Читать книгу The Struggle to Teach English as an International Language - Adrian Holliday - Страница 3

The element of struggle in international English language education exists in two respects. It resides in the need for educators to re-align themselves in the face of the changing ownership of English and culturally divisive ideologies and practices. This book explores this struggle by means of a critical sociology of their worlds and conflicts. But the struggle also resides in how it is possible to write about an area of conflict while being situated within it in a position of power and privilege – from an English-speaking West which has dominated the TESOL world with its well-resourced institutions of teaching, training and publishing and the residues of a colonial past. I draw on email accounts from 36 ESOL educators from 14 countries, who include 20 colleagues from outside the English-speaking West. Their accounts have indeed influenced the direction the book has taken – often to unexpected areas of discussion – but their presence raises the issue of who I am to be able to incorporate their voices. Though it may exaggerate an opposition which does not always exist, one must take seriously Canagarajah’s concern about ‘white-skinned teacher/researchers from rich communities’ who ‘visit dilapidated classrooms of brown-skinned vernacular-speaking students in periphery communities’ (1999: 51). It cannot be denied that ‘Centre’ researchers trying to empower ‘Periphery’ communities to which they do not belong may in the end only strengthen the discourses of the ‘Centre’.

There are several factors to consider. First, English-speaking Western TESOL is itself a diverse, divided, and complex culture. The focus of this book is the cultural prejudices which emerge from a dominant, though particular ideology which has its origins within this culture but does not govern the thinking of all its members. A British academic critiquing this ideology is not therefore indulging in self-flagellating soul searching, but struggling for independence from thinking with which he and many of his colleagues do not wish to be associated. Second, cultural distance is relative. One cannot necessarily claim insider understanding of people because they come from one’s own community. Differences of age, class, institutional culture, gender, personal ideology, and so on also mediate in our visions of each other. I am not always in a better position to understand my British colleagues in Canterbury than the Egyptian colleagues I worked with so closely for five years. There is also a broader professional community which in a multiplicity of ways interconnects ESOL educators of all types. Its ideological, political, and economic divisions not so much inhibit cultural study, but characterize the particular coherence of the culture which enlivens my investigation.

The interconnectedness of the broader TESOL community can be appreciated by means of thick description, which is the central discipline of the progressivist paradigm of qualitative research which the book employs. The accounts of my informants are thus set against other examples of professional and academic life, from classrooms, conferences, documents, the ‘corridors’ of institutional life, and so on. The piecing together of a description of the high level of surveillance in a U-shaped classroom in Britain, a Pakistani teacher’s statement about how she is discriminated against because of her supposed speakerhood, and a teacher’s personal recollection of cultural missionary zeal early in his career in Iran, begin to reveal the interconnecting fault-lines of the profession as a whole.

Thick description alone does not however totally resolve the question of writer versus informant identity. The third factor which enables me to speak about other communities concerns the autobiographical descriptions of my own professional experience, which not only form a further element of the thick description, but set the tenor for the whole book. What characterizes my email informants as a group is not any sense of being a ‘representative’ sample of World TESOL. What binds them is their relationship to my own professional biography. These are the colleagues and students from whom, because they are different to me, I have learnt to see and at least partially to escape the deep-seated prejudices of a dominant professionalism. The comments of those informants from outside the English-speaking West help me to examine myself and my own practices. In taking an autobiographical stance I speak only for myself, in my own personal narrative of a multicultured international experience. I do not therefore make any claim to be speaking for the TESOL people whom I cite. To do so would be presumptuous. Using Coffey’s terms, the narratives from my informants ‘offer uniquely privileged data, grounded in biographical experience and social contexts’ (1999: 115), which in turn connect with my own ‘experience and social contexts’ and those represented in my other data, brought together by thick description. ‘By incorporating, fragmenting, and mingling these texts’, the ‘intertextuality of ethnography’ is reinforced’; and ‘writing the self into ethnography’ enhances its ‘authenticity’ (1999: 118, citing Atkinson). The autobiographical descriptions of my own professional past also enable me to make new sense of critical incidents which changed my view of professional life and stayed with me as haunting puzzles, to help me unravel the origins of a dominant culture of practice which has now become normalized. While asserting independence from it, if I am an insider to anything it is to the powerful professionalism of English-speaking Western TESOL which is so implicated in the struggle which I describe.

On a procedural note, throughout the text I refer to my email informants by first name. In some cases these will be pseudonyms or code letters. In other cases, where permission has been given, these will be real names. In a few such cases, where they are also authors whose work I have cited, I use full names. In all cases they will have had the opportunity to see and comment on how I use their accounts; and I have changed my text where they have recommended this. I do, however, take full responsibility for the way in which I present and draw implications from their words. The locations of their accounts can be found in the index.

Acknowledgements

I am deeply indebted to my email informants who sent me 51,800 words of eloquent, profound, unexpected, contrary, and challenging data. They have been patient in reading draft chapters and sending back their comments. These are Ana Maria Aramayo, Andrew Hirst, Beverly Bickel, Bojana Petric, Catherine Wallace, Christine Doye, Corony Edwards, Danai Tsapikidou, David Carless, David Palfreyman, Fauzia Shamim, Jane Andrews, Jasmine Luk, Jennifer Jenkins, Kerry Sykes, Lama Najjoum, Layla Galal Rizk, Lorraine Doherty, Mark Almond, Michael Brewer, Lydia Kasera, Mohammed Al-Ghafri, Mona Zikri, Nadia Touba, Patricia Sullivan, Richard Fay, Satoko Nobe, Ruth Spack, Ryuko Kubota, Sadia Ali, Sarah Khan, Veronicka Makarova, and Vicky Kuo I-Chun. I apologize in advance for any misquotes or misunderstandings of what they said. Where their accounts are not included due to lack of space, their presence remains in the deeper fabric of the book.

Continued discussion and renewed acquaintance with my past colleagues from Ain Shams, Damascus, and Pune Universities, Amal Kary, Mona Zikri, Nafez Shammas, Warka Barmada, Grace Jacob and Maya Narkar, have provided immeasurable inspiration and helped me to completely re-assess my professional persona. More recently, Hollo Dorottya and her acutely aware PhD students at Eötvös Lóránd University, and Doug Goodwin, Ingrid Barradas, Troy Crawford, Martha Lengeling and their colleagues, and students at the School of Languages, Guanajuato University, took me into parts of the world with other stories I had not before experienced. Successive cohorts of students from the Hong Kong Institute of Education have also been influential. Sitting in their refectory on their campus, watching them ‘at home’, has also played a deeply formative role which is detailed within.

Major contribution to my thinking has been made by critical qualitative researchers who have been students and colleagues in Canterbury, Ge Jin, Pat Grounds, Pembe Delikurt, Tom Duan Yuping, Pam Aboshiha, John Kullman, Martin Hyde, Kimberly Brooks-Lewis, Caroline Moore, Oscar Narvaez, Cecilio Lopez, Hiroko Hayagoshi, Jo Chang and Valerie Ainscough. Angela Baxter, Chris Anderson, Jimmy Tong Woonman, and Trevor Grimshaw are referred to at length. Others are among my email informants. I feel we have pushed forward the boundaries of knowledge of TESOL as cultural and political practice. Tony Booth helped me to realize that all experience is data – moving on from Swales’ reference to ‘taking tea in laboratory technicians’ cubby-holes’, hanging out in conferences, noticing things in meetings, classrooms, and departmental corridors. Vivien Zamel, Ruth Spack, Ryuko Kubota, Stephanie Vandrick, and Aya Matsuda helped me to see greater texture in the ideas I had been ruminating over and writing about more parochially for several years. Paul Taylor, a dear friend who was there in many of my sojourns at TESOL, provided a sanity and helped me not to get beyond myself. Chance meetings with Nalina Sutakul helped me to finish the text.

Henry Widdowson, Cristina Whitecross, Anna Cowper, and Suresh Canagarajah have provided the measure of what I am able to say in terms of evidence, audience, and my professional persona. Hywel Coleman has for many years been a co-thinker and confidant in the struggle to achieve cultural continuity. All through my adult and professional life, Mehri Honarbin-Holliday has embodied the ‘foreign Other’ with whom I have been learning how to behave. She has kept me to the quest to understand who we are and to undo the damage that can be done by cultural prejudice. I hope that because of her I might have a slim chance of making sense and getting it right.