Abstract
Early childhood educators are regularly confronted by dominant discourses (e.g. ensuring children are prepared for school) and the politics and pedagogy that are embedded in their practice and early childhood contexts. These discourses impact on ways of thinking and engaging with others, and professional behaviour, as well as shaping curriculum documents and policy. Engaging in a process of critical reflection from a post-structuralist perspective helps to disrupt deeply seated beliefs and assumptions, resist tensions of power and regulation, and increase feelings of agency. This article offers educators a rationale for adopting such an approach, and presents a lens with which to view alternative discourses and for thinking otherwise. The authors introduce a framework which includes a range of strategies that educators may choose to add to their tool kit to unpack and make sense of their experiences. An exemplar is offered to showcase engagement with these tools, including the use of critical narrative. Employing strategies and practices such as those outlined in this article opens possibilities to feel more empowered as early childhood educators, and be better equipped to give voice to their thoughts, feelings of hope and potential as active agents.
Introduction
Early childhood education is in a continual state of flux, being shaped and reshaped by factors such as neo-liberal reform linked to competition and the commodification of children, political priorities, contemporary contexts, the globalisation of childhood, and changing social values and expectations (Gibson et al., 2015; Moss, 2014; Sumsion et al., 2009; Woodrow, 2007). Early childhood professionals are also embedded in sites of disruption and may experience resistance to the dominant discourses and entrenched assumptions which exist within these spaces (Kascak, 2013; Thomas, 2012). It is often the case that the more effort is invested in trying to work within, understand or question the hidden messages or politics embedded in these landscapes, the more challenges, frustrations and tensions are experienced. At the same time, at a broader community level, there is increased public interest, attention and opinions focused on the field, interpretations of childhood and the role of educators.
This article begins by acknowledging this volatile yet exciting and empowering landscape, and recognising that educators may experience tension and conflict as part of their daily practice, in negotiating and manoeuvring between personal and professional beliefs, and the spaces within which they work and move. These experiences can impact on daily decision-making, their ability to function positively, and their responsiveness as pedagogical leaders in the field. In this article, the authors share a framework for professional border crossing which includes a range of strategies that educators may choose to add to their tool kit and use to help make sense of, and positively and proactively move through, these experiences. The authors illustrate this process by including an account by Grigg (Author 2), where he bravely writes of his struggle to metaphorically ‘hold on to the tug-of-war rope’ as he navigated the terrain between child-centred approaches and an increasingly regulated field where other agendas often ‘silence’ the voices and interests of those with less power – in this case, ‘young children’ (Ailwood, 2010).
The intent of this article is that educators may find value in employing a range of strategies, including critical reflection and narrative inquiry, as part of daily practice and professional decision-making. Hopefully, these strategies offer early childhood educators a way of questioning and disrupting deeply seated beliefs and assumptions that exist as uncontested systems of meaning in their places of work and more broadly (Gachago et al., 2015). Although an ambitious vision, the authors believe that by engaging with these strategies, educators may be motivated to challenge or even contribute to changing dominant discourses. Educators may also feel empowered to adopt an active role in engaging with the possibilities and potentialities of advocating and being an activist for children, early childhood pedagogy and the profession.
Background
In the postmodernist world in which the field of early childhood is positioned, educators, now more than ever, may experience points of tension and personal confrontation in ‘butting up’ against the panopticon gaze of regulatory bodies, various agendas, social expectations, neo-liberalist paradigmatic landscapes and ‘taken-for-granted’ assumptions (Fenech and Sumsion, 2007; Gibson et al., 2015; Kascak, 2013; Woodhead, 2006). At times like these, educators may also be confronted by the pedagogical expectations and agendas of others, as well as their own interpretations and understandings of what is deemed ‘appropriate’ or ‘best practice’. These points of tension, experienced as part of everyday practice, often provoke emotion and discomfort, and perhaps even cause us to question the grand narratives embedded in early childhood discourse (e.g. that kindergarten is the time to prepare children for formal schooling) in efforts to search for alternative ways of knowing and endeavour to negotiate these spaces.
Others, such as Heydon (2005), Blank (2009), and Leggett and Ford (2013), also write about experiencing tension in efforts to understand, contest or deconstruct existing paradigms, or enter new territory. Heydon (2005) writes about her concerns over the politics and pedagogy of economic rationalism within the workplace. She delineates contemporary approaches of childhood education in care (with specific reference to the Canadian context) and presents a range of alternative perspectives to help explain why childhood is in need of being ‘de-pathologized’ (Heydon, 2005; Heydon and Iannacci, 2008). Reflecting on a public early childhood education centre, Blank (2009) discusses the inherent tension experienced between the services motto, which reflects ‘it takes a village to raise a child’, and conflicting notions of the independent nature of teachers’ work and desires for autonomy. Reflection in this case focuses on questioning whether and how collaborative community structures in schools could be created as a way of engaging in pedagogical reflection and ‘shaping and being shaped by a culture of collaboration and community’ (Blank 2009: 379). Finally, in trying to make sense of the term ‘intentionality’, identified within the Early Years Learning Framework (Australian Government, 2009), Leggett and Ford (2013) explore points of tension in relation to interpretations with traditional understandings of the role of the child and more contemporary and postmodernist theorising.
What is evident in these examples is that in navigating their days as professionals, educators can be confronted and troubled, or even experience feelings of powerlessness (Foucault, 1979). At these times, their existing tool box may not equip them for making sense of, or thoughtfully responding to, these experiences. It may be necessary to travel or step beyond that which is the ‘status quo’ and, by doing so, position themselves in another place – a place where dominant discourse, truths or perspectives can be challenged or disrupted; a place where professionals might be able to sit outside these contested spaces, appreciate the perspectives of ‘the other’ and explore possibilities beyond those currently present. This may even mean looking for creative insights and being inspired by innovative approaches positioned within other disciplines or fields of expertise, to support transformative practice and learning (Anderson, 2014).
Border crossing or ‘checking into our profession’
Jasman (2010: 307–308) refers to the process of educators navigating through and/or crossing ‘real or virtual borders between education, professional learning and work contexts’ as ‘border crossing’. ‘Border crossing’ is linked to a body of research which uses travelling metaphors to explore professional movement between ideological, epistemological and cultural contexts (Britt and Sumsion, 2003; Elbaz-Luwisch, 2001; Giroux, 1992). Adopting the role of a ‘border crosser’ is understood as a ‘continual process’ (Taguchi, 2010: xiii) that offers early childhood professionals a process for provocation, ‘thinking otherwise’, reconstructing and responding to early childhood pedagogy, politics and policy. Engaging in a process of border crossing enables educators to gain a heightened awareness of, and a raising of consciousness for, where they are positioned, and an increased appreciation of the perspectives and positioning of others.
In this article, the metaphor of ‘border crossing’ is interpreted slightly differently. It is used to describe the journey early childhood professionals may move through, and within, as part of negotiating and trying to reconceptualise their work. However, it is also identified as a valuable metaphor for making sense of, explaining or even repositioning belief systems as educators traverse the grand narratives that exist as part of their professional journey.
A framework for professional border crossing in early childhood
As part of a Master’s course facilitated by Author 1, which focused on the ‘Politics and Pedagogy of Early Childhood’, postgraduate students were introduced to the concept and metaphor of ‘border crossing’, and encouraged to engage in the practice of critical reflection and narrative inquiry, with the combination of all of these components referred to as ‘critical narrative’. This process was introduced as a strategy for helping to broaden understandings of past and current early childhood discourse, raise the consciousness of contested regimens of a ‘single truth’, and critically reflect on the political, economic and social factors that have influenced and will continue to influence early childhood (Ryan and Grieshaber, 2005). Collaboratively, the group, including the lecturer, embarked on a shared learning journey, exploring ways and employing strategies for working within and against dominant discourses with the intent of becoming what is referred to as an ‘early childhood reconceptualist’ (Cannella et al., 2007; Yelland, 2005). Engaging in the process of critical narrative was framed within a post-foundationalist approach, including reflecting through a range of lenses such as postmodernism, post-structuralism and post-colonialism. Key features within this framework included engaging in journaling, narrative inquiry and critical reflection; the use of metaphors; and the importance of searching within and beyond existing early childhood literature. The next section of the article provides a rationale for each of these features and strategies, and more detail on their application.
Transformational effects of critical narrative
Every early childhood professional has her or his own narrative life history. This is a collection of personal and professional experiences that reflect movements through and within the milieu of our ‘storied lives’ (Clandinin and Connelly, 1996). Yang (2008: 1567) explains that it ‘is natural for us to make sense of our lives, the lives of others, and the contexts in which we live through telling and hearing/reading stories’. There is a significant body of work that addresses the methods and critiques the perceived benefits of professional practices such as narrative inquiry, journal writing, critical reflection and self-study (see Bullock and Christou, 2009; Clandinin et al., 2007; Connelly and Clandinin, 1990; Mac Naughton, 2003). These practices and methods are understood to be instrumental for reflection-in-action and reflection-on-action (Schön, 1983). These relational and continual processes offer mechanisms for repositioning, reconstructing and responding to early childhood pedagogy, politics and policy (Jones, 2008), as a way of coming to new understandings that can transform existing values and beliefs (Anderson, 2014).
Yet whilst many would see benefit in engaging in narrative practices such as those that have been mentioned, others are more cautious, concerned with the ‘sentimentality’ and solitary nature of these approaches, and the risk that these practices may perpetuate ‘navel gazing’ (Hartley and McWilliam, 2009; Zembylas, 2011). While a feature of reflective writing is the rich descriptions of the problems that professionals experience as part of their practice (Jasman, 2010; Loughran and Russell, 2002), when combined with other processes, such as the practice of border crossing, it is possible to make connections and successfully link narrative life stories and practical knowledge with contemporary theory and the ‘storied lives’ of others (Clandinin et al., 2016). In doing so, we often move through a transformative repositioning of perspective, perhaps even a metamorphosis, which alters the way we view the world, how we then engage with others, and how we negotiate between and through professional practice in the field of early childhood (Clandinin and Connelly, 1996; Connelly and Clandinin, 2000; Richardson, 2002).
Jones (2008) confirms these sentiments when referring to her experience of challenging personal and political terrain as part of her doctoral research. She describes perceiving herself inhabiting a ‘third space’, ‘where identity and practice’ are transformed through the impact of reflection and by external circumstances (194–195). She comments that through engaging in this process, ‘new understandings are generated that have the potential to transform professional practice’ (195).
Chapman (2004) talks about a slightly different form of narrative, which she calls a ‘critical personal narrative’. She defines a critical personal narrative as a combination of two narrative genres: critical narrative and personal narrative – ‘critical in that it works with issues of power and knowledge in practice’ and ‘personal because it is about the author, often embarrassingly and deliberately so’ (98). Chapman points out that a critical personal narrative is not just concerned with personal journaling, but undertaken with the intent of making this narrative useful politically. It is through the storying of our plots, contexts and characters that we are afforded the ability to see the story as a text outside of ourselves. The author can write, rewrite, read and reread until meaning emerges.
Finally, from a post-structuralist perspective, critical narrative is appreciated as having a transformational effect that allows educators to make sense of their own professional and personal identity, to problematise universal norms, and to explore discourses which can constrain or open up potentialities for individuals (Jones, 2008; Moss, 2014). Osgood (2006: 11) supports these sentiments and comments that: ‘If it is accepted that professionalism is socially constructed, then the role practitioners play in that construction, and the ways in which control is resisted and/or accepted is key to this debate’. Therefore, these authors see critical narrative leading to self-actualisation, as educators feel empowered to engage in confrontation with dominant power bases to proactively change outcomes for children (Anderson, 2014). In fact, Foucault (1980) argues that the best way to change larger structures of power is to start at the local level. For educators, this could mean resisting at a school level by reflecting on and questioning the current ways of thinking and doing, and exploring alternative ideas.
Metaphors to shape thoughts and experiences
There are many examples of practitioners who have chosen to use metaphors as part of the narrative process. The use of metaphors offers the writer the ability to capture and give shape to their thoughts and experiences more vividly by making references or drawing comparisons. For example, Jasman (2010) adopts a selection of ‘border crossing’ metaphors to help explain the difference and separation between early childhood and primary education. Elliott (2006) uses ‘patchwork and crossword’ metaphors to help capture her reflections on care and education, as well as to describe the confusing mix of policy, regulation and types of provision that exists in the field of early childhood. Finally, Britt and Sumsion (2003) explore the use of metaphors by beginning early childhood teachers in primary-school settings to describe their ‘lived experiences’. In each of these examples, the use of metaphors has proven valuable in helping to capture and analyse experience, as well as serving as a tool for repositioning, reconstructing and responding to early childhood pedagogy, politics and policy.
Searching beyond early childhood literature
Just like the worn and established cow path written about in the poem ‘The Calf Path’ by Sam Walter Foss (1987), early childhood professionals may also follow the well-worn or well-established path of others who have gone before them. And although many of our practices have proven invaluable, others have grown tired and no longer fulfil our intentions or are applicable to contemporary contexts. Adopting a multidisciplinary perspective – a ‘bricolage’ approach to knowledge and knowledge production – as well as working within a ‘post-foundational’ approach that encompasses a number of perspectives (including ‘post-foundationalism’, postmodernisms, post-structuralisms and post-colonialisms) offers new possibilities and alternative ways of viewing the world (Davis et al., 2015). This process of engaging in critical narrative provides educators with an opportunity to bring theory and practice together; draw on fields that extend beyond early childhood; and explore perspectives and approaches located in other disciplines and professions, such as medicine, neuroscience, economics, law, social ecology, the arts and education (Heckman and Masterov, 2007; Payne, 2010; Rinaldi, 2013; Rust, 2009; Seigman, 2013; Shonkoff, 2013; Shonkoff and Phillips, 2001; Wesley and Buysse, 2006).
The tug of war
The following critical narrative, written by Author 2, is adapted from an assessment piece for a course focused on politics and pedagogy in early childhood, as part of a Master of Education degree. It provides an example of an educator’s resistance against current neo-liberal discourse that identifies children as commodities of future economic or social profitability (Heydon, 2005). Moving through his journey as a border crosser, Author 2 becomes aware of the power relationships that exist within early childhood settings and the need to advocate for those whose voices are often silenced (Jasman, 2010; Moss, 2006). Author 2 employs the metaphor of ‘a figurative rope’ to describe his struggle and the ‘tug of war’ he experienced and pressure he witnessed in a range of contexts in moving from a child-centred approach to a ‘schoolification’ approach to early years provision. What follows is a timeline of events and reflections leading up to a key moment of confrontation. Throughout the entries, Author 2 attempts to make sense of these experiences and open up new spaces of thought by adopting critical narrative as a framework. This framework, which employs post-foundationalist theory, enabled Author 2 to question such discourse and to reveal and reject the power structures at work (Cannella, 1999; Chapman, 2004). The process culminated in Author 2 feeling empowered in advocating for the rights of a child to play (Osgood, 2006).
1
2008: I hurriedly set up the outdoor learning space on a cold winter’s morning. I only have thirty minutes left before the children arrive. I am mindful to set up hands-on activities that support all the developmental domains of learning. A short while later, the children arrive with big smiles on their faces. Parents are in no hurry to leave, and are milling about and engaged in watching their children involved in activities. As I look around, I see an eclectic mix of cultures, religions and family types. This is what I love about teaching in an inner-city school. I love this mix of culture and these happy children, eager to play, communicate and have fun.
This entry captures a time in my career ‘when everything was as it should be’ and the tug-of-war match had not yet begun. The context was a nursery centre attached to a local primary school. The curriculum, and the school leadership at the time, supported play-based learning, typified by hands-on activities that followed children’s interests. For proponents of a child-centred approach and post-structuralist view of education, children are understood as having a voice in the direction of their own learning (Fleer and Ridgway, 2013; Gothson, 2010; Stone, 2012). In these spaces, play is seen as a vehicle for children to negotiate, communicate, share, analyse and explore complex concepts. I often reminisce about this period of my career as the time when I first gained insight into what is truly possible in terms of children successfully employing agency. However, a few years later, through a change in leadership, I began to feel the first tug on the rope, as a new leadership team turned their gaze towards this tranquil nursery in hopes of lifting the school’s academic results.
2010: ‘Hamad, sit down! Aisha, come sit next to me! Boys and girls, I am waiting for you to all look this way! You need to look at this letter. What sound does it make? Good! Yes, it makes a g g g sound. G for goat! Now you say it, boys and girls.’ I now have to do these phonics lessons daily. This is so frustrating! The children are wriggling in front of me and appear disinterested. I can tell they are eager to get to the puzzles or out into the sandpit to interact with their friends. I must persevere with this for ten minutes and then the children can go and play. I don’t dare stop the lesson because a school leader has dropped in to observe. The last time she made an observation, she was critical of my teacher control and said that all of my four-year-old students must be sitting still and cross-legged. Later this month, I must also input student progress into a computer tracking system. If any student has not made enough progress with their phonics, I will need to write an accountability statement outlining what interventions I will use to enable improvements next term. My life is now drill and assess.
And so the schoolification of this wonderful setting had begun, where daily phonics lessons were a requirement and play was viewed as something the children engaged in only if there was spare time. A schoolification approach refers to the growing trend for school-like behaviours (or school readiness) to be increasingly imposed on early childhood education settings across the globe. These skills value academic learning over other aspects of a child’s development (Gammage, 2006). Prioritising academic outcomes comes at a cost for young children, who, as a result, lose agency, self-determination and the amount of time they can spend at play (Cannella, 1999; Osgood, 2006).
The school had introduced these lessons as a way of lifting whole-school literacy results. Of course, the idea of trying to sit wriggly and restless four-year-olds on the carpet in front of me every day to work on phonics seemed completely ridiculous. This also went against so much of what I had learnt as an early childhood educator in relation to constructivist theory, which sees children making meaning through social interactions and play in real-life contexts (Edwards, 2003). The school’s new management was trying to silence this paradigm and instigate what Moss (2006) refers to as a ‘transmissional’ view of learning, where these four-year-olds were told to sit cross-legged and still while they listened to and repeated back these sounds like robots.
Over the years, as my career context has changed to early childhood settings in other countries, I have felt the rope being pulled more and more out of my hands in what I would call ‘rope burn developed across time and place’. On these occasions, I have found myself being metaphorically dragged over the tug-of-war line. I see this metaphorical tug-of-war game as representing early childhood provision and my beliefs that high-quality early childhood education occurs when educators scaffold children’s learning through play and social interactions. Educators nurture not only the academic components of a child’s development, but also their emotional, social and physical development. I am at one end of the tug-of-war rope and, at the other end, pulling me, are the antagonists. The antagonists represent members of the school’s administration and parents who are significantly located within a dominant discourse influenced by neo-liberal governments and the sociocultural contexts in which they are embedded (Brown, 2009; Osgood, 2006). I view these stakeholders as being on one side of the rope, ‘the stronger team’, attempting to pull me over to their side, which increasingly emphasises academic provision characterised by data, accountability and assessment. In efforts to resist this pull, I am acutely aware that the tug-of-war game is not an equal match. My opponents often possess more strength, given to them with the support of new policies and regulation.
2013: I am frantically trying to enter assessment results into my work computer. I only have forty minutes to work while the children are at music class, and I have so much to do. A teaching colleague is cleaning paint pots and trying to start up a conversation. She is talking about how sad it is that, due to the amount of new assessment, we no longer have time to take photos and videos of the children, to document their play or to have conversations with them about their learning.
This reflection highlights how educational spaces are changing over time and transcending through and within cultures and borders (Jasman, 2010). This school had a strong culture of Reggio Emilia-inspired practices when I first started working there, such as assessment of the whole child through documentation, where educators wrote rich observations of the child’s wondering and learning, or took videos and photographs of the children at play (Fraser, 2012; Rinaldi, 2006). The culture began to change to one of competition, which saw the role of the teacher as an administrator of academic paper-and-pencil diagnostic assessments. My colleague, like myself, had also noticed a drop in morale and self-esteem not only with the teaching staff, but also with the children, who were irritable that their time working on projects had been taken away to complete these tests. The school administration rationalised these changes as being necessary to compete with other schools, and as a more ‘rigorous’ approach to informing parents of their child’s progress.
2014: ‘I am sick and tired of play being considered a four-letter word.’ I nod in affirmation, relieved that I have colleagues who think as I do, while at the same time I am angry that my program has been altered dramatically because of newly imposed standardised assessments for kindergarten children. We are almost two months into the new school year and at an early years meeting. A member of the school leadership team is speaking to us in response to our dissatisfaction with the newly instigated assessments, and with the removal of the word ‘play’ from our published early years philosophy. As he talks, I feel my face turning red. It is all getting too much! I am sick and tired of asking the teaching assistant to run the class and lessons so I can take children individually out of the class to conduct assessments. My colleagues and I have had no time to discover who the children are as individuals, their likes and interests, their preferred learning styles, the past experiences and culture that they bring to the classroom. The figurative rope has pulled us well and truly over the tug-of-war line. We are on the losing side. The antagonist continues self-assuredly: ‘Parents need assessments. They have a right to see data and progression.’ The room is uncomfortably silent. Then, one of my colleagues speaks up in a cautious yet calm voice: ‘We have heard that the administration wants to change the wording in the school’s early years philosophy and take out mention of “play-based learning.”’ The response comes sharply. I glare at him and in a fervent voice yell: ‘How can this school claim to be such a big supporter of the United Nations? We have a yearly United Nations parade where the whole community comes together to march in national dress and yet we are hypocrites! The United Nations charter of the rights of the child [Office of the High Commissioner, 1990] says that children have an indisputable right to play, and now you want to take that away from our children!’ He matches my raised voice and booms at me: ‘You underestimate yourselves! What you do is much more important than just play.’ I don’t trust myself to stay, and leave the meeting before things escalate further.
Chapman (2004: 98) states that power relationships ‘sometimes involve the use of force, or coercion, to produce the desired results’. Reflecting on my last narrative, it is clear that Chapman’s point is relevant in relation to the antagonist’s backhanded compliment, and his efforts to perhaps control and cajole the teachers into accepting a ‘future vision and direction for the early years’. Having employed the range of strategies outlined in the framework addressed in this article, I appreciate more clearly now that his words ‘just play’ highlighted that he did not understand the real power and complexity of play. Unfortunately, despite the expert knowledge of my colleagues, and their understandings of early childhood development and individualised learning, we were never consulted about which tests would be used, when and how they would be implemented, or regarding recommendations of alternative approaches to understand children’s learning.
Revisiting these pivotal moments of tension has highlighted the limited strategies I had at my disposal to allow me to stand back and look at the dominant discourse from a postmodernist perspective, and to try to step outside the paradigm in which I was positioned. Although I had written about experiencing pulling on the rope in previous entries, I was not able to articulate what was causing ‘the pull’. I was blind to the neo-liberal power that was influencing the various antagonists. The heated conversation outlined in my final 2014 diary entry began a dialogue of resistance within this context, but, in hindsight, I also realise that yelling and walking away was not an effective means for mature professionals to negotiate productive pathways and build new understandings.
Engaging in a process of critical narrative and employing a range of other strategies has raised my awareness of the neo-liberalist vision of the antagonist. From a post-structuralist perspective, which asks us to critically question taken-for-granted truths in order to explore new truths (Ailwood, 2010), and a reconceptualist perspective, which asks us to analyse monocultural beliefs (Cannella, 2005), I appreciate now that the discourse which the school was clearly pushing onto the early years was one oriented around accountability systems, outcomes, measurement and standardisation (King, 2015). I am now aware that this position privileged some cultures and genders whilst silencing the voices of others, such as the teachers and our students (Anderson, 2014; Cannella and Bloch, 2006). Finally, my increased awareness of post-structuralist perspectives has provided me with a discourse to better articulate and advocate for the rights of children as put forward by the United Nations (Office of the High Commissioner, 1990).
Critical narrative has led me to a point of understanding that early childhood settings change across time and place, and although I could not put a name to the regime of power influencing these experiences at the time, engaging in the process of journaling heightened my awareness that dominant powers existed. It enabled me to make connections with previous experiences across different contexts. Such writing allowed me to explore events and the perspectives of a range of players within my entries, including myself, the children, my colleagues and the antagonists. I was able to build new understandings, and these insights led to feelings of empowerment, where I had the confidence to confront the antagonist. This final meeting was a catalyst for further conversations between educators, as my colleagues later told me they felt better equipped to speak their mind. This meeting opened up a dialogue between the early childhood educators and the administration, where a range of viewpoints was discussed and ideas negotiated. This act of resistance highlighted to the antagonist just how vehemently the team of educators held onto the word ‘play’ and all that it symbolised. The word ‘play’ stayed in the philosophy. In addition, future administrative directives were presented in a less authoritative manner, and were more consultative of the early years team.
Author 2’s narrative has reinforced that engaging in critical writing, and the employment of a range of other strategies outlined in this article, can empower educators to build new understandings and transform current beliefs within their daily practice. It is seen as an ever-evolving, organic journey of self-discovery and capacity-building. These processes, the combination of which the authors of this article have referred to as ‘critical narrative’, afford educators opportunities to see patterns emerging over time, and feel better equipped to question and resist dominant power regimes. In the beginning, these processes might only be used to provide a cathartic experience in journaling frustrations. However, as educators go back and reread these entries and look to other perspectives, they can begin to attribute meaning to those events and analyse and understand the underlying power structures at work. Drawing on theory from other fields enables ‘thinking otherwise’. These understandings are powerful tools for educators to have within their tool kit and draw on when needed along the journey of resistance. It is envisioned that educators can use this framework to build understandings, to positively and proactively engage in discussions with stakeholders within their own contexts, and to help them hold onto the rope, stand their ground and perhaps even pull back a little.
Towards advocacy and empowerment through critical narrative
A decade ago, Fenech and Sumsion (2007) talked about the need for early childhood educators to engage in critical reflection. Today, this process is more important than ever before, as educators experience and confront increasing surveillance and regulation (Osgood, 2006; Woodrow, 2007). Fenech and Sumsion (2007) argued that within this arena of regulation and power relationships, educators can and should act with agency and freedom. In these contemporary times, educators have a choice: they can choose either to complain or to adopt agentic behaviour in line with activist early childhood pedagogy (Giugni, 2011).
The inclusion of the narrative by Author 2 highlights the extent to which dominant discourses, points of tension and feelings of powerlessness can impact on our ability to respond proactively in our work as professionals. The tools outlined in this article offer educators a range of strategies to help unpack, understand and respond to tension. The authors believe that with confidence of voice and action, educators can challenge, negotiate and perhaps even reform the discourses that position and define them (Osgood, 2006: 5), and, in so doing, actively reshape understandings of early childhood pedagogy and policy, and begin to forge ahead in new directions in order to ‘capitalize upon shifting contexts’ and ‘break new ground’ (Blank, 2009: 379). The authors of this article propose that along our journeys as border crossers and armed with a range of tools at our disposal, we might have more of a chance to achieve what Ryan and Graue (2009: 192) refer to as getting ‘out of our bunkers’, and have the courage to question the status quo – to not just think of change as a dreamlike, unattainable Utopia, but instead view utopian thinking as a tangible prospect, one which we, ‘as border crossers’, are capable of achieving, as a real and critical force for emancipatory action.
Footnotes
Funding
This research received no specific grant from any funding agency in the public, commercial or not-for-profit sectors.
