This chapter explores how important it is for Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander students in particular to have access to studying their own languages across all jurisdictions in Australian education. It also explores the increasing options available to teachers to provide these opportunities for students from Foundation to Year 12. The value is not limited to Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander students; all students in Australian schools can benefit from the deeper understanding of Indigenous peoples, cultures and histories that develops through the study of Indigenous languages. Language is the vehicle of cultural expression, and when a language is no longer spoken by its people all humanity is diminished by the loss of cultural transmission that occurs when a language ‘goes to sleep’. Teachers are very well positioned to work with Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander communities to help wake up the sleeping Australian languages and to maintain those that are still languages of everyday communication.

A national conference on Americanization in April 1918 evidenced how social and political concerns mattered in wartime. Many regarded the global war as an unhoped-for opportunity to patch up the American nation and bring together the various ethnic groups living in the United States. Across the United States, ethnic enclaves existed and hyphenated Americans oscillated between pledging allegiance to the Stars and Stripes and being loyal to their homelands. Assimilationists seized the opportunity to foster American ideals in children. They consistently rallied politicians in their crusade against the hyphen and eventually defeated progressive integrationalists.

As the war ended, politicians and educationalists saw the American Junior Red Cross as a means to promote American ideals abroad. Consequently, the American Junior Red Cross shifted its focus on a new form of Americanization, using children as part of a cultural diplomacy that positioned the United States as the global Good Samaritan. Children reached out around the globe, waged war against diseases, dedicated much of their spare time to rescue foreign "brothers" and "sisters," and sponsored children overseas.

Across the nation, children were urged to become “soldiers of the soil,” members of the United States School Garden Army, an initiative created in February 1918 by the US Bureau of Education to promote local gardening. Federal authorities urged local communities to feed themselves while the United States fed the Allies and other nations dependent on the US food supply. The more food civilians grew, the better the United States could feed the world. Children thus became part of a large pool of unpaid labor, serving the interests of both politicians and educationalists: as youth helped to increase food production, they learned skills and habits of self-reliance. Through the United States School Garden Army, children hooverized and learned to change their diet and eat with moderation. Gardening taught them the meaning of sacrifice.

In organizing a juvenile division of the American Red Cross – the so-called American Junior Red Cross – in September 1917, Woodrow Wilson attempted to mobilize the nation’s twenty-two million schoolchildren. Consequently, the American Junior Red Cross became the first federal youth-focused organization to be specifically dedicated to mobilizing American youth in wartime. In designing this first national youth-focused organization, Wilson impeded radical interventionists and quelled educationalists’ concerns. While directing children’s energy to altruistic humanitarian tasks, the organization opened schools to federal oversight of efforts to instill loyalty and deter dissent. Federal authorities attempted to control teachers and relied upon the educational structures to instill loyalty in the future generations of Americanyouth.

We are living in a time when many teachers say they are feeling burnt out, and many others have left the profession altogether. Even new teachers who might start out feeling enthusiastic are likely to leave the profession after a few years. Teachers say the pressures they feel don’t match their view of what teaching is supposed to be all about – caring for, and teaching, children and young people. So, what do teachers do? What does the public (and, for that matter, Hollywood movie producers) think teachers do? This chapter argues that we have a bit of a mismatch between what people outside the profession think, and the experiences of teachers themselves. It also argues that broader changes in education, such as the use of data to govern teachers’ work has created extra pressure on teachers.

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 book began with specific goals in mind. The first was to address the issue of mass education in ways that had something to offer a range of different readers. This book is not aimed specifically at undergraduates, any more than it is directed at practising teachers or university academics. Each chapter has been organised with a progressive layering of complexity and density, such that readers with differing levels of knowledge and expertise should still be able to get something out of it. This has not been written as a textbook, with bitesized pieces tailor-made for tutorial digestion. This book was put together for a range of reasons: it is a summary of the current state of play within Australian (and global) theories of education; it is a resource book for those interested in assessing the weight of different conceptual approaches to mass schooling; it is an analysis of various issues within contemporary society as they relate to education; it is a (relatively) gentle critique of reductionist analyses of our schooling institutions and their outcomes; and it is a call for us not to forget the value of philosophy within the broader play of the social sciences.

To open this eclectic book of ideas, we present the key themes and ask the question, Is our education system providing the right opportunities, knowledge and skills to empower children and young people to thrive on planet Earth? Introducing the concept of the series, we explain that there seem to be three existential uncertainties - the climate and environmental crises, fractured communities and insecurities about self and purpose - that require a diverse collection of voices and their ideas to bridge academia with the practitioner wisdom in classrooms.

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 discusses corpus applications to language teaching and learning, focusing specifically on the use of corpora and corpus linguistics research for informing coursebook and assessment development. A number of studies undertaken by the authors are discussed with a view to highlighting both the affordances of corpus linguistics for supporting such indirect applications to language education, as well as the barriers of using corpus linguistics research to inform stakeholder practices. Focusing on the use of corpora by materials writers, the use of learner corpus research and spoken corpus research for assessment refinement and design, and the use of corpus research for materials design, this chapter reflects on engagement with stakeholders in this domain over the last fifteen years. Drawing together the lessons learned from these studies, this chapter offers a critical reflection on the relative impact achieved in each study, while also proposing guidelines for those interested in working with stakeholders to co-design research and produce relevant and appliable research.

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.

The introduction sets out the approaches, sources, and scope of the book. It acquaints the reader with the main features of classical education and places the book within the modern historiography.