{"id":1471,"date":"2021-10-25T17:21:38","date_gmt":"2021-10-25T16:21:38","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/21stcenturylearners.org.uk\/?p=1471"},"modified":"2021-11-30T16:42:19","modified_gmt":"2021-11-30T15:42:19","slug":"the-hopefulness-of-teaching-for-dialogue","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/21stcenturylearners.org.uk\/?p=1471","title":{"rendered":"The hopefulness of teaching for dialogue"},"content":{"rendered":"\n
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Image by Clker-Free-Vector-Images<\/a> from Pixabay<\/a><\/figcaption><\/figure>\n\n\n\n
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I often argue the case for dialogue as a medium through which young people can learn about curriculum subjects more deeply (see my series \u2018A Teacher\u2019s Guide to Dialogic Pedagogy<\/a>‘, for example). In this post I want to make an argument for dialogue as an endpoint <\/strong>of education. I\u2019ll argue that it offers us a better way to be, that it enables a person to gain a richer understanding of him or herself, of other people, and of the world, and that it offers hope <\/strong>for the future. Let\u2019s start with some everyday experiences.<\/p>\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n

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Making the (dialogic) switch<\/h2>\n\n\n\n
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When I go for a run or a walk on the lanes around my home, I\u2019m prone to curse the drivers who force me into the edge: \u201cToo fast!\u201d; \u201cWhy don\u2019t they stay on the main roads?\u201d When I drive on the lanes around my home, I\u2019m prone to curse the runners and walkers who force me to slow to a crawl: \u201cThis is a road \u2013 stick to the footpaths!\u201d Having experienced both perspectives, I hope I\u2019m becoming better able to switch <\/strong>between them: when I\u2019m running I can imagine how the driver might see things and tuck into the edge, when I\u2019m driving I\u2019m more likely to be patient and careful (and stick to the main roads). Perhaps, in a limited way, I am a better person for having experienced both sides.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

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Making that switch is not so easy when one doesn\u2019t have first-hand experience of both perspectives. My wife\u2019s family have a very different social and cultural background to my own. Sometimes these two worlds come into conflict \u2013 when we are making decisions about the children\u2019s upbringing, for example. I went to my local comprehensive school and did well, why wouldn\u2019t it be the same for my boys? Grammar schools? Private schools? Faith schools? No! These represent misguided courses of action for those who don\u2019t really \u2018get\u2019 the comprehensive ideal.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

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It\u2019s only when the competition stops (my way\u2019s better than your way!) and we each begin to immerse ourselves in the other\u2019s world, taking a genuine interest in the experiences that shaped us and our parents, that we gain another perspective \u2013 another window onto the world, if you like. When my wife looks at me and tells me why she values faith schools, I can see \u2018behind her\u2019 the landscape that gave rise to that position, and I can even imagine myself standing where she is looking back at the landscape of my own experience and recognise that it is limited \u2013 just one point of view in countless possibilities. In a way, I have been able to make the switch and experience both sides – my awareness is expanded<\/strong> and I am better for it.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

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But this kind of \u2018switching\u2019 of perspective takes time, effort and genuine curiosity \u2013 desire and care <\/strong>to understand the other view. Is this realistic in encounters with others we don\u2019t know so well, and whose views seem so different from our own? I think it is, but it\u2019s hard \u2013 harder than we might think. So why make the effort?<\/p>\n\n\n\n

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Understanding our stories<\/h2>\n\n\n\n
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One more anecdote. My neighbour\u2019s trees keep the light off my garden. It\u2019s only when I stand in his garden \u2013 on his side of the fence \u2013 that I can see them as a beautiful backdrop and as protectors of his privacy. It doesn\u2019t stop me wishing they were smaller, but I understand their value to him; perhaps if I invite him to stand in my garden, a compromise will be reached.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

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We\u2019re all divided from our neighbours by metaphorical fences \u2013 barriers to our understanding of one another. As long as we stand only in our own garden looking out, we will be surrounded by alien perspectives, by people who just don\u2019t seem to get it, and we will be forever bounded by our own experience. That\u2019s not a great place to be \u2013 it\u2019s not a great way to be<\/em><\/strong>. In the end we\u2019ll build those fences higher, retreat into our isolated selves or our likeminded tribes, and take up arms against the world outside.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

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In his book A Swim in a Pond in the Rain<\/em>, George Saunders writes about how stories change our minds as they allow us to \u2018step out of our own (limited) consciousness and into another one (or two, or three)\u2019. He tells us how stories have allowed him to feel an increased confidence in his ability to imagine the experiences of other people and to accept them as valid. In a world in which so many of us so often fail to understand each other, this sounds like a great gift.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

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I think we all need to learn to listen to stories \u2013 to turn to them with an open heart and an open mind. Not just fictional, written stories, but also the spoken stories of our neighbours. As we listen, we need to use our imagination to visit the other perspective \u2013 to stand in that other landscape. We need to show care and curiosity as we seek to understand<\/strong> before making judgements.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

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We need to learn to tell our own stories too \u2013 to share our opinions and ideas, and also to be willing to examine the experiences that gave rise to them and to acknowledge our uncertainties and our fallibility. We need a genuine concern to make ourselves understood by the other, choosing our words with him or her in mind. Then we can hold our different stories together and explore (with a critical yet creative mind) the space of difference between them so that our awareness is expanded and, perhaps, our minds are changed. We need to learn to \u2018be in dialogue<\/strong>\u2019 with the world around us.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

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Teaching for dialogue<\/h2>\n\n\n\n
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By teaching young people how to engage in dialogue we are offering them much more than enhanced academic performance \u2013 we are offering them a better way to be in the world. This is a process that will develop virtues <\/strong>such as care, collaborativeness, criticality, creativity, reasonableness, tolerance, patience, open-mindedness, open-heartedness, humility, communicativeness, attentiveness and more. It will also engender feelings of concern, trust, respect, appreciation, affection and hope; hope of the possibility of new insights, new understandings, richer relationships and a better future.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

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Developing such virtues requires conscious effort and practice \u2013 a process that often begins by negotiating and following \u2018ground rules<\/strong>\u2019 for dialogue in the classroom (we listen attentively, we offer challenge respectfully, we look for connections, we build on the ideas of others etc.). Over time, and together with those around us, we move from unthinking obedience to such rules to a conscious awareness of their value and then to an ability to deliberately apply them; ultimately they become part of our character. If schools offer young people the chance to regularly engage in dialogue about things of genuine interest (to their academic learning and to their wider lives), and to consciously develop the skills and dispositions (and ultimately virtues) needed for dialogue, then the rewards will be great.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

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In the Cambridge Primary Review (CPR), Professor Robin Alexander<\/strong> suggests 12 aims of primary education:<\/p>\n\n\n\n

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