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THE STRUGGLES AND THE COMPROMISES
Descriptions of high schools with "integrated" programs of vocational and
academic education have concentrated on what might be called the technical core
of the school program--primarily the formal curriculum and the formal
structural arrangements that organize students and teachers (Adelman, 1989;
Grubb et al., 1991a; Mitchell et al., 1989). Missing from these descriptions
have been the features of informal social organization that help us to explain
why some ventures thrive while other structurally similar efforts fail. In the
early stages of our field research, we have given special attention to the
meaning of proposed reforms in the daily work and long-term careers of
teachers. In this section, five topics form a provisional agenda for research
and action. Each arises out of the recurrent themes in our conversations with
teachers and administrators. Each constitutes an effort to take serious
account of teachers' stated priorities (and perceived obligations) in teaching,
their views of their students, their conceptions of curriculum, and their
relations with one another. Finally, each is directly linked to the subject
organization and subject traditions of high school.
Public conceptions of what high school should be and should accomplish (or
educators' claims about what those public conceptions are) provide a crucial
context for the campaign to achieve a defensible academic preparation for all
students and to tie academic studies more clearly to the uses of knowledge in
work. For the past decade, the relationship between work and schooling has
occupied an increasingly central place on the public agenda. Agreement on the
broad vocational goals of secondary schooling, while not uniform, is certainly
widespread. Nonetheless, the precise translation of vocationalism into the
topics, activities, and products of a high school education is not so clear.
To increase the presence and stature of work education in the comprehensive
high school means, for most teachers, a shift in curriculum priorities and
teaching practices. What will be added, abandoned, or modified in the daily
classroom experience? What new relationship will be sought between the
learning activities of the classroom and those provided by work, study, or
service outside the classroom? In their conversations with us, teachers
offered rationales to justify their subject curriculum by showing how it would
supply students with the specific concepts or the habits of mind they needed to
qualify for certain kinds of work in the future. Underlying the
curriculum-in-use are teachers' broad claims that what students encounter in
the classroom is--or should be--what they "need" for the future. Neither they
nor we had many examples at hand to suggest a more precise connection between
school subjects and the conduct of various kinds of work. Further, both they
and we experienced a certain ambivalence in attempting to specify such
connections--in doing so, we seemed at risk of narrowing the school curriculum
to those concepts for which clear (and largely technical) workplace
applications can be found. Implicitly, perhaps, we acknowledged that none of
us could anticipate all of the ways in which algebraic thinking, the study of
historical or literary interpretation, or the ability to construct and evaluate
scientific explanations would enable persons to succeed in their work or
otherwise pursue their lives. Our failure to do so did not seem an adequate
ground for abandoning or curtailing those intellectual tasks in high school,
though it might be reason for searching out some of the connections that would
engage students more fully.
Teachers also invoke parental (and broadly public) expectations to account for
their curricular choices. According to Reid's (1984) analysis of curricular
topics and activities as institutional categories, schools are constrained by
external views of what must be present for the school to count as a "real
school" (see also Hemmings, 1988).[17] For
example, Reid observes that "science in the secondary school legitimates itself
through laboratory work which is only loosely related to the demands of
specific content." In the period prior to the formation of comprehensive high
schools in Britain, he recalls, the vocationally oriented secondary modern
schools were "frequently barred from claims to be teaching science because they
had no labs" (p. 69). Schools risk a certain loss of legitimacy in the eyes of
a public if certain categorical activities and topics are not readily apparent
in the available facilities or in the list of course offerings.
Students play an important but little-examined part in the persistence of
institutional categories. They assess the significance of selected topics and
activities not only for their immediate appeal, but also in light of their
probable bearing on present school success and on educational and occupational
futures. By Reid's (1984) analysis, students pay greater attention to the
instrumental significance of a topic than to its contributions to learning:
"The goal is success in the system as opposed to success in learning . . ." (p.
73). Prominent among the criteria by which topics and activities are judged
are their status-relatedness--the leverage they promise in securing educational
and occupational futures. Teachers' stories confirm the part that students and
their families play in reinforcing traditional course offerings, topics,
pedagogy, and assessment. In the daily classroom exchanges, clear subject
boundaries and content maintain the predictability of "going to school." A
science teacher reports,
If you spend a day talking about the Vietnam War [in a science
class], they don't think it was really history; they don't think it was really
English: "Oh, well we didn't really do anything today. She was just telling
us something interesting" [or] "Oh, well, you know, this doesn't count 'cause I
know it's not science; I know it's not math." And if I ask about it on a quiz,
they go, "Well that's not fair!"
Parents, employers,
university scholars, educational administrators, and politicians are all
"carriers" of the institutional categories that define legitimate schooling and
shape teachers' commitments to the established topics and activities of the
classroom. Despite the critical commentary launched by all of these groups,
they do not yet share a view of the way central topics and activities might be
re-ordered. Indeed, they sometimes find themselves in fundamental
opposition.[18] Teachers' perspectives on
what it means to teach adolescents--what counts as worthy innovation or as a
compromise of strongly held views--differentially dispose them toward an
integration of vocational and academic education. Although most agree that
preparation for adult work is one of the functions of schooling, most are also
at a loss to say how work might become a focus or an occasion of academic study.
The landscape of subject matter teaching is shifting. Much of the impetus to
innovate in secondary teaching comes from an altered conception of subject
learning. The direction of that change is consistent with the integration of
vocational and academic education.[19] This
is especially true when new visions of subject teaching emphasize connections
between abstract concepts and the occasions of knowledge use in work or other
domains of adult life (as in the chemistry course promoted by the American
Chemical Society). A promising point of departure might well be the question,
How can subject fields better illuminate the character of contemporary work
and society?
The fact of the matter, however, is that reforms in subject teaching seem
rarely to take their point of departure from that question, or even incorporate
it seriously when considering what knowledge and skill students should be able
to demonstrate. On the whole, subject specialism is reinforced, not
attenuated, by the main reform initiatives. The impetus for reform is conveyed
in state curriculum frameworks, national subject standards proposed by
professional associations such as the National Council of Teachers of
Mathematics (NCTM), state standards for teacher licensure, the certification
standards being developed by the National Board for Professional Teaching
Standards, and by statewide student assessment protocols. In each of these, we
have witnessed a move to transform the high school curriculum in ways that
value long-term gains in students' abilities over their short-term facility in
reciting low-level knowledge.
Some of the changes underway in the academic disciplines represent a
substantial departure in perspective and practice for secondary teachers. A
math chair reports that "A lot of things are happening in mathematics" that she
finds "exciting and also scary at the same time." The teachers in her
department are confronted with the same changes, reflected in the standards of
NCTM, but not all are disposed toward them the same way. The chair relates, "A
teacher . . . mentioned to me yesterday that he just breaks out in cold sweats
when he thinks about turning on a computer. And he's got to do some things
like that, so it's going to be very uncomfortable for him . . ." That prospect
may well preoccupy teachers such as this, making the fit between vocational and
academic aims seem a far less pressing matter. The math chair anticipates
big changes if we go to an integrated kind of mathematics where we
just do course 1, course 2, and course 3 and not call it Algebra, Geometry,
Algebra II. Because all the teachers were through Algebra, Geometry, Algebra
II; they know what goes in those courses. They haven't been through the other
courses so it's scary that you're going to teach something when you don't know
really what's in it.
Further, what teachers or departments find attractive or problematic in
particular reform proposals is in part a function of the way they conceive
subject and subject learning. Siskin (1991) contrasts the ways in which
English teachers and math teachers respond to proposals that implicate class
size. English teachers, pleading adverse consequences on the volume of
students' writing they must read and assess, found any increases in class size
to be anathema. Among math teachers, large class size was less problematic as
long as the academic tasks could be cast in terms of generating right
solutions. When student performance is judged by tallying correct answers,
grading student papers can be handled quickly, or even handed off to teaching
assistants or departmental clerks. One might anticipate, however, that if the
challenge in learning math were to generate multiple routes to a solution, or
to write about how one arrived at solutions and why, and if the grade depended
on the quality of the problem-solving path, student evaluation might not be so
readily delegated and class size would be a more volatile issue.
To the extent that subject considerations and subject-specific reforms carry
weight in teachers' work and occupy whatever discretionary time they may have,
they require us to think somewhat differently about how we might achieve and
assess the integration of vocational and academic education. Should the
proposed subject teaching reforms succeed, the traditional subject curriculum
will be made far more lively, more credibly connected to practice, and more
engaging for students than it now is. The impact on work preparation will be
powerful but may be quite indirect--it will arise from students' experiences
with collective projects, with problem solving, and with intellectual tasks
that require genuine understanding rather than superficial "exposure" (see
Meier, 1992). At the least, we must distinguish between the explicit
incorporation of work-related applications or habits of mind--an overt and
formalized curriculum of work preparation--and the indirect effects that follow
from an academic curriculum that produces more enduring benefits for larger
numbers of students.[20]
Subject-related achievements are by no means the only way that teachers judge
their own success in the classroom or derive personal satisfactions from their
work. Nonetheless, the subject arguably supplies the most central and uniform
metric of accomplishment for individuals and schools. Schools chart student
careers by the accumulation of course credits; completion of course
requirements is linked to high school graduation and university admission.
Individual teachers--even those who decry the evils of "coverage"--describe the
range of topics they expect to teach in a one-year course. The metric of
coverage is pervasive and persistent, even among those who have entered
voluntarily into projects that are founded on a principle of achieving greater
depth ("less is more," in the terms adopted by the Coalition of Essential
Schools).
Coverage is both disparaged and defended. Teachers fully understand the
superficiality of a curriculum that organizes topics and skills on a rapid
conveyor belt of units. Their comments often resonate with Newmann's (1988)
judgment:
We are addicted to coverage. This addiction seems endemic in high
schools--where it runs rampant, especially in history--but it affects all
levels of the curriculum, from kindergarten through college. We expose
students to broad surveys of the disciplines and to endless sets of skills and
competencies. The academic agenda incorporates a wide variety of topics; to
cover them all, we give students time to develop only the most superficial
understandings." (p. 346)
Newmann inventories some of the destructive consequences of a coverage
mentality, concluding that "beyond simply wasting time or failing to impart
knowledge of lasting value, superficial coverage has a more insidious
consequence: it reinforces habits of mindlessness" (p. 346). But Newmann also
acknowledges that coverage is itself a habit difficult to break. He records
the guilt that teachers express when they are unable to reconcile their felt
obligation to "cover" content with the time that students require to achieve
genuine understanding, saying, "The press for broad coverage causes many
teachers to feel inadequate about having to leave out so much content and
apologetically mindful of the fact that much of what they teach is not fully
understood by their students" (p. 346). A science teacher who is attempting an
"integrated" curriculum in chemistry exemplifies Newmann's argument:
The American Chemical Society program has a lot of good ideas, but
it glosses over a lot of stuff. I like the fact that the ACS is . . . putting
in a lot of involvement and problem-solving activities [that show] where
chemistry must be employed. So it shows people how chemistry is applied in our
day-to-day lives. But in advancing that agenda in the curriculum, they expect
you either don't need the nuts and bolts or you know the nuts and bolts, and I
find [in my classes] that I assume the former. We don't need the nuts and
bolts so we're just going to kind of talk about these things in general terms
and it becomes this real "qualitative chemistry." [But] I think that maybe
they ought to be getting also the ability to quantitatively [analyze]. And all
their labs expect quantitative analysis at the end.
As teachers elaborate on the prospects for achieving greater depth and
practicality in the curriculum, they begin to reveal some of the tensions and
trade-offs they anticipate. To some extent, each subject presents its own
configuration of possibilities and dilemmas. For most, broadening the range of
instructional strategies is an acceptable route toward depth, and one that
seems to honor the subject requirements. Thus, a math chair reports that
students achieve a better understanding of mathematics when they write about
it:
My goal here with our own department the last several years has
been to increase writing in the math classes. We do lots of writing. The
first assignment is to give me a math autobiography. Every quarter my kids
have some kind of a writing project.
Nonetheless, such methods require more time. Does slowing the pace of
instruction mean eliminating important concepts? Here some of the differences
among subjects begin to show up. One math teacher offers, "I think you can do
'less is more' in English; you can read three books instead of six books. But
I don't think you can do 'less is more' in math." Another agrees: "You can't
teach 'less is more' in math. There isn't anything you can throw out."
"Deep" understanding of a subject might be thought to follow readily and
naturally from practical applications that increase opportunity for students to
discover the concrete manifestations of abstract concepts. However, teachers
are reluctant to tie curriculum priorities only to those concepts for which
practical applications seem most readily apparent. Math and science teachers
express the greatest reservations (though they are not alone), lamenting the
compromises that seem to result from attempts to make the curriculum more
"practical":
You can't say, "Well, if you can't find an application for it,
let's throw it out." The application may come when the student is in advanced
math. You need the building blocks beforehand. [Someone] told a math
teacher, "Well, why don't you do an exhibition on the trajectory of a ballistic
missile and relate it to the Desert Storm War?" "They don't have the skills
yet for that." "Well, isn't it a simple Distance-Rate-Time problem?" "No, it
is not. It is a study of parabolic movement." [math
teacher]
Science and math are kind of linear. You really need to have a
foundation before you can put it to work on a project, or really address . . .
some thesis like, Why should we conserve minerals? Why should we be careful
about the way we use certain things? Why should conservation be our way of
life? Unless you've got basic understandings of atoms and the way atoms act in
the real world in reactions, then you may not really have a powerful way to
advance conservation. . . . So, I understand "less is more," where you can
delve into things and explore and so forth, but a lot of times in a year's
course, "less is more" ends up being less. Science has been, you know, not
really hard science anymore . . . . It makes you wonder about what you're
doing. [science teacher][21]
Slower pace ("less is more") creates
special discomfort when teachers cannot readily detect gains in students'
understanding or engagement. A science teacher commented,
We have done less and less and less. Biology used to be just one
year and we used to cover not only biochemistry, but the bio-geochemical cycles
and the role of chemistry in nature. We would also cover biochemistry in
systems and then we would cover the human body. Approximately twenty-three
units. And I'm to the fourteenth unit right now of what I used to teach in a
year, and this is the second year of the course. So, I've slowed down
incredibly to try to enrich and address the needs that my students have for
discussion and so forth; and yet, I don't necessarily see them doing a hell of
a lot more.
The obstacles to depth in the high school curriculum are formidable (though
Newmann, Sizer, and others would argue they are not insurmountable). As
Newmann (1988) remarks, formal education encapsulates a "legitimate need for a
certain degree of coverage" in the education of the young (p. 347). When this
legitimate need is combined with a testing industry that supplies the single
most visible guarantor of public accountability, a textbook industry that
reifies disciplinary knowledge in unit outlines, and university admission
procedures that specify completion of particular course content in the high
school, the result is (or has been) a curriculum strong on breadth within a few
core academic subjects but weaker on conceptual depth, connectedness, and
situated use. (It remains to be seen how evolving experiments in standardized
performance testing--testing that better approximates students' actual
performance on complex tasks--bear upon the movement toward greater depth in
curriculum. See Frederiksen et al., 1991). Other obstacles to achieving
curricular depth arise from the teachers' perception of what it means for a
student to have "learned" the subject they teach. This is not to say that the
views teachers express are uniform, or are uniformly defensible. They are
neither. Teachers within the same discipline disagree about what counts as
"essential" concepts and skills and about the ways in which students best learn
them. Teachers sometimes express views that are clearly at odds with some of
the advances in the discipline or with theories of learning. Their views are,
however, a reasonable clue to the practices they will embrace or eschew in the
classroom.
When confronted with the practical possibilities for specific work applications
in the academic curriculum, teachers' experience and imagination run short.
Most teachers can imagine an increase in outside speakers or career-oriented
counseling and school-level activities far more readily than they can imagine a
shift in the nature of curriculum content, pedagogy, assessment, or
teacher-student relations. One teacher in a school that is planning career
clusters said, "In the classroom, I don't think it will be a major change" for
the academic teachers. Among the examples we heard, most concentrated on how
one qualifies for a job rather than how knowledge came to be used in doing
work. The former turns out to be easier to convey than the latter:
I do a career project every year with my [math] students. The last
three years that's been writing a letter to someone in a field, asking what
mathematics they needed to take to get there, and then what mathematics is
used. Because a lot of kids will say, "I'm not going to use this higher math
in my job." However, what they're hearing back is that they had to take it to
get to that higher job, and that's important just for some of the kids,
so that, that they'll be one of the competitive people then, in getting that
job. You know, they've had the background. [math teacher]
Another common theme highlighted work-related attitudes and habits, most of
them focused on compliance with authority relations in the workplace (e.g., see
Claus, 1990). Despite the burgeoning attention to problem solving, critical
thinking, and cooperative learning, the teachers with whom we spoke did not
elaborate on the ways in which such activity might prepare students to take
initiative on the job, or to be competent members or leaders of a group of
workers:
Whenever a student gives me a paper, I'm the boss--you work for me.
Does the boss like the looks of it? You know, a couple of times I've returned
it and say, "Do that over--you're not going to have a job." [business
teacher]
In his critique of work education a decade ago, Boyer (1983) proposed that
students spend one semester in a course dedicated to the academic study of the
history, politics, and economics of work. Such a perspective seems nearly
absent in the schools we have visited--especially when considered as a separate
course. The coordinator of one business education academy is planning a
course, "Business in English," that will examine the treatment of work in
various works of English literature.[22] The
course is intended to satisfy an English elective requirement for students in
the academy program. The chair of another English department describes
activities that she plans to incorporate in her class to expand students'
perception of the meaning and types of work:
My students do a family history report. This time I will include a family
employment history. Students will investigate what members of their family
have done, and why. This should generate a greater sense of work. [Work]
doesn't just happen on the day you graduate.
The impetus and the opportunity to figure out "integration" seem greatest in
the career academies or in other closely interdependent teams that have
incorporated an explicit orientation toward work preparation. Teachers'
conversation in those settings, in so far as we have been privy to it, tends
more toward the discovery of possibilities for curriculum coordination than
toward worries over the compromises in subject integrity. Academy teachers
concentrate on blurring the boundaries among subjects and between the
vocational and the academic:
We try to eliminate the old differentiation between vocational and
academic. We're always being asked, "Who's your technical guy?" and we're
uncomfortable about that. We still cling to some of that [differentiation].
One of us is responsible for graphic arts, one for English, one for math and
science. But our goal is to cross-teach more.
We like to relate a concept to a real-life concept. We like to
think in those terms. They had to learn about acids and bases in chemistry.
They got all the theory, but then they had to use the theory to test the
acidity of paper they would use to print their poems. If it's acidic, it
doesn't last a long time.
To gain the attention of the subject specialists--and especially those who
teach the more advanced academic courses--the integration of academics and work
requires (1) that the workplace applications of academic concepts and skills be
made more visible to academic teachers (the only workplace that teachers tend
to know well is school); and (2) that the "work connection" be seen as adding
both rigor and utility to the academic curriculum, rather than requiring a
compromise with subject integrity (see Stern & Dayton, 1990).
Multiple reforms compete with one another and with the daily immediacies of the
classroom for teachers' time and attention. Academic teachers may experience
simultaneous demands to advance reforms within subjects (e.g., the new
mathematics standards) and to participate in efforts across subjects
(e.g., interdisciplinary work in math and science or in the humanities). In
principle, these various reforms are compatible. In practice, each is
demanding of teachers' intellectual resources, social relations, time, and
energies. Teachers sometimes experience them as being in conflict. In
particular, academic teachers may view the integration of vocational and
academic education as compromising the aims of subject matter reforms. An
English teacher on the verge of taking early retirement found new enthusiasm
for teaching in one of the career academies. But other teachers experience a
sense of loss or compromise when what they are asked or required to teach
departs radically from the subject as they know it or have been prepared to
teach it.
What might we anticipate in the early stages of "collaboration" among teachers
who have taught largely or exclusively within separate departments? Stodolsky
and Grossman (1992) observe that the subject perspectives, vocabularies, and
epistemologies are sufficiently different from one another that teachers might
have to learn a new language to speak meaningfully to one another. Yet the
opportunities to understand one another's language, and to forge accommodations
among the perspectives, seem sparse. The elaborated meanings regarding
"subject" or "work" on which teachers rely are taken for granted but rarely are
made explicit, visible, and/or accessible to discussion and debate. Despite
the frequency with which we encounter references to subject disciplines or
subject topics, there is remarkably little talk recorded in our interviews or
field notes that maps the contours of subject philosophy or subject pedagogy.[23] Rather, there are truncated topical
references that signal subject affiliation, but reveal little of the specifics
of subject that might establish the grounds for integration (or separation) of
theory and practice. When social studies teachers speak of "doing Manifest
Destiny," they employ a shorthand language that masks both the philosophical
and pedagogical aspects of their belief and practice in the teaching of
history.
The truncated, compressed language of these subject specialists can be traced
to three related circumstances. First is the pervasive isolation or
independence of teaching, leaving teachers to form opinions about entire
"subjects" on the basis of their partial knowledge of what individual teachers
do in their classrooms. The possibilities for collaborative work rest in part,
then, on the visibility and credibility of local teaching performances.
Second, superficial treatments of subject teaching are consistent with the
"coverage" standard by which teachers' obligations are judged to be met. There
is rarely a reason to communicate to others what "doing Manifest Destiny"
amounts to in conception, pedagogy, and assessment--only a reason to assure one
another that it is being "done." Finally, teachers themselves command little
knowledge about the uses of their subjects in occupations other than teaching;
the opaque character of the world of work, at least as it employs the
fundamental concepts and skills supplied by a strong academic education, is
equally problematic. Teachers, not surprisingly, are most intimately familiar
with the workplace of the school itself. About the various ways in which their
subjects inform other kinds of work, most can only guess.
To act knowledgeably on the basis of a changing conception of teaching and
learning is not merely a matter of adequate time. It is a matter of
interdependence among teachers--the reasons they find for joint work with one
another and with persons in a range of other occupations and work situations.
It is a matter of the perspectives and practices that teachers acquire in their
formal programs of teacher education and in the formal or informal activities
they encounter in the course of their work. Finally, it is a matter of the
vision of schooling that is embedded in the social organization of schooling
and in the resources and rewards of teachers' work.
[17] Reid (1984) posits four characteristics that
define the attractiveness of particular topics and activities to wider publics.
They are (1) centrality, or the extent to which the topic or activity is viewed
as central to membership in some categorical group such as the college bound;
(2) universality, or the extent to which the topic is viewed as essential for
all or for some; (3) sequential significance, or the extent to which the topic
is a prerequisite for future student progress; and (4) status-relatedness, or
the degree to which topics are chained in sequences with career significance.
Mathematics is high on all dimensions (though "higher" mathematics is not
universal, and its status-relatedness increases as its universality declines).
The study of metalwork forms a counter-example in Reid's analysis: "progress
through metalwork activities, where the curriculum moves from lower to higher
skill levels, does not confer status. . . . [Thus,] centrality, universality,
sequential significance and status-relatedness are socio-historical or
ideological rather than educational or epistemological facts" (p. 71).
[18] This is an arena in which inquiry is
well-informed by the micropolitical perceptive introduced by Ball (1987).
Ball's examination of the "micro-politics of schooling" not only illuminates
the salience of within-school reference groups and the mechanisms by which they
come to wield or surrender power, but also links the formation of reference
groups to theoretical orientations toward competing theories of schooling,
teaching, and subject.
[19] When Stern et al. (1992) assess the fit
between career academies and other reforms, they cite the reform impetus to
link schools more meaningfully and closely with employers and the movement to
create wider choice for students and families. However, they do not talk about
the fit with other subject teaching reforms.
[20] On the whole, attention to such "indirect
effects" has taken three forms: (1) criticisms of the "hidden curriculum" of
schooling, (2) studies of the economic return to years of schooling, and (3)
studies of the differentiated content of academic instruction (including
content variations among courses of the same title but enrolling different
student populations).
[21] In neither of these comments do we
discover any sense of how students come to an increasingly sophisticated grasp
of complex practical problems over time; rather, there is an underlying
assumption that the pursuit of such practical issues as resource conservation
must wait until students have a command of all of the conceptual and
methodological elements required for a solution. Ironically, each of the
teachers displays a subject-bound view of what counts as an essential element.
For example, the problem that the math teacher defines as "a study of parabolic
movement" might be defined by the science teacher as a problem in force and
motion. Claims such as these may do more to assert and defend teachers'
independence on matters of curriculum (employing the subject paradigm as a
resource) than to explain or explore possibilities for student learning.
[22] In the interest of supporting the
development of such courses, NCRVE has organized an annotated bibliography of
novels and short stories that might be used in the academic study of work
(Koziol, 1992).
[23] I am indebted to Susan Threatt for her
observation that, despite all the categorical subject references in those
texts, there was almost no detailed "subject talk" in them. This may, of
course, be an artifact of our field research methods (especially in the case of
the interviews); or it may accurately depict a situation in which subject is
made routinely opaque in the discourse among teachers.
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