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Football cliches and ELT

“Technically they’re very good”

This is a sentence that I’ve heard many times to describe football players. It’s often said by a Scottish pundit, usually to describe some team from Eastern Europe, as a means of explaining why the Scottish team lost/are losing/will lose. I suppose what it means to be technically very good is that you have the ability to do the things that you want to be able to do during a football match – control the ball quickly, don’t give it away with your first touch, pass accurately, hit the target when you get a shot in, swerve the ball round the wall, put spin on the ball so your free kick dips under the bar at the last second – that sort thing. Having good technical ability, then, seems to be about being able to do the low-level, mechanical things well, with the focus being on the physical attributes required to perform those tasks. So it’s ultimately about balance, control, coordination, strength, stuff like that.

If we were to apply the same term to English language teaching, we might say that a teacher is technically very good if they can do similarly low-level things like set up tasks, clarify language, and generally manage the class effectively. So we’re looking at skills like eliciting language, grouping students, grading language, giving and checking instructions, asking CCQs, effective boardwork, using various drilling techniques, that sort of thing. We might also say that lesson planning is a largely technical pursuit, especially if teachers are expected to follow a specific format, in which case lesson planning pretty much consists of applying a formula. If you have done one of those 4-week intensive, internationally recognised TESOL courses, or something similar, you probably found that this course mostly focused on your ability to develop these technical skills.


“That takes great vision”

Of course, it’s possible to be able to have all the technical skills and still be rubbish at football. In fact, when pundits describe players as “technically very good”, sometimes they are damning with faint praise. What they actually mean is “they lack creativity”. It’s not much good being able to make a 60-yard pass if you can’t identify this as the right pass to make. Keeping the ball is one thing, but using it to get your team into a scoring position is something else. The most outrageous banana shot in the world is no good whatsoever if you can’t get the ball out of your own half. Football is also a game that requires creativity and vision. Knowing that a pass into space will let your striker in behind the back four, or a short pass now will give your winger time to make a run into the box, or a back-pass will allow your team to build an attack slowly from the defence. Being able to see what needs to be done on the football pitch is at least as important as having the ability to actually do those things.

In language teaching, we might talk about creativity or vision in terms of how effectively the teacher applies their technical skills – how well they can see what needs to be done and then use technique to achieve that aim. So, for example, if they want to focus on a specific aspect of pronunciation they may decide to do choral drilling, or mumble-drilling, or back-chaining. Being able to do these things in the classroom demonstrates technical ability, but knowing which one is most appropriate for the thing you are focusing on, that takes some vision. And if you can make up a quick series of choral and individual drills on the spot to allow your students to use the target language with more confidence, then that’s creativity. If you’ve done one of those diploma-type courses, one of the ones where you normally need a certain amount of prior experience before being accepted, you’ve probably been required to demonstrate some creativity and vision in your teaching. The focus in those courses tends to be not only on technique, but also on knowing why certain techniques are effective, and which techniques to use in which situations.


“They show a lot of heart”

Traditionally, Scottish football teams are not particularly well-known for their technical ability or their creativity. But what they have tended to have in abundance (not so much recently mind you) is something called “heart”. When football pundits talk about heart they seem to be referring to a level of commitment that goes beyond enthusiasm. It’s about playing with passion, as if your life depends on it. “Leaving everything on the pitch” or “knowing what it means to wear the shirt” are other clichés that can be used when talking about players having “heart”. Such attributes manifest themselves on the pitch in the form of last-gasp tackles, chasing every ball, using whatever part of your body you legally can to clear the ball off the line, or making that mazy run into the box in the dying seconds to get a shot on target, even when the rest of your team has given up. But mostly, showing heart is more than just doing things on the pitch. It’s about knowing what it means to win – not just to you and your teammates, but to everyone involved. The wider impact of a victory – on the club, the fans, the nation even, can be far-reaching in terms of both its emotional and economic impact. Players with heart understand this. They don’t just see the match in terms of 90 minutes and 22 players, they consider the wider impact and use this to motivate themselves to be more successful.

Of course, you get teachers who show a lot of heart as well. These are teachers who think beyond individual lessons and the achievement of specific language aims. They think about the impact of their practice on their students’ lives, and the lives of those around them. They don’t just think “I’m going to use the topic of sport to introduce and practise some common verb + sport collocations”, they think “If I use the topic of sport and get my students to practise common verb + sport collocations, this will allow them to find out what sports clubs exist in the local area, which may encourage them to take up a new activity that will be good for their wellbeing”. “Heart” in language teaching isn’t really about language teaching at all. It’s about the (non-linguistic) impact that the learning experience can have on the learners. How language learning affects learners’ ability to participate in, and contribute to, the world.

If you’ve gone through the Certificate-followed-by-Diploma model of CPD in the ELT profession, you may not have done much in the way of overt focus on “teaching with heart”. This doesn’t mean that none of the teachers who followed this path have any heart – of course many of them do. The point is that the training courses they did would have focused a lot more on technique, vision and creativity. How often does a trainer on one of those courses ask the question “So how is this lesson going to enhance your learners’ lives?” or “Does this lesson do anything to address inequality?” How often, if ever, has a trainee’s main lesson aim on one of these courses been “To make students aware of the extent of gender bias in local government”? Most short, ELT-specific TESOL courses tend to focus instead on the low-level stuff, reducing ELT to a series of procedural tasks, and evaluating teachers on their ability to employ these tasks with a greater or lesser degree of effectiveness. Trainees are rarely asked to consider the wider impact of their teaching, and are instead encouraged to focus on just how effectively (or not) their clarification stage allowed the students to grasp the difference between the present perfect simple and the present perfect continuous. Or whatever.

Having said that, for the same reasons that a football manager doesn’t select players purely on their level of enthusiasm, we can’t expect a teacher to be effective simply because they have a lot of heart. You can have all kinds of ideas about the purpose of education and how it can/should be used to develop certain knowledge and skills with a view to making the world a better place. But if you don’t know how to grade your language and give instructions that are clear enough for learners to understand what to do (never mind why you want them to do it) you’re unlikely to get very far. If you want your students to be able to use specific language items so they can set up a community development project, that’s great, but if you lack the boardworking skills, or the ability to ask effective CCQs, or even the linguistic knowledge to know what forms you’re dealing with in the first place, then you’re not going to have much success, if any. If you’ve done a generic teaching qualification, one of those ones where you get the same qualification irrespective of the actual subject you teach, you may find that you have learned a lot about what it means to teach with heart but, compared to people who have gone through the route of completing ELT-specific professional teaching qualifications, with their heavy focus on observed teaching practice, writing detailed lesson plans, and ability to manage the class in order to maximise learning (as opposed to managing the class for effective crowd control), you may find yourself with fewer technical skills at your disposal.


“(S)he’s the full package”

So I suppose what I’m saying here is that people come into our profession from different directions. But I’m not sure if any of the more common pathways allow ELT professionals to become sufficiently well-rounded. Depending on what pathway you followed, you might be very strong technically but have no idea why you’re doing any of the things you’re doing, or indeed why you’re getting your students to do the things you’re (very expertly) getting them to do. Or, you might design and deliver a course that covers relevant and useful topics that will impact positively on learners’ lives, but which doesn’t actually teach them any language because you lack the technical skills to do this. Obviously, experience can be very helpful in developing all aspects of our teaching, but input can accelerate that development massively. What we really need is a course that develops the full package from the beginning, linking technique, vision, creativity and heart to produce teachers who not only know how their teaching can contribute towards making the world a better place, but who also have the lower-level skills to make sure that when they do this, they do it effectively.

I’m hoping that some people will read this and get frustrated because I haven’t mentioned a wonderful course that they have done, or run, or know of, which does exactly what I’m calling for. If that’s you, please mention it in the comments section below. Thanks.


Honour the Deal


Before I get into this properly I feel I need to acknowledge my audience. Most people who read this blog are English language teachers, and for many of these good people, the life of a teacher is a precarious one. Zero-hours and temporary contracts are commonplace, salaries are often pitifully low compared to other professions, holiday pay and maternity leave are frequently non-existent, and pension schemes are equally rare. Nevertheless, expectations from management are, in many cases, disproportionately high, with teachers required to work split shifts or teach at weekends as part of their normal timetable, as well as attending CPD or other training in their own time and often at their own expense. If, for whatever reason (a student complaint, poor class results, whatever) a teacher is judged as performing below a required standard, they face the very real risk of having their contract terminated. If I’ve just described your teaching context, the concept of educational institutions being run by out-of-touch managers who prioritise bottom-line figures and profit margins over quality learning and teaching is a given, to the extent that it probably doesn’t even seem worth writing about. To you, this post may just seem like a big long petulant whine, or, at best, nothing that you can relate to. However, please bear with me.

You see, I happen to have a permanent contract in a Scottish further education college. This means that, compared to most English language teachers around the world, I get really well paid, have fantastic holidays and enjoy a high level of job security. And yet, a recent dispute between Colleges Scotland, the association that represents college managers, and EIS-FELA, the lecturers’ union, means that I’m on strike for a 5th day in the past four weeks, and I’ll be on strike again tomorrow. But why? What on earth would make me and my colleagues sacrifice so many days’ pay and take action that can only damage relations with our managers? Well the thing is, this dispute isn’t about how much we get paid, or how many holidays we have. It’s about other, more important things, related to power, control, equality and trust.

A bit of background is required, and I’ll try to be brief. Between 1993 and 2016, further education (FE) colleges operated as independent bodies. The vast majority of their funding still came from the government, but they weren’t under government control. The union had to negotiate terms and conditions for its members separately, within each individual college. Inevitably, this led to different terms and conditions existing in different colleges. It happened gradually, but over the years, lecturers in some colleges saw their terms and conditions improve, while things gradually got worse in others.

By 2014, the disparities in terms and conditions had become enormous, with an annual salary difference of around £10,000 between the highest- and lowest-paying colleges. The differentials were made more obvious when the government introduced a process of regionalisation, which required colleges to merge with each other. Suddenly, lecturers found themselves working for the same employer and doing the same job, but being paid vastly different amounts. In some cases, pay and conditions within colleges still hasn’t been harmonised. Lecturers share the same staffroom, but get paid different rates and have different terms and conditions.

A couple of years ago, colleges became reclassified as public bodies, increasing their accountability to the Scottish Government, particularly with regard to expenditure. Around the same time the government proposed a return to national bargaining, which would allow EIS-FELA to negotiate pay and conditions with Colleges Scotland on a national level, allowing them to move towards achieving the same terms and conditions across all colleges. Perhaps unsurprisingly, the union was in favour of this, but the managers were less so. In fact, they were reluctant to even accept national bargaining had been introduced – even after it had – and it took a one-day strike from lecturers in March 2016 and some government intervention to get them to agree to any kind of plan that worked towards harmonisation of terms and conditions.

The 2016 deal focused on the equalisation of pay, and aimed to bring all salaries up to the same level as the highest paying college, over a three-year period. Obviously this was very good news for the lecturers in the more poorly paid colleges, who had had a raw deal for such a long time, and it was less good for those in colleges that paid higher salaries. But EIS-FELA members voted overwhelmingly to accept the deal, as the main objective was to bring an end to pay inequality; once this had been established we could negotiate terms and conditions and national bargaining would function as it should.

However, after this deal was signed, nothing happened. The first salary adjustment was due to take place in April this year, and it didn’t. When pressed to explain why this was the case, Colleges Scotland responded that pay harmonisation could only be implemented if other aspects of lecturers’ conditions, such as annual leave and weekly teaching hours, were also addressed. This was not what had been agreed and, following a ballot, EIS-FELA entered into an official dispute with Colleges Scotland. As there was no further movement or indication that the deal would be honoured, another union ballot saw lecturers voting overwhelmingly in favour of strike action.


Now, strike action is serious, and is generally only something that unions and the workers they represent do as a last resort. It is worth noting that college lecturers in Scotland have been on strike for more days in the past 4 weeks than in the previous 25 years. It is also worth pointing out once again that many lecturers who are in favour of strike action stand to gain very little on an individual level – but this is not about individualism. It’s about a collective sense of professional worth, a feeling that all lecturers who do the same job should be recognised equally for doing it. Furthermore, it is about being able to trust that your managers respect and value what you do, and the need for mutual trust between employers and employees in order to maintain a positive and productive working environment. When repeated calls for the deal to be implemented were ignored, and when the deadline on 1st April 2017 passed without any pay adjustments being made, lecturers felt that this trust had been broken. A deal had been agreed, and managers had refused to honour it.

Since industrial action started 4 weeks ago, relations between lecturers and managers have deteriorated further. Statements on the Colleges Scotland website and quoted in the press repeatedly claim that the 2016 pay deal was inextricably linked to other conditions, and that lecturers are being offered a 9% pay rise but, in addition, they are demanding more holidays and fewer weekly teaching hours. None of this is true. The deal over pay has no conditionality attached to it, other than an acknowledgement that Colleges Scotland would draw up a plan to sort other conditions out soon. The 9% figure is based on some calculation of the average pay increase that lecturers will receive in order to achieve pay equality. But again, this is over a three-year period and is necessary to address the pay inequalities that have existed for so many years. Saying that lecturers want more holidays and fewer teaching hours is also untrue. Everybody knows that college lecturers get lots of holidays – why would we demand more? That would be silly. There is also inequality in the amount of annual leave offered at each college though, and the truth behind the claim is that Colleges Scotland want to harmonise holidays downwards. Lecturers aren’t asking for more holidays, they’re just not keen on losing what they have.

As for teaching hours, it’s the same thing. Lecturers currently teach between 21 and 26 hours per week, depending on what college they work in. College managers want to be able to make all lecturers teach 26 hours per week. For many college lecturers, the prospect of increased weekly teaching remits is a serious concern. The upheaval caused in recent years as a result of regionalisation and new policy implementation has made the FE curriculum more outcomes-based, more attainment-focused, and has also increased the level of performativity in colleges. It is no longer enough to simply teach in a way that allows your students to learn effectively. Large amounts of evidence need to be generated to allow the teaching and learning process to be evaluated by other people. Increased accountability isn’t necessarily a bad thing per se, but it means that non-teaching time is at an absolute premium. Lecturers need time outside the classroom to source or design materials, prepare lessons, mark homework, deliver assessments and provide ongoing support to students on an individual and group level. To any teacher reading this, the need for sufficient prep time is self-evident, but it seems less obvious to college managers.

Ultimately though, whether you agree with the union’s desire for harmonisation to always go in lecturers’ favour, or whether you think that some lecturers should make some sacrifices in the name of equality, this particular debate is irrelevant. The fact is that an agreement has already been reached. Colleges Scotland agreed to implement the equal pay deal. They are now reneging on this deal by claiming that it has to be linked in with other aspects of lecturers’ terms and conditions. If that is the case, why did they agree to the March 2016 deal in the first place? Either they made a massive error of judgement by not realising the financial implications of the deal, which raises questions about their competence, or they signed the deal but had no intention of implementing it, raising questions about their integrity. Either way, this dispute makes Colleges Scotland, and the managers it represents, look pretty bad – incompetent, or devious, or possibly both.

Perhaps it is a fear of looking stupid, then, that is motivating Colleges Scotland to present alternative facts to the public and to try and re-define the debate so it includes annual leave and teaching hours. It is misleading to publicly express disappointment at the union’s unwillingness to negotiate, when a deal has already been negotiated and just needs to be implemented. Not only that, but the Scottish Government says the funding to allow pay to be harmonised has been made available, so Colleges Scotland can’t say that the deal is unaffordable; if the government is footing the bill, managers don’t stand to lose anything, do they?

Well, maybe they do. In that long period when colleges were publicly funded but privately run, senior management teams in individual colleges had a large degree of freedom in how they spent funds. Not only did they set salaries and write job descriptions for their staff, they also had considerable autonomy when it came to spending on other things, and there have been instances in the past where managers have used college funding in ways that have been regarded as, let’s say, questionable (for examples please read here, here, here and here), and more recent stories would suggest that at least some of them are keen to ensure their own interests are well-served, as can be seen here and here. However, returning colleges to the public domain increases the level of scrutiny over how college principals spend funds. Re-introducing national bargaining means that individual colleges no longer have the capacity to force their staff into accepting unpalatable changes to their terms and conditions (I’m not saying all college principals want to do this, just that they had the ability to in the past and they don’t any more). Making colleges national bodies and  nationalising negotiating procedures means a loss of control, therefore a loss of power. Some principals don’t seem to like that.

We are now in a really unpleasant situation, with strike action affecting classes at a crucial stage in the academic year. As well as having to bear the financial burden of going out on strike, lecturers are acutely aware of the impact of industrial action on college students, and the temptation to cross the picket line, or cram more work than usual into non-striking days, will increase if the dispute continues. However, the whole purpose of strike action is to be disruptive. If lecturers withdraw their labour and students manage to complete their courses successfully anyway, not only does this minimise the impact of the industrial action, it also justifies (in managers’ eyes) shaving hours off of existing courses. It may seem paradoxical, but if lecturers’ main responsibility is the delivery of high quality teaching and learning for their students, they must strike, and the more disruptive the strike is the better. The onus is not on lecturers to resolve this dispute; all they want is the implementation of something that has already been agreed. The onus is on managers to honour this deal.

As I said at the beginning of this post, college lecturers are in a far more privileged position than many of our fellow teachers. But we’re not in this position because we have benevolent managers who understand and value the job we do. We are in this position because we have a strong union, and a strong sense of solidarity. We are now taking the opportunity presented by national bargaining to bring about an end to unequal pay. Many of us stand to gain little or nothing from the agreed pay deal. However, if we allow our managers to break this deal, we allow them to do the same again in the future and we can look forward to a gradual erosion of pay and conditions for us, and an erosion of quality for students. Lecturers with permanent contracts in the Scottish FE sector are not in the same precarious position as many teachers who will read this, but we will be if we don’t stay strong and united. Concerns about our own terms and conditions are part of it, but this is more about the sector as a whole. We need to use national bargaining to create a platform that allows us to deliver a high quality curriculum for our learners. Students matter. Prep time matters. Never mind the spin – just honour the deal.

For updates on the progress of the dispute between EIS-FELA and Colleges Scotland, you can visit the EIS-FELA website

Or follow the EIS on Twitter – @EISUnion

Or visit either the Honour the Deal Facebook page or the Students Supporting Lecturers Facebook page

Or try searching for any of these hashtags:

#honourthedeal     #preptimematters     #principlesoverprincipals

Whose conference is this? IATEFL 2017 reflections

It’s a bit strange when a big international conference like IATEFL comes to your home town. In many ways it highlights just how international it is, and this year it also highlighted to me how little the ELT scene in Scotland is engaging with the wider profession. This was a great opportunity for us to showcase the many good things that go on here, and also to take advantage of the valuable input that can be gained by attending something like this. Obviously a number of us did, and there were a few sessions from local presenters, but on the whole I feel there could have been a much bigger local presence at the conference. Maybe it was because it took place during a week where most schools and colleges are on holiday, and, understandably, only a small minority of teachers are prepared to give up valuable holiday time to attend something work-related. Or maybe most ESOL teachers in Scotland just don’t think IATEFL is for them; it’s too EFL-y, too global to have relevance, I don’t know.

Anyway, I want to write about something that really stood out to me at this year’s conference, which is the scale of corporate influence over IATEFL and the tensions caused between big money sponsors and the genuine (I think) desire of IATEFL to be a force for good. Other bloggers like Geoff Jordan have criticised IATEFL in the past for being little more than a sales convention for publishers and a vehicle for writers to sell their latest books. Apart from the shameless plugging of materials and other “products” that goes on in the exhibition area, where delegates eagerly lap up the sales pitches along with the free samples of materials, stress balls, beer, bubbly and whatever else is deemed effective at luring them in, I was also struck by the corporate messages being transmitted through the sessions themselves.

The most striking example of this for me was in Sue Kay’s session on using authentic materials. I got a lot out of this session, but I’m not sure if what I got out of it was what Sue wanted me to get (I really hope it was!) and I know for sure that what I got out of it definitely wasn’t what Pearson, the publishers of her latest coursebook, would have wanted. Her session was entitled “The genuine article (you couldn’t make it up)” and ostensibly aimed to demonstrate the value of using authentic texts rather than writing them from scratch.


Very quickly though, it became obvious that Sue was really talking about using authentic texts in coursebooks. Within the first five minutes she had qualified her definition of “authentic” to mean texts that are originally found in authentic contexts, but are then adapted/graded to be more accessible for learners of English. Which, it could be argued, means they are no longer authentic, but let’s leave that whole argument to one side. Sue wanted to demonstrate the considerations that must be taken when selecting texts, to be sure the learners – in her case older teens – would respond positively to them. To do this, she presented three different authentic texts that she had wanted to include in her latest book, and our task was to guess which two had been rejected by the editors and which one had been accepted. The first one was about Malala Yousafzai and Kailash Satyarthi, and how they had jointly won the Nobel Peace Prize for their work in promoting children’s rights to education. The second text was about Jeff Bezos, the multi-billionaire founder of Amazon. The text described some of his personality traits and, put bluntly, implied that he is a bit of a dick. The third text was about a machine that sucks in smog and blows out clean air, and also breaks down the gunge from the smog in such a way that it can be used to make jewellery.

Perhaps surprisingly, perhaps not (depending on how sceptical you are about international publishing companies), Sue’s editors accepted the text about the smogsucker, for these reasons:


I suspect they also liked the fact that the machine’s ability to recycle the smog particles makes it commercially viable as well as good for the environment. But OK, it’s an interesting innovation and it does have a positive use, though the publishers seemed to like the picture most of all and were less interested in its potential to curb pollution. In fact they seemed to like the fact that the article seemed to trivialise the “potentially dry” topic of the environment. Potentially dry!

So this means of course that the publishers rejected the text about Bezos. They didn’t like it because it didn’t portray him as a positive role model:


So we want to make out to the younger generation that all multi-billionaires are nice guys, do we? That’s aspirational, I suppose. Apparently it’s good for the younger generation to grow up thinking that rich capitalists got where they are by being nice to everybody. That way, when they end up on a low wage working for The Man, at least they’ll believe that The Man is spending his billions responsibly.

The publishers also rejected the text on Malala and Satyarthi, and here are the reasons they gave Sue:


To my way of thinking, these reasons are simply pathetic excuses. Students are too far removed from the topic? The topic is education for children. The students are older children who would be reading the text in an educational context. The topic couldn’t be more relevant to them if it was dancing a jig on their classroom desk. Satyarthi is too old for the students to relate to? Do these students not have parents and grandparents? Do they never engage with other generations? If teenagers have problems relating to older people then surely those of us who are educating them have a responsibility to make it easier for them to do this, like maybe showing them how older people like Satyarthi can do a lot of good for the younger generation. Controversial? This could only be controversial if the teenage students thought that they shouldn’t have a right to free education. If they do have that opinion, then surely there’s something seriously wrong with the type of education they are getting. Oh hang on.

As soon as the presentation was finished, and before Sue even got a chance to answer questions, some guy from Pearson stood up and announced that we could find out more about the book and order copies etc. from their stand in the exhibition hall, and then about half a dozen other Pearson people marched down the aisles thrusting brochures into our hands. It was all very hard-sell and really quite aggressive.

The whole experience of being in this session was a bit weird. Sue stressed how, when she saw the feedback from her editors, she agreed with what they were saying and was happy to go with the smogsucker and forget the other two texts. But her candour in exposing the comments from her editors gave us a real insight into just how ugly, self-motivated and irresponsible a publishing company can be. I genuinely hope that this was her real intention, and that her session was a clever act of subversion.

However, despite the dominant in-your-face commercialism resulting from its reliance on corporate sponsorship, there is still plenty to be said about IATEFL as a potential source for good. The most obvious example of this was the fact there was a plenary from JJ Wilson in which he spoke passionately about the work of Paolo Freire, and gave practical examples of how language teaching can be used as a means of highlighting inequalities and promoting social justice. There were also a number of smaller sessions on the same theme, such as Mike Chick’s engaging presentation of his partnership project that provides ESOL classes to refugees in Cardiff. Linda Ruas, who is heavily involved in IATEFL’s Global Issues SIG, did a great job of demonstrating the usefulness of the free downloadable materials that she’s developing for New Internationalist Magazine. Angelos Bollas presented research findings on the lack of LGBTQ representation in ELT materials. These are just the ones I saw, and I’m sure there were a lot more. I suppose I should also be grateful to IATEFL for allowing me to give my own presentation, which was a fairly direct attack on certain aspects of established ELT practices.

But IATEFL’s status as a charity, and the fact that the conference relies on sponsorship from massive corporations like Pearson, Cambridge and the like, places it in a very uncomfortable ethical position. Well, it should feel uncomfortable; I don’t know whether it does. There is some evidence to suggest that IATEFL is quite happy in its relationship with these for-profit bodies, such as its refusal to accept a Teachers as Workers SIG on the grounds that it doesn’t want to get involved in politics. This in itself is a political decision, which seems to place IATEFL firmly on the side of the dominant sources of power, rather than standing up against inequalities and promoting ELT as a force for good. Maybe all this social justice stuff at IATEFL is just lip-service, a bit like McDonald’s selling carrot sticks.

For those of us who do genuinely believe that education should not be a for-profit industry, I don’t think we should be boycotting IATEFL. Instead, I think we should all become paid-up members, allowing IATEFL to become less reliant on corporate sponsorship and forcing it to listen to the voices of individual teachers around the world. We should all attend the conferences but, instead of drinking the free beer and listening to the sales pitches, we should ask the reps questions about pricing structures, profit margins and the ethical issues embedded in the content of their materials. We should go to all the sessions, applauding any that promote education for social justice and heckling any that promote “innovative new products”. We should submit proposals for our own sessions so that the balance of content tips in our favour, creating a dominant discourse calling for our profession to harness its emancipatory potential. IATEFL is an International Association of Teachers. Let’s claim it back.

Cans of Worms and Rotten Parsnips: My IATEFL 2017 presentation

If you click the link below you should be able to download a version of the presentation I gave at IATEFL on 6th April 2017 in Glasgow. This version includes the powerpoint slides I used with an accompanying audio recording. As usual, I’d be happy to receive comments below.

IATEFL 2017 presentation with audio

Rotten Parsnips: IATEFL Preamble Part 2

 At this year’s IATEFL conference I will be mostly ranting about how dominant practices in ELT are limiting the potential for English language programmes to have a beneficial impact on our learners and on wider society. This is the second in a short series of posts that briefly discuss some of the concepts I’ll be exploring in more detail in my IATEFL presentation.


Picture sourced from  

I expect that most people who have studied ELT materials design and/or development will be familiar with the PARSNIP acronym. It represents the topics that publishing companies avoid using when producing materials for a global market – Politics, Alcohol, Religion, Sex, Narcotics, Isms and Pork. The rationale for avoiding these topics is that they are likely to cause offence in certain cultures and that would be bad for business, so it’s best just not to talk about them at all. So if there’s a unit in a coursebook on the topic of, say, travel (and there usually is), it’s highly unlikely that it would include a text about Brits going on stag parties in Eastern Europe (alcohol), or sex tourism and child prostitution in South-East Asia (sex), or Donald Trump’s Muslim travel ban (politics). Instead, you might get a text comparing city breaks with activity holidays, or a task asking people to say whether they prefer holidays in the city or the countryside, or a text prompting students to say how long it takes them to pack their suitcase.

Now, I’m not saying there’s anything wrong with students reading about different types of holiday, or expressing their preferences for different destinations, or even talking about their suitcase-packing skills. I also understand the sensitive nature of some topics in certain cultures. However, it’s also the case that these PARSNIP topics are potentially very important in the lives of most of our students. Yeah OK, Muslim cultures eschew alcohol and pork. But I teach a lot of Muslim students here in Scotland, and I would suggest that it’s really rather important for them to be able to tell a can of Tennents from a can of Irn Bru, or a smoked salmon bagel from a roll and bacon.

Other PARSNIPs play such a fundamental part in everyone’s lives that their removal from the curriculum seems a little odd, to say the least. If you think about the types of conversations that people have on a regular basis or the information that they are exposed to, it’s actually quite difficult to get through a day without engaging in some way with one or more of these topics.

So why do the global publishing companies make such an effort to avoid them? Well, ostensibly it’s to avoid causing offence, and also to avoid litigation in some countries. But this is not because of some concern for the sensibilities of English language learners; it’s purely a business decision. Publishers want to be able to sell the same thing to a global market, so they need a product that is equally marketable everywhere. It therefore needs to be inoffensive, universally appealing, nicely packaged, and in line with the existing expectations of the market. A bit like McDonald’s, when you think about it.

Scott Thornbury has used the analogy of McDonald’s in the past when talking about how coursebooks break down language into bite-sized chunks and serve them up in a pleasantly-packaged format – grammar Mcnuggets, he calls them. This atomistic approach against what is widely accepted about language and language acquisition, so it’s clearly a bad thing for that reason alone. But this McDonaldization thing goes beyond language acquisition theory. The way publishing companies go about materials production is a good example of what has been described as The McDonaldization of Society (Ritzer 1993). This is where market forces start to control every aspect of our lives, leading to a process of over-rationalization in which we value practicality and convenience over actual benefit. McNuggets are cheap and tasty, you can get them anywhere in the world and they taste pretty much the same everywhere so you know what to expect. They are also made of the mankiest bits of chicken and have little or no nutritional value whatsoever. In the same way, the same coursebooks are used all over the world, and most coursebooks have very similar content anyway, so teachers know they can use them anywhere and deliver the same lessons, and students also have a pretty clear idea of what to expect in the EFL classroom – language presented within bland, inoffensive contexts that don’t upset anyone or make them think too much.

So what about the “nutritional value” of globally published materials? Maybe it’s OK that everyone across the world learns the same stuff from the same books. Chomsky’s universal grammar hypothesis tells us that we all have the same innate capacity for language so a standardised approach seems congruent with that. And standardised content means they can all talk about the same things, which also seems healthy enough. However, Littlejohn (2012) makes a very good point on the issue of standardisation in ELT materials:

‘One of the most worrying aspects of standardisation and centralisation is that by setting out what needs to be done, what should not be done is simultaneously dictated.’ (Littlejohn 2012: 294).

It may seem like a good idea to avoid sensitive topics in teaching materials; it certainly makes good business sense. But what it effectively means is that we are denying English language learners across the world the ability to use English to express their political opinions, discuss their religious values, engage with social problems that result from alcohol/drug abuse, and to address issues related to gender, race, sexuality and other –isms. This isn’t just about some students being denied the opportunity to learn how to order a pint; it’s about removing fundamental social issues from the English language classroom, specifically issues that must be discussed and critically analyzed if any kind of positive social change is to happen.

There’s a lot of talk these days about the world becoming more divisive, about people only listening to and reading about stories that reinforce their existing worldviews, rather than trying to learn about opposing views and engaging with the people who hold them. With English being the international language that it is, the ELT industry is currently serving up language learning products that perpetuate this divisiveness by making sure key social issues are never even raised. Instead of doing this, don’t we have a responsibility, as language teachers and as educators, to bring these issues into the classroom with a view to facilitating communication and cross-cultural understanding? Let’s get parsnips back on the menu. Big, fresh, tasty, nutritious parsnips. Even if you think they taste bitter, they’re good for you and we’ll all feel the benefit in the long run.


Littlejohn, A. (2012), ‘Language Teaching Materials and the (very) Big Picture’, Electronic Journal of Foreign Language Teaching, 9:1, pp. 283-297.

Ritzer, G. (1993), The McDonaldization of Society, Los Angeles: Sage Publications.

Thornbury, S. (2010), G is for Grammar McNuggets, available from:  [accessed 26/03/2017].

Cans of worms: IATEFL preamble part 1

At this year’s IATEFL conference I will be mostly ranting about how dominant practices in ELT are limiting the potential for English language programmes to have a beneficial impact on our learners and on wider society. This is the first of a short series of posts that briefly discuss some of the concepts I’ll be exploring in more detail in my IATEFL presentation.


Picture sourced from

It’s not uncommon for English language teachers to use the phrase “can of worms” in the context of lesson planning and/or delivery. “I don’t want to open a can of worms”, we might say, when planning a lesson that touches on a potentially sensitive topic, or a topic we know the students will have strong views on. Or “As soon as I asked that question I realised I had opened a massive can of worms”, when reflecting on a lesson that didn’t go according to plan. We have probably all experienced situations where a can of worms has inadvertently opened in the classroom, with consequences that we generally regard as negative – students getting offended, students shouting across the classroom at each other, lapses into L1 as students prioritise getting their point across at the expense of practising their English, and various other unintended consequences that we generally regard as disruptive to our teaching.

We tend to see such cans of worms as negative because of the impact that they have on our ability to manage the class, retain a positive rapport with and among the students, and ensure that we are able to achieve our aims within the timeframe of the lesson. But maybe we need to reconsider the widely held belief that we need to avoid controversy at all costs in the classroom.

Let’s start by analysing the impact of what we are doing by ensuring controversial, sensitive or “taboo” topics are not discussed in the classroom. Well, the most obvious is that of censorship. If we avoid issues that we think will elicit opposing or controversial views from our students – issues to do with race, religion, sexual orientation, disability etc. – we are effectively airbrushing these issues out of the curriculum. This means that a lot of key language related to these topics is never taught, so if students ever do find themselves in real-life situations where these topics are raised, the chances are that they won’t be able to express themselves very well, nor will they be able to understand the views of others.

As well as denying our students access to potentially useful language, we are also denying the students (and ourselves) some valuable opportunities to develop critical thinking skills. If one student expresses a deeply held view on a certain issue and another student responds with an opposing, but equally deeply held view on the same issue, this presents a great opportunity to encourage students to justify their opinions. Such opportunities require the learners to critically engage with the topic, coming up with justifications to support their view, listening to counter-arguments that challenge their existing opinion and discovering when their views are seen by others as offensive, and, possibly, modifying their own view in the light of what they have heard. There’s clear potential within such scenarios for language development, but also the development of other cognitive skills that can only be beneficial to the learning process.

So why are we so scared of cans of worms? Why do we tend to avoid them at all costs by sticking to “safe” topics and shutting down our students if they say something that could be regarded as offensive? Well, I would suggest that it has a lot to do with the way we are trained. Most training courses in ELT/ESOL place a heavy emphasis on teacher control. Trainee teachers are encouraged to identify lesson aims, then plan very detailed lessons that build towards the achievement of these aims. The level of detail at the planning stage is such that the teacher is expected to predict – to the minute – what will happen at each stage of each lesson, including interaction patterns (who speaks to whom) and the actual content of these discussions. There is no place for stages that allow the students to dictate learning content or lesson staging.

In most TESOL contexts, topics tend to be used as a means of introducing language, so for example we might use the topic of travel as a means of contextualising and introducing future forms. This sort of thing:

-We’re going to France.

-We’re going to travel by car.

-We’ll probably stay in cheap hotels.

There’s also a strong emphasis in TESOL courses on fun – generating a positive rapport, and playing games to make the learning process seem less onerous. This is partly due to the fact that many popular TESOL courses have their origins in the private sector, where customer satisfaction is the main goal. The focus on ensuring the students have a good time encourages teachers to shy away from activities that challenge students’ existing beliefs or force them to question their own values.

Teacher trainers are unlikely to encourage trainees to select topics that are likely to be divisive, even though the development of self-expression is a key tenet of Communicative Language Teaching. It would be highly unusual to see this in a CELTA lesson plan, for example:

Lesson Aims

  1. To explore arguments supporting and opposing the repression of homosexuality in Muslim countries.

2. To encourage students to use recently learned vocabulary when expressing their views on homosexuality.

3. To practise key language for agreeing and disagreeing.

Such lesson aims would generally be regarded as too difficult for inexperienced teachers to handle, as they entail reacting to student contributions in the moment. Anything that requires teachers to do something that they can’t plan in advance is seen as a bad idea; the more control that is handed over to the students, the less control the teacher has and the more likely the lesson will descend into some awful car crash involving shouting, tears, diminished rapport and not a lot of English. Trainee and newly-qualified teachers are therefore encouraged to retain as much control as possible, to avoid the students hijacking or derailing the teacher’s agenda. Student-centred activities such as mingle drills, running dictations and problem-solving activities, which place the focus on the students rather than the teacher, still involve the students completing tasks assigned and controlled by the teacher, usually using language that the teacher (not the students) decided was worth practising.

It has been argued in the past that lessons which focus overtly on the content of a lesson (as opposed to the language contained therein) go beyond the remit of a language teacher. We’re not teaching Politics or Sociology or Moral Philosophy, so why bring these issues up? It’s not our job to teach the students what to think, but to express what they think in English. Well, OK, but the fact is that we have to teach language that students are likely to use, and we need to situate that language within some sort of context. Banning the discussion of controversial topics from the classroom doesn’t mean the students won’t need to have similar discussions outside the class. Surely, as language teachers, we have a duty to help them to conduct these discussions successfully. And surely, as educators, we have some kind of duty to bring into the classroom some of the wider issues facing all of us as global citizens. And if our students have extreme opinions, or ideas that are likely to cause offence when interacting with people who have different backgrounds or worldviews, or even get them into trouble with the authorities, surely we have a responsibility to make them aware of this. I mean, if we ban students from expressing their extreme views in the classroom, this probably means that they’ll express their views outside the classroom anyway, with potentially disastrous consequences. I’d much rather the can of worms was opened in the relatively safe environment of the classroom than in some other, less supportive, context.

So, I suppose that what I’m saying is that we should be opening cans of worms in the English language classroom far more often than we do, and exploiting the authentic motivation to communicate and the rich potential for language input that can arise from this. In my own practice I feel I’m developing some kind of ability to generate, manage and exploit the discussion of sensitive issues in the classroom. However, like most English language teachers, I have no training in managing the worms once the can has been opened. Instead of conditioning teachers to avoid controversy at all costs, wouldn’t it be good if TESOL courses developed skills in can-opening and worm management?

…but some are more equal than others

Equality of opportunity is very important in my college, as it is across the Further Education (FE) sector in Scotland. To ensure that everyone gets equal and fair access to courses, applications are always processed in date order. So someone who applies for a course tomorrow will have her application looked at before someone who applies the day after.

Seems fair enough, right? Except our application system is online, so in order to apply for a course you need to have Internet access, and the IT skills to negotiate the process of setting up a college account, complete the online form, submit it, and then, crucially, know how to log back in again to check the progress of your application. Also, if you are not a UK national you need to provide evidence of your status in the UK, to see whether you have legitimate residency for the duration of the course, and also to establish whether or not they need to pay fees. It takes longer to process the documents of non-EU nationals than it does for EU nationals, so applicants from outside the EU get stuck in that part of the system for a bit longer.

Still, if anyone is unable to complete their application they can come into the college and get some help setting up an account, filling in the form and submitting their residency documents. The system is therefore able to accommodate all applicants, even those with very basic IT or English language skills. So that’s OK then.

Except, there’s still this policy of processing applications in date order. This year, applications for our 2017-18 full-time programmes opened on the 24th January, at midnight. Later that morning I came into work and found that we had received 153 applications. By the end of the following day the number had gone up to 295. We only have places for 240 students. This doesn’t just tell us that our ESOL programmes are massively over-subscribed; it also demonstrates that a large number of people, who already knew when our applications were due to open, were sitting at a computer at midnight on the 24th January ready to get their applications in early.

OK, so we are getting applications from people who are tapping into a network of contacts, or who have the initiative and ability to do sufficient research to learn that they need to get their application in early. And if we process applications in date order then we are getting the keenest ones first, so that’s good. But is it? What about people who don’t have the language skills to complete an online application, or the IT skills to know that they need to fill one in in the first place? We run courses for students at elementary level, which assumes only a very limited knowledge of English, and which also develops very basic IT skills. It is impossible for such people to complete their application without support, so if they don’t have the social capital to give them the information and help they need, they are unlikely to be able to get an application in at all. Or if they do manage to come into the college to ask for information and get help with their application, what are the chances that they’ll do this within the first 48 hours of applications opening? People who don’t know in advance that they need to submit an application as soon as courses open, or people who (for whatever reason) are unable to submit an application within this narrow window, are highly unlikely to get a place on one of our programmes.

So, despite the semblance of equality that is implied in the ‘first come first served’ policy, our application process seems to be skewed in favour of people who are already pretty clued up on how the systems work here, who have access to a computer in the middle of the night, and who have the language and IT skills (or know someone who has these skills) to negotiate the online application process. Conversely, people who lack a practical support network, who don’t have Internet access at home, who don’t have the language or IT skills to submit an application and who also don’t know anyone who can help them with this – in short, people who are the most vulnerable and who need an ESOL course the most – are disadvantaged by the system to such an extent that their chances of getting a place on one of our full-time ESOL courses are significantly diminished.

Of course, our college could change its policy and be more pro-active about recruiting students from vulnerable or marginalised backgrounds. This would ensure we were serving local community needs and would also increase the diversity of our student population. But would such a change in approach actually serve the interests of the college? We are under pressure to deliver programmes that include as many accredited qualifications as possible, so the workload is heavy and the burden of assessment is high. We are expected to have high levels of retention and attainment on these programmes, so it’s in our interest to recruit students who have settled home lives, stable financial positions and, ideally, an educational background that allows them to exercise a fair amount of autonomy and learner independence. The way things are at the moment, our performance indicators are very good. Why would we want to jeopardise them by recruiting students whose status here is uncertain, or who have limited or fractured educational backgrounds, or who have barriers to learning that may impact on their ability to attend regularly?

Obviously, the answer to the above question is that people in these situations are particularly vulnerable, and if they don’t get access to an ESOL course soon they will become increasingly marginalised. But the FE sector is being engineered in such a way that people who need to access adult education the most are finding it harder to get into college courses. Part-time provision has reduced massively in recent years, and regional outcome agreements between colleges and the Scottish Funding Council seem to be geared towards developing the employability skills of 16-19 year-olds in order to meet industry needs. Pressure to run heavily accredited programmes, and to only recruit students who are likely to be successful, means colleges are less likely to take a punt on more vulnerable applicants – even if they do manage to submit an application on time.

Maybe this is all OK though. Colleges have always been places for vocational training, where people go to develop skills for employment in specific areas of industry. What’s wrong with training up young people to do the jobs that are currently available? And what’s wrong with courses that lead to accredited qualifications? And why should government funding be spent on students who are likely to either fail or drop out? And since when were colleges expected to just take anyone on their courses – why should that be an obligation?

There’s no doubt that colleges continue to play an important role in developing the vocational knowledge and skills of learners, providing them with accredited qualifications that allow them to become more successful, active participants in society. But the sector-wide obsession with Key Performance Indicators means that the people being recruited onto these programmes are people who are already pretty close to becoming successful, active participants in society. Those who have further to travel are unlikely to even navigate their way through the application process, never mind get a place on a course.

So what happens to the people who are unable to get places in college? Local authorities in Scotland offer less formal adult learning options through Community Learning and Development (CLD), but these organisations are incredibly stretched financially and, in the context of ESOL provision, the number of learners they can accommodate is a drop in the ocean compared to the number of people looking for ESOL courses. Some charity organisations offer ESOL as well, but this type of provision tends to be patchy, with an over-reliance on short-term funding that makes it difficult to strategically plan and deliver a sustainable, coherent curriculum.

It’s tempting for ESOL providers in Scotland to be smug about the fact that we have a national ESOL strategy and England doesn’t. But the funding that is allocated to meet the objectives of the strategy is insufficient, as demonstrated by the scale of unmet demand for ESOL across Scotland, and colleges (which are still responsible for the bulk of ESOL provision) are becoming increasingly pressured into providing ESOL programmes that are not appropriate for those learners who need it the most. An ESOL strategy is all very well, but only if the system is engineered to allow its objectives to be effectively realised. Otherwise we could end up with ESOL provision being in the same sorry state that it is in England.