It is likely that you have experienced the impact of place on your education without even thinking about it. Maybe you’ve had a class on a boiling hot day, with bad lighting and no aircon. Maybe you’ve had to sit in traffic on the way to class, and thought ‘Wow, I wish I didn’t have to be at school by 8 am!’. Maybe you’ve accessed your education online, and felt the differences (good and bad), between in-person and online learning. Or perhaps you’ve sat under a lovely tree after class and chatted with your friends. Maybe you’ve experienced traditional ways of learning on Country, and connectedness to the environment around you. Whatever it may be, you get the drift – if you’ve had an education, it’s happened somewhere.

It is argued here that the modern school isn’t just about ‘education’ in some abstract, humanist sort of way; rather, schools have an essential role to play in how we govern our society. It is tempting to think that the process of teaching children has always been pretty much the same, and that mass schooling emerged as a result of greater concern for the wellbeing of the young. The evidence paints a somewhat different picture, wherein mass schooling formed a crucial component of a new form of social regulation based upon an increasing focus on individuality, where the school subtly conforms to the requirements of the state and where the disciplinary management of the population is made possible through continual surveillance and the close regulation of space, time and conduct.

There are all sorts of dilemmas when it comes to technology and education. How much should be allowed in schools? Do teachers have to worry about students’ data security and privacy? Is it ok for you to ask a computer to write your essay for you? Are we ruining the eyesight and attention spans of an entire generation thanks to excessive screen time? This chapter looks at the debates that exist when it comes to digital technology and education. It will be argued here that the interplay between technology and education is highly complex – and changing – at a pace that is almost unimaginable.

This chapter argues that our subjective experiences – how we experience the world and understand ourselves within it – are just as closely governed as our objective conduct, discussed in Chapter 5. Whether they realise it or not, contemporary teachers are expected to play a significant role in this form of regulation. After all, teachers are now not simply responsible for transmitting a given curriculum and keeping children in line; they are de facto psychologists, responsible for the mental health, regulation and development of their pupils.

This chapter examines the rather ambiguous notion of alternative education. To some, sending a child to a Catholic school constitutes an alternative education; to others, nothing short of a total rejection of the central parameters of the mass school deserves the label – such as the elimination of timetables, authority relations, organised curricula, fixed learning goals, even the notion that pupils are to be schooled in any way at all. It’s a subject that often engenders no little passion in those who embrace the categorisation, and no little ridicule among those who do not. Strange though some of the alternative education options might seem, they are all worthy of serious consideration – but what exactly are they?

While debates may rage around issues of sexuality, sexual identity and sexuality-based rights, if we are to believe what we hear from some of our political leaders and sections of the media, concerns over sexuality itself are to be settled outside of schools. Sexuality, they would argue, is too mature, too controversial and quite simply a biological fact that has no relevance to schooling. However, there are disturbing stories and statistics that point to the significant challenges faced by students, and these surely warrant attention. With this in mind, this chapter examines some of the questions that often arise when talking about sexualities: Are gender and sexuality the same thing? Is sexuality ‘all about sex’? And what has school got to do with any of this? By unpacking some of the emergent literature in the field, the chapter suggests that dominant discourses around sexualities – in this case, heteronormativity – are up for challenge.

This chapter examines the impact of education policy on students, parents, caregivers, and teachers. This chapter argues that ‘big policy’ in education tends to operate under a market-based logic that has been described as ‘neoliberal’. Adopting a more nuanced and ‘problematising’ approach to policy, this chapter explores the nature and effects of policy in education in relation to its valorisation of market principles such as ‘choice’ and ‘competition’. It also explores the nature and effects of such policy as it seeks to regulate the performance of teachers and schools. Underpinning the discussion is the philosophical notion that policy not only addresses and solves ‘problems’ in education and schooling as it does ‘produce’ those problems in the first place. In this respect, policy can be understood as implicitly linked to programs of governance.

This concluding dialogue seeks to convert James’s discursive ideas about education into scenes of lived encounter – between teachers and students, bodies and minds, thinking and feeling – while honoring the possibilities for surprise that such encounters open. In this endeavor, we are also extending Stephanie Hawkins’s work, which reminds us of how James uses the term conversion – meaning “to turn with” or “turn together” – to describe the process through which we come into transformative relation with someone or something other than ourselves. James’s dialectical, often gradual process of “educational” conversion seems to us to offer useful correctives to many incumbent histories of the discipline that would rely on entrenched and reductive genealogies of authority. By reconnecting James’s understanding of conversion with his commitment to conversation, we aim to give living voice to the cluster of deeply felt relations that constitute the life practices we call “teaching” and “learning.”

Chapter 1 opens with a discussion of the foundational importance of classical education in Roman society and politics, and how it served as a basis for both office-holding and elite Roman identity and self-fashioning. The chapter also provides a prosopographical sketch of the teachers and students that are visible in the historical record from the fourth to early sixth centuries in Gaul, showing that identifiable teachers and students begin to fade from the sources from the later-fifth and early-sixth centuries. It discusses the marked shift in the visibility of these individuals, the changing nature of our sources for education throughout the period, the limitations of our sources, and what we can learn from those limitations. The chapter argues that, while classical education largely disappears from the historical record by the early sixth century, this by no means indicates that classical education ceased to exist entirely. Rather, it shows that classical education was no longer a ‘public’ institution as it had been under the Roman empire, and that it did not occupy that specific place within politics, society, and culture that allowed it to be visible and take a prominent place in the technical and literary texts of the period.

This chapter considers the ideological aspects of classical education, exploring how the shifting political and cultural landscapes of Gaul changed the way Gallo-Roman aristocrats practiced and perceived education, and how this is reflected in our sources from the fourth to sixth centuries. While in the fourth century classical education is valued mainly for its tangible rewards and is closely linked to imperial structures of power, throughout the fifth century Gallo-Romans increasingly highlight the personal and ideological uses of education in shaping and affirming their status and identity. Teachers of grammar and rhetoric are more closely linked to aristocratic literary circles, which goes hand in hand with an increased blurring of the distinctions between grammatical and rhetorical teaching and a narrowing of education and literary networks. These changing attitudes and practices of education reflect the underlying political and social transformations of fifth-century Gaul and Gallo-Roman aristocratic anxieties and responses to them.

This chapter focuses on the practical aspects of education, such as the organisation and funding of the classical schools. It traces the status of classical education as a public institution in the late imperial period, during the transformations of the fifth century, and within the early barbarian successor kingdoms. The chapter begins by establishing the extent of direct involvement of the imperial government in education, arguing that cities and individuals had always played a far more important role in patronising and funding classical schools. It then considers opportunities for ‘graduates’ of classical schools in late and post-imperial Gaul, the crucial difference between literacy and literary education, and emphasises the important connection between classical education and structures of power that promote and demand literary training.

Although the research literature refutes the standard wisdom that schools kill creativity, there can still be some unfortunate exceptions. Some artists felt that their creativity not only did not help them do well on the standard metrics of traditional school performance, but it may have even impaired their scores. Other artists encountered truly terrible teachers who were rigid, intolerant, and prone to punish too much question-asking; a few even sucked the joy out of their art (at least temporarily).

Many young artists saw school as something akin to a speedbump – a moderate annoyance, but one to simply be navigated. Sometimes, school might offer them a chance to develop or practice their art. Some young artists were treated differently when teachers and administrators realized they had a gift; they might be excused from traditional work or offered alternative ways to complete assignments. Other young artists relied on their art and their creativity to pass the time and overcome obstacles.

Following the Tet Offensive, the struggle to define the war intensified. The most widespread antiwar activity during 1968 was mobilizing behind the presidential campaigns of Eugene McCarthy and Robert Kennedy. Peace forces coalesced at the beginning of 1968 for what many perceived as a quixotic effort to replace a president who had promised peace with one who would actually secure peace. Lyndon Johnson’s withdrawal from the race in late March inspired a realistic potential for an antiwar Democratic Party nominee. Kennedy’s death in early June ended that hope, however, and strained the collaboration between movement insiders and outsiders. Street demonstrations and growing dissent within the military worked in conjunction with persistent critics within the federal government. Liberal emphasis on electoral campaigns reduced their impact in the national coalition. Leftists, radicals, and the counterculture played a greater role in the spring National Mobilization, the nationwide student strikes, and the August confrontation in Chicago. The government used the courts to deter ongoing draft resistance but without noticeable effect.

In 1965, an antiwar movement with disparate constituencies united uneasily in a loose coalition, but remained so amorphous that no single entity could provide either leadership or direction. Local actions built around teach-ins, the international days of protest, or as independent events, dominated antiwar activism that year. Peace liberals and pacifists pursued moderate actions such as lobbying, education and persuasion, legal and peaceful rallies, and picketing, while hoping for change through an international solution or the electoral process. Radicals and leftists connected the war with domestic injustice and questioned some fundamental assumptions about American power. Despite its limitations, organized dissent provided a significant enough challenge that the Johnson administration felt compelled to push back. Government officials mixed efforts to persuade public opinion with denigrating activists as communist-inspired or threatening protesters with military induction. President Johnson aimed his April negotiating proposal and a brief December bombing halt over North Vietnam at impressing his domestic critics as much as his foreign adversaries.