by Jane Robb, Arinola Adefila, José Pablo Prado Córdova
Part I
In modern day higher education institutions, we too often arrive at an understanding of the world around us through repetition of learnt facts and exposure to the same (Meissner, 1974). There is little room for generating new knowledge until what are considered the ‘higher tiers’ of learning (McGregor, 2020), and often this is bounded within strict academic and organisational standards: ways of finding and expressing knowledge that relies on other commonly accepted knowledge (Bagga-Gupta, 2023).
Despite noteworthy breakthroughs in our understanding of cognitive dynamics, higher education still favours a sort of ‘banking rationale’ where knowledge, prestige, and privilege are deemed to be the currency to be accumulated: McLaren (2015) puts it bluntly ‘…it is the desire for wealth and capital accumulation that helps to provide the epistemic oxygen that nourishes capital’, even in academia. Our learning devices, in sum, seem to be caught in a domesticated inertia by which instrumental knowledge (that which doesn’t question the current world order (Schaefer, Heinze, Rotte, & Denke, 2013)) gets perpetuated, thus fuelling the very reality principle underlying our current civilization crises.
This trait of contemporary academic common sense also neglects the built-in epistemic gaps in our knowledge-generating processes, namely the fact that we normally perceive one dimension of reality among many, we only witness a share of this general perception, we only remember a fraction of this witnessed knowledge, and the fact that we choose to disclose some knowledge and keep some on the basis of social norms, system beliefs or psychological drivers (Simandan, 2019).
In this upcoming series of essays, we use stories from the life experiences of the three international authors to air the pitfalls we come across while sharing knowledge, discuss how this can influence practice in higher education and what this might mean for life outside academia: using the important reflective ‘self-talk’ (Bindels, Verberg, Scherpbier, Heeneman, & Lombarts, 2018) that happens when we surprise ourselves by our own unquestioned epistemology.
A note on the collective ‘we’ in reference to the authors: Jane met Pablo while in Guatemala, conducting fieldwork for her PhD. Later, Jane connected with Arinola while both were in post at Staffordshire University, then linking Pablo and Arinola. Although location and circumstance could be said to have brought us together, our collective willingness to experiment, question and offer vulnerability in reflecting on our experiences led us to collaborating on this project. Through sharing our experiences in this series of essays, we invite others to share their stories, to co-create with us on what it could mean to ‘un-learn’ in a contemporary educational environment.
Use of metrics
Jane Robb, Lecturer in Outdoor Learning and Biodiversity, Institute of Education, Staffordshire University (at time of writing).
I remember an instance, during my masters in the field of conservation, when my peer had identified an area of structural instability in an historic building we were studying as part of our course. We both noted the creeping ivy that clung to the side of the building, fingering its way into the crumbling, ancient mortar. There was no question that this could be used as evidence in our presentation of the assessment of the conservation needs. I noted out loud that yes, this is an issue but that we would need to justify this with the literature, potentially with samples of the brickwork and accompanying photographs.
At the time I didn’t think anything of the statement: an unemotional observation of standards for a UK academic audience, but the suggestion was met with heavy criticism from my peer. Offence, in fact, from the implied disregard for their implicit knowledge gained from decades working in the field outside of a Western context. I was oblivious at the time and disregarded their complaints, I knew I was technically right within the context of the coursework requirements, and our course leader confirmed it when the issue was raised up the chain. And yet, the moment has stayed with me for over a decade as I have continued to explore what it means to ‘know’ something.
The curricula that we teach and courses that we run can be unwittingly informed by knowledge hierarchies, and compounded by an unquestioning version of cultural immersion – where, for example, rather than finding a need to reevaluate self and others while studying with international colleagues (Onosu, 2021), I found myself retreating into existing ‘knowns’. In the process of writing this paper, it further occurred to me that a premise of the masters course was to use Westernised scientific approaches to provide an evidence base for conservation practices. Although exceptionally well taught and a welcome approach for many practitioners, it facilitated my own embedding into a Westernised science knowledge hierarchy rather than directing me to understand the important roles that intuition, past experience and opinion play in conservation philosophy and practice (Kadykalo, Cooke, & Young, 2021).
As an education professional who was born and raised in Scotland and has taught as a qualified teacher in England, I have long been embedded in UK school systems which are often, broadly, structured around a recall of facts, integrating new bite sized chunks of learning, then application of that knowledge. Teachers can’t get enough of classifying activities, maybe the odd mystery task (usually with a single correct answer) or a SWOT (strength/weakness/opportunity/threat) analysis (which – surprise(!) – can allow for more than one correct answer). We are taught and teach Westernised knowledge that values naming and classifications and the idea of ‘objective’ knowledge that is often obtained and perpetuated using questionable (even violent) imperial or colonial practices, for example in the use of scientific names for species (Rubis, 2020) or the way in which we count (Bishop, 1990). This taught content relegates other ways of knowing to that of romanticised myth or story and therefore not as valuable to the progression of unquestionable fact.
I believe that, in education and in life, we never have space to simply: not know. My experience of not-knowing (different from the ‘go home, do some research and tell me the answer tomorrow’ response that teachers are well-versed at) opens the space for ‘more-than’ interpretations of what there could be to know. Not-knowing allows for endings that have no end: it creates opportunities, stories, imagination, curiosity, memories and self-confidence.
In opposition to the UK education system’s culture of progress, the need for answers and unquestioned value hierarchies in relation to knowledge systems, I have come to understand the idea of not-knowing as, in fact, a way of ‘knowing’ within and of itself. But in order to create space for the not-knowing, I need to remove myself from that state of constant ‘doing’ which I feel bound to within our capitalist society that places value on constant, inexorable ‘progress’. For me, finding a state of inertia, or boredom, is also finding a place where I can begin to un-learn: to question what I think I know and to explore that which I don’t.
Boredom has been considered essential to creating space for creativity to grow (Ringmar, 2019). Mann and Cadman (2014) found daydreaming to be an important mediator between boredom and creativity – where daydreaming (triggered by being presented with real life situations that un-inspire) can allow for the exploration of illogical ideas or those that might not fit within an individual’s worldview. And yet, for the Anishinaabe People (who live in the area of the Great Lakes across what is now Canada and the United States), dreaming as valid(ating) ways of knowing is an established practice, simply not one to which Westernised scholarship has become accustomed (Shawanda, 2020).
However, boredom has often been construed as broadly negative and may trigger risk-taking actions (Bengtsson, 2012). But, it is interesting to question the line between ‘unproductive’ or harmful risk-taking actions and those that might initiate a necessary challenge to the current system (who defines the quality of a risk or its outcomes, at what point in time do we make our judgement?).
As we are constantly told we need to be doing something to be valuable – we live in a world where being the ‘most busy’ or spending long hours at work is important social and professional capital (Lashewicz, Mitchell, Boettcher, Jones, & Wang, 2020) – removing the ability to be bored within a system can also be a stifling blow for resistance to that system. Idleness allows time for reflection and commitment to causes that bond communities together (Tournadre, 2019). Although this form of activism might not resemble the radicality we often see on the news, it can be embedded, long term and productive.
Capitalism blames the individual for their affliction, reinforcing personal responsibility for things that are, in fact, a collective responsibility, like climate change. In turn, capitalism then feeds on this insecurity created, urging us to keep producing, keep calm, keep positive (Kingsmith, 2018). If we took the time to stop travelling on this roundabout of increasingly ‘doing’ to avoid responsibility, we might be able to peer behind the veil and take action. In all cases, ‘not knowing’ is not only an important requirement for triggering change, but also for accepting what might come next – feeling into the not-knowing to discover the un-known.
Contributors
Jane Robb has broad-ranging theoretical and practitioner knowledge of formal education and lifelong learning, with experience in public science communication in the UK and Europe, as a qualified teacher of chemistry and geography in the UK and a qualified Forest School leader. Her PhD applied behavioural theory to understand the use of natural resources in Guatemala and her peer-reviewed publications cover science communication, citizen compliance, heritage and natural resources. At the time of writing, Jane was a Lecturer in Outdoor Learning and Biodiversity at Staffordshire University. Now, Jane is developing an independent artistic practice alongside delivering and evaluating local creative health programmes. Her situation as both an academic and a practitioner across the arts and sciences lend her a unique lens through which to view lifelong and transformative educational practices.
Arinola Adefila is a professor of Social Policy and EDI. She has an established track record as a leading transdisciplinary researcher who examines transformative learning environments, just transitions and sustainable futures. Arinola is an educational practitioner, who believes lifelong learning should transverse sociocultural learning spaces enabling collaboration, and social action that tackle wicked problems. Prof Adefila’s transdisciplinary research focuses on climate change, conflict resolution and peace partnerships; she works with practitioners, researchers and civic organisations to interrogate pathways which promote socio-cultural cohesion and transformative learning.
José Pablo Prado Córdova is a tenured lecturer on social sciences and rural development at Universidad de San Carlos de Guatemala. Interested in the intersection between ecology and critical theory, just been elected as board member for ActionAid International, and have published on conservation sciences, agrarian history and political ecology. Currently working on two 5-year research projects on agroecology, and social justice for Earth observation science in Guatemala. Member of the Development Studies Association in the UK and U of Edinburgh alumnus.
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