Abstract
Teachers face a dilemma in setting limits and establishing boundaries with excluded students, who often exhibit extremely disruptive behavior that cannot be ignored or condoned. Since limit-setting through threats, sanctions, punishment, or expulsion simply reinforces the cycle of exclusion, the alternative approach presented here is to treat the breaching of boundaries as a developmental rather than a moral issue. Benevolent authority and empathic limit-setting, which lie at the core of this method, involve understanding and tending to the needs of the young person while at the same time clearly defining the necessary boundaries and positively reinforcing students for maintaining them. The transition from power struggle to empathic limit-setting entails both a turning point in which problematic incidents are essentially reframed, and emotional awareness on the part of teachers of their own inner turmoil in response to such situations. To the extent that teachers can exercise their authority without punishing or humiliating their students, they provide a holding environment in which excluded students feel stable and secure enough to develop their own internal authority. This paper is based on action research carried out with teachers in an MEd program in inclusive education at the Oranim Academic College of Education in Israel.
Keywords
Introduction
The issue of how to handle the breaching of boundaries by students has preoccupied teachers for generations. Numerous articles, as well as national and international reports, have been published about behavioral problems in educational settings, particularly junior high and high schools. A number of studies have addressed the scope of the phenomenon, forms of intervention, and the connection between boundary-breaking and discipline on the one hand, and academic achievement, on the other hand (Heaviside, Rowand, Williams, & Farris, 1998; Morrison, Redding, Fisher, & Peterson, 2006; Weisblau, 2013). The research shows that behavior problems are more common in excluded populations (Bauer, Guerino, Nolle, & Tang, 2008; Devoe, Peter, Noonan, Snyder, & Baum, 2005; Khoury-Kassabri, Benbenishty, Astor, & Zeira, 2004; LeBlanc, Swisher, Vitaro, & Tremblay, 2008). Rebellious behavior and violation of limits by marginalized students often occur in response to the profound impact of social exclusion (Archangelo, 2003). A considerable body of research has also shown that schools tend to act as agents of social exclusion (e.g. Meo & Parker, 2004; Munn & Lloyd, 2005; Razer, Friedman, & Warshofsky, 2013; Swirski & Dagan-Buzaglo, 2011; UNESCO, 2009). This paper aims to address both a practical and a theoretical question: how to learn and implement new ways of dealing with discipline in school.
Marginalized children often behave in ways that make teachers feel they have no authority. When teachers define their mission as reclaiming their lost authority, they are unable to view the child’s problem with boundaries as part of the developmental process. Limit-setting turns into a form of power struggle rather than an opportunity to help students grow. I am instead proposing a model that emphasizes the needs and development of the child, and at the same time recognizes that very clear and focused behavioral interventions are called for as a result of the child’s social context.
This article describes a process of action research carried out with a group of teachers studying in a master’s program in inclusive education at Oranim Academic College of Education in Israel. All of the participants taught in regular public schools. The study sought to examine, in a nuanced manner, how to come to know students, their needs, and what they are capable of doing at any given moment, while setting limits in a way that suits the primary norms of the school and society.
In trying to get familiar with the proposed model, the group began by identifying the point at which the breaching of boundaries by students first created tension in the school or caused the teacher–student relationship to descend into a power struggle. Next, we narrowed the focus to specific situations during the learning process where teachers were able to manage the breaching of limits in a way that did not worsen the relationship and to treat this behavior as an opportunity for development.
Empathic limit-setting means establishing realistic boundaries while containing the pain this may evoke and not giving up on the student. It entails teaching students to accept and internalize boundaries without the teacher resorting to violence, humiliation, or exclusion. This study tracks the learning process of the teacher–participants, attempting to recognize the turning point at which they shifted from engaging in power struggles to employing empathic techniques. However, the emphasis is not simply on presenting an alternative approach to boundary-breaking but on putting it into practice under real conditions.
Learning from without versus learning from within
Among the mechanisms that marginalize students, in particular those from weaker socioeconomic backgrounds, is the use of discipline and exclusionary strategies in response to behavior problems. The debate over the disciplinary role of schools is a long and complex one. One of the key ideologies—advocated by many, if not most, schools around the world—is that of “learning from without,” based on a behaviorist approach whereby learning and education are a learned set of responses to outside stimuli and reinforcements (Goldschmidt, 2008; Lamm, 2000); hence, multiple intervention programs are utilized to achieve discipline in the classroom (Albert, Roy, & LePage, 1989; Bluestein, 1988; Canter, 2010; Curwin & Mendler, 1997; Dreikurs, Grunwald, & Pepper, 2013). Under this approach, schools frame violations of norms in terms of lack of discipline or disobedience. When students overstep the boundaries of normative behavior, teachers are expected to enforce limits and maintain order, often through sanctions and punishment. Implied in this approach is the notion that such norms reflect a behavioral standard that most students understand and to which most of them can conform. To act outside these norms, according to this view, implies a moral shortcoming or failure of will. To deal with boundary-breaching, most school conduct codes and discipline handbooks enumerate consequences designed to “teach” these students that they have defied a school rule, and that their “choice” of behaviors will not be tolerated. When such violations rise in frequency and intensity, monitoring and surveillance are increased to “catch” future instances of problem behavior; rules and sanctions are reemphasized and the consequences for repeated rule-breaking become more frequent and more severe.
Schools employ all kinds of “tokens” and techniques to symbolize reward and punishment. As shown in the cases analyzed below, the use of these methods is widespread; however, their effectiveness is often limited and, when they fail, teachers revert to harsher methods such as taking the student out of the learning environment, either by removal from the classroom, suspension, or expulsion from the educational institution (Arcia, 2007; Minich & Tarnosky, 1977; Razer, Mittelberg, Motola, & Bar-Gosen, 2015; Scott-Little & Holloway, 1992; Skiba & Losen, 2016; Weisblau, 2013; Yariv, 2009). It should be noted that many studies on this topic have found that there is a greater use of disciplinary measures such as suspension and expulsion against weaker populations—in particular blacks, immigrants, and students with learning or other disabilities—who already suffer from greater alienation and lower achievement levels (Burke, 2015; Cameron, 2006; Losen & Martinez, 2013; Wallace, Goodkind, Wallace, & Bachman, 2008). In such cases, the removal of the student is often rationalized as an educational tool (Gunter, Denny, Jack, Shores, & Nelson, 1993; Gunter, Jack, DePaepe, Reed, & Harrison, 1994; Jack et al., 1996; Shores et al., 1993). In practice, this intensifies students’ social exclusion, harms their academic progress, and weakens their sense of belonging.
The problem with this approach to discipline is that it clashes with—and threatens to undermine—inclusive practice (Gottfredson, Gottfredson, & Karweit, 1989; Mayer, 1995; Mayer & Butterworth, 1979; Mayer, Butterworth, Nafpaktitis, & Sulzer-Azaroff, 1983; Tolan & Guerra, 1994). The various forms of ejection are exclusionary practices that do not enhance the sense of belonging and do not assist excluded populations in overcoming their marginalization. Numerous studies, mainly in the United States, have found that the use of suspension or expulsion does not improve students’ behavior, academic performance, or social situation, nor does it make schools safer (Balfanz, Byrnes, & Fox, 2015; Kinsler, 2013; Kupchik & Catlaw, 2015; Losen & Martinez, 2013; Resnick & Burt, 1996; Yariv, Avigdor, & Ben-Simon, 2011).
A second ideology is that of progressive education, also known as “learning from within.” Thinkers such as Dewey, Piaget, Vygotsky, Steiner, Montessori, and others, held that the role of education is not to “tame” or shape the child’s personality but to create the optimal conditions needed for him to realize his potential (Lamm, 2000). Some of these approaches promote the granting of absolute freedom to students (Hecht & Ram, 2010) and are sharply critical of the view of discipline in traditional education and the assortment of programs to maintain control in the classroom. According to this line of thinking, the raison d’être of discipline, or classroom management, is almost always to ensure students’ compliance with adult demands, while the task of the adult is to assert control over the classroom. Teachers are urged to make the rules of behavior clear to students and force them to obey them. Critics contend that teachers sometimes place unreasonable demands on their students and expect them to submit to their authority (Kohn, 2006).
In contrast to externally imposed discipline, which is the norm in traditional education, progressive education posits freedom of activity (Hecht & Ram, 2010). From a theoretical standpoint, researchers have been arguing since the dawn of progressive education that this approach is not suited to working with marginalized and alienated populations. “Freeing” these students by allowing them to decide on their own actions is not appropriate, as alienated children are not internally committed to educational goals; hence they will fail to acquire the values and skills necessary to function well for themselves and society (Hoy, 1968, 1969; Tjosvold, 1976; Wispe, 1951). Most of the schools that espouse the various progressive methods actually function in isolation and do not offer opportunities to all citizens. The bulk of them are private schools that do not interact with certain populations and do not take in students from weaker social classes. In practice, they do not handle behavioral problems within the context of social exclusion, though ideologically they may intend to do just the opposite (Gutmann, 1999; Kizel, 2003).
The progressive school movement regards children like flowers: provide them with the right environment and nourishment, and they will thrive on their own. They do not need much direction or “discipline.” However, the teachers we are working with often encounter children who (1) have faced exclusion from their earliest school experiences; and (2) have life experiences at home and in the community that impede the kind of natural, healthy development envisioned by the progressive school movement. As a result, many of them exhibit highly disruptive behaviors that are extremely difficult to deal with. In these situations, teachers face a dilemma. Do they revert to the “tough” forms of discipline (e.g. expulsion from class or school) that may offer a temporary reprieve (for the teacher) but ultimately perpetuate exclusion and leave the students’ needs unaddressed and that usually involve a power struggle? Or do they adopt a lenient, permissive stance that allows students more freedom in decision making but often makes learning impossible for them and for their classmates and can lead the teacher to feel powerless?
Both approaches bring important elements to the work with socially excluded students. The former emphasizes limits and the need for a framework, whereas the latter stresses the student’s inner world and the need to attend to it. By synthesizing the two, we can achieve a new perspective on working with boundary-breaking students who live in a context of social exclusion.
An integrative approach: Benevolent authority and empathic limit-setting
Teaching for inclusion is fundamentally different from normative teaching practice, and educators increasingly need the specific knowledge, skills, and methods of inclusive education. But teachers are rarely trained to teach excluded students (Ben Rabi, Baruj-Kovarsky, Navot, & Konstantinov, 2014), and often do not know how to respond appropriately to the complex challenges they present. Inclusive teaching practices recognize that many marginalized children have trouble conforming to the normative behaviors that are generally considered prerequisites for learning at both the individual and classroom levels (Benbenishty, Khoury-Kassabri, & Astor, 2006; Goldstein, 1996; Klein-Allermann, Kracke, Noack, & Hofer, 1995; Serbin, Moskowitz, Schwartzman, & Ledingham, 1991; Slee, 1994). The comprehensive model of inclusive practice described below (derived from 20 years of action research at 200 schools in Israel) is based, inter alia, on the use of benevolent authority. The concept of benevolent authority in education (Mor & Luria, 2014; Razer & Friedman, 2017) originates from a fundamental belief that teachers are significant adult figures in the lives of children even when the latter do not comply with adult demands (Benjamin, 2005; Rose, Daiches, & Potier, 2012; Yalom & Leszcz, 2005). Their presence can offer children a dependable source of recognition, aid, and stability. This approach rests on the assumption that even children who display extreme nonnormative behavior desire to be accepted, to succeed, and to please their teachers as well as their parents (Baumeister & Leary, 1995). People require positive recognition in order to achieve a healthy, cohesive sense of self, which grows within a system of relationships with significant others who provide “mirroring” (Bradshaw, 2005; Kohut, 1981). In conceptualizing benevolent authority, I draw upon the psychodynamic notions of “the containing mind” (Bion, 1977 [1962]) and “holding” (Winnicott, 1960). Excluded children need healthy, supportive relationships with adults who are capable of containing their powerful emotions and providing a holding environment in which they can develop. When teachers offer a “container,” that is, a stable holding environment, they enable their students to develop cognitive and emotional abilities and to learn how to contain themselves (Eshel, 2004; Wright, 2009). Thus, at moments that threaten to be perceived as challenges to authority, teachers must say to themselves: “Even though the student is not complying, he needs me and I am still an authority figure for him.” To develop this inner authority, teachers must work on themselves. The idea of benevolent authority does not imply permissiveness or a lack of limits. The goal is to create classrooms in which all students feel safe physically and emotionally, protected from exclusion and bullying so that they are free to learn. Therefore, teachers of excluded children must see beyond discipline (i.e. the enforcement of norms) to teaching these norms and how to conform to them as an explicit part of the curriculum.
Benevolent authority can be translated into action through empathic limit-setting. Empathy is defined by Kohut (1984) as the capacity of one person to experience the inner life of another person while maintaining the position of an objective observer. It is an attempt to deeply understand the subjective world of the other. When educators set limits for students in an empathic way, they are called upon to play two contradictory roles: acting on the basis of the reality in the classroom, yet considering the inner needs of the child. Empathic limit-setting entails: (a) firmly setting a limit while (b) understanding the child’s distress and difficulty in accepting the limit and (c) adapting the limit to the child’s needs and ability to respond.
Adopting such an approach is not simple, first because teachers are accustomed to methods that entail power struggles and exclusion, and more importantly, because schools are not used to an in-depth discourse of emotional processing. Rethinking their disciplinary role is challenging and sometimes threatening (Razer & Friedman, 2017), but when teachers of excluded students are able to do so, they move beyond seeing discipline as the enforcement of norms and toward teaching these norms and ways of conforming to them. In the inclusive relational model, teachers are trained to act empathetically toward the breaching of limits and at the same time to set realistic boundaries. The key point is to set limits without engendering humiliation, hurt, and especially, exclusion. This requires that teachers be very conscious of their students’ unexpressed feelings in response to the teachers’ professional conduct. When the process succeeds, it strengthens teachers and enables them to exercise their authority. The present study highlights empathy as the core issue in limit-setting and examines how it can be learned and implemented by teachers using action research to build the necessary knowledge from the bottom up.
Methodology
The study on which this paper is based was carried out with teachers in an MEd program in inclusive education. The research took place in the context of workshops on professional identity for experienced teachers of excluded populations, in which participants learned empathic limit-setting practices (see Appendix 1 for a detailed description). The central research question was how teachers can be trained to move from the “standard” approach in dealing with boundary-breaching by excluded students to one that integrates and applies other theoretical perspectives. In particular, I sought to identify the turning point in the transition from power struggle to empathetic response. The workshop was conducted in four phases:
In the first phase of the study, each teacher was asked to write up an interaction that they had experienced with a student who was violating limits. The cases included a brief account of the context, the situation, and a reconstruction of an actual conversation using a two-column format in which the right-hand column contained what was said, and the left-hand column, the writer’s thoughts and feelings during the interaction (Argyris, Putnam, & Smith, 1985; Rudolph, Foldy, & Taylor, 2001). Cases were collected from 50 teachers, who were divided randomly into two work groups. The teachers, who worked in a variety of educational settings (preschool, elementary, and secondary), constituted a fairly comprehensive, though in no way representative, sample of the diversity of Israeli society (Jewish, Arab, secular, Orthodox, ultra-Orthodox).
The second phase entailed learning the principles of empathic limit-setting and benevolent authority on the theoretical level coupled with role-playing of various situations. This was followed by a third phase, in which participants were asked to revisit the case they had written about and create a new scenario for interacting with the student that would fit the principles learned. The students were divided into groups of three, with each group producing, directing, and filming three short video clips of 2–3 minutes each based on each of the cases, which highlighted the use of inclusive practices. In each group, one participant played the student, another played the teacher, and the third one filmed the interaction. The clips were uploaded to a site, viewed by the workshop participants, and analyzed in the workshop.
In the fourth phase, participants were asked to implement these skills at their schools when working with students who violated boundaries. The teachers were required to describe this interaction in the same format as the first one, analyzing the changes they had undergone. The group held discussions at each phase of the process, from the initial incident to the “turning point” and the application of empathic limit-setting.
The case write-ups and analysis were guided by concepts from action science—a research method based on the notion that human behavior is guided by tacit mental “theories of action” that shape behavior and enable people to make sense of the behavior of others (Argyris et al., 1985; Argyris & Schön, 1974, 1978, 1996; Friedman, 2001; Friedman, Razer, & Sykes, 2004). The case discussions in the learning groups formed the basis of the study data. The cases were analyzed with an eye to understanding how the teachers framed the problem or situation, the strategies they used to address it, the goals implicit in these strategies, and the actual consequences of their actions. Further, the learning groups looked at the alternative framings, strategies, and goals that emerged from the action learning, and what happened when these were put into practice.
The findings from the workshops will be presented in two parts: limit-setting as power struggle and the transition from power struggle to empathetic response.
Findings and analysis
Limit-setting as power struggle
Teaching excluded children means constantly facing nonnormative and disruptive behaviors. In such situations, teachers without the necessary training (which they seldom receive) tend to either feel helpless or to get into power struggles that lead only to punishment and further exclusion for the child, and to anger, shame, and humiliation for the teacher; these, in turn, often cause the teacher to abandon the child emotionally. Even minor violations of limits by students can quickly spark a dynamic that draws teachers and students into power struggles that spiral out of control. In the following case, a ninth-grade teacher is faced with such a situation: At the start of the lesson, the teacher approaches three students who, for various reasons, did not take the test that the entire class had taken in the previous period, and invites them to sit near her and take the test now during the time she had planned on giving other assignments to the rest of the class.
1
Immediately after he refused to take the test, I started to get angry. I didn’t show it; in fact, I held back and spoke nicely. But deep down, I thought: “Why do I have to go out of my way for him? He really doesn’t deserve it. He disrupts every class and doesn’t study anyway. Even if I postpone the test for him, he’s not going to study for it, so why should I go to the trouble? I’m tired of these arguments. He doesn’t know the material for the test, and is just making up excuses. I’m not going to let him do a number on me. We agreed on something, and he has to stick to it. A little responsibility wouldn’t hurt him.” At a certain point, it was already really hard for me to control my anger, and I started to raise my voice. I felt worn out. I said to myself: “I’m not going to give him what he wants. He had a week to prepare. It’s his problem. Enough! I’m fed up. The entire class is watching, and I’m wasting the whole lesson on this argument. What an insolent kid!” In the end, when he said “I wish you were dead,” I was shocked. I felt deeply insulted and angry. He really went way too far. I took a deep breath, and thought about how to respond. I really felt like hurting him back, but I knew it wasn’t right…. I started to feel guilty. Why hadn’t I stopped the argument earlier? If he responded that way, I’d apparently backed him into a corner. I was embarrassed that I’d allowed things to escalate to the point where he reacted in such an extreme, unacceptable way.
In-class power struggle.
(1) The incident began when the student refused the teacher’s request to take the test. (2) The teacher responded by setting a clear limit (“You have to”) and by giving the student a clear explanation (“Tomorrow there’s a class trip, and after that, vacation, and it’s not a good idea to postpone it for so long”). (3) The student insisted that he couldn’t take the test, and protested that the teacher didn’t believe he was sick. (4) The teacher experienced this as having to defend her position of authority (“Why do I have to go out of my way for him? He disrupts every class and doesn’t study anyway. I’m not going to let him do a number on me.”) (5) The teacher then reprimanded the student: “You were supposed to be prepared for the test.” From that moment on, the teacher and student were locked in a power struggle in which each side’s actions led the other side to a more extreme response. The student ultimately said something very hurtful to the teacher. In this scenario, the power struggle ended with the student not giving in, not doing what the teacher requested, hurting her, and causing her to feel defeated.
The workshop groups attempted to explore the various emotions that surfaced at different stages of the incident (see Figure 2). It is obvious that the act of boundary-breaking itself already evokes a feeling of tension in the teacher based on familiarity with the scenario and anticipation of how it will unfold. There is a moment in the process when there is some degree of optimism, as teachers set the limit and hope that the student will respect it. At this point, the student’s reaction, and a lack of understanding of the situation on the part of the teacher, will often cause matters to deteriorate into a power struggle.
Teachers’ emotions at different stages of incident.
A major point that emerges from the teachers’ reports is that power struggles are a thoroughly frustrating process that does not bring any satisfaction, even when teachers seemingly “win.” In every case where a power struggle occurred, the teacher felt regret. When the teacher “wins” against the student, the feeling described in most cases is one of guilt along with pity toward the “losing” student. Even in the above example, where the teacher was humiliated by the student, she felt guilty. In a different example, where the teacher “won” and the child left the classroom after a lengthy struggle, she stated: “I felt sorry that the incident ended this way for him… I also felt a sense of satisfaction. In the end, he did what I asked…[but] I was still angry that he caused me to yell and lose control.” In a different incident, a student reacted to the teacher’s “victory” as follows: “Good for you! Now suspend me. That’s what you’d like to do anyway!” In other words, when the student loses, the sense of alienation increases; rather than seeing the teacher as an authority figure, the student is more likely to view her as arbitrary and hurtful. Thus, whatever the outcome of the power struggle, it does not lead to a feeling of professionalism. Teachers do not gain a sense that the student has in fact learned, internalized, or modified his behavior; rather, when the student acts in accordance with the teacher’s expectations, it is seen as submitting as opposed to internalizing.
Dealing with the breaching of boundaries demands a great deal of emotional energy on the part of the teacher. The essential question is why teachers allow themselves to be drawn into the turmoil of a power struggle in the first place. The trigger is usually the teacher’s perception that her authority is being challenged and the desire to recapture that lost authority. The teacher’s reflections in the example above (“he doesn’t know the material for the test, and is just making up excuses”; “I’m not going to let him do a number on me”) indicate that she interprets the student’s actions as a challenge to her authority. The problem with this perception is that it embodies an assumption that in order to exercise authority, a teacher needs the child to obey her. In this case, that assumption creates a stumbling block, because the child is in too much distress to affirm the teacher’s authority. Teachers in such a situation often lose focus of what is required of them as authority figures, and interpret the exchange as though the child is managing them, causing their attention to become focused on their own distress rather than the needs of the child.
A challenge to their authority can generate dangerous emotions in teachers (“it was hard for me to control my anger”). Especially in highly charged situations, the perceived challenge raises feelings of anxiety over loss of control of oneself, or of the class, and having chaos ensue. When such an incident occurs in front of an entire class, it often sets off a power struggle that escalates out of control, since teachers fear that they cannot afford to lose face. The teacher experiences this anxiety as intense anger and confusion, which may lead her to try to exert her authority through the use of power.
Clearly, ejecting a student is one of the most difficult decisions a teacher can make. On the one hand, teachers who take this step often perceive themselves as violent and harsh, while on the other hand, they justify their actions. A lack of proper processing, and the immediate need to deny the pain involved in the ejection, creates an intolerable situation for teachers (Razer, 2014). In the opinion of some educators, ejections of various types are not only damaging to students; over time, they are also harmful to the well-being and emotional/professional resilience of teachers (Friedman et al., 2004; Kohn, 2006; Razer & Friedman, 2013). It is important to note that, although teachers put pressure on the system to suspend or expel students, Yariv’s (2009) study showed that teachers are opposed in theory to ejecting students but employ this measure because they are unaware of alternatives.
Turning point: Transition from power struggle to empathic response
The process of limit-setting is always painful for students and inevitably evokes negative reactions. When adults confront children with the reality that not everything is permissible, they frequently respond with feelings of anger, insult, or despair (Rosenthal, 2014). The adults then feel cruel or hurtful as well as guilty for causing the children frustration or suffering. To ward off these feelings, teachers often give in (thereby “abandoning” the student, so to speak), or go to the other extreme, becoming angry and punishing. The critical moment is when the teacher sets the limit and the student reacts to it with hurt. When teachers are unable to be sensitive to this pain, they are drawn into a power struggle. This is exactly where a change in practice can take place. The following example from the workshop shows the turning point from a potential power struggle to empathic limit-setting: At the start of a tenth-grade math class, I asked the students to put away their cellphones and take out their supplies. Ron did not respond, and continued playing with his phone. He didn’t raise his head from the game, just kept moving his fingers across the screen. I came over to him and said: “Ron, please put away the phone.” Ron put the phone on the side of his desk, looked up at me, and sneered: “What happened, you didn’t get laid today?” At that moment, I choked. How dare he speak to me that way? Who does he think he is? I was about to answer him. I was so furious, I could barely control myself. At that point, I was a split second from giving him a slap across the face. I was hurt, and wanted to get back at him. I felt demeaned…. I wanted to humiliate him back…. I took a deep breath…. But then all of a sudden, something happened to me. I started to think about Ron. About his home and his family, about the fact that his mother had abandoned him, about the difficulties he lives with. About the fact that he hadn’t attended school for three years, and that the truant officer had brought him to me only recently. His gaps in learning were enormous. He had no understanding of what was being said in class. He must be totally lost! It was as if thinking about him suddenly melted away my anger and I was filled with compassion…. I surprised myself…. Instead of yelling at him (which is what I usually did), I went over to him and said quietly: “Ron, I get that my request that you participate in class might be hard. But I know that you’re going to do fine in math, and I don’t intend to give up on you. Now put away the phone…. We’ll talk at recess….” Ron didn’t touch the phone, but didn’t participate in class either. During recess, he stayed in the classroom, sitting across from me. Throughout the conversation, he didn’t look at me, just cleaned his fingernails with a pin he had in his hand. I said to him exactly what we had been taught in the course: “Ron, I think your outburst was because you’re having a really hard time. But even when things are hard for you, I don’t allow you to speak to me that way.” Ron looked upset. He didn’t respond. “Now, go out to recess. We’ll continue this conversation another time.”
The teacher is able to reframe her perception of her own authority and the motivations of the student, and to formulate clear boundaries in an empathic manner (Razer, 2014). By reframing a situation, people change their thinking and feelings in ways that open up new and previously unnoticed avenues for effective action. The power of this process lies in its potential to enable teachers to create meaningful change even in situations where the objective factors remain the same. The teacher in the above case realized that what made the situation so difficult for her was that she had framed the student’s behavior as a challenge to her authority (How dare he speak to me this way?). Through reframing, she became aware of a key aspect of the situation that she had initially ignored: the struggles of the student. The emphasis shifted from preserving her authority to dealing with the student’s difficulties (He must be totally lost!).
The primary objective of the workshop was to identify those points when it is possible to turn the situation around; in other words, the goal is to react in a different way in the face of an aggressive response to limit-setting. The most important knowledge gained from the workshop was that teachers generally do set appropriate limits, but that a power struggle often develops when students have a painful reaction to these boundaries. The task in training inclusive teachers is to offer a new way of understanding the event whereby (a) lack of compliance is tied to the distress of the student and not a loss of authority on the part of the teacher; and (b) the teacher’s authority rests on her ability to serve as a nurturing figure for the child. The work in the group was an attempt to alter the chain of events around the limit-setting, namely the power struggle; to identify the turning point; and to interpret reality differently (Figure 3):
Alternative to power struggle.
The turning point, as communicated by the workshop participants, was twofold:
As the incident was taking place, I was able to see the pain of the child standing out amid the violence, and it suddenly did something to me. The workshop gave me a higher level of awareness, in which I began to look at the child’s distress. I was able to put my anger aside for the moment and handle things better.
The turning point can occur at various junctures. In the above example, it occurred immediately before the teacher entered into a power struggle with the student. In other cases, teachers in the midst of a struggle with their student suddenly saw the situation differently and managed to create change in real time. The experience of most of the teachers who managed to avoid a power struggle during the incident was very powerful, with reactions centered mainly on their improved handling of the situation: “I didn’t get worn out.” “I expended much less energy.” “I didn’t have to yell or lose control.” “It’s so great to do away with reprimanding.” “I surprised myself. In the past, I would have been offended in such a situation. Now it didn’t get to me when the child yelled….”
Nonetheless, the change is sometimes accompanied by unsettling feelings of guilt or regret. “I discovered how self-absorbed I was; I didn’t see the children at all.” “I felt sorry for myself, how weak I was with the children; I demeaned myself each time I yelled.” “This is the first time that I was able to really put myself in the place of the child. It definitely arouses mixed feelings. I’m very proud of this success, but what does it say about the fantasy I was living in?”
Other teachers described the difficulty of shifting their position: The words come out of me with no problem, just as in the protocol that we learned. But I saw in the video that my body language is hostile and doesn’t fit the message…. True, I said what I was supposed to, a seemingly empathic message, but I was still really mad…. It took more than a few tries until I managed to change my body language and let go of my anger toward the child…. Ron came looking for me the next day. He really “pursued” me, and offered an apology: “You know that I really respect you. What I said came out by mistake.” He told me that he’d fought with his father, and was irritable as a result. We talked for a long time about the situation at home. Eventually, I decided to get back to the subject and talk with him about his difficulties in math. “Ron, tomorrow we have another math class. It may be hard for you. I want you to think, and tell me what you’ll do if you have difficulty. I want us to try to cut down on your outbursts when you’re having a hard time.” Ron: “I don’t know. It’s embarrassing that I don’t know anything…. My friends must think I’m a retard….” “You’re not slow, but you didn’t study for a long time. You have a lot of gaps that we need to make up. It’s not your fault. We’ll put together a program, and we’ll make them up bit by bit. I thought about something for tomorrow. I’ll give you two exercises now for you to work on at home. Show them to me before class. If there’s a mistake, I’ll correct it, and in class I’ll ask you to present the right answer for one of them. What do you think?” Ron agreed.
In order to deal more productively with perceived challenges to their authority, teachers must understand the meaning and source of their power. At the beginning of the workshop, to most teachers, authority meant being obeyed. Framing authority in terms of obedience implies that it depends on the student’s ability to control himself at a given moment. In reality, however, the fact that students cannot control their actions in particular situations does not necessarily imply anything about the teacher’s authority. The workshop helped them change their thinking and feelings in ways that opened up new and previously unnoticed avenues for effective action. Most of them became aware of a key aspect of the situation that they had initially ignored: the struggles of the student. The emphasis shifted from preserving the teacher’s authority to dealing with the student’s difficulties.
Barriers to implementation and the role of the principal
Taking on an inclusive role requires teachers to develop levels of professional commitment and expertise that go beyond those called for in a normative environment. Participants in the workshop described in this article came on their own, usually without other peers from the same school. Some participants, as from the examples above, reported that changing their viewpoint helped them create new strategies. Some participants have leadership positions, which make it easy for them to create changes. For example, a assistant principal implemented a new policy in which only she authorizes suspensions, and the school defined that within a year no more expulsions would be authorized. She herself created study groups in the school to deal with the subject. However, some of the participants felt that the learning in the workshop was very significant, but reported that they could not implement it in school cultures based on excluding those who “do not fit.” For example, on one of the participants said: “I learned a lot…I learned there is an alternative to exclusion but I will not be able to implement it unless my principal will participate in a workshop like this…. This will never happen.”
Other teachers were able to implement the learning but clearly felt that it put them in a difficult position within the school, as the following quotation illustrates: This approach really worked, I tried with two students lately, they reacted totally different, but it is impossible for me to convince my school not to punish. I did the exercises for this workshop underground… my principal and especially my colleagues will not support me if I’ll tell them what I did.
These barriers to implementation are rooted in what we call “systemic frames of exclusion”: “helplessness” and “false identity” and are strong expression of the “cycle of exclusion” in which both students and teachers are trapped . Based on lessons learned from 30 years of action research with school aimed at helping staff provide a meaningful education to excluded students, we encountered the cycle of exclusion in hundreds of schools. The cycle of exclusion forms when teachers meet students who fail, especially those who have a history of failure. Both teachers and students become caught up in a “cycle of exclusion” that creates intense feelings of alienation and despair on both sides. Over time, we identified two specific patterns in the perspectives of educators trapped in the cycle of exclusion. We gave the name “frames of exclusion” to the patterns of thinking, feeling, and acting that dominate the culture of schools that deal with excluded students. These two frames (“helplessness” and “false identity”) seemingly enable teachers to make sense of teaching and to survive it, but they actually keep them and their students trapped in the cycle of exclusion and also damage relationships with all those involved in schools.
An in-depth discussion of the systemic frames that perpetuate the cycle of exclusion goes beyond the scope of the current paper (see Razer & Friedman, 2013, 2017, Razer, Friedman, & Veronese, 2009; Razer et al., 2013). However, it is important to emphasize that the cycle of exclusion is a systemic phenomenon, so no single actor or factor is the responsible agent (Gordon, 2008) and that these frames exist at the school level but are reinforced by educational policy at the higher levels as well.
The move from exclusion to inclusion is always more effective when it takes place at the system level, and principals are the people responsible for leading change that can address these systemic frames. It is they who best create the conditions that enable and support the building of inclusive practice. As part of this process, they must provide for the well-being of teachers, who have the job of containing and holding the intense emotions engendered in their work with excluded young people and their families. For schools to do important changes in their educational practices toward inclusion, true care for, and connection with, teachers stems from a passionate desire to help them bring out the best in themselves as educators. Listening to teachers, letting them know that they are not alone, observing and building their strengths, and acknowledging their contributions—these are all constructive ways principals can provide positive reinforcement and at the same time demand excellent performance.
To move from the individual to the system level, principals need to create formal organizational structures in which teachers can collectively reflect on their practice and openly discuss their emotional world, or create workshops as described here (Friedman et al., 2004, Razer & Friedman, 2017). These structures, or learning groups, are not for everyday decision-making or problem- solving. They are not as the “in-service trainings” aimed at enhancing teachers’ technical, pedagogical knowledge; they are substantively different. These groups are a combination of supervision groups in the therapeutic professions—small groups that meet at a regular time and place over a long period of time—and organizational learning mechanisms (Lipshitz, Friedman, & Popper, 2006). In these groups, teachers discuss issues that come up in dealing with difficult situations—as illustrated in the cases presented in this article. The task of the group is to study the organization’s functioning in light of the students’ distress, to identify patterns of thinking and action that contribute to this distress, and then to design and test alternatives through simulations. As these learning groups get stronger, they begin to generate more effective and more productive work patterns at the system level.
Discussion and conclusions
Power struggles with students, and issues surrounding authority are not new; indeed, the professional literature has been addressing them for many years. In his classic study, Waller (1932 [1961]) noted that “the control orientation of school predisposes teachers and students to believe that a state of war exists between them.” The unique aspect of the present study is that it explores limit-setting in the context of social exclusion. It is not truly possible to relate to the breaching of boundaries in marginalized populations without taking into account the emotional experience of marginalized students vis-à-vis the establishment. In essence, it is an experience of alienation, anger, lack of faith in their ability to integrate, mistrust of the system’s professed desire to allow them to integrate, and more (Archangelo, 2003; Kapel-Green, 2007; Markovich, 2013). To address boundary-breaching, or defiance in general, as a behavioral phenomenon without its social and emotional context is insufficient since it does not touch on the root of the problem. Twenge and Baumeister (2005) have found that socially excluded people are more aggressive even toward innocent targets, are less willing to help or cooperate, engage in self-defeating behaviors like risk-taking and procrastination, and perform poorly on analytical reasoning tasks. The manner in which schools customarily deal with behavioral problems does not take these factors into account. I would argue that education of marginalized populations calls for a different type of thinking education—one that focuses on inclusive skills, among them empathic limit-setting, and the building of restorative relationships (Razer & Friedman, 2017).
The central argument of this study stems from the need to adapt unique practices to excluded students. Theories that address boundary-breaking in schools generally offer two extremes (the progressive and the behaviorist): The first accuses teachers of being inattentive to the needs and desires of their students and only concerned with “demanding silence” (Kohn, 2006). The second sees the students and their parents as to blame for the lack of discipline.
I would suggest that neither of these approaches is fully suited to working with excluded populations, whether in terms of the practices that they espouse or their psychological perspective, which views the individual outside of his or her social context. Both are drawn from broader social theories regarding marginalized populations. The first relies on a liberal model that treats the mainstream establishment as solely responsible for exclusion, without relating to the personal complexity of excluded individuals themselves; this model largely ignores their strengths, their personal choices, and how they control—and are controlled by—their environment (Gans, 1994; Zelly, 1995). The second rests on a conservative cultural model that blames the population for its situation (Lewis, 1996). In reality, neither the progressive nor the behaviorist approach offers an in-depth exploration of social exclusion or of children’s development within a social context.
Krumer-Nevo (2006), in her book about women in poverty, suggests that we look at exclusion using a critical model (Wilson, 1987) that addresses the dynamic relationship between the experiences of marginalized individuals and the socioeconomic conditions that shaped—and continue to shape—these experiences. Studies based on this model (Bourgois, 2003; Lister, 2004) reflect the point of view of excluded populations: their words are quoted, their worldview is examined, and they are presented as citizens whose voice is worthy of being heard on the full gamut of social and civil issues. In general, they are treated in a more complex manner, not as one-dimensional figures who are “strong” or “bad.” They are related to as people whose actions, on the one hand, show resistance to their state of poverty and exclusion, and on the other hand, contribute to their own marginalization.
The present study proposes a relational approach, grounded on this critical model, in which these defiant rule-breakers express their anger and protest their marginalization, even as they behave in ways that perpetuate their state of exclusion. Excluded students are indeed not to blame for the alienation that they feel. They are not responsible for the anger that leads to their violent outbursts but they must do the work needed to manage it. The approach offered here enables young people to explore the sources of their rage, to articulate it, and to try to change their situation.
Inclusive practice means accepting students despite their anger and helping them draw a clear distinction between legitimate anger and unacceptable behavior. Anger is legitimate within the context of social exclusion and the experience of alienation and hurt; yet their behavior is neither acceptable nor will it help them to change their situation and their social status. Work on empathic boundaries allows room to pursue this change.
The critical perspective is usually considered a luxury reserved strictly for academics. Practitioners need to act and get things done under real conditions; hence, I am suggesting a particular set of action strategies (practices). Implementing this model is an extremely delicate “dance” and some of the steps are clearly behaviorist. The significance of this approach is that it takes into account both the need to set clear goals and reinforce them and, at the same time, to look at the larger emotional and cognitive picture.
The research on inclusive practices in formal education is still in its infancy. There are few studies on educational work with excluded populations as a unique practice offering a targeted response to marginalization and helping change students’ behavior based on an understanding of social context. It is important to expand the research dealing with behavioral change and nonnormative behavior as part of a deeper understanding of social exclusion.
This study demonstrates how action research methodology can be utilized to work with teachers on high-order change. The intensive effort by the teachers as a group, and the shared understanding of the places where they failed, led to powerful breakthroughs. When the teachers identified for themselves the dynamic that caused them to stumble, they were able to create an alternative practice. It is important to clarify that the teachers did not invent the approach of benevolent authority; it is a theoretical model that was presented to them. They were asked to consider how they could apply it and what would make implementation possible. If we suggest to teachers that they adopt an alternative professional approach without an entire learning process, they generally reject it with such arguments as “it’s impossible to do what you’re describing,” or “have you ever been inside a school?” or “how can you even consider us giving up the use of punishment?” The scenario presented here is one in which teachers very gradually relinquished control by first building the process as a “dry run” and only later trying it out in the classroom. The group analysis is what empowered most of the participants to attempt this alternative.
The use of an action research approach for reflective learning by teachers still poses a major challenge in that the bulk of their training does not deal with the ability to create change from within themselves based on their understanding of reality and their conceptualization of an alternative method. Essentially, we used this approach as a way of enabling teachers to be “critical” of their practice at both the micro (feelings, thoughts, actions) and macro (contextual) levels, using their past experience as a starting point.
The notion of benevolent authority is itself a hypothesis—not an ideology—that teachers are being asked to test out in practice. After all, it only makes sense if it actually “works.”
As each test leads to more knowledge, the theory of benevolent authority and empathic limit-setting can be expected to develop and change over time.
Footnotes
Declaration of conflicting interests
The author(s) declared no potential conflicts of interest with respect to the research, authorship, and/or publication of this article.
Funding
The author(s) received no financial support for the research, authorship, and/or publication of this article.