Panopticon.

OMNISCIENCE

"God knows what you are thinking. When you kneel down to pray he listens."

I was never very comfortable with the idea of being subject to divine surveillance. 

I knelt as an infant, I knelt reluctantly as a child, then I knelt no more. 

SEPARATION

The line of beds were lit up by matron's torch-light. 

She was there standing, observing the pupils. I turned over, pulled the covers over my head.

I closed my eyes and played dead. 

I craved to dream.  

I heard her footsteps in the corridor.  

She had left. 

I turned back to face the shadows in the doorway.

All the other boys seemed asleep.

"On he wandered, gaping exploring, a little , with no company but those thoughts of his. He felt very small, very strange and horribly lonely...

He had no right to feel lonely."

Gunby Hadath, Major and Minor, Boys Own Paper, 1937

TRANSITION

"On his way to bed he had time to learn from some other boys that there existed in the school a gang of bullies whose custom it was to visit all new young boys on the first night and give them something to remember. He lay there shivering and sick in his cubicle. When the lights were out, he heard the gang arrive and visit other cubicles. Presently after what seemed like long hours his turn came. He was ordered to get out of bed which he did. He was asked his name and he replied... Whereupon he received a blow to the face. More questions and a thrashing followed. Finally cold water was poured over him and he was left."

Lady Lugard, The Lugard Papers.

INCORPORATION

Where are those we have known, those that will understand what we live, those that smile or weep in recognition at our stories, those that make us feel less alone?

I typed in the personal details, chose an unlikely password and was confronted by a barrage of questions.

Was I single? Was I in a couple? Was it complicated? Where did I go to school? Where did I work?What books did I like? What music did I listen to? What movies did I love?

It felt like I was being sized and shaped, it felt like I was being fitted to purpose.

CUBICLE

There was never any means of escape.

Those who ventured beyond the frontier found themselves "out of bounds" and were thrashed.

Everything remotely personal I hid, I locked in a box, I dispossessed, I gave away.

I became an other.

I locked myself in the cubicle.

I read the graffiti, it was more grim than amusing.

I sheltered in the library on a Sunday morning.

Nobody came.

I didn't care for dusty books, I only cared for finding refuge.

It was a privacy of sorts.

PANOPTICON

It is a privacy of sorts: this page, my thoughts, these words.

"God knows what you are thinking. When you kneel down to pray he listens."

I knelt as an infant, I knelt reluctantly as a child, then I knelt no more. 

Does God read crude graffiti?

Will I be punished?

We are here in our cubicle, with our blue uniform, now grown up, well drilled and fearful.

"We have to be practical. Drill is little good without shooting."

J.P. Way 1900

Will I be shot?

How is it that we have become so satisfied with so little?

Who prowls our drill ground at night?

Is it not so kindly matron?

A war plane screeches overhead.

My thoughts are scrambled an instant.

My dreams are on their knees, quaking.

PRIVACY

Whose drill ground do we occupy?

What are we at war with?

I couldn't sleep, I tossed and turned, and then I got up to read.

"The Panopticon must not be understood as a dream building: it is a diagram of a mechanism of power reduced to its ideal form."

Michel Foucault.

Urgent.

Shrieking for attention among the never to be read was an email marked: URGENT. 

I sighed.

It had been a long year.

What on earth could be URGENT at this time of the year?

I thought I had better read it.

It referred to another mail left unread.

It was laced with threats of exclusion, excommunication, exfoliation, extermination.

My stress levels rose momentarily.

I sighed.

I thought I had better read the unread.

After much searching and filtering I read the aforesaid unread.

I understood very little.

I sighed.

Attached was an Excel file, and three other documents.

It was URGENT.

I understood very little.

There was line after line of arcane, I assumed academic, acronyms.

I sighed.

It has been a long year.

I texted a friend.

She wasn't sure either.

But it was URGENT.

I plumped for the line beginning: ACLN 2015.

I typed 2 in the cell.

I saved the file.

I attached it in response to the mail with the stressful threats.

I clicked on send.

I hoped for the best.

A reply arrived.

"Thank you Simon."

I didn't really understand what I had done.
It appeared that 2 was an acceptable answer.

Good news.

There is no time to... feel. 
There is no time to... think.
There is no time to... act.




The flow of instructions is unremitting. 
The pace is unrelenting. 


[All text in italics is my writing, the rest is from a text book]




Good news. 
[name of text book]

Turn to Page 14.

"What's wrong?"

1) Look and Guess.
2) Listen and understand.
3) Imagine you may be wrong.

Turn to Page 15.

4) Read and correct.
Tell the class what corrections you have made and why.

5) Explain a problem.

You are at school and there's a problem. It's your job to explain the problem.





OK, I shall take the text book instructions seriously.  

There is no time to think or to do anything that we want to do. We are assaulted by a series of instructions, often contradictory which fill up our existence as a teacher and as a pupil.  We are asked to look at decontextualised photos, cartoons, fragments of text, which are given a holy unnecessary importance.

At no moment are we able to connect as people, to learn together, to be left in peace. 

Our colleagues, inspectors, and ministers put pressure on us to conform to this system.

All acts of freedom are viewed as suspect.



Turn to page 10.

Golden rules

Answer the questions honestly. [questions selected from textbook]
The summer holiday is over and you're back at work.

4) Do you speak loudly and clearly?
5) Do you ever chat with your neighbours in French?
8) Are you interested in what everybody says - the students as well as the teachers?
10) Can you keep still and concentrate?
12) Do you listen carefully to all instructions?
14) Do you always have all the things you need (your textbook, your notebook, your workbook, you homework diary?) [I have nothing I need, only what YOU tell me I need.]

Make resolutions. [never accept this can not be changed one day.]

Make resolutions ot improve your attitude and your English. To make sure you succeed, make sure your goals are realistic. [Change the f***ing system. Sorry that is not realistic.]


Compare and report.

Talk to your neighbour about his/her attitude in class.
Report back to the class on your neighbour's attitude during English class.
[Reminds me of totalitarian states]

X never contributes. He doesn't like it.



Teacher must do preparation. Teacher must do corrections. Teacher must not be late. Teacher must keep discipline. Teacher must defend values of the Republic. Teacher must complete marks for the term. Teacher must use official learning management system. Teacher must not use blogs. Teacher must complete appreciations; in this box before this date. Teacher will be inspected. Inspectors will demand contradictory teaching methods. Teacher career will depend on inspector's marks and appreciations. 

This is a true story. 

This is a real text book entitled "Good News." published in 2009.

These views are entirely my own.

Disciplined Minds...

He was about twenty years old.

"Well we're not used to freedom, we are so used to being told what to do, what to learn. It's good what you are trying to do but you need to start with younger students..."

A remark of a wise old hand at the education game. It is already too late. He is nearing the end of his university degree course. He has important exams to take. Doing anything like real learning is perhaps fun but a bit of a distraction.

Class work Instructions.

• Take two tablets once a week.
• Give them a list of any old stuff  apparently very serious subject matter to cram revise a week before the test. 
• Don't give them too much, nor too little. 
• Avoid embarrassing spelling mistakes.
• Ensure an average mark of 12. (A higher mark will not be satisfactory for other departments.) 
• Make sure there is no brou ha ha in the classroom.
• Make sure there are no complaints, no cheating, and no taxing thinking for anybody to do.
• Don't forget how lucky you are. (to have a job)

We are all much too busy.

Those above, they have the time, they will decide for us. They are paid enough for goodness sake!

"What do I need to do to get the average? What do I do to get enough to retire?"

Completely unlinked links

Disciplined Minds 

The Stockhom Syndrome

One flew over the Cuckoo's nest

Space to think...

Space to think, vital space, head space.

This is it, they can't damn this flow. The English course, an Indian summer, there we were, sitting on the grass, the concrete walls of the institution, vaguely irrelevant. It was impossible to feel anything other than free. The students were standing, others walking, some lounging, chatting, reflecting on their personal projects.

I am sitting on a sofa at home, drinking coffee, writing this. Is this my work? Not sure what it is, but it appears necessary.

Nursery
Yesterday I went to pick up my daughter at the creche. I looked around at the play space. Lovely bright colours, hand painting on the walls, boxes full of toys, little kids moving freely, busily building their real, imaginary worlds.

Primary
I rushed off this evening to the parent teacher meeting at my son's school. I sat facing uncomfortably front at an adult designed child-sized desk. I gazed anxiously at the lists of homework, the shelved exercise books and the high set windows.  Outside, the kids were kneeling on the playground tarmac, playing with their Bayblades.

Boarding
I got my finger stuck in a metallic chair once. The more that I struggled, the more that it swelled up and made its release unlikely. It was in a German class with the man who would successfully convince me that German was not for me. I remember nothing more about his class.

With a lot of tugging, a sizeable pat of butter and no little pain, I was freed. From that day on, I was the undesirable element.

One afternoon, to my considerable pleasure, he excluded me from his class.  I went off to my study and ate toast. Perhaps the best piece of toast I ever remember eating.

Dormitory, library, lavatory.
Sleeping in a room with thirteen co-detainees left little space for privacy. Showering was communal, baths shared, adolescent angst barely hid. Escape was a common subject of discussion at my school. Tales were told of the three boys who managed to get as far as Preston. We only got as far as Blackpool ice-rink. We bribed the monitors.  I didn't like ice-skating, I couldn't care less.

Peace, on week days, was a lavatory cubicle.  Sundays,  I squatted a corner of the library behind the magazine rack. In times of stress, I continue to find comfort in plastic bound glossies and anonymous silence.

Four walls and a door
Let's just close the door, so nobody can hear what I have to say.

Why do we insist on sitting people down on chairs to learn? How much do other people's spaces condition our behaviour? Would we want other people to choose our furniture for us?  Why do prisons and some schools have high-set windows? What has learning got to do with facing front? Aren't we missing something if we only look in one direction? What is it about libraries and comfort? Should the bell at the end of the school day be a release?

Banksy mural 
Photo  Certains droits réservés par walker cleavelands