. Content can (and should be) similarly be debated. Terry rightly notes that the 1994 curriculum document offers “a version of what coverage might look like in a subject like English.” In Terry’s view (and I agree) this was a constrained version of English coverage shaped in part by a changing economy. As Terry observes, “students were expected to do certain things but what did they need to know to be able to do them?” (Terry’s emphasis) and that “generally speaking, teachers provided answers to these questions on the basis of their own [pedagogical content knowledge].”  These are all good observations and highlight the constraints around curriculum-making in schools.  

But what of our current curriculum? Does the NZC offer a version of what coverage might look like? I am not so sure. When the draft of the NZC first came out and detractors said it was a ‘swiss cheese curriculum’ (full of holes), I recall defending the ‘holes’ on the basis that any self-respecting teacher would be able to fill in the blanks. Looking back, I wonder if my position was a result of beginning my teaching career with the 1994 curriculum that gave me some sense of what coverage might look like. To be clear, I am not suggesting that teachers of the NZC era have no sense of what coverage might look like, simply that this is where consistency starts to erode.

Terry suggests I have misunderstood his work by referencing him in a comment about the limits of critical literacy. He will know better than me what he meant so it’s entirely possible I misunderstood his line of argument. It is also important to note that the comment is offered as a genuine question, not as a rejection of critical literacy per se. For clarification, I am asking a question about whether there are limits to critical literacy becoming the dominant model of reading. I ask because if the primary aim is a political project, then literature and poetry might not even be needed to do the task. In my view, this would lead to a diminished English curriculum, one that would convert the subject to Social Studies with stories. Again, a genuine reflection on my behalf.  

Speaking of knowledge, I understand Terry’s impulse to rename the so-called knowledge-rich curriculum the ‘knowledge-impoverished’ curriculum, but this approach seems misguided. Our forthcoming version of the KRC is part of an international knowledge-rich movement and connected to theoretical positions that should be exposed so that we can interrogate them. Using the name does not mean we can’t challenge its underlying premises. It is true, the term is being used powerfully as political rhetoric to rush through curriculum change (who would be against knowledge?) but that is part and parcel of political play.

Still, Terry is right in pointing out that school subject English has always been infused by many traditions (this contributes to its nebulousness), and I agree when he says we should examine the KRC against these longstanding traditions. He gives us a good place to start by asking us to examine the extent to which the KRC will encompass all these traditions or be concerned with just one or two. He suspects a diminished version, and he may well be right, but how would we know without knowledge of these traditions? This is why knowledge, and cultivating a knowledge-base, matters.

The third context: Terry suggests there is no war, that instead we have witnessed a ‘takeover’ of curriculum, likening what has happened to an intensified version of the fourth Labour government machinations. The language of takeover is not exaggeration; it is evident that the Ministry of Education bypassed due process in the appointment of writing teams. NZATE (the professional association of teachers of English) should be commended for their determined actions to expose this violation. Nevertheless, a singular focus on notions of takeover leads to a preoccupation with ‘being wronged’ and potentially stops us from critically examining our own orthodoxies and practices. It also prevents a conversation about the aims and purposes of subject English or a wider analysis of how we have arrived at this educational moment. Indignation will only get us so far.

To some degree, my use of the word ‘war’ is not a provocation as much as a reflection of the language used by those across the education sector. In both correspondence and conversation, the language keeps referring to the importance of “fighting back” and that it was time for teachers “to be militant.” When I was invited to give a talk, the organizer asked me to ensure that my presentation would be a “call to arms.” All figurative, of course, but the language is indicative of the mood.

However, the use of the word ‘war’ is also intentional and appropriate if we think about curriculum in cultural terms. If knowledge is one aspect of curriculum, then culture (in its broadest sense) is another. National curricula will always say something about nationhood and society. The capture of culture for advancing interests (hegemonic capture if we wish to think in Gramscian terms) includes the struggle for curriculum. I would encourage us to think about curriculum in this way because doing so reveals the dialectical space (the push and the pull) in which knowledge, content and curriculum are perpetually negotiated in the cultural sphere. Such a vantage point allows for a deeper understanding of what has happened and is happening in education.

Finally, to the fourth context, which I’m not entirely sure what to call – the context of doubt, perhaps? Reading Terry’s response, I wonder if some of his rebuke comes from the fact that I critique aspects of the original refresh and suggest that something could be learnt from examining the knowledge arguments. Does Terry think there is an official position that (as a member of the educational left) I am meant to uphold? It’s possible.

A key aim in my commentary is to argue that the current moment requires intellectual heft. This slowed-down critical work requires a level of intellectual humility, thus my comment about the fruitful space between belief and doubt. The capacity for critical self-reflection is not zero-sum, it does not imply surrender to the other side. It does, however, suggest a more robust and reflexive praxis. We say that charity begins at home; perhaps the same principle could be applied to critique. My possibly ambiguous stance in the NZJES commentary reflects my sense that subject English will always be an ambiguous undertaking. There is no way around but through the ambiguity.

Coda

Terry and I are friends and colleagues. This small skirmish between us feels indicative of the heated space in education right now. The prickling and the bristling are reasonable responses to the coalition government’s handling of the curriculum rewrite, but they also show the conversation is long overdue.

Claudia Rozas

School of Critical Studies in Education

University of Auckland | Waipapa Taumata Rau