The Arts and Social Justice

Recently, I have been rewriting a journal article that was previously rejected.  The theme of the special issue for the journal was the relationship between the arts and social justice.  In making connections between the arts and social justice, I thought it might be helpful to share my ideas here in this posting and solicit feedback via the “leave comments” capability of the blog.  My hope is to generate dialogue amongst readers, which in turn may clarify my own thinking.

Social justice is concerned with issues of equity, human rights, civil liberties, diversity, social agency and responsibility toward others.  Applying social justice to education means preparing all students for active and full participation in a democracy; creating a space where students exercise their agency to question and assert their views, where they learn to “temper any reverence for authority with a sense of critical awareness” (1, p.1).  It is based on the belief that what we do in the classroom is linked to the wider society.  In this way, education is connected to the possibility of a better world. 

Envisioning a better world is only possible through imagination. By releasing imagination, we can bring into being the “as if” worlds, the “possibilities.”   Through imagination, we can move from accepting the world as is toward imagining what could be otherwise, which may be the first step in bringing about change.  As Maxine Greene (2) and John Dewey (3) remind us, the arts are purposely made to release imagination, to heighten awareness, and envision multiple perspectives for those willing to move out toward them.   Though I agree that the real potential in the arts is to bring about visions of possibilities, which can lead to social change, I do not think it is an automatic process.   I argue that the transformative potential can only be realized when the arts are approached and taught in a critical, reflective, democratic way.

How does the theory translate into teaching practice?  What does critical, reflective, democratic teaching/learning look like in arts education?  To explore this question, I use examples from my own classes and ensembles.

When I think of democracy in education I immediately turn to John Dewey.  He defines democracy as being more than a form of government: “it is primarily a mode of associated living, of conjoint communicated experience” (4, p.93).  In this way, a democratic community is always in the making, always evolving.  Additionally, democracy and learning come together in the classroom only through participation (5).  Therefore, there must be evidence of active learning in order for a teaching practice to be considered democratic.  Only through active learning can students develop democratic habits rather than waiting passively to be told what things mean and what to do (6). My students actively participate in music classes through musicking, movement, drama, listening, evaluating, and discussing.  Through ensemble work, students engage with each other cooperatively – each independent player is responsible for her/himself and also for others in the group, which fosters a sense of social responsibility and interdependence.  In these ways, students learn to participate actively in their learning, developing artistic skills and experiencing democratic practice.

In addition to active learning, I think multiculturalism is another aspect of a critical, reflective, democratic practice in the arts.  MENC (Music Educators National Conference) emphasizes the importance of addressing diversity and multiculturalism in classrooms: “The music studied should reflect the multimusical diversity of America’s pluralistic culture” (7, p. 3).  But multiculturalism goes beyond teaching music of diverse genres, styles, and cultures.  I see multiculturalism as being more related to pedagogy than curriculum.   In other words, it’s not the content I present but how I present it – in a culturally responsive way, presenting instruction from the students’ perspective and life experiences as a basis for conceptual understanding and academic knowledge.  Shor suggests that when students’ diverse cultures are built into the subject content, “studying is no longer submitting to a dull imposition of an alien culture.  Based in the diversity of students, including gender diversity, the multicultural class challenges the subordination of some groups in school and society and orients the curriculum to equality” (8, p. 48).  Students come to school with strengths and knowledge they have gained outside school – by honoring and valuing that knowledge, we are in a better position to learn from each other in a reciprocal, mutually respected, democratic way.  I also think it is critical in studying culturally diverse musics to avoid presenting them in an oppressive way, that is, as decontextualized, as “exotic” or as “Other.”   In addition to socially and culturally contextualizing the musics studied, I encourage students to find commonalities across musical cultures instead of solely highlighting differences. “Nothing promotes border crossing or tolerance more than helping students to arrive at an implicit understanding of what they share in common with those they have been taught to perceive as different” (9, p. 186).

An equally important component of teaching the arts in a democratic way includes critical reflection.  For this I look to the discourse of the classroom.  Does it reflect a mutual respect which allows students and teacher to engage in dialogue?  Do students feel safe to question and assert their views, even when questioning authority?  I want my students to develop critical literacy; that is, I want them to look at “texts” (musics, art works, dance, poetry, prose) critically, question why things are the way they are, and how they might be different.  For instance, questioning how society privileges some musics and composers over others.  I think such critical consciousness leads to an empowering sense of agency for students, enabling them to imagine “possibilities.”

In contrast, what does it look like to approach and teach the arts in an uncritical, unreflective, undemocratic way?  I have seen that as well, most specifically with pre-service graduate students working with my students.   I have seen firsthand how directive pedagogy can effectively silence student voices in arts education.  Directive pedagogy is what Freire (10) called a “banking” pedagogy.  It is an authoritarian model of teaching whereby students’ minds are viewed as empty “accounts” into which the teacher “deposits” knowledge. In this model, knowledge is seen as a one-way transmission from teacher to students; students are told what to do and what things mean; the teacher teaches and the students are taught. This form of education stifles creativity and curiosity – two vital components in the arts. The graduate students who worked with my students one semester exhibited a directive or banking method of education. For example, in a collective story-generating session one graduate student chose which student ideas to promote and which to ignore, effectively shaping the final product into her own story.   In effect, she took ownership of the project away from the students.  Another graduate student was told to facilitate a Javanese gamelan ensemble rehearsal.  The student musicians were working together to learn the music and I instructed the graduate student to monitor their progress and facilitate when needed.  Instead, he turned the rehearsal into a teacher-directed session, telling the students what sections of the piece to play and choosing individual students to play it, one-by-one.  I could see students in the video-taped session quickly become bored and antsy, losing interest in their work.  Yet another graduate student offered her own dance movement to a traditional West African dance I had taught the dancers during a previous rehearsal.  It was not based on an authentic West African dance move – an example of teaching multicultural music in an oppressive, Eurocentric way – and it offended a few of the Liberian and Nigerian dancers in the ensemble.  In each example, the graduate students imposed their own ideas on the students.  One of the effects of the use of directive, banking pedagogy exhibited by the graduate students was a silencing of the students’ voices.  Additionally, by viewing the students as passive learners having to be told what to do and how to do it, the graduate students took responsibility for learning away from the students.  Fortunately, a later analysis of the data indicated that the students had a strong sense of their own agency as seen through small acts of resistance.   The silencing and creative stifling imposed by the graduate students was only temporary as the students subtly pushed back, resisting the graduate students’ attempts at authoritarian control.  Additionally, I suggest the students’ strong notion of agency came about from years of experiencing critical, reflective, democratic arts instruction in my classes and ensembles.

In formulating ideas for the above discussion, I initially had to reflect on the purpose for teaching the arts in schools.  A superficial answer (and one which my students readily offer when asked) is for students to gain content knowledge and skills in the various artistic disciplines.  More fundamentally important, though, I want my students to have a voice and to see themselves as social agents of change, to imagine a better world for all and to work toward it – in effect, to know what it is to be fully human.  As Freire (11) asserts, the purpose of education is the pursuit of a fuller humanity, and I believe the arts are the perfect vehicle for achieving that.

(1) Giroux, H. A. (2007).  Introduction: Democracy, education, and the politics of critical

pedagogy.  In P. McLaren & J.L. Kincheloe (Eds.), Critical pedagogy: Where are we now?  (pp. 1-5).  NY: Peter Lang Publishing.

(2) Greene, M. (2001).  Variations on a blue guitar: The Lincoln Center Institute lectures

 on aesthetic education.  NY: Teachers College Press.

(3) Dewey, J. (1934).  Art as experience.  NY: Perigee Books.

(4) Dewey, J. (1985).  Democracy and education. Carbondale: Southern Illinois

 University Press (Original work published 1916).

(5) Dewey, J. (1997).  Experience and education.  NY: Touchstone Publishing (Original

 work published 1938).

(6) Shor, I. (1992).  Empowering education: Critical teaching for social change.

  Chicago: University of Chicago Press.

(7) Music Educators National Conference (MENC). (1994)  National standards for arts

education: What every young American should know and be able to do in the arts. Reston, VA: MENC.

(8) Shor, I. (1992).  Empowering education: Critical teaching for social change.

  Chicago: University of Chicago Press.

(9) Duncan-Andrade, J. M. R. & Morrell, E. (2008).  The art of critical pedagogy:

Possibilities for moving from theory to practice in urban schools. NY: Peter Lang Publishing.

(10) Freire, P. (2002).  Pedagogy of the oppressed. NY: Continuum International

 Publishing Group, Inc. (Original work published 1970).

(11)  Ibid.

Selenna's Discovery

Selenna was a shy, quiet, reserved Cambodian girl whom I had known since first-grade.  For four years at the school, she refused to participate in music classes, preferring to watch in silence, huddled in her winter jacket even in warm weather.  During the first music class of fifth-grade, however, she accepted my invitation to participate in mirror movement.  In this particular activity, students pair up and face each other – one is the mirror of the other, moving as the mirror image of the leader.  When partners are very good at it, observers cannot tell who is the leader and who is the mirror.  To facilitate movement, I play music with a slow tempo and smooth, legato lines.  Selenna removed her jacket and stood facing her partner on the rug in the center of the room.  The music started and the two began to slowly move together.  For the first time I saw how gracefully Selenna moved, her hands turning elegantly, fingers curved expressively.  This was a girl I had never before seen.

After that music class, I asked Selenna to be a dancer in the West African Drumming and Dancing Ensemble and she accepted the invitation.  Ensembles consist of multi-aged groups of students (usually third-, fourth-, and fifth-graders) that rehearse weekly during the school day.  The work is an outgrowth or extension of the work I do during regularly scheduled music classes.  The various ensembles afford students opportunities to develop the skills learnt in class and to explore a particular genre more deeply.  Because they are multi-aged, the less experienced students learn from the more experienced ones similar to an apprenticeship. 

An additional component of ensemble work is journaling.  Each participant writes to me during the initial few minutes of rehearsal.  I then write back prior to the next week’s rehearsal.  In effect, the journals are written conversations between the children and me.  The following are a couple of excerpts from Selenna’s journal during the semester she participated in the West African ensemble:

[my entry]

I enjoy watching you dance – you’re very graceful, especially with  your hands.  Have you danced before?  Outside school somewhere?

[Selenna’s response]

Thank you.  I never danced before.  I never like to dance.  I just started dancing when I started dancing with these people [the West African ensemble dancers].

[my response]

Hmm, I guess that means you feel comfortable enough with the people in the group that you can relax and dance with them?  That’s good.  It’s also wonderful to see you come out of your shell this year.  You’re a beautiful girl with lots to offer – I’m glad you’re letting yourself shine!

[Selenna’s response]

Yes I do feel very comfortable with my group.  I know that last year I always refused [to participate] but this year I feel like I want to come out of my shell and shine.  This is very fun because I get to learn how to dance in different ways and enjoy myself because I feel very relaxed.  Today was fun.  I like it here.

What prompted Selenna to finally participate in music class and in the West African ensemble I cannot say.  So many factors could have contributed to the change in Selenna –  transformation (just like the arts themselves) is not measurable or predictable.   However, I feel her experience with the arts encouraged the change because the arts make discovery possible:  “Discovery occurs as students learn through adventures in the arts something of the possibilities of human experience” (1).  I suggest that music class and the West African ensemble afforded Selenna the space and opportunity to take the risk to try on a different identity – in effect, to help shape her own life story.

It was wonderful to see Selenna shine and grow in confidence during rehearsals – a child who previously was not willing to take the risk of performing and who eventually participated in a public performance in front of the entire school.  I continued to watch her participate fully in all her music classes throughout the rest of the year, as well.  Though she remained shy and very quiet, she smiled a lot more – and the jacket never again entered the music room.

(1)  Eisner, E. (1998).  The kind of schools we need: Personal essays.  Portsmouth, NH: Heinemann. (p. 85).

The White Teacher

My undergraduate teacher training studies prepared me in areas of subject matter, theory and pedagogy, and various classroom management techniques.  What I lacked was preparation in cultural diversity.

My first teaching position was in the barrios of East Los Angeles, CA.   My third-grade class consisted of twenty-nine students:  three blacks, one Vietnamese, and twenty-five Latinos.  At the time, I was not familiar with the term “Latino” or “Hispanic” – I could see that the three black students and one Vietnamese student in my class looked different from me, but I could not discern a difference between the Latino students and myself outside their accents.  Ladson-Billings (1) suggests that teachers who claim to be color-blind (i.e., by claiming to not notice racial difference) are actually dismissing an important part of a child’s identity.  Similarly, Delpit (2) suggests that well-intentioned teachers render their students “invisible” by claiming to not see color.  She asserts that, by stating, “I don’t see color, I only see children,” these educators send the message that “there is something wrong with being black or brown, that it should not be noticed” (p. 177).  I don’t know if I was being “color-blind” or simply ignorant in not seeing a racial difference between my Latino students and myself.  Whatever the reason, the fact was I saw 95% of the school population as just having beautiful Californian tans.

In October of that year the students were reading aloud sentences they had written for homework.  David stood up, paper in hand, and read a sentence he had composed which mentioned “the white teacher.”  Immediately, the other students audibly gasped and Victor quickly admonished his friend for saying “the white teacher.”  Shamefaced, David hung his head, mumbled an apology, and sat down at his desk.  Naïve and ignorant, I asked what the problem was.  Victor explained that David shouldn’t have said “the white teacher” in front of me.  Still confused, I asked why.  The students looked at me incredulously.  Ana Luz then reluctantly said that David’s words were an insult to me, that such words would only “hurt your feelings, Maestra.”  It was only then that I understood what was so clear to the students – I was “the white teacher” in David’s sentence.  I wasn’t offended; certainly I was well aware that I was white.  What hurt, though, was the sudden realization that the students saw me as different from them – as the “Other.”

I have taught students of culturally diverse backgrounds since that “white teacher” revelation so many years ago, and still I am the “Other.”  In The Poisonwood Bible (3), Leah Price (daughter of a white missionary in former Zaire) struggles with being the “Other.”  Over time, she identifies herself as Congolese – she marries a Congolese activist, raises three Congolese sons, speaks fluent Lingala, lives one with the people sharing their customs, way of life, extreme poverty, and political struggles.  And yet she cannot escape her “whiteness” – she will never be truly accepted by the people she has adopted as her own, they will always regard her with reserved deference.   She will always be the “Other.”   I have studied African-American culture and music; West African drumming and dancing; Javanese gamelan and wayang kulit (shadow puppets); Khmer pin peat and sbek nang (Cambodian orchestra and shadow puppets).  I teach these multicultural art forms to my students not only because musics and cultures of the world interest me but also because these are my students’ cultures and art forms.  Unlike David so many years ago, my music students have never made my “otherness” explicit or questioned the credibility of  “the white teacher” teaching multicultural art forms.  However, like Leah Price, I cannot escape my “whiteness.”  I remain the “Other.”

Students in my West African drumming/dancing ensemble raised money one semester to have a workshop with Abigail Ifatola Jefferson, a local black storyteller and dancer.  I had attended a few West African drumming/dancing workshops taught by Abigail.  Having studied cultural traditions and dance in Ghana, Nigeria, Niger, and Cuba, Abigail is mesmerizing in her storytelling and expressive in her dancing.  I wanted my students to have the pleasure of studying with her.   The students were enthralled and completely engaged as Abigail demonstrated various West African dance movements, explaining the meanings behind each move.  At one point a child commented how some of the dance moves looked like “Michael Jackson moves” which sent everyone squealing with laughter.  Abigail explained that the dance moves and rhythms of black culture have their origin in African traditions.  “Africa is our ancestral birthplace, our roots, where we come from as a people.”  She spoke with such dignity and pride, and the students (all black and Hispanic) responded with renewed energy and focus to their dancing.  I envied Abigail’s position to speak as an insider, as one who culturally identified with the students.  I could teach them the West African dances and rhythms I had studied, but I could never speak as an insider.   Once again, I could not escape my “whiteness.”

Several years later, I had five West African girls in my West African drumming/dancing ensemble – four Liberians and one Nigerian.   The irony of the situation (i.e., white Westerner teaching African dance to African girls) had been bothering me and I needed to know how the girls viewed it.  When I asked them privately, immediately they answered that they felt fine about the situation.   “You teach us dances and rhythms we don’t know and we teach you dances and rhythms you don’t know,” summed up Virginia, her arms gesturing between us.  Their responses helped me accept my “otherness” and legitimized my position as “the white teacher” teaching multicultural art forms to multicultural students.

Though I will never be able to speak as an insider, the love and respect I have for my students and their cultures – coupled with a genuine sense of reciprocity in learning (i.e., we learn from each other) – speak through me.  Because of this, my students accept me for who I am. 

I am “the white teacher.”

(1)  Ladson-Billings, G. (1994).  The dreamkeepers: Successful teachers of African-

American children. CA: Jossey-Bass.

(2)  Delpit, L. (1995).  Other people’s children: Cultural conflict in the classroom. NY:

The New Press.

(3)  Kingsolver, B. (1998).  The poisonwood bible. New York: HarperCollins Publishers.

            

Risk-taking and Imagining "As If" Worlds

Ali was too cool for music class.  Too cool for school.  Too cool for life.  At only eleven years old, she was 5’ 7”, had the body of a sixteen year old, and the blasé attitude of an adult.  Her jeans were tight and her necklines low.  The boys loved to be close to her.

I had known Ali since she was in kindergarten.  Back then she was quiet and shy, rarely participating in music activities.  Sometimes children begin kindergarten reserved and reluctant but gradually grow to trust me and their surroundings, eventually enjoying their participation in music lessons.  Ali never did.  By third-grade she was not only quiet but also sullen – having perfected the fine art of eye-rolling, teeth-sucking, and huffy-sighing.  The girl was formidable in her body language – she would look you in the eye defiantly, and then slowly look away.  Johnstone contends that status is not established by staring itself but rather in the reaction to staring (1).  Citing various studies examining eye contact between strangers, he finds that the person who looks away first is actually the dominant one.  In Johnstone’s view, “breaking eye contact can be high status so long as you don’t immediately glance back for a fraction of a second.  If you ignore someone, your status rises; if you feel impelled to look back then it falls” (p. 42).  Based on Johnstone’s findings, Ali certainly exhibited high status in social interactions at school.  She began fifth-grade in the classroom of a male teacher.  By early November, the teacher had requested Ali be transferred into another classroom claiming her attitude and cleavage made him too uncomfortable.  Amazingly, this was not a young, inexperienced male teacher but a highly regimented, somewhat bullish, veteran teacher in his late fifties, used to dealing with the toughest students.

In January, another teacher and I began work on an after-school opera project.  Besides being a dynamic teacher, Tom is also a professional photographer and amateur actor.  He has a guileless manner and a phenomenal knack for getting students to open up and act without inhibition.  Students in grades 3, 4, and 5 were invited to apply for positions in the opera company:  writers/public relations; composers/musicians; set designers/stage crew; and actors (in the past, we had offered positions of electricians and carpenters but this time we did not have the resources to purchase the supplies necessary for those jobs).  The application consisted of a questionnaire, teacher recommendation, and parental consent.    Additionally, Tom and I scheduled after-school auditions for those applying for acting positions.

The first student application we received was from Ali, applying for the job of actor.  She handed it to me the day after we gave application forms to the classroom teachers to disburse.  I was surprised and intrigued by Ali’s interest.  The afternoon of auditions, the principal approached me and said that Ali had told her she had “butterflies” anticipating the after-school audition.   It seemed inconceivable that Ali would share such information especially with an authority figure.  My interest was piqued and I grew more curious about Ali’s upcoming audition.

The audition lasted one and one half hours.  Tom and I had chosen various improvisation exercises that would reveal students’ skills in imagination, pretend play, vocal production, etc.  We kept the students actively engaged in the fast-paced exercises for the entire time.  Ali performed surprisingly well.  More important, it was as though the child locked inside her came out to play.  One cannot be “too cool” whilst pretending to be a gorilla or a whiney three-year old in a supermarket.  Ali exhibited natural ability portraying different characters using body and facial expressions, and she was able to stay in character through an improvised scene.  Surprisingly, she giggled and laughed and her face lit up when she smiled.  It was pure delight to watch her.

Ali was “hired” as an actor in the opera company.   During weekly rehearsals she was an eleven-year old girl seemingly enjoying herself whilst working hard at the craft of acting.  Additionally, Ali became more willing to participate during music classes – she even asked to be a drummer in the West African drumming/dancing ensemble (an ensemble that rehearsed weekly during the school day).  Tom also noticed a change in her attitude when he encountered her mornings during his before-school duty – the eye-rolling, teeth-sucking, and huffy-sighing had all but disappeared.

I suggest that the opera project (and subsequently the drumming/dancing ensemble) gave Ali the opportunity to take the risk of dropping her “too cool” façade.  In her studies of authors, artists, scientists, and mathematicians, John-Steiner (2) found that the most successful individuals were those willing to take risks and make mistakes.  Such willingness to take risks leads to innovation in any field.  Greene (3) urges educators to encourage positive risk-taking and self-reflection in learning – to take the risk to break through the “cotton wool of daily life.”  Performing in front of others is a risk.  Putting yourself and your ideas out for public scrutiny takes a lot of courage.  Tom and I had created a safe space that allowed Ali and the other students in the opera project to take those risks and make mistakes without experiencing humiliation.

Unfortunately, by April Ali could no longer participate in the project.  For an unexplained reason her mother could no longer commit to picking her up after rehearsals.  (Fortunately, she was able to continue drumming in the West African ensemble.)  I think the space of the arts allowed Ali to try on different roles and imagine “as if” worlds and “possibilities” where she could find her niche.  And, as Greene suggests, imagining things being otherwise may be the first step toward acting on the belief that they can be changed (4).  I hope Ali continues to “release imagination” in middle school and beyond.

(1)  Johnstone, K. (1981).  Impro: Improvisation and the theatre. New York: Routledge.

(2)  John-Steiner, V. (1997).  Notebooks of the mind: Explorations of thinking.  Oxford:

              Oxford University Press.

(3)  Greene, M. (2001).  Variations on a blue guitar: The Lincoln Center Institute

            lectures on aesthetic education. New York: Teachers College Press.

(4)  Greene, M. (1995).  Releasing the imagination: Essays on education, the arts, and

social change.  San Francisco: Jossey-Bass, Inc.