07/10/2010 by Steve Bramall.

On Saturday it was SAPERE Trainers Day.

Around 20 trainers met up in a retreat in Limehouse to think and talk about training. Happily we found ourselves discussing the aims and values of P4C.

In the morning Pat Hannam presented a slideshow and activities that focused on critical and creative thinking. She broadened the dialogue and raised challenges for us by placing these elements in the context of radical, democratic, participative education. Pat characterised P4C as a radical proposal, transformative of persons and society, a counter-cultural force, and part of a bigger global fight for justice, sustainability and representation.

In the afternoon, Peter Worley of The Philosophy Shop led a philosophical activity followed by Q&A. He rejected democracy in the classroom in favour of facilitator expertise. For Peter, those who teach philosophy must be trained philosophers. As facilitators, they use their specialist knowledge and skills to lead the questioning and guide dialogue towards classic philosophy dilemmas and puzzles.

So two very different approaches stemming from two very different conceptions of philosophy. On the one hand, radical (democratic) philosophy, and on the other, conservative (non-democratic) philosophy. How do the differences  play out in practice? Perhaps an interesting analysis is in terms of the challenges faced.

Radical facilitators face the challenges that come with building individual and group autonomous self management. Conservative facilitators have to deal effectively with the technical difficulties of speaker management.

Radical stimulus choice means finding materials that engage themes that emerge from the lived experience of participants, that enable concept formation and analysis that is locally empowering. Radical stimulus choice might involve participants co-determining the agenda. Conservative stimuli are thought experiments, audience friendly versions of pre-existing engaging parts of the philosophy canon; ‘The Ship of Theseus’, ‘Same River Twice’, ‘Brain Swap’ and so on. Material is selected and presented in a way that gets people thinking deeply about fundamental questions about identity, free will, moral dilemmas etc. and helps to initiate them into some of the content and methods of traditional philosophy.

Radical trainers are urged to think philosophically about aims and values and have the task of enabling others to become more radical and reflective practitioners. Conservative trainers need facilitation skills coupled with a love of academic philosophy so they can enthuse others with their passion for spreading access to the great questions and higher order thinking of the subject discipline.

With such engaging presentations, and such a sharp contrast, it would be hard not to accept the challenge to think. It’s one I readily accept, and so I’m grateful to have been involved on Saturday. And thinking about the contrasts and similarities between the ‘radical’ and ‘conservative’ versions of philosophy raises some important questions. My top 3 in order of importance are …

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03/10/2010 by Steve Bramall.

I’m not a movie maker, but when Steve Williams and Open Futures gave me a chance to make some short films of P4C I jumped in. This week I’ve been editing and producing.

I should say, sitting alone in front of a screen is not my favourite place.  If I’m to be sitting alone, I’d rather be outside a tent, deep in a forest, or on my bike heading up to Shaw’s Corner for a picnic lunch. And mostly I’d rather be upright and with people; chatting with a class of excited children in a gallery, or bouncing ideas at a philosophy conference.

But here I am. This one is to be a short animation. Creepy crawlies drawn by Year 5s are to speak the philosophical dialogues and reflections of their young creators. I’m calling it Philosophy Creature Comforts Minibeasts - after the Aardman animations -  only it won’t be as good, obviously. My brief is to animate lightly, partly so we really listen to what’s being said, and partly to make it the sort of film a teacher could reasonably be expected to put together.

So I spend my day getting moths to blink, snails to wink and ladybirds to wave their legs while talking about success, and doing things for yourself, and the value of p4c.

My film making is amateur, but, happily, my shortcomings are pushed into the background: by the childrens’ pictures which are wonderful, by the charm and character of their voices, by the thoughtfulness of their comments and questions. ‘Can everyone succeed if they believe?’ ‘Is it better if things are made by hand?’

I don’t like listening the sound of my own voice, and I find myself wincing at some of the confusion I caused and  opportunities I missed. But I also find myself smiling at some of the young persons’ comments. ‘I like philosophy because it gets me me to ask questions I wouldn’t have thought of…’, ‘I can think of an example of a ‘yes or no’ question that is philosophical….’

By the end, I’ve listened to the audio so many times I know it backwards. I’ve thought about the meaning, the feelings, the nuances, the dialogue moves, the philosophical content, my interventions, the behaviour, the cultural background and so on and on… And it’s a rich and rewarding experience that makes me think that really studying a dialogue is perhaps something we do too little of.

It’s not that we don’t listen, live, at the time - of course we do. And we reflect afterwards on what was said, and by whom, and why. But revisiting a dialogue, over and over gives opportunities to analyse in many more ways, to understand and appreciate much more fully. It’s a route to really thinking about the thinking.

Re-listening to a dialogue is like re-reading a book. Regular re-listening to dialogues in which we have the role of facilitator is like re-reading the story of your own practice. It can reveal a lot about how you work and give opportunities for professional self evaluation and self understanding.

So my resolution is to get into the P4C recording habit.  And next time I’m washing the kitchen floor, I’ll have something to listen, wince and smile about.

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13/09/2010 by Steve Bramall.

There’s been no young folk at all for me for the past week, not even mine. Instead its been schools full of teachers getting back into work - cutting, sticking, opening, planning - readying their resources, filling their walls, shifting their tables. In anticipation of the arrival of their fresh new students, teachers busy themselves by preparing their classes, classrooms and in this case, happily, themselves.

And that’s why I’m here, in a small JMI in rural Berkshire. I’m here to lead a SAPERE P4C Level 1 so that this year there’ll be more questions, better questions, higher quality dialogue, teaching through communities of enquiry, better thinking, in the classroom and beyond. But at 8am on a Monday in late September it feels, well, a bit unreal.

Outside, blackberries are bramble jelly ripe and end of season funghi poke orange umbrella heads through wisened leaves. Inside everything is car wash clean, green shoots fresh. There really is new paint not to be scuffed and we really are wondering out loud whether we should walk around the
new circular rug to preserve its beautiful eco-globular centre and its fluffy outer ring of happily
custodial children.

The day before yesterday I was lazily whalespotting off Oban - and like Alice I don’t feel I’m quite out of the dream. Unreal is my best shot - like the playground bark chippings sitting improbably neatly within their boundary walls, like the bespectacled lion deep staring down at me from his summer long cogitation.

Then suddenly its 9.30 - and we’re off.  We introduce ourselves, relax, get to know one another, speak of summer, begin to form some community relations. Over the next two days, the enquiries enquire, the workshops work, the questions spark, the themes emerge. ‘How do we deal with a couple of unattentive pupils?’, ‘Can this work for lower ability pupils?’, ‘Can a group of 5 year olds really think about rules for their own community?’, ‘In a primary school with all female staff, how can we understand the behaviour of boys?’, ‘Where does school end and community begin?’

2 days of p4c training - the skills, the resources, the understanding needed to get started in classroom practice, and to keep going - are over in a trice. I can feel that the coming year of teaching, should we say ‘facilitating’, is already changed.

On that second evening, back in the office, I take out the first first piece of feedback. ‘… the whole group had space to challenge each other.’

And when I think back, they did challenge one another, in the training, in the staffroom, in one to one meetings, informally, about the nature of schooling, about the basis of differentiation, about the meaning of community. They challenged one another seriously, light heartedly and happily - and they enjoyed it.

Suddenly it doesn’t seem so unreal after all.

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24/08/2010 by Steve Bramall.

This happened in July. It was near the end of term and I had only one more class to prepare for the week before I could go out, play tennis and sink a well earned beer.

But I got stuck - the empty planning sheet just sat there, stared up, taunted me.

‘Come on, can’t be that hard, one little stimulus for the year 2s.’

Then sometimes it is hard - even with a talking planning sheet. Everything you think of seems wrong: too dull, too dangerous, too babyish, too grown up. You imagine all of the pitfalls, none of the fun.

So I did what we all do. I ran through previous classes in my head, checked the list of past stimuli, look up my comments and evaluations. Some had been struggling with listening. So perhaps some reflection on this, or a stimulus to raise the concept? Maybe they needed new opportunities to do some listening, more to one another? But then they’d played most of my listening games already and I couldn’t think of a picture book or a picture or a story that I thought would spark up thinking about listening. Perhaps if I could borrow a hearing aid?

Time to talk to the dog.

Outside the back door, perching on the bench, I got to work with a brush on Biba’s tangled rear. I tried to forget work and imagine myself as a gentlemen’s hairdresser.

‘Did you see the news? Says that humans lived in Brtain a million years ago.’

She’s not interested. I move up to her neck where I know she loves the feeling of the bristles.

‘Flint tools and pine cones.’

She looks back and pushes against the brush.

‘Cool then, must have had clothes and fire - unless they were as hairy as an old collie?’

She shakes. Behind her right ear I find a knot of matted hair that needs scissors and a steady hand.

‘Be hard to get this off with a hand axe!’

I snip the clump away and begin to trim the other ear to match. Just as I start the next sentence, the flow of human-canine barbers chat is interrupted by my mobile sounding a text. Not now, I think. I was just getting good at not thinking about work. It trills again. I undo Biba’s collar and swing the address capsule, decied to ignore the sound of the text. She rolls onto her back, paws waving unsurely in the air. The phone rings.

Not now, I think, scratching her belly roughly as I move away.

‘Not now Biba. Not Now Bernard!’ St Bernard.  A dog whistle? A squeaky toy? Dog in the playground? Oh I love dog in the playground.

I leap inside, and still holding the collar, pick up the phone…

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24/08/2010 by Steve Bramall.

This week I’m planning intergenerational philosophy and as always it takes me back to a negative thought. Philosophy, even philosophy for children, can be a dull spectator sport.

Yes, there are creative spikes in game playing and question making. There’s drama in voting, tension in negotiation, emotional highs and lows. And we usually end in a time pressured, messy scatter of pictures, pens, sketch pads, bottles,  rope and parrot. But there’s really not much philosophy for an outsider to observe.

Which brings a planning challenge. After a week of teaching young persons to facilitate philosophical enquiry, what should we show parents at pick up time?

Graphic stimuli and colourful questions? Photos of outdoor community building and indoor enquiry? Trellisworks of concepts stretched? Tracings of arguments? Quotes of the week? Well yes. But, as the young persons are quick to point out, none of this really captures the spirit of lived philosophy. To illustrate and share this, to get parents to begin to really get it, they need to engage.

‘Engage.’ I remember the concept bouncing around in my head after a day spent team building with Graeme Tiffany and after another day thinking about the display problem with the young persons. Engage in intergenerational philosophy - then the display problem goes away!

So, two groups of Key Stage Three students devised, planned and facilitated philosophical enquiries. In the morning they facilitated for one another, in the afternoon, for their parents, guardians, aunts, uncles, siblings and grandparents. Their ‘display’ was an engagement, a student led, interactive and immersive experience of philosophy for adults.

But philosophy has the habit of giving you more than you bargained for. The enquiry generated questions that spanned the generational divide - ‘Is watching television active or passive?’, ‘Are video games social or anti-social?’ The dialogue brought sharp dischord as well as meetings of minds. I remember heated analysis of the concept of ‘passive’ and challenges to the value and meaning of ‘action’, ‘game’ and ‘teamwork’.  And I recall movements in the room - changes of mind and of heart, commitments to do things and to talk further, a growing appetite for continuing the pursuit.

That was five years ago. Now intergenerational dialogue is a regular and joyful part of my p4c practice. Whether it’s helping parents to enquire with children through picture books, or putting teachers and pupils into the same enquiry, or generating dialogue across community groups - bringing people of different ages together is great because it really changes things.

Intergenerational philosophy started for me as a way to overcome the display problem. But even back then I realised it was going to be more. I realised it while listening to a 12 year old and his grandfather talk seriously for the first time about video games, and then, with mixed feelings, when I heard them agree to play ‘Grand Theft Auto’ together - ’so they could really talk about it’.

Five years on, I recently worked again with a cohort of 11 to 14 year olds, again they facilitated enquiry for parents and teachers, again I worked in collaboration with Graeme Tiffany. But no matter how often I do it, it’s always surprising, always fresh and always fun.

And always I think of the need to ‘engage’.

Graeme Tiffany is an independent informal educator, trainer and philosopher.

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05/07/2010 by Steve Bramall.

Sixteen10 and 11 year olds, one giant galvanised wire naked woman with the head of a hare, fifteen minutes to make some juicy questions. It’s philosophy, p4c style, in the Yorkshire Sculpture Park.

On the walk in, there are tarantula care tips, disputes about snake food preferences and warnings about lizard hygene. The kids with scary pets keep a distance from the dog and cat brigade and take their chance to speak their young obsessions. Adam switches suddenly from fauna to flora. ‘Lovely garden.’ He’s right. Beside us is a picture postcard English cottage, fronted by towering hollyhocks,  bouquets of deep lavender and tangles of wild pink roses. A perfect old lady smiles over the stone birdbath. ‘Thankyou.’

In the park, blustery drizzle gives way to a cheery sunshine that causes sharp shadows to reach out from the animal headed woman. Some circle her, several perch on a viewpoint tree stump, the adventurous get close. ‘Why can I touch that one and not this?’ ‘Wonder what she eats?’ ‘Is she pregnant?’

Ten minutes more conversation and the questions begin to flow. ‘Why do sculptors do so many naked people?’ ‘Why are the figures so big?’ ‘What does the split represent?’  ‘If I sit on it, am I part of the sculpture?’ ‘Do sad people make sad sculptures?’ ‘Are there feelings with no names?’

Soon we have more than enough to spark up the afternoon dialogue. These young persons have furnished us with common, central and contentious concepts to explore and stretch, reflective thoughts about meaning and value in art and life to share,  serious and not so serious ideas for making their own sculptural tableau responses.

Back at school, three fifteen comes around in the blink of an eye. In the car park, Steve Williams and I recall the highlights of the day; the deep thinking, the laughter, the sculptures, the learning. We run over other things we might have done with more time, think fondly back to our farm shop picnic lunch, plan the editing and the next trip north. Then its back to our cars for the drive home.

‘That was a good one, from the new girl, ‘Why don’t they put all the sculptures close together’.’

‘Yes, and the boy with the tarantula - said ‘I like it but I don’t know why. Could that be a question?”

Could be. And could raise another question…

Steve Williams is an independent P4C trainer and facilitator.

Steve Bramall’s website

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