Community chest.

It was thanks to Paul Prinsloo that I became familiar with the annotated image of the Monopoly board.

He used it in his brilliant presentation entitled:

Faculty as quantified, measured and tired: The lure of the red shoes.
[slides]

Faculty as quantified, measured and tired: The lure of the red shoes.
[script]

Quantified, measured and tired.

It is taking more energy than I feel that I have to type this here.

A pop up notification appears on my phone:

"Congratulations: you have won an open badge for succesfully completing a course."

I feel no joy or achievement.

I feel only tired and demoralised.

I shan't ever wear those red shoes...

God be blessed (blasphemy). I suppose that is a mercy.

As a kid, I wasn't even seduced by brown shoes.

"We were never allowed brown shoes, only the privileged had them. We wore black army boots and gaiters on Thursday afternoons."

http://tachesdesens.blogspot.com/2014/02/body-and-sole-rhizo14-meets-metaphor.html

I count myself lucky to have shoes at all; others aren't so privileged.

Open badges and closed borders.

Yesterday, I conducted an English exam for a student who needed some sort of grade, any sort of institutional credit, to avoid expulsion from the country.

"Congratulations, you have won an open badge for successfully completing a course."

A survival badge.

He started his university career with minus ten years of study of English compared with the French students.

He started his university career with minus ten years of practice of computer skills.

"Congratulations, you have won an open badge for successfully completing a course."

A survival badge.

Community chest.

As I arrived at the university, I looked at the ongoing building work. It was for a spanking new research laboratory.  The occupation of the ex-library, once a potential space for an open learning centre, is a concrete demonstration of the power structure within the institution.

We had imagined a new pedagogical space.

Hours and hours of time invested...in praxis.

Does praxis make perfect?

Poor naive souls...

Pedagogy comes way down the list in terms of institutional priorities.

"Pedagogical project" vs "Research lab"?

There was no contest.

Shattered dreams of open community learning....

I shall get that off my chest.

Budget cuts...any budget cuts.

Rationalisation, financial control, personnel insecurity...personal strife.

I wrote about my time at Marylhurst: “As the financial woes of the institution mounted, the mistreatment of faculty, and especially adjunct faculty, increased ... Tears were not unusual at committee meetings.” https://t.co/wjp4SyggKO

— Jesse Stommel (@Jessifer) May 19, 2018

"Congratulations, you have won an open badge for successfully completing a course."

Bored room meetings.

I met a couple of bored students waiting around for an exam.

What were they waiting for?

The opportunity to gain a bit of credit to move onto the next square in this ludicrous game.

They know that they are not invited to the main board table.

The real games go on in "Grandes Ecoles", then in board rooms, or amongst the bankers.

The real winners don't need "badges" like us, they employ people to sort out pesky legal problems.

The real winners don't need to write blogs, they don't give a fuck about that, they own the platforms.

The real winners don't play games, they don't take prisoners, they have no qualms, they are killers.

"Congratulations, you have won an open badge for successfully completing a course."

Not the banker?

I am a loser, I am not even winning at that.

I am a middling, meddling, signed up member of the mediocrity messing around in a sham meritocracy, piddling around in a sham democracy.

"Congratulations, you have won an open badge for successfully completing a course."

The real losers, don't play games, they don't take prisoners, they have no qualms, they are killers.

Those real losers buy semi-automatic weapons from the real winners.

Oh, you can't blame the winners for over-estimating their importance.

Why be critical when you are winning the game?

You wouldn't want to question your good fortune for too long.

You're a great guy!

You're a tough guy!

You're a really mean guy!

Oh Bravo!

I listened to Piers Morgan speak on TV.

The devil's apprentice.

Devil's apprentice winner, Piers likes the sound of his winning (whining) voice.

Great guy!

Listening to Piers Morgan speak on TV about winning the ratings battle, crushing the competitors to his girly eye-brow raising, colluding, co-presenters and I feel an urgent need to vomit, to take several showers.

Oh isn't he a naughty boy!

Piers sounds like a fucking loser to me.

The real winners don't need to present morning TV, they don't give a fuck about that, they own the platforms.

Good morning Britain.

Good morning Vietnam.

Il est cinq heures, Paris se reveille...

On n' est pas couché...

Are you sure?

I am sure il a couché...ou elle.

Red shoes, brown shoes? Brown shirts...

Another mediocre privileged protofascist populist on French TV, channeling Trump, channeling Farage, channeling Orban spitting out vile.

Debout la France!

I feel an urgent need to vomit, to take several showers.

The real winners don't care about divisions created as a result of the air-time given to these bastards on their fucking platforms.

Civil wars win ratings battles.

Give them blood.

They'll have the bullets.

"Congratulations, you have won an open badge for successfully completing a course."

Get out of jail! Free?

I wanted to be inspired by Sean Michael Morris's blog post that I read yesterday.

Reflecting on < Imagination as a Precision Tool for Change https://t.co/hhpPkD9WfK @slamteacher

— Simon Ensor (@sensor63) June 25, 2018

I read it.

I think of agency.

I feel tired, demoralised and measured in these words...

Oh agency...would that be like the drive for survival which brings people to get into boats to cross the Mediterrenean?

We need virtual exchanges to build up understanding between young people in Europe and those in the South Mediterrenean countries (Africa).

They say in the pamphlet.

"Congratulations, you have won an open badge for successfully completing a course."

Oh fuck, I am oh so so happy.

I am so fucking content with my badge.

Imagination as a precision tool for change.

I feel tired, demoralised and measured in these words...

How the fuck can I, white, bi-national shoe-wearing member of the mediocrity, imagine the lives of those risking their lives to cross the sea with their kids to come to France?

What did my imagination ever do to really change fuck?

Imagination, precision tool for change...my arse.

[I measure my words, I regret the tone, I regret the potential upset caused, I so want to be cheered, to cheer the work of those who I respect, I want to encourage, to feel encouraged, and the only words I can find to write are 'my arse'. I so wish I could steal the words of others, Freire, hooks, whoever, to feel better.]

I am sorry.

Open badges and closed borders.

I reread a paragraph about plagiarism.

What the hell is Turnitin?

I claim ignorance.

I read it and it sounds like some drug sold by Pfizer.

Can ignorance enable agency?

I feel myself writing words that I will only regret.

I am sorry.

The paragraph reminds me of the "exam" earlier in the week.

I had to explain the concept of "plagiarism" to the "candidate."

He had no English words of his own.

He was desperate to avoid expulsion.

He stole the words of others.

I begin to feel more like a border control officer than a teacher.

I find a space in the marking grid for him to express his plight in one of the five languages he masters.

Four of the languages, he points out, are not much use outside of his country.

English, he says is essential to him...to work in...management.

I hear the protofascist on TV whining on about France being colonised by African migrants.

I feel an urgent need to vomit, to take several showers.

I go back and reread Sean Michael Morris's:

"Is critical pedagogy aligned with the interests of the academy? In an ivory tower increasingly interested in credentialing as currency, competitive completion rates, models of efficiency that have given rise to online program management companies, the outsourcing of pedagogy to Pearson and Turnitin, are we confronting a reality where “Dreams are caught in the meshes of the saleable; possession of consumer goods is the alternative to gloom or feelings of pointlessness. Ideas of possibilities are trapped in predictability”? (“Art and Imagination” 124)"

However you turn it, in this occupied territory, the answer to Sean's question is:

YES

I go back and read Sean's last paragraph.

"Before I sat down to write this talk, I would not have thought that my best pedagogical advice might be to go seeking after monsters. But I think it’s good advice, and advice I want to take. To front the reckless world. To be reminded that some things cannot be reasoned."

Some things cannot be reasoned, yes.

I don't need to go seeking bloody monsters.

Does one really need imagination to see monsters?

NO

One does need imagination to survive these monstrous times.

GO directly to jail.

Sowing seeds.

Headlines...

The announcement almost had no effect on me.

Anonymous exams in an anonymous amphitheatre had been dumped. 

That would have been unthinkable even a few months before.

Today, the news seemed sort of a footnote to a forgotten battle.

Victories...

A few days before I was sitting in Place de la Victoire drinking coffee on a terrace.

An ex-student had face-booked me to meet up with him.

Could I help him out translating for a new thoughtful magazine/periodical for running-enthusiasts aimed at a global niche market.

He spent a long time explaining his work and life values.

Somehow, what he said made me hopeful for the future.

Photo-Albums...

I looked at some photos of #CLAVIER 2014-15 exchange activities. 

They included, in no particular order: 

Students tasting marmite sent to them by their correspondants in the UK.

Teachers of different nationalities drinking beer together in a pub.

French students dancing to Polish folk music in Poland.

Polish students teaching French students in France.

Librarian, librarians...

I met a librarian in the UK. 

In the time it takes to write this blog, we had made contact via email and Twitter and made contact with French librarians to organise meetings. 

Maybe librarians in Australia or the USA would like to join in the conversations?

Crossing lines...

A hangout organised by Maha at a conference had been blogged about by

• Alan in Arizona http://cogdogblog.com/2015/06/14/conference-buddy-dml/, 
• Maha in Egypt http://blog.mahabali.me/blog/educational-technology-2/pjs-and-a-headscarf-my-privatepublic-life/, 
• Tania in Australia http://taniasheko.com/social-learning/pln-unconference-virtual-learning/,  
• And by myself http://tachesdesens.blogspot.fr/2015/06/magic.html in France.

The same hangout had been introduced to two more colleagues in France, sparking a discussion about social presence, gifting, hashtags, Instagram, memes and Strip Designer. 

A ensuing photo was tweeted to the UK.

The tweet was retweeted within three seconds by @warwicklanguage in the UK , favourited by @clarissamfb in Brazil and resulted in a Twitter exchange between three teachers, @mcrustan, @warwicklanguage and @DELChristine, one of whom usually avoids Twitter :-)

Active participation of friends at #dml2015 met through cmoocs - in particular #ccourses resulted in me being drawn to the conference ignite sessions archived on Youtube.

One ignite presentation of RoadTrip Nation http://roadtripnation.com/explore/interests resulted in an email exchange with 20 teachers in France. 

One teacher immediately responded: "Thanks for sharing! It seems quite exciting. I'm sure my students will love it!"

This post was inspired by reading a blog post written by Tania in Australia and by comments written by Maha in Egypt. In the post http://taniasheko.com/social-learning/pln-unconference-virtual-learning/ Tania writes:

"How do I show this kind of learning and praxis to my colleagues, to the teachers at my school? It still feels like I’m living a secret life or at least that it’s the invisible alternative life. How do I show others – without being intrusive or condescending (this is great, I know what I’m talking about) that it’s easy to connect to people and events online and that this world is just as real as the external world of work? In fact, in many cases I know more about  people I’m connected to  online than I do of staff at my own school.

How do we change our behaviours in a system that doesn’t change?"

A few years ago, I asked myself similar questions. 

I think my answer is this:

Joyfully sow seeds narrowly and widely, nurture saplings, tell stories, share fruit...have a laugh. 

Evangelical zeal makes me feel sick. 

Unfortunately, this bloody hymn came to my mind. 

"We plough the fields, and scatter the good seed on the land;
But it is fed and watered by God's almighty hand:
He sends the snow in winter, the warmth to swell the grain,
The breezes and the sunshine, and soft refreshing rain."

I don't believe in God, I hated that hymn. 

I like sun, snow, soft-refreshing rain (but not every day). 

Breezes, spontaneous conversation and social media, even conferences help to carry seed further.

We can share, ideas, faith, hope, love, tears, joy, laughter, beer, football results...

We can even do that with people we see face to face. 

On the edge.

I have relived this moment so many times, but it comes back in many forms. Here it is again. I am on the edge, exhilarated, terrified, infinitely alive grasping up for an easy hold, and at an instant I am flying through the air downwards...

Oh dear not again!

The final words are always something like:

 "You idiot! with one or two f***s and f****ing as qualification."  

Why didn't you keep your feet on the ground? Why weren't you sensible, like normal people? Easy, life, easy job, easy TV, easy holidays, easy death (not necessarily in that order.)

Here it is again. I was on the edge of saying NO! to #rhizo14, NO! be sensible, no you don't have time, you have real work to do, real projects to lead, you have no time for a bloody course!

Idiot!

I don't know about you but there are many times when I don't have the courage of my convictions. The system, the calendar, the clock, the routine are things which scare me still. I am inevitably off course, off the wall, out to lunch.

It scared me for many years, it scared my parents, it scares people.  However much I try, their order is beyond me. I was and remain the kid with the scuffed shoes, crooked tie, and a mischievous tendency for inappropriate laughter, inappropriate, unwelcome questions.

So what?
I am learning, with the #rhizo14 community that much of my schooling cheated me, I was eager to please; I shouldn't have bothered.  I didn't cheat, I withdrew into graphic reverie, scribble, dream. Drawing, drama, nature, sport, laughter, there was hilarious absurdity when the best laid plans went West.  In fact, #rhizo14 is a rather graphic representation of learning "on the edge of chaos". We are perched uncomfortably stretching out our hands for welcome solace, reassurrance, a firm hold amongst the nonsense flying past our heads.

Testing
This is what sport is, this is what teaching is, an opportunity for personal profit, personal glory, good figure, good figures, good job. Pathetic nonsense! They are cheating our kids, they are cheating themselves, they are cheating the goddam world with their paltry body-counts.

Drone on Simon, drone on.
Are you hearing our voices in #rhizo14 the guys in the NSA? Your country is our country, your freedom is our freedom, your children are our children.

Cheat on, idiot!
I have had three or four excellent teachers who understood what learning can be. My art teacher, my English teacher, my first EFL boss, and now, goodness so many others.  I started this blog with a picture. I was 19, I was happy, I had no idea where my path led. Nothing has changed.

You guys in the #rhizo14 community and particularly those in the #rhizo14 #communityofpraxis (you will know who you are even if I don't know you) have given me more time than I feared I didn't have, more energy than I felt I didn't have, more meaningful connections in a week than those made over a number of years.  All this my friends, is because I have simply followed my scribble, been incompetent to resist my instinct, been deaf to fearful good sense.

 

#Rhizo14 Nomad's Land Refound
This 'course' Mr Cormier is a joyful representation of  my learning path. A path which, I had no idea would lead to this current piece of text. 3 poems, unregulated networking, and lots of 'praxis' later, I have a model for these notes I shared in Plymouth a few years ago. #Rhizomatic learning lies on...

A little while ago, another (yet another) tweet led me back to Manchester circa 1981, about the year that I nearly died hitting the ground with impressive impact from 13 metres off Stanage Edge.

Factory records (a joke name) was flung together by a certain Tony Wilson. Fans of Joy Division will maybe find meaning in his name. My word for the year via @teachnorthern (after glancing vaguely at in a @timbuckteeth article) will be #PRAXIS. Here is what Tony Wilson wrote about it:

Praxis is "doing something, and then only afterwards, finding about why you did it." 

This is the story of my life, this is the story of my learning, this is the story from week 1 of #rhizo14.

Thank you my friends for your company, you make this nonsense more bearable.

Post-script.
After listening to Howard Rheingold speaking on about being 'On the Edge' in Connected Courses last night. I feel that I must repost this piece...not sure why.