Dystopian tales

Trigger tales.

“That is what you have to do before you kill, I thought. You have to create an it, where none was before. ” 

Margaret Attwood. The Handmaid's Tales.

He's hunched over, body taut, automatic weapon loaded, trigger taught, ready to shoot on sight.

Blood splatters across the wall as his victim crumples under the impact of the bullets.

Another kill is notched up.

I can hear my son upstairs, whooping with joy.

Subversive tales.

“By telling you anything at all I'm at least believing in you, believe you're there, I believe you into being. Because I'm telling you this story I will your existence. I tell, therefore you are. So I will go on. So I will myself to go on.” 

Margaret Attwood. The Handmaid's Tales.

"So what do you do then?" I ask them.

One, apparently the senior academic, chortles.

He nods his head to a silent partner across the table.

"So what do you do then?" he echoes.

"Subversive...huh? You have a lot in common with him." he adds.

His colleague, head down, speaks.

It's hardly more than a whisper.

"Well, there's a parallel system. If I like the guy and I want to help him out then I send a copy of my article freely."

Conversations flow naturally from academic pay walls, to walled gardens of VLE's,  to Berlin wall, to Trump wall, to Pink Floyd's Wall.

Surveillance tales.

“A rat in a maze is free to go anywhere, as long as it stays inside the maze.” 

Margaret Attwood. The Handmaid's Tales.

Here we are around the lunch table, talking of freedom to connect across frontiers, internet, social media, open education, the collapse of the Soviet Bloc, the Wild West East of capitalism, the rise of individualism, the threat to community, the greed, the misery, the miserlyness, the lack of care.

A guy from the STASI listening through walls to the lives of others.

A guy from Facebook collecting data on the interests, the emotions, the friendships, the movements, of others.

Tribal tales.

“Ignoring isn’t the same as ignorance, you have to work at it.” 

Margaret Attwood. The Handmaid's Tales.


Here we were, separated by a generation and a computer screen, talking of our (dis)connected lives. Listening to him, I felt both ignorant, and lacking in imagination.

Who was the researcher, who was the teacher, who was the learner, who was the mentor?

He talked of the differences between playing online solo, online in network, offline together, together.

Am I missing something there?

Who will be having to revise the lesson?

He talked of heroes, leaders, tribes, communities, affinity groups, generations, clans, castes, crowds, students, teachers.

He talked of roller, skate, scooter, bmx.

Conflicts over wax on rails.

Invasions of space.

Am I missing something there?

Who will be having to revise the lesson?

Measured tales.

“Better never means better for everyone... It always means worse, for some.” 

Margaret Attwood. The Handmaid's Tales.

She looked tired, she sounded downbeat.

Their ship had been swept away in the flood.

“I want everything back, the way it was. But there is no point to it, this wanting.” 

Margaret Attwood. The Handmaid's Tales.

Some guys had jumped ship.

Entire departments around the country had been wiped out.

Health services were up for sale to the highest bidder.

Cost cutting measures were on the agenda.

Debt schemes are being leveraged.

Wave after wave of management schemes had been sent to try the staff, to size them up, to cut numbers down to size.

Those in power lie as they breathe.

They have no care for care.

It's an economy measure.

Spreadsheets, efficiency, customer satisfaction.

Best practice no doubt.

"I feel no motivation whatever to work so that they can swan off around the world and be seen with the great and good."  

She said, to my unreliable memory.

Hand made tales.

“All you have to do, I tell myself, is keep your mouth shut and look stupid. It shouldn't be that hard.” 

"I almost left." He said, remembering those first months.

He wasn't to be bought.

He paid the price.

He almost left.

"I made you what are." came a thinly veiled  threat.

"You owe it all to me."  added the addition.

Silence.

Was there fear of power waning?

He stuck at it.

He learnt to navigate.

“We were the people who were not in the papers. We lived in the blank white spaces at the edges of print. It gave us more freedom. We lived in the gaps between the stories.” 

Margaret Attwood. The Handmaid's Tales.


Dystopian tales

“But who can remember pain, once it’s over? All that remains of it is a shadow, not in the mind even, in the flesh. Pain marks you, but too deep to see. Out of sight, out of mind.” 

Margaret Attwood. The Handmaid's Tales.

She shared her pain. 

She revealed the abuse.

She warned of vicious troll attacks.

Those words, those threats had cut deep.

She was vulnerable there in the open.

He talked of the joy of spreading fake rumours across the net.

"It's part of our culture, they've picked up on it."  he said.

How far, how fast will this fakery flow?

How much will it make a buzz?

Pooh Sticks. 

Broom Sticks.

Fidget Spinners.

Where the wild things go...

Sticks and stones may break our bones.

Words may forever mark us.

Does adolescence seems so far away?

I looked through the DVDs.

• Maze Runner.

• Hunger Games

• Harry Potter

• Divergent.

• Matrix.

• Inception.

We were on air. 

Virtually connecting, we were massive.

IN A GALAXY 
FAR FAR AWAY

"We are the good guys," he said, " The Jedi."

They were tiny specks on the stage.

Off air marked the exit.

"I am your father."

Does obsolescence seems so close?

“What I need is perspective. The illusion of depth, created by a frame, the arrangement of shapes on a flat surface. Perspective is necessary. Otherwise there are only two dimensions. Otherwise you live with your face squashed up against a wall, everything a huge foreground, of details, close-ups, hairs, the weave of the bedsheet, the molecules of the face. Your own skin like a map, a diagram of futility, criscrossed with tiny roads that lead nowhere. Otherwise you live in the moment. Which is not where I want to be.” 

Margaret Attwood. The Handmaid's Tales.

Image Credit

Laser: Your Utopia My Dsytopia.

Eddie Dangerous

https://www.flickr.com/photos/eddiedangerous/3141081281

Send in the clowns.

Placement test

Read the sentences below.

Complete the sentences with the following words - a number of answers may be possible: 

a) student b) women c) diverse d) global south d) different e) teacher f) clown g) beggar h) other

"We really need to have more [............. ] voices at this conference."

"Wouldn't it be great if there were more [................]voices at this conference."

"It would be much better if we had [.........................] voices at this conference."


What are you?

What are you?

WHAT ARE YOU? 
http://tachesdesens.blogspot.fr/2014/04/what-are-you.html

It was a first.

I attended a round table organised by students at my institution, there were teachers, professionals and students.

It was a breath of fresh air.

It happened once.

Send in the clowns.

I remember watching a conference where "top students" were wheeled on to perfom as "student voices."  

The accolades went mainly to the researcher who had invited his, these, the "student voices" to perform.

It felt suspiciously like tokenism.

The student voices didn't continue to attend the conference year after year, they would be replaced with other generic "student voices."

The price is right.

I watched Sarah Goldrick- Rab's conference about the costs of higher education in the USA.

Whatever we may say about higher education being about developing the soul, insight, the mind, citizenship etc, we are faced with a social and economic reality.

How many students do you know who do not think of higher education as being a means to improve their future lives?

How many students have the time or the money or frankly the interest to attend conferences?

Beggars can't be choosers...

R.E.S.P.E.C.T

I found the conference keynote carefully filed away in my bedside table.

This is its story: 
http://tachesdesens.blogspot.fr/2016/02/respect.html

The cost is what is left.

I heard Kate Bowles talk about the cost of attending a conference not just in economic terms but in ecological terms.

Over the past few years, in more and more institutions international conferences are less and less accessible to all but a small number of elite academics from a small number of elite countries.

In my own context, trips to conferences are seen not as essential work but as a special treat.

But frankly do we have time to worry about the South Pacific?

Words of wisdom

"The perfect unfairness of this is that when we limit another’s voice, we create an ecosystem reliant upon limitation. And that’s the ecosystem in which we now swim. We can’t ask for freedom to take risks, to follow our own curiosity — to be scholars — if we don’t offer that freedom to others."

Sean Michael Morris

Do we have the freedom to offer freedom to others?

I read David Kernohan on academic metrics: All the words of wisdom sound the same. 
he gives a historically documented account of a system which stands to reward the good and great who recognise each other as good and great.

Who the fuck cares about student voice?

Who the fuck cares about voices when they don't fucking count for your fucking reputation?

Reputation is all that counts.

The absent are always wrong.

A party, a bunch of like-minded peers, hell you drown your conscience, sing and dance.

"It's my party and I'll cry if I want to."

The students would hate it.

The cost of what is left.


"Why do losers remain losers?"

tellio: Friday UnThoughts: Close, But…the Loser Keeps... https://t.co/FHH3PGPzrs

— Terry Elliott (@telliowkuwp) November 4, 2016

"Cos the game is fixed?"

Anyone for tennis?

http://tachesdesens.blogspot.fr/2016/10/anyone-for-tennis.html

Scrabble?

http://tachesdesens.blogspot.fr/2015/03/scrabble.html

Research question

Why are there not more 

a) student b) women c) diverse d) global south d) different e) teacher f) clown g) beggar h) other

Voices at conferences 

Send in the clowns.

Isn't it rich? Are we a pair?
Me here at last on the ground and you in mid-air
Send in the clowns

Isn't it bliss? Don't you approve?
One who keeps tearing around and one who can't move
But where are the clowns? Send in the clowns

Just when I stopped opening doors
Finally finding the one that I wanted was yours
Making my entrance again with my usual flair

Sure of my lines
Nobody's there

Don't you love a farce? My fault, I fear
I thought that you'd want what I want, sorry my dear
But where are the clowns? Send in the clowns
Don't bother they're here

Isn't it rich? Isn't it queer?
Losing my timing this late in my career
But where are the clowns? Send in the clowns
Well, maybe next year

Anyone for tennis?

"Oh good shot that man!"

"15-30."

"First service."

"Let."



"First service."

"Oh, an ace!"

"30 all."

"Oh bravo!"

There are times when discussions in education seem like a racket sport.  

For a start, you have to be a member of tennis club in order to be invited to toss up a few balls.

You need time to engage in jolly banter.

You need to be appropriately dressed and to play by the rules.

The ladies and the men are often playing separately.

(Ladies and gentlemen are almost equal now.)

Only men get to play seriously over 5 sets.

Mixed doubles is all very well, but it's reserved to middling players who won't threaten for major titles.

It's all about scoring points.

It's all about major titles.

It's all about grandslams.

The majority of the population is quite unaware of the "enjeux".

The most important thing about tennis is its irrelevance.

One can let off a bit of steam.

One can rage about decisions of the umpire.

One can throw one's racket dramatically to the ground in mock disgust.

Tennis will never do 'out to change the world.

The committee hang their rackets on the clubhouse walls as trophies.

The other.

"you're othering me."

i won't speak to the other.

the other is the problem.

the other is the problem.

i will speak with you (myself).

we (myself, i) will speak about the other 

we (myself, i) will speak about the other.

the other is the problem.

don't  you, i, we agree?

i agree, it's historical.

i know you, i, we would.

the other is the problem.

fortunately we have us, (myself, me)

"oh, i don't know."

Psychopaths and policy.

"L'enfer c'est les autres."

Jean-Paul Sartre

Peoplescape.

"Before it can ever be the repose for the senses, landscape is the work of the mind. Its scenery is built up as much from strata of memory as from layers of rock." Simon Schama Landscape and Memory. 

I have been roaming. Je suis flâneur. I am one of the "chattering classes".

It is nothing to boast about. I am historically privileged.

That's how it is. It's in my genes. I have been programmed to act like this. My parents had nannies.

I may not be able to do much useful manual work but I am brilliantly adapted to doing nothing.

I roam apparently freely, artfully even, beyond the lines of what  others might suggest I should.

I am what some may label an 'activist'...

"If you do, like I do, blog and tweet messily, you are probably an activist." 

says Naomi Barnes bravely in Hybrid Pedagogy.

http://www.digitalpedagogylab.com/hybridped/messy-minds/

Goodness, I do feel like a kindred spirit. I am an "Activist"!!

No, Naomi, I am a privileged flâneur.

I walk without luggage but goodness am I weighed down with "enlightening" cultural baggage.

I virtually never wander alone even if I am alone.  

I am steeped in Empire stories of "discovery."

There are the pictures of an ancestor in the 18th century Americas. 

There is the ancestor's book on the shelf from 19th century Sarawak.

There is the regimental sword from the Highland regiment.

There are the sepia printed photos from a Nagasaki mission post.

I am just doing what is normal for my types...nothing terribly useful to great portent. 

(He poses the unfamiliar word there with an fairly ignorant flourish - an amateur [in its privileged sense] needs as many letters as he can get to fill the scroll.)

That's right, I am writing to great portent. 

(pretentious git).

I go out with friends, family dead or alive, the dog, and their words, acts, perspectives, music, memories, places.

This page may be in landscape format but to tell you the truth it is really exemplary of my peoplescape.

That's right, it's a clever pun: Landscape is People - People is Escape sic: Peoplescape.

This is a paltry escape, I warrant you. 

I don't believe that the way to vanquish alienation is "work" Mr Marx, it's play...amateur play.

I am, as you know, (he places that importantly) set on a odyssey of exploration.

It goes by the name of "lesmauxdesmots". 

(God I do enjoy my French - It adds a certain Je ne sais quoi).

I have set sail with a crew of people who are quite, or more or less unaware of this venture whose destination is quite uncharted. 

It's a line of navigation that one might call rhizomatic.

I and multiple assemblages are writing myths at this moment.

Those others are both fellow (if unwilling, or unknowing) shipmates and myth-makers.

I do like a bit of myth particularly in May.

Years back when I was working in the parcel depot, we would deal with our alienation with beer, darts, the Mirror and Saturday football. 

Now its rhizomatic learning with Deleuze and Guattari and the aforementioned crew.

It is pretty similar really, larking around, these are jolly japes.

We pass the time until it's time to clock orf (chortle).

Roaring, roaming autodidact.

I am an ideal: an idle (amateur), ideal (amateur) self-motivated learner (activist), up to not much good, to borrow Audrey's borrowing of Tressie McMillan Cottom:

“ideal, self-motivated learner," "embedded in the future but dis-embedded from place.” Dis-embedded from place, disembodied – an erasure that just as easily serves as a re-inscription of a “universality” of the white, middle class male." (me)

I do feel Much less ignorant on reading Audrey Watters blog all morning (I don't know about you?)

There were a number of chapters er posts.. that I lapped up.

Identity, Power and Education's Algorithms

How do schools affect autodidactism?

Indie, as in tomb raider...

I am Indie aren't you? I do love my label...

We are all Indie...(well those who understand their Indies from their Indies)

http://hackeducation.com/2016/03/18/i-love-my-label

It says "edupunk" on my Twitter profile but frankly writing it on Blogger is just as well.

I do love Joe Strummer that fellow public school boy "revolutionary".

Yes, I'm with Joe, I'm edupunk, I'm Indie...

"Indie means we don’t need millions of dollars, but it does mean we need community. We need a space to be unpredictable, for knowledge to be emergent not algorithmically fed to us. We need intellectual curiosity and serendipity –"

Oh yes, I have all the time in the afternoon for intellectual curiosity and that gorgeous word 'serendipity' - only a pity that the guys in the parcel depot wouldn't get to know that word.

Being blind drunk allows for serendipity too...if only they knew.

When I roam, I don't see desolation of bombed cities around me.

I see a caring peoplescape with hope.

I suppose that's a freedom..of sorts.

We need all the freedom we can get.