The Problem with Facebook

Well, not really facebook, more: The Problem with Microblogging in the Context of Disempowered Public Services. But that’s not quite so catchy a title, is it.

I wrote these blogs about leaving teaching two years ago. In fact they were the things that started me blogging:

govestupid
Little Mickey Goggles, Part. 1

I read them for the first time the other day, and they made me cry. Mainly because reading them took me back to that time and place, and confronted me with how much of my identity was/is tied up with being/not-being a teacher. But also because they feel so horribly current. It doesn’t feel like anything has changed since then; in fact it feels like things have got worse. At least once a week my Facebook feed has a story in which someone is writing their own valedictory-defeat letter, or highlighting the ugly on-the-ground reality of primary education.

Michael-Gove-Secretary-of-007
Little Mickey Goggles, Part. 2

In terms of consciousness raising, these kinds of posts are great. Education is so politicised a subject that the voice of the teacher (and more importantly the child) are often unheard beneath the rabble of political posturing. The same is true of other public services: as an outsider I felt much better informed about the junior doctors’ strike after reading a few junior doctors’ facebook posts describing their work and beliefs.

Michael-Gove
Little Mickey Goggles, Part.3 

But there’s a problem with these posts too. Well, there’s lots of problems – not least that the only people who read them are people who already agree – but there’s one problem which troubled me two years back and still troubles me now: what happens next? What happens to this ground-level knowledge after its been shared?

Doubtless it has some degree of impact on public understanding of the profession, and this is a good thing. But what does it change in real terms? That is, what difference does it make to a child’s experience of education? In the majority of cases, very little indeed.

For the teacher it’s a welcome moment of catharsis as they express their negativity and argue back against the system which is failing our children. If they write well enough it’s also a moment – or a day of moments – of affirmation and support from their online community. But after those moments? By an large, that teacher either leaves the profession (as I did) and so changes nothing, or stays in the profession and, frustrated, buckles under once more.

Why is this? I wrote last week about the way that, as things stand, there is simply no room within the current system for ground-level, bottom-up knowledge to change anything. Imagine the teacher who, energised by the catharsis of negativity expressed, clearer in her beliefs, and bolstered by 37 likes and a few comments of support, returns to school the next day ready to fight. Imagine the way that, as soon as she dares to express her situated, lived knowledge as a challenge to the system, she is shut down and told to put up or shut up [I never understood that expression; shouldn’t it be put up and shut up?] Even in excellent, nurturing schools, she will find herself coming up once again against an unthinking, unhearing system in which her knowledge and beliefs are simply irrelevant.

The more I’ve thought about these valedictory posts, the more I’ve found myself becoming frustrated with them, and with myself as I read them. Something is missing in all of this: action. In fact, I fear this kind of communication may ultimately make change less likely.

How so? Well, it’s great to get the positive feedback and feel like you’re in a community of like-minded people with similar experiences and beliefs. But this is a type of community ill-suited to action: it is community as curated by facebook. Because this is a facebook community and because facebook (and the twitters and the rest) is designed to provide tiny little squirts of emotional nourishment before returning us to a dull resting state of passive acceptance, it does not reach out and spur on. Instead another post is offered to us to click through to. The emotional engagement is real – we feel the pain and perceive the injustice; we even click the emoji or write the message, but Ooh, LadBible has a video of a man doing a thing!

We have come to accept, through the facebook, that the correct course of action, on hearing of someone’s immense pain which connects deeply with our own, is to make a comment and move on. At a distance, and on a platform which encourages short squirts over long entanglements, there is no will to solidarity; to action. The teacher who returns to the real world of a school in which they may be one of the few rather than the many – in which the ‘likes’ of their colleagues fail to translate into little more than a concerned look as they pass in the corridor – this teacher learns to quiet their brave voice. The community they thought they found seems now unfathomably distant from the real world. That facebook community is not nearly solid enough to back them up if we do fight the good fight. Real community stands up and acts; facebook (and all of the rest of the internet) is all sat down and reacting.

The problem with posting about the stresses and distress is that all of that anger and angst gets channelled into a catharsis that ultimately leads nowhere. It damps us down and helps us realise that the only place your voice counts is online: in the real world you just get by with as little hassle as you can. We learn that we are allowed to express our voices in public – microblogging has made this more possible than ever before – but we learn too that our voices are only to be expressed in this most private of public spheres.

By blogging or posting or tweeting or whatever we learn habits which are hard to unlearn: it’s safe and cosy to externalise our anger in small, supportive virtual communities. But that is not where our anger belongs. It belongs out there, in the real world – in the world the children we are failing inhabit. It belongs in real communities, channelled creatively and in solidarity. I fear that won’t happen if we’re able to deal with our troubles in the most private of public arenas.

This morning I read the Guardian’s Secret Teacher column. In it, a teacher who is I think symptomatic of the new generation of teachers suggests that all of the negativity we read on facebook is counter-productive and that we should instead focus our energies on adjusting to the system in order that it has a little an impact on learners as possible. They’re right, I think that the negativity expressed on facebook posts has a tendency to spiral in unhelpful ways, but how sad that the only solution this teacher can imagine is to make piecemeal protective adjustments. The new generation of teachers don’t believe they can have a voice which can change, and, if they continue to build their communities around the facebooks and such, they will be right. The other option would be to stand up in solidarity with one another, and there’s only one way to do that: do it.

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