“Producing Human Capital”: A Critical Discourse Analysis of Title II of the Workforce Innovation and Opportunity Act (WIOA)

Adult Education in the United States

Since the execution of the Manpower Development Training Act of 1962, the U.S. adult education system has been linked to workforce development programs. Lyndon B. Johnson’s War on Poverty led to the Economic Opportunity Act of 1964 which created and federally funded adult education programs. They provided adult learners with limited or interrupted formal education with instruction in literacy, numeracy, civics, and English for Speakers of Other Languages (ESOL), often with the goal of reaching secondary school credentials or entering the workforce. This approach to adult education was largely continued with the Adult Education Act of 1966, until the National Literacy Act (NLA) of 1991, which expanded the purpose of adult education by bringing in a focus on literacy and basic skills. However, through the Workforce Investment Act (WIA) of 1998, Congress took the step of bringing workforce development and adult education together under the same legislation. This was a significant step for the adult education system because the goals of adult education were more fully subsumed under the larger federal workforce development program. In 2014, WIA was replaced by WIOA, a piece of legislation which demonstrates continuity in the tight relationship between workforce development and adult education.

In both WIA and WIOA, AEFLA details the objectives of adult education and outlines participants, the regulation of funded services, and eligible providers. For example, intended learner populations range from (un)documented adult immigrants to U.S.-born adults. They benefit from basic education programs and are sometimes given additional options such as child care, transportation assistance, tutoring, and/or distance learning. These targeted support services are possible because WIA and WIOA are often realized on the ground as a byproduct of both federal and state legislations. But one of the major differences between the two is the definition of eligible providers. For implementation, AEFLA traditionally works with various providers, including nonprofit agencies, community colleges and organizations, and local education agencies. Under WIOA, the scope of “eligible providers” is extended and includes partnerships between the aforementioned entities and employers. This historical and legislative evolution of adult education indicates that WIOA has considerable repercussions for all involved—reshaping the purpose and execution of these programs.

Past Research on AEFLA

There have been strong partisan trends for different adult education policies in the United States (Milana & McBain, 2014). Yet, workforce development rhetoric has commonly permeated across related documents. For example, both Democrats and Republicans have been in favor of linking workforce development with adult education because they assume that low skills are the cause of poverty and upskilling a deficient workforce through training would alleviate the problem and bolster the economy (Jacobson, 2016; St. Clair, 2015).

This tendency to repurpose adult education for economic goals has been examined and critiqued. Analyzing the tendency for educational policy since 1991, Belzer (2017) problematized the way learners are primarily defined: as (potential) employees. She argued that the narrowed scope of U.S. adult education programs has reduced the number of basic literacy programs, further excluded undocumented learners, and centralized program oversight through the creation of the National Reporting System (NRS). Similarly, Jacobson (2017) pointed out that while enrollment in these programs is 42 times what it was in 1965, government expenditure per learner has dropped 90%. Although the need for adult education has grown, funding has dramatically decreased.

Other researchers have studied the implications of AEFLA by focusing specifically on marginalized groups. For instance, Sparks (2001) explored how AEFLA under WIA was used to bring outside intervention into families’ home literacy practices, subordinating the learning objectives of mothers to the goal of becoming teachers for their own children, to the exclusion of their own literacy skills development. Furthermore, Eyster and Nightingale (2017), Pickard (2016), and Spaulding (2015) have voiced their concerns that more inaccessible mandated outcomes, combined with scarce funding, may encourage the phenomenon of targeted recruitment: students with more previous education and work experience—that is, those who are more likely to ensure the attainment of measurable progress reflexive of new performance metrics—are selected over learners with more barriers to employment. Namely, eligible providers may block those even more in need out of the system, replicating and intensifying their marginalization.

Overall, many scholars in the field have endeavored to identify problematic assumptions about educational goals and learners described in AEFLA and to investigate its potentially detrimental consequences on learners. But there emerge some gaps in the literature. First, the content of AEFLA under WIOA itself has not been examined in depth. While many have mentioned opportunities and raised challenges that it would present, their arguments tend not to come from any concrete form of data, including relevant policy documents, curriculum guides, and interviews. This leads to the production of a somewhat generalized critique of Title II. Second, little is known about what the implementation of AEFLA in adult education entails in the context of WIOA. This is particularly concerning in light of the numerous obstacles already present in the adult education sphere, such as insufficient funding and limited support services (Spaulding, 2015). This study therefore delves into the ways in which AEFLA, its goals, adult learners’ identities, and other prevailing discourses are constructed in this policy by analyzing the public law as well as a related federal Memorandum.

CDA as the Theoretical Framework

We situate this study within the tradition of CDA research, which is defined as “a study of the relations between discourse, power, dominance, social inequality and the position of the discourse analyst in such social relationships” (van Dijk, 1993, p. 283). Connecting linguistics and social science (Fairclough, 2004), this framework analyzes “opaque as well as transparent structural relationships of dominance, discrimination, power and control as manifested in language” (Wodak, 2001, p. 2). This acknowledges that it is language, as a representative meaning-making system and an organizing principle of society, which produces unequal material effects, generates and maintains social relations of power, and makes changes in social practices (Fairclough, 2004). Thus, examining the mutual interaction between text, the process of text production and its interpretation, and social and political structures becomes crucial (Fairclough, 2001).

Informed by Halliday’s Systemic Functional Linguistics, CDA explores a range of semiotic potential in a text. Texts are the outcome of an author’s careful decisions made from lexical, grammatical, and stylistic choices in the discourse types (Halliday, 1978); the meaning of texts is constructed vis-à-vis other texts in different timescales. This is closely related to the framework’s premise that texts both reflect a certain way of viewing the world and are colored by author’s intentions, directed at those who could recognize and interpret the chosen cues (Bakhtin, 1981; Lemke, 1995). But precisely because available voices do not have the same weights in using language (Wodak, 2001), untangling whose voice is heard within a text becomes important. Therefore, scrutinizing what is presented in the text, what is unsaid and why, and what discourse types are brought into the text is essential to understand how it legitimizes, perpetuates, and reproduces social relations (Fairclough, 2001).

The incorporation of the dimension of power in detailed text analysis divulges the conditions for power and identifies how texts serve the (hidden) interests and agendas of groups in power (Lo Bianco, 2009). This political nature of CDA enables researchers to descry alternative interpretations of texts and to uncover the ideologies naturalized within discourse. Moreover, the strength of this framework also allows social agents to search for ways to use the same discourse that sustains forms of inequality to deconstruct hegemony and rectify social wrongs—ultimately emancipating the powerless (Blommaert, 2005).

Method

Findings

The Objective of AEFLA: Adult Learners’ “Economic Self-Sufficiency”

The public law of Sec. 202 explicates the purpose of AEFLA (see Table 1), and the Memorandum duplicates the text with minimal alteration and adds more explanations by comprising other stipulations.

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Table 1.

The Purpose of Adult Education and Family Literacy Act.

Title II. SEC. 202. PURPOSE

1. Assist adults to become literate and obtain the knowledge and skills necessary for employment and economic self-sufficiency

2. Assist adults who are parents or family members to obtain the education and skills that—(A) are necessary to becoming full partners in the educational development of their children and (B) lead to sustainable improvements in the economic opportunities for their family

3. Assist adults in attaining a secondary school diploma and in the transition to postsecondary education and training, including through career pathways

4. Assist immigrants and other individuals who are English language learners in—(A) improving their—(i) reading, writing, speaking, and comprehension skills in English and (ii) mathematics skills; and (B) acquiring an understanding of the American system of Government, individual freedom, and the responsibilities of citizenship

The first purpose listed is to help adults achieve “economic self-sufficiency.” ³ The syntactic structure of the statement is built around policy makers’ answer to the how question: one has to become literate, attain knowledge/skills, and get a job. Assuming economic self-sufficiency is acquirable through employment, this chain of thought reflects a naïve perception of adult learners’ job search and emphasizes the economic merits of education (Jacobson, 2016; St. Clair, 2015). In addition, this expression of expectations obligates them to become independent from any government assistance and demand state/local agencies to monitor their progress, ultimately imposing accountability on both learners and providers.

The attention to economic self-sufficiency subsequently leads to the second purpose of AELFA: becoming more educationally and financially responsible for one’s children and funds (see also Sec. 203[9]). This reveals a supposition that family sustaining jobs are available for anyone who skills up. Interestingly, the Memorandum makes a discursive shift by switching the sequential order: “Programs are designed to make sustainable improvements in the economic prospects for a family and to better enable the family to support their children’s learning needs.” This rephrasing is notable because family economic self-sufficiency becomes prioritized. In particular, the conjunction “and” in the sentence presents a series of underlying assumptions: that a family’s financial situation is correlated with its ability to support their children’s education, that poor people cannot promote their children’s development and learning, and that children’s challenges are due to their parents. Ascribing poverty to individuals’ difficult circumstances rather than structural and systemic inequality, the second purpose of AEFLA strives to find ways within the education system to reduce the government’s liability for the costs of social programs.

The third purpose presented is to help eligible individuals attain secondary credentials and benefit from higher education and/or vocational training. Although this is the fundamental purpose of adult education, it is ironically listed only after the law enumerates the importance of economic self-sufficiency and support for children’s development. What is additionally discernible is the inclusion of “career pathways,” whose most prominent feature is the alignment “with the skill needs of industries in the economy of the State or regional economy involved” (Sec. 3[7][A]). The rationale for efficiency is at work: train people for jobs that are locally available and encourage them to become a part of the labor force for local needs. In addition to education being reconceptualized as subservient to industry, the establishment of “career pathway” programs places the needs of employers and stakeholders as front and center priorities. Certainly, these programs may benefit participants by streamlining the transition for them into trainings they wish to pursue. Furthermore, because of the multilevel nature of the funding, regulatory, and programmatic frameworks inherent in AEFLA, states arguably have authority to strategically reframe this functionalist perspective and address a range of issues identified in the federal legislation. However, it is alarming to encounter the entrepreneurial reasoning in AEFLA that reinforces a financial link between education and individual earning and that promotes the productivity of the market and national competitiveness (Hughes & Tight, 1995).

Considering immigrants and English language learners, the fourth purpose of AEFLA is to improve their proficiency in English, numeracy, and civics. The use of the conjunction “and” that connects (A)(i) and (A)(ii) as well as (A) and (B) in Sec. 202 reveals a supposition that they do not have “skills” in these areas. The expected goals of the English language acquisition program involve either (a) the attainment of a secondary school or equivalent diploma and progression to postsecondary education and training or (b) employment (see Sec. 203[7]). This reflects that English proficiency is viewed as a commodified skill (Bernstein et al., 2015) that leads to economic development and social mobility (Kubota, 2011). In contrast with the public law, the Memorandum appears to exclude the possibility of English language learners and immigrants working. While it asks them to achieve competence in English, which “allow[s] them to obtain secondary school credentials and succeed in further education and training,” it avoids any explicit statement about their employment in the United States. Instead, the need for immigrants to understand “what it means to be a citizen and to participate in civic responsibilities” is stressed, disregarding that they have been citizens of other countries and have an additional language to communicate. Overall, the deficit model prevails in describing the objective of AEFLA related to immigrants and English language learners—rather than paying attention to the assets they bring to the country. This will be more thoroughly examined in the section below.

Adult Learners’ Identities: From Deficient Individuals to Workers, Parents, and Citizens

Throughout the public law and the Memorandum, multiple identities are imposed on learners, from deficient individuals to parents to workers to citizens. Table 2 illustrates how Title II defines an eligible individual (Sec. 203[4]). The terms “eligible individual” and “individuals with barriers to employment,” interchangeably used in WIOA, are a euphemistic way of referring to beneficiaries of AEFLA. Yet, the Act fails to hide its deficit perspective on the population by highlighting what they lack (St. Clair, 2015). For example, the inclusion of English language learners under the same subheading shows that the legislation concentrates on their limited English proficiency as opposed to their other abilities or background. This approach to learners attributes their current marginalized status and future development to them.

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Table 2.

The Definition of “Eligible Individual.”.

The term “eligible individual” means an individual—

(A) who has attained 16 years of age; (B) who is not enrolled or required to be enrolled in secondary school under State law; and (C) who—  (i) is basic skills deficient;  (ii) does not have a secondary school diploma or its recognized equivalent, and has not achieved an equivalent level of education; or  (iii) is an English language learner.

The Memorandum reinforces the deficit-oriented characterization of eligible individuals by using descriptors, including “individuals with low skills,” “low-skilled adults,” and “vulnerable populations.” These labels entitle providers to commit themselves to the reformation of deficient individuals. These “vulnerable populations,” after receiving AEFLA-funded services, are asked to become recognizable workers, parents, and citizens. But because the legislation puts a strong emphasis on the partnership between public and private sectors, learners cannot become any worker but rather a certain kind of worker geared toward industry standards. In the case of learners who are “parents and family members,” across multiple sections, Title II demands that they function as “full partners” of their children’s development (e.g., Sec. 202[2][A], Sec. 203[9][C]). As discussed earlier, the economic metaphor “partner” is chosen not simply to admonish parent learners for their defective performances as caregivers, but also to index a change in the parental relationship. In other words, the constructive power of language used in texts suggests that the relationship is no longer an emotional or intimate one; rather, it is now viewed as a short-term business contract to help children succeed. This project of reconstructing learners’ identities—from deficient learners to workers, parents, and citizens—ultimately allows the Memorandum to position learners as “customers” (as opposed to “citizens,” e.g., see Torres, 2013). Indeed, the federal government places them in a business transaction with adult education programs, explicitly showing the intrusion of business into the realm of education.

Within these formulaic identities that neglect adult learners’ wealth of knowledge and experiences, pursuing an alternative identity appears challenging for them (see Gibb, 2008). This is because, although the statute is designed for them, they are not involved in any phase of its development or implementation. For example, in both documents, learners are not interpellated. Instead, “states,” “adult education leaders,” “adult educators,” “employers,” and “partners” are hailed to act (e.g., “prepare,” “promote,” “collaborate”). This portrayal of learners as passive beings corresponds to the top-down approach present in policy execution: the textual structure in AEFLA starts from federal provisions to state to local to general provisions. This implies that without any firm encouragement to hear and consider learners’ voices when each state submits its WIOA plan or when eligible agencies review grant applications, the policy becomes unidirectional—debilitating the potential power of the collaborative efforts at the federal, state, and local levels and stifling further participation.

Discussion

Regardless of shifting political tides, the consistent historical current over the past 50 years has been the steadily growing neoliberal influence on U.S. adult education. The passage of WIOA in 2014 is indeed consistent with the global tendency to further simplify education as an economic development tool (e.g., Cabalin, 2012; Gibb, 2008; Gordon & Whitty, 1997). Analyzing the public law and the Memorandum, this study showed how AEFLA reinforces the yoking of adult education and workforce development. It revealed that the legislation tactically legitimizes and promotes the U.S.’ aspiration to rebrand itself as a democratic, hypercapitalist society—by hovering between the discourse of opportunity and the discourse of neoliberalism.

Specifically, AEFLA accentuates ideals such as improving living conditions, ensuring access, and advocating equality. Achieving these principles is ostensibly described as serving the general interests of “us” adult learners and fellow U.S. citizens, “our” regional and national economy, and ultimately “our” country (Stubbs, 1996). This argument that Title II of WIOA expands opportunities for adult learners not only positions the United States as a more democratic society, but also opens up the possibility of strengthening the country’s competitiveness. And it is through this process that the discourse of neoliberalism gains its effectiveness and ultimately undermines the goals of adult education. For instance, a more product-oriented approach is instituted; tighter coordination is established between adult education programs, training services, and employers; and increased accountability measures are tracked by the NRS. In this way, the discourses of opportunity and neoliberalism coexist in the same policy and, by extension, programs under its supervision. The former is utilized to structure market-driven adult education and both collaborate on the project of constructing the United States as a more humane society with hypercapitalist desires.

The minimal results of this discursive shift would include the nurture of the interests of government (e.g., moving learners off assistance programs) and the economic elite (e.g., publicly subsidized job training programs, a skilled workforce). To be sure, learners too may benefit from AEFLA under WIOA, in the form of increased employment opportunities in locally in-demand fields and higher earning potential, for instance. This is particularly the case in programs which culminate in an industry-recognized credential and include some type of internship or apprenticeship component, allowing learners to acclimate to the culture of their intended field. Yet, this marriage between public and private remains unequal because, despite the potential benefits, the financial profits of producing highly employable adults takes priority over the protection of adult learners’ rights to lead a dignified life. The “alliance between the state, professions and capital” (Hughes & Tight, 1995, p. 297) indicates how firmly political and economic forces are interwoven and confirms Bell’s (1980) interest convergence: the dominant groups are in service of the marginalized groups only if the action they take benefits themselves as well. In this context, education functions as a vehicle to realize the state’s business agenda, accommodate learners to the economic and political order, and minimize welfare burden (Mulderrig, 2003; Sumner, 2008).

The degradation of education—originating from the coercive effects of neoliberalism—compels those in the system to fulfill the intended purpose of AEFLA. For instance, the marketization of adult education pits education providers against one another in a free-market competition for funding. Although federal funds have long been allocated at the local level via a state agency through competitive grant processes, the execution of the NRS under WIOA with its weight on workforce development metrics further pushes eligible providers to deliver quantifiable outcomes compliant with government priorities. This in turn instigates eligible providers to marginalize some groups of learners and exacerbates already severe competitions for funding. ⁷ Administrators may also have to alter program organization and funding streams (e.g., reducing or eliminating basic literacy classes) in order to prove their economic value (see Hall, 1996). This implies that the curriculum offered in such programs will not necessarily reflect pedagogical suitability but instead will consider market demands and focus on vocational and technical training (Selman, Cooke, Selman, & Dampier, 1998; Sumner, 2008).

In addition to the disempowered adult education programs, teachers also need to navigate conflicting expectations that are related to the potential divergence between funders’ and learners’ goals. On the one hand, teachers are required to prepare learners to contribute to the advancement of the local and national market. To help learners meet benchmarks and eventually to reach WIOA performance indicators, they are beholden to their employer to align or change their teaching. That is, teachers become (dispensable and replaceable) technicians without autonomy (Cruikshank, 1993) and conduits of social conditioning that indoctrinate learners to compete in the labor market. On the other hand, teachers are also demanded to take the initiative to learn about “best practices”—to help learners obtain a credential or employment and to address and fulfill “customer” satisfaction (Sumner, 2008). Teachers thus face the conundrums of their duties as educators who are asked to be not only passive and obedient, but also knowledgeable about adult learning.

Under WIOA, the major goal of AEFLA is to move those who are presumed to be lacking toward economic self-sufficiency. As greater responsibilities are placed on the individual rather than on structural flaws associated with less substantial socioeconomic/sociopolitical support systems in a risk society (Beck, 1992), the government validates options for adult education: prioritizing vocational trainings that would enable learners to become competitive in the economic market and function as consumers and entrepreneurs who pursue their self-interests (Vincent, 1993). This instrumental nature of adult education dismisses learners’ rights to understand dominant economic and political orders more critically (Grummell, 2007). Simultaneously, given that “a second chance” is provided to learners, an idea that it is now their duty to enhance employability by gaining adequate qualifications is further strengthened (Grummell, 2007; Sumner, 2008).

Moreover, the use of NRS outcome reporting puts both documented and undocumented learners in more impotent positions (Larrotta, 2017; Pickard, 2016). Documented learners who are refugees and asylees and/or who have experienced limited or interrupted formal education can be trivialized. Having a predictive factor for lower levels of adult literacy that necessitates longer study to achieve mandated outcomes, these learners can be deprioritized. Undocumented learners face a different challenge because their legal status prevents them from being included in the NRS and adding to program outcomes. The alienation of groups of learners—implemented by design—creates a reserve pool of perpetually marginalized adults who are particularly vulnerable to exploitation by unethical labor practices (Larrotta, 2017). All in all, learners are transformed into economically measurable commodities (Mulderrig, 2003) that make a program either a success or a failure.

Wondering what the endgame is for federally funded adult education in the United States, we anchor our hope on the multilevel nature of the AEFLA delivery system and on the gap between the ratification of the law and its implementation. Specifically, as signaled throughout this study, the federal government is not the only player in the design and implementation of Title II. For example, in the process of developing a unified or combined state WIOA plan and distributing federal and state funds, every state is entitled to adopt diverse approaches reflexive of its unique regional context. This means that despite obstacles like accountability measures, they perhaps can resignify and transform the discourse and politics of workforce development and adult education at the state and subsequently local levels. Eventually, as enough states change course, federal legislation might follow suit, much as what happened with the evolution of same-sex marriage laws.

Similarly, as Katznelson and Bernstein (2017) argue, we would benefit from the gap between the passage of the law and its execution at the local level (see also Hopkins, Monaghan, & Hansman, 2009). In the context of the immense pressure created by hegemonic federal education and labor policy, those in adult education again bear a heavy burden to continue to take steps to minimize potential detrimental consequences. For instance, as many already do, teachers can foster a more critical mode of education in their classrooms and pay special attention to the holistic needs and priorities of learners themselves; they can also combine their expertise and knowledge of required outcomes to plan engaging courses which promote critical thinking while also satisfying government mandates. The formation of teacher groups centered on social justice, mentoring relationships, and participatory staff-/teacher-designed professional development can also be proposed. These activities ultimately would spring up attempts to unionize the staff and faculty in the field to improve their working conditions (see Sun, 2010). Indeed, these efforts toward increased collaboration would offset some of the repercussions of the workforce development stranglehold on adult education, allowing the sometimes disheartening challenges to alchemize into ripe opportunities.

Aside from these forms of resistance, another important area of consideration in the full transition to the era of WIOA would be the logistical problem of carrying out AEFLA. For example, the difficulty of collecting mandated outcome data (e.g., measurable gains on standardized tests after program exit) is documented as far back as the era of the NLA in 1991. While the “open-entry/open-exit” structure of many adult education programs is spotted as a main reason why it is challenging to consistently track student progress (Alamprese, 2004), insufficient training on proper administration of assessments and scant resources to gather information about long-term effects of AEFLA-funded programs could contribute to the issue. In the context where these stumbling blocks are likely to persist and the legislation demands details outside of the purview of the adult education programs themselves (e.g., employment, earnings), eligible providers would continue to struggle to document outcome data required under WIOA.

Equally important as counterbalancing possible negative outcomes is the imagination of alternatives to the current, instrumentalist workforce development orientation to adult education. To deliberate on some concrete changes, the first might be to modify the mandated performance indicators so that eligible providers can enjoy autonomy to record a more holistic view of learners’ progress. For instance, less quantifiable outcomes—particularly in the areas of identity options, civic engagement, and health outcomes (e.g., see Beder, 1999; Feinstein & Hammond, 2004; Lynch, 2009; Prins, 2017)—could be integrated into the NRS. Another option would be to transfer oversight of adult education programs solely to the Department of Education. Rather than remaining grouped together with workforce development programs, adult education programs, under a new act, would be exempt from the workforce-focused performance indicators common to all WIOA programs and able to zero in on education-specific assessments.

Conclusion

Indisputably, our analysis of Title II of WIOA and its Memorandum is not without limitations and the conclusions drawn in this study thus need to be understood with caution. For example, other sections of the public law and the interactive relationship of them were not fully scrutinized; consideration of this set of additional data—including other titles, specifics about unified or combined state plans, and performance accountability system—might strengthen, complement, and/or extend this study’s findings. Moreover, as texts are comprehended, practiced, and/or resisted in more dynamic and complex ways pertaining to various contexts, examining the language used in the two federal documents alone is inappropriate to discern its impact on social practices. For instance, we are not yet well informed how AEFLA under WIOA is perceived and executed within educational settings. To further investigate the dialogic relationship between discourses observed in policy documents and negotiations in the experiences of those involved, future research, by adopting a critical ethnographic approach, might explore how adult educators and learners deem the objectives of AEFLA, behold the discursive construction of who they are vis-à-vis others, and take action to transform social relations of power (see Fairclough, 2004).

Despite the limitations of this study, the probe into Title II and the Memorandum uncovered how AEFLA is represented in and through language and how the aims of adult education in the United States are restructured. It unveiled that the idealistic discourse of opportunity acts as a camouflage for the further infiltration of market-oriented practices into the public sector, naturalizing the discourse prevailing in the corporate world in discussion about federally funded education. The findings thus raise questions over the direction of the field of adult education: Will adult education programs continue to be supported by the federal and state governments while being subjected to increasing marketization? Will fully public programs dwindle while (one-sided) public–private partnerships multiply? Will currently existing programs collapse under the weight of the mismatch between mandated outcomes and available resources, and if so, what will take their place? This study ultimately calls attention to the consequences of the implementation of WIOA as more data (e.g., any shifts in the type or availability of programming, the features of adult learners that eligible providers serve, ways in which employers affect the adult education curricula adopted in varying institutional settings) become available, necessitating more systemic and thorough research on the evolution of adult education in the United States in the next few years.