Constructing an “other” citizen – the case of ADHD
Paper presented at the Nordic Educational Research Association Conference,
University of Örebo, 9-11 March 2006
Simon Bailey
University of Nottingham
ttxsb3@nottingham.ac.uk
Draft only, please do not quote without permission
Introduction
This paper represents a contribution to the Foucauldian literature in the study of earlyyears education. The main basis of the paper comes from a ten week ethnographic
study conducted in a state run infant school in England’s East Midlands towards the
end of 2005. Discussion will focus on the consequences of spatial segregation and
regulation in terms of it’s interaction with reductionist psychiatric discourse and the
contradiction which this fosters in terms of democratic ideals in education.
The Death of the Institution?
"There are many ways of being human, but each society makes
a choice of the way it prefers or tolerates" (Bauman, 2005, p. 105)
Bauman’s study of the new order of consumerism from which the above quote is
taken talks of a social order which demands above all the freedom to choose; this is
the highest value for any consumer. Within this environment of free choice; drills and
routines become counter-productive and normative regulation dysfunctional. Most
importantly in this shift is the ‘disappearance’ of the panoptic institution. In society
generally, there may well have been a decisive shift away from production towards
consumerism, however, there is little doubt that there still exists – in our system of
education – powerful, panoptic institutions, in which ‘production’ remains a principal,
if partially concealed, function.
The freedom to choose is undoubtedly a value tied to consumerism, but also to the
political ideals upon which western civilization bases itself, those of democracy.
Whichever of the commonly theorized models of democracy one prefers, this element
of choice is fundamental to the definition; “political rights, such as voting rights and
free speech, have not only the same structure but also a similar meaning as civil rights
that provide a space within which legal subjects are released from external
compulsion” (Habermas, 1996, p. 22).
This so called ‘freedom to choose’ requires some qualification, however.
Two
different arguments which highlight free choice as a possible misnomer are these;
firstly, that varying social, physical and economic circumstances can restrict or even
completely remove one’s freedom to choose.
So it is within Habermas’ highly
influential deliberative model of democracy that rests on the ‘ideal speech’ situation
(Habermas, 1981), dependent on “a network of fairly regulated bargaining processes”
(Habermas, 1996, p. 25). However chances of achieving such equity stands obscured
in the long shadow of our institutional practices, in which “the knowledge of
dominant groups, the ways in which they see and experience the world, tends to be
exclusively and positively valued…while that of marginalized groups is often
allocated a negative value” (Gale & Densmore, 2000, p. 92).
The second argument, is that every choice must be measured by the opportunity cost
of whatever is not chosen – thus choice is never free of the constraints of possible
alternatives (Beck, 1992). This second argument gains importance if we then extend
it to consider also the constraints provided by the consequences of choices made, and
how some choices function to produce legitimacy while others may instigate
exclusion. This second point brings us back to Bauman’s quote at the beginning of
this section, and the implication that society makes certain choices on our behalf. For
the liberal, the exercise of the right to vote safeguards this deferred decision making;
for the republican, society’s choices are the product of a politically active autonomous
praxis; while deliberative or communicative theorists attempt to find a ‘third way’
through a rationalization of political decision making by the influence of
“communicative power” (Habermas, 1996, p. 28).
While these models may vary in the exact way in which they attempt to make power
accountable and achieve consensus; the fundamental values such as accountability
and consensus, and, implied by these, participation, autonomy, representation and
choice, are present in all three. Thus when we discuss what it means to provide
democracy, we are talking in terms of these elements, and where we are talking about
undemocratic processes, we are talking about, the constraint of autonomy and choice
and the mis-, under-, or non-participation of mis-, under-, or non-represented peoples.
In short, when we talk about undemocratic conditions we are, in Young’s words,
speaking of domination;
“Domination consists in institutional conditions which inhibit or prevent
people from participating in determining their actions or the conditions of
their actions.
Persons live within structures of domination if other
persons or groups can determine without reciprocation the conditions of
their action, either directly or by virtue of the structural consequences of
their actions. Thorough social and political democracy is the opposite of
domination.” (Young, 1990, p. 38)
In terms of children, one does not have to look far to see the wide ranging and
pervasive controls that are placed on their choices. There are various social arenas
where children of a certain age are not permitted, or have to be accompanied; various
activities they cannot participate in, such as driving and voting; and, of course, for at
least twelve out of their first sixteen years they are obliged to spend around six hours
a day in school, for the most part sitting on chairs following other people’s
instructions (Penn, 2000). This might seem like a moot point, but the obviousness of
the situation perhaps works to obscure its far reaching implications in our attitudes
towards children. If one could then also show that while children are in school, their
almost every movement and moment is subject to an imposed order of regulation,
segregation, discipline, in short, of domination; then one would have plenty of
ammunition to mount a commanding critique of such a system.
The research study
Kilcott Infant School is situated in a small town in rural Nottinghamshire. The school
and nursery house approximately 100 children from the age of about 3 until 7, where
most go on to the larger primary school across the road. The town is one of many in
the area which suffered from the collapse of the mining industry in the 1980s;
unemployment is high and prospects are relatively low, though there is a mounting
community effort towards regeneration.
I spent one day a week at Kilcott throughout the Autumn term 2005, during this time I
worked almost exclusively with the same Year One class, where I took on the role of
a teaching assistant. The day when I was in Kilcott also happened to be the day when
the teachers took their PPA time. During the summer 2005 I had conducted a small
research project at Kilcott and so was on familiar terms with many of the teachers and
children.
As an acting teaching assistant I was not able to take a structured approach to
observation, but instead used any available time to keep a research journal. This
journal became a mixture of recording tasks, activities, and conversations as well as
providing a space to make an ongoing reflection of events and my own complicity in
them. Below is presented not a holistic analysis of events in temporal succession, but
rather the extraction of various moments which I believe to be significant in terms of
the analytical concepts reviewed above.
Routine
My experiences at Kilcott suggest that the building of routines into the children’s day
is the single most important requisite for ‘effective and enjoyable’ schooling (DfES,
2003).
Routines are established through the setting up of infinite, normatively
regulated, miniature orders, in which a certain activity should be performed by certain
people, in a certain way. From the correct way to enter the class in the morning to the
correct way to leave in the afternoon, via the correct way to wash hands before lunch
and the correct way to line up for assembly; not forgetting the correct way to interact
with other children, sit and listen to the teacher, speak in public, sit on chairs, use a
pair of scissors, read a book, etc. As the following song, which was repeated through
approximately twenty times, illustrates;
Only one can talk at a time; So what shall I do? Listen while you
talk to me; And then talk back to you
This discourse of routinization becomes highly infectious, such that I made the
following diary entry;
The problem is that there is no routine to wed afternoon, because of
the PPA splitting into groups and having different teachers and
moving rooms all provides plenty of scope for disruption.
Margaret, the head of Kilcott, uses this discourse to rationalize the integration of
children into a new environment, or through a period of transition. She also suggests
that one of the school’s responsibilities – given the troubled area in which it is situated
– is to work on raising the children’s confidence and self-esteem; another function of
this most versatile of theories. Indeed as Giddens states, "the discipline of routine
helps to constitute a 'formed framework' for existence by cultivating a sense of 'being',
and its separation from 'non-being', which is elemental to ontological security”
(Giddens, 1991, p. 39).
Thus, within the school, a secure and consistent knowledge of “who I am” is
contingent on a secure and consistent knowledge of “where I am”, “what I am doing”,
and “how I am doing it”. But routine does not just help one to constitute one’s own
‘formed framework’; routine is itself a ‘ready-formed framework’ in which as broader
range of children – and teachers – must be ‘included’ as possible. In this way routine
also functions for certain others to know “where I am”, “what I am doing”, and “how
I am doing it”, thus invoking the ‘order’.
In fact these authoritative others are
privileged indeed, they not only know “what I am doing” but are also in a position to
say whether or not what I’m doing is satisfactory; thus invoking the ‘norm’.
Amongst its other worthy functions then, routine functions to create legitimacy – and
thus illegitimacy also – in the times, places, movements, and utterances of the school
day.
Routinization emerges through this analysis as the overarching ‘strategy’,
“designed to permit the possibility of certain things considered “natural” and
“normal” to children” (Walkerdine, 1986). One of the ‘general forms of domination’
which create ‘subjected and practiced bodies, “docile” bodies’ (Foucault, 1979, p. 27).
In order to illustrate these themes, I have borrowed from the work of Jenny Gore, in
her various studies of Foucault’s power relations in the classroom (Gore, 1993, 1995,
1998). Gore develops a set of categories, each capturing some feature of education’s
disciplinary apparatus. Gore uses 12 categories, which are a mixture of spatial and
temporal dimensions, strategic functions, tactical regulations and discursive positions.
I have used only those I consider to be strategic functions. To these I have added
“Examination” – which I have borrowed from Holligan (Holligan, 2000), and my own
“Docility” and “Authorizing”. The following table sets these definitions out:
Surveillance – Supervising, closely observing, watching,
threatening to watch, avoiding being watched;
Distribution – Dividing into parts, arranging, ranking
bodies in space;
Segregation – Setting up enclosures, partitioning, creating
functional sites (Gore uses the term ‘space’);
Differentiation – Normative classification of ability and
difference amongst individuals or groups (This combines
elements Gore’s
‘exclusion’, ‘classification’ and
‘knowledge’);
Self-regulation – Regulative practices directed at the self
(Gore uses ‘self’);
Examination – Checking, recording, measuring and
displaying ability or progress
Docility – Rendering bodies still and/or silent,, invoking
passivity;
Authorizing – Legitimating an individual’s authority,
routinizing an individual’s presence
Using these categories as interpretive frames, I present below a timetable, typical of a
morning at Kilcott.
Next to each activity’s description I have recorded my
interpretation of the strategic function which it fulfills:
Time/Activity
Description
Function
8.45 – 9.00
Hang up coat & store activity book
Write name on board
Sit on carpet with a book
‘Silent’ register
Line up for ‘Omega 3’ and toast
Take water bottle and own seat
Receive instructions as a group
Individual work with teacher help
Re-group for progress report
Surveillance,
Differentiation,
Self-regulation
Docility,
Distribution,
Segregation
Docility,
Distribution, Segregation
Examination, Selfregulation
Differentiation, Docility,
Segregation, Surveillance,
Distribution, Docility,
Differentiation,
Segregation
Distribution, Docility
Distribution,
Differentiation,
Segregation, Examination
Examination
Distribution, Segregation,
Distribution, Docility,
Authorizing, Distribution,
Segregation,
Distribution, Docility
Differentiation
“Arrival”
9.00 – 9.30
“Registration”
9.30 – 10.15
“Morning work”
10.15 – 10.45
“Break time”
10.45 – 11.45
“Morning work”
11.45 – 1.15
“Lunch”
Change shoes and take biscuit
Outdoor play – tyres & trees
Line up in playground
Door monitor for re-entry
Change shoes, sit with water bottle
Complete individual tasks
Those finished help others
Individual portfolio work with TA
Discuss/Present/Perform/Display
Group-at-a-time wash hands
Rest of group singing activity
‘Sandwiches’ and ‘School meals’
line up for Mrs. Dean
Eating, no noise or movement
Let out to play based on lunch
‘performance’
As well as Gore’s study, the above analysis takes it’s lead from Fielding’s analysis of
teachers use of space for control and authority (Fielding, 2000) and borrows
Meadmore & Symes, concept of uniformity, extending it into a more metaphorical
space – for here it is the routine that defines what can be legitimately ‘worn’ at any
one time.
The frequent appearance of “distribution” in my analysis, suggests that it is an
important category.
Considering the definition above, perhaps the reason why
distribution appears so often is because it functions to act on a number of other
functions, such as surveillance and docility. By creating legitimate and illegitimate
spaces, distributing allows one to monitor children’s use of, or ability to keep within,
their own space, thus, allowing the entry of another frequently appearing function;
differentiation. Differentiating ability to follow one’s distributed order, would seem
frequently to be related directly to protecting the routine itself; if one is sitting well,
then one’s reward for sitting well is often to be the instigator or ‘leader’ of the next
routinized stage – the first in line, the door monitor, etc. There would certainly seem
to be nothing inherently productive about the ability to sit still, it would seem an odd
skill for teachers to reward for itself; thus I would suggest that what is really being
looked for is the ability to accept the order and it’s rationale. Taking on this selfreferential character would seem to detract from the routine’s ability to foster selfregulation – for the only rationale for well ‘tempered’ subjectivity (Miller, 1993) is
tied to the immediate ends of the routine itself. Put another way, the self-referential
routine acts to separate and mark as ‘risky’ those whom, for whatever reason, do not
‘fit’ the prescribed order.
Regulation
If routine comprises the strategy, imposes the order and creates the normative space,
then regulation is responsible for communicating, or ‘translating’ the strategy into the
everyday language of human action and choice; a responsibility, in short, to enforce.
I observed this tactical responsibility in action at a number of different ‘levels’, which
I have developed into a ‘typology of regulation’.
This is not intended as an
exhaustive list, nor is it to say that these categories are necessarily independent or
distinct. I merely wish to draw attention to the various levels of structure and agency1
at which these forces can operate.
Structural regulation
1
And the way in which power operates to make these two concepts dynamic, indistinct and,
frequently, inseperable – see Foucault, M. (1982). The Subject and Power. In H. Dreyfus & P. Rabinow
(Eds.), Michel Foucault: Beyond Structuralism and Hermeneutics (pp. 208-226). Brighton: Harvester
Press.
Structural regulation concerns measures of control as administered by macro
structures, usually a government or policy measure. By this analysis changes in macro
level regulation affect changes in the “political technology of the subject” (Miller,
1993, p. ix). The following excerpt provides an example:
There is a visitor in the school today who’s brought in a mobile van
called a Life Education Centre. This is part of Every Child Matters
and is concerned with promoting safety, making children aware of
health and the body, enjoyment and achievement…Additionally
there is a parent session, assembly programme and a seven session
parenting skills course.
The Life Education Centre (LEC) is part of a nationwide government initiative,
particularly concerned with children, and parents, in deprived areas.
Into these
‘troubled places’ (Thomson, 2002), the government wish to impose various medical,
social, environmental and economic norms – the correct way to behave in public, eat
healthily, look after your body, treat your friends, attain economic stability, etc.
Situational regulation
Situational regulation involves the ordering of groups of people through the use of
rules, space, buildings etc, and is applied with some autonomy within the school, as
these separate examples illustrate;
As soon as I got outside I encountered an argument, Kilcott has a
new set of tyres attached to the ground which the children play on. It
is obviously highly popular as (unbeknown to me) only one group can
use it at a time.
What has now been decided is that the teacher who comes in to do
French is going to have the whole group of badgers while rabbits are
split between two classes and then swap.
Spatial Regulation
Spatial regulation is directed at individuals and applied often reactively by an
authoritative person such as the teacher – though of course teachers, or assistants, can
also be subject to it;
Margaret also bought another disruptive influence to sit by me
This morning I’ve been doing mainly computer work again, firstly with
Laura, Carolyn, Andrew, Duncan, James, Georgina and Christopher,
in the library looking for pictures on the national portrait gallery
website.
Back in Sarah’s class he was still unhappy and Sarah having come to
the same conclusion as me about the source of the problem, but being
equally unsure what to do about it, gave him back to me! I sat him on
my knee and put an arm round him he seemed ok with this and was
quiet and attentive through out.
The use of computers is used in the second of the three excerpts to illustrate spatial
regulation – each child’s movement is controlled by having their own seat and the
focus of the computer screen. In this particular example, one of numerous such
occasions, Sarah would use the computer room to apply some situational regulation as
well – by using me to remove four or five pupils from the main class; this example is
particularly pertinent as I have been given several of the most ‘disruptive influences’.
Spiritual Regulation
Spiritual regulation is a kind of ‘micro-physics’ (Foucault, 1979) involving the use of
fine motor tasks to make essentialist evaluations concerning the abilities, skills and
circumstances of the performer; allowing the authoritative other to “gaze into ‘the
soul’ of the learner” (Holligan, 2000, p. 143);
Most of the children displayed good mouse control which Sarah had
asked me to take note of. When it came to writing their name using
the keyboard, levels of ability were much more mixed. Louise, Laura,
Georgina, were the most confident, Christopher and Lee were the only
two who really struggled.
In the excerpt above Sarah has asked me to differentiate children’s fine motor
coordination, here exemplified by ‘mouse control’. At the time I did not really
understand what purpose this served, but despite this I, almost automatically, started
to differentiate the children according to other skills, such as their ability with the
keyboard and spelling their names.
Spiritual regulation often occurs in tandem with what has been called a ‘discourse of
derision’ (Ball, 1995, Holligan, 2000), where a child’s ability or inability in a given
task, or simply an observed characteristic, may be seen as reflecting some private or
domestic deviance;
She said that she knew the family quite well and that the men in it
were all quite aggressive and violent, and she saw this as a partial
explanation for his behaviour problems. I commented that in my first
visit I had been surprised by how tame much of Andrew’s behaviour
was, she immediately replied that this was because I was a man and so
understood better.
Christopher is the youngest child in the class, having just turned 5 last
month, Sarah and I had a chat about him, where this was the first
thing she mentioned…Sarah described Clare [Christopher’s mother] as
“carrying a lot of emotional baggage” and I think she was suggesting
that Clare broke down during the meeting. Sarah clearly didn’t think
much of her as a parent and thought that Christopher was probably
spoilt.
Both excerpts here illustrate the importance attached to the family environment in the
teacher’s discourse. Here there are a number of different derisions going on.
Throughout there is the implication that the family is not providing an appropriate
environment for the nurturing of the ‘school child’ – this is the implicit notion of
policy directives such as Every Child Matters (DfES, 2004)2. Interacting with this
family derision is that of age and gender. Given school’s decision to segregate by the
September birthday, there will always be those who are young for their year, and these
children are often concerns for teachers – in the second excerpt, ‘inappropriate
mothering’ combines with the ‘youngest in year’ to produce a ‘spoilt child’. In the
first excerpt gender is used to rationalize the child’s disruptive behaviour, both in the
This legislation is aimed primarily at children and parents in deprived areas, or from ‘disadvantaged’
backgrounds, it’s focus is with children ‘learning to learn’ and parents understanding the positive social
attributes of education. In this sense it reflects a ‘functional approach’ to such normatve acquisition,
see Halliday, M. (1978). Language as Social Semiotic. London: Edward Arnold; and, Gale, T., &
Densmore, K. (2000). Just Schooling: explorations in the cultural politics of teaching. Buckingham:
Open University Press.
2
description of the aggression amongst the men in the family; and, my ability, as a
man, to relate to the situation.
Physical Regulation
While much of the above regulation could be described as physical, in the sense that it
seeks to act on the body, I wish to posit a distinct category, which involves dietary
control or supplement, or the use of chemical agents;
We also talked about James who apparently has been on Omega 3 for
six months and who, Sarah commented, had been much better behaved
than she had expected even describing him as ‘wonderful’ or ‘lovely’
or something.
This quote betrays implicit ‘deficit thinking’ (Valencia, 1997) in Sarah’s speech; for
her it is not possible that being seen as a ‘good’, ‘bad’ or ‘wonderful’ pupil are just
three subjectivities which James could portray; instead, he is essentially a
troublemaker, who requires supplements such as Omega 3 to temper his behaviour.
Not only is the medicalised ‘desire’ for physical supplement present here, but also a
kind of essentialism – that which seeks to fix in one place some supposedly
fundamental aspect of subjectivity. Such essentialism is reflected in the psychiatric
gaze, which seeks to pin a fixed subjectivity onto what may be a highly fluid and
plural identity. Thus in this example, we could say that the essentialism underlying
the teacher’s discourse opens up spaces into which psychiatric ‘expertise’ can assert
itself. This is an argument I shall return to later.
Relational Regulation
Like physical regulation, this category could be said to operate throughout all the
other categories, for implicit in the notion of power and domination is the existence of
an imbalanced relation between people or groups of people. Here I provide some
examples of the way in which those in authority can make use of the control which the
students can exert on each other;
Next a girl fell or was pushed off the tyres and hurt her ankle I
didn’t know the girl involved at all and felt a little useless to the
situation really I asked her if she could walk ok on it, helped her up
and then asked her friends to take her inside for some attention.
Periodically the whole class came back together on the carpet to
discuss how to move forward with the exercise
Ben seems to have a little group of girls who he enjoys sitting and
working with and if he’s with them seems to be less disruptive
The second excerpt provides an example of a much used template for classroom
practice at Kilcott. Bringing the children back together on the carpet to discuss what
they have done introduces processes of checking, observation and examination as well
aiding self-regulation (see table above). The third excerpt was taken from a year two
drama class, in this case the relational regulation aids several functions; the drama
class is held during PPA time, when part-time staff are brought in to cover for the
usual teachers; Ben has a history of troublemaking, and has a diagnosis of ADHD, so
he is a ‘cause for concern’, especially during PPA time; Ben chooses to sit and enjoys
working in this group, thus it is also self-regulational.
Rupture
The paragraph above on PPA, has brought me onto this section, which concerns
instances when the routinized order is cracked or broken – instances I have termed
ruptures. PPA time provided the most consistently noticeable instances of rupture
during my time at Kilcott, and below I will detail the increased threats which the order
perceives and some of the structures it imposes to try and counter this threat. In fact
PPA time is interesting on a number of levels; it is structural regulation placed on
teachers by government; it involves situational and relational regulation on the staff,
who are all required to be in the staff room, group planning – however this same
congress also has the potential to increase teacher’s ability to regulate classes. The
most interesting aspect for me, though, is the potential spaces of disruption and
indiscipline it opens up, and the strategies developed to counter this.
The first two weeks I was at Kilcott were the first two weeks they were holding PPA
time. It involved all full-time, main school teachers3, and the headmistress, once-aweek, being in the staff room for the large majority of the afternoon. So, after lunch
the children would come back in and have some ‘cooling off’ time on the carpet,
when they would have their ‘PPA badges’ given to them – a regulating strategy in
itself. Two extra staff were brought in to take on the teaching; for Year One, a French
teacher, Mrs Milton and for Year Two, a drama teacher, Mrs Reed. Year one and two
would each split into two groups, one group getting the extra teacher, the other group
taken for ‘speaking and listening’ with Melissa, a teaching assistant, and myself; there
were also TAs on hand to aid the extra staff. Below is my diary entry concerning
Kilcott’s first experience of trying to organise PPA time;
The afternoon PPA sessions were a complete reversal of this
morning’s good behaviour. Firstly Sarah’s group were generally
more disruptive and fidgety, they were unresponsive to Melissa,
and it was beyond the two of us to maintain order – this is still
something that I find quite difficult – there are many things that I
just don’t think warrant disciplining, but I need to try and follow
the directions of Melissa. Many of the children don’t regard me as
someone they take orders from – James, for example, I think sees me
more as someone to talk to and have a laugh with.
But if badgers were generally disruptive, rabbits were positively
satanic – Melissa was called away to have her photo taken and
two successive teachers then came and attempted to lead some sort
of activity. The problem is that there is no routine to wed
afternoon, because of the PPA splitting into groups and having
different teachers and moving rooms – all provides plenty of scope
for disruption. When Melissa was called away for her photo she
went to see Margaret about the problem – and later said to me that
she just didn’t want to come back – she seemed extremely upset
that she had been put in the position she had, and that any positive
impact she could have on the class was being so marginalised by the
amount of control she was being asked to exert. What has now
been decided is that the teacher who comes in to do French is going
to have the whole group of badgers while rabbits are split between
two classes and then swap – we shall see.
This entry raises several interesting issues, which I will expand on briefly. Firstly, the
general effect of there being a lack of routine – which appeared clear enough for me
to record it ‘live’. This adds weight to the reasoning that reliance on the self3
That is, excluding nursery and foundation
referential routine means that when it is taken away, the children are left with no
rationale to behave well – as though when it is taken away, the legitimacy which it
defines is suddenly up for negotiation again.
The second point, almost the reverse of the children’s new found powers of resistance
is both my own and Melissa’s discomfort with the situation. In my own case, this was
a new and unexpected position to be put into, I had not expected to be given this
amount of responsibility so early on in the project. This manifested itself clearly in
my inability to discipline the children to the level that was expected.
The third issue this raises, is the urgency and rationale of the alternative strategy
which was developed to tackle this insurgency. The main element of this strategy was
to load most of the responsibility onto the supply teachers and ‘divide and rule’ the
remaining mob. The likely success of this strategy was contingent on certain
regulations – such as Mrs Milton’s insistence that she didn’t mind doubling the size of
the group she took, as long as they remained sat on their own seats throughout – thus
imposing a coercive new routine in which distribution, segregation, docility and
surveillance can all be seen to operate.
My own ‘failure’ within this first experiment gone wrong meant that during future
PPA time I was not relied on with any responsible role – with one notable exception,
see below – so I could really do as I pleased, and so I chose to observe the other
supply teacher – Mrs Reed, in drama. Mrs Reed had an interesting teaching routine of
her own which she generally put to good effect in class.
Drama seemed to be something that the children looked forward to, unsurprisingly
perhaps, given the rare chance for freedom and creativity of movement and mind
which it offers. This freedom of course also provided more scope for disruption. For
the first couple of weeks, Mrs Reed would begin each drama class by carefully
explaining the rules which would ensure that ‘the drama’ would not be stopped,
disrupted or spoilt. These included various signals which would denote when
everyone should be sitting in a circle; freezing on the spot; instantly silent etc. There
were positive incentives for good behaviour in gold stars, and the chance to hit the big
metal gong which Mrs Reed brought in every week at the end of the class. Bad
behaviour was sanctioned first through two warnings – which were pictorially
represented by a sad face (first warning) and then a sad face with a cloud over it
(second warning), a third warning would mean a trip to the ‘sad chair’ from where
one was excluded from activities until they were ‘ready to continue with the drama’.
Added to this elaborate ‘technology’ of regulation, Mrs Reed had a subtle tactic which
she used frequently – usually when giving out whole group instructions (such as the
one’s detailed here), or actually performing the drama – and that was to speak in a
voice so quiet that, were there anyone talking or otherwise not paying attention, would
not be heard by the majority of the class.
I found these strategic manoeuvres fascinating – intricate theatricals in themselves –
‘the drama’, or the prevention there of, was the ultimate rationale for good behaviour,
and given the enjoyment which the children would generally get out of a session, this
was rationale was probably quite a strong one. Interestingly, to begin with, the
insertion of this apparatus probably caused as many problems as it resolved – as about
the first ten minutes of each lesson would be spent going though the explanation of
them – all the while fostering the fidgety, frustrated child who once let loose on the
drama would run amok, and restricting Mrs Reed’s ability to finish ‘the drama’ on
time. However, in the long run this strategy paid off – by the third and fourth week it
was enough to hold up a couple of the signs to remind the children what was what,
and by the fifth week a mere point at the sad chair was deemed enough revision for
the whole rule book – at this point the class could be said to have been fully routinized
into the ‘new order’ of PPA time.
More often than not, however, there was not enough ‘order’ to PPA afternoons for
Kilcott to maintain it’s usual efficiently monitored regime. The following excerpt is
taken from the afternoon when the Learning Education Centre (LEC) was visiting the
school. I’m sure the fact that this visit coincided with PPA time was no fluke –
Margaret’s planning was generally too astute for this. Thus not only is the LEC here
providing an example of structural regulation (see above) but also an example of
situational regulation; as autonomously planned and practiced by the school to
coincide with those ‘difficult’ Wednesday afternoons. However, as the excerpt
shows, things did not quite work out to plan.
All-in-all, quite an afternoon…I’ve been into the Life Education
Centre with two different classes today. First with Sue’s rabbits.
I never feel that comfortable taking a disciplining role in her class
because I don’t know many of the children’s names, and I don’t
know Sam, still, being PPA time there was no one else available,
and in the end it was fine – the LEC is highly entertaining and
educational and the children love it, it comes with all sorts of
whistles and bells, all of which was enough to make me glad that I
was not the person taking the class for the rest of the day –
excitable??
Next it was the turn of the badgers, and I found myself in the
unusual position of being the adult there who knew them best –
Mrs Wheelon, who takes ICT was also there but the children have
more contact with me than with her. Badgers were quite a lot more
fidgety than the rabbits, particularly Louise and James were quite
disruptive, and the whole group had to be reminded of the rules on
several occasions – nevertheless they got through everything, and
afterwards were as hyper as the other lot had been. Unfortunately
this time it was me that had to take them as Mrs Wheelon made
quick her escape – I assumed to fetch someone to see the children
off, but no one appeared, and meanwhile I had an over excited and
loud bunch of children to try and persuade to sit nice and quietly
while they waited to be picked up.
It hardly seems necessary to say that I got nowhere near being able to manage this
over excited, over stimulated group of about 25 children through an ‘empty space’
activity like waiting to be picked up. What this excerpt illustrates again is the
precariousness of the self-referential routine. When the routine itself is disrupted – as
in PPA time generally, or with an unusual visit like the LEC, or in the empty spaces of
transitional periods such as waiting to be picked up, or when the principle
representatives of the routine, i.e. teachers, are not present then the good order breaks
down (in the above excerpt all four of these breakages had occurred simultaneously).
What this excerpt therefore provides is an example of what Gore calls an
‘actualisation’ or power relations (Gore, 1995, p. 100). This particular example is
relatively rare in that it is the children who benefit from these movements of power –
and it was me who felt the direct force of them in my total inability to manage the
situation. However, this should not obscure the fact that the situation only arose
because of the schools power constraint in having to administrate PPA time with
insufficient funds to provide adequate cover.
‘Othering’ – or, the construction of subjectivities
If there exists a term which unifies everything that I have so far referred to in the
routinization and regulation of school children it is, perhaps, ‘othering’ or to borrow
Foucault’s term ‘subjectivisation’4:
“I would call subjectivisation the process through which
results the constitution of the subject, or more exactly, of a
subjectivity which is obviously only one of the given
possibilities of organizing a consciousness of the self”
(Foucault, 1996, p. 472).
I shall follow Harwood’s interpretation, using;
“…the term ‘subject’ to describe the focus of
subjectivisation and consider subjectivity to be one of the
many products of this process of subjectivisation”
(Harwood, 2005, p. 6).
Instances and processes of subjectivisation occur everywhere and at all times in the
school – indeed they follow naturally the pervasive processes of distribution and
differentiation. Presented below are, taken from my research journal, just some of the
examples of the different subjectivities which course through the lifeblood of the
school, like so many ‘capillaries’ of power (Foucault, 1980, p. 96).
Some examples of subjectivisation:
Foucault does refer to the “other”, which he defines as “the one over whom power is exercised”
(Foucault, 1982), given Foucault’s persistent argument concerning the omnipresence of a power
“exercised from innumerable points” (Foucault, 1976), this means we are all placed by power as
“others” at “innumerable points”. For the purposes of this discussion, I would prefer to keep distinct
those “others” upon whom a certain discursive power is exercised and who as a result are left behind in
our conceptions of normalcy (Popkewitz & Lindblad, 2004), thus, it may suit this discussion more to
re-interpret this definition as “the one over whom domination is exercised.”
4
Each week one child is chosen as the special person and they get to
take the diary home;
Chris is the youngest child in the class…definitely one to watch;
Louise, from what I’ve seen, is the model pupil now;
Sarah did say that she was old beyond her years;
The other major problem is his attention, which is in Sarah’s words
“that of a gnat”;
Sarah may have picked up on my uncertainty because she offered me
two “reasonable one’s”;
Each child knows that these are to do with Ben’s special problems;
Anna is an excellent teacher and I learn a lot about communicating
with the children;
The important element to recognise within these different subjectivities is the
powerful effects which they cause to be registered on human action – “an action upon
an action, on existing actions or on those which may arise in the present or the future”
(Foucault, 1982, p. 220). It is through these subjectivities that people become known
to one another in a certain context – in this case, the school. When we think of the
‘authoritarian teacher’, ‘straight-A student’, ‘spoiled brat’ or ‘disorderly child’ then
this subjectivisation converts the totality of a pluralized, fragmented and ‘diasporic’
identity (Hall, 1994), into a unified and instantly knowable image, by which all
subsequent actions will be rationalized, objectified and known. It is in what Harwood
calls this ‘truth telling’ function of subjectivisation that its power is contained – for
the power to know something or someone is also the power to dominate it (Harwood,
2005).
‘Othering’ – or, the domination of subjectivity
I do not believe, however, that it is enough to speak of the ways in which routine
functions to create docility, legitimacy and regulation functions to enforce it. Nor is it
enough to observe the fact that infinite ‘others’ – routinized others, regulated others,
resistant others – are constructed, distributed and known minute-by-minute in every
school day. For me it would be to display are rather idealistic neutrality to suggest
that it is some happy coincidence that strategies such as routinization open up spaces
into which the medicalised gaze of psychiatry can seek and destroy. Instead I believe
that such strategies have been developed within the professional discourses of the
‘sciences of the mind’ as part of the inter-relation between discourses of therapy and
education – an inter-relation which may have more of a history than is often
acknowledged and has grown to such proportions as to render the present landscape
all too ‘familiar and poorly known’(Foucault, 1997).
To begin in a relatively general manner, consider the earliest introduction of what
became known as the IQ test. Introduced in France in the late 19th century by a
psychologist, Binet, with the express objective of identifying difference – and now
reflected in form, content and objective across the entire educational spectrum, in ‘the
examination’. Foucault chose this term – ‘the examination’ – not only to describe the
point at which the mechanisms of hierarchical observation and normalizing judgement
found their dominating actualisation, but as a symbol of the power-knowledge relation
which resides within every subjectifying strategy and tactic. Yet, it’s place within
education is so central to contemporary policy across so many nations that its
presence is simply assumed.
To move to a less general level; the following claim is taken from one of the many
histories of psychiatry which have followed Foucault’s own (Foucault, 1967).
Consider it in relation to the discussion so far about the function of routinization in the
school day;
“More and more psychiatrists confessed their doubts that
the bulk of their patients could be cured with either
individualized moral treatment or standard physicalist
remedies. Instead they argued that the asylum
psychiatrist’s duty was to manage the hospitalized
population by organizing the lives of the inmates down to
the smallest detail” (Goodson & Dowbiggin, 1990, p. 109)
These authors go on to talk of a ‘culture of concern’ which developed in relation to
what was seen as a declining biological fitness and the effects of ‘pathogenic
environmental conditions’ (Goodson & Dowbiggin, 1990, p. 113). Is it merely chance
that these same concerns propel schooling strategies into ‘deprived areas’ and ‘excoalfield communities’ where ‘less gifted’ children with ‘low self-esteem’ can
nevertheless be taught to ‘use their hands’, or ‘find their creative potential’ through
sports and outdoor activities, or at the very least learn how not to be a social menace
and their parents taught how to be economically productive. Small wonder such
derisive discourse arises in schools that find themselves within such ‘pathogenic’
communities; a cancer/cure relationship, constructed, maintained and perpetuated
through accepted wisdoms of the supposedly “vanquished presence” (Foucault, 1967,
p. 16) of those who over 150 years ago spoke of ‘pauper’ classes and their ‘immoral’
lifestyles (Goodson & Dowbiggin, 1990, p. 112).
The formulas of exclusion
“Often, in these same places, the formulas of exclusion
would be repeated, strangely familiar two or three centuries
later. Poor vagabonds, criminals, and “deranged minds”
would take the part played by the leper…With an
altogether new meaning and in a very different culture, the
forms would remain” (Foucault, 1967, p. 7, italics added).
Thus the mechanisms of schooling separate and make visible those ‘at risk’ of a
“barbaric future” (Popkewitz & Lindblad, 2004, p. 232), and the sciences of the mind
then enter with their “book of names” (Jensen & Hoagwood, 1997), and assign to
every “other” child a glass jar – a categorical painting by numbers which obscures all
but two figures – zero and one. Furthermore, the processes by which the school
separates and makes visible have been fine tuned through a historical interaction
between those that sought to know ‘the madman’, ‘the criminal’, ‘the deviant’ and
‘the child’, an interaction by which these institutions have learnt to serve one another
in their common objective of control (Foucault, 1979). In this section I shall use the
literature surrounding ADHD; the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual for Mental
Disorder (DSM-IV-TR); and further excerpts from my research diary to expand on
these arguments.
ADHD – Everybody knows
“Attention Deficit/Hyperactivity Disorder (ADHD) is a
developmental disorder characterized by age-inappropriate
levels of inattention, and/or hyperactivity and impulsivity
that arise prior to 7 years of age. The disorder is estimated
to be present in 3-7% of school-aged children, and
preferentially affects boys with an approximate 3:1 maleto-female ratio” (Berwid et al., 2005, p. 1219)
The above quote, which is taken from the opening paragraph of a recent paper chosen
at random from the many which, while representing differing perspectives on ‘the
ADHD industry’ – some even attempting to subvert aspects of it – all reflect, accept,
implicate, reproduce and reinforce this same wisdom (From the last year alone, see
Bauermeister et al., 2005, Berwid et al., 2005, Blackman et al., 2005, Faraone et al.,
2005, Johnston et al., 2005, Rappley, 2005, Remschmidt, 2005, Rhodes et al., 2005,
Rodriguez & Bohlin, 2005).
Also reflecting this wisdom on ADHD, but taking it one stage further are the
geneticists (Blair et al., 2005, Dick et al., 2005, Kuntsi et al., 2005, Meulen et al.,
2005, Plomin, 2005, Price et al., 2005, Stevenson et al., 2005, Todd et al., 2005), for
whom the state of the art is represented by claims such as;
“Twin and adoption studies have shown that attentiondeficit hyperactivity disorder (ADHD) is highly genetic
with an estimated heritability of .75-.91. Recent meta
analyses have shown that three genes that code for key
proteins in the dopaminergic system, the Dopamine D4
receptor gene (DRD4), the Dopamine Transporter gene
(DAT1) and the Dopamine D5 receptor gene (DRD5), are
associated with increased risk for the disorder” (Meulen et
al., 2005, p. 1074)
Thus, a very clear picture of ADHD emerges, in which biologically deficient children
find themselves bound by their degenerate genes – but this is ok of course, at least
they’re not just ‘bad’ (Conrad & Schneider, 1980, Singh, 2002). Then, biomedical
psychiatry enters with the ‘miracle drug’ Ritalin (Livingston, 1997) – effective in
around 80% of cases (Buitelaar et al., 1995) – and makes everything ok; expunges
blame from parent, child and teacher and increases further the discursive power of
psychiatric and pharmaceutical methods of control.
ADHD – Nobody knows
The first problem with these broad strokes; painted like undisputed facts upon the
blank canvas of the child’s self, is that even within the ‘scientific’ community, there is
no consensus over the numbers involved. Take the following example;
“According to epidemiological studies, the prevalence
range of ADHD among children is 2.3-19.8%…The best
estimate of prevalence is probably 3-7%” (Yeh et al., 2004,
p. 10)
That this statement is made without a hint of concern regarding its implications, should
come as no surprise given the other issues which the hegemonic discourse on ADHD
generally glosses over. Issues such as the stigmatization of mental illness (Goffman,
1968, Harwood, 2005, Hinshaw, 2005, Jahnukainen, 2001, Scheff, 1975, Slee, 1997,
Szasz, 1961, 1994, Walsh, 1993, Watling, 2004); the political and ethical implications
of genetic research and pharmaceutical treatment for children (Baker, 2002, Breggin,
2002, Livingston, 1997, Miller & Leger, 2003, Singh, 2002, Stein, 2002, Yeh et al.,
2004); the mixed understanding and perception of this ‘illness’ and their gate keeping
responsibilities within its discourse (Bekle, 2004, Bibou-Nakou et al., 2000, Bradshaw
& Mundia, 2005, Daley et al., 2005, Gomez et al., 1999, Nolan et al., 2001, Poulou,
2005, Sciutto et al., 2000, Wolraich et al., 2003); and, the implications of a gender
ratio, which could be as high as 6:1, boys to girls – and the similar skews which
emerge through analysis by class and ethnicity (Abikoff et al., 2002, Garb, 1997,
Newcorn et al., 2001, Singh, 2002, Timimi & Taylor, 2004). By its mere presence
and numbers this growing body of research presents a worrying issue in itself –
namely that the hegemonic discourse as described above rolls on seemingly oblivious.
As Harwood remarks; “So pervasive are the discourses of psychiatric disorder that it is
difficult to imagine how behaviour problems can be conceived without its influence”
(Harwood, 2005, p. 19) This is certainly true with the issue I wish to focus on today,
which is the diagnostic process for ADHD, the DSM, and classroom discourse –
“practices that systematically form the objects of which they speak” (Foucault, 1972,
p. 49).
Taming the wild profusion
“In the wonderment of this taxonomy, the thing we
apprehend in one great leap, the thing that, by means of the
fable, is demonstrated as the exotic charm of another system
of thought, is the limitation of our own, the stark
impossibility of thinking that” (Foucault, 1974, p. xvi,
emphasis in original)
I want to try and reverse this exoticism, turn things around so that taxonomies such as
the DSM can be viewed from our own system of thought as a fable on which we can
look with mirth, and muse on the impossibility of thinking so. To do so would require
our system of thought to be somewhat more malleable; further liberated from
modernist rationality; less repressed by fear of the other; and, more responsive to
change than is suggested by the dominance that such an absurd classificatory system
could bring to bear over the lives of so many.
The history of psychiatry is the history of a discourse always attempting to shed a
debilitating inferiority complex; always looking to find favour with the more
established profession’s, first medicine then education; always looking for ways in
which it could appear ‘scientific’; always appealing to that questionable medical ethic
that the proof of the pudding really is in the eating. This same pattern has been
repeated over and over; through Pinel’s promise to de-pauperise the world and the
birth of the asylum (Foucault, 1967), through the entry of the discipline of psychiatry
into the university in the mid-19th Century (Goodson & Dowbiggin, 1990); to the turn
of the twentieth century and the first entry of this ‘pseudo-science’ and its dividing
practices into the school system (Copeland, 1997); to the last fifty years and the rise of
the DSM and psychopharmacology into the everyday consciousness of the depressed
and disorderly (Kirk & Kutchins, 1992).
There are numerous studies already which critique the history of the DSM and the
validity of its categories (Cooksey & Brown, 1998, Harwood, 2005, Jensen &
Hoagwood, 1997, Kirk & Kutchins, 1992, Rafalovich, 2005). In brief these studies
suggest that the models in the DSM are “descriptively static, unidimensional and
provide little context for emergent properties within the child’s broader surround”
(Jensen & Hoagwood, 1997, p. 231). They accuse organized psychiatry of an “overreliance on drugs, abusive treatment such as psychosurgery, conscious and
unconscious social control, and replication and support of race, sex, and class bias”
(Cooksey & Brown, 1998, p. 528). And to the process by which this dominant model
is written it is claimed that; “in practice, decisions about who is normal begin with at
most a few dozen people – mostly male, mostly white, mostly wealthy, mostly
American psychiatrists” (Caplan, 1995, p. 31). Valerie Harwood is quite right when
she states that “it is remarkable that a classification scheme like the DSM-IV-TR is
successful at speaking the truth of mental disorder and plays such a fundamental role
in the diagnosing of disorderly children” (Harwood, 2005, p. 47). To ‘remarkable’ one
could offer endless alternative adjectives – concerning, frustrating, depressing and
sickening, to name but a few.
The list of manifestations
So, according to the DSM, what does ADHD look like? Below is given the diagnostic
criteria;
Attention-Deficit/Hyperactivity Disorder (Hyperkinetic Disorders)
ADHD or ADD is characterized by a majority of the following symptoms being present in
either category (inattention or hyperactivity). These symptoms need to manifest themselves
in a manner and degree which is inconsistent with the child's current developmental level.
That is, the child's behavior is significantly more inattentive or hyperactive than that of his or
her peers of a similar age:
Persisting for at least 6 months to a degree that is maladaptive and immature, the patient
has either inattention or hyperactivity-impulsivity (or both) as shown by:
Inattention. At least 6 of the following often apply:
Fails to pay close attention to details or makes careless errors in schoolwork, work or other
activities.
Has trouble keeping attention on tasks or play.
Doesn't appear to listen when being told something.
Neither follows through on instructions nor completes chores, schoolwork, or jobs (not due
to oppositional behavior or failure to understand).
Has trouble organizing activities and tasks.
Dislikes or avoids tasks that involve sustained mental effort (homework, schoolwork).
Loses materials needed for activities (assignments, books, pencils, tools, toys).
Easily distracted by extraneous stimuli.
Forgetful.
Hyperactivity-Impulsivity. At least 6 of the following often apply:
Squirms in seat or fidgets.
Inappropriately leaves seat.
Inappropriately runs or climbs (in adolescents or adults, the may be only
a subjective feeling of restlessness).
Has trouble quietly playing or engaging in leisure activity.
Appears driven or "on the go".
Talks excessively.
Impulsivity
Answers questions before they have been completely asked.
Has trouble awaiting turn.
Interrupts or intrudes on others.
Source:
There are a couple of things that one can immediately critique with this criteria.
Firstly, the language is loose and ill defined; for example, the first paragraph equates
the “child’s current developmental level” with the significance of it when compared to
peers. These two things are not the same – the first part implies an individualized
approach to diagnosis, where a child’s developmental level is measured by some
abstract criteria, the second part is entirely contingent on the child’s immediate
environment.
The second paragraph reinforces the environmental contingency on which this
diagnosis is based – “maladaptive” and “immature” are both descriptions that imply
comparative judgment. Odd, one may think that the criteria rely so heavily on the
child’s environment and yet treatment so rarely looks to environmental change,
generally opting instead for drugs.
Thirdly, some of the wording in this criteria represents a tactical shift on the part of
the APA. In the DSM-IV, for a combined-type diagnosis it stated that at least six
from each section must be present – the language now is the much softer, more
discretionary often. Of course the psychiatrist would defend this as a reaction to the
“pigeon-holing” criticism that is often leveled at their practice – what they may not
acknowledge so quickly is the clear fact that this change of terminology potentially
broadens the net over those previously “borderline” cases, while simultaneously
empowering the “expert” opinion, upon who’s judgment the diagnosis is now even
more contingent.
Civilization and its malcontents
Lastly, and crucially, the school and the classroom are implicated everywhere in the
criteria. The first seven criteria under “inattention” (a wholly inadequate term for the
breadth of behaviour here characterised under it) all directly implicate the child’s
ability to cope with various tasks with which they will be faced in the school. Where
else would it matter if a child of five or six could not “organize activities or tasks”; or
disliked “sustained mental effort”; or, failed to “pay close attention to details”. The
diagnostic criteria also states that the child must display these “deficiencies” across
more than one environment; but only in the school could the ability to do these things
ever be rated upon such scales as “maladaptive” and “immature”. Turn your attention
now to the criteria for “hyperactivity” and ask yourself; firstly, whether a child who
“squirms in their seat” or even “inappropriately leaves” it, should be considered at
risk of mental illness, and secondly whether the “illness” might not disappear if the
requirement for such exacting physical control was not present in the first place.
This now brings us back to the routine – the self-referential and coercive regime by
which the school day is organized – it’s rationale now becomes somewhat clearer. It
separates and makes visible those who fail or resist routinization, for if they fail this
first test then they are surely “dangerous individuals” (McCallum, 1998), “barbarians”
(Popkewitz & Lindblad, 2004) and “fledgling psychopaths” (Harwood, 2005). Thus
identifying and intervening to regulate these un-routinizable, unteachable, anti-social,
untempered savages is a matter of the most immediate importance. The earlier they
are ‘caught’ the earlier they and there peers can benefit from the gentle hand of the
psychiatrist and the chemical embrace of the pharmaceutical.
The ADHD child – impulsive, unthoughtful, disorganized, disruptive, in short nondocile. The ADHD child emerges through this analysis as the absolute anti-thesis of
the routinized good order of the school, and as such recourse to expert discourses,
essentialising labels, invasive procedures, and coercive physical regimes – is easily
justifiable. Such an individualization of deficiency betrays the unquestioned faith in
the order of the school – a blind faith one could claim, if one were feeling generous
enough to suggest that such processes happen beneath ‘ordinary’ consciousness.
Whichever we choose, the result remains that the child questioning the austere
monarchy of the routinized order shall be hung for treason by those civilized “others”,
in whom such power is invested.
Let us not forget however, that power is fickle, that resistance threatens order and that
representation strengthens resistance.
Our ongoing challenge is to provide such
representation, for those who every day feel these totalizing effects of dominance,
which once again brings us back to the democratic ideal. As such I finish with Nancy
Fraser’s conception of our duty to;
“expose the limits of the specific form of democracy we
enjoy in late-capitalist societies. Perhaps it can thereby help
inspire us to try to push back those limits” (Fraser, 1997, p.
93).
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