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Brief
Autobiography of a Bolshie
Dismissed (Written in September 1996) Newly redundant Teacher
Educator, former adviser on Teacher Education to the Labour
Party, Labour and Trade Union activist. Sacked, down the road,
out on my ear, voluntarily redundant and early retired at 51, pushed
out. Call
it what you like. The writing was on the wall. Bolshies,
and teachers of bolshie subjects such as
the
sociology and politics of education, are clearly fingered in the
restructuring
of teacher education. Following the effective
removal of almost anything ‘critical’ and ‘oppositional’ from teacher
education
courses in England and Wales- (in line with the Government’s Committee
for the
Accreditation of Teacher Education Criteria of 1992 and 1993, soon to
be
ratcheted up by Education Minister Gillian Shepherd) - the sack - kaput
-
finish by November - out - sorry to see
you go - jump through a few hoops please- demean yourself, just a bit,
squirm,
you powerless employee and then bugger off- you’re redundant. An ordure
of
calumnies, a litany of forgotten
and unimagined `offences’ and
`tensions’. Apparently we aren’t allowed to disagree, however pompous
and
ludicrous and slothful a particular order or its maker might seem. A far cry from collegiality and collaboration.
All lightened
by kindnesses, a sense of the ludicrous, and by the Union solidarity.
But made
heavier by the eviction of yet more critical thought and people. Bolshieness I have always admired - its potential as a
purposeful
kickback by the powerless against the powerful, in society and in
education. My
mum and dad, in their different ways, were bolshie.
Mum, determined, exuberant and Cockney, at 83, still wilful
and obstreperous - full of fierce love and determination and a sense of
justice- and of fickle hates too- marching up the school to help her
boys. That
was purpose. Dad, a
hard bastard from Hoxton, the toughest
part of the He loved words, revelled
in them, wanting to know how to pronounce them
properly, rolling them round his mouth, savouring
them - One of his proudest possessions a huge battered etymological
dictionary
he would consult. He knew he was placed and situated by his language,
his
accent, and by his Lawrentian physicality. As a boy I fought
against bullies, did it for myself, or for justice, occasionally noting
the
applause as more villains bit the dust. Despite being the shortest and
youngest
of the three, I fought for my brothers, bopping a nose here and there
if anyone
threatened them. The repertoire extended to jumping in to defend the
bullied -
getting a black eye on my first day at Secondary School, returning the
compliment on the first day of my second term. Great was my surprise
when one
of the oppressed, on whose behalf I thought I was fighting, rejected my
protection and turned on me, flailing in ..., what, - anger,
humiliation,
pride? Nobody pushed us about -
at least, not that we noticed in the micro-societies of our youth. Not
until we
were segregated into first and second class schooling, me to Grammar
and
University, my brothers to Secondary and the
manual labour market.. Then I stopped growing
bigger- and learned to fight with words, the working class grammar
school sixth
form debates, in the Trade Union, in the Council chamber, on the
rallies and
picket lines over 30 years, in the We all did well, me,
John and Rog, well as All of us became shop
stewards. John, the Building Workers Confederation
steward at
the But victories were sweet
- and the blood burned as twenty, or two hundred, or five thousand, or
a
hundred thousand marched - and marvelled -
in
solidarity - learning through action, the body reinforcing the learning
of the
intellect. Adrenalin and reason, desire and understanding, theory and
practice,
a pleasure and an understanding, as five hundred Kent Miners boldly,
determinedly, step by step in serried, disciplined ranks, marched
towards us
twenty thousand demonstrators. Over the Hendon hilltop they came, with
the sun
behind them, big lads, the shock troops of the working class, out
there, in
solidarity with the Grunwick strikers,
Asian women,
pittance pay, compulsory overtime, putting their hands up
to ask to go to the toilet. Later,
in the nineties and in charge of a teacher education course, similar
victories,
of Crawley B.Ed mature and non- standard
entry
students, in various sorties. In
their results (with higher pass rates, academic results, teaching
practice
performance and job acquisition, than for equivalent courses), in exam
board
meetings, in individual and collaborative intellectual leaps and
acquisitions,
and in co- using individual and group life experiences- and launching
the first
exam boycott in the history of the college (the 60s bypassed Bognor).Such victories were
as sweet as the campaign and comradeliness. And so to teach, to
lecture, was a gift, a love, a scintillation in the doing, a labour of love, a love of labour
and of Old Labour. It got me denounced of
course, as
it does any activist. Denounced for being a flying
picket
while in the Inner London Teachers Association unofficial strikes of
the late
1960s. Denounced for presenting a Marxist analysis of history in
A level history at So,
down the road and signing on, for being bolshie
and
for teaching bolshie ‘critical’ subjects
such as the
sociology and the politics of education and of policy. Student teachers don’t need them any more.
Will New Labour bring back thinking and
critique and social justice
into the teacher education curriculum, into the minds and sprits of new
teachers? Will it allow disagreement and democracy at work? Big
questions, no
final answers yet. No hostages to fortune. Only to misfortune, to accepting what is a
conservative nationalisation and policing
of a national curriculum for schools and
for new
teachers. A Curriculum for Conformity, bashing the
bolshies. Precious little
space for anti-racism or
anti-sexism, let alone criticism of social class inequalities or
homophobia. Now, following the
welcome solidarity of many colleagues,
comes a new
freedom, to write, to search for a convenient employing organisation
to feed, stimulate, challenge, and fund the organisation,
development, proselytisation of a
particular bolshieness. That in pursuit of a better,
egalitarian, solidaristic society.
Where
accent, language, body language, relationship to the means of
production -
class- as well as ‘race’ and gender -are not mocked by the meritocratic
facade of a ‘free and liberal’ school, academy and society. Where
critical, focused, constructive and mass bolshieness
can rock the foundations of inequality. Dave Hill was
dismissed in November 1996. Dave
worked with his family as a building
worker following his dismissal, then worked
at
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